Hey there, Nonnie!

Here’s a thing for you. With all that is happening in the world rn, some sweet lil fluff is definitely called for.

…

Both his elder sons had been quiet children: wide-eyed and close-mouthed. Laindawar’s silence had been a watchful one: he assessed, made conclusions, planned ahead, his eyes too wide in his tiny face. His mind was never restful, but his lips remained sealed. His fierce hunting falcon, his free forest child, with his hunter’s heart and his piercing stare.

Thranduil had never told Laindawar how closely he resembled Oropher. 

Laerophen’s silence had been one of half-born words, tripping upon his clumsy tongue, embarrassment crammed behind his teeth. Laerophen had been gauche and awkward – was still gauche and awkward, Thranduil amended with a sigh. Then, however, he had been a skinny twig of a child, limbs too long for his little body, smile too large for his face, brain spilling over with ideas and facts. Now he hid behind a stiff demeanour as often as not. 

It grieved Thranduil to see it sometimes, as he knew it was modelled upon his own. Both his firstborn and his secondborn followed him too closely at times.

It was not so with his unexpected youngest.

“Ada, what’s that?”

“A beech, ionneg.”

“And that?”

“A squirrel. You have seen them before, Legolas.”

“I know, but it’s a different one! Do you know its name?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I am unsure whether this squirrel has a name at all to learn.”

“Shouldn’t we ask?”

“You may certainly try… but do keep your feet upon the ground this time, if you please.”

“Why?”

“To spare your poor Ada’s heart.”

“Is there something wrong with your heart?”

“You regularly stop it from beating, but otherwise no,” Thranduil replied as dryly as he was able.

“Oh, that’s good.” The elfling on his lap beamed, and leaned back. “Your stag is really tall.”

“Do not leap from his back.”

“Why?”

“Because, as you observed, he is extremely tall. It is a long way to fall.”

“I bet I could jump that far.”

“No doubt you could.” Thranduil stroked the soft golden hair, and smiled against the back of Legolas’ head. His youngest, his ever-curious little leaf, with his sparkling eyes and neverending questions – and his fearless, boldfaced adoration of the world. “But do recall what I said about my heart, ionneg.”

“Do squirrels ever fall?”

“It is extremely rare.”

“I will leap like the squirrel, then, and never fall!”

“That would be a thing to see.” And he would, Thranduil was sure of it. Once Legolas took an idea into his head, it was impossible to dislodge. One day, he would see his son scampering through the branches like a squirrel. “Wait a time before you try. At least until you are able to reach the lowest branches of the trees.”

“Must I wait?” Legolas tipped his head back, looking upside-down at his father with great blue eyes. 

“You must,” Thranduil answered, and tugged the wispy little braid at the elfling’s nape. 

“I suppose it’s because of your heart,” Legolas muttered, and heaved a great sigh. “Must be very dull for you, having such an ornery heart.”

“On the contrary, my child,” Thranduil said, and smiled to himself at the small vision of sullen stubbornness before him. “There is nothing dull about it at all.”