One last Look

Prolouge; A day of Mirth

"Legolas," King Thranduil, king of Mirkwood, called softly to his son, who was dozing under an old cherry tree, his golden sun-kissed hair flaring out in the wind.

Elves were light sleepers, and Legolas awoke at once, taking one look at the book in his hands and shutting it with an air of tiredness. "Yes Father?" the Prince asked, gazing up at the magnificent king.

"It is late. Look, the sun is already gone to bed," Thranduil answered, gesturing at the dim horizon. It was not dark because of the many torches lined up amongst the trees to give light to the Elven realm. Legolas nodded at his father understandingly and rose, still looking tired and somewhat stiff.

"What troubles you, ion nin?" (my son). Thranduil questioned, searching the young elf's face beseechingly.

"Tomorrow will come quickly, will it not?" Legolas' voice carried out a mere whisper across the breeze, but it was enough for his father to understand, well, everything. His coming-of-age-ceremony was in two days' time; tomorrow was his last day as a child. He was five-hundred years old, and even in Elven years, no longer a child.

"Ion nin," Thranduil sighed, "it is a day of Mirth, you know. One that you will never forget. But it is also a day of profound emotions and sadness." The king swept over the porch and embraced his son, whispering, "but above all else, it is the day my first-born becomes a warrior."

"I do not want to kill, Ada," Legolas whimpered. "I do not have the heart."

"Neither do I, or Lord Elrond, or even Manwe himself. But do no think of it. When you are older," Legolas stiffened at the word, "you will learn how to kill without injuring one's soul. You will become a true Elvish Prince, Legolas Thranduillion. And it will be as you mother said, you will be the strongest of the elves. Now go and take rest."

Legolas' heart, for the first time in ages, truly took rest that night. His father's words had helped to—no, not wipe away—but bandage his fear of war.

Those who had gone through the same as him know, that it is often those who kill sparingly that are given the right to do so, and that those who do not desire power deserve it.

Well, R&R if you want the next chapter. This was short, I know but it's just a prologue