❧ video; 02

[firith]

[ Thranduil has been recovering from the multiple wounds suffered from almost getting devoured by a particularly large worm. Now the attacks have tapered off to nothing and the castle is being rebuilt, the Elvenking is healing a lot faster. He sits before a tall open window in his quarters, long hair brushed over warm, thick silver robes. Perhaps a little paler than usual, but otherwise one wouldn't think he had been treated like a dog-toy by a monster.

He does not lock the broadcast to Seelie, inviting their enemies to speak simply by omitting a decline. ]

I hope that all those who fought the worms are similarly on the mend. I should like to request a moment of your time, Khaleesi, on an unrelated matter, and to ask —

Nan ear adh in elin! Anthedh vîr mi 'uren.

[ A younger voice bursts unexpectedly over the locket from near the window. Thranduil glances aside without turning his head, brows raised; the infiltrator is shortly revealed to be none other than his son, Legolas, chatting to birds on the window-sill as they give him little gifts of fruits in their beaks. #elves tho Though the language devolves into native Sindarin, the tone set by the conversation is one of a universal 'son, please, not now'. ]

No dhínen, Legolas.

[ Legolas only laughs, unafraid by the rebuff. ] Tolo, govano ven!!

Ú-iston. [ Easing back in his winged armchair, Thranduil rests fingertips by a temple, speaking askance to the figure. ] O van oduleg? N'uir thiad gîn 'ell ...

Iston! [ —exclaims Legolas, throwing his head back with laughter at his father's dry would-be sarcasm. ]

Gi nathlam hi, tolo enni. [ — sighs Thranduil, holding out his free hand to beckon his son over. (And Legolas does a fine job of crawling right up onto the arm-rest, slouching into Thranduil's personal space as only a fearless child can do, gaining a glance from the Elvenking). Continuing, Thranduil looks to the locket. ] As I was saying —

[ The wounded noise Legolas makes, straightening in his seat to complain as he notices he is being videoed, is enough to get a sharp look from Thranduil in exasperation. ]

Man cerir hí? Ai, nínion!!

[ Thranduil retains his pokerface of a cool, elevated brow as his son slides out of view as though shot through the heart. ]

What are you eating that is making you so dramatic, I wonder. [ Clearly nothing else is going to get done today while his son is intent on hovering around like a bothersome nursemaid as Thranduil heals, so the locket is smartly snapped shut on the tail-end of the Elvenking's mutter. ] I am not going to pick up a thousand-year-old Elf — one of the Nine Walkers and Prince of the Woodland Realm — off the floor, Legolas ...



( OOC: Hover your cursor over the Elvish if you want to read it! A couple of people wanted to hear Sindarin being spoken on behalf of their characters' interest in it, so we collaborated on a light-hearted post. c; Responses will come mainly from Thranduil with Legolas threadjacking here and there, over his shoulder, from the same locket. )

Comments

[orcsurfing]

[ It's a good thing he's more or less used to this kind of reactions now. It makes it no less amusing, mind, just far less startling. ]

Do I look so old, or does he look so young to receive such a reaction, I wonder?

[ Except he's not upset or offended at all. In fact, Legolas is laughing if only quietly. ]

[rues]

[ clarisse shrugs, glancing between them once again. ]

You look more like brothers. What's with the matching hair? I'd hate to look that much like any of my relatives.

[orcsurfing]

It seems to be a common impression for us to make. Here, for certain. [ But he has to cock an eyebrow at the matching hair comment and lift a strand of his own hair and of his father's to put them together and compare. ] Matching? Mine is most certainly of a more golden shade.

[ Eventually, however, he chuckles. ]

Why mind the similarity?