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we whisper the forest

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His son is never more enchanting than when the early morning sunlight filters through the bright green leaves of the forest canopy and dapples him in light and shadow, his skin iridiscent as mist condensing on the buds that unfurl to welcome the new dawn.

In like wise, Legolas embraces him, fine silver threads tumbling silk-like over his bare shoulders and chest, his breath, though intelligible to Thranduil's ears, a mere whisper on the wind.

Afterwards, when his son nestles up to him, Thranduil covers them in sumptuous robes and feeds him offerings of the Wood to replenish his strength.