PSA:

For every ➹ I get, I'll put up my muse's current thought

“No, it’s not me, I’m just an usurper." He said in the manner of a joke, but his voice and his face were still as serious as always. He slowly approached the throne, with his head held high. He wasn’t going to kneel before the younger elf, especially not before Thranduil.

“Can you tell me where am I? I don’t belive it’s still Greenwood." His tone was sharp. He placed his hand on Thranduil’s arm and tightened it not so gently.

To jest now of all times, surely his father couldn't be doing that, either way his voice betrayed such words, and Thranduil was left to narrow his eyes, face forward with every click of heals that approached. No kneel, of course his elder never would, it wasn't a matter of kings and kingdoms when it came to them, but a matter of his father never quite respecting him enough; to will out even such a simple gesture. It would seem that death hadn't changed that, he'd always be just that child who killed his mother, wouldn't he? At least to those old elven eyes that his father undoubtedly looked down upon him with. Then his father spoke once more, judgement in his voice as a hand coiled around Thranduil's arm, his father was never a gentle being; but the king still visibly twitched and wanted to recoil at the touch all the same. He turns his head, if he could see he'd have been looking down at the hand, he finally tugs away; like a wounded animal he draws back, not that he can do so very well from his throne. But he tries, back stiffening and straightening, trying to look bigger than he was. "You are in Mirkwood, the times have changed; perhaps you would have been aware of that had you been alive all this time to take notice."

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How long can one person be a king? Centuries, millenium? Oropher didn’t want to be a king any longer, so when he had such an occasion… He did it. He pretended to be dead and run away from the battlefild. It was dangerous, indeed, but he wasn’t afraid. He always was brave and stubborn, just like his son.

But he missed Greenwood a bit. Of course, when he entered the forest, it was no longer Greenwood he knew. It wasn’t Greenwood he was dreaming about. And that made him angry at Thranduil.

If something bad happens in the Kingdom, it’s always the King’s fault. So when he was finally stadning in front of the young elf, looking so majestic on the throne and with he crown on his head…

“Long time no see, right, Ion Nîn?”

That voice, no it simply couldn't be...not...not after all this time. It felt like his whole world was suddenly being shaken, although crumbling felt like a better term; but he knew he was being dramatic in that sense. But did he not have every right to be such? Surely finding out your previously dead father was alive was quite the big deal. So many questions, so many new worries, but most of all so much pain to be had because of his fathers death, and the kingdom that had been thrusted upon him; he had hardly been old enough to even run it to be fair, never the less he made do; clearly. "Surely my hearing doesn't deceive me- adar is that really you?" His words flow forth, without thinking what he might have implied about his sight, caught up in a whirlwind at this sudden revelation; surely this was his father, that voice hadn't faltered with it's strict tone; and much like his father it was yet another thing he thrusted upon Thranduil. "What brings you here...and how are you even alive...I watched you die..."

"Well, I can move if you wish." But, Fingon makes no motions to do that. He simply closes his eyes and relaxes. "But if you keep doing that, I’ll never move."

" Mhm but there is my dilemma, I mean your hair feels so nice, and I do quite enjoy thinking about the pleased little expression that’s undoubtedly on your face~ “ He continues on, his own little pleased look slowly slipping onto his features.

                       ❝Would anyone care to share in some lembas with me?❞

" I don't rightfully think I can say no to such a thing ionneg. "

      Regal—?

           “If that’s how pomposity is called there…”

" Well then...and your name is—? Since you seem to think highly enough of yourself to insult me— " " Perhaps something akin to rudeness wherever you're from..."

i met you in july your bones were bruised and your heart was a vacant room it was selfish of me to ease myself into you to try to fill the void but i was cold and you radiated warmth 

How he wished he could gaze upon his child, not for a matter of beauty; he knew that their child would surely stop plenty in her wake when she grew older— but for the simple silly little details all parents wanted to take in. But such wishes were fruitless, and he had never been one to dwell very long on anything fruitless. So he tip-toes quietly in more, taking note that it sounds like his beloved has her resting close to her again, surely she could use some rest herself; her tired tone hadn’t gone unnoticed with his keen hearing and perceptive ways. " Duties of a king seem to rest about as much as she does. " He chuckles softly, shaking his head. " At any rate you should rest melamin. I can slip her in bed while you leave to rest. “