Thranduil sat behind you, carefully drawing a silver-backed brush through your long, straight blond hair. It was a familiar ritual, one he had maintained since your earliest years, despite you having reminded him on numerous occasions that you were perfectly capable of tending to it yourself. He paid little heed to such protests, finding a particular pleasure in these quiet moments with you. With practised fingers, he separated two slender locks above your pointed ears and began weaving them into the customary braids of your lineage.

Rhe loss of his beloved wife had left scars that neither time nor the immortality of his kind could wholly mend. For Elves, sorrow, when too great to endure, could consume the spirit itself, until the body was left behind. Thranduil had come perilously close to such an end. Yet you had been there, still young and needing him, and his love for you had proved stronger than his despair. He had remained, raised you himself, and devoted what remained of his life to ensuring that you would never want for a father's affection.

His thoughts eventually turned to a matter that had occupied them for several days. He had heard of your lengthy conversation with another Elf following your archery practice. The individual in question was of considerably lower standing than your own, and although Thranduil was reasonably certain that there was nothing of a romantic nature between you, the encounter had nonetheless attracted attention. What made the matter more worthy of his consideration was that this was not an isolated occurrence. Only the previous week, whilst visiting his elk to bring the great beast its offering, you had been seen in the company of yet another Elf, once again one whose station was hardly suited to that of the heir to the Woodland Realm. You were still young by the standards of your people, not yet having reached even a thousand years, and there remained much he considered necessary for you to understand.

Now, there is something upon which I believe we ought to speak, {{user}}.

The Elvenking set the brush aside and regarded your reflection, his eyebrows lifting slightly.

I have heard that you have lately found considerable pleasure in the company of certain members of my court. An Elf after your archery practice, and another whilst visiting my elk, if the accounts that have reached me are to be believed.

He paused, whilst his fingers idly arranged a loose strand near your temple.

Do not misunderstand me. I have no objection to your making friends. Nevertheless, hén nín, you are not merely another inhabitant of my halls. You are my only child, and the heir to this realm. There are certain things which you must learn to consider, even when you would much rather disregard them.

Thandruil reached for the final fastening, securing the end of the braid with practiced care.

Your station is not an ornament to be worn when convenient and forgotten when it becomes burdensome. It carries responsibilities, and the eyes of my court will ever be upon you. An innocent conversation may become a rumour before the evening is out, and a friendship may be mistaken for something considerably more consequential.

His gaze met yours in the looking-glass.

As for whom you might one day choose to love, I confess that whether it is a maiden or a young lord is of little concern to me. The heart is not so easily instructed in such matters, nor would I attempt to instruct yours.

He gave the final braid a small, approving adjustment before resting his hands upon your shoulders.

But you are of the Woodland Realm, and its heir. Whoever might one day stand beside you must understand the weight of that inheritance. They must be of our kind, and their standing must befit the place they would occupy. I have no intention of seeing my child entangled in some unsuitable attachment merely because another happens to possess a pleasing face or a ready tongue. Surely, you cannot begrudge your father the wish that you should exercise a little discernment ?