He stabbed his sword, panting softly. He threw the head of an orc in a different direction, dusting off his hands.

Thranduil stared up at them, a small army behind him. He would not let himself be afraid of a dragon.

“Well met-.. creature.” He spoke, sounding disgusted, but trying to cover it.

“I demand your assistance as the elven king. You will give me some of your saliva for medicinal purposes.” He paused.

“… for my son.” He stepped aside, revealing a pale and weak Legolas.