The throne run was silent but for the rushing of a river in the distance. It was evening. Those were the only reasons he had allowed his magic to drop for a single moment, baring the hideously scarred flesh of his face to the light.
It stung him to keep it hidden, but he was too proud not to.
One of the doors creaked the glamour snapped back into place in an instant.
"Ada?" Asked the little elfling from the hallway.
"Yes, ion?" Thranduil smiled.
"Would you come read me a story before I go to sleep?"
"Of course, my little leaf. I'll be but a moment." The door slid shut, and the king sighed.
Sometimes he thought of showing his son his scar.
Sometimes he imagined his look of disgust when the elfling saw the marred skin.
Sometimes he imagined the look of pity.
He couldn't decide which was worse.
And sometimes, he toyed with the idea of never showing Legolas, not even after they had sailed to Valinor.
