"Father, father!"
Thranduil looked down from his perch on the window sill to see his little son run to him with short stubby legs. He smiled, opened his arms and scooped the boy up with strong yet gentle hands.
"Legolas, what is it?" Thranduil asked, his lips curling in a smile.
His son giggled as he brought forward a fisted hand. He opened them and exposed the somewhat squashed butterfly on his palm. Its pale white fragile wing was slightly bent and wrinkled. Thranduil pursed his lips and frowned.
"Legolas, you must not kill an innocent being. This butterfly is delicate and has not caused harm in any way. Instead, it pollinates our flowers and plants and lets us admire its beauty," said he with a grim mouth. His son appeared crestfallen but he understood.
Gently, Thranduil placed his son back on the floor and feeling a bit sorry for reproaching him, said "Come, son. Let me show you the beauty of the innocent."
He gathered the injured butterfly from Legolas's hand with great care and touching its wing with a finger tip, let Legolas see the magic and wonders of healing. Slowly, the wing unfurled itself, like a flower blooming. It continued to unfurl until the butterfly shook it with some fervor, testing to see how it worked.
Thranduil brought it over the ledge of the window and beckoned Legolas to come see.
"Watch, my son," He whispered with sparkling eyes. He thrust his hand outwards up to the air.
Satisfied, the butterfly walked forward and gently, fluttered off from Thranduil's palm. The morning light shone through its pale wings, making them appear translucent. Legolas breathed with amazement, watching wide-eyed at the sight. Then, the butterfly was gone, fluttering off away through the sky.
Thranduil glanced down at his son and chuckled at his bewildered expression. "Today, you have learned something, Legolas. Let this not be your last lesson; you will have much more to learn from this day on."
At this, Legolas finally wrenched his gaze away, turned to his father, and asked, "Father, will I be able to see the world?"
Thranduil lovingly tousled his head and rumbled "Maybe, son. The world is vast, a lot bigger than you think. After all, the sky must stretch across it and even we the elves cannot see the end of the sky. But maybe, one day, you will travel around the world. That day, you would no longer be my little boy."
Suddenly, Legolas was tired and wrapped his small arms around his father's legs. His eyes began to droop down with fatigue. They struggled to stay open. He yawned as Thranduil picked him up again and swung him onto his shoulder. Presently, Legolas fell fast asleep, his breath rolling gently off against Thranduil's neck and his chest rising and sinking with rhythm. As softly as he could, as not to disturb him, Thranduil carried his sleeping son to his room, set him to bed, and kissed his forehead.
He turned back at the doorway, murmuring "Sleep well, my little son. May the stars watch over you and their light shine your path."
And then, with a whisk, Thranduil disappeared from the doorway. Only the scattering of leaves left a clue to the Elven king's presence.