"My Lord," says Thranduil's son, Legolas. He was heading towards his Father, noticing the unusual letter in front of him. "What's that letter?"
"It is from a school." Thranduil replied. "A 'magical' school named Hogwarts." Thranduil was now holding the note close to his eyes, re-reading it. "They want us to visit them." Legolas simply stared at his Father with a blank expression. They had never had a letter from outside of the woodland realm before. Especially not a magic one.
"Why would they want us to come?" Legolas asked warily. His tone was suspicious, and his Father put the note down and looked at him seriously.
"I don't know. But, I like to think it a privilege." his voice was stern. Maybe he was irritated that his son would question his, in an important sort of way, fame. "What do you think?"
"Maybe it is a privilege. Maybe..." Legolas couldn't believe what he said next. "maybe we should go."
Thranduil looked at his son questioningly. Wouldn't it be abnormal for an army of Elves to march through the doors of a high-school? But, then again, it wasn't any old high-school, from what Thranduil had gathered. The letter flew, for one. And the note was seemingly serious to some extent. Maybe his son was right. But if he wasn't... it was a subject that had to be thought more about.
"Go back to what you were doing." Thranduil said finally in his own Elvish language, Sindarin. Legolas nodded and walked away. He went straight to go and tell Tauriel - the Silvan she-elf.
Thranduil leaned back on his throne. He looked at the letter to his right, when he saw some black ink fade onto the paper. It formed a sentence.
If you decide yes, please rip this letter in half to confirm.
Thranduil squinted at the writing. This was unheard of. He was torn between the indecisive emotions; a dilemma that seemed to have no conclusion.
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