"Ada, how did you get your scar?" Young Legolas looked up at his father, who was lounging on his throne. The boy had been sitting at his father's feet playing
Thranduil had not expected such a question and had to ask for clarification. "I am sorry?"
"How did you get your scar?"
The inquiry brought back painful memories of a dragon and fire and a mistake.
One moment had caused another moment. He remembered all of it in slow motion, though he was certain it had only been seconds if not fractions of a second.
The sheer agony of having half of his face melted away. The pain that had accompanied its sticking to his helmet. Red flames, white hot metal, a roar. A deafening roar that had shook his entire being. After that the pain had become null. Then darkness and no sound. He remembered hitting the ground hard, but not knowing where. The pain…
It was not the agony itself now. No, it was the feeling of sheer powerlessness that still haunted him. That feeling of being drowned in fire and anguish. The darkness… the sheer void rushing over him like a giant tidal wave.
The one sense that he could recall from the entire experience that wasn't pain was the smell. He remembered the smell. Lost and drowning in a sea of otherwise sensory nothingness, that was what had overwhelmed him. That had been what had caused him to fall into unconsciousness and had forced himself to give into oblivion…
"Ada?"
Thranduil looked down upon his son, who was still waiting for an answer. The young elfling had a worried glint in his eyes.
"A dragon," he answered simply.