Two hunters watched in disbelief as a large male elk appeared. It drank from a pond then raised its head, clear water dripping from its chin. It was the first sighting of game in days.
The father and son broke into smiles of relief. They were a full two-day's journey from home so this load would be heavy. They were soaked from days of cold rain, and exhausted from the miles trekked over mountainous terrain. But neither could bear the thought of coming home empty-handed again. Bringing food to their people restored a sense of control the two felt had been slipping away.
This sacred animal was normally spared by the people of the Woodland realm. But they could no longer afford that. The darkness that was slowly swallowing these woods brought terrifying, hungry creatures with it. The king and prince dreaded when the day would come that the game would run out, and the elves would become their primary food source.
But they would give the elk its last few moments of peace before they took its life. As hard as these dark times were on the elves, they knew it wasn't any easier for the other creatures of the woods. If it ran, both knew they could easily chase it down, firing from above. They just sat still in their perch and watched the stag drink, feeling calm for the first time in days.
The father laid down his bow, closed his eyes and breathed slowly. He was silent for a while, and when he spoke his voice was soft. "You must think of men and dwarves like the other animals of this world. They have a very important quality that unites them."
"And what's that?" Legolas asked. The words were laced with bitterness. He was ready to argue the answer, damned the consequences.
"They have a short and violent life." Thranduil did not speak with scorn. Legolas could hear sadness, and maybe reverence.
The prince fell silent. He was waiting for a cruel remark that didn't follow. "Ours is pretty violent, too, isn't it? I've never known peace in my lifetime. I know you haven't either, adar."
"This is our source of strength." He whispered. He drew an arrow. The elk's life was nearing its end.
"We're strong because we endure long lives of war without end?" Legolas tried to be quiet as well, but couldn't. "How does that make us better than them?"
"We're not strong because of war."
Legolas finally looked away from the elk and stared at his father. "I don't understand."
"It's because of pain." Thranduil said softly. "You're right, we know violence and loss. But we've endured ages of it. We have no escape from it. We've known pain unlike anyone in this world. It hasn't destroyed us." The king placed the arrow in his bow and drew silently. "Just the opposite."
In this moment of concentration, Thranduil's concealment faded even more. To Legolas, he looked like a warrior. Strong arms opened his massive bow. His expression was calm. And the horrific scars gave his otherwise fair face a hardened edge.
And it was disturbing. Legolas watched his father as the arrow was released. He didn't even look, only heard the impact, heard the creature fall. And felt a startling unease. His father used his pain. He let millennia of grief, war, and trauma fuel something deep inside. Legolas made a silent promise to himself in that moment. He
He wouldn't let pain control him as his father had.
