Despite claiming to not be of the same eloquence with words, the former bargeman still managed to get his idea across, and without treading into the waters of ill chosen words and heavy metaphors that Thranduil found so many humans fond of. There is nearly a smile that crosses the fair elven features, even at the likening of him and his people to fire. There was still a great thing to be gleaned form the human's words, and Thranduil wondered if he knew just what he was saying, not just blatantly, but also through the fact he chose to speak at all. "I do believe that I understand what you are saying, Bard. No matter how ineloquent you might think your words, they are well received."
Well received and remembered for everything they do not say. There is much that Thranduil can garner from the human, from his words and his temperament, that intrigues the king and amuses him at the same time. He could tell that the other was somewhat struck by all of the events, but he refused to buckle beneath the weight, which Thranduil admired. It was even more obvious that the other had little idea as to how to conduct himself around the elven king and, whilst Thranduil was used to such things, this-- this one amused him even more than normal. He nearly wanted to it continue, for the other to not ever become comfortable with his presence, and yet that thought also seemed to appall Thranduil.
He was not going to win with this human, it seemed.
Those thoughts are only reinforced at the proud look on Bard's face when speaking of his children. There was something that he would always respect, both being a father and being so proud of it. There was much truth in Bard's words, knowing that when fighting, things were so much more when you were fighting to protect something. The fear that had seeped into Thranduil's bones at the end of the battle, his son no where to be found, was a testament to just how much the elven king cared, even if he did not show it outwardly in ways that most people would understand. He had done his best to raise Legolas to be a fine young warrior, a fine young elf, and he was not disappointed in the result. Even with Legolas leaving, Thranduil could not say he was upset with his son. "We are only what we protect, are we not?"
When he is met with vivid green eyes, Thranduil is reminded of the Greenwood, what was one his kingdom long before the darkness had seeped into the roots of the trees. It is not enough to distract the king, but he is sure that he will not forget such a colour any time soon. "Being quick to learn is an admirable trait, and a useful one. Both as a king and as a warrior. " It could win him battles, both physical and diplomatic, and Thranduil found himself hoping that he could witness the growth of the man before him into a king. The only thing stopping him, really, was himself.
There was an unwritten rule to not become too invested in mortals, for they fade quickly and leave the deepest of scars behind them (for something that is gone so quickly, they have all the less time to burn, so they burn all the brighter it seems). Yet, Thranduil could not help himself in his inclinations to want to, at the very least, watch the other closely. He was a puzzle and an interesting one at that. He is almost so caught up in h is musing, the hopes and concerns of mortality and life, that he nearly misses Bard's comment.
Nearly.
The smirk on his face softens, though he does not laugh again. "You claim to know nothing of practiced words, and yet you tell me this? Why, Bard, is it possible you have not given me the whole truth?" There is an obvious note of amusement in his voice, though he is taken a back by the others words; that is not something he has ever been told before in all his long years.
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Well received and remembered for everything they do not say. There is much that Thranduil can garner from the human, from his words and his temperament, that intrigues the king and amuses him at the same time. He could tell that the other was somewhat struck by all of the events, but he refused to buckle beneath the weight, which Thranduil admired. It was even more obvious that the other had little idea as to how to conduct himself around the elven king and, whilst Thranduil was used to such things, this-- this one amused him even more than normal. He nearly wanted to it continue, for the other to not ever become comfortable with his presence, and yet that thought also seemed to appall Thranduil.
He was not going to win with this human, it seemed.
Those thoughts are only reinforced at the proud look on Bard's face when speaking of his children. There was something that he would always respect, both being a father and being so proud of it. There was much truth in Bard's words, knowing that when fighting, things were so much more when you were fighting to protect something. The fear that had seeped into Thranduil's bones at the end of the battle, his son no where to be found, was a testament to just how much the elven king cared, even if he did not show it outwardly in ways that most people would understand. He had done his best to raise Legolas to be a fine young warrior, a fine young elf, and he was not disappointed in the result. Even with Legolas leaving, Thranduil could not say he was upset with his son. "We are only what we protect, are we not?"
When he is met with vivid green eyes, Thranduil is reminded of the Greenwood, what was one his kingdom long before the darkness had seeped into the roots of the trees. It is not enough to distract the king, but he is sure that he will not forget such a colour any time soon. "Being quick to learn is an admirable trait, and a useful one. Both as a king and as a warrior. " It could win him battles, both physical and diplomatic, and Thranduil found himself hoping that he could witness the growth of the man before him into a king. The only thing stopping him, really, was himself.
There was an unwritten rule to not become too invested in mortals, for they fade quickly and leave the deepest of scars behind them (for something that is gone so quickly, they have all the less time to burn, so they burn all the brighter it seems). Yet, Thranduil could not help himself in his inclinations to want to, at the very least, watch the other closely. He was a puzzle and an interesting one at that. He is almost so caught up in h is musing, the hopes and concerns of mortality and life, that he nearly misses Bard's comment.
Nearly.
The smirk on his face softens, though he does not laugh again. "You claim to know nothing of practiced words, and yet you tell me this? Why, Bard, is it possible you have not given me the whole truth?" There is an obvious note of amusement in his voice, though he is taken a back by the others words; that is not something he has ever been told before in all his long years.