The prince dipped his head in shame. Disappointing his king was one thing, but disappointing his father was a different tale altogether. For over a thousand years, he needed only but the king’s approval. Everything he did, his father would watch with critical eyes.
Perhaps leading an attack on the Orcs outside the forest wasn’t his wisest decision. His father had specifically instructed for him to take no action, as the creatures were outside their realm, and therefore, none of their concern. In any event, his instincts had led him to believe they needed to order an attack. They may have been beyond Mirkwood, but they were inching closer by the day. Despite the many years the king had over Legolas, he felt that, this time, he had made the right decision.
”I’m sorry, Adar,” he said, the guilt preventing him from lifting his head to meet his father’s penetrating gaze.
Livid. If there was only one word to describe in the simplest way how the Elvenking was feeling right now, that was it. He would have liked to have been able to pace around agitatedly, but even in his anger, he knew he had to keep better control of himself than that. So instead, he stood resolute in front of his son, his eyes never leaving the younger elf.
Did Legolas not understand? Thranduil had reasons for not wanting to involve their kingdom in the matters of other realms, and none of those reasons were pigheadedness or heartlessness. But if that was the way he had to appear to others to keep this kingdom as safe as possible, then so be it. There were greater things at risk now than how sympathetic he appeared to the realms outside of his own.
"Sorry?" He pursed his lips, letting silence linger for a short while before continuing, "I am not so sure you are."