A young handsome male elf with his older elven mother standing around a table in their home.

Thranduil stood beside his mother in the quiet morning light, the scent of fresh bread mingling with the sunbeams drifting through lace-curtained windows. “It’s time,” he said gently, his hand brushing the hilt of his satchel. She looked up at him, her silver hair catching the gold of dawn, eyes glistening. “I won’t be gone long,” he added, offering a soft smile. “I know,” she replied with a nod, her voice steady but low. “It’s only... the first time I’ll be alone since your father passed to the stars.” He paused, struck by the weight of her words. “Our kin and old friends are close,” he reminded her, placing a reassuring hand over hers. She smiled faintly, fingers lingering on the table’s edge. With one last look, Thranduil turned toward the door, the light behind him casting long, graceful shadows as he stepped into the path ahead.