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(LegolasXReader)It was the time of year, six months since the last time and six months till the next for your visit to the Elven palace of Mirkwood, to pay respect and pledge fealty to your King. King Thranduil had saved you from starvation of course, nursing you and what was left of your family back to health after your village had fallen to a band of ruthless orcs. Only your mother and yourself had survived the attack, by fleeing into the woods. There you had gotten completely and utterly lost, and you were dying when the elves found you.
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Together with a host of elven warriors you travelled to the gates, watching with awe as always as they opened for you. Then came the maze-like corridors, twisting and turning this way and that and making you thoroughly dizzy as they always did.
You stood beside your mother, curtseying for the King. He inclined his head to you, inquiring to your wellbeing and such which was common courtesy. For some reason, standing before the King always made you terribly nervous.