"Tell me your name." Paris gently held the man's neck, and this was his only request.
And the man only said this once. But this name, that elegant and graceful pronunciation, will always play in his life for a long time to come.
"Thranduil."
"Thran... Dil..." Paris repeated awkwardly, the tip of his tongue gently curling in his mouth, "Thran... Dil... Thrandil..."
The man looked at him in silence, and the deep hidden feelings in his eyes were illuminated in an instant.
This is a weird name, just like the man himself, beyond the cognition of a child in the mountains. However, Paris quickly shook his head, denying the initial thought, and then raised his head and smiled at the man: "I don't think even gods have ever had such a name. Although I don't understand its meaning, I think it is as beautiful as a song."
"It is indeed," the man lowered his head and leaned against Paris's forehead. "When the harsh winter is over and the spring is approaching, it will play in this vast and silent land. At that time, only a sound that has remained unchanged for thousands of years will be the first to echo and respond to its arrival."
"What is that noise?" Paris reached out his little hand and touched the man's cheek.
"That's when the green leaves wake up again on the branches." He said, gently kissing the forehead of the child in his arms.