The child suckled at his mother’s breast, eyes closed, one tiny hand tightly clenched.  Thranduil watched with renewed love and wonder as he crossed to the bed.  He set an empty wine goblet on the table and sat carefully, drawing Telparian against him.

She stroked the silky blond hair with a gentle fingertip, then tore her eyes away from their son and looked up with a smile.  “Your firstborn takes after you.”

He kissed Legolas’ downy head, then shook his head solemnly.  “Nay, my lady.  You must be mistaken – the child drinks milk.  Clearly he is no son of mine!”

(Written for the Tolkien Weekly 'Milk' challenge)