When the first monster graced the earth with it's delightfully horrid self, Thranduil never thought that he might oneday be one of the people fighting against them on a day to day basis. He had a family then, a wife, a child, something of the perfect life. Tragedies and horrors like the Kaiju happened to other people, to other families, not his own.
At least, that was what he thought.
Just when things seemed as normal as they could get; evacuation, relocation, rebuild, the unthinkable happened. Thranduil lost his wife in an attack. And not even from collateral, but directly from the Kaiju, the damned thing crushing his wife as Thranduil scrambled to get their son, barely even five years old, out of the wreackage that formally their home. It was not a thing that the blond was ever going to forget. Or forgive for that matter.
So when the Jaeger program came up, there were no questions about it. Thranduil did everything in his power to get where he was, and his son, Legolas, following in his footsteps (he was too young to truly remember, but he knows his father, knows the scars it gave him, and he vows to not let the same happen to him). Thranduil figured that he would be compatible with his son, that they could, despite his misgivings, protect each other (he had tried arguing about the whole thing, but Legolas was his father's son, and there was no talking him out of something his mind was set on). And yet-- He son ended up with a Scot named Gimli, and Thranduil--
"You're a bloody idiot, you know."
There's probably still blood in his hair, and worry in his bones, but the blond ignores it to stare at his partner, Bard. The reckless, far too kind and far too humble pilot he was paired with. They were everything that Thranduil thought drift compatible people shouldn't be; they fought about everything, sniped at each other at every chance they got, and yet--
They were one of the best.
That still did nothing to quell the roiling feeling in Thranduil's gut when his eyes the stitches above Bard's brow. Remembers the echo of pain when he got it. The feeling of his stomach dropping to his knees at the blood in the cockpit, and the--
He dismisses the thoughts, focuses on the pilot before him.
"Do you mind explaining that little fiasco back there?" His tone is haughty, almost cold, but his eyes are ablaze.
SCREAMS ABOUT THIS FOREVER quietly whispers about needed to watch this again now
At least, that was what he thought.
Just when things seemed as normal as they could get; evacuation, relocation, rebuild, the unthinkable happened. Thranduil lost his wife in an attack. And not even from collateral, but directly from the Kaiju, the damned thing crushing his wife as Thranduil scrambled to get their son, barely even five years old, out of the wreackage that formally their home. It was not a thing that the blond was ever going to forget. Or forgive for that matter.
So when the Jaeger program came up, there were no questions about it. Thranduil did everything in his power to get where he was, and his son, Legolas, following in his footsteps (he was too young to truly remember, but he knows his father, knows the scars it gave him, and he vows to not let the same happen to him). Thranduil figured that he would be compatible with his son, that they could, despite his misgivings, protect each other (he had tried arguing about the whole thing, but Legolas was his father's son, and there was no talking him out of something his mind was set on). And yet-- He son ended up with a Scot named Gimli, and Thranduil--
"You're a bloody idiot, you know."
There's probably still blood in his hair, and worry in his bones, but the blond ignores it to stare at his partner, Bard. The reckless, far too kind and far too humble pilot he was paired with. They were everything that Thranduil thought drift compatible people shouldn't be; they fought about everything, sniped at each other at every chance they got, and yet--
They were one of the best.
That still did nothing to quell the roiling feeling in Thranduil's gut when his eyes the stitches above Bard's brow. Remembers the echo of pain when he got it. The feeling of his stomach dropping to his knees at the blood in the cockpit, and the--
He dismisses the thoughts, focuses on the pilot before him.
"Do you mind explaining that little fiasco back there?" His tone is haughty, almost cold, but his eyes are ablaze.