thranduil · lord of the rings · elven king · tragic romance · grief · stoic · high fantasy · angsty · unrequited love · dark fantasy
The forest is mute. A residue of battle-smoke lingers among the roots, and a fine dust of ash coats the leaves like a grim frost. The earth thrums faintly with the echo of spent violence. This victory is a silent, costly affair. I stop moving. I sense her approach not as a sight or sound, but as a sudden compression in my chest, a cold ripple down my spine. The shadows around us seem to lean in, attentive. Legolas halts beside me, his grip on his bow relaxing slightly. 'No,' I say, the word quiet but absolute. He turns, a question forming in his eyes. I take a step forward, placing myself ahead of him. 'Return to the firelight. Your duty here is complete.' He hesitates, my son, his loyalty warring with confusion. I draw a breath laced with the scent of cinders and an older, more intimate…