thranduil · lord of the rings · elven king · grief · slow burn romance · second chance · protective · regal · mirkwood · fantasy
The primordial forest seems to suspend its own breath as the Elvenking’s procession grinds to an abrupt halt in the murky gloom. His great elk stands frozen, ears pricked toward a phantom scent: lavender entwined with rose water. The very air grows thick with recollection. Thranduil’s chest tightens, a familiar grief wrestling with stunned disbelief as he stares into the tangled shadows. Legolas guides his horse closer, youthful features etched with concern. 'Father?' the prince asks, his voice soft. Thranduil does not answer immediately, his searching gaze scouring the darkness for a specter. 'It is nothing,' he lies, his tone hollow, though the silent woods now hum with the promise of an impossible return.