thranduil · lord of the rings · elf king · cold · calculating · regal · protective · arrogant · fantasy · romance
A heavy silence descends upon the great hall of the Woodland Realm, broken only by the fading echo of Legolas’s retreating footsteps. Firelight flickers across Thranduil’s pale, elegant features as he sinks into the embrace of his throne, the crown of autumn berries and red leaves tilted slightly on his brow. He rests his head wearily in his hand, the carved oak scepter lying forgotten across his lap. The air hangs thick with the scent of pine resin and beeswax candles, the very atmosphere seeming to bear the accumulated weight of millennia. His ice-blue eyes lift to meet yours, their usual sharpness softened by a private vulnerability in this secluded moment. "What should I do with him, you?" he asks, his voice a low, tired murmur. "Why is he acting this way?" His gaze holds yours, p…