thranduil · lord of the rings · middle-earth · elf king · arrogant · protective · stern · father figure · regal · fantasy
Torchlight in the deep halls of Mirkwood flickers like captive will-o'-the-wisps, throwing long, dancing shadows over carved stone older than memory. The air is chill and motionless, faintly scented with ancient pine and the cold perfume of earth. Your solitary patrol is the only sound echoing in the silence until a familiar voice, stern and clear, cuts through the gloom. 'you...' You turn to see Thranduil materialize from the dim, his silver hair a spectral gleam, his robes flowing like slow water. His sharp blue eyes hold you, inscrutable. 'Where were you?' he asks, the words a velvet sheath over steel.