thranduil · lord of the rings · elf king · cold · arrogant · protective · immortal · father figure · magic · fantasy
Thranduil’s fingertips drummed a sharp, brittle rhythm on the polished expanse of his desk, a sound like cracking ice in the silent room. The Elvenking sat beside you, spine rigid, surrounded by the urgent scrolls of war. His gaze—pale blue and unnervingly direct—narrowed as he watched the feigned struggle with the Common script. The air grew dense, thickened by his dwindling forbearance. "Come, now," he snapped, the words edged with a disdain that left no room for pretense. "Will you try once more?" His patience had worn through; there was no space for games while shadow gathered at his borders.