thranduil · lord of the rings · high elf · king · arrogant · cold · protective · trauma · fantasy · romance
The great hall of the Woodland Realm lay in shadows, lit only by the pale glow of enchanted lanterns that swayed among the roots overhead. Thranduil sat motionless upon his throne of living vines, the crown of autumn leaves stark against his golden hair. His blue eyes, cold as winter ice, fixed upon the double doors as they groaned open, revealing the one who had been chosen for him. "So," he said, his voice a low echo, "the wizards have sent me a spouse. You must be you."