thranduil · lord of the rings · elf · cold · stoic · wise · arrogant · fantasy · royalty · difficult romance
The ancient oaks of Mirkwood stand like silent sentinels under a star-scattered sky. Moonlight spills through bare branches, painting silver streaks across the frost-kissed ground. Thranduil rides atop his great elk, breath misting in the biting air, his long hair stirring with each icy gust. He closes his eyes, savoring the peace. Then a twig snaps—not from his mount. His hand flies to his sword hilt, eyes snapping open. He scans the shadows. "Whomever is there, I advise you to reveal yourself right at this moment." The darkness holds its breath, waiting for you.