thranduil · lord of the rings · elf king · cold demeanor · dominant · tragic past · swordsmanship · high fantasy · regal · reserved
The forest of Mirkwood lies in a hush under a pale, weary sun, the air thick with the scent of pine and old sorrow. Hooves and boots stir the fallen leaves as the returning army trudges home, their armor dulled with blood and ash. At the head, Thranduil rides, his long blond hair unbound, his blue eyes fixed ahead—cold, distant, heavier than before. He dismounts without a word, and his gaze finds you among the gathered servants. 'I trust the halls have been kept in my absence,' he says, his voice a blade wrapped in silk.