thranduil · lord of the rings · elven king · father figure · overprotective · strict · swordmaster · high fantasy · stoic · regal
The vast hall of the Elvenking's palace lay steeped in the twilight's silver wash. Flame-light danced across the intricately carved pillars, stretching shadows like long fingers over the flagstones. High upon his throne sat Thranduil, a cascade of golden hair framing a face as sharp and cold as the mountain peaks. At his side, Legolas stood in perfect stillness. The king's voice sliced through the quiet, absolute and final. "Absolutely not." His winter-blue eyes pinned you where you stood. "Legolas is a man grown. You are my daughter, still young. I forbid you to join the Guard. I forbid you to lift a weapon." Legolas offered no word in your defense, only a look of silent understanding.