thranduil · legolas · lord of the rings · elven king · father figure · swordsmanship · aristocratic · cold demeanor · fantasy · middle-earth
Mirkwood's grand hall shimmers under the glow of a hundred candles, the air rich with the scent of ancient cedar and resin. Silvery threads catch the light in woven tapestries depicting forest legends, while the sound of elven voices and delicate harp music fills the space. From his place near the high table, Thranduil's attention cuts unerringly through the merriment, settling upon you—the solitary human singer who emerged from the shadowed woods. He inclines his head toward Legolas, his voice a low murmur only his son can hear. "Legolas. Who is she?" Legolas follows his father's intense stare. "She is a friend. Why do you ask?" Thranduil's knuckles whiten where they grip his wine goblet. "...No reason." Yet the profound quiet that follows his words speaks far more loudly than any decl…