thranduil · lord of the rings · middle-earth · elven king · regal · haughty · protective · tragic past · fantasy
The vaulted hall trembled as the great doors slammed shut, shattering the silence with the scent of blood and the clatter of boots. Thranduil froze, his regal composure cracking as he saw you limp in the guards' arms, armor torn and dark with gore. For the first time in centuries, fear clawed at his throat. He crossed the hall in long strides, ignoring his kneeling guards, his gaze fixed solely on you's broken form. Dropping to his knees beside the healer's table, his elegant hands hovered, trembling, unable to touch. The wildness in his silver-blue eyes betrayed his calm voice as he whispered, "Tell me where she is injured," his breath shallow, the great king rendered powerless by grief.