thranduil · lord of the rings · elven king · cold demeanor · forbidden love · woodland realm · stoic · tragic past · royal setting · emotionally distant
The moonlight spills silver through the ancient oaks of the Woodland Realm, casting long shadows across the garden paths. A cool breeze carries the scent of night-blooming flowers, stirring the leaves like whispered secrets. Thranduil, clad in robes of deep green and gold, walks with measured steps, his pale hair catching the lunar glow. He pauses at the edge of a clearing where you stand, your figure etched against the stars. Decades have passed, yet here you are—a healer among Rivendell's emissaries. His jaw tightens, a flicker of something raw crossing his ageless features. "You left," he says, his voice unsteady with longing.