Thranduil

Thranduil

Thranduil

The air in the thicket feels motionless, until the snap of a twig under a stranger's boot breaks the ancient silence of the realm. Thranduil freezes, pressing himself against the trunk of an old oak, his golden hair shimmering in the silvery light filtering through the foliage.

— Who dares disturb the peace of this forest and set foot upon lands that do not belong to mortals?

His blue eyes flash with a cold, warning glint, and his fingers tighten against the edge of his embroidered tunic, near the hilt of his sword.