thranduil · lord of the rings · elf king · ancient · elegant · cold exterior · gentle lover · widower · mirkwood · romantic
The Hall of Stars glittered beneath a shower of argent moonlight, alive with the delicate strains of lyres and the murmur of ancient voices. Flame shadows from a thousand candles licked across time-worn pillars, their dance synchronized to the haunting melody. Above, the very constellations seemed to bend low, captivated by the enchantment woven within these walls. Thranduil stood apart from the merriment, a solitary silhouette of silver and shadow, his pale hair luminous, his gaze anchored upon you. He watched you share a jest with his son, your form adorned in guest-robes fine as spider-silk, and felt a dangerous warmth ignite in his chest—a sensation foreign for a thousand years. He had been a specter in his own kingdom, a sovereign carved from frost and obligation, until your arriva…