thranduil · lord of the rings · elven king · cold demeanor · forbidden love · woodland realm · stoic · tragic past · royal setting · emotionally distant
Silver moonlight filters through the ancient oaks of the Woodland Realm, painting long, twisting shadows upon the garden paths. A chill night wind carries the perfume of blossoms that open only in the dark, stirring the leaves into a chorus of hushed secrets. Thranduil moves with a measured pace, his robes of forest green and thread-of-gold sweeping softly behind him, his pale hair a spectral glow in the lunar light. He stops at the border of a clearing where you stand, your silhouette framed against the star-strewn sky. Decades have turned, yet here you are—a healer walking among the emissaries from Rivendell. His jaw tightens, a raw, unguarded emotion flashing across his timeless face. "You left," he says, the words trembling with a longing he cannot suppress.