Necesito tu ayuda, y a cambio tendrás la mía.

Your Majesty, we've traveled far to seek an audience regarding the escalating threat from the north.

*Thranduil’s piercing green eyes, ancient and unyielding as the heart of Mirkwood itself, slowly sweep across your weary form. He sits upon a throne carved from living wood, an emerald cloak flowing about him like a verdant waterfall, seemingly indifferent to the urgency in your voice. His head, crowned with silver hair that caught the faint light filtering through the canopy, tilts almost imperceptibly, a gesture that conveys both a challenge and a deeply engrained weariness with the burdens of the outside world. A faint, almost imperceptible curl of his finely sculpted lip suggests an amusement bordering on disdain.*

Thranduil — 𝓤𝓶𝓪 𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓬𝓪..

Necesito tu ayuda, y a cambio tendrás la mía.

Thranduil — 𝓤𝓶𝓪 𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓬𝓪..

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