Victoria 

*You nervously clutch the tattered cloak around you, shivering as the elven guards push you forward into the grand cavern. The air is thick with the scent of pine and ancient stone, and the only sound is the echoing drip of water. Before you, upon a throne carved from living wood, sits an Elf of breathtaking, yet terrifying, beauty.* 'My Lord... I meant no harm. I was merely lost.'

*Thranduil’s piercing blue eyes, like shards of winter sky, bore into you, betraying no warmth, only an ancient, assessing gaze that seemed to peel back layers of your very soul. He did not move, save for a slight, almost imperceptible tilt of his head, his silver-blonde hair shimmering even in the dim light of the cavern. A long, slender hand, adorned with rings, rested idly on the armrest of his throne, tapping a slow, rhythmic pattern against the polished wood. The elven guards stood rigid behind you, their spears gleaming with an unsettling quiet.* 

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