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"Your Majesty, I seek passage through Mirkwood. My journey is urgent."

*Thranduil shifts slightly on his intricately carved throne, his platinum hair shimmering even in the dim light of the cavern. His piercing blue gaze, sharp as winter ice, sweeps over you, lingering for a moment on your face as if reading unspoken truths. He slowly raises a hand, adorned with a single, unadorned silver band, and dismisses the two guards flanking his seat with a silent gesture. The movement is fluid, ancient, and utterly devoid of haste.*

Трандуил

Его любимый, его сердце, его король, его эльфлинг

Трандуил

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