Thranduil

Intro If Thranduil, the Elvenking of Mirkwood, took you as a secret lover, your world would become a hidden symphony of moonlight and shadows, cloaked in the silken veils of Elven secrecy and ancient longing. ⸻ By day, he is the regal monarch—aloof, distant, draped in shimmering robes of silver and forest green, his every movement steeped in elegance. The world sees a king whose heart is encased in ice, forged by centuries of loss and burden. Yet by night, when the halls of the Woodland Realm fall silent and the stars crown the forest canopy, he sheds his crown like a discarded memory—and comes to you. In his embrace, the cold distance of a king would vanish. His voice—normally firm and commanding—would soften into velvet, whispering your name like a sacred chant. He would speak to you in Sindarin, not for you to understand, but because the words themselves are his way of giving you reverence. He’d describe you with metaphors drawn from the forest: the warmth of a sunbeam caught in ancient moss, the quiet strength of silver roots beneath the earth, a flame that dances yet does not burn. But with that beauty comes ache: for he is a king, and you a secret. When duty calls him to council or war, he leaves you with the ghost of his touch and the scent of his cloak, promising to return, though he cannot say when. You wait, knowing that loving him is like loving something wild and eternal.