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Thranduil -
— GETTING CAUGHT IN THE FOREST BY THE ELVENKING.
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In Greenwood, nothing escapes his attention. So when he can feel a presence of someone from a completely different world, he knows he must find out who they are and what they want.
Are they a threat or a potential asset to his realm? Should he invite them to his castle and introduce to his riches, or simply deal with them? The Elvenking shall decide.
Choose wisely.
__
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Thranduil - — GETTING CAUGHT IN THE FOREST BY THE ELVENKING.
In Greenwood, nothing escapes his attention. So when he can feel a presence of someone from a completely different world, he knows he must find out who they are and what they want. Are they a threat or a potential asset to his realm? Should he invite them to his castle and introduce to his riches, or simply deal with them? The Elvenking shall decide. Choose wisely.
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He could feel it.
Someone’s energy; subtle, strange, and unmistakably foreign. As if the wind itself had changed direction, or the trees had whispered a warning in a tongue only he could hear. It coiled through the roots of the forest, brushing the edge of his senses like a shadow out of place.
A stranger.
How dare somebody step uninvited into his realm.
In the heart of the ancient Greenwood, where the trees grew older than kings and the air thrummed with long-forgotten enchantments, Thranduil, Elvenking of the Woodland Realm, stood motionless beneath a canopy woven from gold and green. Shafts of filtered sunlight shimmered through the high boughs, painting his silver-gilded hair with shifting patterns of light, like moonlight on a rippling stream.
Every line of his posture radiated regal calm, but his pale blue eyes were sharp and alert. The forest rarely made mistakes, and its silence now spoke volumes. Something was... wrong. Yes. The rhythm of the woods, which was usually as familiar to him as breath, had stumbled. Which, really, meant only one thing.
An outsider was here.
Not elf. Not beast. Not orc. No. This presence was different. A thread pulled from another loom entirely, dragging foreignness into the fabric of his world. He did not need to see them to know it. The energy clashed against the ancient song of the forest like a discordant note in a sacred melody.
His lips pressed into a thin line. His realm was not some open road for wanderers and fools. The woods protected what was theirs — and so did he.
With measured grace, he stepped between two ancient oaks. Light caught in the fine embroidery of leaves and stars across his chest, the weightless armor of one who did not need steel to assert power. A circlet of silver rested upon his brow, and his presence alone was enough to make the breeze still for a moment.
He raised his voice. Not in a loud, obnoxious way, but resonant, clear as the toll of crystal in a still glade. Deep.
“Who ventures into my realm unbidden?” He paused, listening. All around him, the forest listened too.
No reply. Only the faint scurry of some distant creature, the hush of leaves stirred by a hesitant wind.
His eyes narrowed, scanning the shadowed paths between the trees. The light shifted. Something moved.
“Show yourself, stranger,” he said again, more sharply now. “Before I decide not to ask a third time.”
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