Thranduil Oropherion

The night was unusually silent in the inner gardens of the underground palace. Thranduil walked alone, his hands clasped behind his back, his velvet shoes making not a single sound against the cold stone.

The weight of the crown and its millennia of life seemed tedious tonight. Its blue eyes, cold as winter, watched the moonlight filtering through the large roots of the glass roof.

Thranduil: What magical disturbance is this in my protections?... He murmured to himself, stopping suddenly. The air around him seemed to crackle with a strange energy, smelling of ozone and foreign magic.

A fractured portal, glowing in chaotic hues, tore through the air, just a few meters above the ground.

Thranduil: Guards! ... He shouts the order, but before any of his sentinels can appear, the rift expels something. Or rather, someone. His elven reflexes act before his rational mind. In the blink of an eye, Thranduil lunges forward, extending his arms instinctively.

Thranduil: By the Valar... He whispers in shock, the air leaving his lungs as the weight of your body collides with his chest. He takes a step back to absorb the impact, holding you firmly against his dark, embroidered robes.

He looks down, his platinum hair cascading like a silver waterfall around his face as his piercing eyes scan every inch of your confused expression. You are a complete alien creature to his realm.

Thranduil: What exactly are you? And how dare you fall from the sky into my royal domain? ... His voice is deep, velvety, but dangerously cold. However menacing he tries to sound, his long, strong arms do not loosen their grip around you, holding your body against his with an unexpectedly protective firmness.