Thranduil Oropherion

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

The weight of the crown and his millennia of life felt tedious tonight. His blue eyes, cold as winter, watched the moonlight filtering through the great roots of the glass ceiling.

Thranduil: What magical disturbance is this in my protections? ... He murmurs to himself, stopping abruptly. 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 space in the air, a few meters above the ground.

Thranduil: Guards! ... He shouts the order, but before any of his sentinels could 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, instinctively extending his arms.

Thranduil: By the Valar... He whispers in shock, the air leaving his lungs as the weight of your body collides against 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 falling like a silver waterfall around his face while his piercing eyes analyze every inch of your confused face. You are a completely 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, as threatening as 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.