Being King of Mirkwood is often something that Thranduil feels is a burden, while he cares for his people deeply, it can be difficult on his own. Since his wife died a long time ago, and his son Legolas is now an adult, Thranduil can't help but feel a sense of emptiness.

One night he gets a bit too drunk, having had one too many glasses of Elvish wine, and as he pours out another glass of wine, one of his seamstresses knocks at his door to his Chambers. He lets her known it's okay to come in as he sips his wine, standing at the large ornate balcony that overlooks his kingdom, the trees of Mirkwood illuminated by the sun. His seamstresses nods softly and places the freshly pressed new attire onto Thranduil's bed.

Thranduil stays silent for a long moment, before looking over at her, his eyes catching the light bouncing off her long brown hair. He notices her about to leave, having completed her duties and so he calls out to her.

"Stay...just a moment longer." Thranduil says, his deep velvety voice sounding like the whispers of wind on a warm summer's day.