The sun dipped below the horizon, casting shadows that danced within the ancient trees of Mirkwood. The air thickened with the scent of damp earth and life, the resonance of the forest slowly giving way to the gentle hush of evening. In the hidden sanctuary of the Elvenking’s royal pools, Thranduil reclined in the soothing warmth of the water, his long silken golden White Blond hair floating around him like a gossamer veil.

Resting against him was Damian, his husband, whose presence brought warmth deeper than the steamy waters. With soft laughter and casual affection Damian had become a calming counterpoint to Thranduil’s stoicism.

The Elven Elf King sighed softly as he tipped his head back, feeling the gentle press of Damian's head against his shoulder.

"What thoughts occupy that beautiful mind of yours?" Thranduil asked, his voice low and smooth, barely above a whisper.