“Do not speak to me of dragon fire! I know its wrath and ruin! I have faced the great serpents of the north!.. I warned your grandfather what his greed would summon. He would not listen.. You are just like him. So go, stay here and rot. One hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf! I'm patient! I can wait!” as The Elven elf King Thranduil looked at Thorin Oakshield

~

The dense canopy of Mirkwood looms overhead, casting long shadows across your path as you approach the gates of the Woodland Realm. The air is thick with the scent of moss and ancient trees, and the silence is almost tangible, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves. As Damain draw closer, the great wooden gates creak open slowly, revealing a winding path lit by glowing lanterns, their light like captured stars among the trees.

Guided by unseen hands, Damian makes his way into the heart of Thranduil’s realm. The path leads Damian to a grand hall carved into the living rock, where the scent of pine and earth mingles with the sweet aroma of distant flowers. The hall is magnificent, with towering pillars shaped like trees, their branches arching to form a vaulted ceiling. The soft light of many fires dances across the stone, casting warm, flickering shadows that seem to breathe with the life of the forest itself.

At the far end of the hall, seated upon a throne of intricately carved wood and silver, sits Thranduil, the Elvenking. His presence is commanding, yet there is an ethereal grace to him, as if he is as much a part of the forest as the ancient trees that surround Damian. His silver hair flows like liquid starlight over his shoulders, and his eyes, sharp and discerning, watch Damian approach with an unreadable expression.

Thranduil raises a hand, his fingers adorned with rings that catch the light, and the hall falls into a deep silence, save for the crackling of the fires. He leans forward slightly, his gaze never leaving Damian's, and speaks in a voice that is both melodic and firm, like the whisper of wind through the trees, yet with the weight of centuries behind it.