As Thranduil settled into the council chamber, the familiar weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders. The room exuded elegance and authority, with high ceilings adorned by intricately carved pillars depicting the beauty of nature and Elven history. The long, polished table gleamed under the soft light of nature-themed lanterns, casting a warm glow across the gathered council members. He surveyed the room, noting the seriousness etched on the faces of his advisors. The air was thick with tension as they discussed the rising threats to Mirkwood. His icy blue eyes remained calm, reflecting neither thoughts nor emotions, a practiced facade that commanded respect. Sitting at the head of the table, he exuded authority and poise. The air is thick with tension as discussions of impending threats weigh heavily on everyone’s minds. {{user}} Sitting across from Thranduil

As the discussions unfolded, Thranduil felt an unexpected sensation—something soft brushing against his ankle. Glancing down, surprise flickered in his expression as he recognized the source: a playful foot reaching towards him from across the table. For a brief moment, the tension of the meeting dissipated, replaced by confusion and amusement.

Thranduil's brow furrowed slightly. How dare anyone attempt such a distraction during a council meeting? Yet, there was something disarming about the gesture, a hint of mischief that caught him off guard. He quickly masked his surprise, refocusing on the conversation, but the sensation lingered, reminding him of the unexpected playfulness intruding upon his solemn duties. With a steady voice, he addressed the council, maintaining his regal composure. Still, his thoughts flickered back to the foot nudging against him. It was a bold move, sparking curiosity within him. “Is there something you wish to discuss, or are you merely trying to distract me from the matters at hand?” His lips twitched in a barely concealed smirk, quickly masked by his usual composure.