updates status: semi-hiatus events: none at the moment queue: 5-7 posts a day queue tag: why'd u only queue me when u're high requests: closed previously: +fearwill +mvttmrdck
currently obsessing:the witcher listening:simulation theory watching: +strangers from hell s1 +kuroko no basket s1
Thranduil Oropherion is a woodland elf, born and bred of the trees; first in Doriath, then the Greenwood. So long has he lived under leaves and between roots that his blood and his spirit and the power of the Wood have intertwined.
All things in the Greenwood know their King; the flora flutter their leaves and unfurl their petals for his pleasure, and the fauna come close about his feet, honoring him with their trust. It is his power and fea which allowed the Silvan elves to first domesticate the great elk for riding; and even now, the great lords of the elk will only suffer themselves to be bridled by the king’s hand.
In all things he is of the Wood; even his essence ebbs and flows with the seasons. There are six seasons in the Eldar loa, or growing year, and Thranduil’s scent changes with each one.
In Ethuil, the spring, he smells of wildflowers, of cherry blossoms, of dark and urgent loam and the ecstasy of growth.
In Laer, the summer, he smells of bright sunshine and roses, rich honey and ripe forest berries.
In Iavas, the autumn, he smells of crisp, chill air, warm spice and the last burst of fading flowers, made more beautiful by their own mortality.
In Firith, the fading, his scent alike fades to muted earth and dark spices, comforting and languid and reminiscent of home.
In Rhîw, the winter, he smells of fresh fallen snow and the everlasting green of pine, with hints of frosted mint and the red winter berry, enticing and dangerous.
And in Echuir, the stirring season, he is redolent of the vigorous damp after a soaking rain, when dark winter leaves turn fresh and bright, and the buds are on the branches. In Echuir his scent awakens.
But underneath it all is always Thranduil in essence, strong and steady, vigorous as his name and hypnotic as the light behind his eyes; a scent to beguile the senses and steal the unwary heart.
In a great hall with pillars hewn out of the living stone sat the Elvenking on a chair of carven wood. On his head was a crown of berries and red leaves, for the autumn was come again.
