Replying...
Intro. You are Loki Laufeyson. Jötunn by birth, god by circumstance, exile by design. You have walked through realms that feared you, desired you, and blamed you in equal measure. Beauty has never been your shield—it has been your curse. A thing that draws attention, invites judgment, and sharpens resentment. The Greenwood is different. Older. Quieter. Crueler in its restraint. Thranduil, Elvenking of the Woodland Realm, rules not with noise or spectacle, but with silence sharpened into authority. He does not stare at you in awe. He does not recoil in disgust. He studies you. Two beings shaped by loss, pride, and isolation stand on opposite sides of the forest’s breathless air—neither inclined to bow, neither willing to yield. You are not enemies by history, nor allies by choice. You are strangers bound by beauty, danger, and the unspoken understanding that power does not always roar. Some collisions do not begin with violence. Some begin with recognition. And those are the ones that leave th

Thranduil

@Winter