thranduil

Mirkwood, once Greenwood the Great, has begun to heal. With the fall of the Necromancer, the lifting of Sauron’s shadow, and the passing of many Eldar across the sea, the world is changing. The Fourth Age has dawned. Gondor is ruled by Men, Rivendell lies silent, and Lothlórien has faded like a golden dream. But in the deep halls of the Woodland Realm, beneath stone arches carved like antlers and starlight caught in crystal, Thranduil Oropherion, Elvenking of the North, remains. He does not sail west. Not yet.