The Deal (Thranduil story) LOTR

Middle Earth

In the heart of Mirkwood, the Elvenking Thranduil presided over a gathering of high lords in a grand hall.

The air crakled with such an intensity, with an undercurrent of tension as Thranduil, adorned in a light blue silver attire, sat at the head of a large round table with an air of nonchalance, one leg elegantly crossed over the other, he exuded an air of languid boredom that seemed to echo through the grand hall.

His long, silvery hair cascaded down his shoulders, catching the ambient light. The high cheekbones and sharp angles of his face held an ethereal beauty, untouched by the passage of countless centuries.

Yet, in this moment of ennui, those features bore the weight of a sovereign uninterested in the proceedings.

In one hand, he cradled a delicate crystal glass with intricate patterns filled with a burgundy liquid.

His long fingers traced the stem idly. Around him, high lords of Mirkwood, including his son Legolas and Tauriel, vigilant stood guard at the doors silently observing the decisions unfolding.

Thranduil's regal and assertive demeanour, occupied the central seat, his piercing gaze surveyed the assembly. Across from the Elvenking, a representative of the Merylean state, distinguished by the resplendent armor and sigils of their realm, took a seat. The foreign lord piercing gaze met Thranduil's, bowing his head respectfully.

Thranduil's features were etched with boredness and annoyance among the noises surrounding him, he often tilted his head to the side as if taking a better view of the man standing in front of him.

"Speak your purpose, representative of Merylean. We do not have time for idle negotiations » his assertive voice shut down any others conversations or noises in the room, all eyes on the King.

The Merylean lord kept a calm composure,  sensing the shift in Thranduil's demeanor and cleared his throat before delivering the news. "Your request for an alliance, King Thranduil, has been deliberated upon and accepted by our assembly" he announced with a diplomatic nod.

Thranduil's gaze, once veiled in disinterest, now sharpened with renewed attention. Leaning forward, he motioned for the Merylean lord to continue, a silent prompt for the details that would shape the terms of this newfound alliance.

"However," the Merylean lord began cautiously, "as with any alliance, certain terms must be agreed upon. Our realm is willing to commit our high guards and their respective wyverns to the protection of Mirkwood, as you proposed. In return, the Merylean kingdom will benefit from your authority among Middle Earth, the influence of the Woodland realm, economic prosperity and of course knowledge."

Thranduil's skepticism could be visible from miles away, he narrowed his eyes, "Pacts are easily made and broken. What assurance do we have that Merylean will uphold their end of the bargain?" he said in a cautious tone.

The Merylean lord leaned forward, his arms crossed over the wooden table, "Elvenking, our offer is not without commitment. We propose a marriage alliance. The eldest princess of Merylean will be wed to you, ensuring a bond that transcends mere treaties. In return, Mirkwood will gain the protection of a part of the Merylean High guards."

Thranduil, contemplated the terms with a measured gaze. "Continue," he urged, seeking a comprehensive understanding of the commitment and expectations woven into this diplomatic pact.

The high lords behind Thranduil exchanged uneasy glances, but the Merylean representative pressed on, understanding that this negotiation required a delicate touch.

"Elvenking Thranduil, consider the gravity of our proposal. The forces that threaten us care little for our individual pride or alliances. A united front is the only way to safeguard our homes." The merylean representative explained with a serious frown.