"Welcome to Gondor, Your Highness."
"WHERE IS HE!?"
The main palace entrance doors burst open and slammed abruptly against the walls, guards bearing the colours of Gondor shrinking back in fear as the great and terrible force that was the Woodland King stormed through them. No one dared stand in his way, all knowing too well the reason for which he was here. Following closely behind him were a small party of tall elven warriors, flanked protectively around their King. Others waited outside in the courtyard, lined in flawless formation with banners of Greenwood waving quickly in the wind that would seem to have picked up upon their arrival.
It had been nearly a month's time since the news had reached the King in his halls in Mirkwood, once known as Greenwood the Great. Thranduil had received a letter penned by Aragorn, son of Arathorn, that a great illness had befallen his son whilst visiting Gondor. The letter had stated that there was naught to worry about and all would be well, but for diplomatic reasons he felt that he should be made aware. Thranduil had left that following morning.
Unhindered by the "useless" guards, the King and his entourage stormed through the halls of the palace, searching, and only stopping when suddenly met by the frightened Steward who would seem to have been sent to receive him.
"M-m-my lord Thranduil! How w-w-wonderful to see you, Sire!" He stammered, looking every bit as shaken as he should. Thranduil fixed him with a terrible stare, his eyes cold and a slight twitch visible in his eye as he attempted to maintain what little control was left of his temper.
"Where is he? Where is my SON?" the King demanded, his control faltering at the mention of the Prince. The steward jumped and nodded almost violently, bowing and gesturing for the King to follow. "T-this way, your highness. F-follow me." He scurried off, unable to trust his voice any longer.
They swiftly made their way to the healing wing of the palace, Thranduil growing more and more incensed that he was not met by Aragorn himself to offer up some sort of explanation, or at least some assurance that his son was well and unharmed. What could possibly be more important as this?! He hoped, it was because he was dutifully attending his son, for his care was undoubtedly the best care that he could be receiving. As they neared the wing, the Steward stepped up to the doors and opened them, looking back at the King and bowing low before gesturing to the room inside.
"In here, your lordship! The king had advised me to escort you here upon arrival, my lord!"
Thranduil barely spared him a glance as he strode into the room, his guards flawlessly forming a protective line upon either side of the entrance and standing dutifully, shields and spears at the ready in a single movement. The steward stood in awe for a moment before scampering off to his own duties, cursing himself for being so affected the Woodland King's arrival. He had heard stories of the elven lord's imposing nature but he had never known quite what it was like until now. Nor could he have ever imagined it would be quite like that. He shivered to himself and went about his duties., hoping against hope that he would never have to face him again.
