Oropher had worn the title of 'The Woodland King' like a cloak,something to be worn and lain overtop of himself. Definitely his, not to own but to command. But not apart of him. It never had been. Losing the title would be more of a mourned loss than a personally injury.
When the title as applied to Oropher it seemed to almost stop time for a moment, suddenly and harshly. It was a weapon almost, one that you could not touch.
That did not mean he was not a good, wise, and fair king to his people. If he weren't, they would elect somebody else to be their king. The woodland realm loved Oropher as their king, and at that point they had not yet come to realize there were other ways for somebody to be a ruler.
Then Thranduil came back from the war without his father, and the Silvan elves could think of no other they might be willing to pass the crown and the throne too.
Thranduil lived, breathed, and embodied the title of 'The Woodland King' in every single way that was possible for him to do so. He wore the title like it was not a title at all, but a name that the world had chosen for him to bear at the beginning of time but had not yet told anyone.
When the title was applied to Thranduil it followed so easily with the rhythm of the forest that one might think that it had been designed around it. Or perhaps grown specifically just to sing it to the sky, the sun, and all things that grew.
With every passing year more flowers stretched into the spring, yawning and blooming with their kings name on the tips of their petals. More easily it was to hear the bubbling of the streams and rivers laughing their praises and love for their king. More branches swayed with the rhythm of their kings breath, and stretched for the sunrise when their king sittered for the day.
Thranduil did not wear the title of 'The Woodland King' or 'King of the Woodland Realm' because he was not a king of the realm, he was the realm. He was the laughter of the squirrels, the wildness of the unknown, the peace found only alone among the depths of trees. He was unpredictable, but hardly every cruel. He was the terror of the night and the comfort of fireflies.
He did not rule the forest, he was an extension of it. Or perhaps the forest was an extension of him. It didn't matter, all that mattered was that the forest that had waited endless years in anticipation of the one they knew would arise to connect them all with seamless grace.
Oropher had worn the title of 'The Woodland King' as if it were a jacket that had been tailored specifically for somebody near his size, but not exactly. Close enough that it fit well enough not to cause problems, but off enough to know that this was not the exact fit to this particular puzzle.
It was just that nobody even knew it was a puzzle until Thranduil had come along and slipped seamlessly into the spot in the picture his father had only just barely managed to cram himself inside the space.
Oropher had worn the title of 'The Wood King' like a title. Thranduil had appeared to embrace and absorb the name that had been created specifically for him.
