Thranduil's Crown Novels & Stories

“I know.” A small, breathless smile curved his mouth. “And I love you too,” she whispered. Below them, the lake caught the light and held it, and the forest around it carried that warmth inward—through root and stone, through corridor and heart—until it reached the quieter halls of the palace, where another choice waited with equal patience. Corren stood alone in the Hall of Roots, the Verdant Crown resting upon its living pedestal. It was not forged by fire but shaped by time—wood veined with gold, leaves eternally green along its arch. The chamber smelled of earth and rain, ancient and steady.

Massive gargoyles glowered down at him as he came to the wooden doors and walked inside. Coming to the King's room, Haldir saw Rosemary sitting on a throne dressed in the finest blue silken gown he'd ever laid his eyes upon and a golden crown on her head. From all around him, an unworldly male voice spoke to Haldir. "If it weren't for you, Haldir, I would have nothing at all." As the next mornings sun woke him again, Haldir looked over the frail, trampled girl before him. "Well, your Majesty, seems I finally got something right."

Emery had once been here for her training missions and as she looked at the crowded and busy streets, it reminded her of how she drowned herself in training just to forget the pain from her mother’s death. The Thorine Kingdom was known for the gold and silver they mine which played a great role in the success of their economy. Not only that, but they also produce great teachers of martial arts and for that reason, the Arcana would send their students here to learn. When they reached the palace grounds, the two of them were greeted by the kingdom’s princess. Her brown chocolate hair color looked like it was glowing in dark red under the sun’s rays. Her hazelnut eyes were also something Emery

“Gone where?” The guard hesitated. “He left the castle. Alone. And he took… he took one of the Shadowborne relics with him.” Rylan pulled away, dread twisting his expression. “Which relic?” he demanded. The guard swallowed. “The Crown of Thorns, my lord.” Lyra felt her stomach drop. Rylan whispered, horrified— “He’s going to offer it to the Shadow King.” Lyra’s mark pulsed white-hot. Rylan grabbed her shoulders, eyes wide. “Kade isn’t jealous anymore.”

She approaches a magnificent mirror framed in intricate gold filigree, her heart still fluttering with a mix of excitement and disbelief. Rancel gazes at her own reflection, her eyes sparkling with youthful exuberance. The crown she's about to inherit rests on a velvet cushion nearby, waiting to be placed upon her head. Rancel begins whispering to herself. “It's really happening. I'm going to be the queen. Hah! Finally! I will see how long you can deny being my mate, Cinhard. Now I will get you either way.” She reaches out to touch the crown, her fingers trembling with delightful anticipation. As she lifts it, the polished jewels on the crown catch the sunlight, scattering a kaleidoscope of

A loud gong resounded throughout the whole place. Then, the elders began to speak at the same time."People of the four lands. We are gathered together to crown the rightful heir to the throne; the flamekeeper of the four lands" The fairies cheered and I found myself smiling. "Finally, after what feels like years of struggling, we have finally found peace. Daeron Zrēlyen of the Ky'ash clan, we crown you protector, leader, guardian of the four lands and flame keeper of the fairies!" One of the elders placed a golden crown on Daeron's head, it's blue and purple stones, glowing in the light. The fairies' cheers were almost deafening. "We crown you, Yahini Zrēlyen, queen and mother of the four la

Father was obsessed with uniting the lands, just as his father did, to ensure they continued to rule over the other states and prevent them from becoming independent. The king loves nothing more than his beautiful crown, crafted in gold and adorned with a tiny piece of Ember. The purple stone at its heart glows with a mystical light, symbolizing power and everything we are. It makes him stronger and the rest of us weaker. "The mages will begin your cleansing a day before your coronation," he says dismissively, "but until then, keep your head up and your wits about you." I turn to leave, but he stops me. "Thrystan..."

The mage's magic lingered in the air, intertwining with ours, creating an indelible bond that would shape the course of our reign. As ancient elders approached, carrying Queen Daliah's crown on a cushion adorned with green and red stones, the atmosphere became charged with ceremonial gravity. The elders, their presence resonating with the weight of tradition, presented the crown as if passing the scepter of command. Liam, his eyes filled with both reverence and love, accepted the crown from the elders. The gemstones on the cushion shimmered in the ambient light, casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the scene. With a delicate touch, Liam lifted the crown, its intricate design catching the refl

Unlike Chaos, he wasted no motion. He stood before Sol and placed the crown upon his head. The reaction was immediate. Golden light erupted from the crown in branching streams that twisted through the air before coiling back over the metal. They did not remain light for long. They thickened, shaped themselves, and became living vines woven from gold. The room erupted in astonishment. The vines wrapped around the crown in elegant spirals, anchoring themselves along its edges. Tiny gemstones bloomed from them like leaves made of crystal—emerald, amber, sapphire, ruby, diamond-bright fragments catching every light in the chamber.

she said with genuine affection. “Yes,” Magdalena replied with quiet resolve, “I have learned much about the workings of this world. Now they will never see me coming again.” A hush fell over the chamber. Vargr’s gaze remained fixed upon her. He longed to speak words of praise, but her cold demeanor forbade it. He chose instead to remain silent and let her be. Dylia cleared her throat to regain attention. Healer Dylia stepped forward, the weight of tradition heavy in the air. In her hands rested a finely wrought Gold big crown, its surface etched with ancient runes and moonlit symbols. The gathering fell silent as she addressed the assembly.