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A quick fan art of Essek Thelyss from Critical Role campaign 2 and The Mighty Nein animated series. Character belongs to Matthew Mercer, obviously. Just wanted to do something for myself this morning, after another horrific night, as 600+ deadly drones and missiles of different types were launched at my home city of Kyiv. I am very tired. I can't just keep repeating myself every day. Just have to keep going.

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If you want to support me and my art - my tip jars are HERE along with links to trusted foundations to support Ukraine.

Yandere King Thranduil

"I don't understand why you aren't helping them, Herven. Is it really so difficult for you to help the dwarves?" You question him, though despite your calm tone, there's annoyance in your voice.

"After what that foolish dwarf said? I should have cut off his head, and his entire... little retinue. I was merciful to lock them in the dungeon." His tone is serious and sharp when he speaks.

He ascends the throne steps and sits down, crossing his leg elegantly.

"Thanduill, please—" You try to reason with him, without success.

"Silence. I find this conversation insidious and unpleasant. The matter will not be discussed further." He orders firmly, leaving no room for argument.

He looks at you critically, then, with a dismissive gesture, takes a long sip of wine from a glass. You bite your cheek. This arrogant and stubborn elf...

"As Your Highness commands." You say with distaste and give an exaggerated, mocking bow, turning to leave the throne room.

"Ni pedin gin lelin, herves." I didn't say you could leave, wife.

"Im i rîs; ú-thovin i edraith lín, Aran." I am the queen; I don't need your permission, Your Majesty.

You say firmly, looking at him over your shoulder. Before you can descend the steps, the guards block your path.

"Allow me to disagree, my dear. No one can take a step in this kingdom without my permission first, not even you."

~~~

You walk slowly through the garden, letting the moonlight envelop you in an almost celestial halo. You approach the flowers, your fingers gently brushing the fragile petals.

"I suspected you'd be here, Naneth." Mother.

Your son's unusually affectionate voice greets you, flooding the garden like a warm and comforting light.

"Were you looking for me, Ion nin?" My son.

You hum softly, glancing at the flower one last time before turning to face your son, the sole source of your joy. Your heart warms.

"I couldn't see you all day. I wanted to make sure you were alright, Naneth." Mother.

You smile gently as he approaches your open arms, inviting him into a hug. He rests his head on your shoulder, and you stroke his long hair, so like his father's.

"What makes you think your mother would be in danger, Ion?" Son.

Legolas tenses in your arms, but quickly composes himself, gently pulling away and giving his father a respectful nod of greeting.

He pauses for a brief moment, choosing his words carefully.

"I'm just worried about the orcs that appeared on the outskirts of the kingdom, Adar." Father.

Thanduil examines his son, assessing him with a look that shows little impression, then hums dismissively.

"Is that so...? For someone who claims to be so worried, it took you a long time to get here..." Your husband approaches slowly, his white cloak trailing behind him. "Was it because of a certain Captain of the Guard?"

Your son straightens, hesitates for only a second, and as he opens his mouth to reply, Thanduil raises his hand, silencing him.

"We'll talk about it later, just you and me. Now go, your mother needs to rest."

His command comes out clear and firm; your son doesn't hesitate, although his jaw is tense, as he kisses your knuckles and says goodbye, leaving you alone with your husband. He places a hand on your lower back and guides you to your shared quarters.

~~~

"I don't understand why you're so hard on our son." You don't hide your annoyance, gently brushing your hair, but your fingers grip the brush handle tightly.

"You certainly don't understand many things, Meleth." Love.

He hums before taking a sip of wine from the golden goblet in his hand. He's lying on the bed, propped up on the pillows, looking at you intently.

"Legolas is in love, it's normal, he's still a child—"

"Legolas is an adult, Meleth. He knows perfectly well the consequences of his actions." He interrupts you, his voice heavy with disdain and exasperation. "His... little infatuation with that girl is just that, an infatuation."

He sets the empty glass down on the table with a metallic clang, stands up, and slowly approaches you. He stops behind you, his hands resting on your shoulders, gently brushing your hair aside.

"You know I would never allow that relationship... to flourish. Legolas deserves far better than a common Silvan elf..."

He takes hold of your jaw between his long fingers and gently lifts your head so your eyes meet his in the mirror. His eyes are darkened with a familiar darkness.

"But we can always have another child... fix everything that went wrong with Legolas... don't you think, Meleth?" Love.