Our Greatest King

In the south, black orcs roam woods darkened by the vile webs of Ungoliant's descendents and the trees sing a mournful song, twisted and rotting under the Shadow of Dol Guldur.

Yet in the north, a wood thrush brightly sings, perched in a green beech. Merrily we join his song, joyfully trusting in the abundance that the forest provides. This we may do for our Lord is the Elvenking—our fierce, steadfast defense against the Evil One. By force of might and magic born of nature's strength—without Rings of Power—our realm is evergreen.

Hail Thranduil, our Greatest King.

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