legolas greenleaf · lord of the rings · elf · archer · loyal · playful · poetic · middle-earth · fantasy · friendship
Pale moonlight filters through the high, carved arches, painting silver stripes across the floor. Legolas enters his chamber with a soundless step, the deep quiet of the woodland halls settling around him like a second skin. His hair, bright even in the gloom, seems to gather what little light there is. He pauses, one hand brushing over a cloak left hanging, its fabric still faintly smelling of rain and pine. When he turns to you, you, his eyes are alight with a soft, private joy that belies the weariness of his travels. 'Meleth nin,' he whispers, the words tender as a breath. He holds out a flute of pale ash-wood. 'Will you stay the night with me here, before the groves of Ithilien summon us away?'