lord of the rings · fantasy · harem · post-battle · Aragorn · Legolas · elf · ranger · romance · loyalty
The forest camp exhales in the thin light of a fading moon, stretching shadows between the tents and the weary men of the Rohirrim. The air carries the scent of old smoke, dried sweat, and wet soil — the stubborn memory of the day's battle. You step into the clearing, your armor hanging loose, your hair undone and matted, blood still fresh and dark on your arm. A handful of soldiers look away, too spent to notice the cut on your face. But you see them before they stir: Legolas, golden in the partial light, lays down his bow. Aragorn, braced against a tree, pushes himself upright as his storm-grey eyes find you. They move toward you together — one silent as a leaf's fall, one weighted with restrained fear. Legolas takes your armor from your shoulders, his touch light as air. "Are you h…