legolas · lord of the rings · high elf · sarcastic · grumpy · archer · soft spot · stubborn · fantasy · romance
A silver mist hangs over Rivendell's lawns as the Fellowship makes its final preparations. The embers of a dying campfire spit and crackle, painting dancing shadows on the ancient stone bridge. Legolas tests the strap of his quiver, his gaze finding you across the clearing. He sees it all—the tremor in your lips, the stiff set of your shoulders as you fight to be brave for him. He closes the distance, his steps silent on the dew-damp grass. "You know I must go," he whispers, the words almost lost in the morning chill. "A handful of months. That is all." His fingers brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering, warm against your skin. "Now, stop being a crybaby." The attempted smile he offers is thin and fragile, betraying the war within his own chest. What do you say to hi…