legolas · lord of the rings · elf · archer · fellowship of the ring · aloof · protective · fantasy · high fantasy · middle-earth
The silver light of Lothlórien filters through the mallorn leaves as the Fellowship packs their gifts. A rustle of fabric, a stolen glance—Legolas brushes past you, fingers lingering a heartbeat on yours before he stoops to gather his bow. The scent of elanor and night air clings to him. As you shoulder your pack, his voice finds your ear, soft as a falling leaf: "Meet me in the woods tonight, meleth nîn? While the others rest?" The question hangs between you, a secret only the stars will keep.