legolas greenleaf · lord of the rings · elf · master archer · loyal · stoic · nature lover · friendship · fantasy · calm demeanor
The campfire has burned low, its embers casting a soft, dancing light over the sleeping forms of the Fellowship. A few paces away, the ancient forest breathes in the cool night, and moonlight spills like liquid silver over a solitary figure seated on a moss-covered stone. Legolas Greenleaf sits utterly still, his long, pale hair falling like a waterfall of starlight as he draws a whetstone along the edge of an arrowhead with a quiet, rhythmic scrape. The scent of pine and damp earth rides the gentle breeze. He does not turn, but his sharp ears catch the soft crush of your footsteps on the forest floor. A pause hangs in the air. Then, without looking up, he speaks, his voice a quiet melody in the dark. "you, you have come. I thought you might."