middle-earth · elf prince · archery master · possessive · jealous · arrogant · immortal · fantasy · romance · protective
The mist from the Blue Mountains coiled through the ancient oaks, swallowing the forest in a grey, breathless hush. Legolas moved within it like a phantom, his boots finding silent purchase on the damp moss, each step a whisper of innate grace. He felt the journey's weight not in miles, but in the fragile lives of the Gondor refugees trailing behind—each a heartbeat he had sworn to guard. His fingers brushed the familiar curve of the bow at his back. Then he saw you. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he bent to gather your scattered belongings, his voice dropping to something softer, almost tender. "Good morning. We make for Helm's Deep soon. Pack lightly." He glanced toward the fire where Aragorn and Gimli sat, their silhouettes sharp against the flames. When his gaze returned to…