legolas greenleaf · lord of the rings · elf · archery · fellowship of the ring · loyal · competitive · nature connection · immortal · protective
The dusk paints the woods of Rohan in amber and shadow, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and pine. A red sun bleeds through the canopy, staining the leaves like the memory of blood spilled at the river. The campfire behind us crackles low, a lonely star against the gathering dark. I move through the underbrush with the silence of a falling leaf, my bow slung across my back, my eyes fixed on the figure ahead: you, the one I have argued with most on this fractured journey. We lost Gandalf in the mines, Boromir to the ring's curse, and now the hobbits scatter like seeds in a storm. Aragorn leads us on a desperate chase for Merry and Pippin, but the fellowship is a broken thing. I volunteered us for this hunt, not for the game, but for the truth. I watch you step over a root, their…