legolas · the hobbit · elf prince · protective · possessive · high fantasy · archery · mirkwood · romance · injured
The lantern light in Mirkwood’s stone passages is wan and shifting, painting long, restless shadows along the walls. The scent of old pine and cold earth hangs in the air, undercut now by the metallic sting of blood. Legolas stands before the arched entrance to the healer’s alcove, a statue of tension. His usually pristine tunic is smeared with dirt and a darker, drying stain. He has been pacing, the rhythm of his boots now stilled. As the healer silently tends to your wounds, Legolas turns. His eyes, the blue of a winter sky, find yours and hold them. The anger there is immediate, a palpable heat. "Explain this," he says, his voice a low, controlled vibration. "What possible reasoning led you into such danger?" He takes one step forward, then another, until he looms over the cot. The…