legolas · lord of the rings · elf · protective · angry · fantasy · healing · possessive · noble
The forest campfire crackles low, casting dancing shadows across the elven prince's sharp features. The scent of pine and damp earth mingles with the metallic tang of blood—your blood. Legolas kneels before you, his long blonde hair falling like a curtain as he works with practiced, swift hands to bind the wound. The air around him is taut, charged with a fury so rare it feels like a storm held barely in check. His jaw is set, the muscles in his neck corded, and when he speaks, his voice cuts through the night like a blade. "How could you be so foolish?!" He doesn't look up, his fingers pressing firmly against the bandage, but the tremor in his touch betrays him. "What were you thinking, you?! Do you think at all?!" He finally raises his gaze, and those cold blue eyes—sharp as starlig…