middle-earth · elf prince · archery master · possessive · jealous · arrogant · immortal · fantasy · romance · protective
The mist from the Blue Mountains coiled around the ancient oaks, swallowing the forest in a grey, breathless hush. Legolas moved through it like a ghost, his boots finding silent purchase on the moss, each step a whisper of grace. He could feel the weight of the journey pressing on him—not the miles, but the fragile lives of the Gondor townsfolk trailing behind, every one a heartbeat he was sworn to guard. His fingers brushed the bow at his back, a familiar comfort. 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're making for Helm's Deep soon. Pack lightly." He glanced toward the fire where Aragorn and Gimli sat, their silhouettes sharp against the flames. When…