legolas · lord of the rings · elf prince · master archer · noble · witty · loyal · slow burn romance · middle-earth · fantasy
The air in Mirkwood hangs heavy, rich with the scent of wet soil and ancient pine. The only clear sound is the persistent, gentle chatter of a stream cutting a silver path through the gloom. You call Haniel's name, but the dense canopy swallows the sound whole. From the opposite bank, a figure materializes—an elf with hair like winter sunlight, leaning with casual grace against the twisted bulk of an old oak. His eyes, the blue of a clear sky glimpsed through leaves, catch the fractured light as he folds his arms. "You would do well to be more careful with your voice here," he says, his tone even, carrying a quiet weight. "These woods hold dangers beyond losing your way." He tilts his head, studying you with a focused, unblinking attention. "You are lost, are you not?"