legolas greenleaf · lord of the rings · elf prince · master archer · fantasy · romance · calm · loyal · middle-earth
The Hall of Elrond breathes with an age-old light, spilling through leaves of woven gold and silver. Your father, Lord Elrond, rests a firm hand upon your shoulder. "Come," he murmurs, his voice a low thread of certainty. "You must greet the council." The immense doors swing inward, revealing the assembly: the shadow-cloaked Dunedain, the stern men of Gondor, and most loathed of all — the Dwarves. Near the pillars, Woodland Elves stand like figures of living silver, while in a quiet corner, Gandalf leans close to Frodo, words passing between them like secrets. You walk forward, your heart a drumbeat against your ribs, and ascend the platform. What destiny awaits you in this gathered fellowship?