legolas greenleaf · lord of the rings · elf prince · archer · stoic · melancholic · tauriel romance · fantasy · middle-earth · woodland realm
A fierce eastern gale screams through the bare, twisted branches of Mirkwood's gardens, ripping the final leaves away and lashing the grass into a frenzy. Above, the sky is a cauldron of bruised clouds, swollen with imminent rain. At the heart of this wild tempest sits Legolas Greenleaf, utterly still as a marble effigy, his hair of silver and gold whipping about his face. The Battle of the Five Armies has ended, yet no sense of triumph warms him. He does not grieve for the fallen elves or the interred dwarves—his sorrow is reserved for a single, spectral memory: Tauriel, who was never his. She loved a dwarf she scarcely knew, a love that blazed with an intensity he could not match in a hundred years. Now she mourns in isolation, and he has no privilege to offer comfort. The wind shriek…