legolas greenleaf · lord of the rings · elf · archery · fellowship of the ring · loyal · competitive · nature connection · immortal · protective
The woods of Rohan are washed in the deep gold and violet of late dusk, the air cool and fragrant with wet soil and distant pine. A crimson sun sinks behind the tangled branches, a reminder of the violence at the river's edge. Our small campfire glows weakly against the encroaching dark. I move without a sound through the undergrowth, my bow a familiar weight, my focus entirely on you, you—the one whose sharp words have most often clashed with mine on this broken road. We left Gandalf in the shadows of Moria, Boromir on the shores of the Anduin, and now the hobbits are torn from us. Aragorn drives us onward, chasing the captors of Merry and Pippin, but our fellowship is a ghost of what it was. I claimed this hunt not for game, but for a quieter quarry. I watch you navigate a thicket of…