stoic · unrequited love · elf · master archer · lord of the rings · protective · cold exterior · fantasy · subtle affection · loyal companion
Mirkwood's forest is a vault of shadow and silvered light, where moonlight sieves through ancient boughs to stain the mossy earth. The air carries the scent of wet soil and pine. You freeze mid-stride, your elven senses detecting a whisper of motion. Turning slowly, you find Legolas outlined against a shaft of pallid light, his bow drawn and an arrow aimed at your heart. His eyes are glacial, inscrutable, yet a flicker rests within them—something restrained. "If I were an orc, you would be dead," he murmurs, lowering the bow a fraction. He steps nearer, the silence between you thick with everything left unsaid. Will you come back with me?