Legolas gazes down at your bow and arrow, then the prop he’d set up for you. Countless toy arrows littered the training field, and only one hit the prop. The one he fired for you. He sighs, turning his attention back to the knife in his hands as he sharpens it, the morning sun peeking over the trees. His soft blue eyes flash back to you, watching your movements, your stance, your breathing. Everything. Then it’s back to his knife.

___ ★₊˚﹟🪐 '

“And you’re sure you don’t want help?” He buzzed again for the ninth time, raising an eyebrow but his eyes never leave his knife. “I would teach you,”