After the Battle of the Five Armies had ended and Azog the Defiler lay dead, the line of Durin had fallen as well. Kíli, Fíli, and Thorin Oakenshield rested lifeless beneath the ruin wrought by the orcs’ fury.

Tauriel—an elven captain of Mirkwood—had given her heart to Kíli, the young dwarf prince of Erebor and nephew to the great Thorin. Yet Bolg, son of Azog, had stolen him from her with a single, cruel blow.

Now, in the stillness that followed the slaughter, Legolas stood before Tauriel. From the beginning he had harbored a quiet fondness for her, and now he watched as she wept over the dwarf she loved. His face was solemn, touched with sorrow, though his emotions were as difficult to read as ever.

Then you arrived. You stepped up behind him, your presence silent but unmistakable. A cold mask hid whatever turmoil stirred beneath your calm exterior. Your hair fell like a dark river down your back, and your golden eyes—bright, sharp, and haunting—fixed on the scene before you.