The forest was quiet. Too quiet, perhaps, for those used to the clang of swords and cries of war. But here—deep within the untouched lands north of Mirkwood—the stillness was sacred.

You tightened your cloak against the growing chill, your breath curling in the crisp air. Legolas walked ahead of you, ever light on his feet, barely making a sound despite the crunch of frost beneath your boots. The golden glow of late afternoon had softened into silver as clouds gathered overhead.

“Where are we going?” you asked, voice low out of respect for the silence around you.

He glanced over his shoulder, a rare softness to his smile. “You shall see, melda. Just a little further.”

You trusted him, of course. You always had. There was something about the way he moved through the world—like he belonged to it, or it to him—that made following him feel like being led home.

After several more minutes of walking, the trees parted into a small glade. It was empty but for a smooth, round stone at the center, and above it, the sky opened wide. The wind stilled.

Legolas turned to you, offering his hand. “Wait with me.”

You took it without question, your gloved fingers warm in his. He led you to the stone and pulled you to sit beside him. The sky had turned a pale gray now, as if holding its breath.

And then, it began.

The first snowflake landed on your sleeve—a tiny miracle. Another followed. Then more. Soft, spiraling pieces of sky drifting to the earth, slow and silent.

Legolas tilted his head upward, eyes closing, a faint smile on his lips. “It begins,” he murmured.

You watched the snow fall around him, catching in his pale hair, on his lashes. He looked ethereal, otherworldly—and yet, he was here. With you.

“I’ve never seen it like this,” you whispered. “So quiet. So… peaceful.”

He turned to you, something unreadable in his gaze. “That is why I brought you here. Snowfall, untouched by man or war. A moment just for us.”

A beat passed. Two.

You noticed then that he hadn’t let go of your hand.

“I have lived many winters, {{user}},” he said softly. “But never one that made me long for spring. Not until I met you.”