The stars shone above like silver lanterns, casting their soft glow over the quiet woodland clearing. The trees whispered in a language only the wind could understand, their voices distant yet soothing. But Legolas did not hear them—not truly. His mind was elsewhere, his thoughts consumed by the ache in his chest as he watched you.

You sat beside him on the moss-covered rock, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around yourself. The firelight danced against your skin, highlighting the warmth in your eyes—the very warmth that made his heart tighten.

“A moment in time,” he thought. “And yet, it is everything.”

He knew what troubled you. It was the same thing that troubled him. The same thing that had settled in his soul the day he realized that no matter how much he wished it otherwise, you were mortal. And he was not.

“You are quiet,” you murmured, glancing at him.

Legolas inhaled deeply, the scent of the earth and trees grounding him. “And you are troubled.”

You smiled faintly. “How could I not be? I think about it more often than I should. The days slipping away. The years.” You hesitated, voice softer now. “The fact that one day, I will be gone, and you will still be here.”

The pain that flickered in his eyes was fleeting, but you caught it. He turned away, his fingers brushing absently against the hilt of his dagger. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

At last, he exhaled slowly and turned to face you, his hand lifting to trace his fingers gently along your cheek. His touch was light—reverent, as if he feared you might disappear beneath his hands.

“I would rather love you for a fleeting moment than spend eternity untouched by it,” he whispered, his voice low, steady. “Do not ask me to pretend otherwise.”