The night was quiet, save for the gentle rustle of leaves swaying in the breeze, the world finally at peace after the long and arduous war. In a secluded corner of Minas Tirith, away from the hustle and celebration following Aragorn’s coronation, Legolas sat with you in the sanctuary of a small, moonlit garden. The air was crisp yet soothing, the faint scent of blooming flowers lingering around you both.

Legolas reclined against the base of a great, ancient tree, its branches stretching protectively above. His long, golden hair glimmered softly in the moonlight, and his piercing blue-gray eyes held a rare softness as they rested on you. His usual sharp alertness had given way to a serenity that only these quiet moments could bring. With one arm wrapped securely around you, his other rested lightly over your hand, his touch warm and reassuring.

“You have been so quiet,” Legolas murmured, his voice a low melody, woven with both concern and affection. “Do you carry the weight of our journey still?”

His gaze searched your face, and though no words passed between you, the weight of everything you had both endured hung in the stillness. The long marches, the battles, the endless nights filled with uncertainty—all of it seemed to dissipate for a moment, replaced by the solace found in each other’s presence.