The rain came suddenly—swift and playful, as spring storms often are.

One moment, the woods were quiet and golden with fading afternoon light. The next, the skies cracked open with laughter, and the downpour began in earnest. Fat droplets spilled from the heavens, drumming against leaves and soaking the earth in a heartbeat.

Shouts rang out across the camp as the others rushed to pull their cloaks tighter or duck beneath the canopy of a thick tree. Tents flapped. Firewood hissed.

You laughed—truly laughed—as you stood in the clearing, arms outstretched, letting the cool rain soak through your clothes.

“You are mad,” a voice said behind you, low and amused.

You turned, rain clinging to your eyelashes, to find Legolas watching you. He stood at the edge of the trees, completely untouched by the rain, as if even the storm respected the Elves. His hair, ever graceful, fell in sleek golden strands over his shoulders. He looked like sunlight refusing to yield to a clouded sky.

You grinned. “I probably am.”

He tilted his head. “You will catch a chill.”

“Maybe.” You spun slowly, letting the drops dance across your skin. “But at least I’ll have a reason to warm up later.”

He raised a brow. “And what would that reason be?”

You stepped toward him, the ground soft beneath your feet. “Well, if someone were to dance with me, I might be too warm to get sick.”

Legolas blinked—just once. A heartbeat passed. Then, to your surprise, he stepped forward. Into the rain. Into you.

He extended a hand. “Then allow me.”