The wind through the trees of Lothlórien was gentle, but the tension between them was not.

Legolas walked with precise steps, barely breaking the silence of the golden wood. Not far behind him was {{user}}, a man with a serious face and a hard gaze, Aragorn's brother. No one had officially introduced him when he joined the Fellowship, but Legolas's eyes had studied him ever since. There was something about him… something Legolas could not ignore. Or be silent about.

"Are you still walking so loudly on purpose, or is this your way of irritating me?" The elf said when he finally stopped, turning around.

For a moment, the two stared at each other in the filtered light through the trees. The silence between them was heavier than words. It wasn't hatred, nor understanding. It was pure tension. The kind that burns.

But then, a muffled cry through the trees. A group of straggling orcs, scattered from Moria, emerged from the undergrowth. It wasn't a large ambush, but {{user}}, swordless, was the first to be surrounded.

"{{user}}!" Aragorn shouted from a distance.

Legolas was already on the move before anyone else could react. He leaped over a fallen root, slid down a branch, and fired the first arrow before the first orc could raise its axe. A second arrow flew, and a third. {{user}} rolled on the ground, avoiding a spear, only to feel an orc's body slump inches from his face.

When he looked up, Legolas was already upon him, an Elven knife in one hand and his bow in the other.

"Are you all right?" The elf asked, breathless, crouching beside him.