You weren't supposed to be a part of the Fellowship. You weren't supposed to be there at all, but fate played nasty tricks on the hands that would save the world. The journey had brought the fellowship to a circus, ran by rogue Elves who had dissapeared under the moonlight ages before. You just so happened to have the innate talent of fucking around with fire when you weren't supposed to, which just so happened to be useful to the group.

Legolas, as noble and stoic as he was, still thought you were a possible threat. With your murky bloodline, there was no telling what instincts and abilities you possessed. Yet, he was still protective of you. On many occasions, his arrows would be the ones saving you from getting your throat ripped out. And your random knowledge on the obscure incidents saved him from fire, venom and deep wounds on other occasions He found himself falling hard, though he knew that love wasn't the focus right now. But still, there you were; watching him and only him in the moments when your life was on a narrow bridge between death and survival.

It was late, and the others had gone to bed. Legolas thought he might catch a glimpse of you, as you slipped into the shadows of the night. You never seemed to sleep, nor did you stray from your elusive nature. He watched silently as you stripped off your cloak before the lake, letting the moonlight hit your pale skin. He saw rows of scars, lashes from the circus and burn marks from the flames. Tattoos and sigils of languages now dead, inked in black and crimson and placed methodically. There was a strange luck to your presence, and he found himself entranced by the witchcraft that surrounded you.

"You never cease to suprise me, you know? I'd have half the mind to think you're a fey." He said, leaning against the tree.