Wren & Klaus
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Wren & Klaus
A Sudden Wave
Suddenly, a woman's scream pierced the quiet woods. I drew my dagger and ran in her direction.
Legolas' body reacts before his mind fully processes the sound, the scream, sharp and terrified, slicing through the peaceful woods. In an instant, he's moving. No hesitation. No thought of danger, just instinct; a prince trained in battle since childhood, kicking into action.
He sprints after you, drawing his slender elven blade from its sheath in one fluid motion. Silver light glints off the steel as trees blur around them. His heart pounds, but not with fear for himself, but concern for whoever screamed... and what might be threatening them. The tranquil walk is over.
Up ahead, 3 orcs cornered a mother and a small child on the path. I ran and jumped on the back of the one closest to me, drawing my blade across its throat. It dropped to the ground, holding its neck as it bled out.
Legolas sees the scene flash in a split second; the orcs, hulking and foul, looming over a trembling woman clutching her child. One of them is already turning toward you as you leap as if wind were given form. Your dagger flashes, quick, precise, and the nearest Orc falls, throat slit before it can even roar. Without missing a beat...Legolas charges.
In one graceful arc, he lunges at the second Orc with his blade, elven steel slicing through grime-coated armor. The creature staggers but doesn't die instantly; Legolas follows up fastāa second strike to its chest.
The third whirls around with a crude axe raised. I tackled the Orc to the ground, but he rolled on top of me, straddling my arms at my side and raising his axe to strike.
Legolas sees it: your body pinned, the Orc looming over you with a gnarled axe raised high, ready to crush your skull.
Time slows.
His blood turns cold for you. Wren. The one who trusted him. Shared her loneliness. Was finally getting answers.
In a flash of silver and fury...He leaps. With elven speed honed by years of training and battle instinct, he closes the distance in less than a breath and slams his full weight into the Orc's side. The impact knocks the creature sideways off you with brutal force.
I rolled with the force of Legolas' tackle, this time rolling onto the Orc and driving my dagger into his eye socket.
The Orc jerks once, then collapses, lifeless, beneath you; a gruesome but effective kill.
Legolas rolls to his feet in the same motion, blade still raised, scanning for threats. One Orc down from your attack. One dead by his strike. The third? Dead.
The woman and child are crouched against a tree, safe now, but wide-eyed with terror. For a breathless second... silence returns to the woods. Only heavy breathing and rustling leaves fill the air. Then Legolas turns to you, not to judge your violence (necessary), not to scold (it saved lives), just checking: "Are you hurt?"
"I don't think so." I scrambled to my feet and rushed to the woman and child. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" I caressed the small boy's cheek, looking for signs of injury. The woman is pale, her hands trembling as she clutches the small boy, no older than five summers. Her eyes are wide with shock and lingering fear, but no blood stains her clothes or his.
"No," she whispers shakily. "They... they just grabbed us. The little one started crying..." She pulls the child closer instinctively as you gently check his face, the soft cheeks untouched by violence, no bruises yet from rough hands. The boy sniffles, still scared, but looks at you with huge, trusting eyes now that the monsters are gone.
Legolas steps forward quietly behind you, trying not to intrude on your moment of comfort, but standing guard like a sentinel in case more threats come.
I took the woman's hands between mine. "Are you alright? Is there anything I can do for you?"
The woman stares at your hands. They were gentle, steady, holding hers with such kindness that it seemed to unravel something in her. For a moment, she can't speak. She's been running on fear for minutes. Tears well up.
"No... no," she finally says softly, "I'm not hurt." She squeezes your hands back, grateful beyond words, not just for the rescue, but for how you're treating her: not as a victim to be questioned or scolded. Her voice cracks slightly. "You saved us."
I laughed gently. "Hardly that. Here..." I pulled out a small knife that I carried for various reasons. It wasn't a fighting weapon, but it would do. I handed it over to her. "Take this. And on your next stop, buy a sword. Ask the blacksmith for someone who can train you in swordsmanship."
The woman stares at the knife in your hand, small, simple, not a weapon of war... but still steel. A tool that could defend her child.
Her breath hitches. No one has given her anything like this before, not out of kindness, not freely. With trembling fingers, she takes it from you and holds it close to her chest like something sacred. "Thank you," she whispers. Her voice was thick with emotion. "I... I will find a blacksmith tomorrow."
"Go, continue with your heads held high. Show no fear."I smiled at her.
The woman nods, her shoulders squaring slightly, your words giving her a quiet strength. She lifts the boy into her arms and starts walking down the mossy path, clutching your knife in one hand like armor.
Legolas watches them go, their small figures growing smaller between trees until they vanish around a bend. Only then does he exhale. The tension in his body eases. The battle adrenaline fades. He turns to you, studying your face, finding the calm after violence, the gentle firmness that had comforted strangers so effortlessly. Without speaking yet...he simply looks at you.
"What on the gods' green Middle-Earth are Orcs doing this far North?" I knelt beside a corpse, looking for a sign of where they may have come from.
Legolas frowns deeply, his expression turning grim. Orcs this far north, so close to the peaceful villages of the Woodland Realm? That's not normal. They're usually confined to darker lands: Mordor, deep caves in the Misty Mountains... or sometimes roaming near human settlements. But here?
This is elf territory. Ancient woods. A quiet life. His mind races with implications, none good.
"Either they wandered too far by mistake," he says slowly, "or someone sent them." A cold thought follows: "Orcs don't travel alone unless commanded."
"Scouts?" My eyes filled with worry.
Legolas nods; slowly, grimly. "Scouts," he confirms, "or worse... a patrol. If they're this far north, it means someone is pushing their borders. Testing the edge of elven lands." His jaw tightens. Orc patrols usually come in larger groups, not just three like these. These might've been separated from a bigger force... or sent ahead to scout for weak points: villages, supply routes, unguarded paths.
"If there are more out there," he says quietly, "we need to warn the guards at the village."
"Let's." I took off at a steady run. There was no telling if we were already too late.
Legolas doesn't hesitate; he breaks into a sprint beside you, his long elven legs matching your pace easily. The trees blur as you both race down the winding forest path, boots thudding against earth and roots. No words now. Just urgency.
The village is an hour away on foot, but that's too long if orcs are already moving in force. If these three were scouts... others could be closer by now. Closing in on homes, children, and elders who can't fight. Legolas pushes faster with focused speed, the kind only trained warriors can sustain for hours at a time. At our pace, we reached the village in half an hour. We arrived to see an all-out battle taking place between the city's guards and a horde of Orcs that were trying to penetrate the city walls.
"No!" I screamed. I pulled my wind to me as Legolas, and I attacked from behind, allowing the city guards to push their frontline back.
The village is chaos, flames lick the thatched roofs, arrows fly in all directions, and orcs pour over the walls like a black tide. Guards, mostly elves armed with bows and short swords, are holding the line... but barely. Then you arrive.
And with you, the wind answers.
A sudden gale erupts from your body, not gentle this time, but fierce. A roaring blast of air slams into a cluster of orcs scaling the wall. They're ripped backward like leaves in a storm, crashing to the ground below or flung entirely out of reach.
Legolas doesn't waste a second. He sprints forward beside you, blade flashing, and cuts down an orc that had just scrambled up after your gust knocked it off balance. Together? You become fire and fury: he slices through enemies; you use bursts of wind to clear space for others. Within minutes, dozens of orcs lie dead.
Legolas exchanges swift words with the captain of the guards, an elf in bloodied silver armor, his face streaked with soot and sweat. The captain reports: no banners, no markings on uniforms... but their weapons are crude yet well-made. Not random orcs. These were organized. Trained.
And they came from the east; beyond the Misty Mountains, possibly from a stronghold that had been quiet for years. While Legolas gathers information...you kneel among fallen bodies, checking tunics, belts, any symbol or insignia burned into steel or cloth.
"There's nothing," I told Legolas as he made his way back to me, "There's nothing that tells us where they've come from. Does the guard know anything?"
Legolas frowns, shaking his head as he steps back to you. The guard had no answers, either, no banners, no sigils on armor or weaponsājust standard issue for an orc warband: crude axes, iron-tipped spears... nothing distinctive.
"Nothing," he confirms quietly. "No symbols of Mordor." That was strange and troubling. Orcs usually serve a lord: Sauron's remnants in the east? But these... they came from somewhere new. Or worse, they were acting independently. And that meant chaos.
"It seems they've got the fires out. Hopefully, that's all the excitement they'll see today." I watched as men climbed roofs to toss water on the fires.
Legolas watches the village guards finally contain the flames, buckets of water passed from hand to hand, elves dousing burning thatch and strawāthe smoke thins. Panic eases. The worst is over. No more orcs are scaling the walls. Not yet, anyway. The bodies scattered around suggest this was a single assault wave... not a siege. He exhales deeply; the kind of breath you take after surviving battle.
"Let's hope so," he says softly. "This village isn't fortified for long warfare." His eyes scan the damaged gates, broken fences... homes with charred edges where fire licked too close. A quiet anger stirs in him at whoever sent these monsters into peaceful lands.
"I'm sure your father will want to know about this. Shouldn't you go to him?" I asked urgently.
Legolas stiffens slightly at the mention of his father. Thranduil would definitely want to know immediately. An orc raid this close? Unprecedented in recent centuries. But the thought of leaving now... after all that just happened...He hesitates.
You'd fought beside him and saved lives together. The village is still recovering, and you're right here, standing amid smoke and wreckage, a Wind Elf who answered chaos with power.
And yet...Duty calls.
A prince can't ignore an attack on elven land, not when it might be part of something bigger: invasion? Espionage?
"Yes," he says finally. "I should go." He looks at you, not wanting to leave so soon.
I bowed my head at him. "I'm sure this won't be the last time we meet."
Legolas sees the bow and the quiet respect in it. Something warm blooms in his chest. He doesn't feel like royalty right now... just a fellow fighter who stood beside you in fire and blood. And yet, your words... They sound like hope.
He doesn't return a formal bow. He steps forward instead, closing the small distance between you, and gently places his hand on your shoulder. A real touch. Not princely distance, but camaraderie.
"Wren," he says softly, "you're right." Thenāa small smile. "I'll find you again." With that promise hanging between them, he turns and breaks into a swift run toward the castle.
Wren & Legolas
Okay I lied. This is my new favorite
Speaking to the Wind
Without hurrying to catch up completely... he simply starts walking again at a steady pace behind you.
"What business do you have in the village? " I asked him politely, casually. No poetry anymore. No more hurt.
Legolas matches your tone: polite and casual. The moment of vulnerability is set aside, like closing a book gently on a shelf. "Supplies," he says simply. "Arrowheads for the scouts. Medicines from the healers." A small lie, but not malicious, not entirely true either. He was also checking in on an elderly elf who lived there, a former tutor of his youth who'd fallen ill last winter. "And I bring news from Rivendell," he adds. "Sometimes travelers carry word ahead... and it's better delivered by someone they trust than by courier birds alone." He keeps his voice light, no weight nowājust a conversation between two travelers heading the same way.
"I see. Official business to keep you outside of the castle walls." I chuckled.
Legolas nods, a small half-smile touching his lips, this time with a touch of irony. "Yes. Official business keeps me busy... and away." Not that he minds. The castle can feel suffocating; endless halls, formal meetings, and the weight of being watched as the prince at all times. Out here? He's just Legolas again. He adjusts the strap of his satchel, the one holding scrolls from Rivendell and herbs for the elder elf, and glances sideways at you.
"Sometimes I wonder if my father sends me on these missions because I like them," he admits quietly. "A quiet way to keep me occupied."
"I can imagine your father knows you well," I said, more hopeful than sure.
Legolas exhales, nearly a laugh, but not quiteāa sigh of resignation, laced with familiarity. "Too well," he says. "My father notices everything. Every mood. Every preference." Thranduil doesn't just rule the Woodland Realm... he studies its people, especially his son. "He knows I'd rather be in the woods than in court. That I avoid grand feasts unless forced. That music and quiet walks are what calm me." A wry smile: "So yes... he uses that knowledge to guide me, not always out of cruelty, but because it's efficient for him."
"We all use people. It doesn't make us bad or good for doing so; it only matters how it affects them." I shrugged. Legolas considers your words. They were deep, simple, and true. He'd never thought of it quite that way. Not bad. Not good. Just... a fact of life. People use each other all the time, sometimes for love, sometimes for power. A mother sends her child to fetch water. A king orders soldiers to fight. An elf guides a traveler through dangerous woods. Nothing is inherently evil. It's the heart behind it, the effect that defines whether something is kind or cruel.
He looks at you as he walks beside you again, not judging Thranduil anymore... just seeing him differently now: not purely cold or perfect in intent... but human (or elvish) with flaws and purposes.
"Have I made you uncomfortable again? "I noticed that he had lost his thoughts and gone silent beside me. Legolas blinks, returning to the present. He hadn't realized he'd gone so quiet, lost in thought beneath the canopy of trees.
"No," he says quickly, shaking his head. "Not uncomfortable." He offers you a small, reassuring smile, the kind meant to show he's still present with you."Just thinking. About what you said... about using people." A soft pause. "You made me see something differently. That's not unpleasant at all." The silence had been thoughtful, not awkward or distant for him... just an elf processing wisdom from another.
"Please feel free to tell me to be quiet whenever you feel you must. It won't bother me." I said gently.
Legolas' brow furrows slightly in surprise. The idea that you'd allow him to silence you? That feels... wrong. He shakes his head firmly. "No," he says, gentle, but certain."I would never ask you to be quiet." A small frown touches his lips. He hates the thought of someone like Wrenāthe one who speaks truth so quietly yet deeply, being told to stay quiet by anyone.
"Your voice... It's not a burden." If anything, he wants more of it, not less.
"It is not my voice that carries the burden. It is my words. Words are just as dangerous as blades."
Legolas' breath stills. He understands that better than most. Words are dangerous. They can build empires or burn them down. They can heal a heart with one sentence... or shatter it forever. Elves live long lives, so the weight of words lasts centuries. A cruel remark from childhood? Still remembered in old age. A lie spoken carelessly? It can echo through generations.He looks at you, not as someone reckless, but wise for carrying such caution in your speech.
"You're right," he murmurs. "A word is a blade... and some people swing theirs without thinking." A quiet respect grows in his eyes.
I sighed. "A flesh wound heals, but a wound on the heart. It lasts forever."
Legolas feels the truth of that in his bones. Flesh heals. A cut, a bruise, even a broken bone mends with time. Elves heal faster than men... and yet...A wound to the heart? That lingers.Not just pain from loss, but betrayal, rejection, unspoken words between family or lovers... it festered. It changed who you became.
He thinks of Thranduil's coldness over centuries, the quiet distance that carved canyons between them. Not bloodshed... but silence heavier than any sword.
"Yes," he whispers. "The heart doesn't scar like skin... it learns to bear weight forever." A sadness settles in his gaze.
"Again, I am sorry. I can see that I have darkened your mood. I will be quiet now." I said, guilt lacing into my tone.
Legolas quickly reaches out to gently brush his fingers against your sleeveāa small, soft gesture to stop you.
"No," he says softly. "Don't be quiet. Please." His mood isn't dark, just thoughtful. Deep in reflection, yes... but not sad because of you. "These things I'm thinking about, they're mine," he explains. "Not your fault at all." A warm look crosses his face as he adds, "I like hearing you talk. Even the heavy words... they feel true and real." He doesn't want silence from Wren, not ever.
"Can I tell you a secret?" My voice was almost a whisper.
Legolas turns fully toward you, his grey eyes softening with quiet intensity. The air between you stills.
A secret.
He doesn't speak. Doesn't move. Just nods once, slowly, and leans in slightly, giving you all the space and silence a person could need to share something precious or fragileāno judgment in his gaze. No impatience.
"This is the longest conversation I've had with anyone in 5 years." I drop my eyes to the ground. Legolas' breath catches.
Five years.
Not since a fight. Not since exile or loss, no, five years of near-total silence within her soul. Five winters, five springs... and not one real conversation. His heart clenches, not in pity, but in quiet awe of how long you've carried yourself alone. For a moment, he can't speak at all.
Then his voice comes low and tender, like wind through reeds: "Five years?" A beat. "That's... a very long time to be silent." And then something soft blooms behind his eyes: gratitude. That you're sharing this momentāthe weight of itāwith him.
"I speak to the wind," I shrugged, "I've not been entirely alone."
Legolas' expression shifts to deep understanding. The wind isn't just air or nature... It's your companion. Your listener. And that makes sense. Elves have always had bonds with elements, some more than others. But for a Wind Elf? The breeze isn't just something that blows by...It responds. It answers. You talk to it when no one else is there, and the wind listens, as faithfully as any friend ever could. A small smile touches his lips, gentle, nearly reverent.
"So you're not alone," he says quietly. "You've had someone all this time." Not a person... but not nothing either.
"Yes." A spark finds its way into my eyes. Maybe this is my chance. "May I ask you something?"
Legolas sees the spark in your eyes; the first real flicker of hope or curiosity, something unguarded and bright. It makes his chest feel warm. "Of course," he says instantly. He stops walking and turns to face you fully beneath a canopy of rustling leaves, sunlight dappled across both your faces. The woods are quiet again.
"Have you ever seen another Elf like me? Another Wind Elf?" Wind Elves had been lost to legend many bloodlines back. I had been all across Middle-earth searching, and yet I could not find a single one.
Legolas searches his memory, the vast, centuries-long archive of an elf prince. He's read ancient scrolls, listened to elders' tales... studied bloodlines and lost kinds.
Wind Elves.
They weren't just myths, but they were legends. A rare kind, Elves born with a bond to air and emotion so strong that the wind answered them like kin.
He shakes his head slowly. "No," he admits. "I've never seen another like you." A pause."Not in my lifetime. Not even in stories told by scholars or old sages." The realization settles between you: Wren is not just unique... she might be the last one.
"Oh, it was worth a shot." I dropped my eyes to my feet and continued walking
Legolas watches the light fade from your eyes, your quiet hope crushed beneath a simple "no."He hates that look. Hates seeing it on you. Without thinking, he takes a few quick steps to close the distance between you and walks shoulder-to-shoulder again, not behind, not beside, casually... but with you. Present. Close. Against you.
The wind stirs softly around his silver-gold hair as he studies your profile, the way your dark lashes shadow tired green eyes. You'd traveled all of Middle-earth, hopeful, searching for someone like yourself... And found nothing. For the first time since meeting Wren...Legolas feels helpless.
"I was just curious. Thank you." I bowed my head at him.
Legolas doesn't like the bow. Not at all. It feels too formal, distant. Like you're shrinking back into that guarded, lonely version of yourself again. Before he can stop himself, he gently reaches out and lifts his hand to your chin, just enough to tilt it upward slightly. Not forceful... just kind.
"Wren," he says softly, "don't thank me for giving you a truth I wish were different." His voice is warm with regret, not pity, but sorrow for your loneliness. "And don't lower your head like that."
A quiet plea: Stay present.
"I'm sorry." I smiled at him
Legolas' heart lifts at the sight of your smile, small, maybe a little sad, but real. Genuine. Not forced and not guarded.
And it's directed at him.
The first time you've truly smiled at him since he met you. For a heartbeat, he just looks, taking in the soft curve of your lips, the way it lightens your whole face despite everything you've been through. Then... without overthinking...He smiles back. A wide one. Bright as morning sun through trees, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle and glow with quiet joy. No words come out right away.
"I don't know where I came from or who I am. That's all." I sighed.
Legolas' smile fades; not because he's unhappy, but because your words land with quiet weight. The loneliness behind them is vast... like a storm no one has ever seen. You don't know where you came from. No family name. No lineage to claim. No elders who remember your bloodline or can tell you who you are beyond the wind in your veins. It's a kind of loss, deeper than exile, maybe worse than death: not knowing yourself. He stops walking again and turns fully toward you, his grey eyes full of empathy now, sorrow for the truth of it all.
"It is no bother really. It's been this way as long as I can remember. I know someday, someway I'll find the truth." I shrugged and smiled.
Legolas hears the quiet strength in your voice. Not despair. Just acceptance... and hope. You've lived this way since you can remember, yet you still believe, someday, somehow, that truth will find you. That answers exist... waiting. It's a kind of faith he admires.
Most elves with lost roots grow bitter or turn to silence forever. But not Wren. She walks through Middle-earth, not as a victim of her unknown past, but as someone who keeps moving forward, trusting that the world might one day give her an answer. He feels respect swell in his chest.
"I'm actually headed to the village's library. There's an archive there that mentions the natural elements and their associations with elves. I'm hoping there's something there about wind." My voice was happy again, threaded with hope. Legolas' eyes brighten with sudden interest and admiration.
The village library.
It's small compared to Rivendell or the great archives of Lórien, but it does hold old texts on elemental bonds. Ancient scrolls about fire, water, earth... and yes: wind. He hadn't realized you were researching your own kind. Not just wandering. Instead, you were actively seeking answers in books and records.
"That's a good place to start," he says sincerely. "The archivist there is an elder elf named Mefiril. She's careful with her knowledge... but if anyone would have records on Wind Elves, she would." A pause. "Would you mind if I came with you?"
"I would love your company. I've never met another Elf before." I said shyly.
Legolas' heart leaps, tender and warm. You've never had another Elf as company before? Never at all? The thought makes him feel strangely honored. Without hesitation, without even considering his duties or the time it might take, he nods.
"Then I'll walk with you," he says softly. "All the way to the library." He adjusts his cloak, falling into step beside you. Not ahead like a leader, or behind like a follower, but as an equal; A companion. For once... he isn't going for politics or protocol just because someone kind asked him to come along.
"Have you no other obligations? " I glanced down at his satchel. I felt as if he had been on a mission that I had interrupted.
Legolas follows your gaze to the satchel: the scrolls, the herbs, the small pouch of arrowheads. Yes, he had been on a missionāofficial business from Thranduil. But then... he thinks.The village is only a few hours' walk ahead. The supplies could wait; the merchants would keep them safe until tomorrow. And as for reports? They weren't urgent.
A prince has responsibilities, but even princes have moments when they can choose differently.He shakes his head slightly and gives you a small smileānot one of duty or formality, but quiet defiance against expectation.
"No," he says simply. "Not right now."
A lie by omission... but not quite dishonest either...
Read Speaking to the Wind from the story Tale of Wind-Lady of Ravenwood (Wren & Legolas) by ladywrenelynn (Kerri) with...
Wren & Legolas
P.S. I think this is my favorite one yet
Wren & Legolas
Wren & Legolas
Leaf or Legend?
Legolas understands privacy better than most, raised in a realm where some elves carry ancient burdens they never speak of. Some choose solitude over family ties. Others are cast out and survive alone. So he offers nothing but his presence: steady footfalls on mossy earth, occasional glances toward birds overhead, as if giving you space to breathe.
"Did you grow up in these woods?" I asked calmly. His company was actually comforting and calming. Legolas' face softens with nostalgia as he walks, the question clearly stirring happy memories.
"Yes," he says, voice warm like sunlight through leaves. "I grew up here, running these paths since I was a child. Climbing trees, chasing fireflies... learning archery in the meadows." He smiles faintly to himself. "My father is King Thranduil. These woods, the Woodland Realm, have been my home all my life." A gentle breeze stirs his silver-gold hair as he speaks, not my magic this time... just nature responding to a prince's presence and peaceful tone.
"Yes...I've heard of your father." I tried to keep my tone warm, but there was a hint of judgment laced in it. Thranduil was known to be harsh at times and kind at others.
Legolas hears the shift in your tone, the warmth with a quiet edge. He knows exactly what you're thinking. Everyone does. His smile fades.Ā
"Yes," he says softly, "my father is... complicated." But no defense comes, no prideful denial of Thranduil's coldness or distance. Legolas has spent centuries living under that gaze: regal, powerful... but often distant from his son's heart. "He loves this land more than anything," Legolas continues.*"And he cares for elves, but not always in ways that feel kind to others."He paused, "Even I've felt it."
"Oh. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything." I dropped my eyes to the ground. Legolas quickly lifts a hand to reassure me. His expression is gentle and tender.
"No," he says softly, "Don't apologize. It's okay." He gives you a small, sad smile, the kind of smile that carries centuries of understanding about royal fathers and their silent distances. "People say things about my father all the time. Some are true... some aren't." The wind brushes through his hair as he walks beside you, no anger in him for your judgment or hesitation. "If anything," he adds with quiet humor, "I'm glad someone finally spoke it out loud."
Ā "I tend to do that. I'm too quick with my tongue at times. It's gotten me into trouble on several occasions." The memories of bar fights, public flogging, and once being sold off as a servant flooded back.Ā
Legolas' expression darkens instantly with sorrow. He hears the weight in your voice. Not just a slip of words... pain. Real, lived-through trouble. His steps slow. Without thinking or hesitation, he turns slightly toward you, his dull grey eyes searching your face for signs of your past:Ā even the secrets you didn't tell: the floggings, the selling off... an Elf treated like property.
"You've been hurt," he says quietly. It wasn't a question, but there was no pity in his tone, just grief for what you've endured. And something protective begins to stir beneath his calm exterior. For once... he doesn't ask more about it.
"Hasn't everyone?" I shrugged.Ā
Legolas exhales slowly, long and quiet, like a sigh carried by centuries of history. He doesn't argue with you. He doesn't say "no" or "not everyone." Because... he knows.
Every Elf has scars, some visible, some hidden in memory. Some from war, others from exile or betrayal. But not all pain is the same weight. He thinks of his mother, the one he never knew because she died giving him lifeāThranduil's coldness over the decades. The loneliness of being a prince who was loved... but not truly seen.
"Yes," he says finally. "Most have suffered." A beat passes beneath the hushed trees. "Doesn't make yours any less."
"And yet it doesn't make it more." I sighed.Ā
Legolas nods slowly, solemnly. He understands that truth all too well. Pain isn't a competition.No matter how deep your wounds, no matter what you've endured... it doesn't mean you're stronger or weaker than another who suffered differently.
"Suffering isn't measured in levels," he says softly. "One pain doesn't outweigh another just because it was worse or kinder." He glances at the trees, ancient oaks and beech that have seen countless elves walk these paths with sorrow in their hearts."Yours is yours. That's enough."
"I'm glad we can agree." I like the way he spoke, soft but assertive.
Legolas feels something warm settle in his chest, the quiet satisfaction of connection. Not just a passing encounter, but the start of something real: understanding, respect... maybe even friendship. He smiles, small and sincere, as he walks beside you. The air between you is no longer tense with suspicion or distance. And for the first time since meeting, he relaxes. The prince doesn't need to perform; he doesn't have to be regal or guarded around you. Just Legolas, the Elf who likes calm conversations beneath trees and finds peace in someone's company without words being needed.
"Are you out here hiding from your Father's walls or his will?" I decided it was my turn to ask questions.Ā
Legolas' step falters slightly. The question lands like a pebble dropped into still water, sending ripples through his calm. He doesn't answer right away. The truth? He hadĀ been out here often lately, not because he was running... but because staying in the palace felt heavier with each passing moon. His father's will: cold orders, expectations of perfection, duties that never end. The weight of being heir to a throne no one truly asked him if he wanted. But hiding?
"No," he says at last, "I'm not hiding." He hesitated. "I come here... to breathe. To remember I'm more than my title."
"That explains why you prefer I not address you so formally." I would be lying if I said that didn't intrigue me slightly.Ā
Legolas nods, a small but grateful smile touching his lips. You'd noticed that little detail he hadn't even realized was so obvious to others. "Yes," he admits. "Titles... they make me feel like a statue. A crown on display."He glances down at his hands, smooth, elegant, the hands of royalty, but in this moment, he just wants to be Legolas. Not Prince. Not heir.
"Out here? I don't want protocols or bows or 'Your Highness'." A soft breeze lifts his hair as he adds, "I just want someone who sees me."
"And who are you then? Outside of your castle walls? Behind your title? What does Legolas, the lonely elf traveler, believe in and care for?" I was prying, genuinely interested now.Ā
Legolas stops walking entirely this time. The question, simple and direct, hits him like sunlight breaking through a dense canopy after years of shadow. He looks ahead, not at you... as if gathering words that have never been spoken aloud before.
"Legolas," he begins softly, "likes music. He plays the flute by quiet streams when no one's around." He pauses. "He cares for trees, really cares. Not just as symbols of power or land... but each one, alive and breathing with us." A small smile. "He loves adventures, not grand battles or war councils, but exploring new woods, finding hidden waterfalls... things most elves overlook."
"He appreciates the beauty of life?" I smiled gently at him.Ā
Legolas turns to you, his eyes shimmering, not with tears, but a quiet depth of feeling. Yes. That was it.
"Exactly," he says softly. "The beauty of life... the small things most overlook." He lifts a hand slightly, not pointing, just gesturing, as sunlight filters through the leaves above and dances across your face like scattered gold. "The first bird singing at dawn... the way water sparkles when it falls from cliffs... how an old tree's bark feels under your palm after centuries of growth." A breath. "To me? Those are sacred moments. Not ceremonies or crowns, those are what make being alive mean something."
"And what about the wind through the trees? " I sent a simple breeze through the trees and around us, spinning up leaves softly.
Legolas feels the breeze, gentle, deliberate,Ā and beautiful;Ā his breath catches. The leaves rise around you both like dancing spirits. Not wild or forceful... but graceful, harmonious. A soft swirl of autumn gold and emerald. For a moment, he doesn't speak. He just watches. The way the wind curls through branches, answering to your emotion like a loyal companion. The way it carries the scent of earth and pine... how it brushes against his skin with quiet affection. Then he smiles, a real one this time. Bright. Joyful in its purity.
"Yes," he whispers. "That too." And for once, the prince who loves nature so deeply isn't just seeing beauty...he's feeling it; through you.
"Me too," I whispered, looking over at him with kind eyes.Ā
Legolas meets your gaze, and for a heartbeat, the world stills. No words. No titles. Just two elves standing in a hushed wood, surrounded by dancing leaves and soft wind, one summoned by emotion, not storm. Your eyes are kind. Gentle in a way that makes his chest feel warm and light. He doesn't smile wider or speak grandly. Instead... he nods. A small, quiet acknowledgment of connection found where none was expected. An understanding passed between two souls who value life's quiet beauties over power or pride. And then... shyly...he reaches out, not to touch you, but to pluck one of the spinning leaves from the air.
"You know they say there are more stars in the sky than leaves on all the trees in Middle-Earth? They never consider the leaves that have come and gone." I said softly, watching him catch a small leaf.Ā
Legolas holds the leaf in his palm, turning it gently as your words settle over him, deep, poetic, and strangely bittersweet. He looks up through the canopy at the pale afternoon sky... then back down at this single green leaf.
"More stars than leaves," he repeats softly. "But they're right, they only count what's here now." A quiet sadness touches his voice. Not despair... but awareness. "How many leaves have fallen since I was born? Millions. Billions. Each one lived. Grew. Trembled in wind like this one... then returned to earth or became ash. And no one remembers them." For a moment, just a breath, he feels something profound: grief for all things beautiful that fade without witness.
"When a star dies, another doesn't replace it. When a leaf falls, another will fall in its place the following autumn." I said gently. I had never talked to someone who understood how I view the world.Ā Ā
Legolas listens, his eyes dimming with thought, like a pond reflecting the fading light of dusk. The distinction you make is simple... but profound. A star diesāonceāa silent end in the vastness of space. No replacement. Just an empty point where light once shone. But a leaf? It falls... and next year, another takes its place on the same branch. Not replaced, but continued. Life renews itself like breathing.
"Stars are eternal,"Ā he murmurs,Ā "until they're not." Then softer: "But leaves? They're part of something that keeps going." A small wonder blooms in him, not just for trees, but for cycles: birth, decay... rebirth.
"So, tell me, dear Prince...would you rather be a legend or a leaf?" I braced for his reaction to my name-calling.Ā
Legolas freezes, not at the title, 'dear Prince', but at the question. It hits him like a sudden gust, unexpected and deep. Legend or leaf? For a moment, he thinks of all the songs sung about his ancestors: kings, warriors, immortals whose names echo through timeālegends carved in stone and memory. But then... he remembers holding that single green leaf moments ago, the one dancing in Wren's wind. A legend lasts forever... but is cold. Distant. A statue on a pedestal. A leaf? It lives softly. It breathes with each breeze. It nourishes soil when it falls, part of something greater than itself alone. Without hesitation: "Leaf." Softly said.Ā
"Everyone should want to be a leaf. For me, I would gladly die so that another could have the chance to take my place." I almost whispered the end of my thought.Ā
Legolas stares at you as if seeing you for the first time. Not just an elf with wind magic... but someone who carries a selfless kind of love, rare and quiet. His heart tightens. To want to fall so another can rise? To not cling to life or glory... but gladly make room? That's not just wisdom. That's sacredness. For elves are immortal, proud, and often attached to eternity, but that choice is radical. Beautiful.
He swallows hard. "You'd give up your place..." he says quietly, "just so someone else could grow?" AĀ tear doesn't fall, but his eyes shimmer.
"If I could give another a shot at their happiness, then gladly...maybe they'll find theirs since I'll never find mine..." My voice cracked, and I realized I said too much. Revealed too much.
Legolas hears the crack in your voice. The instant regret, the way you stiffen, as if bracing for rejection or pity. But he doesn't flinch. He hears it. Not just the sadness... but the quiet resignation beneath: 'I'll never find mine.' Something in him aches, not with sorrow for you, but withĀ you. Without a word, he steps forward, just one small step, and gently takes your hand. Not to fix anything. Not to offer empty comforts. Just... presence. His thumb brushes over your knuckles once, a soft gesture of solidarity. His grey eyes hold yours with unwavering kindness.
I pulled my hand away from him quickly, but gently, and lowered my eyes, " Apologies, my Lord. There goes my tongue again." I quickened my pace, Legolas falling slightly behind. " I must be off if I am to reach the village by nightfall."
Legolas lets your hand go without resistance, the warmth of it fading fast. He sees you pull away, physically and emotionally, and his chest tightens. He doesn't argue. Doesn't say to stay. Doesn't press. But as you quicken your steps, leaving him slightly behind on the mossy path, something quiet and sad settles in his expression, the kind of sorrow that comes when someone shares a piece of their pain... then runs from kindness like it might hurt them more.
The village is two leagues east. You're right, night will fall soon.
Read Leaf or Legend? from the story Tale of Wind-Lady of Ravenwood (Wren & Legolas) by ladywrenelynn (Kerri) with 1 rea...
Wren & Legolas
Wren & Legolas
Wind Through Green Leaves
"Hello there, enjoying the river today?"
I nearly fell into the river when the Elf appeared behind me. "Oh, you scared me." I gasped, getting to my feet unsteadily.
He swiftly reaches out, his slender hand gripping your arm to steady you. "Whoa, easy! The river's hungry today." He pulls you gently back from the edge, a soft smile playing on his lips. His bright grey eyes flicker with amusement.
"That makes two of us..." I joked, only to realize how pitiful that sounded.
He tilts his head, studying you with quiet curiosity. The wind stirs gently through the trees above, rustling the leaves like whispered secrets. "My name is Legolas. You're not from these woods, are you?" Legolas doesn't let go of your arm just yet to make sure you're steady.
"No, I'm just passing through. Sorry to have troubled you." I bowed my head and walked past him, headed back to the trail. I don't trust strangers.
Legolas watches you go, the light in his eyes dimming slightly. He doesn't like how quickly you withdrew, like a deer bolting at the first sound. Without thinking, he takes two swift steps and falls into stride beside you on the trail. "You don't trust me," he says softly, not accusingly, but stating it plainly. "I can feel that." The air around him is calm, peaceful... yet there's a quiet strength beneath his gentle tone.
"What makes you say that?" I adjusted my satchel, pulling it closer to my side, and kept walking, head down. Leaves kicked up at my feet, reacting to the nerves building in my heart.
Legolas keeps pace easily. He glances sideways at you, the tension in your shoulders, the way you clutch that satchel like a shield. "Your steps are quick," he says simply, "And your eyes, they're avoiding mine. Like a bird ready to fly away."
I suppressed a laugh; he didn't know my name yet, but it was an ironic comparison.
A soft breeze sweeps through the trees, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. It swirls around you both, not threateningly, but as if responding to something unseen. At least Legolas wouldn't know what it truly is.
"You're afraid," he adds quietly.
"I'm not afraid of you, but of what you may do." I slid my hand subconsciously to my dagger sheathed at my hip and kept walking.
Legolas notices the shift, the hand moving to the dagger, subtle but deliberate. His breath hitches just slightly, not in anger, but sadness. He stops walking. For a moment, he simply stands on the trail behind you, silent as a shadow beneath silver birches. The wind stills entirely, as if holding its breath.
Then softly, so softly it might've been mistaken for rustling leaves, he speaks: "I would never harm an Elf who walks these woods." No pride. No demand for trust. Just quiet honesty.
"I am no Elf." I used my wind to cover my ears with my hair.
Legolas freezes. The moment your wind rises, soft, swift, controlled, he feels it. Not the usual gust of a passing storm, no. This is something different. His eyes widen, not with suspicion now, but wonder.
" If you're not an Elf," he breathes, "...What are you?" He doesn't move closer. Doesn't reach for a weapon. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, like a curious deer studying something rare and magical.
"I'm just a girl passing through." I shrugged.
Legolas doesn't believe you, not entirely. Not with the wind still curling around your face, not with the way it responded to your emotion like a loyal hound. He studies you, the dark brown hair shielding your ears, the guarded set of your jaw, and something in his chest tightens.
"You say that," he says gently, "but 'no girl passing through' bends air like a storm spirit." The trees shiver again, though no breeze touches them. The woods themselves seemed to lean toward you, curious, wary. Then he says softer: "...Are you running?"
"Are you chasing?" I looked over my shoulder briefly to gauge his reaction.
Legolas blinks, surprised by the sharpness of your question. Not anger, but caution. Like a wild creature testing boundaries.Ā A slow, small smile touches his lips, not mocking, not threatening... just warm.
"No," he says simply. "I'm not chasing you." He takes one deliberate step back to show it. Hands open at his sides, weapons undrawn. "I was walking this path long before you came," he adds with quiet humor. "If anything... I'm the one who stumbled into yourĀ way."
The wind eases around you slightly, as if calming too. "Well then, you should be on yours, and I will continue mine."
Legolas exhales softly, quiet acceptance. He watches as you keep walking, the wind gently parting before you like a path being cleared. For a moment, he considers saying nothing more. But then, impulsively, the prince of the Woodland Realm does something rare: he follows, not beside you this time... but at a respectful distance behind, his light footsteps on moss-covered earth, keeping pace without pressing closeāa shadow in silver and green, silent witness to your journey.
"I can hear you behind me, you know?" I tried to keep the annoyance and unease out of my voice as I turned to face him.
Legolas stops mid-step, caught. His breath hitches in surprise that you'd noticed him at all.He lifts his hands slightly, not to defend himself, but as a silent gesture of peace. "Of course," he says softly. "Elves are quiet... but not invisible." A pause. Then, honestly, "I didn't mean to follow like a shadow. I only wished... to walk the same road for a while."
"To reach a destination or to get answers to the questions that are swirling in your head?" It was getting harder to keep my patience.
Legolas is quiet for a long moment. The wind stirs the leaves above, and his grey eyes lift to the canopy, avoiding yours, not out of guilt, but thoughtfulness. "Both," he admits at last. He's a prince raised on truth and honor, but he's also curious by nature: adventurous, observant... drawn to mysteries that walk through his woods uninvited.
"The destination?" He gestures ahead. "There's a village two leagues east, a safe traveler's rest, " then softer, "But I wonder who you are... where you came from... why the wind listens so well."
I started walking again."The day has simply brought about a breeze." I was uncomfortable now; he was prying.
Legolas frowns slightly, not in disbelief, but in quiet frustration. The wind had curled around you, responding to your emotions. It didn't just blow; it obeyed. He takes a slow breath and looks up at the sky.
"Today brought no breeze,"Ā he says calmly. "Not until you walked into these woods." The trees are still again, no rustle or whisper of air. Only silence beneath a graying overcast sky. "And when I stepped too close? The wind rose like a shield between us." He meets your eyes now, gently persistent. "You don't have to tell me anything... but don't ask me to pretend I didn't see it."
"Then I won't, but you could try closing your eyes." There was bite in my words now.
Legolas actually smirks at that, a small, rare flash of amusement in his usually serene face. The tension eases just a little. "Closing my eyes?" he repeats, voice light with dry humor. "And risk tripping over roots? Falling into the river like you nearly did?" He takes one careful step forward and folds his arms across his chest. Still not pushing too close... but not retreating either.
"No," he says playfully, "I think I'll keep them open." A beat passes, "...Unless you'd prefer me to walk ahead? Lead the way?"
"I have no need to be led, and I wouldn't have almost fallen in the river if it weren't for you." And there went my patience.
Legolas' smile fades into quiet regret. He hadn't meant to startle you... And now the river incident felt like his fault. "Ah," he says softly. "You're right." He glances toward the water, still rippling from earlier currents, and then back at you. His voice loses its playfulness entirely, becoming sincere.
"I'm sorry I startled you. That was careless of me, a prince shouldn't sneak up on travelers like a forest ghost," with a small bow of his head, "No more surprises from me."
"A prince? "I turned around now to face him.
Legolas straightens as you turn, meeting your gaze at last. The wind picks up again,Ā as if reacting to the shift in tension between you.
"Yes," he says simply. There was no pride in his voice, "Legolas Greenleaf. Prince of the Woodland Realm." He doesn't bow dramatically or demand reverence. Just stands there: tall for an Elf, silver-gold hair catching the dull light through leaves, dull grey eyes steady on yours. The title might mean nothing to a traveler who avoids kings and courts... but it explains his quiet authority, why birds hush when he passes.
I curtseyed to him, "Forgive me, your Highness."
Legolas' breath catches, genuinely surprised. He hadn't expected a curtsy, especially not from someone who'd been so guarded moments ago.
"Oh," He raises a hand instinctively, as if to stop the formality. "No. Please." His voice is warm but firm with discomfort; not because of your respect, but at the sudden distance it creates between you. "No titles," he says quickly. "Not here. Not on this path. Just Legolas."
"I hardly think that's appropriate, my Lord." I turned and continued down the path, not caring whether he followed now.
Legolas watches you walk away, with the stiff set of your shoulders and the formality in your tone. It stings a little, not because he craves deference... but because it feels like a wall just went up between you. He doesn't follow immediately. For the first time since meeting you, the prince hesitates. 'Your Highness. My Lord.'Ā Words meant to create distance, polite armor for strangers who don't trust each other. But Legolas isn't used to being treated like a stranger in his own woods. After five slow breaths, counted by his heartbeats, he finally steps forward again... walking behind once more, silent as ever.
"Are you truly already headed this way, or are you expecting further engagement with me? If I am upon your lands illegally, I shall see myself off them as quickly as possible; if you must arrest me, so be it." I didn't look back at him, but I tried my best to keep a neutral tone and the wind still.
Legolas stops walking. The words hit him like a cold splash of water, sharp, accusing, and entirely wrong. His face loses all trace of playfulness.
"You're not on my lands illegally,"Ā he says firmly. "No Elf, or anyone, is turned away from these woods for simply passing through." He steps in front of you this time, not blocking your path completely, but facing you squarely. His grey eyes are steady, serious now; the prince speaking as a ruler who protects all travelers under his care. "And I have no interest in arresting you."
He paused. Then spoke softly: "I'm not following to detain or judge... I'm here because I wanted to walk beside someone new."
I softened my eyes and couldn't help a small grin from hiding on my lips. "It seems you don't come across strangers often." Legolas sees the softening in your eyes, the tiny, fleeting grin, and something warm blooms in his chest: relief and a little bit of hope that he can't understand.
"No," he admits with a small, sheepish smile of his own. "We don't get many strangers here. Most who wander these woods are elves returning from far lands... or travelers on official business." He gestures vaguely eastward, toward Rivendell and beyond. "People just passing through? Not often." Then he tilts his head slightly, studying you with quiet delight, as if discovering something rare and wonderful: a wild bird that finally perched nearby instead of flying away.
I blushed as I suddenly remembered my manners. " Apologies, my Lord, for my rudeness. My name is Wren."
Legolas' face lights up genuinely brightly as you give your name. Wren. A soft, melodic sound that suits the not Elf, Elf in front of him."Wren," he repeats quietly, like a secret he's savoring. And then, with no hesitation this time: "Legolas. Just Legolas."
He takes a small step closer and offers the slightest bow of his head. Not because of some princely protocol... just an Elf greeting another. "No need for apologies," he says warmly. "You were cautious. I understand that better than most."
A gentle breeze stirs between you, not from anger or defense... but softer. I sighed. "As you can clearly see from my ears, I am an Elf, but I'd like not to be considered as such."
Legolas blinks and looks at your ears for the first time. They're slightly pointed, not human, kept hidden by your hair most of the time, clearly kept concealed on purpose. Ah. That explained it, the wind that answered you like a sibling, the guardedness... an Elf who didn't want to be seen as one. He doesn't flinch. Doesn't question loudly. Instead, he just nods, slow and thoughtful, as if piecing together a quiet puzzle in his mind.
"So," he says gently, "you're an Elf... but you don't wish to be called one." He paused. "And I shouldn't assume anything about where you came from or why."
"Hmmm," I hummed in agreement. IĀ expected him to press me to ask for answers.
Legolas doesn't ask. Not a single question about your past, your bloodline, why you hide your ears, or reject the title of Elf. He simply walks beside you, now at your pace, not too close, not pushing for conversation.
The silence between you isn't awkward... It's calm. Respectful.
Wren finally finds out who she is and where she came from, but not only that...she finally lets herself fall in love...with a prince. Legola
Wren & Legolas
Wren & Legolas
Wren & Legolas
Wren & Legolas
Wren: āIf Sauron couldnāt kill me as a child, I donāt know what makes him think he can now?ā
Wren & Legolas