[ Celegorm puts before him a great temptation; puts it right within his reach, so close as to make him taste it on his lips, smell it in his nostrils and feel its warmth on his skin. Enchanted, he steps closer until there's but a hair's breadth between them and yet there is still not a single point in which their bodies make contact.
Not until Celegorm rests his their foreheads together. The golden hair spills forward and tempts him further, to raise a hand and touch it, run fingers through it from roots to the very tips, feel the silk part between the slender digits, feel it pliant when twirled. Legolas wants to fold beneath this earnestness, this sheet emotion, he wants to allow himself to crumble and fall against the tall elf before him. ]
Passion... [ He shivers, there is a reason, after all, for why the woodelves have a reputation different than all other elves remaining on Middle Earth. Less wise, more dangerous. Legolas cleaves to the wisdom, to his father's teachings, yet the nature of the woodelves burns strongly within his veins. ] I know passion, I know the way it sweeps you away. Like a fire, like a great hurricane, like a swell of a tide on a stormy sea.
[ He has felt it all before, love for every little thing in life. For his bow, for his trees and the sea, for the stars, for the motion as he steps from a branch to a branch in a mad chase after a retreating threat or a prey, for bright green leaves in the summer or the snowed tops of trees and how easy it was to shake off a pile onto an unsuspecting victim. His laughter always rang clearly in the Woodland Realm, no matter the shadows that loomed above them.
And even now, it paints a smile on his lips. One brighter than all those that Celegorm might have witnessed on him, directed at him. Fond of memories, most dear, soothing his nerves. Eyelids heavy, Legolas breathes out, finally too he gives in and raises that one hand, silky threads of hair bunching up against his palm and knuckles. ]
I fear you... I fear what will come of it.
[ Once Celegorm's fire already scorched him, set off something which now burns within him, sparked into a flame greater each time they see each other, each time they speak. And Legolas fears that this fire will consume him whole. He's never felt this way. ]
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Not until Celegorm rests his their foreheads together. The golden hair spills forward and tempts him further, to raise a hand and touch it, run fingers through it from roots to the very tips, feel the silk part between the slender digits, feel it pliant when twirled. Legolas wants to fold beneath this earnestness, this sheet emotion, he wants to allow himself to crumble and fall against the tall elf before him. ]
Passion... [ He shivers, there is a reason, after all, for why the woodelves have a reputation different than all other elves remaining on Middle Earth. Less wise, more dangerous. Legolas cleaves to the wisdom, to his father's teachings, yet the nature of the woodelves burns strongly within his veins. ] I know passion, I know the way it sweeps you away. Like a fire, like a great hurricane, like a swell of a tide on a stormy sea.
[ He has felt it all before, love for every little thing in life. For his bow, for his trees and the sea, for the stars, for the motion as he steps from a branch to a branch in a mad chase after a retreating threat or a prey, for bright green leaves in the summer or the snowed tops of trees and how easy it was to shake off a pile onto an unsuspecting victim. His laughter always rang clearly in the Woodland Realm, no matter the shadows that loomed above them.
And even now, it paints a smile on his lips. One brighter than all those that Celegorm might have witnessed on him, directed at him. Fond of memories, most dear, soothing his nerves. Eyelids heavy, Legolas breathes out, finally too he gives in and raises that one hand, silky threads of hair bunching up against his palm and knuckles. ]
I fear you... I fear what will come of it.
[ Once Celegorm's fire already scorched him, set off something which now burns within him, sparked into a flame greater each time they see each other, each time they speak. And Legolas fears that this fire will consume him whole. He's never felt this way. ]
Why me?