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Snow drifted in thick, lazy flurries, settling over the earth like a downy quilt. The world outside was still, wrapped in a hush so deep that even the trees seemed to be holding their breath beneath the weight of winter. Jien stood by the window, fingers curled around a steaming cup of tea, letting its warmth seep into her skin. The scent of herbs, earthy and familiar, mixed with the crisp chill that bled through the wooden frame.
This was home. Quiet. Steady. A life she had built with her own hands, far removed from the clash of swords and the thunder of war drums. She had chosen this—this solitude, this peace—though her small farm and its ever-growing collection of animals made sure she was never truly alone. It was a good life, if a simple one.
The sudden knock at the door jolted her from her thoughts, her fingers tightening instinctively around the cup. A visitor? In this weather?
Setting her tea aside, she strode to the door, tugging it open with an expectant frown.
The wind rushed in first, biting at her skin, but it was the sight before her that made her breath hitch. A figure stood cloaked in white, the edges of his traveling garb dusted with fresh snow. His silver-blond hair, streaked with ice and windblown from the storm, framed sharp, familiar features—cool in expression, yet soft in a way that sent something warm curling in her chest.
“Legolas?” The name left her lips before she could think, disbelief flickering across her face.
He had no business being here—not in the dead of winter, not when the roads were barely passable, not when she had seen him last beneath the summer sun, so far from this place. And yet, here he stood, unbothered by the cold, gazing at her as if he had merely stepped out for an afternoon stroll.
Jien didn’t waste time. Without thinking, she reached for him, fingers brushing over his dusted sleeves, tugging him inside before the wind could steal any more warmth from his skin. “Are you touched in the head?” she scolded, though her voice betrayed her concern. “What in all of Middle-earth are you doing out in a storm like this?”
Legolas chuckled softly, the sound low and amused as she fussed over him, her hands already working to unfasten his snow-heavy cloak.
“Elves do not fear the cold as Men do.”
Jien huffed, shaking out his cloak and draping it over a chair near the fire. “Doesn't mean you should go wandering through a blizzard just because you can,” she muttered, though she lingered close, her fingers brushing against his sleeves, as if making sure he was truly here. Truly warm.
He only smiled, unbothered by her fussing, and reached into his satchel. “I come bearing gifts,” he said lightly, drawing out a small bundle wrapped in fine cloth.
Jien crossed her arms, brow lifting. “Do you now?”
“It is tradition, in my homeland,” he explained, offering it to her with both hands. “The first snowfall of the season is a time for gifts—small tokens of warmth and remembrance.”
She narrowed her eyes, lips curving into something close to a smirk. “Is that so? Or are you simply using an elvish tradition as an excuse to visit?”
Legolas said nothing, only watching her with that quiet, unreadable warmth in his eyes. The kind that made something stir in her chest, something old and familiar yet still strange. Something she wasn’t ready to name.
Jien hesitated, then reached for the bundle, fingers brushing against his as she took it. The fire crackled in the hearth, the storm howled beyond the walls, and inside, between them, the air shifted.
Snow clung to his cloak, melting into damp patches as the warmth of the cabin embraced them. Jien shut the door firmly behind him, shutting out the storm’s howling wind, but the cold still clung to them both. She turned to find Legolas watching her, the weight of travel still in his stance, his hair windblown and kissed with frost. The sight of him standing in her small home, so far removed from the firelit halls of his kind, sent a pang of something unnameable through her chest.
“Come on, let’s get you warm,” she murmured, shaking herself free from the moment. Without waiting for a response, she caught the edges of his cloak and carefully undid the clasp, her fingers brushing against the cool metal of its fastening. She worked quickly, pulling the heavy fabric from his shoulders, mindful of how the damp edges weighed it down. She gave it a sharp shake before draping it over the chair closest to the hearth.
Legolas, for all his usual ease in the wild, did not protest the care. Instead, he let her fuss over him as if this were any other evening, as if he hadn’t just arrived on her doorstep in the dead of winter with no warning. His expression remained unreadable, but there was something soft in the way he watched her, something knowing.
Jien caught the look and huffed, nudging him toward the hearth with the flat of her palm against his arm. “Sit,” she ordered, gesturing to the chair. “You might not feel the cold like the rest of us, but I’m still not letting you track half a blizzard through my home.”
A quiet chuckle left his lips, but he obeyed, settling into the seat with the fluid grace of his kind. He stretched his hands toward the fire, fingers flexing absently as the flames licked at the chill clinging to his skin. Jien, satisfied, moved to fetch her abandoned cup of tea.
As she passed it to him, she caught the faintest hint of exhaustion on his face—subtle, almost imperceptible, but present in the way his shoulders settled just a touch heavier than usual. He had traveled far.
She leaned against the edge of the table, crossing her arms. “So,” she said, her tone lighter now, less scolding, “what exactly possessed you to trek through a snowstorm just to surprise me?”
Legolas took a slow sip of tea before answering. “It was not only the storm I braved,” he said, glancing at her with a teasing glint in his eyes. “There were frozen rivers to cross, trees bowed heavy under the weight of ice, and the occasional rather determined fox that seemed quite intent on stealing my provisions.”
Jien snorted. “Truly, a harrowing journey. And yet, despite such peril, you arrived unscathed.”
“A testament to my skill,” he said smoothly, setting the cup down. “And my determination.”
His words sent a small warmth curling in her chest, one she chose to ignore as she rolled her eyes. “And this ‘determination’ of yours has nothing to do with the fact that you simply wanted an excuse to drop by?”
Legolas only smiled, reaching into his satchel once more. “If I had wished to see you, I would not need an excuse.”
That brought her up short. Her breath caught for half a moment, but then he was placing the wrapped bundle in her hands, shifting the weight of the moment effortlessly.
Jien looked down, fingers running over the fine cloth. The fabric was smooth beneath her touch, carefully folded, tied with a thin strand of silver thread. She felt the shape of the objects within—small, delicate, carefully wrapped.
“Gifts,” he reminded her softly.
She swallowed, fingers lingering on the wrapping before she exhaled and began to untie the thread. The first thing she pulled free was a small wooden carving—an intricately detailed fox, its body caught mid-step, head tilted slightly, as if listening.
A laugh bubbled up in her throat before she could stop it. “A fox,” she said, running a careful thumb over the fine carving. “So the tale wasn’t an exaggeration, then?”
Legolas tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “Perhaps a slight embellishment. But the fox was rather persistent.”
She shook her head, smiling as she turned the small figure over in her hands. The craftsmanship was exquisite, each curve of the wood smooth, the detail sharp but natural. It was warm from where it had been nestled in his bag.
Setting it aside with care, she unwrapped the second item—a delicate silver pendant shaped like a single, curled leaf, veins etched with remarkable precision. It caught the firelight in a way that made it seem almost alive.
Her fingers brushed over it reverently, something softening in her expression. “This is beautiful,” she murmured.
“It belonged to my people,” Legolas said, watching her carefully. “A token of the Greenwood.”
Jien swallowed. It was a simple thing, yet she felt the weight of it—of what it meant for him to bring a piece of his home to hers. She looked up at him, at the way the firelight caught the edges of his silver hair, casting warm highlights against his usually cool-toned features.
“Thank you,” she said, voice quieter now, steadier. “Really.”
Legolas held her gaze for a long moment before inclining his head slightly.
The fire crackled between them, the wind howling against the walls, but inside, the storm felt far away. Jien curled her fingers around the pendant, feeling its cool weight settle in her palm.
“You don’t do things by halves, do you?” she murmured, half to herself.
Legolas only smiled, something unreadable in his eyes. “Would you expect me to?”
She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. No. No, she supposed not.
Jien turned the pendant over in her palm, running her thumb along the etched veins of the delicate silver leaf. The weight of it was solid, real—too real. It was beautiful, something carefully chosen, but there was something else, something in the way Legolas sat watching her, still as a deer waiting to see if it had been spotted.
She swallowed, setting the pendant gently on the table beside the little wooden fox. “You didn’t just stop by to drop off gifts, did you?”
Legolas exhaled a quiet chuckle, looking away for a moment, as if weighing his words. “No,” he admitted. “I wanted to see you.”
Something warm curled beneath her ribs. He had always been honest in his way, but there was a hesitance to him now, a carefulness.
“Well,” she said, clearing her throat and shifting in her seat, “how have things been? I imagine it’s much the same as always back in the Greenwood—stubborn trees, endless moonlight, elves being elves.”
That earned her a small, amused huff. “Much the same, yes. The forest is quiet, for the most part. The air is changing, though. The world is shifting in ways I cannot yet name.”
Jien studied him, taking in the flicker of thought behind his expression. He had always been tied to the land, to the way the world moved beneath his feet. Even here, in the warmth of her cabin, she could see the way he listened—not just to her, but to the world beyond the walls.
“And you?” he asked after a moment, his gaze flickering back to her. “How have you fared, tucked away in your solitude?”
She scoffed. “Solitude,” she muttered. “Hardly. The farm keeps me busy, the neighbors still think I need looking after, and the damn chickens are a menace. But it’s…” She hesitated, then let out a slow breath. “It’s good. Quiet. I like it.”
Legolas studied her, something soft in his expression. “Good,” he said simply.
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the fire crackling between them. Outside, the wind still howled, but it felt distant now, muffled. The world, for a moment, had shrunk to just this—warmth, flickering firelight, the steady presence of the elf across from her.
Her fingers idly traced the little wooden fox again. “You carved this?” she asked, glancing at him.
Legolas inclined his head. “I did.”
She turned it over, marveling at the delicate detail. “You’re good at it.”
His lips twitched, and something flickered across his face—something almost… nervous? “I had reason to practice,” he said.
Jien arched a brow, the corner of her mouth lifting. “And what reason was that?”
He hesitated. It was brief, but she saw it. The way his fingers curled just slightly against the armrest, the flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. It struck her all at once—Legolas, always so composed, was flustered .
Suspicion prickled at the back of her mind. She glanced at the gifts again—the fox, the pendant.
Something about them…
She straightened, her stomach flipping unexpectedly. “Legolas,” she said slowly, watching his reaction carefully, “what exactly do these gifts mean?”
His fingers tightened slightly on the chair. He held her gaze, but there was something too carefully blank about his face now, like a man walking a blade-thin line.
“They are…” He exhaled softly, shifting. “They are what they are.”
Jien narrowed her eyes. “That’s not an answer.”
He hesitated again, jaw working as though warring with himself. Then, almost reluctantly, he murmured, “In the Greenwood… they are gifts of intention .”
Intention.
Her breath caught. The warmth of the room suddenly felt suffocating. She stared at him, the words taking too long to settle in her mind.
“You’re courting me?” The words left her before she could stop them.
Legolas visibly tensed, eyes darting briefly to the side as if seeking an escape. “I—” He let out a soft breath, his composure slipping just enough to betray his unease. “It is… not a demand, nor an expectation—”
Jien surged to her feet before she had even processed the movement, heart hammering. Legolas startled slightly, rising as well on instinct, as if prepared to steady her.
“You absolute—” She cut herself off, overwhelmed, breath unsteady. He was flustered . He was flustered . The idea of Legolas, Legolas , tripping over his words because of her —it was too much.
He opened his mouth, as if to explain, or to retreat, but she didn’t let him.
She closed the space between them in a few steps and threw her arms around him, holding on tight.
Legolas stiffened for a fraction of a second before exhaling sharply, arms coming up around her, solid and warm and grounding.
Jien squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her forehead into his shoulder, trying to force words past the lump in her throat. She had never thought—had never considered —that he would—
“Jien—”
She tilted her head up, heart still hammering, and before she could second-guess it, she caught his face in her hands and kissed him .
Legolas went still. Utterly, perfectly still.
And then, after a breathless heartbeat, he melted .
His hands settled firm at her waist, hesitant at first, then sure, pulling her closer. The warmth of him, the steady, grounding feel of him, sent a shiver down her spine. He kissed her back—soft, searching, like he was trying to memorize the shape of this moment, of her .
Jien curled her fingers in the front of his tunic, holding on, feeling the way his heart beat steady beneath her hand. It was grounding, and dizzying, and overwhelming .
When she finally pulled back, breathless, she found him staring at her. His lips were parted, his breath just slightly uneven, his usual steady composure utterly wrecked .
Jien let out a shaky laugh, her forehead still pressed against his. “You should’ve just said so,” she murmured.
Legolas huffed a soft, breathless laugh, shaking his head slightly. “I thought I had.”
She rolled her eyes, then kissed him again.
Legolas was still watching her, gaze soft and searching, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was real, that this was real. Jien felt the same, if she was honest. It was one thing to suspect, to tease and prod at an idea, but to know —to feel —that his intentions had been just that, had always been that… It made her chest ache in a way she hadn’t expected.
She exhaled, leaning her weight against him just a little. “You should’ve told me sooner.”
“I thought you would know,” he admitted, a touch sheepish. “I had not imagined you would need words when I have given you everything else.”
Jien pulled back just enough to arch a brow. “ Everything else? ”
Legolas hesitated, then, almost as if remembering something, his expression shifted. There was a flicker of mischief, of something knowing , before he stepped back entirely.
“…There is one more thing,” he said.
Jien blinked. “What do you mean?”
Instead of answering, he turned and retrieved something from the pack he had left near the door. When he straightened, he was holding something folded—a bundle of soft white fabric, embroidered with golden thread that shimmered in the firelight.
Jien’s breath caught.
Legolas stepped closer again, unfolding it carefully before offering it to her. It was a winter cloak, thick and warm, the fur-lined edges elegant yet practical. The golden embroidery ran across the fabric in delicate, intricate shapes—leaves and ivies, a nod to his woodland home. But there were other details, smaller and just as intentional. Flowers, subtly woven between the foliage, tiny petals blooming along the hem. A serpent coiled among the vines, its form fluid and elegant.
Her throat tightened. “Legolas…”
His voice was quieter now, gentle. “Do you like it?”
“Like it?” She ran her fingers over the golden threading, as if memorizing the careful stitches. “I— Legolas , this is—” She let out a breathless laugh, overwhelmed. “You made this?”
He nodded once.
Jien shook her head in disbelief, lifting the cloak a little to look at it properly. The details… gods , the details. She recognized herself in them, just as she recognized him in every leaf, every strand of golden thread.
Her chest felt too tight, too full, her heart pounding in a way that left her lightheaded. She looked up at him, only to find him already watching her, something expectant— hopeful —lingering in his expression.
She swallowed. “It’s beautiful.”
Something in his posture eased slightly, but he didn’t speak.
Jien hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward and pressing herself into him again, hugging him tight . She felt the way his breath hitched, the slight tension in his frame before he relaxed entirely, arms coming up to hold her just as fiercely.
She didn’t say anything, not at first. She just held him, willing every unspoken thing into the space between them.
“…You’re unbelievable,” she muttered eventually, voice muffled against his shoulder.
Legolas chuckled, the sound a soft vibration against her. “You say this as though it is a bad thing.”
She pulled back just enough to shoot him a mock glare, but before she could say anything else, he smirked just slightly .
Jien narrowed her eyes. “Oh, that’s how it is, is it?”
Legolas tilted his head in question, still half-smiling. “How what is?”
She lunged .
Legolas barely had time to react before she tackled him backward onto the thick fur rug in front of the fireplace, laughter breaking free as they tumbled together in a mess of limbs and fabric.
Legolas let out a startled oof , but before he could recover, Jien had already shifted, pinning his shoulders down with her hands. “ Ha! ” she declared triumphantly.
Legolas blinked up at her, momentarily stunned. And then, slowly, his lips curled in amusement. “You think you have won?”
Jien grinned. “I know I have.”
There was only a flicker of warning before Legolas moved, flipping their positions so she was suddenly the one pinned, her back pressed into the rug as he loomed over her.
Jien squeaked , then laughed , half-playful, half-incredulous. “Oh, you cheated —”
“I would never ,” Legolas said, mock-offended, though the corners of his lips betrayed him.
Jien huffed, then, with all the grace and cunning of a seasoned warrior, she reached up, grabbed him by the front of his tunic, and yanked him down into another kiss .
Legolas stilled, surprised for all of half a second before he melted , the fight entirely leaving him as he kissed her back.
It was warm, unhurried, filled with laughter and something softer , something that settled deep in her chest.
When they finally broke apart, Jien exhaled, grinning up at him. “You still cheated.”
Legolas hummed, tracing his fingers over the fabric of the new cloak she still held. “And yet, you do not seem to mind.”
Jien huffed another laugh, then nudged at him until they both shifted, settling more comfortably against the rug. The fire crackled beside them, casting warm golden light over the room, over them .
Legolas tucked her against his side, pulling the cloak over them both, and Jien let herself relax into the steady warmth of him.
She tilted her head up just slightly, looking at him. “You’re staying, right?”
Legolas glanced down, brow raising. “Did you think I would leave so soon?”
Jien hummed. “No,” she admitted, “but I like to hear you say it.”
Legolas chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Then I will say it as many times as you wish.”
Jien smiled, closing her eyes, the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear grounding and real.
Outside, the wind still howled, snow blanketing the world in quiet stillness. But inside, wrapped in warmth and firelight, Jien had never felt more at home.