"Yet another stands before us...
Then so be it. For the curse of life is the curse of want.
And so, you peer into the fog, in hope of answers."
— Ancient Dragon, Dark Souls II: Scholar of the Last Sin.
◤──•~❉᯽❉~•──◥
Crickets rang in her ears that night, and she rested her head on a crudely drawn bed, trying her best to ignore the ringing from her ears after having to listen to the gallops of hooves all day. Blood still rushed to her head when she had gotten off Butter, but she gratefully gave the little bud a bit of lembas as a reward for such fast trekking. She sighed, opening her eyes again to meet the star speckled sky, analysing each dot and trying to make little pictures out of them out of boredom.
Legolas hadn't left her mind ever since she left. Their goodbye was less than what she hoped for. Her path ahead seemed much more lonely than before, even if Gandalf was still here. Pippin had been silent the entire time, it seems having to leave Merry behind dealt serious sadness to him, so she couldn't speak to him either. It reminded her of Frodo in a sense, and it brought tears to her eyes to think such an innocent little hobbit had to endure such pain.
Sighing, she sat up, taking out the pocket mirror Galadriel had gifted, and traced its outline with her fingers. Her gloves were beginning to feel itchy, so she removed them to let her hands breathe. The hand she took Legolas's with had long lost its tingly sensation — when she held his hand, it was like sparks flew up her body only for a moment before he let her go. She grimaced, remembering his kind eyes, and willed herself to think about something else.
Unclasping the mirror, she peered into it. At this point, she wasn't surprised to see her shade staring back. Still, she trembled as it copied her every movement, only moving at its own will whenever her eyes would flicker away from the reflection.
"You will fail without me." It spoke, sending chills down her spine.
"You may be right..." she sighs.
"Let me take over when the time is nigh," it proposed, and [Y/n] twisted her lips reluctantly.
"I can't. I was wrong to listen to you before," she whispered, leaning closer to the mirror. The shade flickered in her vision, its eyes glowing brighter with malice.
"And, what made you change your mind so quickly?" It questioned, and she grew silent. "It's the elf, isn't it," it jeered, echoes of laughter bouncing around in her mind.
"No. There is a reason Lady Galadriel gave this gift to me, the is a reason that I have been put here — and I realise now that it is my duty to find that out," she grits, her hands clenching the mirror tightly as her breathing grew shorter. The shadow distorted its body as it listened, rejecting her words and growing bigger with fury.
"You don't have it in you to control me..." it growled, and she huffed, tears pricking at her eyes.
"You're right. But, I will find a way," she choked, snapping the mirror shut and tossing it into her bag.
After that, the voices in her head would not stop circling her like a flock of vultures, pricking at every ounce of resilience she had left. Taking in a long breath, she practiced a relaxing method she had learnt from Gandalf some years ago, and proceeded to meditate underneath the stars. She blocked out her visions of the dark eyes in her mind, and instead replaced it with the picture of her friends, smiling at her in peaceful times. Frodo's adorable blushes, Sam's cheerful smile and... a certain ellon's kind gaze.
For once, she slept well that night.
𐮛 Minas Tirith 𐮛
"The City of Kings..." Gandalf uttered, beholding the majestic fortress before them. [Y/n]'s lips fell apart and a sharp gasp left them as she saw the white megastructure gleam in the sun in pure blinding white. Gandalf grinned at her awe, and tutted Shadowfax forward — she had almost forgotten to follow after him from how enchanted she was with the city, but she quickly tutted Butter, trusting her to follow Gandalf. She glued her stare onto the White City, imagining how much craftsmanship had to go into every detail of the structures, and how long it must have taken for the race of men to achieve such a task.
"The Kings of old truly were mighty..." she revered, focusing back on steering Butter, who chuffed in response to her comment. She giggled, feeling like it was engaging her in conversation.
They approached the tall gates, and were let in shortly after Gandalf spoke to the guards that stood securely above their heads, reaching heights she was afraid to even comprehend. She's stood on mountains and cliffs before, but never did it dawn on her how long of a drop it would be if you were to simply slip. The towers looked like they leant over her as she passed them and rode into the streets, so to dismiss her clear fear of heights, she took to studying the people that glared at them with the same wariness the people of Edoras had for them when they first arrived to Meduseld — like they were something to be feared. She gulped, pulling her hood over her head to keep their curiosities at bay, hoping their attention would turn to Gandalf instead.
Usually, it would be Legolas that people gawk at in first appearances, given how extraordinary his looks were, but since he's absent, not even Gandalf's impressive guise was enough to draw eyes away from her. She remembered how he would comment on her hair and ears, and it would always bring a blush to her cheeks even if they were mean natured. It was oddly gratifying for a man as fair as him to take interest in her features, negatively or not. Sighing, she pinched herself for thinking about him again, and tried to distract herself with the sights of the city again, particularly at the watch towers and markets they passed. If there was ever time, she would like to go touring around this place, to admire the scenes of the bustling city alone.
They sped their horses to the very top of Minas Tirith, where a lone tree grew in the middle of a vast courtyard. Everything looked so small from such heights, it was like peering into a painting — it looked so surreal to be able to minuscule lands into a tiny square in your vision, where blots of trees and faded silhouettes of mountains the size of your fingernail stood in the distance. It only reminded her of how far they've come from home, from the place she started.
Following Gandalf, she listened to him order Pippin around, practically telling him to keep his mouth shut while he spoke to the Lord. She held back a snicker, seeing how defeated Pippin looked after he had finished... but then, Gandalf turned to [Y/n].
"The same goes for you, [Y/n]. Not a word." He stuck a finger in her face, narrowing his eyes as she nodded silently. She grumbled to herself, but complied either way, sharing the same grim face as Pippin, looking identical in that moment.
The heavy doors opened with a low groan and the sound of stone grafting against stone, revealing a grand throne room with pillars of black marble standing tall on each side of the room, making her feel tiny. She followed after Gandalf hesitantly, catching a glimpse of the man sitting on his throne, his head down and his clothes black as night. His head was covered in a head of grey tussles that looked like they hadn't been brushed in days, and when the man lifted his gaze, she saw cold blue eyes glare at them, accompanied by red bags underneath.
"Hail Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Gondor," Gandalf addressed the man, but he doesn't look up completely.
[Y/n] didn't feel the need to say anything during their meeting with the steward, even when the tension was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. She kept silent and watchful as the scene unfolded before her; Pippin has pledged himself to Lord Denethor, and Gandalf begrudgingly leaving the mans presence.
She jogged after him, hoping that they weren't in trouble.
"[Y/n]. You need to prepare. War is upon us, I suggest you take this time to hone your skills," he speaks, turning to one of the servants of the steward, exchanging words with them till they provided them with rooms to stay in.
"How long do I have?" She asked, frantically grabbing his arm. He stiffened, seeming unsure of the answer.
"I cannot be certain... All I know is, that the more time you take to make ready, the more equipped you will be in battle," he says, following a servant while Pippin trodded beside her, using her belt as a little handle for him to hold as they sped down the complicated lavish halls of the castle, eventually coming to a wing that appeared to be the guest quarters. The servant bowed, handing them two sets of keys that they had received from another one who had come running to deliver it. They left, leaving the trio by themselves.
Before he could open his chamber doors, he turned to her, handing her the second key.
"Use this time wisely, [Y/n]." He urged, turning away briefly, before spinning back with a troubled gaze. "Ah... and do not strain yourself... promise me?" He smiled kindly, and she returned it, seeing his care for her shine through such simple words.
"I promise, Gandalf." she hugged him, then turned to Pippin. "Take care Pippin, I'll see you tonight, perhaps," she gleamed, ruffling his messy bundle of hair, earning a small smile from the little hobbit, then retreated to her own room which stood across theirs.
The entire day she spent her time 'wisely' as Gandalf asked, by studying every and any spell she could remember or read on a desk that came with the guest room — which was notably quite ornate in comparison to every other place she's slept in her entire life. This was a major upgrade from what she's been sacrificing her poor back on this entire journey, and she sneered at the thought of rubbing it in Legolas's face when she sees him again. Slapping herself, she scolded herself for thinking about him again.
Later in the noon, she even took it upon herself to be escorted to a library within the castle grounds, to find any archives of Izalith history, but found nothing of it even in the renowned archives of Minas Tirith, which she had heard of in Rivendell. It was strange that there were no records of her lineage here, but then again, it wasn't surprising considering Izalith wars always revolved around elves.
Ironic. She rolled her eyes, slamming a miscellaneous book shut and returning it to its shelf. The grandiose library served no purpose to her anymore, so she decided to go back to her chambers. Upon returning, she caught a whiff of herself. POOEY! I smell like death reincarnated! She gagged, picking up her pace. When she was finally back in the comforts of her room, she rushed to the bathroom on the right, throwing off her clothes and readying a nice hot bath... kind of. She turned a knob and water flowed into the pool, but she wasn't sure if it was hot. The bathroom was large and probably the size of a full cottage, it reminded her of bathhouses she had used in towns before, where the pools of water gradually descended into beautiful mosaic baths filled with hot steaming water and soapy suds. Having the privilege of such riches felt illegal in some ways; she couldn't help thinking back to her friends, and how they wouldn't get an experience like this for days to come.
Pushing back her guilt, she stepped into the pool, noticing the water was slightly colder than she would have liked, meaning the water was old. Sighing, she still waded her way in and sat comfortably on the far edge, where moonlight seeped in from a carefully placed window. It only showed the starry skies, and it reassured her that there would be no chance of any bystander accidentally catching a glimpse of her.
Washing herself, her thoughts kept derailing from spells and curses, to Legolas and his eyes. Slapping the water, she groaned, feeling like she has been failing herself.
"Why do I torture myself? I shouldn't meddle with him... he's no good for me," she grumbles, sinking into the now ice cold water till it reached her mouth, where she sat sulking in her anger.
A tear mixed into the water. Then, another. She began to cry to herself the more time went, her thoughts only occupied with the elf, letting it swirl in her mind with memories she held most dear... when he rode with her in Rohan. When he raced her as they travelled to Helm's Deep. When he tried to reach out to her in Meduseld when the battle was won... and the most haunting; the way he smiled to her as she left them, filling her with reassurance in the most effortless way possible, with the deepest meaning in his eyes that couldn't be replicated with words.
"Oh, Eru... what errors in my way that draws me to him like a moth to a flame? I cannot forsaken myself, lest he lures me back to Mirkwood and condemns me to a life in prison, nor can I bring myself to be indifferent — for my heart aches for him hopelessly..." she weeps, splashing some water in her face to rub out her tears, then took in a deep breath to calm herself. "I want desperately to see him again..." she mumbles into the water, letting it bubble on her lips.
Her eyes closed slowly, and her head laid comfortably on the stone behind her, pulling her into a peaceful sleep where her thoughts remained with Legolas.
𐮛 ...On the edge of a cliff, before the sea 𐮛
Her eyes blinked open as the crash of raging waters filled her ears, her eyes widening at the sight of dark skies rumbling above her as strong winds blew her clothes dramatically behind her and whipped her hair out of her face. She squinted to the sight before her, she stood before an ancient tree that coiled its roots from the edge of the cliff and stood high against the wind, barely any leaves to decorate it as it rustled against the currents.
In the air, she could hear a distinct voice be carried from some ways ahead of her, mixed with the gentle trills of a harp. Was this a dream or a vision? She wasn't sure.
She stepped towards the tree, nearing it till the voice was clear as day. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the sea beneath her crashed violently against jagged rocks. She gulped, fearing she might fall. She searched the tree, and as her gaze lifted, a familiar elf sat before her with his eyes calmly laying upon her as he continued to sing under his breath and stroke the harp in his arms.
"Legolas? What are you doing here?" She asked, grabbing a trunk for security as the winds grew stronger. He jumped off the tree and neared her, putting his harp down and meeting her face to face, with a soft smile on his lips.
Hesitating, she takes his hand in her bare ones, and caresses them in hers. He felt warm in her hold, while her hands shivered with chills. He didn't say a word, only staring at her with a hint of uncertainty, which she couldn't figure out the reason for.
"I'm sorry, Legolas." She said, unable to hold his gaze. He huffed lightly and stepped closer to her, letting his warmth radiate onto her and calm her shivering state.
"Why apologise?" He asked, pulling her close to him till her hands rested on his chest.
"I... I feel I've tricked us both. That I've manipulated you..." she responded honestly.
"In what manner?" He questions, not understanding her meaning. She sighs shakily, looking at the roaring sea as a mist of salt came over them, coating her and Legolas in it. He didn't looked bothered by it; he even appeared calmed by the sight. She gulped, drawing his attention from the sea back to her by squeezing his hands.
Before she could speak again, a low and haunting whiny came from behind them, originating from a dark mare that dug its heel impatiently into the dirt, its eyes glowering at her specifically. She knew what this meant, and felt herself grow more frantic to talk to Legolas.
"I'm not good for you." She chokes, biting back tears that brimmed at her eyes. His jaw clenched, seeing her emotional state. "I hope you can forgive me for forgetting you after all of this is over," she whispered, leaning away from his touch to face the mare that coaxed her to come closer to it. He pulled her back forcibly looking into her eyes with what she mistook as anger, but really it was panic.
"What do you mean by this? You mean to tell me, that all we've done together was for nothing? That you would ignore everything we had for whatever conflict that troubles you?" He pushed, tightening his grip around her trembling hands. Tears dripped from her eyes and trailed down her cheeks, unable to hold them back anymore.
"It is for the best! I fear if our friendship continues, I will only hurt you and your people again," she pushes him but, he doesn't let go.
"How could you know that? The future is a mystery for all," he urges, struggling to keep her in place as the skies thundered above them and the sea grew darker.
"I don't know, Legolas! I never know. I walk in the dark, and everything I do, is something I do from the eyes of another! I feel as though I have no free will — that I put on a mask every day," she cried, and his hold softened, apprehension written all over his face. She took this chance to dash away, holding the horses mane in her hands and preparing to mount it as its haunting chuffs rung in her ears.
"I'm sorry Legolas, I truly am..." she climbs onto it, watching as Legolas rushed to her frantically.
"Wait, [Y/n]!" He calls, grabbing her hand and bringing it to his lips, causing a gasp to her leave her lips delicately, unable to fathom he would do such a sweet gesture.
"I seldom care for what you believe you are, because to me, you have always been the kind maiden of my friends, and the bold witch I met in Rivendell," he smiled, jogging along as the mare began to canter on its own, out of [Y/n]'s control. Shaking her head violently, she sobbed as he continued to hold her hand and run alongside her, refusing to let go.
"Please, Legolas!" She begged, but he didn't listen.
"Promise me, [Y/n]," he whispers softly against the currents of the wind, his voice being carried all around her.
"I am too unstable! I cannot promise you anything," she sobbed, yet it still didn't falter his warmth.
"You are perfect to me," he smiled, watching her shake her head and choke out 'no' as she could no longer take it.
The dark mare lets out a disturbing whiny, startling Legolas and causing him to let go of her. The horse picked up its pace considerably, but even then he dashed after her, refusing to leave her side.
"Promise me! Promise me you'll give our friendship a chance after this is over. Even if all hell ruins this world, I still want you by my side," he begs, gleaming at her hopefully. Her breath hitched as she looked into his glistening eyes, wondering if this promise will torment her in the future. She knows she cannot hold it, but she didn't want him to leave defeated, as it wouldn't leave a good mark on her conscious.
"I-I promise," she breathes, and with that he stops in his tracks and raises his arm for a wave, bidding her goodbye with a newfound hope in his heart. She was astonished by his enthusiasm, and couldn't stop staring at him as the world grew dark around her.
The image of him was the last she saw before her vision went black.
"HARGHLG!" She gurgled, nearly drowning in the water of her bath, scrambling to get onto a balanced platform at the edge. She had forgotten she was bathing, and blinked in shock as she realised she had only been dreaming. Was her heart playing tricks on her? Showing her a farewell she would have favoured over the one she currently had? It left an empty feeling in her chest, knowing that her reality was much more disappointing than the dreams she had. First, it was the dream of Rivendell, and now this. When will the torment end?
She sighed, getting out of the bathtub to resume her studying, already forgetting most parts of her dream as she dried herself and got back into her miserable routine.
𐮛 The plains of Dunharrow 𐮛
Riding Arod was no difficult task, yet Legolas's head pounded irritably. It was the deafening silence that caused such discomfort in the elf, his eyes searching behind him frequently for a face that he would not find; [Y/n]. He didn't know he would miss her this terribly, especially her strange antics which he would note every time they travelled long distances whether by foot or horseback. It would always entertain him and even distract him well from a mind of turmoil. She would stare ahead with murky eyes, like she saw images flash across her eyes — that he so desperately wanted to see, wanting to hear her thoughts and figure out what she was thinking of in moments like these. He found himself curious for her even in the most unconventional times; how she could do her hair, what she ate that morning or even why she would collect pebbles in her pockets for no reason.
She was a mystery that he wanted to unfold, and he was unsure if it was because of her history with his people, or plainly because her character was that intriguing. Even if she would scorn him with burning glares, he would push aside his anger and practically force her to comply with him for his own selfish reasons. He sighed, sticking his eyes to Aragorn, who studied the tightly knit mountain walls around them, appearing disturbed yet vaguely familiar with the area. He remembered glimpses of her figure whenever she dressed in more tight attires, or the feeling of her... upper area, when he had to ride with her on the plains of Rohan. He coughed, internally shaming himself for thinking such indecent thoughts, and trotted up to Aragorn's side.
They made camp in a plain, the people building temporary tents for the king while, Gimli, Aragorn and Legolas sat by a campfire. Gimli had long gone to sleep, snoring loudly beside them. Legolas continued to think of [Y/n], especially their last moments together; she looked so scared, and it worried him to think she would be out of his supervision for so long.
"What troubles you, Legolas?" Aragorn spoke, noticing his friends subtle distress within seconds. Legolas got a start, and peered at his friend with eyebrows raised, before clearing his throat and shrugging.
"Nothing. It's merely [Y/n]. I wonder how she fares now," he explains, hiding his provocative thoughts.
"Only a day has passed," Aragorn chuckles, leaning against an old log.
"Aye, I know," he sighs, crossing his arms frustratedly. After a minute of thinking, Aragorn spoke up again.
"She treats you quite differently, from what I've seen,"
"She does too." He grits, his jaw clenching when his thoughts ran to his father, his warnings playing in his head like a broken record. Aragorn watched his friend grow gloomy, and felt a hint of sympathy for him, but at the same time, he couldn't figure out why this was happening to him. He doesn't know much of [Y/n]'s past, and always wanted to hear it from the words of someone that was directly linked to her, rather than listening to the harsh rumours that would circulate whenever her presence was known.
"You never did tell me of her history with your realm," he pointed out, studying the way Legolas shifted in his seat uncomfortably.
"I've told you enough... I do not wish to taint your opinions any further." he sighs, referring to when he spoke about her shortly after leaving Rivendell. Aragorn shook his head, holding his eyes sincerely. "How do you see her? I heard she is acquainted with the Lady Undomiel, is she not?" He asks, and Aragorn flickers his eyes away, his mood dampening a bit at the mention of his lost lover.
"You heard correctly... Arwen and her are close companions." He confirms. "She always spoke of her so kindly, so you see why I am divided," he explains guiltily, and Legolas smiles appreciatively, glad his friend keeps an unbiased approach.
"That would make sense. She treats her friends kindly," he agrees, shrugging.
"Perhaps you provoke her too often," Aragorn questioned frankly, surprising Legolas.
"How so? What makes you say that?"
"Well, from what I've observed, you two seem to quarrel any chance you get. Yet, every time she speaks with anyone else, she is perfectly neutral," he suggested, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. After a second of Legolas staring at him bewildered and Aragorn pondering, he let out a chuckle, finding one of the memories amusing. Legolas frowned, crossing his arms towards his friend disapprovingly.
"I mean no offence, but clearly you haven't heard the way she speaks to me. She scorns me, just like the way she scorned my father," he grumbles, and Aragorn quickly wiped off his smirk to calm Legolas's clear discontent with the subject.
"Tell me, my friend." He sat silently, watching Legolas expectantly. He eventually succumbed to Aragorn's curiosity, and told him all he knew about [Y/n], relaying his fathers words specifically.
"More than a century ago — I believe you were 10 years of age, she had cast a number of curses on Mirkwood, spreading malice in every corner she found until she was eventually subdued. My father had sentenced her to hang, but that same night, she had escaped with the aid of Gandalf," he explained, trying not to sound negative as much as possible, but it was hard to considering what was being said. Aragorn fell silent again, thinking deeply as he always does when he is presented with something that provokes opinion.
"Gandalf saved her? Fascinating..." he murmured, covering his lip in further contemplation.
They sat there for a minute, engulfed in the quiet night and the crackling of the fire, Legolas intently looking to Aragorn to hear his next words, but before he could speak again, a strange sound came from their side. A toot.
A fart from Gimli.
"Sorry lads, I had onion soup earlier," he grumbled half asleep and turned over, snoring softly. Aragorn suppressed a grin and looked to Legolas, deciding to deliver his view. Legolas waved the air, scrunching his nose a bit.
"Could it be she fears you?" He asked, and Legolas's eyes widened at the idea.
"I... never considered it," he muttered, squeezing his hand in uncertainty. He reminisced on the way she would avoid his gaze or back away from him whenever he would get too close, or even act apprehended when he wasn't being hostile. It began to sound more plausible the more he reflected on her behaviour towards him.
"She was sentenced to hang by your fathers decree, so what if she fears you will arrest her lest the chance comes?" He questioned rhetorically, and Legolas was beginning to see a point he had been blind to this entire time. He shook his head, either rejecting the idea or plainly irked by it.
"If that is her fear, then it is an irrational one. I am not my father," he contended. Aragorn pulled his lips into a thin line and looked away.
"It is only a suggestion, Legolas. My verdict is not lore, not by a long shot," he reassured, and the elf sighed in frustration.
Legolas noticed that Aragorn seemed too concerned for him, and felt guilty for making him worry. He took in a deep breath, calming himself before responding.
"I apologise, Aragorn. I laid my burdens on you while you already have your own," he smiled.
"Nay, do not say such a thing. I am your friend, I will always be here for you as I am sure you will for me," he smiled back, and with that, they got comfortable by the fire, resting their eyes and letting the night crawl into their minds for sleep.
Though, usually Legolas is on night watch, he felt a strong urge to sleep tonight. His eyes fluttered shut, and eventually he fell into a deep slumber, where he dreamt of a grey sea beneath a cliff.
◣──•~❉᯽❉~•──◢
HAPPY TENTH CHAPTER YALLLLLLLL 🤩🤩⭐️⭐️😜😜😜🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉
Lawd have mercy writing in Legolas's pov was hard.
Idk if y'all notice but I'm trying not to reveal much about Legolas's feelings, [Y/n]'s past, or Izalith lore because honestly... the mystery is kinda cool.
But if you ever feel frustrated with the mystery, then feel free to comment and I'll make things more obvious lol
I hope you enjoyed this.
Ugh isn't he so gorgous.
Pls vote, and comment ur thots and stuff teehee, if you don't I'm gonna castrate you
Byeeee! Xx