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entishramblings · 11 months

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The Innocence of Brutality Pt. 7 [Legolas/F!Reader]

A.N: hey my preciouses. so im back from my hiatus with some pain and suffering for you all. this part was very hard to write as this story is a 10th walker. lol i struggle to follow an already created plot and not get bored writing—and that’s why I gotta add some twists and funky ass kicking Rámaitë Mahtar lore heh. anywaysss...enjoy!

Request: none

Pairing: Legolas X Fem!Reader

Summary: The Reader is Rámaitë Mahtar, a warrior spirit race, and she meets the fellowship on their quest to destroy the ring.

Disclaimer: Any mythology relating to the Rámaitë Mahtar is not canon as I made up Rámaitë Mahtar. Also, all elvish was translated from a translator site—it may not be accurate.

Word Count: 6.5k (i know I'm sorry i am a menace)

Warnings: nudity (not sex), mentions of war, mentions of torture, violence, fluff, hurt/comfort, beard abuse (sorry gimli)

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD | The Innocence of Brutality Masterlist | HERE for OC format

The fellowship and the Rámaite Mahtar spent hours upon hours enduring the biting lash of the snow's frigid touch and the piercing wail of the wind. The Pass of Caradhras fought against them, hard and strong. Relentless it was; as if the mountain itself was pained by their footsteps, doing all it could to shake them off and consign them to a frozen grave. Though they soon discovered that the mountain was not alone in pursuing their downfall.

Legolas frowned, squinting past the snowflakes that landed upon his lashes. It was hard to focus on anything but navigating through the blowing blizzard, for if he wavered his calculations, he and the fellowship would surely fall to their deaths. Yet still, something tugged at his mind, begging him to recognize its warning. The elf, determined to unravel what it was, let his senses settle into the air around him, absorbing all he could. That is when he heard it—a resonant voice murmuring curses into the wintry air.

The elven prince spun on his heel—so fast that he startled the dwarf behind him. Now facing the rest of his company, he cried out his cautionary statement. “Someone is aiding the storm. There is a fell voice upon the air.”

Gandalf met his eye, and only one word passed the wizard’s slips. “Saruman.”

(Y/N) turned to Legolas. Over the wind, she yelled her question to him. “Who is this man of saru?”

However, before any method of how he could even begin to articulate such a person even entered his mind, Aragorn and Boromir tones sprung into the air. Their voices grew insistent, advocating to return the way they came, only for Gandalf to fiercely argue against it.

“Legolas,” (Y/N) addressed again, not paying mind to the serious conversation behind her. “Who is this man of saru?”

“(Y/N),” he started. However, he was interrupted by a deep murmur that reverberated through the mountain’s core. That was the only warning the fellowship received. Seconds later, heavy clumps of snow came thundering down from the slopes above them. Legolas’ unfinished words were swept away by the mountain's rampage, lost amidst the chaotic dance of falling powder.

“Get back!” was briefly heard as Aragorn pressed his body against the side of the mountain. He attempted to take Frodo and Sam with him through a failed outreached hand grasping upon nothingness.

The Rámaite Mahtar’s eyes followed the motion, her instincts kicking in.

Her wings snapped open, tearing through the fabric and leather armor that clothed her. They extended outwards, providing a canopy over the four hobbits, just as the avalanche was to bury them.

(Y/N) grit her teeth, her form shaking slightly as the pressure hit.

Silent the hobbits were, no sound leaving their normally chatty lips, as the onslaught of snow railed upon (Y/N). Only awe was present upon their expressions as those four pairs of big, worried eyes looked up at her stern face.

The Rámaite Mahtar, however, took no notice to their concern. She held steady until no further weight was forced upon her wings.

Slowly, she lifted her head up—proud and strong—and her wings following suit. She shook them off. The snow she had caught tumbled from her feathery masses. It skipped off the edge of the mountain, leaving its longtime home.

Legolas emerged from beneath the snow rather quickly. A single glimpse of (Y/N)'s outstretched wings and the visible hobbits revealed to him what she had done. Knowing they were out of harm's way, he wasted no time in digging through the snow to unearth his other companions.

As the first hand broke the surface, Legolas seized hold of it and yanked. Spluttering, up came Aragorn. The two didn't need to speak to know what else needed to be done. They instantly began to sweep away the glistening snowflakes that continued to conceal their comrades. They hoped to retrieve them—one by one—from their frozen confinement.

(Y/N), seemingly deeming the two men competent enough to handle the task, moved closer to the hobbits. She patted Frodo’s head as she looked between the four of them. “Safe, safe, yes?”

Their responses consisted of small nods and drifting gazes, their minds still in shock.

Boromir and Gandalf soon emerged, though one member of their company was still not yet found.

“Gimli! Where is Gimli?” Legolas called out desperately.

(Y/N) furrowed her brows as her gaze scanned the snowy landscape. Meanwhile, the rest of the fellowship frantically dug, their efforts driven by urgency. (Y/N) took a few steps forward, her expression determined.

Suddenly, she began stomping in various spots on the fluffy snow bed.

Her companions, including Legolas, exchanged puzzled glances, unable to comprehend her actions. However, their confusion quickly dissipated when a muffled war cry echoed from beneath her feet. Without hesitation, (Y/N) plunged her hand deep into the snow and pulled hard. Emerging from the white depths, beard first, came Gimli, hollering and gasping for air.

Sighs of relief exited many lips before the arguing between the navigators started once again.

(Y/N) looked between them, watching, observing, trying and failing to understand the gravity of the situation. Though it seemed it wasn't really up to her to have to understand. The decision got passed down to Frodo and the small hobbit picked their dwarven friend’s option: The Mines of Moria.

Therefore, they wearily trudged down the mountain, their souls burdened and their bodies fatigued. (Y/N)'s wings guarded the hobbits, shielding them from the biting winds until they finally arrived before the sealed doors of the dwarven kingdom. And there they remained, seated in patient anticipation—for hours on end.

In the stillness, only the soft murmurs of Gandalf's whispered words and hushed conversations drifted among the fellowship, creating an atmosphere of quiet suspense.

Legolas perched beside Y/N, holding her leather armor layer in one hand and a sharp knife in the other. He was carefully carving the ripped section into a smoother line, ensuring easy exposure of her wings. Given their current lifestyle, he presumed it was crucial for her to retract and unveil her deadliest weapon effortlessly. Besides, they lacked the time and resources to stop in a town again, and even if they did, they wouldn't find suitable clothing to accommodate her unique form. The Rámaite Mahtar were not supposed to exist—not in this world at this time. She was an exception. She was a phenomenon. She was a secret—one that could get them all killed.

“Legolas,” (Y/N) stated. “Who is this man of saru?”

The elf briefly glanced up at her as he continued to work. This was the third time he was asked this question by her, and he knew she would ask it again if it was left unanswered. She was persistent like that. He cleared his throat. “Do you remember how we told you that there were some who intended to harm us and the people of this world?”

She nodded.

“Well,” he continued. “Saruman is one of them. He is aiding and orchestrating armies for Sauron.”

“Sauron?” (Y/N) questioned.

Legolas sighed, placing the leather down as he focused on (Y/N). He knew he would have to give her all his attention for this conversation. It wasn't one that you could have so casually. “Sauron is consumed by an insatiable thirst for power. He wants to enslave its people, create an empire of pain and suffering, and burn it down to ash and bone.”

“Why?” she asked, so innocently.

“(Y/N),” he stated softly, gazing into those goddamn brilliant, concerned, (e/c) eyes of hers. “Sauron…Sauron was a servant of Morgoth.”

The Rámaite Mahtar's lips parted, releasing a hushed gasp that was woven with fear and disbelief.

Legolas watched as these emotions shattered her soul and wreaked havoc in her heart. Her brows furrowed, her lips contorted, her gaze wandered, and her eyelids fluttered. Processing. That is what she was doing—absorbing the shock and dissecting its meaning.

“(Y/N),” he whispered, reaching for her hand. “(Y/N), Morgoth will not come here. He cannot come to this plane. The Valar would never permit it.”

She shook her head, pulling away from him. “Yes, he would. For me, he would. For me, they would let him.”

“(Y/N),” he said again, desperately.

She stood, shaking her head, her voice rising slightly. “You do not understand!!!”

Legolas, sensing her distress escalating, abandoned his seat and moved to stand with her. Gently, he took both her hands in his own. “(Y/N), help me understand.” He peered down into her wild eyes, searching for an answer. “Please, help me understand. I am here. I am listening.”

She glanced down at the ground below her feet, taking in a deep breath as she tried to gather herself—to regulate her emotions, Legolas perceived.

After a moment, she looked back to him. Her voice was quiet as she spoke. “I—I did things. B–before. When I was here long ago.”

The Prince nodded his head in encouragement.

She shut her eyes and withdrew her hands from his hold, letting her arms wrap around herself in what appeared to be a self-soothing state. “T–terrible things.” (Y/N) focused her gaze back onto Legolas. “They–they wanted it empty of some of the stuff they put in it.”

“What do you mean?” he inquired softly, his confusion deepening. “What did they want empty?”

(Y/N) frowned, her expression twitching as she tried to pick out the correct word to use. “The–the world.” She paused, just for a moment. “So, we emptied it. But–but we did not understand. I did not understand. There were peoples there.” As her words flowed on, she delicately extended her hand and brushed her fingertips against his ear. He fought the urge to flinch at the contact, but he did not stop her. Knowing how sincere and vulnerable she was in that moment, he wanted her to continue her truth. He didn't desire to give her any reason at all to halt her words. “Peoples like—like you, but not like you. Different.” She furthered, her hand then slid along the curve of his elvish ear until it was nothing but a ghost. (Y/N) looked down once again. “They screamed and cried, but we did not know, so we did not stop.”

“(Y/N),” he whispered, cupping her cheek and forcing her to look at him. “It was not your fault. The Valar did not teach you. They did not teach you of right and wrong.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, a tear escaping them. “It was my fault. I was the leader.”

Legolas’ thumb gently wiped away the water that ran down her cheek. “But you did not know, my starlight. You did not know.”

A quiet sob escaped her chest as she tried to look away from him. Though he would not let her. He would not let her suffer this guilt alone. Legolas pulled her form into his own. He enveloped her in his embrace, encircling his arm around her waist, while his other hand cradled the back of her head.

Instantly, she responded to this affection. Her hands—those small, deadly hands that had annihilated so many people—grasped onto his tunic, yanking at the threads. The ethereal glow of her wings enveloped him as well, as if just her arms were not enough to hug him back. And the pressure of her body against his was firm, almost urging him to anchor himself in case he lost balance. In that moment, with her face nestled against his chest, she sought solace and refuge in his embrace.

Softly, he pressed a kiss to her head as his hand moved in slow, soothing circles on her back.

Legolas knew the rest of the fellowship was trying, and failing, not to stare, but he did not care. This—this was important. This realization. This moment. This needed to happen. It represented her growth in the most pure and genuine way.

The embrace, however, was disturbed by the sound of a gentle plop that resonated in the air like a soft melody—though one very much out of place. One after another, the droplets of sound caressed their ears, intruding upon the intimate moment they shared. However, Aragorn’s chidding tone unintentionally attempted to give it back to them as he ordered Merry and Pippin to halt their actions.

Still, (Y/N) turned to look at the rippling of the water, watching as it moved with little rifts and smooth slides. The Rámaite Mahtar tilted her head, ignoring Frodo’s voice pipping up with a question regarding the door’s riddle. It wasn't directed at her anyways. She took a step closer to the water, and another, and another—until the sound of loud stone shifting claimed her and her companion’s attention.

The group gathered their belongings, (Y/N) folding in her wings and pulling the altered leather armor upon her form, before they flowed through the now opened doors. As they listened to Gimli rave of his cousins’ hospitality, they filed in. However, hospitality did not greet them. Nothing did. There were no torches. There were no cheers. There were no dwarven faces. Simply put: not a trace of life offered them a welcome and naught but dread stirred in their presence. As darkness wrapped around them, Gandalf lit his staff. That glow began to reflect light, allowing the fellowship to bear witness to the truth.

“This–this is no mine.” Boromir began, horror upon his tone. “It’s a tomb!”

Immediately, Gimli’s loud cries of despair echoed throughout the vast walls and the hobbits’ heavy breathing followed.

“We should never have come here. We must make for the Gap of Rohan!” Boromir exclaimed.

Rash shuffling from each member of the group followed as they began scrambling from the hallway of bones. Those bones, however, were immediately replaced by a new threat—one of tentacles and slime.

Before they even could escape the tomb, Frodo was clawing at the ground, his anguished cries for help piercing the air. The other hobbits urgently grasped his arms, straining with all their might to free him from the vile creature coiling around his legs. Yet his friends were only so strong. The creature drug the poor hobbit to the lake, flinging him through the air like a mere plaything.

Instantly, the fellowship, with weapons raised, were scrambling after him.

Though, the one that was the fastest was (Y/N). Her wings extended from her form, not breaking the newly crafted adjustments to her leather. With one strong push, she was in the air and weaving through the tentacles.

“By the Valar,” Aragorn whispered.

At his tone, Legolas’ gaze flickered from his aimed arrow and to his friend’s line of sight above the beast of the lake. Immediately, the elf’s lips parted in astonishment. Even after the months that they had known the Rámaite Mahtar, they had yet to see her fly. They had seen those beautiful wings act as blades, blankets, and canopies, but they hadn't seen them act for their intended purpose. They hadn't seen them serve as instruments of the wind. Legolas could not help but let his bow falter as he stared.

“She’s….she’s beautiful,” Legolas whispered.

Aragorn, his own shock subsiding, grabbed the elf’s arm and hissed a panicked order at him. “Legolas, cast aside your admiration and put an end to that vile beast!”

“Right, right,” he mumbled, drawing his arrow once again.

Aragorn ran into the water, slicing at the tentacles in desperate hope to free Frodo—and prevent his own capture.

(Y/N) maintained a relentless attack from above, using her wings as weapons to sever the slimy limbs impeding her path towards Frodo. With remarkable speed and precision, each stroke of her wings propelled her closer to the young hobbit, the distance shrinking inch by inch. However, just as she was closing in, the beast sent two tentacles her way. She spun quickly, her wings slicing them both, but it was the third to the back that she did not anticipate. It smacked against her shoulder blades, hard. Her body was launched backwards as if she was nothing but a gnat being batted away. The blow held such vigorous force that she crashed into the side of the mountain and tumbled with broken rock. Everything crumbled until she too joined the dust upon the ground.

Legolas, with fearful eyes, screamed her name. She did not answer.

The Prince continued firing arrow after arrow as he moved backwards towards the broken Rámaite Mahtar. Each forceful strike diverted the creature's attention. This distraction allowed Aragorn to slice the tentacle constricting Frodo, while Boromir swiftly caught him.

“Go, go, go!” Aragorn yelled, pushing Boromir and Frodo back onto the land. “Into the mines!”

The group darted through the entrance, Legolas scooping (Y/N) up into his arms as he did so.

The lake’s guardian tried to pursue them, its battered limbs slamming against the rugged mountain surface. However, in doing so, the squid-like creature lost its meal. In its desperate attempt to give chase, the fellowship’s fate was sealed. The attack caused the rocks to tremble and shudder. So much so, that the entrance to the passage crumbled and collapsed—entombing the alive with the dead.

Thick dust now drifted through the air, melding with the sounds of adrenalized breath and pounding hearts. They stood still as Gandalf lit his staff once more.

“We have now but one choice,” the wizard started as he began walking deeper into the mine. “We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world.”

“Mithrandir, wait.” Legolas called out, almost desperately.

All eyes shifted, only to be surprised to see the Rámaite Mahtar cradled in his arms. Before, she had appeared to be invincible. From the first day they encountered her, when she lifted the strongest member of the fellowship by the throat and nearly killed him, they had thought she was unstoppable. This belief was further reinforced as they witnessed her relentless prowess in battle. She ruthlessly obliterated a pack of orcs like it was nothing. She had annihilated them with sheer force that made even the elves look weak. A glimmer of possibility was instilled in them. Maybe their quest was not destined to fail after all? She was their hope. And now? Now that hope was a slumped, unmoving, bleeding form.

“(Y/N)?” Pippin whispered, his voice so quiet, so small.

“Is–is she alive?” Merry added, his tone mirroring his closest friend’s.

Legolas did not answer them as he gently laid her body onto the ground, kneeling next to her. With frantic lips murmuring a prayer in Sindarin, he reached to hold her face. Almost instantly, the Prince’s shaking hands were painted in her red blood. He tried to not focus on it as his nimble fingers found her carotid artery. He couldn't afford to think that she could be dead. Not now. Not ever.

The air was quiet and full of anxiety as they awaited his words—ones that would either break or heal their hearts.

“She’s alive.”

Sighs of relief left many’s lips, though Legolas did not hear one exit the wizard’s.

“I must treat her wounds.”

Gandalf huffed. “We cannot linger here.”

“Mithrandir!” Legolas called out, appalled. “She cannot be left to bleed—”

“Legolas, îdh, listo. (Legolas, calm, please.)” Aragorn stated, raising his hand. He then turned to the wizard. “Gandalf, Legolas is right. Without medical attention she could die. I understand you do not trust her yet, but she has saved our lives many times over. We need her.” He paused, nodding to the hobbits. “They need her.”

He huffed but dipped his head in agreement. He couldn't argue with that logic. “Ten minutes.”

Legolas was quick to pull his medical bag from his shoulder and began digging for supplies.

“Legolas, man tur- im ceri? (Legolas, what can I do?)” Aragorn stated as he knelt beside him.

The Prince passed him a small pouch as well as a mortar and pestle. “Mol hi into a sirith ir im heneb hen. (Grind this into a paste while I examine her.)”

Aragorn nodded, beginning the assigned task.

Legolas lifted her head, feeling the back of it, before speaking in the common tongue for the others to understand. “Swelling, but no blood from this blow. Seems it just knocked her out.” He twisted her face to see the bleeding cut above her brow. “This cut is pretty deep. I will need to stitch it so the skin mends properly.”

“Despite her ability to heal quickly? Cuts like this usually are gone within a day or so for her, correct?”

“Yes, but the flow is heavy and with the risk of infection—especially with all the grime in here…..” Legolas let his sentence trail off.

“Master elf,” Samwise interrupted softly. “Is there anything I can do?”

The Prince looked up at him. A gentle smile crossed his face for he knew of (Y/N)’s relationship with the hobbits. He knew how much she cared for them and they her. “Sam, if you could get Gandalf’s staff, maybe provide us with some better light?”

The hobbit nodded and quickly scurried off. Legolas could hear the soft conversation between the grumpy wizard and the innocent hobbit, though he was too focused on (Y/N) to pay attention. Regardless, Gandalf must have given in, for the hobbit returned seconds later with the light.

“Sam, hold it over here. I must check her wings.”

The light cascaded brightly above them, its luminosity filtering across the brilliant wings. The feathers absorbed and reflected those subtle colors, shining them back upon the three men. If the scene wasn't encased in blood and emotional turmoil, it would have been a radiant spectacle. But now, the once alluring silk-like texture bore the marks of horror—marks none would want to see freely.

“There does not appear to be any significant damage. Most of the blood is from the head wound or superficial cuts.” Legolas stated. “It looks worse than it really is.”

“But–but then why isn't she waking up?” Pippin inquired with unease.

Legolas did not answer, for he didn't have a reason to give the hobbit. Instead, he returned to the wound upon her brow. “Pass me that needle and threat.”

Soon enough, the Rámaite Mahtar’s cut was sealed and the blood upon her face was wiped clean. If they had not known of the events that had transpired, maybe she would have looked like she was sleeping peacefully. That, however, much to their dismay, was not the case.

Boromir, seeing (Y/N)'s treatment completed, spoke again. “We can take shifts carrying her.”

Legolas clenched his jaw, refusing to look at the Gondorian, as he gathered the winged warrior into his arms. “When her wings are exposed, it adds at least a hundred pounds to her weight. Without elven strength, you wouldn’t be able to carry her for long.”

Boromir scoffed lightly and sent a look at the elf.

Legolas wanted to snap back with another snarky reply, but he knew it would do no good. Hell, his previous comment was uncalled for—and he knew it. Boromir was a good, honorable man at heart. Legolas knew he would never do anything to harm (Y/N). The Gondorian respected her—as a woman, warrior, and friend. Besides, at this point, it was quite apparent that the Prince and Rámaite Mahtar’s souls were bound. So, Legolas kept his mouth shut as he pushed past Boromir and towards the front of the group.

Aragorn walked up beside the Gondorian. He gently patted the man’s shoulder. “Don’t take it personally. Elves tend to get quite possessive over their lovers, especially under dire circumstances.” The Ranger then chuckled. “Not one of their finer traits.”

Boromir snorted lightly in amusement, now not taking Legolas’ behavior to heart. “Indeed,” was his simple reply.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as they continued their journey along the paths of the old dwarven corridors. The fellowship found themselves halted at a crossroads, a convergence of three diverging paths, where Gandalf stood at the forefront, evaluating which direction to proceed with.

Legolas settled himself on the ground, leaning his back against the cool stone surface. Keeping (Y/N) in his lap, he gently adjusted her position, allowing her head to rest upon his chest and shoulder, her face nestled against the curve of his neck. Finding a moment of reprieve, he let out a soft sigh and pressed his head against the wall behind him, shutting his eyes. With a soothing touch, he traced gentle strokes along the Rámaite Mahtar's cheek, passing the time with rest.

It felt like only minutes, even though he knew it was hours, when Gandalf called for them to follow. Legolas begrudgingly stood with (Y/N) in his arms.

“Legolas,” Aragorn’s voice softly sounded beside him. “Let me take her.”

The elf turned to face his friend. “It’s alright. I’ve got her.”

The Ranger shook his head. “You must keep some strength if we are to make it through this mine. Exhaustion will do you no good. I will watch over her, even if it’s just for a little while.”

Legolas exhaled slowly but dipped his head in agreement. He knew Aragorn was right. As an elf, he had senses that would allow him to slay twice as many servants of darkness. If they were to come across any enemies, they would need him—especially with their strongest weapon now unconscious. Therefore, he passed (Y/N) to Aragorn.

The Ranger was careful as he took her into his arms, her wings hanging limp around him and brushing upon the dusty floor. “Valar—“ he mumbled. “You weren’t kidding about her weight.”

Legolas smirked lightly. “If she is too heavy, I can take her back.”

The Ranger grunted. “No, no. I’m fine.”

The elf raised his brows but followed the others.

Legolas kept an eye on Aragorn and (Y/N) as they moved. Though it wasn't out of distrust or jealousy, it was out of concern. He could sense, as the minutes passed and as the terrain roughened, the Ranger began to tire. However, it seemed he was not the only one who could tell.

Boromir approached Aragorn. “You look like you could use a break. I will carry her.”

Aragorn let out a low—and slightly strained—laugh. “Are you certain? Legolas wasn’t mistaken about her weight.”

The Gondorian bobbed his head. “I hardly believe she is that much to bear.”

“Suit yourself,” the Ranger replied as he passed the winged warrior to the other man.

“By the Creator….” Boromir immediately gruffed out.

Now it was Aragorn’s turn to tease. “I warned you.”

“That you did,” the Gondorian grunted. He then nodded ahead. “We don’t want to get left behind. Let’s keep moving.”

However, it wasn’t long before Boromir approached Legolas. “I won’t ever doubt the strength of you and your people again,” he expressed, accompanied by a warm smile. “Are you able to carry your girl again?”

Legolas nodded, guilt flickering in his heart for his previous rude demeanor towards the man. “Yes. Thank you, Boromir. I appreciate your help.”

The Gondorian nodded in understanding before he passed (Y/N) back towards the elf.

…..

As the days passed, (Y/N) still hadn’t woken, which proved to be worrisome. The wound upon her forehead had healed, leaving only a light scar that Legolas knew would disappear in a couple days. The swelling upon the back of her head vanished as well, providing even more confusion to her still unconscious state. She would stir here and there, but never did those curious, (e/c) eyes open. If she had survived a fall from the Valar’s incarceration, why was she remaining unconscious from a strike of the lake’s beast?

Still, they could not wait on her to wake. They had to push further. So, the fellowship continued to pass through Moria in secret, observing the dwarven wonders as they did so. However, it was ignorant to hope that that secrecy would last—and as soon as the corpse of an old dwarf tumbled down that well, they knew they were discovered.

It all happened so fast.

Legolas barely had time to place (Y/N)’s form down against Balin’s tomb before the doors were splintering, revealing orc faces dripping with evil desire.

However, at the first clank of a sword, there came at least one good act.

A large gasp, loud and alarm-filled, struck the air. The Rámaite Mahtar jolted upright. In an instant, her wings snapped back to life, shedding their previously limp state, and surged outward with lethal swiftness. As they unfurled, they decapitated three nearby orcs.

Legolas could only manage to call out her name in relief before he too was consumed by the battle.

With (Y/N) ripping the vile creatures into pieces, even faster than the elf, the fellowship had thought they had a chance. Well, that was until one sentence left the Gondorian’s lips.

“They have a fucking cave troll.”

From then on, it was a blur. Each member of the group was fighting for their lives—including the hobbits. Though all their hearts stopped when Frodo called out in pain and crumbled to the ground. Shrieks of fear left every member’s lips as Aragorn desperately rushed to his body. Those heartaching cries, however, quieted when Frodo’s small voice sang out clearly. “It’s alright. I’m not hurt.”

Then they were running again, and again, and again.

The immense chamber teemed with a horde of orcs, swarming across every surface—the ground, walls, and ceiling. So much so, that the members of the quest were encircled by them, barely having room to breathe. A sort of stalemate settled in, both sides waiting for the other to make the first move.

(Y/N)’s wings twitched as she rotated, readying herself.

Though a fight did not come—not from the thousands of revolting beings.

Badum, badum, badum.

Each member of the fellowship spun and turned at that sound.

Badum, badum, badum.

The orcs faltered and swiveled their heads.

Badum, badum, badum.

Panic then erupted. The grotesque creatures scrambled to flee. They shoved and pushed one and other as their gangly forms scurried away—back to the hellhole that they came from.

Badum, badum, badum.

“What is this new devilry?” Boromir whispered.

Badum, badum, badum.

Gandalf sucked in a deep breath. “A balrog of Morgoth.”

(Y/N)’s heart froze.

“A demon of the ancient world,” Gandalf continued. “This foe is beyond any of you. RUN!”

It was here that the fellowship mimicked the goblins—though with more care for one another. They took off down the vast hallway as they made for the Bridge of Khazad Dum. Their legs moved quicker than they ever would have thought possible—stopping only when there was a gap in a path above the fiery abyss.

Legolas was the first to leap across, his nimble form making it appear easy. Gandalf was the next to make the jump. Merry and Pippin were to follow with Boromir; however, they were halted as arrows shot at their feet—just nearly missing.

(Y/N) whipped her head around, just in time to see another projectile whizzing straight towards Boromir.

The Rámaite Mahtar was quick to lift her wing in front of him. The fine tip pierced her instantly, causing a deep grunt of pain to exit her lips. The arrow went through the feathery flesh, but halted as it got stuck in tight muscle—only inches away from Boromir’s forehead.

The Gondorian’s wide eyes shifted to her—in thanks, in shock, in guilt.

Legolas quickly turned and fired his bow, taking out the archer.

“Go!” (Y/N) shouted as she lowered her wing.

With that, Boromir grabbed Merry and Pippin and leaped onto the other side. His feet landed just before the section they had previously stood on collapsed.

(Y/N) was next. She lifted her wings slightly, despite the pain, to give herself more of a drift. As she landed she shuffled close to Merry and Pippin and ripped the arrow from her wing with a groan.

As Legolas caught Sam and then Gimli—by the beard—another arrow whizzed past the hobbits’ head.

Once again, the Rámaite Mahtar shielded them—earning two more arrows in the wing.

By the time Frodo and Aragorn finagled their way across the ever growing gap, the Balrog was upon them.

The fellowship were fleeing as fast as they possibly could. A few brave souls dared to steal a glance behind, their hearts pounding in their chests. Among them was Frodo, and as his eyes locked onto the fiery menace descending upon Gandalf, a cry of terror escaped his lips. The collective gaze of the group shifted at that, now drawn to the scene unfolding before them. They then bore witness.

The wizard stood strong. His deep voice, full of power and protection, echoed through the cavern. “You cannot pass.”

The Balrog attacked. Gandalf defended.

“I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn. Go back to the Shadow!”

Once again, the Balrog attacked. Gandalf defended.

The wizard brought his sword and staff crashing down upon the bridge, a resounding boom echoing through the air. His voice then thundered, filled with unwavering determination. "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" Those words seemed to reverberate through the chamber, carrying the weight of his command across the stone. In that moment, he stood as a barrier, defying the very force that sought to destroy them and their mission.

The bridge began to crumble. Piece by piece, the stone began to fall, taking the Balrog with it.

Gandalf inhaled deeply.

It was done.

The whip, however, lashed out one final time. With a swift motion, it coiled around the wizard's ankle, forcefully pulling him off his feet. In a fleeting moment, he was airborne, his body suspended before gravity claimed its prize. Gandalf’s hands flailed, desperately reaching out for anything to anchor him to the bridge's edge. His fingers found the stone and his nails dug in. Though, he knew he had no chance. He wished only to leave a message for the one who looked up to him the most.

Frodo cried out once again, lunging for his mentor and friend.

Boromir, however, wrapped a strong arm around him and held him back.

The little hobbit, sobbing, held eye contact with the wizard.

“Fly you fools,” Gandalf whispered.

Then, he too, was gone.

Frodo screamed, his cry intertwining with that of his fellow hobbits, creating a symphony of despair that echoed through the burning darkness.

However, they weren’t the only ones to have a profound reaction.

Surprisingly, (Y/N) rushed forward. She sprinted down the bridge, her legs carrying her fast, but she wasn’t fast enough. Legolas anticipated what she was going to do. He saw how her strides stretched wide and how her wings extended. She was gonna jump. Reacting swiftly, he took off after her. His paces were wider and his speed was quick. Just as she was about to push herself into the air, Legolas grabbed onto her waist and yanked her backward. The unstable bridge trembled under the sudden motion, threatening to give way, but the elf maintained his balance and steadied the winged woman in his grasp.

“LEGOLAS!” she snapped in fierce anger. Her threatening gaze—one that he had only seen directed towards enemies—poured into him, almost incinerating his soul.

“IT’S TOO LATE!” He barked back, ignoring the startlement that just flushed his veins and choosing to focus on the bridge crumbling beneath their feet. “RUN!”

With that he tugged her in the opposite direction, following the remaining members of the fellowship.

When they burst from the mines, their souls shattered like fragile glass. The hobbits collapsed upon the stony ground, their tears flowing freely, their sorrow reverberating through their chests. Agonized grimaces etched themselves onto the faces of Gimli and Boromir. Aragorn tried his best to conceal his pain, though his grey eyes betrayed him with hidden turmoil. And Legolas? He stood motionless, disbelief written across his face.

(Y/N), however, snapped him out of it. She pushed her palms against his chest, hard. “WHY DID YOU DO THAT?”

He twisted to look at her. “What?”

“Why did you stop me?!” The Rámaite Mahtar quipped back aggressively. She grasped onto the two arrows still embedded in her wing. She yanked them out. “I COULD HAVE SAVED HIM!”

Legolas shook his head, his tone calm and full of despair. “No, (Y/N). No, you could not.”

Her hands ran through her hair, frantically and angrily, the strands tangled and pulled on as she sought release from the overwhelming emotions rippling through her blood. A frustrated scream escaped her lips—a raw manifestation of these turbulent feelings surging. With a sudden burst, she spun back around, facing him with eyes ablaze. “I have killed one of those–those balrogs!” She took an enraged step towards him. “My legion and I bleed one dry of its fire! And you—”

Legolas interrupted her, his tone now picking up. “And I stopped you from killing yourself! You and your legion—”

“Legolas!—”

He grabbed onto her shoulders as his next words raced across the stones, silencing the area from all but tears. “YOUR LEGION ISN'T HERE!”

The wind skipped through the leaves of the trees, uneasy at the elf’s sudden tone. It blew gently upon the despairing people, begging to kiss their skin with some kind of hope, but only succeeding in tearing their hearts further. Still, it continued its melancholic dance. Seemingly carrying the weight of their shattered souls with its whispering of sorrowful melodies.

Nature itself mourned alongside (Y/N) as she stared, bewildered, at Legolas.

The Prince closed his eyes and lowered his head. He inhaled deeply, regretting his tone. After a moment, now returned to his normal steady and calm temperament, he gazed into her eyes and spoke again. “(Y/N), your legion is not here and they will remain absent. They were not present to help you defeat this Balrog and they will not come to help you fight others. They are imprisoned, beyond your reach. They won't escape as you did—not now, not after you have. The chains will have been fortified and the gates sealed with blood. You are the sole Rámaite Mahtar that will ever step on these lands.” He paused, his tone now a whisper. “You are alone.”

(Y/N)’s expression distorted. Her brows crinkled, her lips quivered, her eyes watered, and her form shook. Emotions whipped through her blood, boiling and freezing in the pain of realization and acceptance. She supposed a part of her had thought that her race would eventually return with her—join her in learning this plane. Though now that that secret hope was exposed and disproven, there was nothing else to be said. The truth stood liberated from the web of self-created falsehoods that had previously concealed it.

“(Y/N),” Legolas whispered, realizing the dream he had just shattered.

And that was all it took.

A loud sob escaped her throat and tears pooled down her face. She flung her form into his arms and cried.

She cried and she cried—as loudly as the hobbits.

And Legolas held her. He rocked her back and forth as he smoothed her hair, desperately trying to keep her safe from the pain, though he knew it was too late. He pressed a kiss to her head as he whispered into her ear. “Though you may be alone among your kind, I will forever be by your side.”

…..

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entishramblings · 1 year

Text

The Innocence of Brutality Pt. 6 [Legolas/F!Reader]

A.N: here we go again! you all are being spoiled by the amount of depression fics i am writing lmao. this part was interesting to write. i really had to dive into my psychology background for this juicy piece. but at the same time, this entire series is a psychology whirlwind so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (also I am running out of gifs of wings that do not have faces in it so if ya got some please send them my way)

Request: none

Pairing: Legolas X Fem!Reader

Summary: The Reader is Rámaitë Mahtar, a warrior spirit race, and she meets the fellowship on their quest to destroy the ring.

Disclaimer: Any mythology relating to the Rámaitë Mahtar is not canon as I made up Rámaitë Mahtar. Also, all elvish was translated from a translator site—it may not be accurate.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: nudity (not sex), mentions of war, mentions of torture, violence, fluff, hurt/comfort

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

The Innocence of Brutality Masterlist

The weeks continued as the fellowship slowly advanced towards their dreaded destination. They had not run into any more orcs or vile beasts of the darkness, but that is not to say that there were no problems. Decisions regarding safe routes to take and various methods of navigation became harder and the terrain got rougher and rougher. Spirits seemed to lessen as well. The hobbits were weary as were the men. Although, for Legolas, most of his concerns centered around the Rámaite Mahtar that had claimed his heart.

After their first discussion, (Y/N) kept in mind Legolas’ preferences regarding affection; however, after some time, he could see her getting impatient and needy.

(Y/N) started reaching for him more and more—and not just when she slipped. She would try and grab his hand while walking. She would reach for golden locks of his hair to play with when they took breaks. She would purposefully sit right beside him, her form smashed up against his, as they ate. Every once in a while Legolas would send her a warning look and she quickly learned what it meant, but eventually it didn't seem that that was enough.

Part of him felt immensely guilty. He knew she was touch starved. Her life had been spent in war and in chains. He knew very little of it, but he expected she received no comfort. And now? Now that she was free and thriving in Arda, that is all she desired. She just wanted affection and love from him. Hell, Legolas desired it too. But, the other half of him was annoyed and upset. He felt disrespected a bit, like the boundaries he had set were being violated. He had this anxiety surrounding the rest of the fellowship knowing of his and (Y/N)’s relationship, for he feared they would question his loyalties. And she was aware of this disquietude. They had discussed it that night in the forest. It just seemed that, overtime, her patience faded.

Regardless, he had thought that, despite all this, they were doing a decent job of hiding their relationship, but he was soon proven wrong.

One night, as they settled for camp, (Y/N) approached the Prince who sat upon a log beside the fire.

“Legolas, look!” she called out.

“Hmm,” he hummed, his mind being pulled from his rather depressive mulling state as he looked up at her.

But, she didn’t stop her approach before him as he would have thought. Instead, she plopped her ass right down in his lap. Her form then curled into his, her one arm wrapping around the back of his neck and her breasts just barely brushing against his chin as she steady herself.

Startled, he shifted uncomfortably. His eyes widened and his cheeks turned a red hue, like that of a berry blossoming in the summer. He was unsure what to do and how to proceed. If he jumped away from her, surely she would feel unwanted. But if he leaned into such an embrace and encouraged it, their relationship would be quite public and she would think violating the boundaries he had set was alright. Therefore, he just sat still—unable to hide his expression of embarrassment.

“Look what Pippin and I found in the creek!” she exclaimed excitedly, not picking up on his discomfort. (Y/N) opened her palm to reveal a decently sized gemstone. “The rainbows,” she stated as she twisted it in her fingers. “Do you see them?”

“I, uh, yes. I do.”

“What kind of rock is it? Does it have a name?”

Legolas cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, yes, yes. It is called opal.”

“Opal,” she repeated. (Y/N) then frowned, looking at his expression. “Do you not like opal?”

He raised his brows. “No, no. I like it. It is a perfectly fine stone.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. He could see her thoughts twisting and her mind turning. He knew she was evaluating his behavior and trying to figure out his strange temperament. After a moment though, she seemed to understand why his tone was slightly off and why he pulled away from her a bit. He had been doing so for a decent amount of time nowadays. It would be ignorant for him to assume she didn’t notice. Unfortunately, this only made her deepen her frown.

(Y/N) stood up from her perched spot upon him and scurried off in the opposite direction. “Boromir,” she called out. “Look what Pippin and I found!”

Slowly, Legolas raised his face. He knew there was one, merely four feet from him, who had witnessed this and would gladly voice his opinion. And, of course, the Prince’s vision was met by Aragorn’s raised brows and questioning gray eyes.

But, before either could say anything, another conversation began a little ways away—one that soon snagged their attention.

“What do you think?” (Y/N) asked.

“It is quite beautiful, love,” Boromir stated. “Shines like those wings of yours.”

Instantly, Legolas’ icy gaze snapped to the Gondorian.

The elf could not stop the anger that boiled in his blood and flashed across his face. He could not halt the possessiveness that spurred in his bones and rippled across his skin. He could not cease the jealousy that flushed his heart and twisted his gut.

How dare he call her such a thing.

Legolas watched as (Y/N)’s eyes flashed back to him, just for a second, before she placed a hand upon Boromir’s muscled bicep to seemingly steady herself as she continued to show him the stone.

The Prince clenched his jaw and released hot air from his nostrils.

How dare she do such a thing.

The elf’s fuming, however, was interrupted by a low chuckle from his friend who had the entire incident laid before him like a play.

If Legolas thought their affections weren’t obvious now, he would be an idiot.

Aragorn spoke in a hushed, teasing tone. “She is pissed at you.”

Legolas, wearing the deepest frown, turned to glare at the Ranger.

Aragorn rolled his eyes as he spoke his next words in Sindarin. “Oh tul- bo, Legolas. (Oh come on, Legolas.)”

“Mahn? (What?)”

“He na- in mel with cin. A cin hen. I pan -o cin ar ú- caudol—edregol hen (She is in love with you. And you her. The pair of you are not subtle—especially her.)”

Startled, Legolas’ eyes went wide as he tried to deny it. “A–a avo sinnen mahn ha na- cin ped- -o. (I–I dont know what it is you speak of.)”

The Ranger snorted. “Nin mellon, mín gar- sinnen an lefnar nia ho- i tád -o cin felf

an eithor. Since, mín govannen hen actuallui. Ha cel al- n- anui mor obstel. (My friend, we have known for weeks how the two of you feel for each other. Since, we met her actually. It couldn’t be any more obvious.)”

“Mín? (We)?” he spluttered.

“Na lesma Gimli a im. (At least Gimli and I.)” Aragorn poked the fire aimlessly. “A conthela i gurth tiro Gandalf eno aned cín té, im asthela hon sui eithel. (And considering the death glares Gandalf still sends your way, I assume him as well.)”

Legolas, now accepting that there was no way out of the situation, rested his chin in his hand and sighed. Defeated, his eyes focused on Boromir and (Y/N). “Thosl im am ú- gelir -o cín cened, im ceri- iest i er eleg wo- finna- glinth. (Though I am not glad of your observation, I do wish that one other would take notice.)”

Once again, light laughter rumbled in Aragorn’s chest. “Im ceri- ú- gûl ho cened hen in i pâd. (I do not think he sees her in that manner.)”

Legolas huffed, his eyes not leaving (Y/N)’s fingers that curled into the rust-colored fabric of Boromir’s tunic.

Aragorn nodded at the Rámaite Mahtar and Gondorian. “Ae telf, im am thossui il -o i na- hen (If anything, I am afraid all of that is her.” He paused. “He na- dol ha bo thel- (She is doing it on purpose).”

The elf sighed. “A sinnen. (I know.)”

Taking a serious turn, Aragorn spoke again. “Whui ceri- cin ab- hen míl if cin trului mel hen? I na- all he waln. (Why do you deny her affection if you truly love her? That is all she wants.)”

A light pink danced across Legolas’ face as he bowed his head. “Cin sinnen -o i custal -o nin bethal. A im–im del iest an i mala -o hi companui na n- enraged bui golodh regath hen a im, an im cened i unesta in all cín elro. (You know of the customs of my culture. And I–I didn’t wish for the members of this company to be enraged by such knowledge regarding her and I, for I see the wariness in all your eyes).”

Aragorn exhaled slowly, carefully picking out the words he was to say. “Nin mellon, ceri- cin beli he wele oiale near huth up- anui -o ammen? (My friend, do you believe she would ever place harm upon any of us?)”

“Baw. Im sennen he will ú-. (No. I know she will not.)”

“Thal whui eou- cin nifred i golodh -o eleg? (Then why would you fear the opinions of others?)” he persisted.

Legolas glanced down, ashamed.

As the hours progressed, Legolas stood upon the edge of the cliff, looking out at the plane below and the stars above. He took the first watch…and the second. He was going to take the third as well, but the soft steps of another pulled him from such focus.

“Legolas,” (Y/N) stated.

He did not turn.

She moved and stood beside him, looking out into the darkness as well. “What is it?”

He shook his head. “Tis nothing.”

“Not out there,” she replied, stepping in-front of him, claiming his attention and getting in his personal space. “Inside…you.”

Legolas shifted uncomfortably. For the second time that day, he used a sentence of denial. “I do not know what you mean.”

“You are upset.” (Y/N) stated.

She frowned as she took another step closer to him, her lips only inches from his own. He could feel her breath tickling his skin. He could taste the ethereal light she inhaled and exhaled. And he could smell her earthy and sweet scent. His senses were overcome by her. Yet, he did not respond to it.

After a moment of silence and no movement, she spoke again. “Upset at me. Why?”

Legolas scoffed slightly, turning his face away from her and letting his eyes drift back into his head briefly. It put a physical distance between them. It showcased his irritation. He did not reply.

Frustration began to brew inside the Rámaite Mahtar. “You will not answer me?” she stated.

“(Y/N),” he huffed in a dismissive tone.

Surprising him, she reached forward and grasped onto the front of his tunic. She roughly yanked him towards herself, getting in his face once again. “Why!?” she demanded forcefully.

Out of instinct, Legolas smacked her hand away and took a couple steps backward. Appallment hung upon his expression as he stared at her. He was shocked by her actions. This was the first time she had ever been aggressive and threatening with him since their first meeting—hell, this was the first time she had ever been like that with anyone in the company. And, to be honest, it scared him. It made him think back to his conversation with Mithrandir, which startled him even more for he didn’t want to believe that she only knew the combativeness of war.

Confused by his reaction, (Y/N) cocked her head.

“(Y/N),” he began quietly, trying to keep his composure. “Do not touch me like that.”

At this, she frowned and her eyes filled with perplexity.

Legolas swallowed dryly. She did not understand. She was frustrated and had no idea how to express it. So, she had done the only thing she knew how to do when she was agitated or angry: lash out. Realizing this, he spoke again. “Have I ever touched you aggressively? Even when I have been upset or frustrated?”

Slowly, the Rámaite Mahtar’s lips parted and the anger in her eyes melted into that of guilt. She realized what he was alluding to: she was being hurtful. “I—I did not mean it,” she stuttered quietly.

(Y/N) turned away from him, in a bit of a frantic manner. Seemingly realizing that she had nowhere to go, however, she moved to sit upon the edge of the cliff. A form of escaping the situation, Legolas guessed, for she genuinely had no idea what to do.

Slowly, he approached her. He stood behind her and spoke softly. “(Y/N), I understand you are frustrated. So am I. I just ask that you speak with me instead of lashing out at me.”

Silence.

“Please,” he added gently, in hopes to encourage her into a productive method of communication.

Silence.

“How about if I start?” He paused, for a moment, before continuing gently. “I was upset with the way you interacted with Boromir. It felt as if you were doing it on purpose to make me jealous and I did not like seeing you give another attention like that. I am sorry that I did not answer you when you asked me calmly the first time. It was unfair of me to do so.”

After a couple seconds of silence, seemingly thinking over his words, (Y/N) shot up. She turned to face him and he was surprised to see every emotion displayed upon her expression. The Rámaite Mahtar then began a long rant that Legolas was not expecting—one that he never would have guessed to leave her lips. It was rushed and full of anger, irritation, doubt, and sadness. It came with running tears, the color and consistency of pure starlight bursting and breaking.

“Why do you refuse to touch me? You do not sit beside me anymore. You do not hold my hand anymore. You do not kiss me anymore!” She stomped her foot and gestured widely. “I–I try. But–but you send me away and look at me as if—as if—” A little shriek left her lips and a sob followed, clearly frustrated as she struggled to pick out words to convey her feelings. “—as if you do not want me—even when no friends are looking!”

Now, the water continuously flowed from her eyes, freely and full of an aching pain. “I do not like hiding us from the friends. Why can they not know? Why can they not know?!”

Another gut wrenching sob echoed from her lips as her rant changed from yelling to a sad, cracking whisper. “I–I am scared. He will come to find me. He will come to look for me. I am not hiding b-because friends need help and I want to help…and I–I want you. But you do not–you do not take care for me any longer! You–you do not dress me. You do not brush my hair. You do not clean off the dirt. And you do not let me do any for you also!”

(Y/N)’s hands found their way into her (h/c) locks. She squeezed and pulled a little as more tears and cries spilled from her. “I don’t understand!!! I have tried–tried to learn it! I have tried to learn why b-but—” Her wings snapped open, ripping past the fabric of the simple tunic she wore: an emotional response. “BUT I CAN’T!”

It was in this moment that Legolas’ heart shattered. It felt as if his blood froze and filled with ice. That ice spread and spread and spread, until it coated his heart and solidified. It then was smashed into pieces—pieces of guilt, shame, sadness, and regret. What had he done?

Instantly, he rushed forward. Just as her form was about to collapse, her knees wobbling and her body drained, he wrapped her tightly in his arms.

“Shhh, shhh, (Y/N),” he whispered. “I am sorry. I am so sorry, my starlight.” Legolas could feel a tear run down his own cheek as he wove his hand unto her hair and cradled her head. “I never intended to make you feel as if I did not love or care for you any longer. I got wrapped up in my own fears of judgment when I should not have.”

(Y/N) buried her head into his neck, tears stinging his skin and sobs echoing into his blood.

Legolas squeezed his eyes shut, just for a moment, before focusing on the sparkling sky above him in an attempt to hold himself together.

He should have known. Valar—he should have known. The decision to create a distance to hide their affections was not the correct choice to have made. She was a very physical being, he knew that already but now he could see just how much. And pulling away from her only made her struggle to adapt harder. She may be able to shred various beings into nothing but liquid, but that did not make her mature enough to handle everything else on her own. She needed someone to care for her physically and emotionally. She was still learning and she needed someone to teach her. It was almost as if she was like a child or teen—just one with the skills of a killer and the intelligence, body, desires, and wants of a grown woman. She was just so foreign to their ways of life that she needed a guide. She had needed him. And he had failed her.

Legolas inhaled deeply, sucking in as much courage as he could, before looking down at her broken form once again. Slowly, he grasped her head in his hands and gently pulled it from the crook in his neck. He forced those eyes—those damn vibrant eyes, now filled with pooling water—to look into his own.

“(Y/N),” he whispered. “I promise you. I swear it to you. I will not let Morgoth take you from me. Although you are much stronger than I, I will defend you with every last one of my breaths. No longer will I fear the judgment of my friends. No longer will I push you away because of such a fear. I love you and I will for all of eternity. I will take care of you and teach you. I swear it.”

He rested his forehead against hers. “I swear it,” he repeated.

In a quiet, sad tone, (Y/N) whispered to him. “Does this mean you will kiss me again? I–I like kisses.”

He chuckled lightly and a small smile formed upon her lips.

Legolas then pressed his mouth upon hers and began to softly show her the truth to his love. She responded to it instantly, accepting the tender apology and gentle care. The kiss was short, simple, and wet, but full of raw emotion. It was full of love.

When they pulled apart, the Prince gently scooped her into his arms. He slowly sat down upon the grass and placed her into his lap. (Y/N) buried her head back into his neck and wrapped her wings around him, covering his back and dusting the ground. They stayed there in silence for a while, calming down.

Legolas was careful to monitor her breathing and her heart rate as she settled from her emotional outburst. This was the first time that she felt emotions all at once—he knew it would have to had beeen overwhelming. And once these things quieted and steadied, she seemed to notice too, for she began to shift a bit.

(Y/N) reached up to grab at a lock of his golden hair. As her fingers twisted and turned it, he did not stop her. And after a moment she spoke again. “What is the word when you feel bad about something?”

He raised a brow, sending a quick glance down to her, for he was not expecting that to be her first sentence to him after their fight. She, however, was not looking up at him to see his expression. Instead, her vision focused upon the softness in her grasp.

“Well,” Legolas began. “Guilt, I suppose.”

She shook her head. “No, not that one. The one you said earlier.”

He frowned, trying to figure out what she meant. It took a moment, but he soon realized what word she was looking for. “Sorry.”

She nodded. “Yes. That one.”

(Y/N) then pulled her body from his chest. Staying in his lap, she looked up at him. “Legolas, I am sorry for making you sad about being close to Boromir. I did it on purpose because I was mad. And that is—that is…” She frowned. “What is it when the hobbits yell rude things at each other?”

With his brow still raised, he provided the simplest answer that he thought she was looking for. “Mean?”

She nodded. “Mean, yes. It was mean.”

Legolas had to fight a smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, but not for a bad reason. First of all, it was adorable watching her learn their language. Second of all, he was proud of her. He had thought it would take more time for her to realize her wrongdoings and accept that she too had a part in the disagreement. He was not expecting anything in return for his apology, but he was glad to get one as well.

Despite what Gandalf had said, Legolas knew she was grasping the difference between right and wrong.

The Rámaite Mahtar were capable of learning such things.

Legolas bobbed his head slightly. “Thank you for apologizing.”

She sighed and snuggled into him once more. She let her head nuzzle back into the crook of his neck as her wings still hung around him, like a shield or a blanket. And it was like this, that she fell asleep. It was like this, that Legolas held watch throughout the entirety of the night. And it was like this, that the fellowship woke to.

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