Blood of the Covenant [ Legolas x Fem!Reader ]

Chapter Fourteen 𐮛 My Mind's Alone

"So, what do you say? Why not help one another on this lonely journey?"

- Solaire of Astora, Dark Souls I

◤──•~❉᯽❉~•──◥

The road to the Black Gate was thick with malice. Each step seemed to draw them deeper into the land's corruption, its sinister grasp winding tighter with every mile. Even surrounded by her most trusted companions, [Y/n] could not still the tremor in her hands as her gaze swept over the desolation of Mordor. Her wounds throbbed, her strength still frayed from the last battle, and every pace forward felt heavier than the last. Soon she would need to master the fear that pressed like a stormcloud at the edge of her mind — for once the fighting began, weakness would mean death.

Is this where all things end? she thought.

Quelaag chuckled darkly inside her head. It is where things begin, little witch. Fret not. Strong blood runs in your veins.

The warmth in her tone surprised [Y/n]. It steadied her, if only by a fraction, enough that she drew the cold air deeper into her lungs. For all the chaos Quelaag brought, there were moments like this — strange, unwelcome, but comforting nonetheless. She would learn to live with the spider-witch's presence... if time remained to learn at all.

When the company halted before the towering Black Gate, time itself seemed to pause. The weight of Mordor pressed down in silence. Aragorn stepped forward, voice rising in a speech that strove to cut through the darkness. Legolas stood nearby, glancing at [Y/n] more than once before fixing his attention on their king.

Ah, of course. A rousing speech before doom, Quelaag muttered, her sarcasm prickling.

Anger flared. Do not speak foul of him. My friend is addressing us. Show respect.

He is no friend of mine, came the grumble in reply.

[Y/n] forced her face to remain composed, willing herself to ignore the jab and focus on Aragorn's words. Yet Quelaag's scorn lingered at the edge of her thoughts, persistent as a thorn.

The names of the fallen rose unbidden in her mind — Boromir most of all. Sorrow bowed her head. The journey has been long, and we have lost many who once called us friend. And yet... I am grateful. You have given me strength, Quelaag.

For a moment, silence reigned within. Then came a quiet answer: This road will be more perilous than any before it. But I have faith in you.

Her heart eased at the rare softness. She opened her eyes and whispered, "May the lords bless us all."

Ahead, Aragorn lifted his sword high. The steel caught the sickly red glint of Sauron's eye, yet even so, it gleamed with defiance — an heirloom of kings, a beacon for all who still stood against the darkness.

She turned to Legolas, forcing her face into stone to mask the fear clawing at her heart. Weariness showed in the fine lines around his eyes, proof that he had endured as much as any of them despite his fair and ageless appearance. Yet he had never once faltered or complained. In her eyes, he was the embodiment of quiet resilience, a warrior whose strength was needed now more than ever.

"For Frodo," Aragorn declared, lifting his blade.

The words struck like a spark. [Y/n]'s chest constricted as he surged forward, the host behind him answering with a roar that shook the earth.

A cry tore from her own throat as she raised her hand high. Orcs jeered from the walls, their beady eyes narrowing in sudden confusion as black flame coiled around her. She looked once more to her companions — brave, unyielding, prepared to die for Middle-earth — and her heart ached with dread. Are you ready to die for Frodo? For Middle-earth? For him?