Lonely Dragon {Legolas x Reader}

Back to Mirkwood

A/N: Happy Diwali !! Happy Halloween !!

(Y/n) made her way through the winding, shadowed paths of Mirkwood, her steps brisk but burdened by the weight of her thoughts. The ancient forest stretched out before her, it's dark branches swaying overhead, whispering secrets in the wind like long-forgotten ghosts. Though the beauty of the forest was undeniable, it did little to ease the emptiness gnawing at her chest. The grief over Smaug's death weighed heavily on her, but it was more than just the loss of the dragon that troubled her—it was the overwhelming loneliness that came with it.

Despite the company of her people and the respect she commanded, (Y/n) had never felt more isolated. She couldn't shake the memory of her last encounter with Legolas. His gentle words, the comforting strength of his embrace—how she had allowed herself to break down in front of him, a moment of vulnerability she so rarely indulged. Now, as she journeyed through the familiar woods alone, that moment of weakness gnawed at her.

"I am weak," she muttered under her breath, kicking a loose stone off the path. Her thoughts spiralled into a mix of regret and shame, replaying how Legolas must have seen her—broken, vulnerable, and far from the leader she was supposed to be. She, who was meant to embody strength, had crumbled in his arms. And what had she expected? That he might reciprocate her feelings when Tauriel was always at his side, with the history and bond they shared?

A sharp pang of regret coursed through her, but she pushed it down, hardening herself once more. There was no time for self-pity. She was the Lonely Dragon. She had a duty to her people, and they needed to know of Smaug's fall. The Dracagoth had a long-standing bond with dragons, and the ancient rites for Smaug's soul needed to be performed. The ceremony was sacred, but she couldn't face it alone, not yet.

Her pace quickened as the towering gates of Mirkwood came into view. The elven guards at the entrance recognized her immediately, nodding in silent respect as they stepped aside to let her pass.

As she made her way through the grand halls of the Elvenking's palace, the familiar scent of pine and ancient wood surrounded her. Despite the warmth of the flickering torches that lined the walls, a coldness settled within her as she approached the throne room. Thranduil's cold, commanding presence had always unsettled her, but over the years, she had learned to stand her ground in his company.

When she entered the throne room, she found Thranduil seated upon his elaborate throne, draped in robes of silver and green. His piercing blue eyes—so similar to Legolas's—met hers the moment she stepped inside. His expression, as always, was unreadable, but today there was something different in his gaze. A softness, perhaps, or something closer to sorrow.

"(Y/n)," Thranduil said, his voice calm but imbued with meaning. "You have returned."

(Y/n) wasted no time. "I need to send word to my people. Smaug is dead."

Thranduil's eyes flickered with recognition of the loss, but he gave only a slight nod, as if he had expected this moment to come. "Your people will want to know of the dragon's fall," he said gravely. "I will see to it that the message is sent with all haste."

(Y/n) swallowed, her throat tightening with emotion she tried to suppress. The Dracagoth's bond with dragons was ancient, stretching back to the dawn of their existence. Smaug's death was not just the end of a creature—it was the severing of a connection that had endured for generations. The rites they would perform were meant to honour his soul, to ensure that his essence remained in the world, bound forever to the flame.

"I will leave for the ceremony soon," (Y/n) said, her voice quieter now. "It must be done. For him."

Thranduil stood, his tall figure casting a long shadow across the hall as he descended the steps of his throne. He moved with his usual grace, but this time there was a solemnity to his presence that (Y/n) had not seen before. He stopped before her, his piercing gaze softening in a way that surprised her. For a brief moment, the distant and imperious Elvenking seemed almost human.