Lonely Dragon {Legolas x Reader}

Shadows in Rivendell

The soft light of Rivendell cast long shadows across the valley as Gandalf and Elrond stood on the balcony, their gazes resting on the small figure of Frodo and his steadfast companion, Sam, below. Their voices carried softly, laden with the weight of growing uncertainty.

"His strength returns," Elrond observed, his expression pensive as he watched Frodo moving slowly, the strain of his journey still visible in his careful steps.

Gandalf nodded, yet his eyes were dark with concern. "That wound will never fully heal," he replied, his tone touched by both sorrow and pride. "He will carry it the rest of his life."

Elrond gave a small nod, his own gaze somber as he took in Gandalf's words. "And yet, to have come so far still bearing the Ring..." he murmured, with a rare admiration that seemed out of place amid the troubles looming over them. "The hobbit has shown extraordinary resilience to its evil."

A faint smile crossed Gandalf's lips. "It is a burden he should never have had to bear. We can ask no more of Frodo." But the gravity in his voice suggested that, despite his words, he knew Frodo's journey was far from over.

Elrond's face was stern as he shifted his gaze to the east, toward the growing darkness in Mordor. "Gandalf, the enemy is moving. Sauron's forces are massing, and his Eye is fixed upon Rivendell. And Saruman, as you tell me, has betrayed us." Elrond's voice grew cold, his disappointment in his old ally sharp. "Our list of allies grows thin."

Gandalf's brow furrowed deeply. "Saruman's treachery runs deeper than you know. By foul craft, he has crossed Orc with Goblin-Men... he is breeding an army in the caverns of Isengard. An army that can move in sunlight, covering great distances with speed." His voice dropped, heavy with the menace of Saruman's new creations. "Saruman is coming for the Ring."

Elrond looked away, his features hardening as he processed Gandalf's words. "This evil cannot be concealed by the power of the Elves alone," he said, his tone grim. "We do not have the strength to fight both Mordor and Isengard. Gandalf..." Elrond's eyes met the wizard's, resolute and solemn. "The Ring cannot stay here."

Gandalf was silent for a moment, turning to look through the balcony toward the distant horizon. Rivendell's gates opened in the courtyard below, and the faint sounds of new arrivals filtered up to them. Gandalf's gaze followed Boromir's proud figure as he rode through the gate, followed by Legolas, tall and graceful among his people, and Gimli, sturdy and purposeful as he approached with his fellow dwarves. Gandalf's eyes flickered toward Legolas, a mix of pride and an unspoken hope filling him.

Elrond's gaze also traveled to the arriving allies, his expression thoughtful as he spoke. "This peril belongs to all of Middle-earth. They must decide how to end it—not just for themselves but for those who come after."

He turned back to Gandalf, his expression turning melancholy as he looked over his beloved home. "The time of the Elves is over. My people are leaving these shores."

"And yet," Gandalf murmured, his gaze shifting back toward Elrond, "there are still those who wish to protect these lands. Those who would seek to make them whole again."

Elrond's gaze softened as he understood the subtle hint in Gandalf's words. "She does not have to carry this, Gandalf," he replied quietly, his words filled with a deep sympathy. "(Y/n) has fought against darkness her entire life, even when that darkness was part of herself."

"That darkness has given her a unique strength," Gandalf said, a certain sadness coloring his tone. "But there is a kind of resolve within her—one that no magic nor malice can erode." He paused, looking away as if in thought. "She could lead her people to reclaim Mordor, to reshape it... but only if the Ring is destroyed."

Elrond remained silent, considering Gandalf's words with care. "(Y/n) may well have the strength to lead her people to that haunted land," he admitted, "but the cost may be one too great for even her to bear." His face grew grave as he thought on it further, wondering if this could truly be a path for her.

"There are some burdens that must be carried for the sake of the greater good," Gandalf said quietly, his expression filled with a mix of sorrow and hope. He turned his gaze back to the arriving figures in Rivendell's courtyard, thinking of the council that would soon take place. "Perhaps this council can give her the chance to decide, one way or another."

The gentle sounds of the rushing Bruinen river filled the pause, blending with the footsteps of the newly arrived company as they made their way toward Rivendell's heart. Elrond's gaze was distant as he looked out, his thoughts drifting far back to days long past.

"Who will you look to when we are gone?" he asked softly, the weight of years heavy in his voice. "The Dwarves? They hide in their mountains, seeking only riches. They care nothing for the troubles of others."

Gandalf's mouth quirked in a slight smile. "It is in Men that we must place our hope."

"Men?" Elrond's tone grew incredulous, his faith clearly tested by long years of disappointment. "Men are weak. The race of Men is failing, Gandalf." A glimmer of bitterness colored his words. "The blood of Númenor is all but spent, its pride and dignity forgotten. It is because of Men that the Ring survives."

He turned to Gandalf, a shadow passing over his face. "I was there, Gandalf. I was there three thousand years ago when Isildur took the Ring. I was there the day the strength of Men failed."

Gandalf's expression remained steady as he listened, his gaze never leaving Elrond's face. The weight of his memories was etched into Elrond's expression, the bitter recollection of that fateful day when the Ring could have been destroyed forever.

"It should have ended that day," Elrond continued, his tone edged with sorrow, "but evil was allowed to endure. Isildur kept the Ring... and the line of Kings was broken." He paused, the frustration in his voice clear. "There's no strength left in the world of Men. They're scattered, divided, leaderless."

Gandalf's eyes held a glimmer of something resolute as he replied, "There is one who could unite them. One who could reclaim the throne of Gondor."

Elrond looked away, his voice laced with regret. "He turned from that path a long time ago. He has chosen exile."

For a long moment, silence settled between them, weighted by years of shared memories and lingering doubts. As Elrond returned his gaze to Gandalf, they shared a look of understanding. If (Y/n) was to bear the weight of her people's future, to reclaim her homeland, she could only do so in a world free from the One Ring and the evil it harbored.

Gandalf's voice, quiet yet determined, broke the silence. "And perhaps," he said softly, "in this choice, we might find the strength needed to unite not only Men but all who cherish freedom in Middle-earth."

Elrond's expression softened, his eyes lingering on Gandalf for a moment longer. "May her path be one that leads to peace, Gandalf. For her people, and for all of us."