LOTR || ⤜𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙩 → [Legolas x OC]

⤜ 24 → the winged warrior

When I stepped out from behind the dressing screen, the first thing I was met with was Bellethiel's delighted smile. The next was a chorus of compliments coming from the twins.

"I feel like I fit the description of a warrior much better now than in that dress," I stated, adjusting the fit of the leather bracers on my forearms. The tunic I now wore even had a thin hole in back for my wings to pass through. I smiled at Bellethiel, knowing she certainly thought it all through.

"You look formidable," Ymir grinned. "Like a huntress I would wish not to provoke in battle."

I rolled my eyes but let the corners of my lips twitch upwards.

"A few calculated swings of your sword," Ymir continued. "And a dragon could be slain by your hand."

My fingers paused their work at tightening the strings. "A dragon?" I echoed slowly.

"Why, of course. You know, those big horrid creatures with scaly wings and sharp teeth," he explained using rapid hand movements. I felt myself pale. Was I going to encounter a dragon? "But did you know they do not actually breath fire. That is simply a myth in folklore to plant fear in the hearts of men and discourage them from seeking out the ancient beasts. Absurd, is it not?"

Suddenly I felt very small standing in centre the room. Like a child dressed in her father's clothes. My thoughts had begun to trail into worries until Bellethiel's calm voice brought me back.

"Rosa, my dear, do not fret." She levelled Ymir with a glare before gently coaxing me forward, taking the strings from my fingers to secure the armguards herself. "You will be quite alright. I have every reason to believe that your companions will always be there to see to your safety." She tightened the strings and twisted them into a knot, tugging on it to test if it held.

That did little to ease my nerves and I lightly gripped the ends of my tunic with my other hand. "How... likely am I to find a dragon here?" I asked.

"No, no. Not at all," Bellethiel assured. "The last our lands had seen one of those beasts was over a century ago!"

"Yes, the Great Fire Drake. Smaug the Destroyer." Ymir piped up before he was smacked into silence by his sister. "Ow," he said, rubbing his arm for the second time and scowling at Ylva.

I frowned. "You just told me dragons do not breathe fire."

He shrugged. "Most do not. Smaug was not a pureblood so he was a rarity to that rule. A Bowman had shot the last Black Arrow straight into the dragon's belly. And when Smaug roared in pain and fury, plummeting from the sky straight into the flaming ruins of LakeTown, his death marked the end of the Great Dragons of Middle-Earth." Ymir concluded the tale with a flourish as I stared on, wide-eyed and unbelieving.

When I finally managed to blink, I found myself being pulled by Ylva through the doors and into the Talan entryway. Ymir's cheerful goodbye reached my ears and a glimpse of Bellethiel's motherly smile caught my eyes before the doors shut.

Then Ylva turned to me immediately. "I apologise, sometimes my brother does not know when to keep quiet." She said while carefully leading me down the spiralling stairs. "Our mother used to read to us every night, and those tales have stuck with him since."

"No need to apologise," I assured her with a smile.

I wondered... if I had a mother growing up, would she have also read tales to me before bed? My father, often occupied by his work, did not have as much time as he'd have liked. But our adventures certainly made up for it.

Before I knew it, Ylva and I were walking towards the riverbank where I could see the backs of Aragon, Legolas and Gimli. They were listening as Celeborn spoke— something about the journey— I was still too far away to hear it all but words like "north" and "Rivendell" and "cover" I could pick out.