Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters or settings from Lord of the Rings or Xena the Warrior Princess
XL: The Lament of the Elvenking
Halls of the Elvenking, Mirkwood, 2956 TA, September 15
In the fading light of dusk, the small caravan made its way through the dense forest of Mirkwood. The atmosphere was heavy with the weight of recent events, each member of the party lost in their own thoughts. The elves, silent and vigilant, guided their mounts with a grace that seemed at odds with the somber mood.
Xena, now seated on a horse, found herself grappling with the revelation of Legolas's royal lineage. The knowledge that she had been traveling with the prince of Mirkwood added a layer of complexity to their already tangled journey. Her mind, weary from the ordeal, tried to piece together the fragments of their adventure, her thoughts intermittently drifting to the bones of Legolas's mother that they carried with them.
Legolas, meanwhile, was a picture of exhaustion and pain. His injuries, both physical and emotional, had taken their toll. He rode in a daze, his mind clouded by the echoes of the dark experiences they had endured. The presence of his father, King Thranduil, brought a conflicting sense of comfort and unease. The reality of his mother's remains being so close, yet the finality of her loss, weighed heavily on his heart.
Thranduil rode at the head of the group, his thoughts a tumultuous storm. The return of his wife's remains, the condition of his son, and the involvement of this mortal woman, Xena, were all factors that he struggled to reconcile. His gaze often drifted back to Legolas, a silent promise of protection and support in his eyes.
The journey back to the Woodland Realm was a quiet one, with only the sounds of the forest and the occasional murmur of the elves breaking the silence. The tension of the recent battle with the orcs still lingered, casting a shadow over them, but there was also a sense of relief. They were heading home, away from the dangers of Gundabad, towards the safety and sanctuary of their kingdom.
As the moon rose higher in the sky, casting a silver glow through the canopy of the dense forest, the group finally approached the borders of Thranduil's realm. The familiar sights and sounds of the Woodland Realm were a balm to their weary souls. The guards at the border, upon recognizing their king and prince, quickly mobilized to provide aid.
Xena, still atop her horse, watched the elven kingdom unfold before her. The majesty of the woodland, with its ancient trees and hidden paths, was both awe-inspiring and intimidating. She wondered what fate awaited her within these realms, under the watchful eyes of Thranduil.
The group traversed the winding paths of Mirkwood, their journey illuminated by the ethereal glow of the moonlight filtering through the dense canopy above. As they neared the heart of the Elvenking's realm, the trees seemed to part, revealing the majestic architecture of the elven halls. These ancient structures, carved into the living wood and stone, stood as a testament to the enduring spirit of the Woodland Elves.
Upon their arrival, the elves of Thranduil's court came forward, their expressions a mixture of relief and solemnity at the return of their prince and king, and curiosity towards the mortal, Xena. Whispered words and soft elven songs filled the air, creating an atmosphere of reverence and respect.
Legolas was gently helped down from his horse, his every movement betraying his exhaustion and pain. Thranduil, ever the protective father, stayed close to his son, offering a silent support that spoke volumes of their bond. Xena, though physically and mentally drained, maintained a composed demeanor, her eyes taking in the splendor of the elven halls with a quiet appreciation.
The group was led to the healing chambers, a sanctuary of tranquility and restorative energies. The healers of Mirkwood, skilled in the ancient arts of elven medicine, immediately attended to Legolas and Xena, their gentle hands and soothing words working to ease their pain and heal their wounds.
As Legolas lay upon a bed of soft leaves and healing herbs, Thranduil remained by his side, his hand resting lightly on his son's shoulder. The Elvenking's gaze was filled with a mix of sorrow for the trials his son had endured and pride for the strength he had shown.
Xena, seated nearby, was tended to by a skilled healer. Her injuries, though severe, were treatable, and the care she received was both thorough and gentle. As the healer worked, Xena's thoughts wandered to the events that had led her to this moment. The battles fought, the darkness faced, and the unlikely alliances formed – all had shaped her journey in ways she could never have imagined.
Thranduil, after ensuring his son was in capable hands, turned his attention to Xena. Approaching her, he spoke, his voice soft yet carrying an underlying strength, "Mortal, you have shown great courage and resilience. Your actions have not gone unnoticed or unappreciated. The Woodland Realm is in your debt."
Xena, pausing to meet Thranduil's gaze, did not really accept such a response of the Elvenking. She waited for him to wait for her to heal only to have her locked into his cells. She tried to forget the silly thought and replied, "I did what needed to be done, no more, no less. But I thank you for your hospitality and aid."
The Elvenking nodded, a hint of respect evident in his demeanor. "Rest now, recover your strength. There will be time to speak of what has passed and what is to come."
As night deepened, the healing chambers became a place of quiet reflection. Legolas, his breathing now steady and calm, found a measure of peace in the familiar surroundings. Xena, her body and spirit beginning to mend, felt the weight of her journey easing slightly in the safety of the elven halls.
Under the Halls of Mirkwood's ancient trees, the stars twinkled with an ageless grace, casting a serene light over the forest. This celestial display stood in stark contrast to the contemplative atmosphere within the healing chambers, where Legolas, Xena, and Thranduil each wrestled with their own thoughts and emotions. The respite they found in these hallowed halls was a much-needed balm, a brief calm in the midst of a tumultuous journey.
Late into the night, Thranduil quietly excused himself from the healing chambers. His steps led him to a secluded area within his halls, where the remains of his wife, alongside her sword and the belongings of Legolas and Xena, were carefully laid out. The bones, still enwrapped in Xena's blood-stained and dirt-ridden coat, lay in solemn repose.
Thranduil's hand hesitated before reaching out to lift the sword, a flood of memories accompanying its familiar weight. Images of his wife, their life together, the joy and love they shared, all surged back to him. Those days, now distant, were marked by a happiness so profound that it had once frightened him — the fear that such joy could be balanced by an equal measure of sorrow. Tragically, his fears had been realized, the sorrow that descended upon his realm far surpassing anything he had imagined.
As he held the sword, Thranduil's thoughts drifted to the recent events — the curse that had ensnared his wife, Legolas's perilous journey to free her, and the involvement of the mortal, Xena. The resolution of the curse, while a closure of sorts, did not erase the trials they had endured or the sacrifices made. He pondered over the cost of their quest, the price of their victories and losses.
The Elvenking, usually so composed and inscrutable, allowed himself a moment of vulnerability. The moonlight streaming through the windows of his hall illuminated his face, revealing a mix of sorrow, relief, and unresolved questions. His gaze lingered on the sword, a symbol of his past, a reminder of what had been lost and what had been regained.
In the quiet of the night, Thranduil reflected on the path that lay ahead. The challenges they faced were far from over, and the future held its own uncertainties. Yet, in the midst of these reflections, there was a sense of determination, a resolve to face whatever the morrow might bring with the same steadfastness that had guided him through the ages.
For now, the king stood alone with his memories, in the hushed stillness of his halls, finding strength in the legacy of his past and the resilience of those who stood with him. The journey ahead would require the combined efforts of all, and Thranduil was prepared to lead his people, his son, and their unexpected ally, Xena, through whatever trials awaited them in the days to come.
Thranduil, steeped in the wisdom of ages, understood the intricacies of powerful curses. He knew that a curse of such magnitude as the one that had ensnared his wife couldn't simply be undone without consequence or complexity. The mystery of what had transpired in the shadowy depths of Gundabad lingered in his mind, and he awaited the moment when Legolas would be well enough to recount their journey. He anticipated a similar conversation with Xena, whose role in these events was equally significant. Beyond these personal debriefings, there were the formalities of the court to consider and the solemn duty of organizing a fitting farewell for the Elvenqueen.
Lost in his thoughts, Thranduil was about to summon one of his guards when Nienna, having been informed by Tauriel of the night's developments, quietly entered the throne area. She observed the Elvenking as he stood before his wife's remains. His expression was enigmatic, devoid of any outward display of emotion, yet his gaze lingered on the sword and the bones with a depth that suggested a tumult of feelings beneath his stoic exterior.
Nienna approached Thranduil cautiously, her presence a gentle intrusion into his solitude. "Aran nîn," (My lord,) she began softly, her voice respectful yet tinged with empathy, "i dôr i aníra i lam, a phenin mae na leithia in nin ionn o voe a vangil." (the realm shares in your sorrow and stands with you in this time of loss and reflection.)
Thranduil's eyes shifted from the remains to Nienna, acknowledging her presence. "Hantale, Nienna,"(Thank you, Nienna,) he replied, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of grief. "Na leithon mae na men i dhîn o cherith. Tolo i nai i naithron na aur a lant." (There is much we need to understand about what has happened. The return of these remains marks both an end and a beginning.)
Nienna nodded, her expression somber."Naithron amin na leithon linna, Thranduil. I aduial i aranel na aur, cemendithon bennin i dhôl. A phenin i ionnathron a i adan edhilin na i cherith aduial vyrn i lavad acheni vellin."
(The court awaits your guidance, Thranduil. The news of the Elvenqueen's return, albeit in such a manner, will stir many hearts. And the involvement of the prince and the mortal warrior in this matter adds layers to this tale that many will seek to comprehend.)
Thranduil considered her words, the weight of leadership and responsibility settling upon his shoulders. "Na annad nîn, pan na carned vin." (In due time, all will be made clear,) he said. "Pan na yare vin leithon i rith a chennin aranel. A phenin na Legolas a i adan, Xena, tulia ed aron na iann. I orch ammen a lant na berithol ed vi." (For now, let us prepare for the rites that befit a queen. And let us ensure that Legolas and the mortal, Xena, receive all the care they need. Their bravery and sacrifice will not go unnoticed.)
With that, Thranduil turned his attention back to the remains of his wife, a silent vow to honor her memory in his heart. Nienna stepped back, allowing the Elvenking his moment of solitude, understanding that the path ahead would require not only strength but also the wisdom to navigate the complexities of a tale that had unfolded in the deepest shadows of Middle-Earth.
In the stillness of the hall, Thranduil's voice carried a quiet authority, even as it was tinged with grief. "Nienna," he said softly, his eyes never leaving the remains of his wife, "Cuiva athradon na ennas o athad i nîn. Hara i hant athradon na i adan, Xena, a tilia athradon lai na naithren." (take my son's belongings to his chamber. Prepare the guest chamber for the mortal, Xena, and place her belongings there as well.)
Nienna moved to gather Legolas's and Xena's gear, pausing momentarily to seek further clarification. "Cuiva leithon na i adan naithren vethren lant i linnathon a beleg airdo?" (Should I arrange for the human to stay in the smaller guest chamber near the healing quarters?) she inquired, her voice respectful and cautious.
"No," Thranduil replied, turning towards her. "Losta na i athad na lant i hoth o Legolas. Na velethron be hear." (Place her in the chamber opposite Legolas's. It will be more suitable.) His gaze lingered on Nienna, who appeared concerned, perhaps understanding the depth of his sorrow at this moment. He noticed that she had left behind the queen's sword. "Nienna, i aur eithron," (Nienna, the sword as well,) he instructed, eliciting a surprised look from her.
"Thranduil, athad i aranel naur," (Thranduil, but it's a queen's sword,) Nienna hesitated, her confusion apparent. "Laesith mellonamin na tola i aur o thrand. Leithon na i viant?" (You fought fervently to reclaim this sword from the human. Are you now returning it to her?)
"Curuva aran enethron na mann." (Return the sword to the mortal,) Thranduil affirmed, his gaze returning to his wife's remains. "Na mae govannen i anwath na naur lle thiriel. Tolo, na leithon antollelyaen i. An aran nai aierya." (We will discuss the conditions of her keeping it. For now, I have what I truly desire. The sword can wait.)
Nienna nodded in understanding, collecting the sword as well. Before departing, she ventured one last question. "Ar na elenya Aranel? Cuiva leithon an laurie?" (And the Queen's remains? Shall I assist you with them?)
Thranduil, after a moment's pause, responded, "Mae govannen am enethron na laer, lant a lhangol. Lúta thôl a laurie thî eithel arain, na nîn vil vôr Legolas nia ôl vi viant. Nîn vil harna na ndol. Amin mela lle elenya." (Arrange for a grave in the center of the hall, crafted from stone and wood. The ceremony will be held in a few days, once Legolas is fit to attend. I will attend to the remains myself.)
With a respectful bow, Nienna left to carry out her tasks, leaving Thranduil alone with the bones of his wife.
In the silence of the hall, Thranduil approached the remains. His movements were gentle, almost reverent, as he began the solemn task of preparing them. He spoke softly to her, a one-sided conversation filled with memories, regrets, and unspoken love. Each word was a whisper, a tender tribute to their shared past.
Carefully, he cleaned each bone, handling them with a mix of tenderness and sorrow. His fingers traced the contours of what once was, his mind drifting through the years they had spent together. The task was both a mourning and a celebration of her life, a final act of devotion from a husband to his wife.
As he worked, Thranduil's expression was a complex tapestry of emotions - pain, love, loss, and a deep sense of longing. The quiet of the hall enveloped him, his solitary vigil a poignant scene of an Elvenking honoring the memory of his queen.
The bones, now cleaned and prepared, were laid out with care, ready for their final resting place. Thranduil stood back, looking upon them with a mixture of pride and heartache. In this private moment, the king allowed himself to grieve, to acknowledge the depth of his loss.
Thranduil knew that soon, these halls would be filled with the sounds of a farewell ceremony, a fitting tribute to the Elvenqueen. But for now, he cherished this quiet communion, a final, personal goodbye to his beloved, before she would be laid to rest in the heart of the Woodland Realm.
((Upcoming Chapter Forty-One))
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