Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters or settings from Lord of the Rings or Xena the Warrior Princess

XLI: A Night in Mirkwood

Halls of the Elvenking, Mirkwood, 2956 TA, September 17

In the hushed predawn hours of Mirkwood, a gentle mist wove through the towering trees, shrouding the elven halls in a veil of ethereal calm. The Woodland Realm, usually a haven of serene beauty, now resonated with subdued grief, the echoes of an ancient loss renewed.

Inside Thranduil's halls, the Elvenking sat alone in his chamber, a figure of regal sorrow. His eyes, usually sharp and commanding, now reflected a deep, introspective sadness. The preparations for his wife's farewell ceremony were underway, a task that brought both closure and a resurgence of old wounds.

Elsewhere, in a modestly adorned healing chamber, Xena lay in restless slumber. Her dreams were haunted by the recent ordeals, images of Gundabad's dark depths and the fierce battles fought there playing in her mind. Despite the comfort of the elven bed, her rest was fitful, her warrior spirit uneasy in the stillness of the night.

Legolas, nearby, was also caught in a turbulent sleep. His dreams were a blend of shadowy memories and aching loss, the revelation of his mother's fate a burden he was still grappling with. The healing herbs and elixirs administered by the elven healers eased his physical pain but could not soothe the turmoil in his heart.

In the dim hours of early morning, Xena lay awake, her thoughts a tumultuous sea reflecting the turmoil of her recent experiences. She was no stranger to peril or darkness; in her past life, she had not only witnessed but also been a part of that very darkness. It was a chapter of her life marked by evil – an era where she was both victim and perpetrator of the shadow that she now sought to escape.

However, her journey through Middle-Earth had been a path of redemption, a constant struggle to distance herself from the darkness that once defined her. Yet, this did not mean she was free from it. The darkness was always there, lingering at the edges of her consciousness, a reminder of what she had been and what she still could become. The possibility of slipping back into that abyss was a threat she couldn't ignore.

Her time in Gundabad had been particularly harrowing, pushing her to the brink of her mental endurance. The oppressive darkness of Mirkwood compounded her distress, weighing heavily on her soul like a physical burden. She longed for days free from this enveloping shadow, days where light and clarity prevailed.

These thoughts led her to question the very nature of her journey. What was the purpose of enduring such darkness? Was there a reason, a goal worthy of these trials? These questions haunted her, their answers elusive and shrouded in uncertainty.

Her involvement in this quest had begun seemingly by chance, with Gandalf and his cryptic talk of a sword hidden in Gundabad. She had found the sword, but along with it, a host of complications had unfolded. There was Thranduil, the Elvenking, who had sought her life, and Legolas, the Elven Prince, whose quest to lift a curse had inexplicably entangled her in its web.

As she lay in the quiet of the healing chamber, Xena pondered her initial decision to embark on this journey. What had once seemed a random twist of fate now appeared as a path fraught with purpose and meaning, though its true nature remained a mystery to her. The intricate weave of events that had led her here, to Mirkwood, to the heart of elven lands, was a puzzle she struggled to piece together.

Xena slowly rose from the bed in the healing chamber, her body feeling the aftereffects of the recent ordeals. She noticed that she had been meticulously cleaned, a testament to the elves' attention to detail. Draped around her was a robe of exquisite make, its fabric soft and light, yet warm against her skin – a marvel of elven craftsmanship, seamless and almost ethereal in its texture. It was a white garment, radiant and pure, adorned with subtle embroidery that seemed to capture the very essence of starlight. This was the work of the elves, masters of art and beauty, and she couldn't help but acknowledge their skill, even as her body protested with aches and pains.

The floor under her bare feet was cool, the stone a welcome contrast to the warmth of the bed. Gathering her strength, she took careful steps, moving towards the dimly lit corner of the room where a fireplace crackled softly, casting a gentle glow and radiating a comforting warmth.

Beside her bed was another, and upon approaching, she didn't need to ask who occupied it. It was unmistakably Legolas, the proud, sometimes haughty Prince of Mirkwood. As she stood beside his bed, she paused to observe him. He too had been cleaned and cared for, lying under covers with his upper body swathed in bandages. The marks of battle were evident on his skin – scars, cuts, and bruises in various stages of healing. He seemed at once both vulnerable and enduring, a warrior caught in the grip of his own silent battle.

The sight of him, so different from the elf she had first encountered, struck a chord in her. There was a sense of suffering about him, not just physical, but perhaps something deeper. It wasn't clear if he was tormented by nightmares, but the lines of pain and fatigue on his face suggested a tumultuous inner struggle.

Xena watched him for a moment, her own experiences in the darkness of Middle-Earth allowing her a sense of empathy for the elf prince. Legolas, usually so composed and assured, now appeared to be grappling with challenges that went beyond the physical wounds.

"Elves," she mused quietly, her voice a mix of admiration and frustration. "Even in their pain, they bear a grace that we mortals can scarcely comprehend."

As she stood there, the flickering firelight casting shadows across the room, Xena pondered the strange twist of fate that had brought her to this place, to the side of an elven prince in a land so far removed from her own. Her journey, which had started with Gandalf's cryptic messages and a quest for a cursed sword, had led her down a path filled with danger, discovery, and unexpected alliances.

For a moment, she allowed herself to reflect on the events that had unfolded, the battles fought, and the bonds formed. In this quiet room, in the heart of Mirkwood, Xena found herself at a crossroads in her journey, her past a distant echo, and her future an unwritten path waiting to be explored.

Legolas, lying on the adjacent bed, appeared noticeably thinner, a reflection of their prolonged ordeal without sustenance. Xena, too, felt the effects of their hardship, understanding all too well the toll it takes to endure starvation and constant peril. Yet, it was evident that more than just physical deprivation afflicted the Elven Prince. There was a deeper, more intangible burden that seemed to weigh upon him, a lingering shadow that Xena could sense but not quite define.

The curse they had faced was now broken, but its remnants lingered in ways Xena couldn't ignore. She remembered vividly the moment when the lightning, a manifestation of the curse's fury, had struck. It had been meant for her, but Legolas, in a moment of selfless bravery or perhaps foolhardiness, had stepped in front of her, absorbing the brunt of its wrath. He had taken upon himself what remained of the curse, a decision he bore silently, without seeking aid or sharing his burden. Was this another curse, Xena wondered, that continued to afflict him? Did the darkness of the curse still cling to him? These questions lingered in her mind, unanswered.

It struck her as somewhat odd, this concern she felt for Legolas. They had shared a handful of adventures, seen horrors that few others had, and fought side by side against formidable foes. In another world, in a different life, such experiences might have forged a bond of friendship or at least the camaraderie of fellow warriors. Yet, despite these shared trials, a significant distance remained between them. Legolas was a creature of few words, often preferring solitude over sharing his thoughts or feelings. His elven nature, so different from her own, created a chasm that was not easily bridged.

Xena stood there, watching him in the dim light of the chamber, contemplating their peculiar relationship. They were allies, certainly, bound by a common goal and shared experiences, but the true nature of their connection was still unclear. The elf's reticence and inward focus contrasted sharply with Xena's more direct and open demeanor, yet she couldn't deny a certain respect and understanding for his silent struggles.

Her gaze lingered on Legolas, noting the slow rise and fall of his chest, the faint lines of pain etched on his face even in sleep. In this moment, in the quiet of the healing chamber, she felt a quiet solidarity with the Elven Prince, a warrior who, like her, was navigating the complexities of a path fraught with shadows and uncertainties.

Xena sat contemplating the enigmatic Prince of Mirkwood, who continued to be as unreadable as ever. While she herself was not particularly loquacious, she often initiated conversation during her travels, driven by a natural curiosity about those she encountered. She valued her solitude, certainly, but there was always a part of her that sought to understand and connect with others. Even Thranduil, the Elvenking, with his regal and distant demeanor, had shown more inclination to ask questions and express curiosity, especially since their first meeting.

Legolas, however, remained distant. His interactions with her were sparse and guarded, showing little interest in her past or her motives. This was particularly perplexing considering she had come into possession of his mother's sword. Xena had been unaware of its significance initially, but now that she knew, his lack of inquiry only added to her confusion.

His behavior, his scarce words, and even his actions suggested a certain aloofness, perhaps born of pride or the privilege of his royal upbringing. It seemed as though he preferred to maintain a barrier between them, a divide perhaps accentuated by the fact that she was a mortal. Yet, his actions at times contradicted this perceived aloofness. He had saved her life, albeit to lead her back into the dangers of Gundabad, and then again, resulting in their current refuge in Mirkwood. These gestures indicated a complexity in Legolas that went beyond mere pride or indifference.

Xena's thoughts then turned to her own predicament. What was her fate in this elven realm? Would she be confined to a cell, forgotten like the dwarves she had heard tales about? Part of her considered the possibility of escape, but another part yearned for a few days of rest and recovery within the relative safety of the Woodland Realm. For once, she found herself willing to accept the hospitality of the elves, assuming it was extended to her.

Xena, lost in her thoughts beside Legolas' bed, was startled from her reverie by his soft yet clear whisper in the quiet room. "How long do you intend to keep staring at me, mortal?" he inquired, his voice just above a murmur. He lay motionless, eyes open, as if even the slightest movement might cause him greater discomfort. "It appears unlikely that you will end up in our cells, that much is clear."

She tilted her head slightly, half-wondering if the elf possessed the ability to read her thoughts. However, it was his centuries of experience that enabled him to anticipate the direction of her contemplation. His emphasis on 'our' did not go unnoticed; he was aware of her earlier conversation with Thranduil and knew she now recognized his true identity.

"A prince," she commented, taking a step closer to the fireplace, putting a respectful distance between them as Legolas sat up, carefully reaching for a robe beside his bed. Although she did not watch him dress, the subtle sounds of his movements and the occasional sharp intake of breath hinted that his condition was more serious than she had initially thought.

Legolas' gaze followed her, a blend of prince and wanderer in his eyes. "Are you impressed?" he inquired, his tone avoiding a deeper revelation of his reluctance to embrace his princely role.

"Impressed?" Xena laughed softly, the sound tinged with a weariness that matched his own. "No, it merely adds to your arrogance and pride, being spoiled."

Legolas pondered her words, his face maintaining its usual impassive mask. "I am the prince, mortal. I should be spoiled," he replied, making no effort to dispute her observations. "But it seems my status favored you as well. Had I not been the prince, perhaps we would still be languishing in Gundabad."

"You remember we escaped before they discovered us," Xena countered, taking a seat by the fireplace. "As I recall, I saved you."

"Without the assistance of our guards, we wouldn't have made it far," Legolas acknowledged, a touch of pride in his voice as he recognized the role his status played in their survival.

"If their prince hadn't dragged me into this mess, we would be safe and sound," Xena retorted sharply, her words unfiltered, drawing a surprised, slightly hurt look from the elf. "So that doesn't earn you any points!"

The room fell into an uneasy silence once again, the crackling of the fire the only sound breaking the stillness. After a moment, Legolas moved to sit across from Xena, close to the fireplace. Shadows played across his features, only partially illuminated by the flickering light. His unbraided hair cascaded down, partially veiling his face, lending him an air of vulnerability seldom seen. He was acutely aware of his decision to involve Xena in a journey that was meant to be his alone, a solitary quest that had unexpectedly become shared.

"I should never have allowed a child to follow," Legolas admitted quietly, his voice low, his gaze fixed on the ground. There was a hint of regret in his tone, an acknowledgment of his error in judgment.

"Forgive me," he continued, drawing Xena's attention. His face, now slightly revealed by the firelight, showed a rare glimpse of emotion. "I have no excuse for leading you into such peril."

Xena, taken aback by the elf's sudden seriousness and apology, didn't immediately respond. She had never expected such an admission from him. While she couldn't deny his role in the perils they had faced, she also recognized her own agency in choosing to follow him. Throughout her life, she had often aided strangers, and Legolas, having saved her life, had become more than just a stranger.

"No, you have no excuse for putting me in danger, and no excuse for helping me when I was injured," she replied, her voice firm, meeting his gaze squarely. "Elf, remember this – there is no one in this world or any other who can make me do anything against my will."

Legolas watched her as she settled back into the armchair, her eyes now fixed on the dancing flames. Despite the gravity of their conversation, there was a frankness in her words that he found unexpectedly refreshing. Xena remained an enigma to him, a mortal with a spirit and resilience that defied easy understanding. Her honesty, though blunt, was something he found himself appreciating in this strange and unlikely alliance they had formed.

A prolonged silence hung between Xena and Legolas, each lost in their own reflections. Eventually, Xena, driven by a sudden curiosity, broke the stillness. "Has it been long since your mother perished?" she asked, her question emerging almost involuntarily, surprising even herself with its forthrightness.

Legolas, now in the familiar surroundings of his homeland, took a deep breath as he was transported back to memories long buried. "I was but a young elfling, eager to demonstrate my skill with the bow to my mother," he began, his voice tinged with a distant sorrow. "Had I not sought to impress her so, she might yet live." His gaze drifted off, his eyes reflecting the weight of years and the burden of his guilt.

Xena observed him closely, recognizing the familiar shadow of guilt that now clouded his features. "It was not your fault, elf," she interjected, her tone firm yet understanding, acknowledging the depth of his self-blame.

Legolas looked at her, his ancient eyes revealing a wisdom mingled with pain. "It was, but the past is beyond our reach to change," he replied. His voice carried the resignation of one who had heard countless assurances of his innocence from others, including his father, Elrond, his sons, and even Gandalf. Yet, he had always yearned for someone to validate his guilt, to acknowledge his role in the tragedy, but none did.

"You must live with it," Xena responded, her own past misdeeds resonating in her words. "If you allow bitterness, guilt, and anger to fester, then evil triumphs. You freed your mother; you've paid a price, and I suspect you continue to do so. Try to move forward."

Legolas, glancing at her from the corner of his eye, felt a strange sense of understanding in her words. "I've never denied it. It's a part of who I am. I cannot forget my actions, nor will I shy away from their consequences," he stated, his pride intermingling with a trace of humility.

"Just don't let it consume you, elf," Xena advised, her blue eyes meeting his steadily. "I wouldn't want to have to come to your rescue again."

A smirk played at the corners of Legolas's mouth at her boldness and the casual way she addressed him. "You may always try, mortal, but I doubt your success."

"I have many skills. I would have succeeded," Xena assured him, mirroring his smirk with one of her own. Their exchange, a blend of seriousness and light-hearted banter marked a moment of mutual understanding and respect, bridging the gap between their worlds, if only for a fleeting instant.

Their brief moment of levity dissipated as the door to the chamber opened abruptly. Nienna, a she-elf of the Woodland Realm, entered with a purposeful stride. Her presence brought a sudden seriousness to the room, particularly noticeable in her reaction to the unusual tone of conversation between Xena and Legolas. It was not often that maidens, or anyone for that matter, spoke to the Prince of Mirkwood with such familiarity – not even Tauriel, who had known him since elflinghood.

Both the elf and the human turned to regard Nienna, who approached them with an air of quiet authority. "It's late," she said, her gaze lingering on Xena a moment longer than necessary. "You should be resting. But since you are both awake, follow me. I shall escort you to your chambers."

Legolas, speaking in his native tongue, replied, "Nienna, nîn mellon vellin adh egor viithren sí." (Nienna, I am quite capable of finding my own chamber.) His words earned a curious glance from Xena, who could not understand the elvish speech.

Without missing a beat, Nienna responded in kind, then addressed them both in the Common Tongue. "Both of you, follow me," she instructed, then turned to lead the way out of the room.

Legolas gestured for Xena to follow Nienna, and she complied, intrigued at the prospect of seeing more of the Elvenking's halls. As they walked, the corridors unfolded before them in a symphony of elven artistry. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings that seemed to dance in the flickering torchlight, depicting scenes of ancient lore and the natural beauty of Middle-Earth. High arches loomed above them, crafted with such skill that they appeared to be formed by living trees. The air was filled with a subtle fragrance of pine and earth, a reminder of the forest that surrounded them.

Xena, still captivated by the splendor of her surroundings, found herself drawing nearer to Legolas. The scent of mint and autumn rain, so characteristic of him, was now noticeable once again, a comforting reminder of their shared experiences. Both robed in the fine garments provided by their elven hosts, they followed Nienna, who seemed intent on ensuring they reached their respective chambers without delay.

The way Nienna navigated the halls with swift, graceful steps spoke of her familiarity with the winding paths of Thranduil's domain. For Xena, each turn brought new wonders: delicate tapestries that fluttered softly in the gentle draft, glowing crystals set into the walls that cast a soft, otherworldly light, and the faint, harmonious sound of elven music that seemed to emanate from the very stones.

As they continued through the halls of Thranduil, Xena's awe and appreciation for the elven craftsmanship grew. The beauty of the Woodland Realm was unlike anything she had ever seen, a testament to the ancient and enduring spirit of the elves. It was a world apart, a realm where art and nature merged seamlessly, creating an atmosphere of majesty.

As they navigated the labyrinthine corridors of Thranduil's palace, a gentle breeze stirred the air, causing the delicate fabrics of their robes to flutter softly. Xena's robe, a masterpiece of elven tailoring, was light yet warm, adorned with subtle patterns that shimmered in the torchlight. Legolas' attire, equally fine, bore the intricate designs and colors befitting his royal lineage.

Curious about the identity of their guide, Xena leaned closer to Legolas and asked in a hushed tone, "Who is she?"

Legolas, his voice a touch louder but still respectful of the tranquil halls, responded, "Nienna? She was my nanny, and even my father's before me. Now, she serves as an adviser to the Elvenking." As Nienna glanced over her shoulder at them, Legolas added more formally, "Nienna, this is Xena."

Nienna offered a small bow to Xena, who returned the gesture with a nod of her head. Xena, observing the interaction, murmured under her breath, "The snob part, I guess, isn't a family trait. It's a Woodland habit." Her comment earned a glare from Nienna and a suppressed smirk from Legolas.

They soon arrived at the royal quarters, a section of the palace reserved for the royal family and distinguished guests. Legolas headed towards his chamber, but he noticed that Xena was being directed to the guest room adjacent to his own. Pausing at his door, he questioned Nienna in Sindarin, "Nienna, manen na? Manen na adan hain hên?" (Nienna, why is this? Why is the human permitted here?)

"Ada nîn linnatha ú-vín, nae nîn tôl ú-'waeth, le," (Your father wished her to be near you, as you are the one she knows best,) Nienna replied, her tone reflecting her disapproval of Thranduil's decision. "Danwedh an adan hain ú-'waeth i viithren aranion, a veren rûth inn ennas." (Allowing a human so close to the royal chambers will surely cause talk among our people.)

Legolas pondered this for a moment, understanding his father's reasoning, yet also recognizing the potential for unrest it could cause. He gave a slight nod, acknowledging Nienna's concerns, then turned to enter his chamber, his thoughts lingering on the unusual arrangement and what it signified for his and Xena's place in the intricate dynamics of the Woodland Realm.

Legolas, typically indifferent to the idle chatter of the court, found himself nonetheless taken aback by his father's decision to house a human in such a personal area of the palace. "Naen a dhannatha hí ú-othol i viithren eneth Tauriel," (She might have been accommodated in the guest chambers near Tauriel's,) he suggested, voicing his thoughts aloud.

Nienna's response was tinged with frustration, "Ah nae, Aran, ach lîn díhant bant. Da dhannathon i adan hain bennas i Legolas, da dhannathon i ving adan – nîn edhellen bant." (Indeed, Prince, but it seems sense is in short supply. Let the human stay next to Legolas, let her keep the sword – none of it makes sense.)

Legolas was startled by her remark. "Adh dhannatho i ving adan eithen?" (He returned the sword to her?) he questioned, his astonishment evident. The sword, a precious heirloom, was not something his father would part with lightly, and certainly not to a human. The revelation that Thranduil had allowed Xena to keep it was indeed perplexing.

"Sin síla nae," (That is indeed peculiar,) Legolas mused, only to be interrupted by Xena's assertive voice.

"I know not, nor do I care, what you discuss. But please, show me to my chamber; I need rest," she stated firmly, drawing Nienna's attention.

Nienna, refocusing on her task, moved past Legolas and opened the door to the adjacent room, gesturing for Xena to enter. The room was appointed with the same elegance and artistry that marked all of Thranduil's halls, yet its proximity to Legolas's quarters was a clear indication of the Elvenking's unusual directive.

As Xena stepped into the room, she cast a brief, acknowledging glance back at Legolas. Their shared journey, fraught with danger and uncertainty, had now brought them to this unexpected juncture, each afforded a place of honor within the Woodland Realm. Legolas, left standing in the hallway, pondered the implications of these developments, his mind a whirl of questions about his father's intentions and the evolving role of the mortal warrior in the intricate tapestry of their lives.

Xena, stepping into the guest chamber next to Legolas's, felt a twinge of confusion at the unusual arrangement but was too weary to dwell on it. She gave a brief nod to Legolas and Nienna, a silent gesture of goodnight, before turning her attention to the room.

As Xena entered, Nienna began to acquaint her with the chamber in a detailed manner. "This chamber has been prepared for your comfort," she began, her voice measured and formal. "Here, through this door, you will find the bathing chamber. The elves value cleanliness, and you will find everything you need there."

Xena glanced at the indicated door, noting its elegant design and the promise of a refreshing bath that lay beyond.

Nienna continued, guiding Xena's attention to a large closet. "Inside here are garments prepared for you. They are crafted to suit your size and style, while also respecting the traditions of our realm. You will find them suitable for various occasions during your stay."

Xena opened the closet to reveal an array of beautifully made clothes, each piece reflecting the exquisite craftsmanship of the elves. The fabrics were fine yet durable, and the designs were simple but elegant, suitable for a warrior like herself.

"Tomorrow will be a busy day for you," Nienna added. "You are expected to meet with King Thranduil in the morning. He wishes to speak with you, no doubt to discuss the events at Gundabad and your role in them."

Xena nodded, absorbing this information. A meeting with Thranduil would indeed be significant, and she mentally prepared herself for whatever discussions might arise.

Nienna's expression softened slightly as she mentioned the evening plans. "In the evening, there will be a ceremony, a commemoration of sorts. It is an important event in our realm, and you, Xena, are invited to attend. It would be an honor for us if you join."

The mention of a ceremony piqued Xena's interest. She was curious about elven customs and saw it as an opportunity to understand more about the culture of her hosts.

"Thank you, Nienna," Xena responded, acknowledging the hospitality and the efforts made to accommodate her. "I will attend the meeting and the ceremony. It's an honor to be invited."

With that, Nienna gave a respectful bow and left the room, leaving Xena alone with her thoughts. The warrior took a moment to appreciate the quiet and the comfort of the chamber, feeling a sense of gratitude for the unexpected kindness and respect she was being shown in the Woodland Realm. Tomorrow would indeed be a day of new experiences and important conversations, but for now, rest was her most pressing need.

((Upcoming Chapter Forty-Two))

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