Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters or settings from Lord of the Rings or Xena the Warrior Princess
Author's Note:
XXXII: Shadows & Promises
Village of Lómëanor, Mirkwood, 2956 TA, July 5
As Xena retreated to the adjoining room, Legolas found himself alone with his thoughts. The recent encounter in the forest and the revelation of this hidden enclave of Elves weighed heavily on him. His decision to adopt the ruse of portraying Xena as a servant was not one he took lightly. It was a necessary measure, born of caution and his understanding of the complexities surrounding this village elves. However, he couldn't shake off the unease he felt at the implication of such a role for Xena, a warrior of her stature.
Alone in the room, he paced slowly, his mind grappling with their current predicament. The inn, a seemingly simple establishment, held an air of secrecy, a sense of hidden eyes and ears. This village seemed to offer subtlety and cunning surroundings, their ability to weave shadows and deceptions. Legolas knew they had to tread carefully, for any misstep could plunge them into unforeseen dangers.
Meanwhile, in the adjoining room, Xena was lost in her thoughts as she prepared for a much-needed bath. The tension of their journey, coupled with the discomfort of their current arrangement, had taken a toll on her. She reflected on Legolas's words, the implication of pretending to be a servant, and the potential risks of their ruse. Her mind was a whirlwind of scenarios, each playing out the possible outcomes of their stay in this mysterious village.
As she soaked in the warm water, trying to relax, her thoughts drifted to her past, to the battles she had fought and the hardships she had endured. She was no stranger to deception and intrigue, having navigated her way through treacherous political landscapes and dangerous foes. Yet, the situation they were in now, deep in the heart of Mirkwood, surrounded by an unknown faction of elves, was a new challenge, one that required careful maneuvering.
Xena's resolve hardened as she finished her bath. She would play along with Legolas's plan, but she would also remain vigilant, ready to act at the slightest hint of danger. She dressed in fresh clothes, her armor and weapons within easy reach, and joined Legolas in the main room.
Upon Legolas's stern gaze, Xena, feeling the weight of constraint, donned her former attire, now cleansed of the road's grime. Legolas, contemplating a bath himself, had queries for the human. He tossed a leather pouch to Xena, who caught it deftly. Inside, she found gold coins shimmering with an otherworldly sheen.
"Know this," Legolas began, capturing her full attention, "Silver holds little value in elven realms. Gold is the currency of our kind, regardless of kin. Imladris and Lothlórien may differ, yet they lie far beyond our path." His words flowed with the wisdom of the ancient woods.
"You first cast me in the role of a servant," Xena retorted, her voice laced with a seriousness that brooked no folly, "and now you bid me buy a dress? Is this garment meant for me to wear?"
Legolas's response was laden with urgency. "Our predicament teeters on the brink of life and death. Bravery or folly will not shield us. Heed my words, mortal, and spare me further vexation."
Xena's glare was as sharp as the blade she carried. The games of deception were not to her liking, yet she understood their necessity. Sometimes, avoiding conflict was the wiser path, especially when victory was uncertain. With a heavy heart, she accepted the pouch, left her weapons on top of the bed, and left the room, stepping into the bustling market.
The village market was filled with colors and sounds, with vendors calling out their wares enthusiastically. Amidst the din, Xena moved like a shadow, her hood drawn up to conceal her features. She passed stalls laden with fruits and fabrics, her eyes scanning for the right vendor.
Finally, she found a stall draped in gowns of all hues and fabrics. The merchant, an elderly elf with a kind smile, presented her with several options. Xena's gaze settled on a gown of a subtle grey, reminiscent of a stormy sky. The fabric was fine yet sturdy, embroidered with intricate patterns that mimicked the intertwining branches of ancient trees. The dress was both elegant and practical, befitting a warrior's guise in a land of myth and magic. With a nod, she made her choice, the gold coins changing hands as she took possession of the garment that would aid their clandestine passage.
This village, home to these elves, thrived in obscurity, its inhabitants distinguished by their deep, night-like skin and a profound mastery of magic. Within this secluded enclave dwelt two remarkable twins, Nyxara and Noctis, born beneath the luminescent glow of a full moon. Their presence was a tapestry of night's wonders: Nyxara, with hair-like strands of moonbeam and eyes that mirrored the starry heavens, wielded an uncanny power over the elements. His mastery of shadow and darkness was unparalleled, enabling him to cloak paths and conceal truths with but a mere gesture.
Noctis, his sibling, was the embodiment of stealth and guile. With hair as dark as the midnight sky and eyes of deep amethyst, he was a phantom in the woodlands, his movements leaving no trace. His skills lay in the art of subtlety and subterfuge, unlocking secrets as easily as doors.
United by their nocturnal lineage, the twins were an enigmatic pair, each complementing the other's strengths. Their heritage was traced back to the Moriquendi, though they had once lived under the rule of Oropher. When Oropher chose to move his realm westward to the Emyn Duir, the twins sought a different path. They remained, forging a new beginning away from the Woodland Realm, their talents, and wisdom shaping the fate of their secluded village.
When Legolas and Xena entered this village, little did they know that the eyes of Nyxara and Noctis were upon them. The twins observed the unusual pairing — an elf prince and a human — with keen interest. Such a duo was rare, especially in these perilous times when darkness loomed and trust was a commodity as rare as starlight. They watched, their minds alight with questions and possibilities, pondering the intent behind this alliance of elves and humans in their hidden corner of the world.
When Xena had stepped out of the inn, they followed her curious about a human maiden making it so far into their village. Legolas who was observing the human from the window as she took her way into the market noticed the two figures going after her. And the elf knowing that this kind of elves could cause trouble, followed.
Xena, garbed in her newly acquired gown, was about to return to the inn when she inadvertently collided with two shadowy figures. Her hood slipped, revealing her human visage. She hastily attempted to cover herself again, but Nyxara's swift grasp halted her.
"A curious sight, brother," Nyxara remarked, his grip firm on Xena's wrist, a hint of intrigue in his tone. "Have you strayed from your path, human?"
Xena's attempt to free herself was met with resistance. The dark aura emanating from the brothers was palpable, and Noctis only tightened his hold, encircling her other arm. Xena's glare intensified, her body tensing for confrontation.
"A human in our midst is indeed rare," Noctis murmured, leaning close with an unsettling sniff. "Where is your guardian, allowing you to wander so freely? Are they not concerned you might be claimed by another?"
Xena, her patience fraying, made another attempt to extricate herself. She rolled her eyes at their words, her annoyance reaching its zenith. But before she could act, a third figure intervened, pulling her away with a swift, protective motion.
"Spare my human," came the familiar, deep voice of Legolas, positioning himself between Xena and the twins. His hold on Xena was firm, yet not unkind, a barrier against her rising desire to confront Nyxara and Noctis. Legolas's stance was resolute, his intent clear: he would not permit a conflict to erupt.
The tension in the air hung like a thick mist, as Legolas's intervention introduced a new element to the encounter, his protective stance speaking volumes of his commitment to safeguard Xena, even amidst the enigmatic and potentially hostile presence of the elven twins.
In the brief moment it took for Xena to be spun around and held in place, she felt a surge of confusion. However, recognizing the familiar timbre of Legolas's voice, she realized it was he who intervened. Despite her initial impulse to resist, she sensed his reluctance to engage in conflict. They were in the land of darkness, unknown and potentially outnumbered; discretion seemed the wiser course.
Nyxara, with a calculating smirk, turned his sharp gaze upon Legolas. Even beneath the hood, he seemed to recognize the elf prince. "Straying far from home, aren't you?" he probed, his eyes narrowing with recognition. "What brings an elf of your stature to our shadows, and with a human companion no less?"
Noctis's laughter, light yet disconcerting, echoed Nyxara's sentiments. "You must have your reasons," he said, a hint of mischief in his voice. "Wouldn't you spare a moment to share your tale with us?"
Legolas, maintaining his composure, began to edge away, Xena in tow. "We merely pass through," he replied diplomatically. "Perhaps we can speak another time." He offered a courteous bow, a gesture of respect, yet not submission, as he slowly retreated.
"Why the haste?" Noctis inquired, his amusement evident. "What need could an elves have for a human companion on his journey?"
Legolas, maintaining a steely gaze, addressed Noctis. "My quest demands rest, and your interruptions hinder it," he declared, his tone carrying a hint of sharpness. "A human companion, unlike an elf maiden, will undertake menial duties unquestioningly. She is bound to my command."
Nyxara's laughter, tinged with curiosity and amusement, filled the air as he scrutinized Xena, his eyes lingering with an unsettling intensity. "Indeed, a human might be suited for tasks an elf maiden would shy away from," he pondered aloud.
Feeling Xena's growing frustration, Legolas subtly gestured for her to remain composed, though her patience was visibly wearing thin. "Indeed, there are many tasks," he agreed, his words carefully chosen to deflect the twins' prying eyes while concealing their true purpose.
Noctis, with a sly glance, interjected. "It's rare to see a woodland elf so liberal in his ways. Our customs here are unbound by such constraints. Why tether oneself to a single mate for eternity?"
Legolas, striding towards the inn with urgency, responded. "I have wandered far and wide for many years. The traditional paths of my people are not mine to follow any longer."
Noctis, his lips curling slightly, teased, "There are many maidens here. You needn't confine yourself to the company of a human."
Legolas, feigning a similar darkness, retorted, "Free-spirited elf maidens are too wild to tame. I seek no part in such endeavors; my years are too many."
Nyxara, attempting to reach for Xena, was thwarted as Legolas drew her close, his arm protectively encircling her waist. "Do not presume to share what is mine," he warned, his voice low and stern.
Legolas's expression darkened. "Enough of this," he snapped. "Find your own toy, if that is your desire. She is not for sharing." With a firm tug, he led Xena inside the inn, swiftly closing the door behind them. As he released her hand, he could feel the weight of her stare upon him. Turning to face her, Legolas realized he may have overstepped, his ruse perhaps too convincing.
Xena's voice carried a simmering darkness, echoing the disdain she felt. "A toy?" she echoed, her words a low growl. Closing the distance between them, her fist clenched in readiness, her anger barely contained. "I warned you to watch your words," she hissed, her arm lifting to deliver a fierce punch.
Yet, Legolas anticipated her move, swiftly capturing her wrist before it could connect. "Patience, human," he sighed, a note of weariness in his tone. "This is neither the time nor the place for rash actions. Go, change into your attire, and allow us to proceed with our guise, be kind enough to obey. I too must bathe."
"Kindness?" Xena thought bitterly, her anger boiling at his casual dismissal. With a frustrated huff, she watched as Legolas gathered his belongings and departed for his bath.
Left alone, Xena's thoughts churned with the day's events. The elf's actions, though likely a charade, gnawed at her pride. His words, even if feigned, stirred a deep desire for retribution within her. She understood the need for their ruse in these dark lands, but the constant shadow of the forest and Legolas's sole company were wearing her resolve thin.
She contemplated her next move, well aware that Legolas would deem any retaliatory action foolish. Yet, the call of the wild and the strain of their prolonged journey through desolate and perilous lands had frayed her patience. In her heart, a plan began to form, a way to reclaim some semblance of control and assert her presence in this uneasy alliance with the elf prince.
Xena, though reluctant, finally acquiesced and donned the gown. The fabric, a deep grey reminiscent of twilight skies, draped elegantly over her form. The gown, while simple, was cut in a way that accentuated her strength rather than diminishing it. It was both practical and graceful, much like Xena herself. The intricate embroidery, subtle yet intricate, played along the curves of the fabric, catching the light with each movement. She stood, a figure of quiet power and grace, her usual armor and demeanor replaced by a garment that seemed to bridge the gap between her warrior spirit and the mystique of the realm they now navigated.
Meanwhile, Legolas was consumed by his own thoughts. The encounter with the twins had set off a flurry of warnings in his mind. Though he could not recall meeting them before, their presence unnerved him, igniting a protective instinct he seldom felt. He found himself unusually vigilant over Xena, a human who was never truly his, yet the charade they played bolstered his elven pride in ways he hadn't anticipated.
In these dark times, where allies and foes blended into indistinguishable shadows, Legolas pondered the complexities of their journey. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he worked on drying his long, fair hair with another. Once satisfied, he emerged from the bathroom, his natural scent, earthy and rich, permeating the room.
Xena turned at his entrance, the gown flowing with her movement, creating a dance of shadows and light. Their eyes met – her deep blue ones locking with his silver gaze. At that moment, the room was engulfed in a profound silence, an unspoken understanding hanging in the air. This fleeting connection, though born of necessity and deception, held a weight of its own, a recognition of their shared journey through these troubled lands.
Xena's gaze lingered on Legolas, his lean elven form adorned only with a towel. To her surprise, she felt a warmth spread across her cheeks. She was not one to be easily flustered, especially by the mere sight of a scantily clad man, but the elf before her stirred something unexpected within her. She fought the urge to gape, her usual composure momentarily faltering under the weight of an unaccustomed feeling.
Legolas, too, found himself caught off guard. He had always perceived Xena as a formidable human, her beauty undeniable yet often overshadowed by the harshness of their journey. Now, seeing her bathed in a softer light, clad in a gown that revealed a different facet of her, he was momentarily at a loss for words. In an attempt to dispel the sudden tension, he impulsively tossed his garments towards her, which landed comically on her face.
Xena, momentarily taken aback, quickly gathered the clothes and tossed them onto the bed. Her astonishment was evident as she confronted him. "What exactly are you doing?" she demanded, her patience wearing thin. The elf's erratic behavior, combined with the strain of their journey, had left her desiring a clearer understanding of his intentions and thoughts.
The tension between Xena and Legolas was palpable, each caught in their own tumult of emotions. Legolas, attempting to regain a semblance of control, spoke briskly. "Take these, and your garments as well, to the laundry. Is there any gold left?" His tone was matter-of-fact, his face betraying none of the confusion that had momentarily unsettled him.
Xena's response was a sharp hiss, her eyes narrowing as they flicked towards her weapons, contemplating their use against the elf. "Are you serious? Expecting me to wash our clothes? Not in this lifetime!" she retorted, her voice laced with incredulity and defiance.
Legolas, seemingly unphased, seated himself on an armchair by the window. The curtains were drawn, yet he seemed to be surveying the scene outside with a distant gaze. "Would you rather I go, human?" he asked his words a blend of logic and command. "Remember, you are under my service. You will go."
Xena, though visibly irked, complied with a mix of resignation and determination. She gathered the clothes, placed them into a bag, and left the room, pointedly leaving her weapons behind. Muttering curses under her breath, she vowed retribution against Legolas.
As she walked through the village towards the market, her demeanor was one of purposeful anonymity. She kept her hoodie drawn over her head, mindful of the prying eyes of the elves of this village, especially the twins. This time, they did not follow her, and she moved with cautious agility through the narrow alleys and crowded stalls.
Finding a place for laundry, Xena interacted minimally, her focus solely on the task at hand. The villagers, busy with their own affairs, paid her little heed. She worked efficiently, her mind still seething with frustration and plans of reprisal against the elf.
Meanwhile, Legolas remained in the room, his gaze fixed on the scene outside. He watched until Xena disappeared into the bustle of the market. Only then did his attention drift back to the room, settling on the sword that lay on the bed. His expression was thoughtful, perhaps contemplating the complexities of their journey and the uneasy alliance forged between elf and human.
In the dimly lit room, an ominous air enveloped Legolas as he stood, his gaze inexplicably drawn to the sword on the bed. A sense of foreboding gripped him, the atmosphere thickening around him, as if the very shadows were coalescing into a tangible darkness. The world seemed to recede, leaving only Legolas and the sword in a bubble of eerie isolation.
Compelled by an unknown force, he found himself moving towards the weapon. Standing over it, he recognized the intricate designs etched into its hilt – it was the sword of the ElvenQueen, his mother. A mixture of reverence and fear had always kept him at a distance, but now, away from the oppressive shadows of the forest, he reached out and grasped the hilt.
For a fleeting moment, nothing happened. It was just an elf prince holding a blade of his lineage. Then, abruptly, a searing heat surged through the sword, scalding his skin. The pain was immediate and intense, like grasping a white-hot iron. His hand burned, yet it was more than physical – it was as if the sword was seething with an ancient rage, a wrath that lashed out at him.
Darkness engulfed him, dragging him into an abyss of void and despair. Haunting echoes of a lullaby, both melancholic and menacing, played on an endless loop, drawing him deeper into the chasm of pain and sorrow. It was a desolation so profound that death seemed a merciful alternative.
May this lullaby echo through the woods,
Guarding thee in enchanted moods.
Rest now, my prince, in gentle sway,
In Mirkwood's arms, till break of day.
Legolas groaned, the agony unbearable, his grip on the sword faltering. The weapon clattered to the floor as he stumbled backward, his strength ebbing away. Collapsing against the bed, the room spun around him, his consciousness fraying at the edges. The pain, both physical and emotional, was overwhelming, leaving him to succumb to the darkness, his body slumping in a half-faint, teetering on the brink of consciousness. The haunting lullaby continued to echo in his mind, a sorrowful reminder of a legacy both powerful and perilous.
Xena returned to the room, her mind still seething with irritation towards Legolas. Her hands, deft from years of survival in the wild, efficiently hung the washed clothes on the balcony to dry. It was only when she stepped back into the room, her anger momentarily forgotten, that she noticed the unusual scene before her.
The sword lay abandoned on the floor, an ominous presence in the quiet room. Nearby, she spotted a pair of feet protruding awkwardly. Her warrior instincts immediately took over, and she approached cautiously, picking up the sword. Her eyes then shifted to Legolas, who was slumped against the bed in an unnatural position. Placing the sword beside her chakram, she moved closer to investigate.
Xena's expression shifted from annoyance to concern as she observed Legolas. His usually fair complexion was now ghostly pale, a stark contrast to his normally vibrant demeanor. Hesitantly, she reached out and touched him, only to recoil slightly at the heat radiating from his skin. He was feverish, his body emanating an intense warmth that was far from normal.
Leaning over him, Xena placed her palm against his forehead. The heat was alarming; she had never encountered a fever so severe. Her worry deepened as she tried to make sense of the situation. She recalled instances where Legolas had seemed unwell, his usual poise marred by brief flashes of discomfort. Perhaps this was one of those times, magnified to a frightening degree.
Xena's warrior facade softened with genuine concern for the elf. Whatever had transpired during her absence, it was clear that Legolas was in a dire state. Her thoughts raced as she contemplated her next move, wondering how best to aid an ailing elf in a land so far from their own.
In the urgency of the moment, Xena's earlier resentment towards Legolas dissolved, replaced by a deep-rooted concern. The thought of him being harmed, even by her own hand, was suddenly intolerable. She moved with purpose, gently shifting Legolas onto the bed. His usually lithe form seemed limp and unresponsive, adding to her worry.
Xena quickly gathered towels, filling bowls with cold water, and began applying damp cloths to Legolas's forehead and limbs, hoping to alleviate the fever. Despite her efforts, the fever's grip remained unyielding, his skin burning to the touch. She realized that mere cloths would not suffice; he needed something more drastic.
Recalling the bathtub, Xena hurried to fetch buckets of cold water from outside. With each trip, the weight of the buckets strained her arms, her muscles protesting under the effort. Yet, she persisted, driven by a sense of urgency. Once she had enough water, she filled the tub, preparing it for what she hoped would be a more effective means of cooling Legolas down.
Turning her attention back to Legolas, Xena leaned over him, her arms encircling his torso in an attempt to lift him. To her surprise, Legolas, who appeared so slender and agile in health, was unexpectedly heavy. She grunted with the effort, her muscles tensing as she struggled to move him. After several attempts, fueled by determination, she managed to drag him into the bathroom.
Her movements were swift and unceremonious; there was no time for delicacy. With a quick motion, she removed the towel from around him and, with all the strength she could muster, guided him into the tub. The cold water enveloped him, and she hoped this would bring down the fever that ravaged his body. Xena stood back for a moment, her breath heavy from exertion, watching Legolas in the tub, her mind racing with concern and hope that her efforts would aid the elf prince in his time of need.
Xena watched, perplexed, as the cold water in the tub gradually warmed, a testament to the severity of Legolas's fever. Seated at the edge of the tub, she observed the elf with a mixture of concern and reluctant admiration. Despite her efforts to remain detached, she couldn't help but acknowledge the striking beauty of the elf. Elves, known for their ethereal perfection, had never particularly impressed Xena with their aesthetics. Yet, there was something about Legolas that transcended mere physical allure.
It was not just his exceptional handsomeness that set him apart; it was his bearing, his mannerisms. Even in his current vulnerable state, there was an inherent nobility about him. However, Xena had noticed a change in him lately. His usual aloofness had taken on a darker shade, a shift that had grown increasingly apparent and troubling to her.
After some time, Xena carefully extracted Legolas from the tub. She dried him off as best as she could, taking care not to cause any discomfort. Gently, she moved him back to the bed, noticing the shivers that ran through his body despite the warmth of the room. She quickly covered him with blankets, tucking them around his form to conserve his body heat.
Turning her attention to the fireplace, she stoked the flames, casting a comforting glow and heat across the room. Next, she rummaged through his belongings, searching for any herbs that might aid in his recovery. To her relief, she found a familiar herb and set about brewing a healing tea.
Once the tea was ready, Xena gently tried to administer it to the still-unconscious elf. Though he was no longer burning with fever, his forehead remained worryingly warm. She lay down beside him, her eyes tracing the lines of his face, the way his hair cascaded over his shoulders. In the quiet of the room, watching over the elf prince, Xena's own exhaustion crept up on her. Gradually, her eyelids grew heavy, and she fell asleep next to him, her vigilance giving way to the need for rest.
As the night deepened, a serene quietude settled over the room, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire and the soft, rhythmic breathing of Xena and Legolas. The elf lay in a fitful slumber, his body slowly recovering from the mysterious affliction that had seized him.
In the pre-dawn hours, Legolas stirred, his silver eyes fluttering open to the dimly lit room. For a moment, he lay disoriented, the memories of the previous day's events a jumbled haze in his mind. His gaze eventually focused on Xena, sleeping beside him, her features relaxed in the grip of a deep sleep.
Legolas's expression softened. Despite their occasional clashes, he felt begrudging respect and a nascent sense of camaraderie for the formidable human warrior. He recalled the fevered haze, the burning pain, and the lullaby of darkness. Yet, here he was, his fever abated, evidence of Xena's care evident in the room – the fire, the blankets, the empty tea cup.
With a gentle effort, Legolas eased himself out of bed, careful not to disturb Xena. His body felt weak, but the fever's fire had left him. He walked slowly to the window and pulled aside the curtain, gazing out at the early morning sky. The stars were fading, giving way to the soft light of dawn.
After a few moments of contemplation, Legolas returned to his bed, sitting quietly, his thoughts turning to their journey. The incident with the sword – his mother's sword – was a mystery he needed to unravel. There was a connection, a deep and ancient magic at play, and he knew it was crucial to understand its nature and implications.
As dawn's first light gently filtered through the room, Xena stirred from her slumber. The space beside her, where Legolas had rested, was now empty. Her gaze swept the room, landing on his weapons, carefully placed by the fireplace. Their presence indicated that the elf hadn't strayed far. Lying on her back, she stared at the ceiling, her mind replaying the tumultuous events of the previous day.
The more she thought about it, the more Xena realized that recent occurrences were beyond mere coincidence. Her knowledge of elves and their ailments was limited, but Legolas's recent behavior was increasingly perplexing. There was an undercurrent of something she couldn't quite grasp – a change or an unknown aspect of the elf she hadn't yet seen. This growing sense of unease gnawed at her, and she resolved to stay vigilant, determined to seek answers to the questions that had been evading them.
Meanwhile, Legolas had descended to the inn's common area. His decision to extend their stay for one more day was a concession to their need for rest and recovery, despite the lingering unease away from the safety of the forest. As a prince of the woodland realm, Legolas was accustomed to a life that balanced the simplicity of the wild with the occasional indulgence in luxury. This brief respite was one such moment of comfort.
As he concluded his transaction with the innkeeper, Nyxara and Noctis appeared, their presence almost ethereal. The twins' demeanor had shifted; gone was the playful teasing, replaced by a more serious and engaging attitude. They gestured for Legolas to join them at a secluded table, initiating a deep and intense discussion.
Xena, still in the room, was unaware of the meeting taking place below. Her mind was occupied with thoughts of their journey and the enigmatic elf who had become both her protector and a source of mystery. The uneasy feeling in her gut persisted, a silent warning that the path ahead was fraught with uncertainties and hidden truths yet to be revealed. She resolved to confront these challenges head-on, starting with the conversation she planned to have with Legolas upon his return.
"You do not recall us," Noctis ultimately inquired, observing Legola's bewilderment. "We first met centuries ago. You, who was merely an elfin, were accompanying your mother on her journey."
Legolas, his expression betraying a mix of surprise and skepticism, fixed his gaze on Noctis. "I have no recollection of such a meeting," he said coolly. "What knowledge do you hold?"
Nyxara watched the exchange intently before his brother resumed. "Long before the orc ambush, we were sent to cast a spell upon your mother," Noctis revealed, a note of indifference in his voice. "We were hired by an alchemist, a figure shrouded in mystery, to place the ElvenQueen under a powerful enchantment."
Legolas's eyes narrowed, his posture becoming rigid with tension. "And then? What led to her capture by the orcs? Who was behind this treachery?" His voice was sharp, his usual composure fraying under the weight of the revelation.
"We cannot disclose our employer, Prince," Nyxara interjected, his tone solemn. "Yet, know this – the one who sought your mother's downfall was close to her."
Confusion and anger warred within Legolas. The information was overwhelming, too much to process in such a short span. "Why reveal this to me now?" he asked, his voice cold as ice. "Do you confess your role in my mother's demise with some hidden motive?"
Noctis laughed, a sound devoid of warmth. "Motive? We abandoned such notions long ago. Our aim is simpler – we believe you might be inclined to share gold for the answers we possess."
Legolas leaned back, his arms crossed, a semblance of calm masking the turmoil within. "Continue," he commanded, his eyes sharp, prepared to listen despite the tumult of emotions raging inside him.
Noctis leaned forward, his expression serious yet tinged with a hint of remorse. "We did not slay the Queen," he began, his voice low. "Our task was merely to deliver the curse and depart. The orcs' arrival was beyond our involvement."
Legolas, his brows furrowed in concentration, queried further. "What nature did this curse bear?"
"We are ignorant of its specifics," Noctis admitted, observing Legolas rise from his seat, seemingly disinterested in the vague tale. "Wait," he urged, catching Legolas's attention. "The alchemist who wrought the curse, we know of him. He possesses the power to revoke it."
Legolas paused, skepticism etched on his face. "Undo it? My mother has passed; no reversal of any curse can aid her now."
Nyxara interjected just as Legolas was about to leave. "It might be of help. You've been unwell, haven't you? The lullaby that haunts you – it is her, isn't it? Her spirit reaching out to you."
Legolas, his interest piqued, sat back down, uncrossing his arms. "Explain," he demanded, his demeanor one of guarded anticipation.
Noctis's eyes followed as Legolas withdrew a handful of gold coins, handing them over. Nyxara took them, counting meticulously before Noctis continued. "Listen carefully," he instructed. "The tale we share is not one known to the elves of the woodland realm."
As Noctis spoke, Legolas listened intently, each word weaving a complex tapestry of secrets and truths, revealing a hidden chapter in the saga of his lineage. The revelation that the curse might still be affecting him, possibly manifesting through the haunting lullaby, offered a new perspective on his recent ailments and the strange occurrences that had befallen him. This meeting, though fraught with tension and mistrust, was shedding light on the shadows that had long clouded his past.
Legolas listened intently as Noctis began his tale, his features a canvas of deepening concern and curiosity. "Dular, a dark figure dwelling in Gundabad, played a key role in your mother's demise," Noctis revealed, his tone solemn. "He was ignorant of the curse's nature, its sinister potential. After the Queen's death, a grim shadow, an eerie lullaby, began to stir in Gundabad's depths."
Legolas's demeanor shifted visibly, a storm of grief and anger gathering within him. Before he could interject, Noctis pressed on with the narrative.
"It seems the curse lay dormant until a human appeared in Gundabad, escaping with a token of the Elven Queen and liberating captives," Noctis continued. "This act reawakened what had been sleeping."
"The sword?" Legolas pieced together, a mix of shock and realization in his voice. "Xena?" he whispered, almost to himself.
"Yes," Noctis affirmed. "Dular, having abandoned the dark forces amassing in Mordor, sought to quell this awakened power by pursuing the human for years, believing she held the key to stopping it."
Legolas ran a hand over his face, a gesture of anguish and confusion. "This is bewildering. Xena has only had the swords for a few months. Are you implying Sauron's involvement?" The name itself evoked a profound sense of dread, and for the first time, Legolas felt a wave of panic unlike anything he had experienced before.
The twins' revelation painted a complex picture, intertwining the fates of Legolas, his mother, and Xena with the darker forces at play in Middle-earth. The story, steeped in mystery and ancient curses, suggested a connection far deeper and more perilous than Legolas could have anticipated. The weight of this newfound knowledge bore heavily upon him, setting the stage for a journey fraught with danger and discovery.
"No, it's been nearly 15 years since the sword was taken," Noctis remarked, noting the disbelief in Legolas' eyes. He went on, "You know we've had dealings with all sorts, even orcs, as long as the coin's good. Dular showed up a few years back, looking for info on humans and a way to deal with the situation."
Legolas, his expression one of growing bewilderment, grappled with the revelations being laid before him. "Fifteen years?" he echoed, struggling to reconcile this with his own sense of time. "I cannot fathom how such a span has passed unnoticed."
Noctis, sensing Legolas's confusion, elaborated further. "Dular sought our counsel years after the sword was taken. He was desperate to quell the restless curse he had unwittingly unleashed. As for Sauron, his resurgence around the year 2951 T.A. intensified the shadows that have since shrouded the land."
Legolas's mind raced. The year 2951 T.A.? That meant... "We are now in the year 2956 T.A?" he asked, incredulity lacing his voice.
"Yes, Prince," Nyxara confirmed. "Why? What year did you believe it to be?"
"2941 T.A.," Legolas replied, his voice barely above a whisper. The realization that fifteen years had somehow slipped by was staggering. "How could we have lost so much time?"
Noctis pondered for a moment before responding. "It's possible you traversed a timeless realm, a place where the usual flow of time is altered. The symptoms you describe – the eerie sensations, the echoing sounds – they are consistent with such an experience."
Legolas's mind flashed back to their recent journey. "Indeed, we encountered such strangeness before arriving here. But how could the horses not have perished, and the human not aged perceptibly?"
"It's a mystery of the timeless," Nyxara said thoughtfully. "Such places are rare and unpredictable. Their effects on those who pass through can vary widely."
Legolas sat back, a sense of disquiet settling over him. The conversation had taken a turn into realms of mystery and magic that defied his understanding. The implications of their journey through a timeless, the link to his mother's curse, and the connection with Xena – it all wove a complex tapestry that he was only just beginning to unravel. With each revelation, the path ahead seemed to grow darker and more perilous.
Legolas, his thoughts a tumultuous sea, struggled to make sense of the twins' explanations. "So, the horses passed through unaffected by the timeless realm?" he asked, trying to piece together the puzzle. "It was only Xena and I who felt its strange effects?"
"Exactly," Nyxara nodded. "The horses, not being at the center of the timeless, remained untouched by its peculiarities. The full extent and rules of such places are still a mystery to many."
Legolas felt overwhelmed, the revelations coming at him like waves crashing against the shore. "Do you believe that if the curse is lifted, it would end the darkness and the haunting lullaby?" he inquired, a flicker of hope in his voice.
"We cannot say for certain, Prince," Noctis admitted. "But if you wish to learn more, seeking out the alchemist might provide answers. Of course, for the right price."
Legolas rose abruptly, a sense of urgency propelling him. "Wait here. I will return shortly with my gear, and you shall lead me to this alchemist immediately," he declared with newfound resolve.
"The price must be met," Nyxara reminded him, his gaze steady.
Rushing back to the room, Legolas quickly began gathering his bow and knives. Xena, who had awakened to his absence, looked up at him with a mix of concern and confusion. She had sensed something was amiss upon finding him gone, especially so soon after his bout of fever. Now, as he moved with haste, her curiosity was piqued. She could tell that something significant had transpired during his absence, and the urgency in his actions spoke of a new, pressing quest.
Legolas paused amid his hurried preparations, turning to face Xena. Her expression was a mix of concern and confusion, accentuated by her half-seated position on the bed. He noted her unchanged appearance, puzzling over the enigma of the lost years. "Sixteen years... and yet, she seems the same," he mused silently.
"There is a matter of great importance I must attend to," Legolas began, his tone serious yet tinged with a sense of urgency. "It's a path I need to tread alone. I promise to return. Please, wait for me here."
Xena rose to her feet, her warrior instincts kicking in. "You can't expect me to just stay behind," she protested, her voice laced with both worry and defiance. "After everything, you think I'd let you go off on your own?"
Legolas could see the worry etched in her features, a worry that mirrored the concern she had shown him the night before when he was ill. "I understand your concern, human, but this is a journey I must make alone. It's connected to my past, to mysteries I need to unravel," he tried to explain, his eyes conveying a plea for understanding.
Xena's frustration was evident, but she could see the resolve in Legolas's eyes. It was clear that whatever had transpired during his absence had deeply affected him, setting him on a course that he felt compelled to follow.
"I'll be here," she finally conceded, though her tone suggested she was far from happy about it. "But don't take too long. There are questions I need answers to as well."
Legolas, devoid of any personal tokens or keepsakes that might serve as a pledge of his return, felt a twinge of regret. He understood Xena's need for something tangible, a symbol of trust and a promise to return. His belongings were few, and none held the sentimental value that might comfort her in his absence.
In a decisive move, he unsheathed one of his knives, placing it deliberately on the table. "I will come for this," he declared firmly. It was a gesture symbolic of his commitment to return, a part of himself left in her care.
Xena watched as he hastened from the room, following the twins with a purposeful stride. She was left with a whirlwind of thoughts. The knife on the table was a small reassurance, yet it did little to quell the growing seed of doubt in her mind. Legolas's actions, his sudden departure, and the secrets he seemed to harbor – all these painted a picture of an elf she still struggled to understand.
His behavior was a puzzle. At times, he was distant, and enigmatic, stirring a mistrust and resentment in her. Yet, there were moments when he reverted to the Legolas she had first encountered in the cave – noble, considerate, the very image of the elf from the tales. What had brought about this change? Was it the journey, the burdens he carried, or something more profound, a part of his past now resurfacing?
As she sat there, contemplating the knife and the empty room, Xena resolved to piece together the enigma that was Legolas. She may not have all the answers now, but she knew that their paths were intertwined, their destinies linked by the mysterious forces that guided their journey. For now, she would wait, but her warrior spirit was restless, eager for the truth and the next chapter of their adventure.
((Upcoming Chapter Thirty-Three))
Thank you for taking the time to read this! Feel free to Review - Follow - Favorite!