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

Author's Note:

This is a LegoRomance (slow-burn)

ActIV

Mellon

Chapter 42: The Grip Shadows of the Morgul Knief

The Angle, August 26th 3018 T.A.

The night passed in a quiet stillness, with none among them seeking the solace of sleep. Instead, they found themselves gazing up at the stars that dotted the vast expanse of the night sky. The darkness around them felt less like a void and more like a comforting shroud, offering a rare moment of peace amidst the chaos that had defined their journey thus far.

There was no need for words; they had spoken enough, shared more than they usually would with anyone else. The confessions, the shared fears, and the deepened understanding between them had left an unspoken bond that required no further elaboration. The silence was heavy but not burdensome, a mutual acknowledgment of the burdens they all carried.

As the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, the group stirred from their contemplative states. The pale glow of the morning sun slowly chased away the lingering shadows, and with it, the weight of the night began to lift. They rose from their spots, stretching stiff limbs and shaking off the remnants of sleep that had eluded them.

Legolas and Xena were the first to return to the camp, their steps quiet and measured. They found the rest of the company still in the early stages of waking, each moving with the same deliberate care as they began to pack up their belongings. The morning air was crisp, and a light mist clung to the ground, adding a touch of surreal beauty to the otherwise somber atmosphere.

The routine of breaking camp was familiar and comforting in its simplicity. Elros and Thalion began gathering the bedrolls and blankets, folding them neatly and securing them to their saddlebags. Mírdan tended to the horses, ensuring they were ready for the day's journey ahead. Xena busied herself with extinguishing the remnants of the campfire, scattering the ashes and covering them with earth to leave no trace of their presence.

Legolas moved among them, silent and efficient, his keen eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of trouble. Though the night had brought a temporary respite, the reality of their mission loomed ever closer. The journey was far from over, and the road ahead promised more challenges.

Once everything was packed and secured, the group gathered by their horses, sharing brief glances of understanding. There was no need for lengthy discussions or reassurances; they all knew what needed to be done. One by one, they mounted their steeds, the familiar creak of leather and the clink of metal breaking the morning's quiet.

The journey through Cardolan was a relentless push forward, driven by the urgency of their mission and the ominous shadows that seemed to stretch ever longer as they rode. For three days, they traveled along the banks of the river, the landscape of Cardolan passing by in a blur of desolate beauty and lingering menace.

The land bore the scars of the dark times that had befallen it—burned-out villages, decaying bodies, and the ever-present scent of death that hung in the air. The group moved with a grim determination, stopping only for a few hours each night to rest their weary bodies before pressing on again at the break of dawn.

Each member of the company remained alert, their senses heightened by the knowledge that danger lurked around every bend of the river. Orcs roamed the lands of Cardolan freely, and more than once, they found themselves under attack. The skirmishes were quick but brutal, with the elves' skill in archery and swordplay proving invaluable in dispatching their enemies with minimal loss.

Xena fought with her usual ferocity, the chakram flying from her hand with deadly precision, while Legolas moved with an almost supernatural grace, his arrows finding their marks with unerring accuracy. Elros, Thalion, and Mírdan fought alongside them, their blades flashing in the dim light as they cut down the orcs that dared to cross their path.

Despite the battles and the ever-present threat of further attacks, the company maintained a relentless pace. The weight of their shared experiences and the ever-growing bond between them gave them the strength to push forward, even as fatigue and the horrors of their surroundings threatened to drag them down.

Finally, after three grueling days, they reached the Angle in Eriador, the wedge of land nestled between the rivers Hoarwell and Loudwater. The landscape changed as they entered the Angle, the rugged beauty of the region offering a stark contrast to the bleakness of Cardolan. Here, the rivers flowed with a quiet grace, their waters reflecting the pale light of the sun as it dipped low on the horizon.

The group made camp near the convergence of the two rivers, choosing a spot that offered both shelter and a clear view of the surrounding area. The tension of the past days slowly began to lift as they settled in for the night, the sound of the flowing water providing a soothing backdrop to their preparations.

Legolas and Elros set about securing the camp, their sharp eyes scanning the perimeter for any signs of danger, while Mírdan tended to the horses, ensuring they were fed and rested. Xena, still restless from the journey, took a moment to stand by the water's edge, her eyes following the gentle currents of the river as she allowed herself a brief moment of reflection.

As the night deepened, the group gathered around a small fire, their weariness evident in the way they moved and spoke. They knew the journey was far from over, but for tonight, they could at least take solace in the fact that they had made it this far together.

The stars began to appear in the sky, twinkling like distant beacons of hope, as the company settled down for what little rest they could find. Tomorrow, they would continue their journey along the Bruinen River, following its winding path toward Rivendell, but for now, they allowed themselves to be lulled by the quiet of the night and the companionship of those who had become more than just fellow travelers. They were now a fellowship, bound by the trials they had faced and the darkness they had yet to overcome.

Late that night, Xena found herself immersed in the cool, refreshing waters of the river. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and earth, but it was the fragrance of the elvish soap that enveloped her senses, filling the air around her with the invigorating scent of citrus and lavender. Legolas had given her one of those finely crafted soaps, a luxury that had quickly become a small indulgence in the midst of their arduous journey. The lather was rich, smooth against her skin, and as she bathed, she felt the tension of the days wash away, replaced by a rare moment of calmness.

The water flowed gently around her, its touch cool against her skin, and Xena took her time, savoring the simple pleasure of the bath. The moonlight filtered through the trees, casting a silvery glow on the surface of the river, and she watched as the water glistened with each movement. She worked the soap through her hair, the strands turning silky under her fingers, and the scent of lavender deepened, mingling with the crisp night air.

Once she had finished, Xena stepped out of the water, droplets clinging to her skin as she reached for the clean garments she had brought along. She dried off, feeling the slight chill of the night against her freshly bathed skin, and dressed in a simple grey dress-like tunic that allowed her ease of movement. The garment, though plain, fit her well, emphasizing her strength and grace without unnecessary adornment. She fastened her sword and chakram in their places, the familiar weight a comfort as she gathered her belongings and began the walk back to camp.

As she made her way along the narrow path, the scent of citrus and lavender clung to her, a lingering reminder of the luxury she had just afforded herself. The night was peaceful, the sky a canopy of stars twinkling above her, and for a brief moment, Xena allowed herself to relax, her thoughts drifting. The only sounds were the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze and the distant murmur of the river as it continued its journey through the landscape.

But as she continued on her way, her keen senses picked up on something unusual. Ahead, partially obscured by the shadows of the trees, two figures moved with a grace that was unmistakably elvish. Their movements were too fluid, too silent to be anything but elves, though Xena quickly realized they were not from the company she traveled with. Her hand instinctively went to the hilt of her sword, her body tensing as she prepared for a potential confrontation.

The two figures stepped into a patch of moonlight, revealing themselves. They were tall, their dark hair flowing freely in the night breeze, and they carried themselves with an air of nobility and command. Their sharp, silver eyes fixed on Xena as she approached, and they exchanged a glance with each other before one of them addressed her.

"Who goes there?" one of them demanded, his voice calm but laced with authority. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword, though he made no move to draw it.

Xena narrowed her eyes, her grip tightening on her weapon. She was not one to back down from a challenge, even when faced with the unknown. "I might ask you the same question," she replied, her tone steady and unwavering.

The second elf took a step forward, his gaze scrutinizing her with interest. "We are Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond," he said, his voice less guarded but still cautious. "We are returning to Rivendell after our duties with the Rangers of the North. This land is under our watch. And you are?"

Xena relaxed her stance slightly, recognizing the names. She had heard of the sons of Elrond—warriors of great renown who had long fought to keep the lands of Eriador safe. But she was not one to be easily impressed by titles. "Xena," she answered simply, meeting their gazes without flinching. "I travel with a company of elves on our way to Rivendell."

The twins exchanged another glance, this time more curious than cautious. "Xena," Elrohir repeated, his tone softening. "But what business does a mortal woman have with the elves?" The twins seemed curious, wanting to know more about the company she was riding with.

Xena bristled slightly at the question, sensing a hint of doubt in his words. "I have my reasons," she replied, her voice edged with defiance. "But that is my concern, not yours."

Elladan raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "A bold statement, considering where you are. But we mean no harm. It is rare to encounter travelers in these parts, especially those with such... unique company."

Xena relaxed further, though she remained vigilant. "If you mean no harm, then perhaps you can explain why you were watching me from the shadows. That doesn't exactly inspire trust."

Elrohir shook his head, a faint chuckle escaping his lips. "We were not watching you, per se. We noticed your camp and were curious. The presence of elves so close to Rivendell is not unusual, but to see a mortal among them... that piqued our interest."

Xena's eyes narrowed again, but before she could respond, Elladan stepped forward with a more conciliatory tone. "We did not mean to cause alarm. Our duties as guardians of these lands often require us to approach with caution. We are, after all, not far from the borders of our father's realm."

Xena considered their words for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. But if you're returning to Rivendell, then perhaps we should move on from this encounter. My companions will be waiting."

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged one last look, and then Elladan nodded in agreement. "Indeed. We will not delay you further. Perhaps we shall meet again in Rivendell, Xena. Safe travels."

With that, the twins turned and disappeared back into the shadows from whence they came, their movements as silent and swift as they had been when they first appeared. Xena watched them go, her mind still processing the unexpected encounter. She hadn't expected to meet anyone, let alone two of Elrond's sons, on her way back to camp. She resumed her walk, her hand still resting on the hilt of her sword, ready for whatever else the night might bring.

When she finally returned to the camp, Legolas was there, his keen eyes immediately noticing the subtle tension in her posture. He said nothing, but the unspoken question hung in the air between them. Xena simply nodded in acknowledgment, signaling that she would explain later.

It was late, and the camp had settled into a quiet rhythm, with only the crackling of the fire breaking the stillness. Legolas had decided, as he often did, to seek out his place of isolation. Xena, sitting by the fire, watched him as he left the camp. The memory of the night when she had found him gripped by nightmares was still fresh in her mind. She couldn't shake the worry that the same torment would visit him again tonight. Yet, she knew Legolas well enough to understand that he valued his privacy, especially when it came to his struggles. For now, she would respect his wishes and allow him the solitude he sought.

As Legolas moved further from the camp, the familiar sounds of the night enveloped him. The soft rustle of leaves, the distant hoot of an owl, and the gentle murmur of the river nearby—all of it should have been comforting. But his keen senses detected something amiss. He wasn't alone.

Before he could react, two figures emerged from the shadows, moving with a speed and grace that matched his own. Legolas tensed, recognizing the familiar presence of Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Elrond. The twins, notorious for their playful but relentless teasing, had found him.

"Legolas," Elladan greeted with a grin, stepping into the moonlight. "We couldn't resist. A lone elf wandering near Rivendell? We had to investigate."

Elrohir joined his brother, his expression mirroring the same mischievousness. "And what do we find but the prince of Mirkwood, roaming the woods alone? Where are your companions, Legolas? Or have you finally had enough of them?"

Legolas sighed, though a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "I see the tales of your relentless curiosity are not exaggerated," he replied, trying to keep his voice neutral. "My companions are safe at camp. I sought some quiet."

"Quiet?" Elladan echoed, raising an eyebrow. "And yet you chose to travel with a mortal woman, no less. We heard of your company from her, but we had to see it for ourselves."

The twins circled him, teasing and prodding as they often did, but there was no malice in their actions. It was their way of expressing concern, though Legolas found their methods more exhausting than comforting.

"Enough," Legolas finally said, though his tone was lighter now. "You've satisfied your curiosity. I'm headed to Rivendell, and yes, I travel with a human. But before you make any more assumptions, I suggest you join us and see for yourselves."

The twins exchanged a glance, their teasing demeanor giving way to something more serious. "You know we mean no harm, Legolas," Elrohir said, his voice softer now. "But this is unusual, even for you. Traveling with a mortal woman... and one as formidable as she seems to be."

Elladan nodded in agreement. "Perhaps we'll join you."

Legolas, knowing there was no avoiding it, gestured for them to follow him back to camp. "Come then, join us. We're all heading to Rivendell, and there's no reason for us to travel separately."

As they made their way back to camp, the conversation shifted to lighter topics—news from the Rangers, the state of the lands they had crossed, and what awaited them in Rivendell. By the time they reached the edge of the camp, Legolas had almost forgotten the initial ambush.

But as they entered the camp, the twins' presence did not go unnoticed. Xena, who had been quietly sharpening her sword, looked up and immediately tensed at the sight of the elves she met—after her bath in the river, accompanying Legolas. Her instincts, honed over years of battle, told her to be wary, even though she recognized them from her earlier encounter.

Xena's eyes narrowed, her grip tightening on her sword. Although she knew they were Elronds sons, she had heard the stories, and knew who Lord Elrond was, still she would not blindly trust anyone. She noticed Legolas' reaction suggesting they were not a threat. Xena wasn't entirely convinced, but she relaxed her stance slightly, her gaze shifting to Legolas. "You know them?" she asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

Legolas nodded. "They are old friends and allies. There's no need to worry."

Elladan, sensing the tension, couldn't resist a final jibe. "Worry? Surely not about us. But I must say, Xena, it's not often we see an elf willingly share his camp with a human. You must be quite... persuasive."

The implication in his words made Xena's eyes flash with irritation. "Persuasive enough to knock some sense into you, if needed," she retorted, her tone sharp.

Elrohir quickly intervened, trying to defuse the situation. "Peace, Xena. We did not come to provoke you. We're all on the same side here."

Legolas, sensing that things could escalate if not handled carefully, placed a hand on Xena's shoulder. "They are friends, Xena. Trust me on this."

Xena, though still on edge, gave a curt nod. "Fine. But I'll be keeping an eye on you two."

The twins exchanged a glance, then nodded in agreement. "Fair enough," Elladan said with a slight bow. "We'll set up our camp nearby. But should you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

As the twins moved to gather their belongings, Xena turned to Legolas, her expression still serious. "You sure about them?" she asked quietly.

Legolas met her gaze, his eyes steady. "They can be a bit much, but they are loyal and trustworthy. They've fought beside me more times than I can count. You can rely on them."

Xena sighed, finally letting go of her lingering doubts. "All right. But if they cause trouble, they'll answer to me."

Legolas smiled faintly, appreciating her protectiveness. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

With the tension easing, the camp gradually returned to its usual rhythm, though the addition of the twins brought a new dynamic. As they settled in, Xena kept a wary eye on them, while Legolas, for the first time in a while, found himself caught between the two sides of his life—his elvish heritage and his newfound bond with the human warrior beside him.

As the night deepened, the camp fell into a stillness that seemed almost unnatural. The stars above twinkled in the vast expanse of the night sky, but their beauty went unnoticed by Xena. She lay on her bedroll, staring up at the canopy of trees above, her thoughts troubled and her body wracked with a pain that had become all too familiar.

It had begun subtly, days ago—a nagging discomfort that she had initially dismissed as the residual effects of the wound. But tonight, the pain had grown more intense, more insistent, as if the darkness within the wound was coming alive, whispering to her, calling her into its cold embrace.

The wound inflicted by the Morgul-knife had healed on the surface, but the true damage lay deep within. It felt as if something malevolent had taken root in her body, slowly spreading its tendrils through her veins, tainting her blood with a darkness she could not expel. Her chest felt heavy, as though a great weight was pressing down on her, suffocating her. A chill had settled in her bones, one that no fire could warm.

Xena clenched her fists, her jaw tightening as she fought against the waves of pain that surged through her. It was unlike any poison she had encountered before. This was not something that could be fought with herbs or willpower alone. It was as if the darkness was trying to consume her from the inside out, draining her strength, her will to fight.

Her breaths came in shallow gasps, each one a struggle. The air around her seemed to thicken, making it difficult to draw in a full breath. Her heart pounded erratically in her chest, and she felt a creeping numbness spreading from the wound, radiating outward like the slow advance of death itself.

Xena tried to convince herself that she could endure it, that she had faced worse and survived. But this... this was different. This was not a battle she could win with brute strength or sheer determination. The darkness that clung to her was ancient, insidious, and it was growing stronger with each passing moment.

She rolled onto her side, clutching at her abdomen where the wound had been. A wave of nausea swept over her, and she bit back a groan, unwilling to wake the others. The pain was like a knife twisting in her gut, relentless and unyielding. She could feel it gnawing at her, sapping her energy, her resolve.

In a desperate attempt to quell the pain, she reached for the pouch of herbs that Legolas had given her. With trembling hands, she fumbled with the small containers, spilling some of the precious powder onto the ground in her haste. She mixed the powder with water and drank it down, wincing at the bitter taste. But even as the concoction slid down her throat, she knew it was futile. The herbs that had once provided relief now did nothing to ease her suffering.

Her vision blurred, and she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. She could no longer ignore the truth—the darkness within her was not something she could conquer on her own. It was as if the very essence of the Morgul-blade had been left behind in her wound, festering, corrupting, and slowly pulling her into shadow.

She staggered to her feet, her body swaying as she tried to steady herself. The world around her seemed to spin, and she had to brace herself against a nearby tree to keep from falling. The bark was rough against her palm, grounding her in the present, but it did little to quell the terror that was rising within her.

Xena reached for the bandage that covered her wound and carefully peeled it back. In the dim light of the moon, she could see that the skin around the wound had taken on a dark, unnatural hue, almost as if the darkness itself was seeping out from within her. The edges of the wound were inflamed, and the center pulsed with an eerie, sickly glow. It was a mark of corruption, a reminder that the blade had left its curse behind.

She felt exhaustion creeping in, her strength waning with every breath she took. Her legs trembled beneath her, and it took all of her willpower just to remain standing. The thought of returning to camp, of trying to put on a brave face for the others, seemed impossible. She couldn't let them see her like this—weak, vulnerable, succumbing to a darkness she couldn't fight.

Her vision dimmed, and she felt herself sinking to the ground, her back sliding down the trunk of the tree until she was sitting on the cold earth. She closed her eyes, trying to gather her thoughts, but it was as if her mind was slipping away, pulled into the void that had taken root within her.

Xena knew she was losing this battle. The darkness was winning, and she was too tired, too weak to resist it any longer. She leaned her head back against the tree, her breaths shallow and labored, her body trembling as she fought to stay conscious. But the pain, the exhaustion, and the insidious whispers of the darkness were overwhelming her.

At that moment, Xena realized that she might not make it through the night. The darkness was consuming her, dragging her down into a place where she could not follow. And as she sat there, alone and trembling in the night, she felt the first tendrils of despair take hold.

The darkness that was taking hold of Xena was unlike anything she had ever faced before. It was not just a physical pain but something far more insidious. It felt as though the very essence of the Morgul-blade was trying to claim her soul, dragging her deeper into an abyss from which there might be no return. The struggle to maintain her consciousness became more difficult with each passing moment, and her determination to make it back to the camp, to lay down on her bedding and somehow recover, became her singular focus.

The short distance between her and the camp felt like miles. Each step was an agonizing effort, her limbs heavy and unresponsive, as if the darkness was anchoring her in place. The air around her seemed to thicken, and her breaths came in shallow gasps as she forced herself forward. She stumbled, her vision blurring, and she fought to keep her balance. All she wanted was to reach her bed, to rest and hope that, come morning, she would be better.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Xena reached the edge of the camp. She saw the dim outlines of the bedrolls and the dying embers of the fire. She had made it back, but the effort had drained the last of her strength. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she collapsed onto her bedding, the darkness enveloping her completely. The sounds she made as she fell caught the attention of the elves, but they quickly dismissed it, assuming she was merely restless and wandering as she sometimes did at night.

A few hours later, the camp began to stir with the first light of dawn. The elves moved quietly, packing their belongings and preparing to continue their journey. The twins, Elladan and Elrohir, had joined the group and were also making ready to depart. Legolas returned from his solitary rest, and his keen eyes immediately noticed that something was off. Xena was still lying in her bedroll, unmoving, even as the rest of the camp was awake and bustling. This was not like her—she was always one of the first to rise.

Legolas hesitated, not wanting to show undue concern in front of the others, especially the twins. But when even Elros, one of the most dutiful of his company, began to question why Xena had not yet stirred, Legolas decided to check on her. He walked over to where she lay, his expression guarded, but as he knelt beside her and gently nudged her shoulder, his concern deepened.

"Xena," he whispered, his voice soft yet urgent. "It's time to wake up."

There was no response. Her body remained still, her breaths shallow and uneven. Alarmed, Legolas turned her onto her back, his hand instinctively moving to her forehead. She was cold, far too cold, and her skin had taken on a pale, almost translucent hue. Dark circles had formed under her eyes, and her lips were tinged with a bluish pallor. Panic surged through him as he quickly unwrapped the bandages covering her wound.

The sight that met his eyes made his heart clench with fear. The wound, which had been healing, now looked as though it had been corrupted. The skin around it was dark, almost black, and the veins near the injury were starkly visible, like lines of poisoned ink spreading outwards. The twins, noticing Legolas's distress, approached swiftly.

"Morgul-blade," Elladan murmured, his tone grim as he knelt beside Legolas. Elrohir joined them, his expression mirroring his brother's concern. The severity of the situation was immediately apparent to them.

Legolas looked up at the twins, his normally composed features etched with worry. "Can you help her?"

Elladan shook his head, his expression serious. "This is beyond our skill. The corruption from the Morgul-blade is deep, and it is spreading. We cannot heal this wound here. She needs to be taken to Rivendell immediately. Only our father, Lord Elrond, has the knowledge and skill to treat such a wound."

Legolas's heart raced as the reality of the situation hit him. There was no time to waste. Every moment that passed brought Xena closer to the brink of death, or worse—a fate even darker. His decision was immediate. He slipped an arm under Xena's neck and another under her legs, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. She was light, far too light, and the coldness of her skin against his was a stark reminder of the urgency of their situation.

"I will take her to Rivendell myself," Legolas declared, his voice firm with resolve. "We cannot delay."

The camp around them erupted into activity as the elves prepared to move. Elros, ever the loyal guardian, stepped forward, his expression one of concern and determination. "You cannot ride alone, my prince. It is too dangerous."

Legolas's demeanor hardened, his eyes flashing with authority. "I am not asking for permission, Elros. I will ride with her, and you will follow. There is no time to argue."

Elros opened his mouth to protest, but Elladan intervened, stepping forward to address Legolas directly. "Take the path along the river," he instructed, his tone urgent but controlled. "It will be the fastest route. We will be right behind you."

Legolas nodded in acknowledgment, his focus solely on Xena as he carried her to his horse. He mounted swiftly, positioning Xena in front of him so that she was secure against his chest. The rest of the company scrambled to gather their things, preparing to follow as quickly as they could.

With a final glance at the twins, Legolas spurred his horse forward, and they were off. The wind whipped through his hair as they raced towards Rivendell, the landscape blurring around them. Xena's life hung in the balance, and Legolas knew that every second counted. He could feel her faint pulse against his chest, a fragile reminder that she was still holding on, but barely.

As they rode, Legolas could only hope that they would reach Rivendell in time—that Lord Elrond would be able to save her. But even as he pushed his horse to its limits, a cold dread settled in his heart. The darkness that had taken hold of Xena was relentless, and he feared that they might already be too late.

((Upcoming Chapter Fourty - Three))

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