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)

A brief and playful chapter for today!

Act III

A Place Called Home

Chapter 132: The Aftermath of Truth

Forests of Ithilien, 3019 TA, September 13th

Legolas did not move. Not at first. The words had left Xena's mouth, sharp and final, cutting deeper than any sword or arrow ever could. I'm pregnant. His knives had already slipped from his grasp, falling to the dirt at his feet, but he had not registered it. His fingers still hovered as if they expected to find steel there, his body locked in the posture of a warrior ready for battle. But this—this was no battle he had ever prepared for.

His mind, usually as swift and fluid as his bowstring, was… blank. He stood there, still as a statue, as if the wind itself had turned him into stone. Xena had already walked off, muttering something under her breath, claiming victory in their duel as she disappeared into the trees. He should have moved, should have said something, should have done anything—but his body did not cooperate.

Gimli and Faramir, who had been watching from the edge of the clearing, exchanged glances before finally stepping forward.

"Uh… lad?" Gimli prodded, waving a hand in front of Legolas's face. No reaction.

Faramir, ever the tactician, took a different approach. "Legolas, can you hear me?"

Still nothing.

Gimli sighed, crossing his arms. "Oh, for Durin's sake, this isn't good. He's broken."

"I do not believe that's possible," Faramir said, though he did not sound convinced.

"Well, look at him! He hasn't blinked, hasn't moved—he's just standing there like an overgrown woodland statue." Gimli reached up, giving Legolas a firm poke in the ribs. Still no reaction. He scowled. "Aye, he's broken."

Then, finally, Legolas blinked. His lips parted slightly as if words were forming, but they never came. Instead, he inhaled sharply, turned abruptly on his heel, and walked straight into a tree.

Gimli winced. "Oh, that's not good."

Legolas reeled back, blinking again as if the very concept of a tree in his path was unfathomable. He touched the bark, almost in confusion, then turned back to them, his usually elegant expression one of utter bewilderment.

"She—" His voice cracked. He swallowed and tried again. "She said—"

"Yes, we heard," Faramir said patiently. "You froze."

Legolas blinked again, his mind catching up only in fragments.

Pregnant.

Xena.

Him.

A child.

His breath hitched, and he staggered back a step, rubbing his temples as if trying to physically piece his thoughts together. "She's pregnant," he repeated, as if saying it aloud would somehow change the meaning.

"Yes," Faramir agreed.

"With my child?" Legolas added, as if this was the part in question.

"I certainly hope so," Gimli muttered, scratching his beard.

Legolas made a noise—a strangled half-choke, half-laugh that sounded far more unstable than any noise an elf should be making. His mind was spiraling now, images and thoughts colliding in chaotic disarray. A child. An elven child. No—half-elven, half-mortal.

Would the child be immortal? Would they age like Xena? What if they inherited her stubbornness? What if they had her battle instincts but his aversion to rash decisions? Would they have a warrior's heart? Would they— He sucked in a sharp breath.

"What do I do?" he finally asked, turning to them as if they somehow possessed the wisdom of the Valar.

Gimli blinked. "Well… usually you raise them."

"Raise them?" Legolas's voice pitched slightly higher than usual. "Gimli, I have not even processed having one yet!"

"Well, that part's already done, lad."

Legolas ran a hand through his hair, his expression increasingly frantic. "No, no, no, this is—this is too soon, we did not discuss this, we are not even—how does she even know?"

Faramir, who had remained uncharacteristically composed through all of this, cleared his throat. "Well, she is the one carrying the child, Legolas."

The elf's mind refused to slow down.

Had she been feeling unwell? Had she suspected before she told him? Why hadn't she told him? Was she afraid? What if she thought he wouldn't want this?

A new panic set in, one deeper and more personal.

He had frozen.

He had let her walk away after telling him something that must have weighed on her for days, maybe weeks.

"Oh no," he muttered. "She thinks I—" He didn't finish the thought, because it was horrible.

He had to find her. He had to fix this. His gaze darted wildly to Gimli and Faramir. "Where did she go?"

Faramir sighed, rubbing his temples. "Into the woods."

Legolas turned sharply, already preparing to sprint in that direction, but Gimli grabbed his arm before he could take a single step.

"Hold on there, elf," the dwarf said. "You've just spent the last five minutes staring at a tree, talking in circles, and nearly walking into said tree. Maybe—just maybe—you take a breath before you go running off after her like a lovesick fool?"

Legolas blinked, momentarily thrown off. Then he ignored Gimli entirely and ran.

"Oh, Valar," Gimli groaned. "This is going to be a disaster."

Faramir exhaled slowly, watching the elf disappear into the trees. "Yes," he agreed. "But at least he is no longer frozen."

Gimli muttered something unintelligible under his breath, then hoisted his axe onto his shoulder. "We'd best follow him. Who knows what state Xena's in after that display of elvish brilliance."

With that, the two men followed after Legolas, heading into the woods where the elf was now sprinting like his life depended on it. And, in a way, it did. Because there was no duel that could fix this. No battle that could make it easier. This was uncharted territory—one that no knife, no bow, no warrior's instincts could prepare him for. But it didn't matter. He would find her. And whatever came next… He would not run from it.

Legolas wandered through the forest, his steps light as always—but entirely uncoordinated. His mind was spinning, his thoughts tangled in knots he had no idea how to untie. A child. A child. He had fought creatures of shadow, faced death countless times, and yet nothing in his centuries of life had prepared him for this moment. His legs carried him forward, though he barely knew where he was going. And unfortunately, in his current state, even an elf's legendary grace abandoned him.

He stumbled over an exposed root, catching himself just before falling. "Forgive me," he muttered instinctively—to the tree.

Gimli, following behind him, groaned. "Oh, this is worse than I thought."

Legolas barely heard him. He continued walking—no, drifting—his mind entirely consumed by the revelation. He sidestepped a large stone but walked straight into a low-hanging branch. It smacked him squarely in the forehead.

"My apologies," he mumbled, blinking at the tree as if it had personally wronged him.

Faramir sighed. "He's talking to trees now."

"He always talks to trees," Gimli pointed out.

"Yes, but he usually means it," Faramir countered, watching as Legolas veered slightly off the path, still mumbling to himself.

"Half-elven," Legolas murmured under his breath. "A half-elven child. What does that even mean? What will they inherit? Will they live as long as I? Or as short as—" He tripped over another root, catching himself mid-stumble.

Gimli groaned. "Lad, do try not to fall and crack your skull before you even see her again."

But Legolas was still lost in his thoughts, pacing now. "What will their ears look like? Will they be pointed? Will they have her fire? Valar help me if they have her temper—"

Gimli and Faramir exchanged glances. "Oh, he's gone," Gimli muttered.

"Completely," Faramir agreed.

Ahead of them, Legolas kept moving, still muttering about elven bloodlines and mortal lifespans until, at last, the trees parted and the camp came into view. And there she was—Xena, sharpening her sword by the fire, her shoulders tense, her expression unreadable. Legolas stopped short. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he fell silent.

Faramir and Gimli halted as well, opting to remain on the edges of the clearing. They knew this was a conversation best left between the two of them, though judging by the look on Xena's face, they were already preparing for disaster.

Legolas finally took a breath and stepped forward.

Xena didn't look up. "You've been walking in circles," she said flatly.

"I—"

"And mumbling to yourself."

He cleared his throat. "That is… possible."

She set the whetstone down, finally lifting her gaze to meet his. Her expression was not softened by time. She was still irritated. Very irritated. And it occurred to Legolas, very belatedly, that maybe—just maybe—he should tread carefully. She stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak.

But instead of saying anything remotely reasonable, Legolas blurted, "I have a plan."

Xena blinked. "A plan."

"Yes."

"A plan for what?"

"For you."

Xena's grip on her sword tightened. "Oh?"

Legolas, either oblivious or too far into his own spiraling thoughts, continued. "We will travel back to Gondor slowly. We will take frequent stops so that you can rest. I will ensure you have proper nourishment, and I will personally check all food before you eat it to ensure it is safe—"

"Legolas."

"I will also inspect every resting place to ensure there are no hidden dangers, and—"

"Legolas."

He was pacing again. "Perhaps we should avoid traveling in direct sunlight for extended periods. I will ride alongside you at all times to ensure—"

"Legolas." He finally stopped pacing. Xena was staring at him, her expression blank—too blank. Which, for him, was far more terrifying than her usual scowl. She inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and then said, "You do know I've done this before, right?"

Legolas blinked. "Done what?"

She gestured vaguely. "The pregnant thing."

Legolas froze again, his brain completely short-circuiting.

Gimli muttered, "Oh no, not again."

Xena leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "This isn't my first time, elf. I'm not going to break. I don't need special treatment, and I certainly don't need you hovering over me like a mother hen."

Legolas opened his mouth. Then closed it.

Gimli, still watching from a distance, chuckled. "She's got you there, lad."

Legolas took a breath, choosing his next words carefully. "I only wish to ensure your safety, meleth nin."

"I appreciate that," Xena said, her voice losing some of its edge. "But I'm fine."

"You are carrying our child."

"Yes."

"That changes everything."

Xena exhaled sharply. "It changes something, Legolas. But not everything. I can still ride. I can still fight if I have to. I don't suddenly need to be wrapped in silk and carried back to Gondor on a litter."

Legolas frowned. "I was not suggesting silk."

"But you were suggesting excessive caution."

Legolas hesitated. "I—"

Xena cut him off. "And let's be clear. If I ever hear you say 'perhaps we should avoid traveling in direct sunlight' again, I will stab you."

There was a long pause. Faramir coughed. "She's very clear."

Gimli chuckled. "Aye, that she is."

Legolas sighed, rubbing his temples. "Fine," he conceded, though his tone suggested this conversation was far from over.

Xena nodded. "Good."

Another long silence.

And then Legolas, very softly, muttered, "I am still going to inspect the food."

Xena groaned.

Gimli howled with laughter.

Faramir simply shook his head. "This will be a long journey back to Gondor."

It should have been a straightforward journey back to Gondor. Should have been. But nothing was ever straightforward when an overprotective elf was involved. By the time the sun crept over the horizon the next morning, Legolas was already awake—had been awake, in fact, since the first hint of dawn. Not because he was on watch, but because he was still processing.

Processing the fact that Xena was carrying his child. His child. An actual living being that was growing inside her at this very moment. A tiny, half-elven, half-mortal life that had somehow entered existence without his consultation. And now, somehow, it was his responsibility. So, naturally, when it came time to leave camp, Legolas had things to do.

Gimli had handed him back his knives—ones he had completely forgotten about after they had fallen during his mental collapse the day before—but Legolas barely acknowledged them. No, he had a new mission now. Ensuring everything was perfect for Xena's journey. Which meant, first and foremost, securing her horse.

Xena stood a few feet away, arms crossed, foot tapping against the dirt, watching with increasing irritation as Legolas meticulously checked every strap, every buckle, every single thing that could possibly be secured on Chubby's saddle. The horse, much like its rider, was done with this. Legolas adjusted the stirrup length. Then the saddlebag. Then the girth strap again. Then he double-checked the blanket underneath the saddle. Then he stepped back, tilted his head, inspected Chubby's overall stance as if assessing the stability of a warhorse meant for battle. Then, finally—finally—he leaned in and started whispering to the horse.

Xena groaned. Loudly. "What," she snapped, "are you doing?"

Legolas did not turn, still whispering to Chubby.

"Legolas," she called again.

The elf remained absorbed in his whispers, his connection with the horse holding paramount importance. He was making certain that Chubby fully understood—his rider was carrying new life, and caution was imperative. The poor horse, however, seemed on the verge of bolting without them if Legolas continued his insistent murmurs.

"Legolas." Xena's voice carried more urgency this time

The elf finally straightened, looking at her with perfect seriousness. "I am ensuring Chubby understands the importance of his duty."

Xena blinked. Slowly. "His duty."

Legolas nodded. "He is carrying you, meleth nin. That is no small task. I am making sure he knows that he must move cautiously, avoid sudden movements, and not startle."

Xena gaped at him. "You do realize that Chubby has been carrying me for years, right?"

His response was swift and certain. "Yes." Of course, he knew that. From the day they first met in Mirkwood, Chubby had been her horse. He hadn't forgotten.

"And that I am perfectly capable of handling a horse?" Xena prompted, as if reminding him of something he seemed to overlook.

"Yes," he insisted.

"And that you are completely insane?" she added, fully aware that he was behaving like a mad elf.

Legolas hesitated. "No."

Chubby let out a loud snort, turning his head away as if expressing his agreement with Xena. "I swear," Xena muttered, rubbing her temples, "if you talk to that horse one more time—"

"I will not," Legolas cut in swiftly, raising a hand in surrender. "We must leave."

Xena exhaled sharply, stepping forward to mount. Or at least, she tried to. Because suddenly, Legolas was there, reaching for her arm, his face a mask of concerned determination. "Allow me to assist you," he said.

Xena froze mid-step. "… Assist me?" She stared at him. Legolas stared back, unwavering.

Gimli openly snorted from the sidelines. Faramir, ever the tactician, took a slow, deliberate step back, as if anticipating an imminent explosion.

Xena blinked. Then blinked again. Then she laughed. Not a pleasant laugh. Not a sweet, endearing laugh. No, this was the laugh of a woman dangerously close to homicide. She took a slow, deep breath. "Legolas. If you so much as touch me to help me on this horse, I will kill you."

Legolas hesitated. "But—"

"No."

"I only mean to—"

"No."

"I could—"

"Absolutely not."

She took a step back, gave him one last warning glare, then suddenly flipped onto the saddle with practiced ease, grabbing the reins and urging Chubby forward. Legolas stared. "… I was only trying to help," he muttered.

"Stop helping!" Xena shouted over her shoulder, riding ahead.

Gimli wheezed, gripping his sides. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

Faramir merely sighed. "We should move before she leaves us all behind."

And so the journey back to Gondor began. And it was, without question, the longest journey of Xena's life. Because Legolas would not stop. First, there were the frequent stops.

"We should rest."

"We just started riding," Xena snapped.

"For safety."

"I do not need safety, I need to get out of this conversation."

Then came the inspections. Every single place they camped, Legolas personally checked—and then double-checked—for possible threats.

"There could be dangerous creatures nearby."

"It's Ithilien, Legolas."

"That does not mean—"

"I will stab you."

Then came the ridiculous precautions. "You should not lift anything heavy." Xena lifted an entire bag onto Chubby's saddle in response.

Legolas nearly collapsed in horror. Then came the food monitoring. "I will taste your food first."

Xena stared. "Legolas. If you try to eat my dinner before me, I will shove it down your throat with my bare hands."

Legolas hesitated. Then nibbled at a piece of her bread when she wasn't looking. She threw her knife at his head. Then came the heat regulation.

"Perhaps we should ensure you are not exposed to direct sunlight for too long."

"Legolas."

"Yes?"

"I live for too many decates in the desert."

"… That is true."

"And yet you are suggesting that I—who has survived Harad—might be in danger of a little sunlight?"

"… I mean—"

"No."

Legolas paused. "Would you prefer shade?"

"I would prefer you shutting up."

By the time they reached the halfway point to Gondor, Faramir and Gimli had begun making bets. "Five gold says she tries to kill him by sunset," Gimli whispered.

"She's already tried," Faramir whispered back.

"Aye, but she hasn't succeeded yet." Gimli agreed.

And so, the journey continued. Legolas remained unwaveringly overprotective. Xena remained unwaveringly done with his existence. Gimli remained thoroughly entertained. And Faramir remained concerned for both their sanity. By the time they finally reached the borders of Gondor, Xena had only one thought left in her mind: If this elf does not stop, I will become a widow before I ever become a wife.

((Upcoming Chapter One-Hundred-Thirdy-Three))

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