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)

Act II

Belonging

Chapter 121: Sweet Farewells & Mischief Braids

Mirkwood, 3019 TA, July 7th

The first light of dawn spilled gently through the tall windows of Legolas's chambers, casting soft golden hues across the room. The carved vines and leaves etched into the stone walls glimmered faintly, their beauty amplified by the warmth of the morning sun. The faint sound of birdsong drifted in from the forest outside, mingling with the stillness of the room.

Xena stirred, her eyes fluttering open as she adjusted to the light. The first thing she saw was the pale canopy above the bed, the delicate patterns etched into it reflecting the artistry of the Woodland Elves. Slowly, she turned her head to see Legolas lying beside her, already awake, his blue eyes watching her with quiet affection.

"Good morning," he said softly, his voice low and steady.

Xena blinked a few times, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Morning already?" she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.

He chuckled, the sound warm and light. "Indeed. The sun does not wait, even for those who deserve the rest."

She smirked faintly, propping herself up on one elbow to face him. "Are you calling me lazy, or are you admitting you were watching me sleep?"

Legolas's lips curved into a small smile. "Perhaps a little of both."

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "You're impossible."

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, his touch light and tender. "And yet, you are still here."

Xena held his gaze, the teasing in her expression softening. "Yes, I am."

They stayed like that for a moment, the weight of their shared journey lingering in the quiet between them. Finally, Xena broke the silence, her tone shifting. "We're leaving today, aren't we?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

Legolas nodded. "We are. The journey to Minas Tirith will not be short, and the road will require focus." He paused, his gaze searching hers. "Are you certain you're ready?"

She sat up fully, the blanket slipping from her shoulders as she stretched. "I've been ready, Legolas. I wouldn't have agreed to go if I wasn't."

His brows knit slightly, concern flickering in his eyes. "You're still healing, Xena. If there's any strain—"

"I'll rest," she interrupted, rolling her eyes playfully. "Don't start hovering over me already. We haven't even left yet."

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "You say that as though it isn't my nature."

"Your nature is to overthink everything," she teased, standing and retrieving the robe draped over a nearby chair. She slipped it on, tying the sash firmly before turning back to him. "Come on, Silvan prince. Let's get ready before your father decides to give us another farewell lecture."

Legolas rose from the bed gracefully, his movements fluid and precise. "You have no idea how much I wish that weren't a possibility," he said, a rare note of humor in his tone.

Xena arched a brow, smirking. "He cares about you, you know. Even if he has an interesting way of showing it."

He nodded, his expression softening. "I know. And I think… I think he's come to care about you as well."

She paused, her smirk fading into something more thoughtful. "That's… unexpected."

Legolas stepped closer, reaching for her hands. "Not unexpected. You have earned his respect, and his trust. That is not easily given."

Xena looked down at their joined hands, her fingers tightening around his. "Well, I'll take it. Even if it means enduring a lecture or two."

Legolas smiled, leaning down to press a brief, gentle kiss to her forehead. "Then let us endure it together."

The morning passed in quiet companionship as Xena and Legolas prepared for the journey ahead. Xena donned her familiar armor, its dark leather worn but polished, the scuffs and scratches telling stories of countless battles fought and won. She secured her vambraces with practiced ease, adjusting the buckles until they fit snugly. As she bent to lace her boots, her gaze drifted toward Legolas.

He stood by the mirror, braiding his hair with the same precision he applied to everything. The sunlight streaming through the tall windows illuminated his golden locks, making them gleam as he worked. Each braid he wove was more than a simple matter of appearance; they carried meaning, tradition, and identity.

Xena couldn't help but smile as she watched him, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. "What amuses you, meleth nîn?" Legolas asked without looking up, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I was just thinking," she replied, her tone teasing, "that if you ever get tired of being a prince or a warrior, you could make a fortune as a hairstylist."

Legolas raised a single, elegant eyebrow as he tied off the final braid. Turning to face her, he took a deliberate step forward, his expression calm but his eyes alight with mischief. "Is that so?"

Before she could reply, he reached for her hand, gently pulling her toward the ottoman at the foot of the bed. Xena, intrigued, let herself be guided, taking a seat. "Legolas, what are you doing?" she asked, her voice a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

"You'll see," he said, retrieving a finely carved wooden brush from the table. Legolas began brushing her hair with careful, deliberate strokes, his touch gentle yet firm. Xena chuckled softly, shaking her head.

"I didn't mean I needed a hairstylist," she said, tilting her head slightly to glance up at him.

He gently straightened her head, his fingers light against her chin. "Hush," he said softly. "Trust me."

She smirked but complied, leaning back slightly as he worked. His hands moved deftly, sectioning her hair and weaving it into intricate braids with the same care he had shown for his own. "The first braid," he said after a moment, "is for the warrior you are. It speaks to your strength, your skill, and the battles you've fought."

Xena smiled faintly, her eyes half-lidded as she relaxed under his touch. "That's fitting," she murmured.

"The second," he continued, "is yours to define. A reflection of who you are beyond the warrior—of what you choose to honor in yourself."

She tilted her head slightly, thoughtful. "I suppose it could represent the protector in me. The one who fights for others, not just herself."

Legolas nodded, a small smile gracing his lips. "It suits you." As he finished the second braid, his hands moved with practiced ease to the final one.

"And the third?" she asked, her voice softer now.

Legolas paused briefly before resuming his work. "The third…" He hesitated, his voice lowering. "I will explain when the time is right."

Xena arched a brow, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. "You're being cryptic."

He leaned down slightly, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, "Patience, meleth nîn."

She rolled her eyes but allowed him to finish, secretly touched by the care he was putting into the task. When he was done, she turned to face him, a wry smile on her lips. "Well, how do I look?"

Legolas stepped back, his eyes scanning her appreciatively. "Perfect," he said simply.

She chuckled, standing and giving her reflection a brief glance in the polished surface of the mirror. The braids suited her—practical yet elegant, much like the man who had woven them.

With their preparations complete, they stepped out into the halls of Mirkwood. The sunlight filtered through the tall trees outside, casting dappled patterns across the polished stone. The elves moved gracefully through the space, preparing supplies and ensuring the travelers had everything they needed for the journey ahead.

Near the gates stood Thranduil, his regal presence as commanding as ever. He was flanked by Tauriel and Haldir, their expressions a mix of pride and concern. The Elvenking's silver robes shimmered faintly in the morning light, his sharp eyes immediately finding his son and Xena as they approached.

Legolas adjusted the strap of his quiver, his movements calm but purposeful. Xena glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Ready for another round of fatherly wisdom?" she teased under her breath.

Legolas gave her a sidelong look, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile. "Let us hope it is brief."

As they neared the gates, the weight of the journey ahead loomed large. But together, they felt ready to face whatever lay beyond the borders of the Woodland Realm.

The horses stood ready—Arod, Legolas's steadfast steed, pawed the ground lightly, while Chubby, Xena's sturdy and slightly comical mount, flicked his tail in anticipation. The morning air was crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and the hum of unseen life within Mirkwood's dense canopy. Legolas adjusted Arod's reins as Xena tightened the straps on Chubby's saddle, the quiet efficiency of their movements a testament to the bond they shared with their mounts.

Thranduil, ever regal and composed, approached with a deliberate stride, his silver robes flowing like water around him. His sharp eyes caught the sunlight, but it wasn't the horses or the supplies that held his attention—it was Xena's hair. The intricate braids Legolas had woven into her dark locks shone subtly in the morning light, a reflection of care and intent that did not escape the Elvenking's notice.

Stopping beside his son, Thranduil's gaze lingered on the final braid, his lips curving into a faint smirk. Without looking at Xena, he addressed Legolas in Sindarin, his tone casual but laced with amusement.

"The braids are well done, ion nîn," he said smoothly. "Especially the last one. A bold choice to name her Princess of Mirkwood. And judging by her lack of protest, I take it you haven't explained its meaning?"

Legolas stiffened, a faint flush coloring his cheeks. His composure, usually so unshakable, wavered. He glanced at Xena, who was busy with Chubby and blissfully unaware of their exchange. Turning back to his father, he replied in a hurried whisper, also in Sindarin. "Ada, don't say anything. Please. If she realizes what it means, I will not survive this journey."

Thranduil arched an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "And who, precisely, do you fear for more? Yourself or her patience?"

Legolas hesitated, his expression caught between irritation and genuine worry. "Both," he admitted.

Thranduil chuckled softly, a rare sound, but one that carried a hint of mischief. "Very well, I will spare you—for now."

Turning to face both of them, Thranduil shifted to the Common Tongue. "I wish you both a safe journey," he said, his tone now formal and measured. "May your path be clear, and your destination swift."

Tauriel and Haldir stepped forward, their voices joining the Elvenking's. "May the stars guide you," Tauriel said warmly, while Haldir added with a faint smirk, "And may you both return with stories worth telling."

Legolas mounted Arod with his usual grace, settling into the saddle as he looked toward Xena. She took a moment longer, her movements slower as she climbed onto Chubby's back. Before she could settle, Thranduil stepped closer, his voice dropping to a smooth, almost casual tone.

"It is good to see you wearing your title so well," he said, his sharp eyes glinting with amusement. "Princess of Mirkwood suits you."

Xena blinked, turning her head to look at him, but before she could fully process his words, he stepped back with a faint, knowing smile. She shrugged it off, assuming it was some cryptic elven comment, and nudged Chubby forward to join Legolas.

The pair rode in silence for the first stretch of the journey, the sunlight breaking through the trees in golden shards as they passed through Mirkwood's forest. Legolas led the way, his posture relaxed yet attentive, while Xena rode slightly behind, her thoughts wandering. It wasn't until they were well beyond the gates that Thranduil's words began to sink in. Her hand moved unconsciously to the braid in question, her fingers tracing its intricate weave. Realization struck like a bolt of lightning.

"Wait a minute," she said sharply, urging Chubby forward until she was riding beside Legolas. "What exactly did your father mean by 'Princess of Mirkwood'?"

Legolas glanced at her, his expression carefully neutral. "It was nothing," he said quickly, his tone far too casual to be convincing.

"Nothing?" she repeated, narrowing her eyes. "Legolas. Tell me what it means."

He hesitated, his grip tightening slightly on Arod's reins. "It's… a symbolic title. A gesture of respect."

Xena's eyes narrowed further, her tone growing dangerously calm. "A gesture of respect, you say? Or are you conveniently leaving out the part where this braid means something more?"

Legolas sighed, realizing there was no escaping her interrogation. "It… might signify a connection to the royal line," he admitted reluctantly.

Her brows shot up. "A connection to the royal line? Are you telling me your father thinks I'm his daughter-in-law now?"

"It's more ceremonial than literal," he said quickly. "It's not something to take too seriously—"

"Not something to take too seriously?" she interrupted, her voice rising slightly. "You put this on my head without telling me what it meant!"

Legolas looked like a cornered deer, his usual composure entirely undone. "Xena, please—"

"Oh, no," she said, her voice full of mock sweetness. "We're going to talk about this, Legolas. All the way to Minas Tirith."

Tauriel, standing beside Haldir at the gates, watched the two riders disappear into the distance. She turned to Thranduil, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "You've given them plenty to argue about," she said in Sindarin.

Thranduil smirked, his expression smug. "I do not judge my son's choices, but that does not mean I agree with them."

Tauriel tilted her head. "So, you intend to make their lives…"

"A living hell," Thranduil finished, his tone light but with a hint of mischief.

Haldir crossed his arms, watching the distant figures. "How long before she's ready to kill him over those braids?"

Tauriel smirked. "Not long. It depends on how quickly she can catch him."

Thranduil allowed himself a rare laugh before turning and walking back toward the halls. He didn't say it aloud, but as he left, a faint warmth settled in his chest. Mischief aside, there was a pride and a quiet joy in seeing his son ride away with someone he clearly loved.

For now, that was enough.

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

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