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 43: The Gallop to Rivendell

Ford of Bruinen, August 28th - 29th 3018 T.A.

As the night surrendered to the first light of dawn, a quiet desperation fueled Legolas's every move. The golden hues of the rising sun painted the sky, casting long, flickering shadows over the rolling hills and dense forests. Yet, despite the beauty of the world awakening around him, there was no comfort for the elf. His focus was singular and urgent: reaching the Ford of Bruinen before it was too late. With Xena fading fast in his arms, her skin cold and lifeless against his back, Legolas knew time was running out.

His steed, a noble animal of Mirkwood, was pushed to the very edge of its endurance. Each powerful stride was a testament to the horse's loyalty, its muscles straining, nostrils flaring as it galloped across the uneven terrain. The rhythmic pounding of its hooves echoed in the quiet dawn, blending with the sound of the wind rushing past them. The cool morning breeze bit at Legolas's face, sharp and relentless, but it did little to cool the fire of urgency that burned within him. Xena's shallow, erratic breaths reminded him of just how close she was to the precipice.

The landscape changed rapidly as they raced across the Eriador 's wild, unforgiving lands. The thick trees of the forest began to give way to vast, open plains. The heavy scent of dew and earth filled the air as the terrain opened up, but it did not bring relief. The open land left them exposed, vulnerable to any dangers lurking in the shadows. Legolas's sharp eyes scanned the horizon, ever alert for threats. Orcs, wild men, even treacherous terrain—anything could delay their progress, and delay meant death for Xena.

Legolas could feel the weight of her slipping further into darkness, the wound inflicted by the Morgul-blade no longer just a physical affliction. It was far more sinister—a creeping shadow that threatened to consume her entirely, drawing her into the same cursed state as the Nazgûl themselves. Her normally sharp, vibrant presence had dulled, her once defiant spirit reduced to a frail whisper of life.

The elf clenched his jaw, pushing away the creeping dread. He would not allow it to take her. Not yet.

Legolas urged his steed onward, but even the horse—famed for its endurance—was beginning to falter. The powerful beats of its hooves became labored, and its breath came in ragged bursts. The animal's flanks heaved, glistening with sweat as it fought to maintain its pace. Legolas could feel the strain radiating through the steed's body, the resonance of each thunderous hoof striking the ground traveling up through his legs and settling in his very bones.

Yet still, they pressed on. They had no choice.

They passed through the remnants of forgotten roads, long overgrown and cracked, their history swallowed by the wilderness around them. Shallow streams crisscrossed their path, the water splashing wildly as the horse plunged through, barely slowing as it cut across the plains. Thick underbrush clawed at Legolas's cloak, catching and tearing as if the very land itself sought to hinder their progress. Yet he did not falter, guiding his mount with expert precision through every obstacle.

Occasionally, Legolas would slow their pace, allowing the horse the briefest respite. Each time, his gaze would shift to Xena, searching her face for any signs of improvement—of life. But her skin remained pale, her breathing dangerously weak. He would whisper words of comfort to her in Elvish, though he wasn't sure if she could hear them. And then, with a grim set to his jaw, he would spur the horse forward again, pushing both beast and rider to the edge of their limits.

Time became a blur, each passing moment stretching into an eternity. The sun rose higher in the sky, its light casting long beams across the land, but Legolas barely noticed. He was racing against something far greater than the natural world—the insidious darkness growing within Xena. He felt its presence like a weight pressing on his heart, a suffocating force that sought to pull her into oblivion.

The path grew more treacherous as they neared the Ford. The once even ground turned into a rocky expanse, the stones slick with morning dew, threatening to trip them with each step. But Legolas's steed, though exhausted, did not falter. It trusted its rider implicitly, knowing that the elf's strength would guide them through.

Suddenly, on the horizon, Legolas saw movement. His sharp elven eyes quickly identified the figures—orc scouts. They were too close for comfort, and they had clearly spotted him. Legolas's face hardened, but he did not slow. With Xena's life slipping through his fingers, there was no room for hesitation.

With a swift, practiced motion, Legolas reached for his bow, his hands moving as smoothly as if he were standing on solid ground. The arrows flew with lethal precision, each one finding its mark in the orcs' throats before they had time to react. The orcs crumpled, their bodies hitting the ground with dull thuds, but there was no time to relish the victory. Legolas did not pause—he pressed onward, barely sparing a glance at the fallen enemies.

The Ford of Bruinen was close. He could hear the distant roar of the river, its waters crashing against the rocks as it wound its way through the valley. The enchanted waters of the Bruinen—he prayed they would offer even the smallest reprieve for Xena's suffering.

Finally, the river came into view, its wide expanse shimmering under the mid-morning sun. The sound of rushing water filled the air, and Legolas felt a small glimmer of hope flicker in his chest. He rode directly into the river, the cool waters splashing up around him as the horse waded through.

He dismounted quickly, cradling Xena in his arms as he knelt in the shallow waters. The chill of the river seemed to steady her breathing, though her pallor remained ashen, her body limp against his.

For the briefest moment, Legolas allowed himself to hope that they had made it in time. But as the rest of his company arrived, the grim expressions on their faces told him otherwise. Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Elrond, approached swiftly, their eyes assessing the situation with a practiced air of urgency.

"This wound is beyond us," Elladan said, his voice tight. "Only our father can heal this." His words confirmed what Legolas had feared—there was no time to waste.

Without hesitation, Legolas lifted Xena back onto his horse, determination steeling his resolve. "Then we continue our ride for Rivendell," he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

The Ford of Bruinen lay behind them now, and with it, the final stretch of their desperate race to save Xena's life began.

Legolas did not wait. The urgency of the situation demanded speed, and he knew that the twins and his company were more than capable of finding their way to Rivendell. Trusting them to follow, he spurred his horse onward, every second feeling like a countdown against Xena's life. The path ahead was well-known to him, and though it would take the better part of half a day to reach their destination, he pressed on with a fervor that bordered on desperation.

With Xena now resting in front of him, her frail form cradled against his chest, Legolas could feel every labored breath she took, each one more shallow than the last. The once-strong warrior woman was now pale and cold, her body barely reacting to the motion of the horse beneath them. Legolas's arms, usually so steady and sure, trembled slightly as he held her, the weight of her condition pressing heavily on his heart.

The forest around them blurred into a tunnel of green and gold as they raced through the landscape. The morning sun had risen higher in the sky, casting dappled shadows across their path. The birds, sensing the urgency of the rider, seemed to quiet their songs as Legolas passed, leaving only the sound of the horse's hooves pounding against the earth to fill the silence.

As they neared Rivendell, the terrain began to change. The dense forest gave way to rocky outcrops and steep inclines, the land rising and falling in a series of ridges that signaled their approach to the hidden valley. The sound of the Bruinen River grew louder, a rushing roar that grew in intensity as they neared. The waters, clear and cold, glinted under the sunlight, offering a brief moment of solace to Legolas as they crossed.

But there was no time to linger. Legolas pushed on, his horse's hooves splashing through the shallows before finding purchase on the other side. As they ascended the final rise, the ancient trees of Rivendell came into view, their mighty trunks standing like silent sentinels guarding the entrance to the valley. The path wound its way through the trees, the air here cool and fragrant with the scent of pine and earth.

It wasn't long before the first of Rivendell's guards spotted them. The elves, ever vigilant, had been patrolling the borders, their keen eyes missing nothing that moved in their realm. At the sight of Legolas, one of their own, riding with such haste and carrying an unconscious figure, they immediately sprang into action.

The guards, clad in the flowing robes and light armor characteristic of Elrond's house, moved swiftly. One broke off to sound the alarm, sending word to Lord Elrond that urgent aid was needed. The others formed an escort around Legolas, guiding him through the final stretch of the journey.

The ride through Rivendell's outer boundaries was a blur, the beauty of the valley lost on Legolas as his focus remained entirely on Xena. He could feel the dark magic of the Morgul-blade pulsing faintly from her wound, a tangible reminder of the time slipping away. The path began to level out as they approached the main grounds of Rivendell, where the Last Homely House stood nestled among waterfalls and ancient trees.

By the time they reached the courtyard, the warning had already reached Elrond. He was there, flanked by healers, his expression calm but his eyes betraying the deep concern he felt. The Lord of Rivendell was a figure of quiet strength, his presence commanding respect without needing to assert it. As Legolas dismounted, cradling Xena in his arms, Elrond stepped forward, his gaze immediately assessing her condition.

"Bring her inside," Elrond said, his voice steady but urgent. The healers moved quickly, taking Xena from Legolas with practiced care, though the elf prince was reluctant to let her go. He watched as they bore her into the house, his heart heavy with the fear that despite all his efforts, it might still be too late.

Elrond placed a hand on Legolas's shoulder, offering a brief moment of solace. "You have done well to bring her here so swiftly, Legolas. We will do all we can."

Legolas stood in the courtyard, his usually composed demeanor shattered by the overwhelming concern that gripped him. His eyes remained fixed on the doorway through which Xena had been taken, as if by sheer will he could ensure her safety. The weight of his worry was evident in the tightness of his posture, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The soft rustle of leaves in the breeze and the distant murmur of waterfalls did little to ease his anxiety.

Moments later, the rest of Legolas's company arrived, their horses slowing to a halt as they took in the scene before them. The twins, Elladan and Elrohir, were the first to dismount, their expressions mirroring the urgency they had all felt during the ride. Elros and the others followed suit, their faces a mixture of concern and exhaustion from the relentless pace they had maintained.

As they approached Legolas, it was clear that the worry in his features was not something they had seen often. The prince of Mirkwood was known for his stoicism, his ability to remain calm and composed in the most dire of situations. But now, standing before the Last Homely House with the fate of a friend hanging in the balance, that mask had fallen away.

Elros, who had always been more reserved in expressing his emotions, stepped closer to Legolas, his voice low but filled with unspoken concern. "Legolas, you did all you could. We must trust that Lord Elrond can save her."

Legolas nodded once, but his gaze never left the doorway. "I can only hope we were not too late," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. The words were laced with the fear that had been gnawing at him since the moment he realized the severity of Xena's condition.

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged a glance, their own worry reflected in their eyes. Without a word, they moved past Legolas and towards the entrance to the healing chambers. They had seen the effects of a Morgul-blade before and knew the urgency of the situation. Their father was one of the few beings in Middle-earth with the knowledge and skill to combat the dark magic that coursed through Xena's veins.

The twins entered the house, their steps quick and purposeful. They knew they could not assist in the healing directly, but they needed to be there, to understand the severity of the situation and to offer their support where they could. The corridors were quiet, save for the soft whispers of the healers as they moved with practiced efficiency. Elladan and Elrohir soon found themselves outside the chamber where their father worked, the door slightly ajar.

Inside, Elrond was a figure of focused intensity, his hands moving with a practiced precision as he tended to Xena. The room was filled with the scent of healing herbs and the soft glow of Elrond's power as he channeled his energy into the work. The twins watched in silence, their presence unnoticed by their father, who was entirely absorbed in the task of saving the mortal woman before him.

Back in the courtyard, Legolas's mind raced. Every minute that passed felt like an eternity, and the silence only served to amplify the tension that hung in the air. He could feel the concerned gazes of his companions, but he could not bring himself to speak. The memory of Xena's pale face and labored breathing haunted him, and he struggled with the thought that, despite all his efforts, it might not have been enough.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the twins emerged from the house. Their faces were grim, but there was a glimmer of hope in their eyes. Legolas looked up as they approached, his heart pounding in his chest.

"She is strong," Elrohir began, his voice steady but tinged with the weight of what they had just witnessed. "Father is doing all he can. The darkness has not yet fully claimed her, but it will be a battle."

Elladan placed a reassuring hand on Legolas's shoulder. "Father believes she has a chance, but it will take time. For now, we must wait and let him work."

Legolas exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his shoulders sagging slightly with the release of some of the tension. "Thank you," he murmured, though the relief was only partial. The waiting would be the hardest part, knowing that Xena was fighting for her life within those walls.

As the group settled into an uneasy vigil outside the house, the peace of Rivendell felt like a stark contrast to the turmoil within their hearts. The sun climbed higher in the sky, casting a warm light over the valley, but for Legolas and his companions, the day felt as uncertain as the fate of the woman who had become an unexpected but valued part of their journey.

((Upcoming Chapter Fourty - Four))

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