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 44: The Last Homely House

Imladris, August 29th 3018 T.A.

The mist-shrouded valley echoed with the soft murmur of cascading waterfalls, their silver threads glistening as they wove down the steep cliffs that cradled the secluded haven below. Nestled amidst the rugged mountains, a grand elven city sprawled gracefully, its architecture a harmonious blend of nature and craftsmanship, as if the very stone and wood had grown into the intricate forms that now stood before the viewer.

The city itself was a marvel of delicate arches and soaring spires, each structure adorned with carvings and filigree that whispered of ancient tales and long-forgotten songs. Towers rose elegantly, their slender forms tapering into pointed pinnacles that reached skyward, while the buildings below spread out like the unfolding petals of a flower, connected by a network of bridges and pathways that seemed to float above the rushing waters below.

The main hall, a majestic edifice of wood and stone, stood as the centerpiece of the city. Its steeply pitched roof was crowned with elaborate carvings, and its wide, welcoming entrance was flanked by columns that supported a vaulted ceiling, open to the elements, where vines and ivy had entwined themselves, adding to the natural beauty of the place. The hall opened onto a vast terrace, overlooking the breathtaking landscape, where one could stand and watch the waterfalls as they plunged into the misty abyss below, their roar softened to a soothing hum by the distance.

To the side, a series of arches formed an elegant bridge, spanning a deep chasm where the river thundered through. This bridge, a marvel of engineering and artistry, was adorned with latticework and delicate patterns that seemed to dance in the dim light filtering through the overcast sky. Beyond it, a smaller structure, perhaps a gazebo or a shrine, stood in a grove of trees, its circular form open to the air, inviting solitude and reflection.

The surrounding forest was dense with evergreens, their dark forms standing in stark contrast to the golden hues of leaves that clung to the deciduous trees scattered throughout. The scene was one of serene, almost melancholic beauty, the colors of the earth blending with the cool grays and blues of the misty air, creating a tapestry that spoke of a land both ancient and eternal.

Above it all, the mountains loomed, their jagged peaks partially obscured by the low-hanging clouds, giving the impression that this hidden city existed on the very edge of the world, a sanctuary where time moved differently, more slowly, as if the passage of centuries had little meaning in this place of enduring splendor.

This sanctuary known as Imladris, nestled within the evergreen forests and beside the cascading waterfalls, stood as a testament to the beauty and wisdom of the Elves. This place, often called the Last Homely House east of the Sea, was more than just a haven for travelers—it was a beacon of hope, a refuge for those burdened by the trials of the world, and a wellspring of ancient knowledge. The House of Elrond, as it was more commonly known, served as a sanctuary for the weary, offering counsel, healing, and solace to those in need. It was within these hallowed walls that Xena's life now hung in the balance.

Xena's journey to this sanctuary had not been of her own volition. She had fallen victim to the cursed blade of a Morgul-knife, a weapon of insidious darkness, wielded by the Nazgûl. The blade did more than simply wound the flesh; it inflicted a shadow upon the soul, a lingering malevolence that sought to claim its victim entirely, turning them into a wraith, a servant of the very darkness that had once pursued her.

Her last memory was of lying on her bedding in the camp, her body succumbing to the unbearable weight of the curse that had been placed upon her. From that moment, she had been plunged into a deep, unnatural sleep—a sleep that was not restful, but filled with darkness and torment. In her dreams, she was consumed by a world of fire and death, a place where the shadows reached out to drag her down into an abyss from which there was no return. The malevolent presence that haunted her dreams sought to break her will, to make her surrender to the darkness.

But Xena was not one to surrender easily.

Even in the face of overwhelming darkness, she fought back, her spirit resisting the pull of the shadow with all the strength she could muster. Her mind was filled with the echoes of past battles, the faces of those she had fought for, and the memories of the lives she had taken. The darkness sought to use these memories against her, to twist them into a weapon of despair. Yet, Xena refused to be broken. She would not allow herself to be claimed by this shadow, no matter how strong its grip became.

The pain was relentless, searing through her body as the poison from the Morgul-blade spread through her veins. It was unlike any pain she had ever known—deep, consuming, and malevolent. It gnawed at her very soul, trying to strip away her essence, her will, her identity. She felt herself weakening, her strength ebbing away with each passing moment. The darkness grew heavier, and more oppressive, and for the first time in a long while, Xena felt fear. Not of death, but of losing herself completely to the darkness, of becoming something she despised.

Just as she was on the brink of giving in, of succumbing to the overwhelming despair that threatened to swallow her whole, a light pierced through the darkness. It was faint at first, a glimmer on the edge of her consciousness, but it grew steadily stronger, pushing back the shadows that sought to claim her. And with the light came a presence, one that she could not see but could feel—strong, comforting, and filled with an ancient power.

Someone was with her, fighting alongside her, pulling her back from the brink. The presence was like a beacon, guiding her through the darkness, showing her the way back to the light. She could feel hands, gentle but firm, anchoring her to the world she was slowly slipping away from. It was as if she were being drawn out of a deep, dark well, one slow, agonizing inch at a time. The pain began to recede, though it did not disappear entirely, and she could feel the darkness loosening its hold on her, if only slightly.

Though she was still lost in the darkness, Xena now knew she was not alone. Someone was there, trying to bring her back, and that gave her the strength to keep fighting, to hold on just a little longer. At that moment, in the deepest reaches of her despair, she found a glimmer of hope, and it was enough to keep her from giving up. She clung to that hope, to the light that was now guiding her, as she continued to fight against the darkness that sought to claim her.

And so, as she lay there in the House of Elrond, surrounded by the ancient beauty of Imladris, Xena fought her greatest battle yet—a battle not of swords and physical strength, but of will and spirit, a battle to reclaim herself from the darkness that had nearly consumed her.

As night gave way to dawn, the air in Rivendell remained heavy with the echoes of an intense struggle—a battle fought not with swords, but within the depths of one's soul. Elrond and his healers had labored tirelessly for days, working against the sinister curse of the Morgul-blade that sought to claim Xena. Despite the malevolent power of the wound, Xena's indomitable spirit had held on, resisting the darkness that threatened to consume her.

On the morning of September 3rd, Elrond finally emerged from the healing chambers with a grave but hopeful expression. Xena was no longer in immediate danger, though she remained unconscious, her body and mind exhausted from the relentless fight.

The relief was palpable, yet it was tempered by the knowledge that her recovery would be slow. The wound had been healed, but its effects would linger, a shadow that might never fully disappear. Elrond had personally explained this to Legolas, who had spent much of the past days lingering outside the healing chambers, his worry evident in the furrow of his brow and the tension in his posture. Though he trusted in Elrond's skill, the waiting had worn on him. Elros, Thalion, and Mírdan had been guided to their rooms to rest, understanding there was nothing more they could do but await the return of their comrade to consciousness.

Legolas, however, had lingered longer, pacing the courtyard just outside the healing chambers. His heart was heavy with the weight of his concern for Xena, but he was also conscious of the watchful eyes around him. The whispering of servants and the curious glances from other Elves reminded him of his position as the prince of Mirkwood. Reluctantly, he withdrew to the chamber that had long been set aside for him whenever he visited Rivendell.

The chamber Legolas entered was a sanctuary, a tranquil retreat from the worries that plagued him. The large arched window immediately drew his gaze, offering a view of the serene woodland garden beyond. The soft light of the setting sun filtered through the intricate latticework, casting delicate patterns on the polished wooden floor. The gentle rustling of leaves outside, combined with the distant sound of flowing water, created an atmosphere of calm that was characteristic of Rivendell.

The bed, a masterpiece of Elven craftsmanship, was centered in the room. Its headboard was a tangle of intricately carved branches and leaves, reminiscent of the ancient trees of Mirkwood. The rich green and gold fabrics that adorned the bed glowed softly in the dim light, evoking memories of his homeland. A chandelier of crystal leaves hung above, casting a warm, gentle light that mirrored the glow of moonlight through a forest canopy.

Legolas walked slowly through the room, his steps almost soundless on the woven rug that depicted scenes from Elven lore. The muted colors and rich textures of the rug blended seamlessly with the room's overall decor, adding to the sense of timelessness that pervaded the space.

By the window, a small writing desk stood, its surface scattered with scrolls and quills, remnants of past correspondences. Legolas briefly considered sitting down to write, perhaps to pen a message to his father, but his thoughts were too tangled, his heart too heavy. He needed time to reflect and to process the events of the past days.

He moved to the wooden chest at the foot of the bed, where he placed his weapons—his bow, quiver, and long knives—all carefully laid to rest. His armor had already been taken by the attendants to be cleaned, a necessary task, though it felt almost trivial given the gravity of the situation.

Legolas then approached the wardrobe, opening its intricately carved doors to reveal a selection of Elven garments. He chose a simple robe, woven from the finest Elven fabrics, its soft texture and understated design a comfort in its familiarity. After changing out of his travel-worn clothes, he found himself standing by the bed, staring out of the window at the serene garden below.

The room was a haven of peace, designed for rest and reflection, yet Legolas found no solace. His thoughts were with Xena, who lay in a different chamber, fighting to recover from an ordeal that had nearly claimed her life. He could still see the pallor of her skin, the dark shadows beneath her eyes—a stark contrast to the vibrant warrior he had come to know.

Finally, Legolas sat on the edge of the bed, the events of the past days replaying in his mind. He could feel the exhaustion in his bones, but sleep eluded him. The knowledge that Xena's fate had hung by a thread and that the thread was not yet fully mended, gnawed at him. He could not shake the image of her, lying so still, so unlike the fierce and determined woman he had traveled with.

In the quiet of his chamber, Legolas allowed himself a moment of vulnerability, his usually unreadable expression giving way to the worry that had been building inside him. He had seen many battles, faced many dangers, but this felt different. This was not an enemy he could fight with his bow or his knives. It was a battle of will, of spirit, and it was one that Xena had to face alone, though he wished he could take some of the burden from her.

As the light outside dimmed, giving way to the deep blue of twilight, Legolas leaned back, closing his eyes, though he knew sleep would not come easily. The tranquility of the room contrasted sharply with the turmoil inside him, a reminder that even in the most peaceful places, one could not escape the worries of the heart.

Days had passed, and the rhythm of life in Imladris resumed its serene but purposeful flow. Elros, Thalion, and Mírdan, after taking much-needed rest, returned to their duties with renewed focus. As trusted emissaries of King Thranduil, their presence in Rivendell was not merely for the protection of Legolas but also to convey important news and strengthen ties between Mirkwood and Imladris.

Elros took charge of the formal correspondence, ensuring that letters from Thranduil were delivered to Elrond and other key figures in Rivendell. These messages were not just about diplomatic pleasantries but conveyed critical updates on the growing shadow over Mirkwood. Orc incursions had become more frequent, and the influence of Dol Guldur was expanding. As one of Thranduil's trusted, Elros was tasked with securing Elrond's counsel on how best to counteract this darkness, and whether Rivendell could offer any support, be it in knowledge or in arms.

Thalion, known for his tactical mind and experience in skirmishes with the forces of darkness, was invited to discuss military strategies with the captains of Rivendell's guard. There, they shared intelligence on enemy movements, compared tactics, and reviewed the state of their respective defenses. Thalion was also keen to inspect Rivendell's armories and assess whether there were any weapons or armaments that could be sent to Mirkwood. His practical nature ensured that the discussions were efficient and focused on tangible outcomes.

Mírdan, with his deep knowledge of healing and lore, spent time in Rivendell's extensive libraries and healing houses. He exchanged knowledge with Elrond's healers, learning new techniques that might be beneficial back in Mirkwood, while also sharing insights from the Woodland Realm. Mírdan also made regular visits to the chamber where Xena lay recovering, speaking with the healers about her condition and ensuring that everything possible was being done for her. His concern for Xena was genuine, not just as a companion but as a being who had fought bravely alongside them.

Meanwhile, Legolas found himself torn between his duties and his concern for Xena. He knew he had to focus on the reason for his journey to Rivendell—the matter of Gollum's escape, which had cast a shadow over his every step since leaving Mirkwood. The time had come for him to have a private audience with Lord Elrond.

The meeting took place in one of Rivendell's more secluded chambers, a room filled with the warm glow of the afternoon sun filtering through high, arched windows. The chamber was adorned with tapestries depicting the history of the Elves, their victories, and their losses, a reminder of the long struggle against the forces of darkness.

Elrond stood by a large table, examining a map of Middle-earth, his wise eyes tracing the paths of rivers and the contours of mountains. He turned as Legolas entered, greeting him with a nod that was both welcoming and serious.

"Legolas Thranduilion," Elrond said in Sindarin, his voice resonating with a calm authority, "It is good to see you again, though I wish it were under better circumstances."

Legolas inclined his head in respect, his expression equally grave. "My Lord Elrond, the circumstances are indeed dire, and I bring troubling news from Mirkwood."

Elrond gestured for Legolas to sit, and the Elf prince took his place across from the Lord of Rivendell. "I have heard whispers of the darkness growing in your father's realm," Elrond began. "Dol Guldur stirs once more, does it not?"

Legolas nodded, his gaze firm. "Yes, the influence is spreading, and with it, the creatures of shadow grow bolder. Orcs and other foul beings venture further into our lands, threatening not only our borders but the very heart of our forest. My father believes that the darkness is gathering strength for a new assault on the free peoples."

Elrond's face grew somber. "Your father's concerns are well-founded. The Enemy is indeed moving once more. What has been done to counter this?"

"We have strengthened our patrols, fortified our borders, and increased our vigilance," Legolas replied, his voice steady but laced with the weight of his concerns. "But these measures are not enough. The darkness is ancient, and it knows the ways of the forest as well as we do. However, there is another reason I was sent to Imladris."

Elrond remained silent for a moment, his keen mind reflecting on the long history of the struggle between light and dark. Finally, he spoke his tone grave and measured. "Mirkwood is a bastion against the Shadow, and its fall would be catastrophic for all of Middle-earth. Legolas, what is this other reason?"

Legolas bowed his head slightly, the gravity of the situation pressing down on him. "Your support means much to me, Lord Elrond." He hesitated briefly before continuing, his expression darkening. "I have come to bring unpleasant news. Gollum has escaped from my father's custody. It was my responsibility, and I failed. He fled into the Misty Mountains, and we have been unable to track him since. There was an attack against our Halls, and I fear what he may reveal to the Enemy and the consequences that may arise from his escape."

Elrond regarded Legolas with eyes filled with understanding and concern. "That is a matter of grave concern, indeed," he said quietly. "But do not bear the burden of this failure alone, Legolas. Gollum is a creature of cunning and deceit. His capture was always fraught with danger. Yet his escape is troubling. If he falls into the hands of the Enemy, he could reveal much that we do not wish to be known."

Legolas clenched his hands, the frustration evident in his tense posture. "That is what I fear most. He knows too much of our lands, of our defenses. If Sauron learns of these, it could spell doom for us all."

Elrond leaned forward slightly, his gaze intent. "The darkness is growing, Legolas. We have noticed that as well. Therefore, there is the thought of holding a council. I am already preparing to send out word, and I will inform your father as well. Since you are here, it would be wise for you to remain."

Legolas nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly at Elrond's words. "Your counsel is always a balm to my troubled mind. I will remain, as will my father's men."

Elrond smiled faintly, though the seriousness of the situation still lingered in his eyes. "We are all bound by the same fate, Legolas. The darkness that rises in Mirkwood is but a part of the greater shadow that looms over us all. But remember this—light can still prevail, even in the deepest dark."

Their conversation shifted to Xena, with Legolas expressing his deep concern for her condition. Elrond assured him that she was in the best possible hands, that his healers were doing everything within their power. The road to recovery would be long, but there was hope.

"She is strong," Elrond said with quiet conviction, "perhaps stronger than any of us knew. The fact that she still fights, even now, speaks to her resilience. Do not lose hope, Legolas. She may yet surprise us all."

Legolas took comfort in Elrond's words, though his heart remained heavy with worry for his companion. With a respectful nod, Legolas took his leave, feeling a slight but meaningful lightening of the burdens he carried.

As Legolas emerged from his meeting with Lord Elrond, his thoughts were heavy with the weight of the conversation. The news he had delivered, combined with his concern for Xena's condition, left him feeling the burdens of his responsibilities more keenly than ever. He had intended to find a quiet place to reflect, as was his usual habit when troubled, but to his surprise, he was not left alone.

Arwen, the Evenstar of her people, awaited him just outside the chamber, her presence radiant and calming. Beside her stood Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Elrond, who had also been keenly interested in Legolas' meeting with their father. They had found him quickly, and with the ease of long friendship, they gently guided him away from the halls, insisting that he join them for a walk.

Arwen, in particular, had a soft but insistent way about her, and Legolas soon found himself following her through the winding paths of Rivendell. The twins fell behind, giving their sister and Legolas the space they needed, though they remained close enough to join in should they be needed.

As they walked, the soft light of the late afternoon filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the path. The calm of Imladris worked its magic on Legolas, easing some of the tension from his shoulders, though his heart still bore the weight of his worries. Arwen, ever perceptive, noticed the shadows in his gaze.

"Legolas," she began softly, her voice as melodic as the flowing streams of Rivendell, "I have heard from my brothers about the journey that brought you here. And of your meeting with Aragorn along the way."

Legolas nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips at the mention of Aragorn. "Yes, we encountered him on our way here. It was... unexpected, but welcome. It is always good to see an old friend."

Arwen smiled, her own thoughts clearly drifting to the ranger who held her heart. "He is strong, and his path is clear, but it is not an easy one. I am glad you were able to see him. It must have lifted your spirits, even if only for a brief time."

"It did," Legolas admitted, his smile growing a little. "Aragorn has a way of doing that. He spoke of his journey to Bree, and though we only had a short time together, it was enough to remind me of the bonds we share. He mentioned you, of course."

Arwen's gaze softened, a mixture of pride and sorrow flashing in her eyes. "He always does. His thoughts are often with me, as mine are with him. But we both know the challenges that lie ahead." She paused, then turned her attention back to Legolas, her expression becoming more curious. "But tell me, Legolas, who is this woman, Xena, who travels with you? My brothers have spoken of her, and I confess I am curious."

Legolas's expression grew more serious as he considered how to answer. "Xena... is unlike anyone I have ever met. She is strong, fierce, and carries with her a past that is as shadowed as any I have encountered. Yet, there is something in her that fights against that darkness, a strength of will that I have rarely seen."

Arwen tilted her head slightly, intrigued. "She sounds extraordinary. But you are troubled for her, I can see it in your eyes."

"Yes," Legolas admitted. "She was wounded by a Morgul-blade to safe me, and though Elrond has done all he can, the fight within her continues. I fear for her, Arwen. I fear that the darkness may claim her before she can fully recover. But at the same time, I see how fiercely she resists it. She is not like others who would easily succumb."

Arwen considered his words carefully, her gaze thoughtful. "It is rare to find such resilience, especially in one who has faced the touch of a Morgul-blade. I trust my father's abilities, but it is clear that this woman must possess an extraordinary spirit to fight such darkness. And you, Legolas, you care for her deeply, do you not?"

Legolas hesitated, caught off guard by Arwen's perceptiveness. "I do," he finally said, his voice quieter. "She is... a friend. One who has proven herself time and again. I cannot stand by and watch as she suffers."

Arwen smiled gently, sensing the deeper emotions beneath his words. "It is good that she has you by her side. Perhaps your strength, your light, will help guide her back from the darkness. Just as she seems to be helping you face your own."

Legolas looked at her, surprised by her insight. "You have always been able to see what others cannot, Arwen."

She laughed softly, the sound light and clear like a bell. "Perhaps. But I only speak the truth. The bonds we form with others can be as much a source of strength as any weapon. They can help us find our way, even when the path is darkest."

Their conversation continued as they walked, eventually bringing them to a secluded spot overlooking one of Rivendell's most beautiful waterfalls. The cascading waters roared softly in the background, providing a natural symphony that was both calming and invigorating. This was a place of peace, a place where Arwen often came to reflect and find solace.

"This is where I come when I need to think," Arwen said, gesturing to the vista before them. "It is a place of serenity, where the troubles of the world seem distant. I hope it brings you some measure of comfort, Legolas."

Legolas looked out at the scene before him, taking in the beauty of Rivendell's natural splendor. The water sparkled in the sunlight, and the air was filled with the scent of fresh greenery and the earthy fragrance of the forest. He could feel the tension in his heart beginning to ease, the weight of his worries lightening just a little.

"It does," he said quietly. "Thank you, Arwen."

Arwen smiled warmly at him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "Remember, Legolas, you are not alone in this. Whether it is the darkness in Mirkwood, or the struggles of your friend, you have those who stand with you. Do not carry these burdens by yourself."

Legolas nodded, deeply touched by her words. "I will remember that."

As they stood there together, the sound of the waterfall and the tranquil beauty of Rivendell surrounding them, Legolas felt a sense of peace that had eluded him for days. In this place, in the company of such a trusted friend, he found the strength to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

They continued talking for some time, their conversation drifting to lighter topics—their shared memories, stories of past adventures, and even tales of the antics of Elladan and Elrohir. It was a reminder that even in the darkest times, there was still light, still laughter, and still hope.

Finally, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the valley, Arwen turned to Legolas, her expression serene. "Come, let us return to the others. The night is approaching, and there is still much to do."

Legolas nodded, feeling more centered than he had in days. "Yes, let us go."

Together, they made their way back to the heart of Rivendell, where the rest of their companions awaited. And as they walked, Legolas couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of purpose. The road ahead was uncertain, but with friends like Arwen, Aragorn, and even Xena by his side, he knew he was not walking it alone.

((Upcoming Chapter Forty - Five))

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