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 45: Awakening

Imladris, September 9th 3018 T.A.

Nine days had passed since Xena had been moved from the healing chambers to her own private quarters in Rivendell. These chambers, located directly across from Legolas's own, had not been assigned to her by mere chance. Arwen, having listened intently to the stories about Xena and observing the subtle dynamics between her and Legolas, had specifically requested that Xena be placed there. Arwen, with her gift of foresight and her long years of wisdom, understood the unspoken bond that was forming between the prince and the warrior, even if Legolas himself did not fully realize it yet.

Arwen knew that in times of struggle and uncertainty, it was best for those who shared such a bond to remain close. She had seen the worry etched into Legolas's features over the past days, and she understood that proximity would bring him some measure of comfort, even if he would never openly admit it. And so, when Xena was finally strong enough to be moved, Arwen ensured that she was placed in the chamber closest to Legolas's.

That very night, after Xena had been settled into her new quarters, Legolas found himself unable to resist the pull to check on her. In the grand halls of his father's palace in Mirkwood, such an action would have been unthinkable—an elven prince sneaking into the chambers of a mortal woman would have sparked endless gossip and raised eyebrows. But here, in the serene and somewhat freer atmosphere of Imladris, Legolas felt that the usual constraints of his title were softened. Still, he knew that visiting her in broad daylight would be unwise. Rivendell, while more lenient than Mirkwood, was not immune to whispers, and despite Xena's indifference to such matters, Legolas was keenly aware of the respect she deserved.

During the day, Legolas had been occupied with his duties. He had spent the past several days taking care of his responsibilities, ensuring that all matters related to his journey and his father's realm were addressed. One such task was writing a letter to his father, King Thranduil, informing him of his safe arrival in Rivendell, his meetings with Lord Elrond, and the status of their journey.

The letter was carefully composed, as Legolas always was in his correspondence with his father. He wrote:

To the King Thranduil, my father,

I bring you greetings from Rivendell, the Last Homely House, where I have arrived safely with my companions. I trust this letter finds you in good health and high spirits, despite the growing shadows that encroach upon our world.

Upon my arrival, I immediately sought an audience with Lord Elrond to discuss the matters you entrusted to me. He has been informed of the darkening of our forest and the increasing threats that besiege our borders. Lord Elrond shares our concerns and has pledged his support in the coming days. There is talk of a council being held here in Imladris, one that may gather the leaders of the Free Peoples to address the mounting dangers that we all face.

I must also speak of a human who has accompanied us on our journey. Her name is Xena, and though she is a mortal, she has proven herself a steadfast ally and a warrior of great skill and courage. It was she who saved my life during our journey, and her presence has been invaluable to us all. She was grievously wounded by a Morgul-blade, but Lord Elrond's healers are tending to her. I have faith that she will recover, though the road ahead for her will be long.

I will remain here in Rivendell until the council is convened, after which I will seek further instructions from you. Please convey my greetings to the court, and know that my thoughts are with our people even as I serve you from afar.

Your son,

Legolas

As he penned the letter, Legolas reflected on the past three months. In the span of an elf's long life, three months was but a blink of an eye, yet in that short time, much had changed. Xena had gone from being a stranger he mistrusted to a trusted companion whose well-being occupied his thoughts more than he cared to admit. She had earned his respect through her actions and her courage, and now, as he worried over her, he realized that she had also earned his friendship.

Legolas had few friends he considered close. Tauriel, Elladan, Elrohir, Arwen, and Aragorn were among them. Each of these bonds had been forged over long years and shared experiences. Yet, despite knowing Xena for only a short time, she had managed to carve out a place in his life. Aragorn and Xena were both relatively new to him, but both had swiftly become important figures in his world. Xena, in particular, had surprised him—her strength, her resilience, and even her ability to challenge him in ways few others could.

This, of course, was not something Legolas would include in his letter to Thranduil. His father would learn of Xena through the reports of Elros and the others, and he would undoubtedly be informed of her deeds and character. But Legolas kept the more personal reflections to himself.

That night, as the stars twinkled overhead and the soft sounds of Rivendell's forests lulled the valley into a peaceful silence, Legolas found himself standing outside Xena's chamber. He hesitated for a moment, aware of the impropriety of his actions, but his concern outweighed his caution. Silently, he slipped into her room, his steps as light as the breeze that rustled the leaves outside.

Xena lay in her bed, her breathing steady but shallow, her face still pale from the ordeal she had endured. Legolas stood by her side, watching her for a long moment, his heart heavy with worry. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face, his touch as light as a feather. He was not one to openly express his emotions, but in this quiet moment, he allowed himself to feel the depth of his concern for her.

She had become more than just a companion on this journey. In a way that Legolas had not expected, she had become someone he cared for deeply—someone he could not bear to lose.

With a final glance at her peaceful form, Legolas turned and left the room, retreating back to his own chambers. As he walked through the dimly lit halls of Rivendell, he knew that the coming days would bring many challenges. But he also knew that no matter what came, he would stand by Xena, just as she had stood by him. And as he returned to his own chamber, the knowledge that Xena was just across the hall brought him a small measure of comfort, even in the midst of his worries.

As the days passed, Xena remained in her deep, dreamy state, her mind lost in battles of the past while her body slowly healed. Despite her unconsciousness, there was a subtle change each day—a slight return of color to her cheeks, a softening of the deep lines etched by pain and struggle. However, her once vibrant skin stayed unnervingly pale, and a persistent weariness clung to her like a shadow.

Every night, Legolas visited her, slipping silently into her chamber, his steps as light as the breeze that stirred the curtains. The prince of Mirkwood, who had faced countless dangers and challenges in his long life, now found himself sitting quietly at Xena's bedside, speaking to her in soft tones, recounting the events of the day. His words were laced with hope, as if he believed that something he said might reach her, pulling her back from the brink of the darkness that held her.

In the stillness of the night, the chamber was a sanctuary of peace, bathed in the soft, silvery glow of the moonlight that filtered through the large, arched window. The window, crafted with the skill and artistry of the Elves, offered a view of the cascading waterfalls outside. Their steady rhythm was a soothing lullaby, the sound blending with the faint rustling of leaves, creating an atmosphere of tranquility that was almost palpable.

Xena lay motionless in the grand bed at the center of the room, her powerful form softened by the white robe she wore—a robe that was both simple and elegant, woven from the finest Elven fabric that seemed to capture the moonlight, giving her an ethereal glow. Her dark hair spread out like a river of ink across the plush pillows, a stark contrast to the soft white of the bed linens. The only sign of life was the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest, a reminder that, despite her stillness, she was still fighting.

The bed itself was a masterpiece, with a carved wooden frame that spoke of both strength and grace. The headboard, intricately designed with intertwining patterns, depicted scenes of ancient battles and mythical creatures—images that seemed to resonate with Xena's warrior spirit. At the foot of the bed, a wooden chest with silver inlays stood, its presence a silent guardian of her weapons. Inside, her chakram and sword lay carefully placed, their edges sharp, ready for the battles yet to come.

Beside the bed, a sturdy dresser held her usual attire, neatly folded and stored alongside several elegant gowns offered by the Elves. The gowns, with their rich, flowing fabrics in deep greens and golds, were a gift—a gesture of hospitality—but they contrasted sharply with the ruggedness of Xena's battle-worn garments, reflecting the duality of her existence.

Above, a chandelier hung from the ceiling, its light dimmed to a soft, amber glow that cast gentle shadows across the room. The chandelier's delicate design mirrored the elegance of the Elven craftsmanship that filled the room, yet its light was strong and unwavering, reminiscent of the fire that burned within Xena herself.

The walls were adorned with tapestries that told tales of both peace and conflict, their muted colors blending into the night but their stories ever present, adding a depth to the room's serene atmosphere. The writing desk by the window, with its untouched quill and scrolls, stood as a testament to the time that had passed—a time when letters might have been written, words might have been spoken, but were now left unsaid.

The scent of the forest, carried in by the cool night air through the slightly open window, mingled with the scent of the Elven soap, creating a soothing, earthy fragrance that filled the room. Yet, despite the peace that surrounded her, Xena's presence added an underlying tension—a reminder that even in a place as serene as Rivendell, the specter of battle was never far away.

In this room, Xena lay in a rare moment of vulnerability, surrounded by the beauty and tranquility of Rivendell, yet never far from the tools of her trade. The night wrapped around her like a protective cloak, offering rest and healing under the watchful eyes of the Elves. And though she was still lost in a dreamscape of darkness, there was a sense of hope—a belief that, with time and care, she would find her way back to the light.

And as Legolas sat by her side, recounting the events of the day, he too was wrapped in that same hope, his voice a lifeline in the silence, his presence a reminder that she was not alone in this battle.

The serenity of the night was shattered as Xena's spirit reconnected with her body, surging back to life with a ferocity that had been dormant during her long days of healing. It was as if the days she had lain in that bed, draped in the white robe, had been a mere interlude—an uneasy peace that she had not chosen, but had been forced upon her. And now, as her consciousness returned, it was not the peace or weariness that accompanied her, but a seething anger, a rage that seemed to have no origin but burned fiercely within her.

The room, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, was suddenly a place of tension and unease. The peace of Rivendell, which had once lulled her into a state of restful oblivion, now felt like a gilded cage, mocking her warrior's spirit. Xena's eyes snapped open, fierce and wild, scanning the room with the sharpness of a hawk searching for prey. The ornate bed, the elegant curtains, the unfamiliar surroundings—all of it set her on edge. It was a place of beauty, but it was not her battlefield, and it was not where she belonged.

In a fluid motion, she sprang from the bed, the white robe flowing behind her like a banner of defiance. Her hand instinctively reached for her chakram, but it wasn't there. The realization only fueled her anger further. Her breath came in controlled, rapid bursts as she prowled the room, her every movement exuding the grace and danger of a predator ready to strike.

Her eyes finally locked onto Legolas, who was seated at the edge of the bed, his expression a mix of surprise and confusion. He hadn't expected such a sudden and violent awakening. But before he could fully process what was happening, Xena was upon him.

With two swift strides, she closed the distance between them, her intense gaze fixed on him as if assessing whether he was a friend or foe. Her eyes were narrowed, her lips slightly parted, baring her teeth in a silent snarl. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—only the pure, unbridled instinct to defend herself against any perceived threat.

Without a word, she lunged, her hands reaching out to grab him. Legolas caught off guard, found himself pushed backward, his balance momentarily lost as Xena's momentum carried them both to the floor. In a heartbeat, she was on top of him, her fist crashing into his jaw with a force that sent a jolt of pain through his face, drawing a sharp gasp from his lips.

It was only then, as Legolas lay pinned beneath her, his nose bleeding from the blow, that he realized how truly dangerous Xena was in this state. She was not fully awake, not fully herself, but driven by some primal need to fight. He saw her arm pull back, readying for another strike, and this time he reacted. With a swift movement, he caught her wrist, his grip firm but not harsh, as he tried to hold back the force of her anger.

"Xena!" he called out, his voice urgent but calm, trying to reach through the fog of her rage. "It's me, Legolas. It's me!"

But Xena wasn't listening. Her other hand was already in motion, and Legolas had to release one wrist to catch the other, holding both of her arms in a grip that kept her from striking again. She glared down at him, her eyes wild and deadly, as if ready to tear him apart if he made one wrong move.

"Xena, stop!" he called her name again, his voice firm, almost pleading. He repeated her name, trying to break through the haze of anger that consumed her.

For a moment, it seemed like she wouldn't stop, that she would continue her assault until there was nothing left of him. But then, slowly, recognition began to dawn in her eyes. Her fierce gaze softened, her breathing slowed, and the tension in her body began to dissipate. She blinked, as if coming out of a trance, and her expression shifted from one of rage to confusion, and then to weariness.

Her strength left her as quickly as it had surged, and she began to collapse against him, her body suddenly heavy with exhaustion. Legolas released her wrists and quickly moved his arms to catch her, holding her close as she slumped against his chest. He leaned back against the floor, breathing heavily, not from exertion but from relief.

For a long moment, they lay there in silence, Xena's head resting against his shoulder, her hands now splayed against his torso. Legolas could feel the steady rise and fall of her chest as her breathing evened out, the wild energy that had driven her now replaced by a deep, bone-weary fatigue.

He didn't speak, didn't move, only held her as she finally began to relax, her body heavy and warm against his. Slowly, his own breathing calmed, his heart still racing from the adrenaline of the encounter. He could feel the soft fabric of the white robe against his skin, the faint scent of the elvish soap still clinging to her.

Eventually, as the last remnants of the tension drained away, Legolas let his hands rest gently against her back, his fingers brushing the smooth fabric. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to fully absorb the reality of her being awake, of her being here.

Legolas felt the weight of the moment, knowing that this fragile peace between them was as important as the air they breathed. Despite his desire to remain there on the wooden floor, cradling Xena in his arms as her steady breathing reassured him that she was truly back, he knew it was time to move. The elf had always been guided by a deep sense of duty, and now, that duty compelled him to ensure Xena's comfort and safety above all else.

He tightened his hold on her, securing her against him as he carefully sat up, guiding Xena into a sitting position with him. Her eyes fluttered open, heavy with exhaustion, but they found his immediately. There was a softness there, a recognition, and perhaps a faint glimmer of trust. Legolas met her gaze, offering a reassuring smile before he rose to his feet, lifting her effortlessly into his arms.

Xena didn't protest. She was too tired, too drained from her ordeal to argue or resist. Instead, she observed him silently, noting the blood still trickling from his nose—a result of her earlier assault. Despite the situation, a weary smirk played on her lips as she took in the sight of the proud elf with a bleeding nose.

Legolas carefully laid her back onto the bed, pulling the soft covers over her as he sat beside her. He felt the warmth of her hand against his, her touch surprisingly gentle as she tried to stop the bleeding. But he tenderly moved her hand away, taking over the task himself. His other hand continued to hold hers, a silent gesture of connection and reassurance.

The bleeding eventually subsided, and as it did, Legolas felt the tension ease from his body. He looked down at Xena, who continued to watch him with those sharp, assessing eyes, but they were losing their battle against the pull of sleep. Slowly, her eyelids drooped, and she drifted off, not into the darkness that had plagued her for so long, but into the peaceful rest that she desperately needed.

Legolas remained at her side, his hand still holding hers, his presence a silent vow that he would stay by her side through the night. The healers could wait until morning. Tonight, nothing would disturb her sleep—not while he was there to protect her. The elf watched over her, his own weariness forgotten in the face of his relief. Xena was back, and for now, that was all that mattered.

((Upcoming Chapter Thirty - Six))

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