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)

ActV

Trusted Friends

Chapter 47: Bread, Cheese, and Unspoken Words

Imladris, September 9th 3018 T.A.

Xena stepped out of Legolas's chamber, the echo of their recent conversation still lingering in her mind. The air between them had grown thick with unspoken words and unacknowledged emotions, creating a tension that was both familiar and unsettling. It wasn't like the arguments they had while traveling, where their clashes were sharp and direct, often fueled by frustration or stubbornness. This was different. It was as if the arguments had become a veil, a thin cover for something deeper that neither was willing to face.

As she walked down the quiet, polished halls of Rivendell, Xena couldn't help but replay the exchange in her mind. It wasn't just the words they spoke that left her unsettled—it was the undercurrent, the unspoken thoughts that both of them seemed determined to ignore. Thoughts that had begun to take root as they journeyed to Rivendell, growing quietly, subtly, until now they could no longer be entirely denied, even if neither of them was ready to confront them.

Rivendell had always been their destination, but now that they had arrived, Xena could feel that the real journey was only beginning. Here, in this tranquil haven, there was no escaping the truth that awaited them. For Legolas, it was a truth bound by tradition, by the weight of expectations and the rules he had lived by for so long. Rules and protocols that he had often bent or outright broken during their travels, yet some he clung to tightly, not out of obligation, but perhaps out of a need to maintain some semblance of control over the chaos of his own heart.

But there was more to it than just the traditions of his people. Legolas carried with him a burden that he had not yet shared, a darkness that haunted his nights and tainted his days. The nightmares that plagued him were his alone to bear, or so he believed. He had made a choice, long before they reached Rivendell, to walk that path alone, to shield others from the pain he carried.

For Xena, the situation was no less complicated. She had lived many lives before this, and experienced love in all its forms, from the passionate to the tragic. But what was stirring now, what had begun to awaken during their journey, was something entirely new to her—something she couldn't quite grasp, something that felt both frightening and thrilling. It was an emotion she didn't fully understand, and because of that, it was easier to push it away, to let it simmer beneath the surface, unspoken and unresolved.

So they each held on to their own beliefs, and their own fears, not daring to explore what was only beginning to make sense. The questions they both had were never asked, and the feelings were never given a chance to bloom. Instead, they found refuge in the familiar—arguments that seemed to serve as a release valve for the tension between them. It was a way to interact without addressing the real issue, a way to maintain the status quo without risking the vulnerability that came with admitting what might be there.

As Xena continued down the hallway, she felt a pang of frustration, both with herself and with Legolas. They were both warriors, skilled in battle, yet here they were, stumbling over emotions they were too proud—or too afraid—to name. But even as she acknowledged that frustration, she knew that the path they were on was one that would eventually demand truth. And when that moment came, there would be no hiding behind arguments or traditions. They would have to face whatever it was between them, whether they were ready for it or not.

Legolas watched the door close behind Xena, the soft click of the latch echoing in the stillness of his chamber. He remained seated on the edge of his bed, his hands resting on his lap, his gaze drifting toward the cascading waterfalls outside his window. The serene beauty of Rivendell, with its ever-present symphony of water and wind, should have brought him peace, yet his mind was tangled in thoughts that rose unbidden, thoughts he was not yet ready to confront.

For now, he forced himself to pull away from those troubling reflections. The only thing that truly mattered at this moment was that Xena was alive, that she had fought her way back from the brink, and that death had not claimed her. The relief that washed over him was profound, but it was laced with an undercurrent of unease. He could not afford to dwell on the "what-ifs" that plagued his mind.

With a determined sigh, Legolas stood up from the bed, the cool morning air brushing against his skin. There would be no more sleep for him today, not with his mind in such turmoil. He crossed the room to where a clean robe was draped over a chair, a garment of soft, silken material that shimmered faintly in the early light.

The robe was woven with the skill and artistry of Rivendell's finest craftsmen. It was a deep shade of forest green, reminiscent of the ancient trees of Mirkwood, with delicate silver embroidery tracing the edges of the collar and sleeves. The patterns were intricate, resembling the flowing lines of Elven script and the leaves of the woodland realm. The robe was both practical and elegant, designed for ease of movement yet regal in its simplicity—a perfect reflection of Legolas's status as a prince of the Woodland Realm.

He slipped into the robe with practiced ease, fastening it at the waist with a silver belt that bore the emblem of his house—a single, stylized leaf that symbolized his connection to the forest and his lineage. Next, he pulled on his well-worn boots, the supple leather molding to his feet, a testament to the countless miles they had carried him through forests, over mountains, and across plains.

As he moved to the small table where his brush and mirror awaited, Legolas began the familiar ritual of braiding his hair. His long, golden-silver locks, still slightly damp from the night's rest, gleamed in the soft light as he carefully separated them into sections. The braids he wove were more than just a matter of personal grooming; they were steeped in tradition and meaning, each one representing a facet of his identity and his duties.

The first braid, woven close to his scalp on the right side, was a mark of his royal lineage, a subtle symbol of his connection to Thranduil, the King of Mirkwood. It was not ostentatious, but it was a reminder of his responsibilities as the son of a king, a leader in his own right.

The second braid, on the left, was a warrior's braid, a token of his countless battles and the skills he had honed over centuries. It was tighter, more intricate, symbolizing the discipline and precision that had become second nature to him.

The final braid, down the back, was the longest and simplest, a reflection of his life as a ranger and a protector of the forests. It was left to hang free, a reminder of his connection to the wilds and the freedom that came with it, even as he bore the weight of his title and his duties.

Once his hair was properly braided, Legolas took a deep breath, feeling a sense of calm settle over him. The ritual had grounded him, reminded him of who he was and the path he walked, even when that path was fraught with uncertainties.

With a final glance in the mirror, he left his chamber, his steps silent as he made his way through the corridors of Rivendell. He was heading to the training grounds, a familiar place where he hoped to find some solace in the physical exertion of a friendly match. His mind, still restless, sought the clarity that only the discipline of combat could bring.

Upon reaching the training grounds, Legolas found Elladan, one of Elrond's sons, who was engaged in a practice session with a pair of elven swords. The fluidity of Elladan's movements, the precision of his strikes, spoke of centuries of training and experience. Legolas paused for a moment, appreciating the skill of his friend before stepping forward.

"Elladan," Legolas called out, his voice calm but carrying a hint of urgency. "Would you grant me a match? I find myself in need of a worthy opponent."

Elladan paused, lowering his swords as he turned to face Legolas. A slight smile touched his lips, though there was a flicker of concern in his eyes. "Of course, Legolas. I would be honored," he replied, sheathing one of his swords and offering the other to Legolas. "But tell me, what troubles you?"

Legolas accepted the sword, testing its weight in his hand. "Nothing that a good sparring match cannot clear," he said, deflecting the question with a practiced ease. He moved into position, his stance firm and balanced. "Let us begin."

Elladan nodded, though his curiosity was clearly piqued. He did not press further, respecting Legolas's need for privacy, and instead mirrored his stance, preparing for the match.

The two elves circled each other, their movements fluid and graceful, each waiting for the other to make the first move. The tension in the air was palpable, but it was a tension born of respect and friendship, not hostility.

Finally, Legolas struck, his blade moving with lightning speed toward Elladan's side. The clash of metal rang out, sharp and clear in the quiet morning air. Elladan parried the blow with ease, countering with a swift strike that Legolas narrowly avoided.

The dance of blades continued, each movement precise, calculated, yet with an underlying intensity that spoke to the unspoken thoughts and emotions both elves carried. As they fought, the weight of the world outside the training grounds seemed to fade away, leaving only the rhythm of the match, the challenge of skill against skill.

After several minutes of back-and-forth, Elladan finally managed to disarm Legolas, his sword flying from his hand and landing in the grass. The two elves stood for a moment, breathing heavily before Elladan broke the silence.

"Your mind is elsewhere, Legolas," he said, not unkindly. "Whatever it is that troubles you, know that you do not have to bear it alone."

Legolas retrieved his sword, his expression contemplative. "I know, Elladan," he replied quietly. "But some burdens are not so easily shared."

Elladan nodded, understanding all too well the weight of responsibility and the struggle to protect those we care about. "Perhaps not," he said, sheathing his sword. "But remember, my friend, that we are stronger when we stand together."

Legolas offered a faint smile, grateful for the words even if they could not fully ease the turmoil within him. "Thank you, Elladan," he said, inclining his head. "Your counsel, as always, is wise."

With the match concluded, the two elves parted ways, each lost in their own thoughts. Legolas felt a little lighter, the physical exertion having provided some measure of clarity. But as he made his way back to the main halls of Rivendell, he knew that the real battles—both within and without—were far from over.

Xena adjusted the robe she had been given, a soft, white garment that clung to her in ways unfamiliar and slightly uncomfortable. She sighed, glancing down at the strange slippers on her feet. They were delicate, crafted from fine Elven materials, but they felt foreign to her, a far cry from the sturdy boots she preferred. Still, she cooperated, knowing that now was not the time to argue over attire.

The elf maiden, Míresgaliel, who had been tasked with guiding her, moved gracefully beside her. Míresgaliel's voice was soft and melodic as she spoke, her words weaving a gentle narrative of the wonders of Rivendell. She pointed out places of interest, suggesting where Xena could dine, where she might find a book to read, or where she could take a walk in the gardens. Xena's mind, however, was elsewhere. She noted the locations but offered little response, her thoughts focused on the upcoming meeting with Lord Elrond.

Two things, however, did catch her attention: the dining hall and the training grounds. Xena made a mental note of both. The thought of a proper meal was enticing, and the training grounds, well, that would be a place where she could regain some sense of herself after the long days of weakness.

Finally, they arrived at the large, intricately carved doors that led to Elrond's study chamber. Míresgaliel paused and gestured toward the doors. "Lord Elrond awaits you inside," she said with a respectful bow of her head.

Xena nodded in acknowledgment, taking a deep breath before pushing the doors open. The room beyond was bathed in soft, natural light that streamed in through large windows, casting warm tones across the stone walls and wooden furniture. The chamber was spacious but not overwhelmingly so, filled with bookshelves that reached up to the ceiling, each shelf lined with ancient tomes and scrolls. A large, finely crafted desk stood in the center of the room, its surface neat and organized, with a few scrolls unfurled and a quill resting in an inkpot.

Behind the desk, seated in a high-backed chair, was Lord Elrond. His presence was immediately commanding, though not in an intimidating way. There was a sense of calm and wisdom about him, an aura that spoke of centuries of knowledge and experience. His dark hair was tied back, and his robes, deep blue and silver, flowed elegantly around him. His eyes, sharp and piercing, yet kind, met Xena's as she entered the room.

"Welcome, Xena," Elrond said, his voice smooth and composed. He rose from his seat and gestured for her to sit in a chair opposite his desk. "Please, take a seat."

Xena hesitated for a moment, feeling slightly out of place in the refined surroundings, but she crossed the room with her usual confidence and sat down, her posture straight and her eyes meeting his without hesitation.

Elrond studied her for a moment before speaking. "I have heard much about you, Xena. Both from Legolas and my own sons, Elladan and Elrohir. You have traveled far and faced great challenges, and now you find yourself in Rivendell, in a situation not of your choosing."

Xena nodded, her expression unreadable. "It seems that's become a pattern in my life," she said, her voice carrying a hint of wry humor.

Elrond allowed a small smile to touch his lips. "Indeed. You have shown great strength in overcoming the darkness that sought to claim you. Not many would have survived such an encounter with a Morgul-blade."

Xena's gaze hardened slightly at the mention of the blade, memories of the struggle she had endured flashing through her mind. "I've survived worse," she replied, though the weight of her words suggested otherwise.

Elrond nodded, acknowledging the truth in her words. "You are resilient, Xena, but even the strongest among us must know when to seek help. The wound you bear is not one that can be easily healed, and the darkness that lingers within you is one that requires careful attention. My healers and I have done what we can, but the road to recovery will be long."

Xena leaned back slightly in her chair, her gaze never leaving Elrond's. "I appreciate what you've done for me, Lord Elrond, but I'm not one to sit idle while others fight the battles that need fighting. How long before I'm back on my feet?"

Elrond's expression remained calm, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes. "Your physical strength will return in time, but it is the shadow within you that we must be wary of. I cannot give you an exact timeline, for it depends on how well you recover and how willing you are to accept the aid we offer."

Xena frowned, her frustration evident. She had never been one to rely on others, and the thought of being dependent on Elven magic and healing did not sit well with her. "I'll recover. I always do," she said, her tone firm.

Elrond regarded her for a long moment, his gaze searching hers. "I do not doubt your resolve, Xena. But Rivendell is a place of healing, not just of the body, but of the spirit. Allow yourself the time to rest and regain your strength. The world beyond these walls will wait, and when you are ready, you will be free to leave."

Xena didn't respond immediately, her eyes drifting to the large window that overlooked the gardens outside. The sound of the waterfalls, the scent of the forest, the serene beauty of the place—it was all so foreign to her, so different from the battles and bloodshed she was used to.

"I suppose I don't have much of a choice," she finally said, her voice softer than before. "But I won't be here forever."

Elrond smiled gently. "No, you will not. But while you are here, know that you are among friends. And if you ever wish to speak of the battles you've fought, whether with the sword or within your own heart, my door is always open."

Xena nodded, her respect for the Elven lord growing. "Thank you, Lord Elrond. I'll keep that in mind."

Elrond inclined his head. "Good. Now, I believe you might find some solace in our gardens or perhaps our training grounds. It is important to keep the body active, even as the spirit heals. Take what time you need, and when you are ready, we will speak again."

With that, Xena rose from her chair, feeling a mixture of gratitude and impatience. She had never been one for long conversations, especially those that touched on matters of the heart and soul. But she couldn't deny the wisdom in Elrond's words.

As she made her way to the door, she paused and turned back to Elrond. "One more thing," she said, her tone more serious. "Thank you... for bringing me back."

Elrond's eyes softened, as he nodded.

A slight smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she turned and left the study chamber, the door closing softly behind her. As she walked down the corridor, guided once again by Míresgaliel, Xena felt a strange sense of calm settle over her. Rivendell was not her world, but perhaps, for now, it could offer her the peace she needed to find herself again.

As Xena left Elrond's study chamber, she felt a growing hunger gnawing at her. The conversation with the Elven lord had stirred emotions she wasn't entirely comfortable with, and now she wanted nothing more than to distract herself with something more tangible—food.

She could already anticipate that the meals in Rivendell would lean heavily toward plant-based dishes. The Elves, with their deep connection to nature, likely favored fruits, vegetables, and herbs over the hearty, meat-laden fare she was used to. Xena sighed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she imagined the delicate salads and intricate platters of fruits that would undoubtedly be laid before her.

"Hopefully, there'll be some bread and cheese," she muttered to herself as she walked, her stomach growling softly in agreement. "At least I can survive on that."

With a renewed sense of purpose, Xena followed Míresgaliel through the corridors of Rivendell. The Elven maiden, noticing the shift in Xena's mood, quietly led her toward the dining hall. As they walked, the scent of fresh herbs and baked goods began to fill the air, mingling with the ever-present fragrance of the surrounding forests.

The dining hall of Rivendell was a sight to behold. It was an open, airy space, with high, vaulted ceilings and large windows that allowed the light to pour in, casting a golden glow over everything. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries depicting scenes of Elven history, their colors vibrant yet soothing to the eye. Long tables were arranged neatly, each one set with fine silverware and delicate porcelain plates.

As Xena entered the hall, she immediately noticed the array of dishes laid out on the tables. As expected, there were platters of fresh fruits—apples, berries, and grapes—alongside vibrant salads and bowls of nuts and seeds. There were also loaves of freshly baked bread, their crusts golden and inviting, and next to them, several varieties of cheese, each one more aromatic than the last. A selection of spreads and preserves completed the meal, offering something sweet to balance the savory.

Xena's eyes lit up at the sight of the bread and cheese. "Well, this might not be so bad after all," she thought, her mood lifting slightly.

She made her way to one of the tables, choosing a spot near a window where she could enjoy the view while she ate. The sight of the waterfalls cascading down the cliffs outside was mesmerizing, the sound of the rushing water a soothing backdrop to the peaceful ambiance of the hall.

As she sat down and began to fill her plate, she couldn't help but appreciate the simplicity and elegance of the meal. The bread was warm and soft, the cheese rich and flavorful. She spread a bit of butter on a slice of bread and took a bite, savoring the creamy texture. It was a far cry from the rough, travel-worn rations she was used to, and for a moment, she allowed herself to simply enjoy it.

With each bite, Xena felt a sense of calm returning to her. The events of the past days—the darkness she had fought, the concern for Legolas, even the lingering tension between them—seemed to fade into the background as she focused on the simple pleasure of a good meal.

As she finished her plate and poured herself a cup of herbal tea, Xena leaned back in her chair, gazing out at the serene landscape of Rivendell. Perhaps, she thought, this place could offer more than just a refuge for her body—it might just provide a much-needed rest for her spirit as well.

But for now, she was content with the bread and cheese, and the quiet moments of peace that Rivendell seemed to offer.

((Upcoming Chapter Thirty - Eight))

Thank you for taking the time to read this! Feel free to Review - Follow - Favorite!