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 51: Echoes of Peace

Imladris, September 15th 3018 T.A

Legolas had spent two days avoiding Xena, knowing full well he couldn't continue to sidestep her forever. It wasn't that he lacked an explanation—it was that he couldn't find one that made sense, even to himself. Why had he lingered in her room longer than he should? Why did he feel compelled to be there, watching over her as she slept, listening to the sound of her breathing, and assuring himself she was still alive? He had no answer, or at least none that he was ready to confront.

He wandered through a more secluded area of Rivendell's gardens, where the trees grew wilder and the sound of the waterfalls below was a constant, powerful roar. Here, the foliage was thick, untouched by the manicured hands that shaped the more open parts of the gardens. Legolas found a large tree with a trunk wide enough to lean against, and he did so, folding his arms over his chest as he stared down at the water cascading with a force that was almost angry, almost alive.

The falls reminded him of Xena—wild, unpredictable, and unyielding. A force of nature unto herself, powerful in a way that few men, or elves for that matter, could ever hope to tame. Especially when provoked; she was a storm unleashed. He winced slightly as he touched the bridge of his nose, still tender and bruised from the second punch she had landed without hesitation. The thought should have irritated him, wounded his pride, and in many ways, it did. But there was another part of him—a small, hidden part—that admired her for it. She was fearless, and he had seen few with her audacity. She had not cared that he was an elf, a warrior, or even a prince.

His gaze drifted back to the torrent of water below, its relentless rush echoing his thoughts. A small smile played at the corner of his lips. "She did not even hesitate to punch the son of Thranduil," he murmured to himself, his voice barely louder than the whisper of the wind through the leaves.

A barred owl, perched on a low-hanging branch nearby, tilted its head, its light grey feathers blending seamlessly with the shadows of the tree. Legolas looked at the bird, its wide eyes blinking at him in an almost knowing way. "Had my father known of this," Legolas continued, speaking softly as if confiding in the owl, "it would have been rather amusing."

The owl blinked slowly, as if acknowledging his words, and Legolas chuckled softly. The elves of Mirkwood were known for their bond with the creatures of the forest, and in this moment of solitude, he felt a certain kinship with the bird. It watched him with a quiet intelligence, its head moving in slow, deliberate motions as if it understood the weight of his thoughts.

Legolas reached out, and the owl remained still, sensing no danger. His fingertips brushed against the rough bark of the tree, feeling the life thrumming beneath its surface, the quiet song of nature that only those who listened carefully could hear. He closed his eyes briefly, feeling the ancient rhythm of the earth beneath his feet, the rustling of leaves whispering secrets he wished he could decipher.

But he could not escape the reality of his current situation. The owl hooted softly, as if urging him to face his troubles. He opened his eyes and shook his head, his thoughts returning to the problem at hand—what could he possibly say to Xena? How could he explain actions that didn't even make sense in his own mind?

He usually confided in Aragorn, shared his burdens with the twins, or even Arwen when the weight grew too much. But this? The idea of discussing his nightly visits to a maiden's chamber, even if it was only to ensure her safety, felt absurd. He was the Prince of Mirkwood, after all. He was supposed to embody discipline, restraint, and wisdom. Yet here he was, sneaking into a woman's room like some lovesick fool, driven by a feeling he could neither name nor understand.

Legolas let out a deep sigh, frustration etched into the lines of his face. He was acting out of character, abandoning the careful consideration that usually guided his decisions. He was the one who prided himself on his self-control, who moved with caution and deliberation. Yet, when it came to Xena, all of that seemed to crumble.

Why did she unsettle him so? She was no ordinary human, that much was clear. Her bravery, her strength, her fierce independence—these were traits he admired, respected. But there was something more, something beneath the surface that stirred in him whenever he was near her.

He shook his head, knowing he couldn't dwell on these thoughts any longer. Whatever his feelings, whatever confusion muddled his mind, he knew one thing for certain—he owed Xena an explanation. She was his friend, one he cared for deeply, and he could not allow this rift to grow between them. Even if he could not provide a perfect answer, he had to try.

Pushing himself away from the tree, Legolas straightened, his resolve hardening. The time for avoidance was over. He would find Xena, speak to her, and do his best to explain the unexplainable. And if he couldn't find the right words, then he would simply have to hope that their bond—their friendship—would help bridge the gap.

With a deep breath, he turned away from the rushing waters and made his way back toward the heart of Rivendell, the owl watching his retreat with curious eyes before taking flight into the twilight, its wings silent as it vanished into the forest canopy.

Xena's mind was a tangled mess of conflicting emotions as she wandered through the halls of Rivendell. The truth was, she knew she had been too harsh with Legolas. Had anyone else dared to enter her chamber unannounced, they might not have lived to see another sunrise, but Legolas? Hadn't they been through enough together for her to give him at least a moment to explain himself?

She knew she was jumping to conclusions. Legolas had been many things to her—a comrade, a friend, even an occasional irritant—but he had never crossed any lines with her. Elves were different in such matters; they had a certain grace, a reserve that was fundamentally unlike the brashness of men. She understood that his presence in her room was likely to check on her, to make sure she was alright. It even made sense that he would stay the night, given the severity of her injuries. If he had been in danger, she knew she would have done the same for him without hesitation.

How many times had she barged into his room without so much as a knock, disregarding his privacy simply because he was Legolas? She wouldn't dream of doing the same to Elros, or any of the other elves in the company. She had known them all just as long, but there was something different about Legolas—something that allowed her to drop the formalities, despite him being the one who arguably deserved them the most.

It wasn't his presence in her chamber that had angered her; it was his secrecy. There was no reason for him to hide it from her, especially when she confronted him about it. That was what had made her snap, and she had struck him in a fit of frustration. And yet, even then, she hadn't expected to actually land the punch. She knew Legolas was quick, agile—he should have easily dodged a straightforward attack like that. The fact that he had taken the blow without moving, standing there and allowing her fist to connect with his nose, had thrown her off balance.

Despite warning him that she needed answers, she had been avoiding him, too. The thought of explaining her actions to him, to admit that she had overreacted and let her temper get the best of her, was uncomfortable. It made her feel exposed in a way that battles and bloodshed never had. The past two days had been a frustrating blur, her restlessness growing with every passing hour. She felt trapped, like a lioness pacing a cage, and with no outlet for her anger—no training, no sparring, nothing but trying on dresses—her frustration only deepened.

Now, she had a closet filled with long, flowing gowns, each more exquisite than the last, and she couldn't imagine how any of them would ever be of use to her. She found herself in one of those gowns now, a creation of Rivendell's finest seamstresses, a masterpiece in deep emerald green that contrasted sharply with her dark hair and piercing blue eyes.

The gown itself was tailored to fit her form, hugging her waist and flowing down to her ankles like a waterfall of silk. The fabric shimmered in the light, catching the sun's rays in a way that seemed almost ethereal. The bodice was simple, yet elegant, with subtle embroidery along the neckline and sleeves, depicting delicate leaves and vines, as if the very essence of the forest had been woven into the cloth. The sleeves were long and fitted, flaring slightly at the wrists, allowing her freedom of movement. Around her waist, a slender belt of silver thread held the gown close, accentuating the curve of her hips without constricting.

Her hair, usually loose and wild, had been styled into a more intricate design. A few small braids were woven into her dark locks, pulled back, and pinned with silver clips shaped like tiny leaves, while the rest of her hair flowed freely down her back. It was a look that suited the elegance of Rivendell, but felt foreign to the warrior within her.

Now, dressed in this finery and wearing soft slippers that whispered against the stone floors, Xena wandered the long corridors of Rivendell, doing her best to avoid Arwen. The Elven maiden had a knack for finding new, seemingly endless ways to draw Xena into the calm and graceful activities of Elvish life, and Xena had had enough. She'd spent more time talking about fabrics and flowers in the past few days than she had in her entire life. She needed the weight of her sword in her hand, the solid feel of armor against her skin, and the satisfying rush of adrenaline that only battle could bring.

But before she could reclaim that part of herself, she knew she had to face the elf who had unknowingly stirred something deeper inside her. Legolas. She could feel the tension between them like a taut bowstring, ready to snap at any moment. She needed to talk to him, to finally have the conversation they were both avoiding.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. Her feet moved with determination as she made her way down the corridors, each step bringing her closer to the truth she needed to confront.

Legolas wore a long, flowing robe crafted from the finest light-colored fabric, a testament to the elegance of Elvish tailoring. The robe was adorned with delicate embroidery along its edges and seams, intricate patterns that seemed to shimmer subtly in the light. The high collar framed his face, while the long sleeves lent an air of refinement to his appearance. Beneath the robe, he wore his usual leggings and boots, the leather supple yet sturdy. His attire was more formal than usual, a nod to the customs of Rivendell, where even the most casual attire bore a certain elegance.

His hair was styled in its customary braids, woven with precision and care, each strand falling into place as if guided by the hands of a master. The braids themselves were a mark of his heritage, symbols interwoven with meaning—of his status as a prince, his lineage, and his experiences on countless journeys across Middle-earth. He walked back through the winding pathways of the gardens of Imladris, his mind resolute with the decision to finally seek out the human and have the conversation that had been lingering between them.

His thoughts, however, were abruptly interrupted as he almost collided with a figure stepping out from behind a cluster of trees. Startled, he stepped back quickly, his reflexes honed from years of practice. He bowed with a quick, polite inclination of his head, murmuring an apology for his lack of attention. But when his gaze met hers, his breath caught for a brief moment, his eyes widening in recognition.

It was Xena—but she looked entirely different. For a moment, he barely recognized her. She was dressed in an elvish style, wearing a deep emerald gown that flowed around her like water, the fabric catching the light and casting subtle reflections of green and gold. Her hair, usually wild and untamed, was styled with small braids woven throughout, fastened with silver clips shaped like delicate leaves. Even her footwear was different; instead of the sturdy boots he was accustomed to seeing her in, she wore soft slippers that barely made a sound as she moved.

His initial intention of finding the right words to explain his recent actions was immediately overshadowed by this unexpected sight. He found himself tilting his head slightly, his expression caught between confusion and curiosity. "What are you doing?" he asked, his tone bewildered as he gestured vaguely at her attire and the path through the gardens. "Are you alright?"

Xena blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the almost comical look of confusion on his face. Her own thoughts, carefully constructed in preparation for their confrontation, seemed to vanish in the face of his unexpectedly candid reaction. "I'm fine," she replied, her brow furrowing slightly as she tried to decipher his expression. "Why do you ask?"

Legolas studied her for a moment longer, still processing the incongruity of her appearance. "It's just… you look different," he said slowly, as if searching for the right words. "I have never seen you dressed like this."

Xena glanced down at herself, suddenly acutely aware of the unfamiliar gown that flowed around her. She could feel the delicate fabric moving against her skin with every shift, so unlike the rough, practical clothing she normally wore. She huffed a small laugh, half amused, half exasperated. "Yes, well, it seems your Lady Arwen has a talent for… persuasion," she admitted, her tone dry.

A faint smile tugged at Legolas's lips as he realized the source of this transformation. "Ah, Arwen," he murmured, understanding. "She has a way of convincing people to do things they would not usually consider."

Xena shrugged, attempting to keep her tone light, but there was still a glint of something sharper in her eyes. "I suppose so. But what about you?" she countered, steering the conversation back to its original purpose. "Why have you been avoiding me?"

Legolas's smile faded slightly, and his expression turned more serious. "I have not been avoiding you," he replied, but he could hear the uncertainty in his own voice. "Not exactly. I have been… considering how best to explain my actions."

Xena crossed her arms over her chest, a gesture that caused the gown to tighten slightly around her shoulders, accentuating her stance. "Then perhaps now is a good time to start," she suggested, her voice firm.

Legolas hesitated for a moment, searching her face for any sign of the anger he had sensed earlier. But all he saw was determination, a stubborn resolve that mirrored his own. He took a breath, realizing he had no choice but to face this moment head-on. "I… I was worried," he began carefully. "When you were injured, I feared for your life. And… I stayed, to make sure you were safe, even after you had fallen asleep. I did not mean to intrude, but I could not rest knowing you were still unwell."

Xena's gaze softened slightly, but her posture remained firm. "And why did you not just tell me?" she asked. "Instead of sneaking around like a thief in the night?"

Legolas looked away for a moment, his eyes drifting toward the distant waterfall. "Because I did not want to worry you, and… because I did not know how to explain it," he admitted quietly. "Even to myself."

Xena studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a faint smile broke through her stern exterior. "Well, next time, try talking instead of hiding," she said, her tone lighter but still carrying an edge of seriousness. "It might save you from another punch."

Legolas couldn't help but chuckle softly at her words, a sound that was rare for him. "I will keep that in mind," he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "And perhaps I should also remember to duck next time."

Xena laughed, a genuine sound that seemed to break the tension between them. "Yes, you should," she agreed, her eyes twinkling with a mix of humor and challenge. "Because I don't pull my punches."

Legolas smiled, the weight on his shoulders feeling a bit lighter. "I have no doubt of that, Xena," he said softly. "No doubt at all."

Xena shared with him one of her bright smiles, a gesture so unexpectedly warm that it made the elf pause, captivated by the light in her eyes. For a brief moment, Legolas simply looked at her, noting the way the gown fell elegantly along her figure. It struck him that Arwen knew exactly what she was doing when she chose it for Xena. The gown was perfect for the peaceful and safe grounds of Rivendell. Xena might not be fond of such attire, but to Legolas, it seemed to suit her well—she was, after all, still a maiden beneath her warrior's guise.

However, he was acutely aware that Xena was not just any maiden. She was a warrior through and through, and a warrior without proper armor was at a disadvantage. He remembered her earlier request, inquiring if there was someone skilled enough to help her craft new armor. Her sword, which had been damaged in their journey, also came to mind; she would need a replacement. For now, though, his priority was to help her secure a new set of armor.

There was one elf in Imladris who was known for his exceptional craftsmanship—an artisan named Maegnor, whose skills in forging and repairing armor were unmatched. Legolas had known Maegnor for centuries; whenever he visited Rivendell and found his own armor in need of mending, it was always Maegnor he sought out. If anyone could craft something to Xena's liking, it would be him.

Legolas's gaze shifted to Xena, and with a small smile, he said, "Come with me. I have someone I want you to meet." Intrigued, Xena nodded and followed him. They walked side by side through the lush gardens, the fragrant blossoms swaying gently in the breeze, and then moved into the intricate labyrinth of Rivendell's corridors. The sounds of birds and flowing water echoed around them, a serene backdrop to their journey.

As they moved further away from the central halls, Legolas began to tell her about Maegnor. "He is one of the finest craftsmen in Imladris," Legolas explained, his voice filled with admiration. "For centuries, he has crafted armor for elves and men alike, using methods passed down through generations. I've seen him turn broken shards into works of art. If anyone can create armor for you that is both functional and fitting, it will be Maegnor."

Xena was surprised, a flicker of appreciation in her eyes as she glanced at him. She hadn't expected him to remember her request, much less act on it. "You've thought of everything," she murmured, half in jest, half in genuine acknowledgment. "I'm surprised you remembered."

Legolas gave her a small smile, his eyes softening. "A warrior's needs are not easily forgotten," he replied. "And you are no ordinary warrior."

They continued down a path that led to the outer buildings of Rivendell, where the artisans lived and worked, their workshops filled with the sounds of hammering and the soft hum of elvish song. The scents of wood and metal filled the air as they approached a low, elegant building surrounded by trees. Vines crept up its sides, their leaves catching the dappled sunlight. A sign above the entrance bore an inscription in Elvish script: "Maegnor, Master Smith of Rivendell."

Legolas gestured to the door. "He is inside," he said. "Let me introduce you."

Xena's curiosity deepened, and she nodded, allowing Legolas to lead the way. As they entered, the air was warm and smelled of molten metal. The workshop was filled with rows of armor stands, each bearing pieces in various stages of completion. An array of tools hung neatly on the walls, and the rhythmic sound of a hammer on an anvil echoed through the room. In the center stood Maegnor, his silver hair tied back, his eyes keen and focused on the work before him.

Maegnor looked up as they entered, his face breaking into a welcoming smile. "Legolas, my friend," he greeted warmly. "What brings you to my forge?"

Legolas inclined his head in greeting. "Maegnor, I bring a request. This is Xena, a warrior in need of your skills."

Maegnor turned his attention to Xena, his eyes appraising but kind. "A warrior, you say?" he mused, his gaze traveling over her with a craftsman's precision. "Then you have come to the right place." He set his tools aside and stepped closer, his expression serious but friendly. "Tell me, Xena, what is it you require?"

Xena met his gaze with equal seriousness, sensing immediately that this was a man who understood her needs without pretense. "I need armor," she replied, straightforward as ever. "Armor that can withstand the harshest of battles but allows me to move as I need. Nothing too ornate. It must be light but strong."

Maegnor nodded, considering her words. "I have forged such pieces before," he said thoughtfully. "I will need to know your fighting style, your movements… but I can create something for you, something that will be both practical and fitting for a warrior of your skill."

Xena felt a spark of excitement. She looked at Legolas and then back at Maegnor, her lips curling into a faint smile. "Then let's get started," she said.

And so, beneath the peaceful canopy of Rivendell's trees, amid the ringing of hammers and the hiss of metal cooling in water, Xena found herself beginning a new chapter, one where the scars of past battles would be faced with renewed strength, armed with armor forged by the hands of Rivendell's finest craftsman.

((Upcoming Chapter Fifty-Two))

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