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 52: The Armor of a Warrior

Imladris, September 15th 3018 T.A

Xena, feeling the weight of Maegnor's scrutiny, stood straighter, her chin lifted slightly. She was no stranger to such looks, having been a warrior in many lands, but there was something different about the way Maegnor examined her, as if he could see beyond the surface, assessing her not just as a customer but as a challenge to his skills.

Maegnor motioned for her to step closer. "Let me see what we're working with," he said, his tone light but professional.

Xena obliged, moving with a warrior's grace, though the long elven gown she wore seemed out of place on her. She felt ridiculous in it, a feeling that only deepened when Maegnor's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"I see you've had a taste of our elven fashion," Maegnor remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice as he eyed the flowing gown.

Xena rolled her eyes, her lips curling into a wry smile. "Not by choice," she muttered. "I'd much rather be in leather and steel than something that catches on every bush and branch."

Maegnor chuckled softly, his laughter deep and rich like the sound of a distant drum. "I understand. Let's talk about your armor. What do you envision?"

Xena immediately launched into a description of her old armor: a leather bodice, bracers, and boots that offered both protection and freedom of movement. "It needs to be lightweight but tough," she explained, her hands moving expressively. "It should fit like a second skin—no loose parts that could be grabbed or caught. And it must withstand both sword strikes and the elements."

Legolas, standing beside her, added, "And perhaps some elven enhancements? Reinforcement with mithril thread could provide added strength and flexibility."

Xena turned to him, her expression skeptical. "Mithril?" she questioned, unfamiliar with the term.

Maegnor seized the opportunity to explain. "Mithril," he began, his voice taking on a tone of reverence, "is a rare metal, found only in the deepest mines of Khazad-dûm, or Moria as you might know it. It is light as a feather, yet harder than the finest steel. It does not tarnish or corrode, and it is said to shine in the dark with the light of the moon and stars. The dwarves prize it above all else, and they guard it fiercely."

He continued, his eyes glinting with excitement as he spoke of the legendary metal, "Mithril was used to forge the finest armor, capable of deflecting even the most brutal blows. A shirt of mithril could turn aside arrows and swords alike. It's rare and precious—worth more than gold. Few in Middle-earth can work it, and fewer still possess it."

Xena considered the craftsman's words, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "So it's more than just over the top… It's incredibly valuable. But isn't it a bit much?"

Maegnor grinned, his face lighting up. "Not at all, my lady. A warrior of your caliber deserves the best. And mithril is not for decoration; it's for survival. You might be surprised how light and durable it is."

Xena took a moment to think, then gave a small nod. "Alright, fine. But nothing that sparkles," she warned, a playful glint in her eyes. "I don't want to look like I'm off to a royal ball."

Legolas smirked at her remark. "I assure you, Xena, there will be no unnecessary sparkle."

Maegnor chuckled again, then began gathering materials from around his workshop. He laid out a selection of hides, threads, and metal plates. "First, I'll need to take some measurements. Legolas, would you assist?"

Xena watched warily as Legolas moved closer with a measuring cord in hand. "What exactly are you doing?" she asked suspiciously.

"Just stand still," Legolas replied with a hint of amusement, placing the cord around her waist. "We need to ensure it fits perfectly."

Xena tensed at his touch but remained still. "Keep your hands where they need to be, Elf," she muttered, her tone half-joking, half-serious.

Legolas chuckled softly. "I assure you, Xena, I have no other intentions."

They continued with the measurements, Xena occasionally grumbling about the fuss while Legolas maintained his calm, adjusting her stance with a gentle touch to her shoulders or back when needed. As Maegnor sketched the initial designs on a large piece of parchment, he glanced up occasionally, asking Xena's preferences on certain details.

"How about reinforced shoulder pads?" he suggested.

Xena shook her head firmly. "No. They'll just get in the way. I need my arms free to move quickly."

Maegnor nodded in agreement. "Fair enough. What about a detachable cloak for stealth?"

Xena considered this, then nodded. "Fine, but make sure it can be easily removed if needed."

The conversation continued, with moments of both confusion and amusement. At one point, Xena adamantly refused anything that resembled Elven ceremonial armor. Legolas teased her, suggesting she might look quite striking in silver and gold trim. She swatted his arm playfully and muttered about his questionable taste in fashion, making Maegnor laugh heartily.

Finally, after much discussion and debate, Maegnor nodded with satisfaction. "I believe we have all we need. It will take a few days to craft, but I assure you, it will be armor worthy of your skills."

Xena gave a firm nod. "Good. I trust you'll make it right. But what's the cost?"

Maegnor exchanged a glance with Legolas, and a silent understanding passed between them. "There will be no charge," he replied calmly. "Consider it a favor from one friend to another."

Xena's expression hardened. She turned to Legolas, suspicion in her eyes. "What's this about?" she demanded. "I don't want any favors. I can pay my own way."

Legolas smirked, starting to walk away. "Just accept what is given to you," he replied over his shoulder. "There are some things in this world that cannot be bought with silver or gold."

Xena followed him, frustration simmering. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Legolas stopped and turned to face her, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "It means," he said quietly, "that you are among friends. Sometimes, friendship and goodwill are more valuable than coin. And sometimes, it is best to accept a gift as it is intended—freely given."

Xena paused, considering his words. She wasn't used to such generosity without strings attached, but she sensed sincerity in his tone. She gave a reluctant nod. "Fine. But just this once," she muttered, though a small smile crept onto her face.

Legolas chuckled. "Agreed. Just this once."

As they left the workshop, Legolas and Xena walked through the quiet streets of Rivendell, where the day-to-day life of the Elves continued in a serene rhythm. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and the faint melody of a distant waterfall. Around them, Elves moved gracefully, attending to their daily tasks, weaving fine fabrics, tending to gardens, or engaging in quiet conversation. It was a scene of tranquility that seemed almost untouched by the encroaching darkness of the outside world.

What Xena did not yet grasp, but what Legolas and the other Elves understood all too well, was that the numbers of their kind were slowly diminishing. Many of the Elves, weary of the creeping shadow that was spreading across Middle-earth, were choosing to sail to the Undying Lands, leaving behind their ancestral homes. Those who remained appeared many, but their numbers were a mere shadow of what they once were. Even in these safe havens, they were not untouched by the sorrow that lingered over their people.

Rivendell itself was protected, not just by its natural seclusion but also by the power of Vilya—the Ring of Air, one of the three Elven Rings of Power. Vilya, also called the Ring of Sapphire, had been crafted by Celebrimbor and was entrusted to Elrond. It had the power to heal, to preserve, and to shield this sanctuary from the outside world. In much the same way, Galadriel used Nenya to guard Lothlórien, and Elrond used Vilya to maintain Rivendell as a haven of peace and beauty amidst the rising shadow.

Yet, despite this protection, the threat of darkness was never far away. The borders of Rivendell were constantly patrolled, and the hearts of those who remained were still weighed down by the knowledge of what lay beyond their borders.

Legolas led Xena further into the heart of the Elven community, where daily life unfolded in peaceful rhythms. Xena's sharp eyes took in the details—the graceful way the Elves moved, their quiet laughter, and the beauty of their surroundings. There was an air of calmness here, of a people who had chosen to live each day fully despite the encroaching shadow. But as she observed more closely, Xena noticed something strange: there were no children. Not a single young elf among them.

The realization struck her, and she frowned slightly, contemplating what it could mean. As she continued walking, she struggled with the deep emerald green gown she wore, its long, flowing fabric catching around her legs with each step. She muttered in irritation, tugging at the layers that seemed determined to trip her.

Legolas watched her from a step behind, an amused smile playing on his lips. Here was the warrior who could bring down an orc with a single blow, now losing a battle to a gown. There was a lightness in his expression, a rare glimmer of amusement that had been missing for a long time. For once, he allowed himself to enjoy this small, absurd moment—an indulgence he had rarely permitted himself in the shadow of his nightmares.

With a quiet chuckle, he stepped forward and moved beside her. "Here," he said softly, reaching down to gather the lower layers of the gown in his hands. He expertly twisted and folded the fabric in a way that made it easier for her to walk, tucking it to one side, allowing her more freedom of movement. "You must gather it like this. Otherwise, it will continue to hinder you." His fingers worked deftly, a natural grace in his movements that spoke of centuries of experience with such garments.

Xena gave him a skeptical look but allowed him to help. She glanced down at the gown, noting how his hands moved with an ease she would never have imagined. "And I suppose you're an expert in handling dresses?" she remarked, raising an eyebrow.

Legolas smirked. "I have had many centuries of practice in Rivendell and Lothlórien. You learn a few things," he replied lightly. "Though I never expected to find myself aiding a warrior with her gown."

Xena rolled her eyes but let out a small laugh. "Well, it's not exactly my usual attire," she admitted. "I'd rather be in my armour."

As they continued to walk, Legolas began to answer her earlier questions. "You asked about the children," he began, his voice softer now, thoughtful. "Elven children are rare, even more so in these times. Many of our kind have already sailed west, and those who remain are fewer in number. It takes much for Elves to bring new life into the world—a choice that is not made lightly, especially in such dark times."

Xena nodded, absorbing his words. "And what about the calmness here?" she asked. "It's like the threat of darkness hasn't touched this place. But that can't be true."

Legolas's expression grew more serious, and he nodded. "Rivendell is protected by Vilya, the Ring of Air," he explained. "It allows this sanctuary to remain a place of healing and peace. Elrond uses its power to protect us, just as Galadriel uses Nenya to guard Lothlórien. The darkness cannot penetrate these lands easily, but it is always near. The borders are constantly watched, and the Elves are ever vigilant."

Xena's brows furrowed as she listened. "So, it's like a bubble of safety… but how long can that last?"

Legolas sighed, his gaze distant for a moment. "It will last as long as we can make it so," he replied quietly. "But nothing is certain in these times. Even the strongest defenses can be worn down. We live with that knowledge, but we also choose to live fully, to enjoy the beauty we still have."

Xena was silent for a moment, considering his words. "I suppose that's why I don't see any fear in their eyes," she said finally. "You all know what's out there, but you're choosing not to let it control you."

Legolas nodded, his expression softening. "That is the way of the Elves. To cherish each moment, to find joy even in the face of sorrow."

Xena smiled slightly, adjusting the now more manageable gown. "Well, I can respect that," she admitted. "But I still don't think I'll ever get used to these clothes."

Legolas chuckled. "Give it time, Xena," he said with a lightness that was rare for him. "And if not, I'll find you some armor that feels more like home."

Their conversation flowed naturally, with the ease that came from trust and growing understanding. They continued their walk back toward the House of Elrond, the sound of their voices mingling with the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant song of the waterfalls, their steps steady and the distance between them somehow feeling smaller than before.

The night in Rivendell was quiet, with only the soft whisper of the waterfalls breaking the stillness. Xena sat by her window, gazing out at the cascading water as it glistened under the moonlight. The day had been different, unusually so—no arguments, no misunderstandings, just a quiet sort of camaraderie with Legolas that had left her both at ease and contemplative. She felt a sense of calm that she hadn't experienced in a long time, and it made her feel almost… at home.

Across the way, in his own chamber, Legolas sat in much the same manner, watching the same waterfall, lost in his own thoughts. He felt a rare calmness settle over him, knowing that Xena was recovering and returning to her usual self. It was a relief to see her strength returning, her spirit unbroken despite the trials she had faced. Helping her find armor that suited her, something that would protect her in the battles ahead, gave him a sense of purpose. He found comfort in knowing that wherever her journey took her, she would be well-equipped for whatever she might face.

Yet, a lingering thought gnawed at him: her sword. He still remembered the moment it had shattered, and while he knew it wasn't his responsibility to worry about such things, he couldn't shake the feeling. A warrior like Xena needed a sword that felt like an extension of herself, one that she could wield with the same confidence and ease as her old one. He hadn't found the opportunity to speak with her about it today, but he resolved to do so soon.

Legolas sighed softly, feeling a slight pull in his chest. It was strange how often his thoughts turned to her lately. He knew he should focus on returning to his routine, falling back into the familiar rhythms of his life. But it was difficult. Xena had a way of drawing him into the moment, of making him forget the weight that always seemed to hang over him. Her presence was like a force, one that could pull him out of the shadows of his own mind, even if just for a short while.

As he prepared for sleep, Legolas tried to push these thoughts aside. He removed his boots, unbraided his hair, letting the long, silken strands fall freely over his shoulders. His fingers moved slowly, deliberately, through the familiar motions, but his mind was elsewhere, tangled in the complexity of his own emotions. He lay down on his bed, closing his eyes, willing himself to find rest. For a moment, he felt the gentle pull of sleep, a soft surrender to the peace that had settled over Rivendell.

But sleep did not bring him peace. Instead, it took him to the dark places he feared the most—his nightmares. They came swiftly, pulling him into their depths, where shadows loomed and voices whispered. The familiar ache of guilt settled in his chest, a deep, gnawing pain that refused to fade. His dreams were filled with memories, blurred and twisted. He saw his mother, her face etched with sorrow, and felt again the unbearable weight of loss, the haunting feeling that it was somehow his fault.

In his dreams, the scene replayed endlessly, each time more vivid, more painful. His hands reached out, trying to grasp at the fleeting images, but they slipped away like smoke. He saw his mother's eyes—bright and full of love—turn cold as they stared back at him, accusing, filled with a pain that tore at his very soul. He heard her voice, faint and distant, a sound that broke his heart anew each time it echoed in the darkness.

Legolas flinched in his sleep, his body tensing as he was pulled deeper into the nightmare. His breaths came in shallow, ragged bursts, and his hands clenched tightly at his sides. He felt the phantom weight of his bow in his hands, the familiar string beneath his fingers, and yet he could do nothing. He was helpless, trapped in the endless loop of his own mind, reliving the moment of her death, the moment that had shattered him.

He saw himself, young and desperate, reaching out for her as she fell, the life draining from her eyes, and his own hand reaching out… the same hand that had loosed the fatal arrow, that had struck her down. He could not scream; the sound was stuck in his throat, a choked gasp that never came. In his sleep, tears formed at the corners of his eyes, slipping silently down his cheeks, caught in the moonlight that filtered through the window.

In the depths of his unconscious, Legolas was lost to the torment of his guilt, unable to find solace, unable to escape the shadows that had claimed him. And though he lay still in the quiet of Rivendell, the pain of his dreams was all-consuming, a force that would not release its hold on him.

((Upcoming Chapter Fifty-Three))

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