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)

ActVI

The Shadows

Chapter 60: Fires of Autumn

Imladris, September 19th 3018 T.A

The path led them through the outer gardens, away from the lush greenery and vibrant foliage of Rivendell, into a wide-open field where nature seemed almost absent. Here, the ground was a mix of sand and mud, a stark contrast to the usual beauty of Imladris. Above them, the sky stretched wide and star-filled, while below, the roar of distant waterfalls echoed faintly through the cool night air. The space was marked by several tall wooden poles, their tops ablaze with fire, casting flickering shadows that danced across the earth.

This was the place where the celebration took on a different tone, one meant for the younger elves and those who remained unbonded, a more playful and uninhibited side of the feast. In the olden days, many bonds had been formed here under the stars, with laughter and music mingling with the crackling flames. But as the centuries passed, and the shadow of darkness grew ever closer, fewer elves dared to risk their hearts. Now, this part of the celebration was mostly about enjoying the night—drinking, dancing, singing, and, for the truly adventurous, leaping over the fires.

There was a meaning behind the jump, one that only a few still remembered. In ancient times, an elf—most often a young male—would gather his courage and leap over the flames, aiming to land near the feet of the maiden he desired. If the maiden approved, she would nod, and they would walk away together, their hands entwined. Some would bond that very night, while others might wait, letting the spark of that moment grow into a lasting flame. But if the leap failed, if he was ignored or turned away, it was a quiet yet stinging rejection.

Those traditions had faded somewhat, worn down by time and the encroaching darkness. Fewer elves were willing to leap, both literally and metaphorically. The fear of failure, of the unspoken shame of missing the mark, kept many feet planted firmly on the ground.

Tonight, Legolas and Xena found themselves standing at the edge of this old ritual, joining the twins, Elladan and Elrohir, who seemed content to watch the proceedings with a mix of amusement and nostalgia. Arwen stood at a distance, her eyes scanning the crowd, wary and watchful, as if ready to intervene should any elf try something foolish. She wanted to enjoy the fest, the warmth of the fires, but she knew well enough how these nights could turn.

Elrond, Glorfindel, and Erestor had chosen to remain back in the Hall of Fire with the other lords, preferring the quieter conversations and the weight of council to the youthful revelry outside. Elros and Thalion had stayed with them, uninterested in the rowdy games of the young. However, Mírdan, always more adventurous, had joined the gathering, his eyes bright with excitement. And somewhere nearby, Xena spotted Míresgaliel, her expression curious and slightly anxious as she looked around, searching for something or someone.

Xena took in the scene, noticing how the firelight painted the faces of those gathered, how it brought out the colors of their gowns and tunics, the gleam of their hair. She felt a strange energy in the air, something almost primal, something that spoke of ancient traditions and unspoken desires. She was beginning to piece together what Legolas had hinted at earlier. The jumping over the fire wasn't just a show of bravado; it was a silent declaration, a challenge, a game that might end in joy or in a quiet, unseen heartbreak.

She looked around, hoping to catch Legolas and ask him more about the meaning behind it all, but he was across the field, deep in conversation with Mírdan. She watched him for a moment, the way he stood, his posture relaxed yet commanding, the firelight catching in his silver circlet, the soft glow making him look every bit the prince he was.

Xena's eyes moved across the gathering once more. The night was alive with possibilities, with the laughter of elves, the hum of music, and the crackling of the fires. She felt the pull of curiosity, of adventure, a need to understand more of this world she had stumbled into, a world where even the simplest acts—like jumping over a fire—held layers of meaning she was only beginning to comprehend.

Nearby, she noticed Míresgaliel still looking around, her gaze scanning the crowd as if searching for something important. The young elf maiden's face was filled with a mix of anticipation and nervous energy, and Xena couldn't help but smile slightly at the sight. It was clear that, despite the changes in tradition, some elves still hoped for the magic of this night.

Xena turned her attention back to Legolas, her thoughts drifting back to the old customs, to the leaps of faith, both literal and figurative. She wondered, just for a moment, what it would feel like to see someone make that leap toward her. Would she nod, would she turn away? Would she even care?

As the night deepened, the fires grew brighter and more intense, their flickering flames casting long, dancing shadows over the open field. The once soft melodies of Rivendell had given way to a faster, wilder rhythm. There was an edge to the music now—a driving, lively beat that seemed to pulse with the heartbeat of the night itself. Xena, feeling the shift in the atmosphere, glanced around, noticing how the elves moved differently to this new sound, their movements less restrained, more spirited.

A voice spoke softly behind her, and she turned to see Arwen stepping closer. "In the Woodland Realm, these feasts are bolder, more untamed," Arwen said, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "But here, we try to keep things more balanced, at least on the surface."

Xena's curiosity was piqued. "Really? Were they so different in Mirkwood?" she asked.

Arwen nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Yes, but every realm has its own customs, its own spirit. When I was younger before I met Aragorn, there were a few feasts like this where I was tempted to leap myself, just to see the reaction," she admitted with a light laugh. "It wasn't that I had my eye on any particular elf or wanted to bond. I just wanted to leap over the fire and feel the thrill of it, to see the look on everyone's faces. I suppose I had a wild side then."

Xena grinned at the idea of the usually composed and serene Arwen taking such a bold step. "So, can a maiden really make the jump? I thought it was only for the men."

"Oh, a maiden can certainly leap," Arwen assured her, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "There's no rule that says only males can leap. In fact, once, many years ago, a maiden did just that."

"Who?" Xena asked, her interest piqued even more.

Arwen smiled fondly. "My mother, Celebrían. She was the daughter of Galadriel, Lady of Lothlórien, and Celeborn. Given the close ties between our realms, she and my father, Elrond, had known each other for centuries. But it was during one of these celebrations that she decided to leap."

Xena's eyebrows shot up. "Your mother jumped over the fire… for Elrond?"

Arwen nodded, a nostalgic look in her eyes. "Yes. She leaped over the flames and landed right in front of him. My father was utterly taken aback, as you can imagine. The gossip around Imladris was relentless for months. But thankfully, my father felt the same way. He nodded, took her hand, and they walked away together. They bonded later that year. After that, no other maiden has dared to leap."

Xena was surprised by this revelation. "So, your mother was quite the daring one," she said, a touch of admiration in her voice.

Arwen laughed softly. "Indeed, she was. It's one of the things I loved most about her. She had a boldness, a fire in her that few could match." Her smile faded slightly, a hint of sadness crossing her features. "She sailed away to the Undying Lands many centuries ago after she was captured by orcs and… well, she could not bear the pain. We miss her still."

Xena fell silent, sensing the weight of Arwen's words. She glanced over to where most of the elven maidens were casting furtive glances at Legolas, their expressions ranging from admiration to something deeper, more longing.

Arwen followed her gaze and sighed. "Lindaleth, for example," she said, nodding toward a tall, raven-haired elf with an intense gaze. "She's around my age and has always made it clear that she fancies Legolas. But she would never dare to leap."

"Why not?" Xena asked. "If she likes him so much?"

"Because deep down, she knows that Legolas would not nod," Arwen explained gently. "It's the fear of rejection that holds her back. If a maiden jumps and is turned down, it's not just a personal blow; it becomes public knowledge. And if another elf were interested in her, they would hesitate to make their move, knowing she had already shown her hand."

Xena smirked, glancing at the crowd of maidens with an amused look. "So what if all these maidens staring at Legolas decided to leap at the same time? Wouldn't that cause quite the scene?"

Arwen laughed, her voice like a silver bell in the night. "Oh, I can't even imagine! Poor Legolas would be overwhelmed, and it would certainly give us something to talk about for the next hundred years."

Their laughter faded as the conversation turned a bit more serious. Arwen lowered her voice. "It's been many years—perhaps centuries—since Legolas last attended one of these celebrations," she confided. "So, you can imagine the surprise when he showed up tonight, and with a maiden by his side, no less. That's why so many of the maidens are flocking to him. They think it might be their last chance."

Xena considered this for a moment. "Why not have a maiden leap for him, just to end the speculation? Then he'd be left alone, right?"

Arwen shook her head, a sad smile on her lips. "It's not that simple. If a maiden were to leap for him and he nodded, she'd be bonded to him for life. And if Legolas ever found someone else he truly cared for, he couldn't be with her. The elves mate for life, Xena. Once a bond is made, it's forever."

Xena tilted her head thoughtfully. "So, what if Legolas jumped for someone and she declined? Wouldn't that make him 'off the market,' so to speak?"

Arwen chuckled softly. "It could happen, but who would take such a risk? Even if he is a prince, imagine the humiliation if he were declined. It would be talked about for ages, and he would be forever marked by it."

Xena nodded, musing aloud. "Yes, imagine that…"

Arwen's smile widened. "Indeed. And I suspect Legolas would not be pleased with such a scenario."

The two women shared a quiet moment of understanding, each considering the complicated web of traditions, desires, and fears that surrounded them. The firelight danced in their eyes, and for a moment, the world seemed suspended in time, caught between the echoes of the past and the possibilities of the future.

Arwen drifted away into the gathering, her silhouette melting into the shadows and light of the flames as the night unfolded. The elves around the fires began to move more freely, their dances growing in intensity, their songs echoing across the open sky. It was a celebration filled with life, yet tinged with an undercurrent of something deeper, something almost primal.

Xena's attention was drawn to a young male elf who decided to make his move. With a swift and daring leap, he flew over the flames, landing in front of a maiden whose face instantly flushed with shock. She seemed utterly bewildered, her eyes wide, and before anyone could react, she turned and fled into the crowd, her tears glistening in the firelight. The poor elf stood there, momentarily stunned, while his friends quickly surrounded him, offering words of comfort and encouragement. A few others leaped over the fire, but these jumps were more playful, more for the spirit of the feast than declarations of affection.

Xena found herself cradling a cup of wine, watching it all unfold from her vantage point. She sat across from Legolas, who stood with his back straight, his posture regal and composed. One by one, different elven maidens approached him, offering greetings and polite bows. Some tried to muster the courage to say more, but none seemed brave enough to engage the cold, distant prince who stood like a statue, his demeanor as impassive as stone.

And yet, through it all, his gaze rarely left her.

There was a weight in his stare, something more than the casual acknowledgment of a companion. It was as though they were having a silent conversation across the flames, a conversation layered with questions and challenges neither of them was willing to voice aloud. The fire crackled between them, its wild dance a mirror of the tension that seemed to build with each passing moment.

Xena felt her heartbeat quicken, her thoughts racing as she considered the unspoken question between them. If things had been different, would he leap? Would he risk it all, jump over the fire, and land at her feet? She knew enough of his pain, of the weight he carried with him—the death of his mother, the nightmares that haunted him, the deep-seated guilt he bore. Was there a version of this world where he could be free of all that? Was there a world where he could allow himself to want, to desire, without restraint?

And if there was… would it be her he jumped for?

She watched him, the wine warm in her hand, her mind playing with the idea like a cat with a string. What if, she thought, what if there was one person willing to take that leap for him tonight? One person who would challenge the unspoken rules, who would stand up to the whispers and the gossip and claim him, if only for a moment? Would he nod? Or would he decline, keep himself hidden behind those walls he built around his heart?

Her mind raced with possibilities. If someone did take that jump, and if he nodded, it would spare him from the attention of the maidens, free him from their lingering gazes. But it would also put him "off the market," so to speak, for any future bond. Was that something he could live with? Was it something she could do?

A daring thought flickered in her mind, fueled by the wine and the music that seemed to wrap around her like a living thing. The idea of leaping over the fire herself, of landing at his feet, was absurd, reckless… but tantalizing. It would take a boldness she wasn't sure she possessed. Yet, tonight, with the wine coursing through her veins and the beat of the drums pounding in her chest, she felt almost invincible.

Across the flames, Legolas's gaze sharpened, as if he could hear her thoughts, feel the intensity of her consideration. His eyes dared her, almost challenging her to take the risk, to defy convention and do something wild, something unexpected. He was not blind to what she was contemplating. And it would be a lie to say he hadn't thought of it himself.

Legolas wondered, just for a moment, what it would be like if Xena took that leap. If she landed at his feet, would he nod? Would he accept her boldness, her audacity, as something he wanted, needed even? If there was one person who might just take that chance, it would be her. And in a way, he realized, it would solve many of his problems. If he nodded, they could both pretend for a time. It would be a convenient fiction, a safe lie that would shield him from the advances of others and give him some peace.

But what then? What would follow such a leap? A leap made not for love or bonding but for something else entirely? A leap that could make him seem taken, protected from further pursuit… but also closed off from any real connection. It was a thought that teased the edges of his mind, filled with its own contradictions and dangers.

Their eyes remained locked, the flames between them burning brighter and hotter as the moments ticked by. Neither one looked away, both caught in the tension of the unspoken dare that hung in the air. The music, the wine, the fire—they all seemed to push them closer to some invisible line, a line neither of them knew if they dared cross.

Who would be bold enough to make the first move? And would it be worth the risk?

Perhaps it would have been worth the risk. Perhaps both were bold enough to face the unknown. But neither Legolas nor Xena was prepared for what might follow after. Neither of them had reached a place where they could genuinely imagine bonding, or even liking each other in such a way. Their paths were fraught with shadows—a journey marked by redemption, by a darkness that beckoned from every corner.

In another world, perhaps, in another time, it could have been possible. But not tonight. Tonight, no one would dare to take the leap; no one was reckless enough to make it happen. Legolas would remain the prince, bound to his duties and responsibilities, forever dealing with the adoring elven maidens and the unspoken expectations of his people. His nights would still be ruled by nightmares, with grief and pain as his steadfast companions, walking a path of solitude he had chosen long ago.

As for Xena, her own journey stretched out before her like an unending road. A path of atonement, of seeking redemption from a past filled with its own shadows, a darkness she had to keep at bay. Her nights might not be haunted by nightmares like his, but she too had her own demons to face, her own battles to wage in the silence of her mind.

And so, as reality settled in around them, they both looked away. The fragile connection that had begun to form between them was severed so abruptly, leaving their souls momentarily adrift, confused, and strangely empty. They fell into a deeper silence, a silence where reality slowly crept back, reminding them of who they were and the burdens they still carried.

And in that silence, they accepted the truth: tonight was not the night for dreams or reckless leaps. It was a night for facing the path they had chosen, each in their own way, with all its darkness and light.

((Upcoming Chapter Sixty-One))

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