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 61: Paths Entwined, Hearts Afar

Imladris, September 20th 3018 T.A

It was well past midnight when the fires began to burn low, their flames flickering softly against the darkness as the celebration drew to a close. The laughter and music that had filled the air slowly faded away, replaced by the quiet murmur of elves and guests making their way back to their chambers or homes. The night was settling into its own rhythm, calm and serene as if even the stars were ready to rest.

Xena decided not to linger any longer. The day had stretched on for what felt like an eternity, filled with unexpected turns, and now all she wanted was the quiet of her chamber and the promise of sleep. She hadn't waited for Legolas; she wasn't even sure where he had gone, nor did she feel the need to find out. She had seen him disappear into the night, perhaps off to some corner of the gardens, or maybe back to his own thoughts, as was often his way.

She took the path through the gardens, the cool night air brushing against her skin, the stars twinkling like a thousand tiny lanterns in the sky. Her steps were slow and measured, almost reluctant to leave the open expanse of the gardens. Eventually, she found her way into the corridors, moving with the kind of ease that comes from familiarity, until she was standing outside her chamber. She paused briefly, then opened the door and stepped inside, closing it gently behind her.

Her thoughts were a tangled web, weaving in and out of the events that had brought her to this point. She thought back to the day she had first decided to pursue Legolas, to confront him, to kill him. It seemed like a lifetime ago now. Since then, she had met many along her path—some allies, some foes—but she had also found something more, something she had not expected: friendship, genuine and true. Even Legolas, the proud and often infuriating prince of the Woodland Realm, had become someone she valued deeply. They were not just allies; they were friends who had come to trust each other, and in their own way, they had become essential to each other.

Yet, sometimes the lines between them blurred, their worlds so different. She was human, with a different life, a different history, and a different way of seeing the world. Legolas was an elf, centuries older, shaped by experiences she could only begin to understand. But in their time together, she had come to learn more about his people, the elves. She had seen their kindness, their purity, their honesty. Even Legolas, with his moments of coldness and pride, had shown her a glimpse of something deeper—a way of living and loving that was so uniquely elven, so unlike anything she had known.

For decades, Xena had walked the lands of Middle Earth, and in all that time, she had never sought love. She had her moments, of course, moments when she noticed the handsome faces, moments when desire flickered within her. Even Legolas, for all his aloofness, had managed to stir something in her. But she had never pursued it, never allowed herself to be drawn into the complications of romance. Was it because she was immortal now, living in a world that felt so distant from her old one? Or was it something else, something she had not yet put a name to? She wasn't sure, and she wasn't inclined to search for the answer.

Tonight, though, she felt a change within herself. The days she had spent in Imladris had softened her in ways she hadn't anticipated. She glanced at herself in the mirror as she crossed the room, the door clicking shut behind her. The gown that Legolas had gifted her shimmered softly in the dim light, the sandals on her feet catching a faint glint from the moon. Her hair, braided in the intricate elven style, framed her face in a way that felt almost foreign. It was beautiful, she admitted, but it wasn't her. She missed the feel of her armor, the weight of a sword in her hand, the call of the road and the thrill of an adventure waiting just beyond the horizon.

She knew then that it was time to reclaim her purpose. Tomorrow, she would go to Maegnor, retrieve her armor, find a sword that suited her better than the borrowed blade she now carried. She needed to decide her next steps, her next journey. Rivendell was a sanctuary, a place of healing and wisdom, but she could not remain with the elves forever. They had saved her, welcomed her, and even embraced her with all her flaws. Even Legolas, with his complicated emotions and unreadable expressions, considered her a friend.

But she was not meant to stay. She was meant to roam, to fight, to seek redemption in whatever battles lay ahead. And so, as she prepared for sleep, she resolved that tomorrow would be the day she began to chart her course once more. She would find her way, follow the call of the road, and see where it led her next.

Xena had drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, and it was well past noon when she finally stirred awake. For once, Míresgaliel had not appeared at her door with her usual energy, and Xena wondered if the celebrations had affected more than just herself. She took her time, washing her face and slipping into one of the gowns she had acquired thanks to Arwen's generosity—a soft, simple garment that felt comfortable and unobtrusive. She brushed her hair and prepared for the day, eventually making her way to the dining hall.

The halls were quieter than usual, the lingering effects of the previous night's festivities still evident. Fewer elves than usual moved through the space, some talking softly while others seemed lost in their own thoughts. Xena helped herself to some bread and cheese and settled at an empty table near the open windows, enjoying the gentle breeze and the breathtaking view of the valley below.

Moments later, she was joined by Elros, who had also come to grab a late meal. He chose a plate of fresh vegetables and fruit, and upon noticing Xena, he made his way over to her table. He gave her a polite nod, and she returned the gesture, offering a small smile.

"May I join you?" he asked, already setting his plate down.

"Of course," Xena replied, curious about the usually reserved elf.

For a while, they ate in companionable silence, each enjoying the simplicity of the meal. But it wasn't long before Elros spoke up, his voice carrying a hint of something between curiosity and concern.

"I must admit," he began, "I was surprised to see you with Legolas last night. Him showing up at the Hall of Fire with you… It's already the subject of many whispers." He chose his words carefully, but his gaze remained direct.

Xena raised an eyebrow, her expression a mixture of amusement and skepticism. "Because he escorted me to a celebration? That seems… excessive," she replied with a slight chuckle. "We're friends. Isn't it natural for him to guide me, especially since I'm still somewhat new here?"

Elros leaned back slightly, considering her response. "Perhaps to you, it seems natural," he acknowledged. "But to many here, it is not so simple. Legolas is the prince of Mirkwood, a figure who has become distant from these sorts of gatherings… and from his responsibilities as a prince. His presence, especially in your company, has raised questions. You may not see it, but some believe your influence has changed him."

Xena's smile faded slightly, sensing the underlying tone in his words. "Changed him? How so?" she asked, her voice firm.

Elros hesitated for a moment before continuing, "I do not mean this as an insult, Xena. I respect your strength and courage, truly I do. But I cannot help but feel that your presence has led him away from his duties, and his obligations to his people. Legolas has already changed much since he left Mirkwood… and now, with you, he seems to be slipping further away."

Xena leaned forward, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Slipping away?" she echoed, her tone sharpened by disbelief. "From what exactly? From a life that doesn't suit him? From a role that was never his to choose? Legolas has given everything to his realm—more than most, I would say. He should be allowed to choose his own path, Elros, don't you think?"

Elros sighed, a touch of frustration seeping into his voice. "That is what Thranduil thought too, for a time. He allowed Legolas to find his own way, to leave his Halls and see the world beyond. But where did that lead? To him wandering with the Rangers of the North, following Aragorn, and abandoning his place among our people."

"And what's wrong with that?" Xena challenged. "Has he not earned the right to make his own choices? To live his life as he sees fit? From what I've seen, he's done more than most would ever ask of him."

Elros' expression softened slightly, but his concern remained evident. "It's not that he hasn't done enough, Xena. It's that he is the prince of Mirkwood. He carries the hopes of our people on his shoulders. We need him to remain as such, to stay and bring light into our halls. To bond with an elf, perhaps, to bring new life, to give hope where darkness encroaches."

Xena shook her head, her patience thinning. "And what makes you think he hasn't already done that?" she replied, her voice growing more insistent. "From what I know, Legolas has stood by his people time and again. He has fought alongside you all, suffered alongside you all, and yet you would confine him to a role that doesn't feel right to him? You would ask him to give even more than he already has?"

Elros seemed taken aback by her fervor but did not back down. "It's not about confining him, Xena," he said softly, almost pleadingly. "It's about his place among us. We need him. Thranduil needs him to bring hope back into the halls of Mirkwood."

Xena's expression softened, but her resolve remained firm. "Then perhaps it is not Legolas who is slipping away, Elros. Perhaps it is Mirkwood that is not letting him grow into who he is meant to be. He should be free to decide his own path, to follow where his heart leads him… not chained to a duty he may no longer wish to fulfill."

Elros looked down, his hands resting on the table as he absorbed her words. He didn't immediately reply, but she could see the conflict in his eyes. Finally, he sighed, meeting her gaze once more. "I see your point," he conceded quietly. "But understand, Xena… it is not easy for us to see him like this, drifting away. He is more than a prince; he is a symbol of hope, and we fear for what might happen if he loses his way."

Xena nodded, her expression softening further. "I understand, Elros," she replied gently. "But perhaps it is time to let him decide what he wants for himself, and support him in that choice, whatever it may be."

Elros offered a small, resigned smile. "Perhaps you are right. Time will tell, I suppose," he said, finishing his meal.

They fell into a contemplative silence, the tension between them easing just slightly, as both seemed to consider the weight of their words and the uncertainty of the future.

After finishing her meal, Xena parted ways with Elros, her thoughts still turning over their conversation. Determined to distract herself, she decided to check on her armor. She made her way through Rivendell's winding paths, eventually arriving at Maegnor's workshop. The smith was hard at work, the rhythmic clanging of metal filling the small space. The scent of hot iron and leather greeted her as she entered, and her eyes quickly fell upon the set of armor displayed across from the entrance.

Her armor was almost complete. It was made of leather, much like her old set, but there was something new about it, something different. The materials were finer, sturdier—crafted with a meticulous care that only an Elven smith could provide. The leather was reinforced with rivets of a metal she did not recognize, and the seams were tight and intricate. It looked both familiar and entirely new as if a piece of her old self had been remade into something stronger.

Xena found herself running her fingers along the smooth edges, admiring the subtle details and the craftsmanship that had gone into it. She could feel the power in the armor, a silent promise of protection and resilience.

She opened her mouth to ask Maegnor if it was ready, but a voice interrupted her from behind.

"It is not finished yet," came the voice, calm and sure.

She turned around, surprised, and found herself face to face with Legolas. He stood there in his familiar green and brown attire, the same one he wore when he traveled. His bow was slung over his shoulder, his quiver filled with arrows at his back. There was a subtle smile on his lips, a faint hint of mischief in his eyes.

"Nearly ready," he continued, stepping closer to the armor, his gaze sweeping over it. "Maegnor has outdone himself, I must say. But there are a few more adjustments needed."

Xena raised an eyebrow, noticing that Legolas looked ready for travel. "And where are you heading?" she asked, tilting her head towards his outfit, sensing that something was different.

Legolas smirked, his blue eyes bright with something unreadable. "You ask too many questions," he teased lightly. "But if you must know, I'm heading out to find something that might interest you."

"Find something?" Xena repeated, puzzled. "What are you talking about, Legolas?"

"Ride with me," he suggested, his tone both casual and insistent.

"Ride with you? To where?" She placed her hands on her hips, giving him a skeptical look. "I thought Lord Elrond wanted you to stay here. Besides, I doubt we're heading back to Mirkwood."

"No, we're not going back to Mirkwood," Legolas replied, still smiling. "I have other plans. And if you're so curious, then come along. I've heard rumors of a sword—a sword that might be worthy of you. I have a few places in mind where we could start looking."

Xena's demeanor shifted. She hadn't expected this, a new quest, a new adventure. The idea intrigued her, a spark of curiosity igniting within. "A sword?" she asked, a smile forming on her lips. "What do you know about it?"

Legolas chuckled softly. "Enough to know it's no ordinary blade. And enough to believe that it might be just the thing you're looking for." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "But if you want to know more, you'll have to come with me and find out."

Xena's eyes lit up, her curiosity piqued. She had been restless, yearning for something more than the quiet life in Rivendell. "Alright," she said, feeling the excitement building within her. "Let's ride. But if this sword isn't as good as you say, you owe me, Prince."

Legolas grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Agreed," he replied, turning on his heel. "Meet me by the stables. We leave as soon as you're prepared."

As he walked away, Xena found herself smiling, the promise of a new journey ahead filling her with renewed energy. She turned to Maegnor. "Looks like I'll have to come back for the armor," she said with a smirk.

Maegnor nodded, chuckling softly. "It will be here when you return, Lady Xena. And I suspect you'll need it soon enough."

Xena nodded and quickly set off to ready herself, feeling the familiar pull of adventure stirring within her. For the first time in days, a sense of vitality returned to her veins. Unbeknownst to her, Legolas had fared no better through the previous night; he, too, was drawn toward unfamiliar paths—territory the prince had never traversed before.

The fires had dimmed to embers, and most of Rivendell had slipped into the comfort of sleep, but Legolas found no solace in the quiet. The night was too vivid, the sounds too sharp, and the sky above too expansive, pressing down on him with a weight that felt both familiar and suffocating. He had left the gathering not because he wished to, but because something in him had been stirred—something long buried, something he did not want to confront.

He wandered away from the fires, away from the laughter and music that seemed to echo in his chest, each note a reminder of a life he had chosen to leave behind. He needed solitude, needed to retreat to the shadows where his thoughts could unravel in peace. But peace did not come easily that night. Instead, he found himself grappling with a feeling he had almost forgotten—a longing, a desire for something more than the dark path he had resigned himself to.

All day, the memories had whispered to him, the old desires flickering like flames just beyond his reach. He had felt it first when he saw Xena in the gown he had chosen for her, a surge of something unbidden and unwanted, rising from deep within. It was foolish to entertain such thoughts; he knew this well. His life was not one that allowed for companions or love. He had chosen his path long ago, a path marked by shadows and regret, by nightmares that haunted him night after night.

Legolas had made peace with his solitude, or so he had thought. He had his friends—Tauriel, Arwen, Elladan, Elrohir, Aragorn—friends he cherished and loved. They were his family, his lifeline. He cared for them fiercely, not just because they were his companions, but because he had lost so much before. They were the ones who helped him remember what it was to feel, to be alive. And now, Xena had become one of those friends, important in ways he hadn't fully understood until tonight.

But tonight, Xena had become something more than a friend—something confusing, something dangerous. Her presence at the feast had unsettled him. He had seen her, standing there with that challenging gleam in her eyes, and felt a pull, a connection he didn't want to acknowledge. It had called to his very being, to his fëa, his soul, in a way he had not felt ever.

For a fleeting moment, he had allowed himself to imagine—to wish for something he had denied himself for so long. To leap across that fire, to take her hand and claim something that might have brought him joy, even if for a moment. But reality came crashing back. The path he had chosen did not allow for such things, for such risks. He was bound to his past, to the weight of his own mistakes, to the lives lost because of his own actions.

He stood beneath the stars, their cold light a comfort, and tried to find his way back to himself. He was not troubled by the nightmares or the memories tonight; those he had learned to live with. It was something else, something entirely new that unnerved him. He had fought many battles, faced countless dangers, but this… this was different. This was a battle he did not know how to fight. His mind was at war with his heart, and for the first time in a long time, he did not know which side he wanted to win.

He fought against the pull, against the unfamiliar emotions that surged within him. He struggled against the desire to turn back, to seek her out, to find in her gaze some answer to the questions that now plagued him. It was a battle he wanted to lose, a surrender he wanted to embrace. But he knew better. He had to fight it. He had to win.

It took hours, hours of wrestling with thoughts and feelings he had no right to feel. But finally, he found his way back. Back to the cold, to the rational, to the place where he belonged. The bridge that had been built in his mind—between what was and what could never be—was burned, its ashes scattered in the winds that swept through the trees. He reminded himself of who he was, of the path he had chosen, of the life he had left behind.

But he did not run away. No, he was his father's son, and running was never an option. Instead, he did what he had always done. He stayed. He stood at the edge of the precipice and looked down into the abyss. And he did not shy away. He would not retreat into himself, into the shadows. He would face it head-on, confront whatever it was that troubled him, whatever it was that had been awakened by that reckless, bold, infuriating human.

Perhaps it was foolish to want her friendship, to keep her close despite everything. But he could no longer imagine his life without her, without her presence, her sharp tongue, her fierce loyalty. She had become like the others, indispensable, a light in the darkness that he found himself drawn to, whether he liked it or not. He knew he was being selfish, that he had no right to seek moments of joy, of rest, of happiness. But that battle had been won long ago, with the help of Aragorn, who made him see that such moments were necessary to endure the nightmares, to survive the guilt, to atone for what he had done.

Tonight, he had won another battle, though it was a victory he did not want. But he had not shied away from it. He needed a distraction, something to draw him away from these thoughts, these feelings. And then he remembered Xena's need for a new sword. A quest. A reason to ride, to fight, to lose himself in the thrill of the hunt.

And so he found her, and so he asked. Because if he could not find peace in himself, then perhaps he could find it in the road, in the wind, in the steel of a new blade that might help both of them forget, if only for a little while.

((Upcoming Chapter Sixty-Two))

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