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)
ActVII
Friends of New/Old
Chapter 73: The Dwarf Friend
Imladris, October 15th 3018 T.A
The splendor of autumn enveloped Rivendell, a cascade of crimson and amber spilling from the treetops, while a growing carpet of rustling leaves blanketed the ground in a warm, earthy embrace. It was the season of hearth and home, when Rivendell typically exuded a quiet warmth, a sanctuary untouched by the troubles of the outside world. Yet this year, that warmth felt fractured, its glow dimmed by a chill creeping in through unseen cracks, shadowing familiar spaces and fraying once-steady bonds. Outside, nature held a perfect harmony, as though the sky and earth had struck a delicate balance; but within Rivendell's walls, something was shifting—a subtle unrest mirroring the darkness spreading across Middle-earth.
It was a tension most noticeable in the friendships she held dear, both those long-established and those newly forged. Bonds she had come to rely on felt tested, as though pulled by forces still out of sight. She felt the weight of questions lingering on the edge of her awareness, questions she wasn't quite ready to ask, yet couldn't ignore. Perhaps answers would come in time; perhaps she'd have to seek them out herself. But for now, there was an undeniable sense of change, a slow drift from what once felt certain.
The most apparent shift had begun with Legolas. For days, he had been summoned repeatedly by Elros, ushered from one duty to the next under the banner of his title as prince. The obligations were unending, filled with meetings for every arriving lord, with protocols and questions that seemed shallow in purpose yet consuming in time. Lord Elrond himself was rarely present at these gatherings, leaving Legolas to navigate these formalities and expectations largely alone. His duties felt less like a privilege and more like an elaborate punishment, and if Legolas were honest with himself, he found it fitting—a way to shield himself from the turmoil that had shadowed him since that night of the Autumn Fest.
Despite his best efforts to shield her from his inner conflict, word of these gatherings reached her through Elladan, Arwen, and even Mírdan, who each gave her glimpses of Legolas's ceaseless tasks and Elros's insistence on them. Not that she was actively seeking him out—after their last conversation, she had resolved to give him the space he seemed to need. But his absence was pointed; it felt as intentional as if he were slipping away like mist at dawn, leaving her with a lingering sense of loss.
Yet, it wasn't only Legolas's absence that marked this season of transformation. Rivendell itself was changing, the very air in its halls altered by the steady influx of guests. She noticed subtle shifts in the daily routines of the maidens, who flitted busily through the corridors, caught in a constant hum of preparation for the increased demands. The guards, too, had grown more careful, their presence unmistakable as they tended to their new charges, their eyes scanning the halls with watchful intent. Rivendell felt fuller, almost crowded, yet oddly distant as if every soul was bracing for an arrival or event still unnamed.
Even the quiet nooks and hidden alcoves she had found solace in now buzzed with activity, reminders of the approaching council Lord Elrond had called. The tranquility that once permeated Rivendell was transformed, replaced by an undercurrent of urgency—a sense of expectancy, but also a hint of tension, a reminder that the harmony in nature's autumn beauty beyond these walls did not mirror the restlessness gathering within.
So there she was, caught in a swirl of contemplation over what should come next: should she stay and be part of the council, or was it time to leave? Everything had started with a simple, grim purpose—to find and kill the prince of the Woodland Realm. And yet, here she was, knowing far more than she had ever planned to, entangled in bonds and friendships that had begun to reshape her life in Middle-earth.
For years, she had wandered the deserts of Harad and walked the bustling streets of Ubar, forging connections but always feeling foreign, unanchored. No person or place had ever truly held her here. But after this quest, she found herself entangled in friendships and loyalties that now mattered deeply. This newfound urge to protect—to preserve what she had found—had taken root within her, shaping her perspective on this land and those who inhabited it.
It wasn't only the proud, complicated prince who had changed things. So many others had crossed her path along the way. Once strangers, now they were significant, their faces and voices part of her world. From the loyal company that had traveled with Legolas to Elrond's wise and spirited children, each had claimed a place in her life, and Middle-earth itself had become something precious—something she did not wish to see fall to darkness.
That much was certain. What she hadn't foreseen was that her journey here would lead her to more people, more friendships, and a deeper, almost instinctual need to protect. She had arrived with a single purpose and now found herself bound to a world she was beginning to care about far more than she ever thought possible.
Xena's boots echoed along the stone pathways of Rivendell as she made her way toward the northern gardens. The morning was brisk, the air carrying the scent of damp leaves and freshly turned soil. For the first time since the grueling days spent within the darkness of the Hidden Forge, she felt a sense of calm settle over her. She was heading toward the training grounds where she occasionally crossed paths with some of the company, letting herself relax into the quiet when a sudden, gruff voice sliced through the stillness of the morning.
"Mind watching where you're goin', lass? Some of us are tryin' to enjoy a quiet stroll," the voice grumbled. Xena halted, feeling a prickle of tension, and turned to find herself face-to-face with a squat, broad-shouldered figure sporting a great bushy beard woven with silver beads that caught the morning light. The stranger wore heavy travel gear and a sturdy leather tunic, his brow furrowed with a mix of irritation and curiosity. He was unmistakably a dwarf.
"And you would be?" she asked, arching an eyebrow and keeping her tone neutral.
The dwarf's eyes, sharp as steel and just as piercing, narrowed slightly. "Gimli, son of Glóin," he replied gruffly, "here to meet with Lord Elrond."
"Here to meet with Lord Elrond?" Xena replied, eyeing his well-worn gear and the stout axe strapped across his back. "Looking well-prepared for a mere meeting, aren't you?"
Gimli's mouth twisted into a faint scowl. "Not all of us traipse about in fine elven garb and delicate leather," he scoffed, letting his gaze sweep over her armor and weapons. "Some of us actually know how to use a real blade."
Xena felt a familiar irritation rise, tempered by a glimmer of amusement. She was no stranger to taunts, but the dwarf's bluntness stung a bit more than she cared to admit. "Play at warrior, do I?" she said with a dangerous glint in her eye. "I'll have you know I've seen battlefields bloodier than your deepest mines."
Gimli's face reddened, his brows knitting in offense. "Now, listen here, lass—I'll not have you disrespectin' the halls of Khazad-dûm! Bloodier than our halls, you say? Ha! I'd like to see you last a day in those mines!"
"Try me," she replied smoothly, taking a step closer, her voice low and challenging. She noted with satisfaction that Gimli's hand instinctively tightened around the haft of his axe.
They might have continued their standoff had it not been for the quiet murmurs of passing elves who had paused to observe. Both of them seemed to register the attention at once, taking a step back, a flicker of embarrassment crossing their faces. Gimli muttered something under his breath in Khuzdul, arms crossing defiantly, though a faint glint of respect now shone in his eyes.
"Are all dwarves so quick to take offense?" Xena asked, folding her arms in response, mirroring his stance.
"Only when our pride's on the line," Gimli replied with a shrug, his irritation melting into the beginnings of a grin beneath his beard. "Elves, now—they're the ones who think themselves above it all. Makes my blood boil, I'll tell you."
Xena chuckled, finally sensing some common ground. "Oh, don't worry, you're preaching to the choir. The elves of Mirkwood especially. Arrogant, proud…" She trailed off, feeling a familiar irritation soften.
"Ah, so you've met the Mirkwood lot, then?" Gimli's eyes brightened, and he leaned forward, intrigued. "The worst of the bunch, if you ask me. That Thranduil with his fancy halls—"
"—And his endless pride," Xena finished with a smile. "I've spent time in the woods of Mirkwood, you know. His son is a friend, but I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to knock some sense into that princely head of his."
"Friend of the Woodland Prince, eh?" Gimli raised a skeptical brow. "Sounds like a handful. Always runnin' off, that one, actin' like he's got all the answers. I've a few complaints about elves, but that lot takes the cake."
They exchanged a look that felt almost conspiratorial, each reassessing the other. Then, without hesitation, Gimli extended a gloved hand. After a slight pause, Xena grasped it firmly, shaking with equal strength.
"Gimli, son of Glóin," he repeated, this time with less gruffness in his tone.
"Xena," she responded simply, meeting his gaze directly, a faint grin tugging at her lips.
Gimli scratched his beard, relaxing a little. "Since you're here, might as well show me around," he said, with the air of one issuing a command more than a request. "I'm here for a while, but I'll admit, I'm already about up to here with all the… ethereal types floatin' around this place."
"Oh, I know exactly what you mean," Xena replied, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Come on, I'll give you a tour. They have training grounds nearby, if you're inclined to try out that axe of yours. Just in case you feel like sparring with someone who isn't floating around in robes."
"Now you're speakin' my language," Gimli said, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm as he accepted the challenge.
As they walked through Rivendell's winding paths, Gimli made no attempt to hide his opinions, muttering occasionally about elven impracticality. "Too many open spaces," he grumbled. "Not a decent roof in sight. Cold draft would catch you half to death in the mountains."
Xena nodded along, half in amusement and half in agreement. When they reached the training grounds, Gimli surveyed the area with a critical eye, noting the delicate weapons and neatly aligned dummies.
"All polish, no punch," he muttered with a smirk. "Dwarves know how to make real weapons, not this dainty nonsense."
"I'll give you that," Xena replied, glancing at him with a smirk. "I once held a dwarven sword—heavy as a mountain, but it could cleave through solid rock."
"Nothing can beat dwarven steel," he said proudly, the gleam in his eyes clear as he thought of the craftsmanship of his kin.
Xena tilted her head, an idea forming. "Care to prove it, Master Dwarf?"
Gimli's brows shot up in surprise, but his grin quickly returned. "You're serious?"
"Dead serious," she said, drawing her sword and letting it glint in the morning light.
With a mutual nod of agreement, they took their stances, each forgetting the rest of Rivendell as they prepared to spar. A few curious elves nearby paused, drawn by the sight of a dwarf and a human squaring off with such focused intensity. The clanging of metal soon filled the air as Xena's sword met the heft of Gimli's axe, sparks flying with every clash.
Gimli's strength was impressive; each swing of his axe held enough power to knock her back a step. But Xena was quick, sidestepping his blows and relying on her agility to avoid his brute strength. They exchanged glancing hits, neither backing down, their movements a sharp dance of skill and determination.
After a few moments, Gimli let out a hearty laugh, his face flushed with the thrill of the match. "You're tougher than you look, lass."
"Don't underestimate humans, Master Dwarf," she shot back, grinning with newfound respect in her eyes.
As they finally lowered their weapons, both of them breathing hard but exhilarated, Xena glanced around to find several elves watching, some with amused smiles, others with raised brows.
"Let 'em stare," Gimli grunted, catching her glance. "Elves may think they know all there is to know, but us dwarves? We're the ones with real strength."
Xena smirked. "True enough. Though I'll admit, the view here's not so bad," she added, glancing at the tranquil beauty of Rivendell.
Gimli sighed, glancing around with reluctant admiration. "All right, I'll admit it's not entirely without its charms. And maybe… just maybe, there's a few good elves here too. But don't let anyone know I said that."
"Your secret's safe with me," Xena replied with a wink.
As they sat together on a nearby stone bench, an unlikely bond settled between them, forged in shared strength, respect, and a good dose of rivalry. They were both warriors, both outsiders in their own way, and each understood that true strength came not from one's title or heritage, but from meeting life head-on, ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.
After their sparring session, Xena and Gimli sat together on the stone bench, still catching their breath. The warmth of newfound camaraderie hung between them, and Rivendell's cool morning air did little to dampen the energy crackling in the training grounds. Around them, curious elves had already dispersed, the unusual scene of a dwarf and human sparring fading back into the daily rhythms of the valley. But the sense of unity, even if faint, lingered.
Gimli eyed her with a wry smile. "I'd call that a proper welcome, lass. But tell me," he said, leaning back as he crossed his arms over his chest, "how does a human end up rubbing shoulders with princes and council lords here in Rivendell?"
Xena chuckled, though a trace of something more serious flickered across her face. "It's a long story, Master Dwarf," she replied. "I came here by way of a… rather complicated quest. One that involved tracking down a certain prince of the Woodland Realm, as it happens."
Gimli's brows shot up. "A complicated quest?" he repeated, eyeing her with interest. "And the Woodland Prince himself was your target?"
Xena gave a wry smile. "Originally, yes. But, as you've likely already guessed, things didn't go as planned. That prince became something far different than a target."
Gimli huffed, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "If I know anything about that one, he'd charm the venom out of a snake if it suited him. I suppose he convinced you otherwise, then?"
Xena nodded, her gaze drifting to the distant peaks beyond Rivendell. "Not with words, exactly. It was more the things he did—the way he protected those around him, even strangers, not out of arrogance. He… he sees worth in others, even when they don't see it in themselves."
For a moment, Gimli simply watched her, his expression softening. "There's more to you than you let on, isn't there?" he murmured, respect flickering behind his usual bluntness.
She returned the look, a faint smile on her lips. "And to you as well. After all, you just met me, and here you are, prying into my story."
Gimli let out a hearty laugh, his hand thumping the stone bench. "Well, no offense, but after hearin' that you came here to kill the Woodland Prince and ended up as his friend, I'd say that's a tale worth listenin' to." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "And now? What keeps you here in Rivendell?"
Xena's expression turned contemplative. "That's the question, isn't it?" She sighed. "I've spent years wandering, searching for purpose. And now, after everything—meeting Legolas, Elrond's children, the battles and the dangers—well… I find myself wondering what it would mean to stay."
Gimli gave her a knowing look. "Ah, so you're caught in the pull of Middle-earth's battles then," he said. "It's a hard land to walk away from once you've fought for it."
They sat in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts as the sun climbed higher, bringing a warm glow to Rivendell. Soon, a soft voice drifted from the pathway nearby.
((Upcoming Chapter Seventy-Four))
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