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 74: A Blade, a Burden, and Bonds Unseen

Imladris, October 15th 3018 T.A

Dwarves were a mysterious race to her, known in their own tongue as the Khazâd. Xena knew only the basics about them—hints of their rich, complex history and occasional sightings of Dwarves during her time in Umbar. But face-to-face encounters? Those had been few and far between. Her knowledge was as limited as it was vague, filled with half-remembered tales and the occasional story picked up in passing. Yet today, fate had decided she'd meet one of the Khazâd directly, and his name was Gimli.

Their first encounter hadn't exactly gone smoothly; blunt words and fiery tempers had almost derailed the conversation before it began. But, much to her surprise, it hadn't taken long for them to find common ground. Speaking with Gimli came easier than expected, and their sparring session had quickly transformed mutual irritation into something resembling respect. By the time they parted ways, he had even extended her an invitation to join him for dinner, where he would be meeting with other Dwarves.

However, the reason for the invitation was less formal than she'd assumed. Gimli, in a low, conspiratorial tone, had shared a secret: they'd managed to smuggle in a few pieces of bacon. Meat was hard to come by in Rivendell, where the fare was lighter, more refined. But at the mention of bacon, Xena hadn't hesitated—she accepted at once.

Now, she sat in her room, leaning against the edge of the bed as Míresgaliel, an elven maiden, entered with an assortment of healing supplies—bandages, potions, and fragrant herbs. The last adventure had left her with a few cuts and bruises, and Míresgaliel made it a point to visit daily to tend to her wounds.

As she set the supplies on a small table, her soft, melodic voice drifted through the room. "Your scars are healing well, Lady Xena, though you would do well to be more cautious." Míresgaliel's touch was gentle as she applied a cool herbal salve to Xena's arm. "You've earned these marks through bravery, but remember, we must honor our bodies, lest they grow weary before their time."

Xena smiled slightly, amused by the subtle reprimand. "I'll try to keep that in mind, Míresgaliel. But I'd be lying if I said I'm not used to a few scars. They're part of the work."

Míresgaliel's silver eyes lifted, a glint of understanding mixed with gentle reproach. "I imagine one must grow used to such things, wandering as you do. But here in Rivendell, we value the balance between strength and wisdom. Sometimes it's wiser to step back than to charge ahead."

"Tell that to my sparring partner this morning," Xena replied with a smirk. "Gimli—he's a Dwarf, here for the council. He doesn't seem the type to step back from anything, either."

Míresgaliel's expression softened with faint amusement. "A Dwarf? It's not every day we see the Khazâd here, let alone one who finds companionship among our guests." She began wrapping a fresh bandage around Xena's wrist, her touch as light as a whisper. "And yet, you've earned his trust enough to spar? You must have a unique talent for bridging distances."

Xena shrugged, though there was a flicker of pride in her eyes. "I wouldn't call it a talent. He's as stubborn as they come, and I suppose… so am I."

The elf's laughter was soft, like a gentle breeze rustling the leaves. "Ah, stubbornness is not without its charm, I suppose. Yet, few among our people share the same kind of bond with the Khazâd. Most would consider it… unusual."

"Well, then I'll have to get used to being unusual," Xena replied with a grin. "He even invited me to dinner tonight, actually. Said there'd be bacon."

Míresgaliel's eyes widened slightly, an amused smile spreading across her face. "Bacon? It seems the Dwarves have their own secrets to make life in Rivendell more… robust. Just don't let Lord Elrond hear; he would find it humorous, I think, but unexpected all the same."

Xena laughed, picturing Lord Elrond's reaction. "I doubt he'd be surprised by much, honestly. He's seen enough to know anything can happen in Rivendell." She leaned back, letting Míresgaliel finish her work. "And besides, it's about time I share in some of those secrets. A bit of bacon isn't a bad start."

Míresgaliel stepped back, her gaze warm. "Perhaps it isn't. And perhaps there is much you and your new friend will discover together. Be careful, Xena, and enjoy this night. After all, laughter and warmth among friends is a healing all its own."

With a grateful nod, Xena watched as Míresgaliel gathered her things, leaving her with the faint scent of herbs lingering in the air. As the elf maiden disappeared through the doorway, Xena couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation for the evening. The warmth of companionship, laughter over a simple meal—even here, surrounded by the ageless beauty of Rivendell, those small joys were what made her feel most at home. Tonight would be one of those rare moments of peace, of laughter among newfound friends, and that was a treasure worth seeking.

What Xena had not revealed—and what she avoided confronting even within herself—was the small but insistent voice that asked questions she wasn't ready to answer, questions about a certain proud and guarded elf. She knew Legolas had been consumed with obligations these past days, but her instincts told her it wasn't simply duty that kept him away. He was keeping himself occupied, deliberately immersed in the ceaseless demands of Rivendell. She could sense it—something was troubling him, gnawing at his spirit, and while she understood part of what haunted him, there were shadows in his mind she could not see.

Xena had tried, carefully, to encourage him to speak, to open up when he felt ready. And though he'd shared glimpses of his thoughts and burdens with her, his true boundaries remained firmly in place. He kept the worst of his feelings hidden, guarded, and buried. She didn't resent him for it; in fact, if anyone could understand his silence, it was her. When it came to her own regrets and misdeeds, she too preferred to carry those burdens alone, unwilling to lay them bare to others. Even with those closest to her, like Gabrielle, she hadn't shared everything—the darkest memories, the wounds that still made her heart ache.

So Xena didn't try to 'save' Legolas from his grief or the nightmares that plagued him. She didn't believe it was her place to tell him how to shoulder the weight he carried, the unspoken guilt he held close. His nightmares were a deeply personal struggle, a form of reckoning that he alone chose to endure. The sins he believed he bore, the punishments he faced in the solitude of his dreams—she would not judge him for them. She knew that in some twisted way, he found solace in enduring them, his way of atoning for losses he could not mend. If this was the form his punishment took, she accepted it, as he did.

But something had changed. Legolas was different now, and his usual habits of retreat and quiet suffering seemed magnified, even unnatural. Xena had known him long enough to recognize the signs, to understand that the toll his nightmares took on him was substantial, something he had quietly borne for years, likely even centuries. They were a part of his life, woven into his existence, something he had learned to accept and endure. But lately, something about his struggle seemed more intense, as if his usual guilt and self-imposed penance had taken on a darker edge, pressing upon him in a way even he could not ignore.

It wasn't just his lingering grief or the memories he kept locked away that weighed on him now. No, this was something deeper, something she sensed went beyond the ghosts of his past. And though Xena was hesitant to admit it, she knew that part of his unease had to do with her. The memory of the Autumn Fest lingered, a night when walls had briefly fallen, a moment of closeness neither of them had fully addressed since. It left a mark on them both, but she wasn't ready to explore that further. She knew well enough that the memory wasn't all that haunted him.

Something was shifting within him, a change she could feel but not name. His silence on the matter only deepened her concern, and no matter how gently she approached it, he wouldn't open up. The damn elf kept his struggles locked away, unwilling to share what gnawed at him, and while she respected his privacy, the tension in him was growing too obvious to ignore.

If he refused to let her in, Xena resolved, she would have to watch over him from a distance. But the unspoken bond between them, built on mutual understanding and quiet empathy, made it clear to her that something within Legolas was slipping beyond his control. And if he couldn't see it, then she would be the one to help him—even if he'd never ask her to.

Her thoughts ran like tangled threads as she absently gripped the sword, the very one they'd retrieved on their last quest. It had been a reckless undertaking, as even Lord Elrond had warned, and Legolas himself knew better. Yet she understood why he'd led them to the Hidden Forge of Eregion. He hadn't only sought this weapon for her—he had been running, escaping the burdens Rivendell weighed upon him. And for this gift, for his courage, Xena couldn't help but feel gratitude.

The sword, crafted by elven hands centuries ago, was one of a kind. She marveled at its fine etching and delicate design, a perfect balance of elegance and power. She'd always thought her chakram, especially after it had become her double chakram, Yin-Yang Chakram, was the most unique weapon she'd ever wield. Now, with this sword, she had two exceptional arms to call her own. And soon, her armor, crafted with care by Maegnor, would be completed, ready for whatever battles lay ahead.

And yet, as much as she tried to distract herself with the thought of these gifts, her mind kept drifting back to Legolas. It was strange, even to her, that she could sense his turmoil so deeply. She couldn't quite explain it, but she knew he was troubled. And what unsettled her most was the mystery of his nightmares. They haunted him, and though her initial feeling that something was wrong had been instinct, she had gone beyond that, doing what she did best: investigating.

Legolas's room was just across from hers, separated only by a short distance and the sounds of the falls cascading beyond their windows. More than once, she had heard him through her open window, restless, his sleep broken by the quiet torment of dreams. She knew she had no right to cross that threshold. She remembered, with some irony, how furious she'd been when she'd discovered Legolas had done the same, sneaking into her room to check her wound after she'd been struck by a Morgul blade. But this was different; he wasn't healing as he should, and she couldn't ignore that something was deeply amiss.

So, after they returned from the quest, Xena decided to look for answers herself. She crept across the stone ledge outside her window one night, making her way to his room. There, surrounded by the cool mist from the waterfalls, she peered inside and found him fast asleep, unguarded. His room was quiet save for the soft rhythm of his breathing, and, though her heart pounded at the intrusion, she knew she had to understand.

Legolas lay sprawled on his bed, shirtless, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. She approached him slowly, noticing details that hadn't been visible during the day. His skin seemed unnaturally pale under the moonlight, drained in a way that even elven healing did not mend overnight. Dark circles, stark against his fair skin, shadowed his eyes, though these traces always vanished by morning. And as she looked closer, she saw signs of strain in his face, the lines of tension in his brow, as if his sleep was plagued by invisible chains. Each day, he seemed a little more weary, and though he tried to hide it, Xena could see it—his slower steps, his barely touched meals, his quieter tone when he spoke.

To confirm her suspicions, she had subtly questioned Arwen and the twins, who reluctantly agreed. Legolas, they said, had been growing increasingly fatigued, something not so easily remedied by elven stamina. He was hiding it as best as he could, but even they had begun to see it, in the subtle ways he moved, in the quietness that lingered around him.

But there was something else—something that went beyond exhaustion. It was only at night, during these quiet hours when she found herself watching over him, that she felt it. It was like a shadow, subtle but tangible, a presence that filled the room as though lingering just beyond her sight. It felt as if something, or someone, was there, lurking, feeding on his dreams and weaving his nightmares anew each night. And whenever she stayed near, watching over him, his paleness seemed to fade ever so slightly, as though whatever haunted him receded in her presence.

It had become clear to her that these were no ordinary nightmares. This went beyond guilt or grief or the echoes of ancient pain. She knew him well enough to recognize when he carried a burden he felt he deserved. But this—this had a life of its own, an evil intent that preyed on him when he was most vulnerable. His suffering lessened when she stayed by his side, which only confirmed her suspicion that there was something malevolent at work, something that clung to him like a curse.

As the days passed, Xena's resolve grew. This wasn't a matter of Legolas's past mistakes or his sense of duty. No, this was something deeper, a shadow that wrapped around him, drawn to him by forces she didn't yet understand. And as she watched him struggle night after night, she knew she couldn't sit back any longer. She would have to unravel this mystery, to delve into the truth of his nightmares, if she was ever to free him from this silent torment.

Xena's mind raced as she finished preparing herself for the evening. She wore one of the gowns Arwen had gifted her—a rare, elegant choice she wouldn't have selected on her own. The fabric was a deep, twilight blue, rich and finely woven, with hints of silver embroidery that shimmered faintly along the bodice and hem. The neckline was simple yet graceful, following the natural curve of her collarbones, and long, fitted sleeves flowed down her arms, ending in delicate silver cuffs. The gown clung comfortably to her figure before falling softly to the floor in a gentle cascade, the kind of style that made her feel both regal and powerful, even if she wasn't entirely used to such attire.

Her hair, usually kept loose or braided, was gathered in a softer style tonight. She had braided small sections along the sides and woven them back, securing them with a few silver clasps Míresgalie had given her. The rest of her dark hair cascaded down her back in gentle waves. Looking at herself in the polished silver mirror, she smirked. "Well, Arwen," she murmured to herself, adjusting the gown, "you finally got me to wear one of your gowns again."

Tonight, she would keep her promise to Gimli and join him and his kin for dinner. And later, she'd seek out Legolas for the conversation they needed to have. If he refused to open up to her, she would involve Elrond himself if she had to. She would not allow Legolas to spiral alone.

With a final glance in the mirror, she left her room, the soft fabric of her gown whispering against the stone floor as she made her way to the dining hall. The warmth of laughter and deep voices filled the air as she entered, and she spotted Gimli immediately, seated beside his father, Glóin, who was in animated conversation with the other dwarves. At her approach, Gimli's eyes lit up with a mixture of surprise and approval.

"Well, look at you, lass!" he called, a broad grin spreading across his face. "Didn't think I'd ever see you dressed up like an elf, no less!"

Xena grinned back, folding her arms playfully. "Don't get used to it, Gimli. This was purely for the occasion."

Gimli chuckled, then gestured toward his father. "Allow me to introduce you—this here is Glóin, son of Gróin, one of the finest dwarves in all of Erebor."

Glóin looked her up and down, his eyes narrowing in curiosity, and then he nodded approvingly. "So, you're the one my son's been talking about. The warrior who's come to Rivendell, and apparently, who doesn't mind knockin' sense into a few elven skulls."

Xena laughed, extending her hand. "That's about right. I've heard tales of your adventures too, Master Glóin, though I suspect they haven't been told half as well as you could tell them."

"Oh, a flatterer, are ye?" Glóin chuckled, taking her hand in a firm shake. "You'd fit right in with us." He gestured around the table at the dwarves seated nearby. "And these lads here are Dron, Raem, and Noli—stout lads all, even if they lack a bit o' the sense our folk are known for." The dwarves each nodded in turn, grinning at her with a camaraderie that was both easy and welcoming.

Settling down at the table, Xena felt the warmth of their presence immediately. Despite the occasional ribbing and grumbling, there was a fierce loyalty and spirit of kinship among the dwarves that was refreshing. Glóin, ever eager to share tales of old, soon launched into a story about his journey to the Lonely Mountain years ago, recounting the perils they'd faced, the creatures they'd battled, and the obstacles overcome to reclaim Erebor.

"Of course," Glóin continued, his voice lowering slightly as he leaned in, "there was one... minor setback on that journey." His eyes glinted with mischief, and a few of the dwarves exchanged knowing looks.

"Oh?" Xena prompted, curious.

Glóin cleared his throat, casting a quick glance around as if checking for eavesdroppers. "Aye, a little 'welcome' we received from the Elvenking of Mirkwood. We ended up in his dungeons, courtesy of a certain proud prince."

At that, Xena had to stifle a grin. "A prince, you say?"

"Ah, don't get me started on Thranduil and his wine-swilling court," Glóin muttered, though his tone was more amused than bitter. "Locked us up faster than you can say 'orc raid' and would've left us there to rot if it hadn't been for some clever barrel work."

A few of the dwarves laughed, and Gimli nudged her, shaking his head. "Imagine it—a dozen dwarves bobbing downriver in barrels. But we made it. Not even Thranduil could keep us down."

Xena joined in their laughter, genuinely enjoying the scene. She was just taking a sip of her drink when, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Legolas entering the hall with Elros and a few other noble elves. He paused briefly, his gaze flickering over to her and the group of dwarves, and for an instant, their eyes met. But he looked away quickly, as though he hadn't seen her at all.

Legolas, however, couldn't ignore the sight entirely. He saw Xena, dressed in that elegant elven gown, deep in conversation and laughter with Gimli and his kin, the dwarves visibly delighted by her company. And, much to his dismay, he caught the distinct scent of bacon wafting from the table—a scent that every elf in the hall had undoubtedly noticed. 'So, they'd thought they could keep that little "secret" from the elves?' he mused, feeling a prickle of irritation.

Elros must have noticed his reaction, for he murmured quietly, "A unique group, aren't they? Your friend fits right in."

Legolas managed a smile, though it was faint, his eyes fixed on Xena's animated gestures as she listened to Glóin with rapt attention. "Yes, I suppose she does." There was a slight bitterness in his tone that he hadn't intended, a bitterness he knew stemmed from her insistence on understanding him, helping him, when he'd rather bear his burdens alone. And now here she was, seated among dwarves, sharing laughter and secrets as if the dark memories he held didn't even exist.

Xena, oblivious to Legolas's watching gaze, leaned forward as Glóin continued his tale. "So, there we were, finally back in Erebor, and what does King Thranduil do? Shows up, bold as brass, demandin' his share of the treasure. After locking us up, no less!"

The dwarves chuckled, and Xena's eyes sparkled with mirth. "And what did you do?" she asked, barely able to contain her laughter.

"Oh, we let him stew a bit, I'll tell you that!" Glóin said, crossing his arms with a satisfied huff. "But my respect for the Elvenking's son... well, it's grown since then. Not by much, but enough to admit he's got a head on his shoulders. Even if it's a bit too proud for my liking."

Xena chuckled, catching Legolas's eye from across the room as he lingered in conversation with Elros and the other elves. For a brief second, their gaze locked again, and she caught the faintest flicker of emotion in his expression before he quickly looked away. But she had seen it—something unspoken, something that, perhaps, she would have to pry out of him later.

As the laughter and conversation flowed around her, Xena felt the weight of her earlier thoughts lessen. Tonight, she would enjoy herself, as promised. But soon, she would find Legolas, talk to him, and try—one last time—to break through the walls he kept so tightly guarded. And if that failed, she would do whatever it took to ensure he wasn't left alone to face the darkness growing within him.

((Upcoming Chapter Seventy-Five))

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