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 75: In the Grip of Night's Surrender

Imladris, October 15th 3018 T.A

The dinner was finally over, and with it, the endless discussions, the conversations with elves whose names he barely knew. Elros had ensured that Legolas kept to his word, arranging one meeting after another with every guest who wanted an audience with someone from the halls of the Elvenking. Legolas had reluctantly agreed days ago, though his original plan had been to avoid as many gatherings as possible. For years, he had stepped down from the duties of prince, a decision agreed upon by both himself and Thranduil. But regardless of this, the title followed him; no matter how he tried to escape it, the other elven realms would not simply forget who he was.

And so here he was, navigating a web of politics and formality that drained him, leaving his mind heavy with thoughts he couldn't shake and nightmares that each night chipped away at his strength. He had noticed the change, this slow weakening that crept in, unrelenting and strange. But his explanations were always the same: it was his own mind, his weakness of heart that sought warmth and closeness he did not deserve. Perhaps these dreams were punishment, his own subconscious lashing out at him for yearning for more than he was entitled to—a consequence for daring to wish for happiness.

The truth, however, remained hidden from him. The nightmares had a source beyond his own mind, something darker and more insidious that stole fragments of him night after night. Proud and stubborn, he had missed the signs, unwilling to see himself as anything but at fault for the torment he suffered.

When he finally reached his room, he closed the door behind him and leaned against it, exhaling. His mind wandered back to the evening, despite himself. He had done his best to avoid her for days, but there she was tonight, seated among the dwarves, dressed in one of the finest gowns Rivendell could offer. He knew Arwen was to thank for that; she'd undoubtedly dragged Xena to the seamstresses, insisting she own proper attire. He was sure it hadn't been Xena's happiest experience—she was far more at ease in armor than in silken gowns. And yet, she'd worn it tonight, one of the best of the lot, and looked radiant in it.

Yes, Legolas had noticed her, perhaps too much. She had worn that gown with a strength and elegance that was so unmistakably hers, and though he tried to turn away, his gaze had strayed to her more than once. It hadn't been long since the dwarves' arrival; he had been with Elladan when they arrived, watching them receive him with wary glances. He recognized few of them, save Glóin. It had not been that many years since their paths had crossed in Mirkwood, when Legolas's patrol had found them amidst a spider attack. After saving them, they'd taken the dwarves to Thranduil's halls and locked them up as though they were criminals.

A faint smile tugged at his lips, and a tinge of shame followed. If they'd been in his father's halls tonight, he might have had the dwarves locked up again. And why? For nothing more than the strange, twisting jealousy that crept in as he'd watched Xena laughing and speaking with them. It wasn't her ability to make friends that he envied, nor her ease in overlooking titles and races—qualities he deeply admired. No, his jealousy ran deeper, more painfully to the heart of things.

Because Legolas knew he could never share moments like that with her. He could never have the simplicity of laughter over a casual dinner, nor the lighthearted secrecy of sneaking in contraband bacon for the fun of it. Not after everything his heart had been through, and certainly not with the guilt weighing upon him. The walls of his own making, the restraints he'd built to keep his emotions in check, would not allow him to reach for such things.

He envied those moments with her, the memories that seemed so ordinary yet so cherished—the simple joy of friendship unburdened by shadows. It was what he wanted, but could not permit himself. Because in the end, Legolas knew his life had become a complex war between his heart's quiet desires and the chains of guilt that held him back. And so, he watched from a distance, a silent witness to the warmth he longed for but would never allow himself to claim.

Legolas closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steeling himself to step into his room where he knew his nightmares awaited him—another night of torment he had come to accept, even welcome. But just as he was about to enter, a knock sounded on the door, soft yet persistent. At first, he didn't hear it, lost in his own thoughts. But then the knock came again, breaking through his reverie. Surprised and a little puzzled—visitors were rare at this hour, especially to the private chambers—he pulled himself from the threshold and opened the door, wondering who could be bold enough to disturb him here, so late.

The sight that met him left him momentarily speechless. There stood Xena, dressed in the twilight-blue gown she'd worn to dinner, her hand firmly planted against the door frame as if to ensure he wouldn't shut it in her face. The gown clung gracefully to her figure, cascading to the floor, and her expression was calm, determined. She gave him no time to react, no chance to refuse her entrance, and with a deft step, she was inside, moving past him as if she belonged in the space.

"We need to talk," she said, her voice cutting through the silence as she turned to face him. He closed the door slowly, his gaze meeting hers, a hundred thoughts unspoken between them. They studied each other in the quiet, a tension filling the room. It had been only a few days since they'd exchanged any real words, though, in truth, it had been him keeping the distance. And yet, here she was, in his room, looking ethereal against the backdrop of his dark thoughts.

Xena was disrupting everything about this space that had become his refuge. She moved without hesitation, brushing past the invisible boundaries he had drawn. She wouldn't allow this silence to continue any longer; that much was clear. When he'd retreated into his nightmares, she had come to bring him back to the present, stepping into his carefully guarded solitude without asking permission. She walked to the large window and leaned against the frame, her eyes shifting to the waterfalls outside, the moonlight casting a faint glow over her.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence hung heavy, almost as if she'd intended it that way, to let him process her presence and gather the words she had come to say. Legolas took in a breath, realizing he'd been holding it since she entered. His face remained carefully controlled, expression unreadable, a calm façade masking the turmoil within. But beneath it, his pride bristled. She had crossed boundaries, and his need to hold his ground was immediate, instinctual.

If she wanted to have this talk, then he would not avoid it tonight. He would listen, and he would answer, even if it meant risking the bridge between them with what might be said.

The silence between them was thick, a barrier as solid as stone, but Xena refused to let it stand any longer. She looked steadily at Legolas, her expression resolute. Tonight, she would break through the walls he'd carefully crafted. She had no intention of treading lightly; there was too much at stake.

"Legolas," she began, her tone softer than she'd expected, "I know something has been haunting you, and it's not the same as it once was."

Legolas shifted uncomfortably, his face a mask of indifference. "Nightmares, Xena, are something I've lived with for centuries. They're not new, and neither is my handling of them. You needn't worry yourself."

"Don't brush this off," she said, her voice firmer. "These aren't the same as before, Legolas. I've heard you in the night, struggling. And I've seen you. You look... drained, weaker, as if something's taking from you each time you sleep."

He turned from her, crossing his arms, his expression distant. Deep down, he knew something was amiss. Perhaps he was too entangled in his recent confusions, emotions, and grief, but she wasn't imagining things. "What I face is my own doing. My own choices. It's... punishment. For things I could not undo and never should."

Xena sighed, steadying herself. She paused for a moment, letting the sound of the waterfalls swell around them, filling the silence, before she continued. "This isn't about your guilt, Legolas. I know you've long carried the weight of your mother's death, that you've taken on that burden as though it's yours alone to bear. But this is different. Something else is at work here."

He looked at her sharply, a flicker of irritation in his gaze. "How can you possibly know that? How can you tell me this isn't something I should bear alone?"

"Because I've been in your room," she said, her words unyielding. "Every night, climbing through my window to yours. I've watched as you slept, or tried to, and I've seen it. Something is there, Legolas. Lurking. Waiting. When I'm near, it retreats—whatever it is. It's taking strength from you, feeding on your nightmares."

The shock in his eyes was quickly swallowed by a surge of anger, his pride flaring. "How dare you?" he said, his voice low, seething. "These are my nightmares, Xena. Mine. I've earned them, chosen to bear them. You had no right to intrude."

Xena met his gaze, unflinching. "No right? I had every right, Legolas. I'm not asking anymore—I'm telling you. We need to bring this to Elrond. Whatever this is, it's not natural. If it continues, you'll be the one who suffers, and I won't let that happen."

"You think I need your help? You think I want your pity?" His voice rose, and he turned sharply, fists clenched. "I don't need saving, Xena." For Legolas, this was his penance—a way to hold his guilt in check. It was all he had to keep himself balanced. And now Xena wanted to take that from him. He wouldn't allow it.

"This isn't about saving you," she shot back, her voice edged with frustration. "I'm not here to rid you of your guilt. Keep it, for all I care. But whatever is feeding on you, whatever force is leeching your strength—it's not just a nightmare. It's something darker. And if you continue this way, you'll break."

His eyes narrowed, his pride hardening his resolve. "If breaking is what I deserve, then let it be so. I won't go begging for aid over something I've chosen to endure."

Xena's jaw tightened, but she held her ground. "Look at yourself, Legolas. The pale skin, the exhaustion that even the others have noticed. This isn't the effect of guilt alone—it's something else. And if you're too proud to admit it, then I'll do it for you."

He stepped forward, his voice low, fierce. "And do what? Run to Elrond? Tell him that I'm too weak to endure what I've chosen for myself?"

"This isn't about weakness. It's about survival. Your pride won't keep you alive, Legolas. And whatever this is, it's powerful enough to have you in its grip." She spoke to him without hesitation, her words unwavering and resolute, revealing exactly what she believed.

He clenched his jaw, fighting to keep his voice even, but there was a crack in his composure. "I won't have anyone take this from me. I won't ask for their help. These nightmares—my guilt—this is my balance. My suffering is mine to keep."

Xena's tone softened a note of pleading entering her voice. "Keep your guilt, Legolas. Keep your pride, for all I care. But don't let something else exploit it. Don't let some darkness feed off of what you've come to bear on your own."

He looked at her, eyes flashing, torn between the anger she had ignited and something deeper, something raw. "You think you understand me so well, Xena. But you don't. If I give in now, if I open myself to their help, I'll unravel. This darkness, whatever it is, is what I deserve. My grief, my mistakes—they were born from my own failures."

"And if they consume you? If this force takes what's left of you?" She stepped forward, voice unwavering, meeting his gaze head-on. "You want to protect everyone but yourself. But this time, I won't let you push me away. I won't let you waste away because of some notion that you deserve to suffer."

He fell silent, his eyes flickering with pain, his pride still rigid, his face still guarded. But her words lingered, striking at a truth he'd tried to ignore. His hand trembled ever so slightly as he turned away, voice barely a whisper.

"I can't… I can't face them. Not like this." He spoke in a lowered tone, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Then face them with me," she said, her voice soft yet resolute. She stepped closer, letting her hand come to rest gently on his shoulder. "Whatever this is, we'll deal with it together. But you have to let me help you, even if that means setting your pride aside."

The room was filled with a weighted silence, and for a moment, Legolas looked lost. But slowly, he nodded, the resolve breaking, just enough for her to see a glimpse of his vulnerability.

"Very well," he said quietly, a tremor in his voice.He turned to face her, and for the first time in his life, he allowed his guard to slip, just a little, letting her in. "But if this goes too far if I lose myself…"

"You won't," she replied firmly. "I won't let you."

Perhaps she was right; he was too weary to fight her on this. With the weight of exhaustion, the relentless nightmares, and the turmoil in his heart, his resolve weakened. He gave in more easily than he'd expected, sensing, somewhere beneath it all, that something was indeed amiss. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he nodded, his voice low. "I'll speak to Elrond tomorrow," he said. "I'll make sure of it."

But her expression hardened, and he immediately understood her intent. She wasn't going to leave him alone to handle this on his terms. "Tomorrow is too long," she replied firmly. "I'll go to him myself. Tonight. I won't let you spend another night with whatever is leeching your strength."

He opened his mouth to argue, to tell her to stand down, to insist that he could handle it alone. But even his pride couldn't fuel the energy to argue. He was beyond tired, worn to his core. And he knew, even if he tried to turn her away, that it would be useless. Xena's stubbornness matched his own; her resolve was immovable. She would see this through, with or without his approval.

So he nodded, resigning himself, allowing her to win this battle. "Fine," he murmured, barely able to keep the edge of frustration out of his voice. "Have it your way, then. Speak to Elrond."

For tonight, he would allow her to take the lead, to win this round. But one thing he would never allow himself was the freedom to want more than his suffering, to feel beyond the reach of his guilt and punishment. No matter what answers Elrond gave, he would never abandon his penance, never give his heart permission to stray from the burden he'd chosen to bear. That, he vowed, he would never surrender.

((Upcoming Chapter Seventy-Six))

Thank you for taking the time to read this! Feel free to Review - Follow - Favorite!