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)

Happy Halloween, dear readers! 🎃👻 Tonight, the veil between worlds grows thin, and who knows what dark and delightful spirits may slip through... including our beloved characters! If Legolas or Xena start acting a bit more... possessed in this chapter, let's just say they're caught up in the Halloween spirit. May your candy buckets be endless, your costumes terrifyingly fantastic, and your horror movie marathons delightfully spine-chilling. So, sit back with a witch's brew, turn down the lights, and let the mystery of this tale creep into your bones... 🎃✨

👀 Happy Hauntings and Happy Halloween! 🎃

ActVII

🎃👻 Friends of New/Old 👻🎃

Chapter 76: A Midnight Consultation

Imladris, October 15th - 16th 3018 T.A

The night was quiet in Rivendell, the stillness broken only by the gentle murmur of the waterfalls cascading nearby, silvered in the light of a waning moon. Xena moved swiftly down the polished stone corridors, her mind set and her resolve unwavering. Legolas had reluctantly agreed, but she knew he'd give only the briefest version of what he'd endured. She would go to Elrond tonight—no more waiting. Each night drained more of his strength, and she would not let him face another in silence.

The hallway was hushed and empty at this hour, and the air carried the cool crispness of autumn. She reached Elrond's private study, the light from within casting a soft glow beneath the door. She knocked lightly, then pushed it open when she heard a quiet acknowledgment from within.

Inside, Lord Elrond sat by a low fire, his expression thoughtful. But he was not alone. To her surprise, the figure beside him was none other than Gandalf the Grey. The wizard turned as she entered, his sharp eyes assessing her with quiet curiosity, and a faint smile tugged at his lips beneath his bushy, white beard.

"Xena," Elrond greeted her, a glimmer of surprise flickering in his gaze. "It's rather late—has something happened?"

Xena took a breath, steadying herself. She met Elrond's gaze firmly, then glanced to Gandalf, who gave her an encouraging nod. She'd come here for answers, and she wouldn't waver.

"Yes, something has happened," she said. "It's about Legolas."

Elrond's face softened with immediate understanding, though there was also a hint of weariness. "I had my suspicions," he murmured. "But I had hoped he would come to me himself."

"He agreed to speak to you tomorrow," she replied, "but I couldn't wait. What he's dealing with… it's more than just old memories."

Gandalf's eyes narrowed with keen interest, and he leaned forward, tapping the tip of his staff lightly against the floor. "Go on," he said gently, his voice encouraging. "Tell us everything."

He deduced that this must be the human Elrond had mentioned—the one who had arrived with Legolas. Gandalf had picked up bits and pieces about her from Elrond and the twins, and although they had never met, there was a sense that they each recognized one another intuitively.

Xena recounted what she'd observed: the change in Legolas's demeanor, his increasing weariness, and the way he seemed to be fading as if something was draining his very life force. She explained the nights she'd spent in his room, watching as he was tormented by nightmares more vivid, more tangible, than anything she'd seen before. And, finally, she described the shadowed presence that lingered, retreating only when she drew near.

Elrond listened intently, his face growing grave. Gandalf remained silent, his eyes fixed on the fire as if he were reading something in its flickering depths.

When she finished, a tense silence settled over the room. Elrond clasped his hands, the faintest crease of worry appearing on his brow. "This is indeed troubling," he said quietly. "Legolas has long carried his mother's death as a burden, and though he hides it well, I've always known his guilt remains. Yet what you describe goes beyond mere grief or guilt. Something darker is at work here."

Xena nodded. "That's what I've felt as well. Whatever this is, it's not from within him. It's something else—something that seeks to take advantage of his grief."

Gandalf stirred, his gaze shifting from the fire to meet hers. "And you say that the presence withdraws when you're near?"

"Yes," she replied. "Whenever I'm in the room, it fades. But as soon as I leave, it returns, stronger than before."

The wizard looked thoughtful, his gaze distant. "A curious thing… a curse, perhaps, or a spirit bound to him through old, unfinished business." He paused, looking to Elrond. "Has Thranduil spoken of any lingering enemies? Any whose spite might drive them to seek such vengeance?"

Elrond's expression darkened. "There was one—a former ally of Sauron, a sorcerer from the East who once sought Thranduil's alliance. When Thranduil refused him, the sorcerer vowed retribution upon his family. It was whispered that he had a hand in the queen's capture. If that same hatred has turned to her son…"

A name surfaced in Xena's mind: Alakar. He was, after all, the one who had cast this ominous quest over Legolas, and as she uncovered more pieces of the story, his involvement seemed undeniable. It wouldn't surprise her if Alakar was behind this as well. Yet the questions of how and, more importantly, what he aimed to achieve remained a mystery Xena was determined to unravel.

Gandalf leaned back, his face grave. "Then Legolas may be under a curse, one laid upon him not by accident but by design. This shadow lingers in his nightmares because it is tied to his mother's death and his own guilt. The curse feeds upon that guilt, keeping him locked in a cycle of suffering and weakening his spirit."

Xena's heart clenched. She'd suspected a curse, but hearing it confirmed made the reality far graver than she'd anticipated. "How do we break it?" she asked, her tone firm.

Gandalf met her gaze, his expression shadowed. "Breaking a curse is no simple matter, especially one that has festered for centuries. It feeds on him, and thus it must be weakened through his own strength. But," he added, his voice softer, "there are ways we can help him. Elrond and I can search for the sorcerer's ties to Mirkwood, see if there's any remnant of his magic that might give us insight. But that will take time."

Elrond nodded. "Then for now, we will need to perform a cleansing ritual—something to sever the link between Legolas and this spirit. But it will not be easy. Legolas's strength is crucial, for he must confront his guilt and release himself from it, or the curse will continue to bind him."

Xena's jaw tightened as she absorbed their words. "Then I'll make sure he's ready. I'll help him, however I can."

Elrond inclined his head, a trace of admiration in his eyes. "Your loyalty speaks well of you, Xena. Legolas will need friends close to him in the days to come, and though he may resist, I trust you to remain by his side."

Gandalf's eyes twinkled with quiet approval. "Indeed. Few have the strength to endure another's burdens as you have. It will not be easy, and he may resist your help, but I sense that your bond with him is strong enough to endure it."

Xena nodded, determined. "Then I'll see to it that he doesn't face this alone."

As she turned to leave, Gandalf's voice stopped her. "One more thing, Xena. This curse is powerful because it has gone unchallenged for so long. Should Legolas falter in the ritual, his spirit may be in danger. You must be prepared for that."

She met Gandalf's eyes, her resolve unwavering. "Then I'll be there. Whatever it takes, I'll see him through it."

The cold night air clung to Xena as she left Elrond's study, their conversation still echoing in her mind. The truth was harsh, a curse embedded so deeply in Legolas's heart that it preyed on his grief, using his own guilt as a tether. But tonight, she wouldn't allow that darkness to sink its claws any deeper. She would not let him suffer alone again. With newfound determination, she retraced her steps back through the quiet corridors of Rivendell, the hem of her twilight-blue gown trailing behind her as she moved purposefully. When she reached Legolas's door, she knocked firmly, the sound cutting through the silence.

The door opened after only a moment, and Legolas stood before her, looking every bit as weary as she'd feared. He was shirtless, his hair loose and unbraided, hanging in gentle waves over his shoulders. The lines of exhaustion etched across his face seemed deeper tonight, and his eyes held a shadow that hadn't been there before, a weight she knew he had grown too accustomed to carrying.

"Xena?" His voice was quiet, more a question than a greeting, as if surprised to see her return so soon.

She met his gaze, her own expression unyielding. "I spoke with Elrond," she said without preamble. "Gandalf was there as well. They understand what's happening to you, Legolas. There's a curse, a dark force that's tied itself to your guilt. They're going to try something tomorrow to weaken its hold on you. It won't break it entirely, but it may give you some relief."

He sighed, a weary resignation settling over him as he rubbed a hand over his face. "Then tomorrow we'll deal with it," he said, his voice edged with a faint bitterness. "But tonight… tonight I can only face what I must."

"Not alone," she replied, her tone resolute. "Tonight, I'm staying with you."

For a moment, he closed his eyes, and she saw the battle warring inside him—the part of him that wanted to argue, to tell her to leave, versus the part of him that had finally reached its limit, the part that was willing to let her in. He looked at her, the struggle evident in his eyes, but eventually he nodded, his expression softening in quiet defeat.

"Do as you please," he murmured, retreating to his bed. He lay down, his back turned slightly toward her, the tension in his body betraying the pride that still lingered, even now.

Xena followed, moving to the edge of his bed and sitting beside him, the dim light casting soft shadows around them. For a moment, neither spoke, the silence filling the room like a heavy mist.

"Legolas," she finally said, her voice gentle, "you don't have to keep doing this alone."

He exhaled, a tired, half-laugh escaping his lips. "You think I'm strong enough to do otherwise?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "For so long, Xena, I've carried this. The pain of her death… it felt right to bear it alone. If I let go, if I share it… what else will I have?"

She reached out, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. "You'll still have your memories, Legolas. You'll still have everything you fought to protect." She paused, her voice softening. "And maybe… you'll even find some peace."

He looked at her then, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. "You speak as if you've known peace yourself, Xena."

She offered him a faint smile. "Not always. But I've found that carrying guilt alone… it never gets easier. If anything, it makes it harder to remember the ones we lost, to honor them. You're punishing yourself, but your mother… she wouldn't have wanted this for you."

He turned his gaze away, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "I killed her," he murmured, the words barely audible. "I cost her everything. Every night, these dreams… they're my penance."

"Those dreams aren't a penance, Legolas. They're a curse," she said firmly. "And if you keep letting them take from you, you'll lose more than just your strength."

He closed his eyes, her words cutting through his resolve. She could see the cracks in his armor, the faint tremble in his hand as he gripped the edge of the bed.

"Then what should I do?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "If I let go of this—if I allow myself to forget, even for a moment—then I risk betraying her memory. I risk forgetting why I must suffer."

Xena leaned in, her hand moving to rest over his. "Honoring her memory isn't about suffering, Legolas. It's about remembering the love you shared, the life she gave to protect you. If you let this curse, this darkness, steal that from you, then you'll have lost more than just yourself. You'll have lost her too."

He was silent, her words lingering in the stillness. Slowly, he opened his eyes, looking up at her, the faintest glimmer of hope mixed with fear. "I don't know if I can do this," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "I don't know if I have the strength to face it."

"You don't have to do it alone," she replied, her tone soft yet unwavering. "I'm here, Legolas. I'm not going anywhere."

He gave her a faint, weary smile, his pride finally giving way to a quiet acceptance. "You're as stubborn as I am, aren't you?"

She chuckled softly. "I've been told that a time or two." She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Rest now. Just for tonight, let go of the fight. Let me watch over you."

A faint nod was all he managed, but it was enough. Xena settled beside him, the silence between them now comfortable, filled with a shared understanding. Legolas closed his eyes, allowing himself to surrender to the weariness that had plagued him for so long. The room was cloaked in shadows, the moonlight filtering through the narrow window, casting faint, silvery patterns on the floor. Xena sat at the edge of Legolas's bed, her presence a quiet strength as he lay there, facing away from her.

He had closed his eyes, but sleep eluded him, lingering just out of reach. Though he had let her stay, a small part of him remained restless. He was unused to this—sharing his burdens, his innermost guilt. Yet, tonight, it seemed impossible to keep his silence. The old, familiar weight of his nightmares was pulling at him, but with her presence, something felt different. The shadows seemed less overwhelming, but the memories crept closer, prodding at his mind, seeking release.

And, after a long silence, he finally spoke. His voice was barely more than a whisper, a hush that carried through the stillness of the room. "When I was younger," he began, his words slow and measured, "I was arrogant. I thought I could take on Dol Guldur." His voice held a trace of bitterness, the taste of that foolish pride lingering even now. "My father—Thranduil—he… he imprisoned me for a week, as punishment. A lesson, so I'd understand the danger. And for a time, I thought I'd learned it. But the desire to prove myself never left."

Xena listened, her gaze steady, the faint glow from the window casting shadows across her face. She could see the tension in his shoulders, even as he spoke in such a quiet, controlled tone. He was unraveling memories that had remained buried, tightly locked away, and she stayed silent, letting him continue.

"In time, I did return to Dol Guldur," he said, his voice strained. "I took my company. We were ambushed by orcs and by something… darker. We would have died there had my mother not found us. She saved us, but in doing so… she was captured." He paused, his voice catching slightly. "We searched for her for years, my father and I. But it was as though she'd vanished."

Xena felt the weight of his words as he continued, his voice even softer, the regret and pain woven tightly into each sentence. "There were rumors… tales of a queen of darkness rising in Gundabad. They said she was luring people in, those who crossed her path would find their end. Still, I hoped. I wanted to believe that perhaps we could find her, free her."

Another long silence followed, the sound of the wind outside the only other noise in the room. When he finally spoke again, his tone had grown hollow, haunted. "We followed the trail. My father and I, we rode to Gundabad, ready to face whatever waited for us." He paused, and his fingers gripped the edge of the bed, knuckles white. "And I found her. I didn't recognize her at first… she was… twisted. Darkness had overtaken her, changed her into something I could barely comprehend. She attacked me, and at that moment, I didn't think. I drew my bow, and before I knew it, the arrow had already found her heart."

His voice grew hoarse, barely audible. "She… thanked me. As she… as she faded, she looked at me, and she recognized me. There was a moment—a brief, agonizing moment—where she was herself. And then she was gone. Nothing but dust."

Xena could see the pain etched in his features, the shadows under his eyes deepening as he spoke, each word heavy with the memory of that night. He seemed lost, haunted by the memory of that final look, the faint trace of his mother that had lingered only for a breath before fading forever.

"If I were given the chance," he continued, his voice breaking slightly, "I'd do it again. She was long gone, lost to the darkness. And yet…" He trailed off, his gaze distant, hollow. "My father's words haunt me still. 'What have you done?' he said. The same question echoes in my mind every night."

Xena took a slow breath, letting his words settle. She had heard fragments of his story before, through whispers in Rivendell and from Legolas himself. But now she understood the whole of it, the weight he carried, the impossible choice he'd had to make. And she knew he was like her in that way—willing to do what had to be done, to act with justice, even if it meant taking a painful path.

"Legolas," she said softly, her voice steady but laced with empathy, "you did what you had to. You ended her suffering. You freed her from the darkness that had taken hold of her."

He closed his eyes, his face tightening. "And yet, it was still me who killed her. It was still my arrow, my choice."

"Yes," she said, leaning closer, her tone unwavering. "And that's something no one else will ever fully understand. It's something you'll carry, just as I carry things I'd rather not remember. But if you were truly wrong to act, would she have thanked you?" She looked at him, willing him to see her point. "Legolas, you did what was right. The pain of it… that's not something you can avoid. But this guilt—this… punishment you've placed on yourself—it's holding you in place."

He looked at her, his expression a mixture of resignation and conflict. "Perhaps," he whispered, "but it's the only balance I know."

She shook her head slowly. "You may need to carry this guilt, to bear the weight of your choice. But what you're facing now, these nightmares… they're not your conscience. They're something darker, something that's feeding on you, twisting your guilt into a prison. You don't deserve that. None of us do."

He was silent, absorbing her words, and she could see the faintest glimmer of doubt flickering in his gaze, a crack in the armor he'd kept so carefully guarded.

After a long pause, she decided to share a piece of herself in return. "My mother," she began, her voice steady, "she killed my father. Not because she hated him, but because he was about to kill me. She made an impossible choice to save her child. It took me years to understand it, to see that sometimes we have to do what others can't understand, to make sacrifices they'll never see the way we do."

Legolas looked at her, something shifting in his expression—a quiet, fragile understanding.

"She did it because she loved me," Xena continued. "And because she believed that some things… some lives… were worth protecting. You did the same. You freed your mother, even if it meant losing her." She hesitated, letting the weight of her words settle. "You may feel guilty, and maybe you'll carry that guilt forever. But it should be the right amount. Nothing more."

He looked down, his fingers still gripping the edge of the bed, but a faint light had entered his eyes, a glimmer of clarity.

"I've always felt that if I let myself believe I was right…" he began, his voice barely a whisper, "then I would lose her again. That if I let go of the guilt, I'd be betraying her memory."

Xena placed her hand on his shoulder, a reassuring weight. "Legolas, honoring her memory isn't about drowning in guilt. It's about remembering her strength, her love. She wouldn't want this curse to take from you, to steal everything she'd protected you for."

He was silent for a long moment, the room still around them, the wind outside a quiet lull. Finally, he gave a faint nod, the tension easing from his shoulders ever so slightly.

"Perhaps," he murmured, "perhaps I've clung too tightly to the wrong parts of her memory."

They sat together in silence, the shadows around them seeming to pull back, the stillness of the night no longer feeling so oppressive. Legolas closed his eyes, the weight of his confession leaving him feeling strangely light, as though a small part of his burden had been lifted. And for the first time in years, he allowed himself to rest, Xena's presence a quiet anchor beside him, holding the darkness at bay.

((Upcoming Chapter Seventy-Seven))

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