The Price of Pride

by artalicous

An impossible quest to kill the treacherous Woodland Elf accused of offering his mother to the Dark Lord and killing her. She accepts the mission of resources to explore Middle Earth & fight the growing darkness. Dive into this tale of deception, danger, and destiny in a war-torn ME. {Light crossover Xena The Warrior Princess}/{Legolas x Xena}/{Slow-burn}

82. Retracing the Path

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)

Welcome to the beginning of the second book! I'll take the opening chapters to focus first on Xena and then on Legolas, dedicating five chapters to each as we set the stage for the story ahead. These chapters will lay the groundwork for the journey to come, filled with adventure, battles, and moments I hope will be worth every page.

To all who continue to read, share, and leave reviews—thank you. Your support and feedback mean the world to me, inspiring me to bring you the best story I can. Now, without further ado, let's dive in and let the story begin!

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Book II

March of Doom

ActI

Undoing The Quest

Chapter 82: Retracing the Path

East Road & beyond, October 25th - November 15th 3018 T.A

The night mist clung to the air as Xena rode out of Rivendell, the delicate shroud parting around her like silken veils. The moon, still high in the sky, cast a soft, blue light over the waterfalls that cascaded down the rocky cliffs, filling the valley with a constant, soothing roar. Above, the towers and terraces of Rivendell gleamed in the night's gentle glow, an oasis of timeless peace cradled within the rugged embrace of the mountains. It was a sight that might soften even the hardest of hearts, a reminder of the beauty worth fighting for in a world touched by shadow.

Xena rode on, her gaze resolute, her focus sharpened to the journey that lay ahead. She felt the comforting weight of her new armor, like the familiar pieces she had worn countless times in battle, the leather and steel worn with purpose and bearing the scars of past trials. Each piece had been fastened with care that morning, every buckle and strap tightened with precision. Over her back lay her sword, the hilt worn but strong, like her spirit, a reminder of the path she had walked. Her chakram gleamed in the early light, resting against her hip, as much a part of her as her own heartbeat.

Chubby, her steadfast companion, trotted beneath her with a determined rhythm, his pace unwavering and purposeful. Another year had only deepened his resilience; his sturdy frame bore her weight as effortlessly as ever, matching the unyielding resolve within her own heart. She hadn't chosen him solely for his strength, though—it was his spirit, fierce and loyal, that had won her over long ago. They'd endured countless trials side by side, and she knew he would carry her wherever her path demanded.

Her journey led westward from the Ford of Bruinen, each step bringing a rush of memories from past travels, a curious blend of nostalgia and the thrill of the unknown stirring within her. This time, she would take the East Road, her mind fixed on the long stretch before her. She knew her course to Umbar would be arduous, stretching across at least 45 days under ideal conditions, perhaps longer if the road proved less forgiving.

As they moved away from Rivendell's sheltered haven, Xena's thoughts drifted to the letter she had left behind. She could almost picture Legolas reading it one day, the faintest frown creasing his brow as he deciphered her words. She hadn't been able to say everything; how could she? But she had left him with enough—enough to know what he had come to mean to her, even if she herself could not fully understand it. In that letter, she had poured the truths she dared not speak aloud: a confession without the weight of finality, a promise hidden within the lines:

"To the one who made a warrior pause,

When I first awoke in this world, I thought it was a chance to escape the shadows that clung to my soul. I came as someone carved from war, carrying the scars and sins of a life that ended too soon. For most of my days, I trusted in only two things—strength and survival. Even they felt fragile, fleeting companions at best, liable to fade under the weight of the life I led. My world was built on battles, each harder than the last, and it taught me to stay vigilant, cold, and ever-ready for betrayal.

Yet, there were those who showed me I wasn't bound to that path alone. I found friends who saw more in me than a hardened warrior. They showed me glimpses of the person I could be beyond the edge of a blade. Gabrielle especially reminded me of my own heart, and through her, I came to see that perhaps a life marked by light could follow one so steeped in darkness. But the shadows never truly leave, do they? A part of me still carries that darkness, though I fight it each day, seeking atonement for the pain I've caused and the lives I took.

I survived by returning to old ways, ways I once believed defined me. That was how I found myself on a quest to hunt you—a mission with enough gold to keep me wandering for years. They called you a killer, a prince lost to his own darkness. But after I followed you, watching from the edges, I saw the truth. You bear the weight of grief not of your making. You walk with a shadow, yet you do not let it consume you. Your silence spoke of burdens beyond words, and in that, I recognized something familiar. It made me question my own choices, my own shadows.

Our travels together, they showed me something I had thought long out of reach. This land has a peace that crept under my skin, with its endless forests, old mysteries, and the quiet whispers of trees that know more than they tell. It's strange, isn't it? How something so simple as a moment spent under starlight or beside an ancient tree can give more than a hundred battles ever could. And I realized, perhaps for the first time, that I am part of this world, and I care about what happens to it—and to you.

Still, there are words I cannot say, truths that feel too vast to be confined to a letter. But I will say this: no matter where my path takes me, know that our paths crossed for a reason. Meeting you has brought me closer to something I thought lost, something worth fighting for beyond myself. You taught me that there's beauty, even in broken things, and a heart once scarred by darkness can still find a spark of light.

When you read this, I hope the shadows have lessened, and that the pride you hold so fiercely has returned to its rightful place in your heart. Perhaps we will meet again, and if we do, I will have kept my promise—to lift the curse and return as someone no longer burdened by shadows.

Take care, Legolas.

Xena"

The path dipped down as she neared the river, the rushing sound of Bruinen filling her ears. The waters were fierce here, tumbling over rocks and around bends, frothing white and glistening as they stretched into the distance. It was along these banks that her journey would take her south, and she took a moment to admire the landscape—the way the river carved its way through the land, relentless and free, not unlike her own path.

As she rode on, the memory of Legolas lingered, unbidden but steady, a presence just at the edge of her thoughts. In Rivendell, there had been moments when she'd caught him in her gaze, his face calm and silent, a world of unspoken words between them. They were both warriors, both bound to their pasts, and yet, with him, she had found a flicker of something she had thought long dead. A softness, a hope—buried beneath the armor of a lifetime of battles.

But now, her path diverged from his, perhaps forever. There were curses to break, and promises to fulfill. Xena had given her word to herself and to him, whether he knew it or not. She would undo the quest that had brought her to his side in the first place, and in doing so, release them both from the bonds of fate that had brought her here. She pressed her knees into Chubby's sides, urging him forward along, her gaze fixed on the horizon.

The world felt vast and uncertain, but as Xena rode, a surge of purpose filled her. She was not merely retracing her steps; she was forging her own path. The road to Umbar lay long and perilous, but she knew that whatever awaited her, she would face it with the strength and determination that had brought her this far.

With each beat of Chubby's hooves against the earth, she moved further from Rivendell's embrace and closer to the unknown, her spirit as unyielding as the river that guided her southward, the letter she left behind a quiet promise that one day, she would return—not as a hunter, but as herself.

It had been a long time—perhaps too long—since she had ridden alone. There was a freedom in solitude she had come to relish, a power in choosing her own course, undisturbed by the world's expectations or demands. Her journey might seem aimless, yet in her heart, she knew its purpose ran deep and unspoken. The first step would take her back to the City of Corsairs, to retrace her path and seek answers to questions long left unanswered. The shadowed paths she had once walked now called her back, and she would follow them to their source.

Returning the gold and declining the quest—that could wait. Her true purpose, the one that had her riding out with such urgency, was woven from a fear that refused to settle. She could not shake the thought of what those shadows, those twisted nightmares, might do to Legolas if left unchecked. Though Gandalf and Elrond had managed to stem the curse's effects, she dreaded what would happen if its darkness surged again. Legolas was safe for now, but how long would that protection last?

So she rode, bound by a purpose she had not fully admitted to herself. She knew only that she had to start somewhere, and the Corsair city held the first thread she could follow. What she did not know, what lay hidden in the shadows ahead, was that the War of the Ring had already begun—and that war was sweeping across these lands, whether she willed it or not.

As dusk began to settle over the valley, Xena guided Chubby down the winding path from Rivendell to the Ford of Bruinen, where the river crossed the Great East Road. The steady roar of the river grew louder as they descended, filling the air with a rush that felt like both a warning and a welcome. She could feel the power in its waters, a quiet assurance that this crossing had long been guarded by Elrond himself. There was a strength here, woven into the currents, something ancient and protective that spoke to the depths of Middle-earth's mysteries.

The Ford itself lay ahead, shrouded in the fading light, the waters glistening like threads of silver as they flowed past. She remembered the tales she'd heard of the Bruinen, how it could rise in a furious torrent at Elrond's command, becoming a shield against any who dared to cross with ill intent. Now, beneath a quiet sky, the river seemed peaceful, and inviting, yet its power was unmistakable. She had crossed this river once before, but back then, she had clung to Legolas for dear life, too caught in the urgency of the moment to truly see this place.

But tonight, she would stop here. She had ridden long and hard from Rivendell, the road offering little rest, and the Bruinen would serve as her first haven on this journey south. She dismounted and led Chubby toward a cluster of trees near the river's edge, selecting a spot where she could build a small fire shielded by the tall trunks and low-hanging branches. The ground was soft and dry here, protected from the river's mist, and she quickly removed her gear, carefully setting each piece down, feeling the familiar ache in her shoulders ease.

As she settled in, she pulled a small bundle of kindling from her pack and struck flint against steel, coaxing a flame to life. The fire flickered to a steady glow, its light casting a warm circle that offset the cool breeze rolling off the water. Xena looked around, absorbing the peace of the moment. There was a strange comfort here, as if the land itself recognized her intent and offered a brief respite. She lay back, feeling the weight of her sword nearby, her chakram within easy reach, both as close as old friends.

The river's rush filled her ears, its steady rhythm soothing her as she let her mind wander. Images drifted in and out: Rivendell's gleaming towers, the faces of those she'd left behind, and, unbidden, the thought of the letter she'd penned to Legolas. The shadows and doubts that drove her forward felt distant now, replaced by the simple, grounding act of being here, camped under the stars, with the ancient Bruinen as her silent companion.

Tomorrow, she would cross the Ford and continue to the East Road. Tonight, she would rest by the water, drawing strength from this place as her journey began in earnest. The fire crackled softly, and as she wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, the comforting presence of the river kept her watchful but at peace.

As Xena lay on her back, gazing up at the night sky, she felt the quiet vastness of Middle-earth stretching above her. The stars here seemed different, their constellations unfamiliar, some bright and others barely glimmering against the darkness. She had noticed this before, but tonight, the solitude made it all the more poignant. Her mind drifted back to her world, to nights spent under familiar stars with Argo at her side, and Gabrielle's voice breaking through the quiet as they shared the weight of their pasts and the thrill of each new adventure. Those were times she missed—harsh, difficult years, carrying the burden of her own misdeeds, yet shared with friends who stood by her through every trial. Those memories seemed like they belonged to another life, yet she could still feel their echoes within her.

Here, she had found something of that same comfort, riding alongside Legolas and his kin, Elros, Thalion, and Mírdan. There was a sense of camaraderie and purpose, even in the midst of danger. She thought of their journey to cleanse the sword with Legolas and the twins, and despite the peril, she had found herself enjoying it—the companionship, the bond forged in battle. Now, though, she was alone again, riding toward a mission as uncertain as the shadows in the sky above her.

The rush of the Bruinen flowed steady and soft, and she closed her eyes, letting its music weave through her thoughts. The familiar sounds of Chubby's slow breaths, the rustling of the trees, and the occasional chirp of night creatures were soothing. This was the wilderness she had come to know in Middle-earth, as wild and mysterious as any land she had traveled before. She let herself sink into its embrace, feeling sleep begin to creep over her.

But then, a faint rustling caught her attention. It was different from the usual nighttime chorus; voices, low and indistinct, drifted through the trees. They were distant at first, but unmistakable—Elvish voices, soft and melodic, yet carrying easily in the stillness of the night. She remained still, her hand instinctively moving to the hilt of her sword, though she made no move to rise. She had camped along the Great East Road, a place where many travelers were known to rest, so it was not unusual for others to be nearby. Besides, the voices held no hint of threat, and she sensed no danger.

She relaxed her grip, listening as the voices settled, the sounds blending into the night. Whoever these elves were, they hadn't come close enough to disturb her, and they seemed content to remain in the distance. Xena assumed they were merely fellow travelers, resting along the road, and let her guard down, content to let them be as long as they did not seek trouble.

What she didn't realize was that they had, in fact, come because of her. Elros, Thalion, and Mírdan had ridden hard to reach her camp, keeping a respectful distance to honor her solitude. It was not a threat they posed, but an offer of unseen protection, sent by the Prince himself, who had ensured that she would not be truly alone on this journey.

In the quiet, surrounded by shadows and starlight, Xena remained unaware of their watchful presence. All she knew was the steady rhythm of the Bruinen's flow, her thoughts drifting once again to memories of her past as the night deepened around her.

As dusk settled over the Ford of Bruinen, Elros, Thalion, and Mírdan gathered around the small fire they had set, the quiet crackle of flames their only immediate comfort. They had left Rivendell when Elrond's council had concluded, and the weight of what they'd heard still sat heavily in each of their minds. It wasn't just that the One Ring had been found, nor even that a small hobbit had been chosen to bear it into the very heart of Mordor, to the fires of Mount Doom. It was the fellowship of nine, formed to accompany him, with Legolas, their prince, among them. For Elros, it defied belief.

He ran a hand through his hair, a frown etched on his face as he glanced at his companions. "How could he vow to follow them? Our prince, on a path that will lead him directly into the jaws of Mordor? And all for the fate of a ring." His voice was low, thoughtful, as if speaking his concern in Sindarin aloud might make it any less troubling.

Thalion, who had been carefully arranging his bedroll beside the fire, looked up, his gaze steady and calm. He had traveled with Legolas long enough to understand his ways. He answered in elfish "Legolas is well-prepared, Elros. He has traveled long roads before, alongside Aragorn and the Rangers. He is no stranger to danger."

"Yes, but this is different," Elros said, his voice tight. "This is no mere journey, no border skirmish. It is Mordor." He glanced toward the path they would soon follow, his eyes narrowing. "And what of us? Here we are, sent to follow a human—while Legolas faces unimaginable peril."

Mírdan, ever the pragmatist, added another branch to the fire, watching as the flames sparked higher. "Do not underestimate the prince. He may carry burdens unseen, but he is not without skill or wisdom. Still, we are not here to question him or abandon our charge. The human needs us, whether she knows it or not."

Elros shook his head. "I understand the human's strength—she's proven it countless times. But there is an ill ease in my heart." He looked to the fire, as if the answer might lie somewhere in its embers. "We should be aiding Legolas directly, not merely following behind her."

Thalion, sensing his friend's frustration, gave a quiet laugh. "You speak as though you would disobey him, my friend. Or is that just the desire for action stirring in you?" He watched Elros closely, a faint glint of amusement in his eyes.

Elros gave him a cold look. "You know better than to suggest such a thing. We may question the wisdom of this mission, but we would not disobey." His tone was firm, resolute. And though he held his composure, there was a flicker of worry in his gaze. "Yet to think of him out there…" His voice trailed off, unwilling to finish the thought.

Mírdan, the most observant of the three, gave a knowing smile. "Elros, you care more than you admit. You fear for her, just as you fear for him." His voice was soft, almost teasing, as he regarded his friend. "We've spent long enough with the human to know she is capable, yet you still act as if she's a wayward youth in need of protection."

Elros let out a low sigh. "Perhaps." He paused, folding his arms over his chest. "It is true she has proven herself. She has more courage than most warriors I have known. And yet... these are troubled times. The ring has been found, war brews on the horizon, and our lands face constant threat." He glanced at Mírdan, his tone shifting. "I may not say it aloud, but the dangers she faces weigh on me."

Thalion chuckled, placing a comforting hand on Elros's shoulder. "You needn't keep up this facade, Elros. We are here because we all care for her well-being, even if we choose to show it differently. Legolas ordered us here not only to ensure her safety but perhaps also to give us peace of mind. His trust in her is implicit, and ours should be as well."

They fell into a comfortable silence, each reflecting on the strange twist of fate that had brought them here. The fire crackled softly, the warmth radiating out into the cool night air. Elros pulled his cloak closer around him, gazing into the flames.

"Still," he said at last, a wry smile touching his lips, "I wonder what Thranduil will make of all this. He'll have received our message by now, news of the prince's oath to the Fellowship." A rare chuckle escaped him. "No doubt he'll find amusement in the knowledge that his son ordered us about like courtiers."

Thalion grinned, leaning back against a log. "I wager he'll be more concerned about the prince's journey into Mordor than with us. But perhaps he'll find comfort in knowing his trusted warriors are on the road, even if for another cause."

Mírdan, stirring the fire to brighten its glow, nodded in agreement. "And when we return, our prince will have tales that surpass any mere hunt or patrol." He looked to Elros, his gaze steady. "For now, we stay our course. We follow her not out of obligation but out of loyalty, as Legolas asked."

Elros gave a solemn nod, his resolve tempered by the quiet strength of his companions. "Then we do as commanded, and see this through to its end. And perhaps, when our duty is fulfilled, we will return to find Legolas safe, his task complete."

The three elves sat in silence for a time, the fire casting warm shadows over their faces as they kept their quiet vigil. The stars wheeled overhead, indifferent to their conversation, while somewhere, not far ahead, the human they guarded rested, unaware of their watchful presence.

As dawn broke, the gentle light of morning seeped through the trees, casting a soft glow over the riverbank where Xena lay sleeping. The world was calm and quiet, the air crisp and fresh, filled with the soothing sounds of water and birdsong. Xena stirred, blinking awake beneath the rising sun. She stretched, feeling the lingering ache from yesterday's ride. But there was no rush today; she had made good distance, and the Ford of Bruinen provided an ideal place to rest. She decided to linger for a while, savoring the rare chance to simply exist in the morning's peace.

After checking her supplies, Xena made her way down to the river's edge, her gaze sharp as she searched the waters for any glimmer of fish. She set her line with practiced ease, slipping back into the rhythm of an old skill. Fishing had been one of those quiet pleasures she had always appreciated—long hours spent by the water with Argo grazing nearby, and later, Chubby, her steadfast companion now. She sat by the river, watching her line, her expression serene. Soon, her patience was rewarded as she pulled two silvery fish from the water.

High in a nearby tree, Elros watched her silently, his expression a mix of mild frustration and reluctant understanding. How many times had he seen her do this? She had a curious enjoyment for fishing, a ritual he'd witnessed often when they traveled together. It was the kind of habit that had once amused, and sometimes irritated, Legolas to no end—the scent of fish tended to cling to her belongings, and the prince, who had an aversion to the smell, would complain quietly as he watched her cook. Yet now, seeing her at it again, Elros realized it wasn't meant to be annoying. She genuinely enjoyed these moments by the water, the calm simplicity of catching her meal and cooking it herself.

Elros shifted slightly, settling into a more comfortable position. He did not particularly enjoy fishing himself; it felt unnecessary to take the life of a creature for sustenance when one could manage with less. Yet he understood, as a warrior and a wanderer, the importance of moments like these. Small, personal rituals reminded them that life was not all blood and steel. He let his gaze wander as she cooked, the smell of roasting fish drifting faintly toward him.

At their own camp, Thalion and Mírdan prepared their own breakfast, sorting through the fresh vegetables they had gathered on the way from Rivendell. Mírdan chuckled as he recalled Xena's reaction whenever they'd had little more than greens to eat during their travels together.

"She may be fierce with a sword," he murmured with a grin, "but mention a meal of nothing but greens, and she looks ready to go back to hunting."

Thalion laughed softly, arranging their meager spread on a cloth. "Perhaps it's part of why Legolas insisted we look after her. She may know how to handle herself, but we still can't let her go entirely without Elvish refinement." He gave a knowing glance to Elros, who rolled his eyes but couldn't hide a faint smile.

The morning continued, the elves enjoying their simple fare, while Xena, satisfied with her own breakfast, packed her gear and prepared for the journey ahead. When she mounted Chubby, the familiar determination in her eyes, Elros gave the faintest of nods. She was ready, and they would follow close behind, their presence still unnoticed as they watched over her.

As she rode out toward the East Road, the elves moved with silent efficiency, shadows within the trees, keeping their distance but never letting her out of sight. Their journey would continue together, though separate, each bound by duty and loyalty. Ahead lay the East Road, and though none could guess what awaited them on the path, they rode forward, bound by a silent, shared resolve.

Xena had been a traveler long enough to sense when she wasn't alone. From the first quiet sounds that drifted toward her camp the night before, she'd known that company rested just out of sight. And now, as she rode along the East Road in the light of dawn, she was certain of it. Someone was following her. She didn't need to look back to confirm it; she could feel their presence, and she suspected she knew exactly who they were.

Yet, something else lingered in the air, another presence that was far less familiar. She'd felt it at the edges of her senses since morning, and now, she was certain: something darker trailed them all. She had noticed a growing tension on the roads, a shadow seeping into the land itself. The days were growing shorter, the air colder, and although she didn't know the full scope, she was aware that Sauron's power was rising, spreading tendrils of fear across Middle-earth.

Her suspicions proved true when she spotted a small band of orcs up ahead, lurking near the beginning of the East Road. She watched them from a distance, catching sight of their grim, twisted faces as they scouted the path leading toward Rivendell. Even with Elrond's protection over the land, she knew that these orcs were searching for something—or someone. Unaware of the true reason for their presence, she could still guess their intent. Sauron's creatures rarely strayed from their master's will, and she had little patience for those who would bring harm to these lands.

If it had been any other road, she might have ignored them and kept riding, leaving her pursuers—whom she now felt certain were elves—to handle them. But with the orcs so near the path to Rivendell, Xena felt compelled to act. She reached for her chakram, the gleaming weapon feeling like an extension of her hand as she dismounted and took a steady aim. With a single, fluid movement, she released it, and the chakram flew in a wide arc, cutting through the air with a deadly whisper.

The orcs had only a heartbeat to react before the chakram sliced through them, each one falling in swift succession. The last creature staggered forward, then crumpled to the ground, and her weapon circled back to her, landing with precision in her outstretched hand. She sighed, eyeing the fallen bodies. Perhaps it would have been wiser to leave them for her unseen companions, but the thrill of a small morning "exercise" had been hard to resist. Still, the work of cleaning up afterward felt tedious. Now, there were bodies to bury, and her chakram needed a wipe.

From a distance, Elros observed her, his sharp gaze assessing as he motioned to Thalion and Mírdan to remain in place. "She can handle them," he muttered, a faint smirk touching his lips as he watched her dispatch the orcs. It was clear she neither needed nor wanted help, and they were careful not to reveal their presence just yet. They had intended to stay hidden a while longer, though Xena, with her sharp instincts, was proving that strategy futile.

As she retrieved her chakram, she caught a glint of movement in the trees beyond her—just enough to confirm her suspicions. She'd seen them. They were distant, their forms partially obscured by branches and shadow, but she recognized enough to know they were familiar. Elves, likely sent by Legolas or even Elrond, she mused with an amused shake of her head.

She might have smiled, had it not been for the still-warm blood on her chakram, the smell of the fallen, and the knowledge that this darkness would only grow stronger with each step down this perilous road.

Xena was no stranger to outmaneuvering those who thought they could tail her. It was an old game, one she'd perfected over years of evading foes and tracking targets. After wiping down her chakram and burying the orcs, she knelt by the river to wash the last traces of blood from her hands, the cold water a refreshing contrast to the morning's exertion. With her task complete, she moved back to Chubby and leaned close, her hand resting on the horse's sturdy neck. In a low whisper, she told him the plan, guiding him through every detail. He listened, his ears twitching, and when she finished, he gave a subtle nod as if fully understanding her intent.

Mounting swiftly, she nudged Chubby forward, urging him into a brisk gallop. Her shadow grew long as she rode, the morning sun casting slanted rays over the East Road. Behind her, the elves maintained their distance, far enough to remain unseen but close enough to track her progress. Through the shifting trees and brush, they could catch brief glimpses of her horse, though now and then he would vanish from view, hidden by a line of trees or a bend in the road. And in those precious moments when the elves' view was obscured, Xena sprang into action.

With practiced agility, she braced herself and sprang from Chubby's back, timing her leap perfectly as she reached the thick trunk of a nearby tree. Her hands found the branch she aimed for, her body moving with the fluidity of long-honed skill. She swung herself up, her form vanishing into the dense canopy just as Chubby continued down the path without her. Perched high in the tree, hidden by a veil of leaves, she watched and waited.

From her vantage point, Xena saw the elves ride closer, their expressions focused but wary. Elros led, his posture taut with silent vigilance, while Thalion and Mírdan flanked him, their eyes scanning the path ahead. They passed directly beneath her, unaware of her presence above. She watched them with a bemused expression, recognizing each of them immediately. So, Elros, Thalion, and Mírdan had been sent after her. She rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She'd figured out who was responsible for sending them. Legolas. He hadn't been able to come himself, so he'd sent his father's most trusted guards to follow her.

As the elves continued down the path, she waited until they'd passed far enough ahead before lowering herself from the branch, landing in a crouch on the forest floor. With another swift move, she was back on her feet and running after her horse. Timing her approach perfectly, she caught up to Chubby, swinging herself up and into the saddle in one seamless motion. Once more in place, she urged him forward, keeping a comfortable distance behind her pursuers as she resumed her journey along the East Road, knowing full well the elves would soon realize she was still ahead of them.

As she rode, her mind turned over the implications of their presence. Elros, the stern and loyal confidant of Thranduil, had never shown her more than a passing tolerance; he was hardly the sort to be worried about her safety. Yet here he was, following her at Legolas's command. And not Legolas himself. The thought gave her pause. For Legolas to go so far as to send others in his stead meant he couldn't come himself—a prospect that stirred something complicated within her. She had left Rivendell quietly, slipping away with only brief farewells to those who mattered most. Her last goodbyes had been to a select few, including Míresgaliel, who had been a steadfast ally in her time there.

Now, knowing that the elves of Mirkwood, Thranduil's most trusted men, rode behind her, she considered her options. She could confront them, make it clear that she knew they were tailing her, or she could let them believe they still had the advantage. Given what lay ahead, the choice was simple. Where she was headed, she might well need all the help she could get, and it might prove useful to let them think they were unnoticed, just for now.

With a faint smirk, she rode on, a new sense of purpose guiding her down the East Road. Behind her, Elros, Thalion, and Mírdan kept their silent vigil, unaware that Xena was one step ahead, content to let them think they held the reins—at least for now.

Xena continued her steady pace along the East Road, alert to the signs of growing unrest that seemed to touch every corner of Middle-earth. She noticed a small caravan paused just off the road ahead, its occupants—a mix of weary villagers and families—huddled close, their faces marked by exhaustion and fear. Their cart, laden with the few belongings they had managed to save, had sunk into a rut, the wheel trapped in the thick mud, halting their progress. Xena slowed her pace, watching them from a distance before deciding to approach. These were no traveling merchants or adventurers; these were people fleeing something far worse.

As she drew nearer, one of the villagers noticed her approach, his wary expression relaxing slightly as she dismounted. Without a word, she assessed the situation, giving them a nod of greeting before bending to examine the wheel's predicament. "Looks like you're in a tight spot," she observed, her tone calm and reassuring.

The man nodded, brushing a dirt-streaked hand across his face. "It's been a hard road," he replied, his voice heavy with weariness. "We come from a village to the east, or what's left of it. Orcs raided it two weeks past. We thought… we thought we could stay and rebuild, but when they came again…" His voice trailed off, and Xena could see the horror lingering in his eyes.

Others in the group watched her with wary curiosity, some with faint glimmers of hope. She met the eyes of a woman holding a young child, her face etched with lines that spoke of sleepless nights and too much grief for one lifetime. They were survivors, but only barely. They had been traveling for days, trying to navigate toward the safety of a town or settlement, but their lack of direction and supplies made each mile more difficult than the last. Finding the East Road had been a blessing, but they were still far from any true refuge.

Xena moved to the stuck wheel, her hands gripping the edge as she signaled for a few of the men to help. Together, with a few pushes and well-placed rocks for leverage, they managed to free the wheel from the rut, the caravan lurching forward. She dusted off her hands, offering them a small, encouraging smile. "That should keep you moving. But this road isn't as safe as it used to be."

As they rested, she listened to their story in fragments and murmured conversations. Their village had once been peaceful, hidden enough that few strangers ever passed through. But two weeks prior, that peace had been shattered. Orcs had descended without warning, pillaging what little they had, setting homes ablaze, and dragging away anyone who couldn't flee. Those who had survived—the old, the young, and a few able-bodied folk who'd escaped in the confusion—were now all that remained of the place they once called home. Their journey was one of desperation, a bid for survival on a road that had been, until recently, a symbol of safety.

After the caravan had been freed, Xena prepared to continue her ride, but she paused, eyes narrowing as memories began to surface. She had seen villages like theirs before—broken, ruined, the hollowed remains of people she'd once thought nothing of. The charred remains of buildings, the hopeless faces of the few who survived. She'd been the cause of that destruction in her past, back in the days when power and conquest were all she knew. Looking into the eyes of these people, she saw echoes of her own dark past staring back. Abandoning them now, leaving them to the next wandering orc band, felt too much like turning her back on the person she was trying to become.

With a resigned sigh, Xena turned back, scanning the tired, anxious faces before finding the one who seemed to lead them—a man in his middle years, whose calm authority seemed to steady the others. She approached him and quietly asked him to show her any maps he had of the area. Together, they studied her own map, and she pointed to the nearest town that offered a chance at refuge. It was a small settlement—not Bree, but close enough and large enough that it might grant them the shelter they needed.

"I'll guide you there," she said, her tone brooking no argument. The leader's eyes widened in gratitude, his shoulders easing as if a weight had lifted. With a nod, he agreed, gathering his people to prepare for the journey ahead.

For three days, Xena stayed with them, taking careful measures to ensure their safety along the way. She chose sheltered spots for them to rest each night, her sharp eyes scanning for signs of any approaching danger. She set a grueling but manageable pace, knowing that urgency was balanced by the need for these weary travelers to keep up. The children, though exhausted, seemed to take comfort in her presence, their tired eyes brightening when she showed them simple tricks or offered a gentle word of encouragement. Old men and women, their faces etched with hardship, watched her with a mixture of curiosity and awe.

Unbeknownst to her, Elros, Thalion, and Mírdan trailed her the entire time, witnessing her actions from a safe distance. Though their primary mission was to guard her, they found themselves impressed, seeing firsthand the compassion she showed to these strangers. On the second night, Elros and his companions dealt with a small band of orcs that had drawn too close, their silent arrows dispatching the threat without any sign of detection. They kept their distance, letting Xena handle the care of the villagers, admiring the determination with which she fulfilled her self-imposed duty.

At long last, they reached the town, the villagers gazing at the sight of walls and familiar rooftops with expressions of relief and joy. They thanked her, some bowing with tears in their eyes, and Xena, though she accepted their gratitude, offered little more than a simple nod in return. She was just grateful to see them to safety, their faces and stories now one more memory she would carry with her.

Once the villagers had settled, Xena mounted Chubby again, prepared to resume her journey along the East Road. She had sacrificed days of her own quest, yet she felt at peace. As she turned to leave, she caught a glimpse of movement at the edge of the town—a flash of Elven cloaks shifting through the trees. She smirked to herself, well aware of who they were. The presence of Thranduil's trusted men was no longer a mystery, and now, having seen her actions, she suspected they might understand her a little better too.

And so, as she set off down the East Road once more, Xena knew she would not be truly alone on this journey. Behind her, unseen but present, the Elves followed, ready to guard her path in silence as she moved ever closer to the shadows that lay ahead.

Seven days had passed since Xena left the serene safety of Rivendell, and though her path along the East Road was a direct one, her journey had stretched longer than planned. The road was filled with more people than she expected—villagers, farmers, and wanderers, all fleeing from the encroaching shadow spreading across Middle-earth. At each stop, she found herself lending a hand: repairing broken carts, defending travelers from small bands of bandits, and even comforting children who had seen their homes overrun by fearsome creatures they barely understood. Her pace slowed with each encounter, her sense of duty overriding the urgency of her own mission.

At one point in her journey, Xena passed by Amon Sûl, the southernmost peak of the Weather Hills. It stood apart from the others, its conical top flattened in a way that seemed both unnatural and ancient. She slowed Chubby to a halt, her eyes narrowing as she took in the strange silhouette against the sky. An eerie feeling washed over her, a chill that made her uneasy. Though she didn't know the history of this place, something about it stirred an instinctive wariness in her, as if the land itself held onto old memories, secrets she couldn't yet understand. After a moment, she urged Chubby onward, making a mental note to ask the elves about it when the time was right.

Now, as the road stretched before her, she knew she was close to Bree. Only a day's ride separated her from the small, bustling town—a place of relative safety, the first true shelter she would encounter since Rivendell. She aimed to reach it by nightfall. Bree would offer her a rare opportunity to rest, gather supplies, and perhaps gain news of the lands beyond. Though her journey lay southward, all the way to the distant port of Umbar, Bree would serve as a much-needed waypoint.

The journey had taken its toll on both her and Chubby, her loyal horse. She planned to rent a modest room at The Prancing Pony, where the bed would be warm, and a solid meal would await. She'd ensure that Chubby was well-cared for, arranging for fresh feed and a soft stall, and making sure his hooves and saddle were in order. The East Road had tested his endurance, and she knew he deserved a night of true rest.

She rode with a steady determination, her eyes tracing the path ahead. Memories of Umbar filled her thoughts as she traveled. The port city, harsh and unforgiving, was a place ruled by shadows, where treachery and crime lingered in every corner. She had spent years there, honing her skills in survival and adapting to its unforgiving ways. Now, the thought of returning was unsettling, but necessary. There, she would seek answers to the quest that had brought her into Middle-earth, a quest she needed to understand before it could haunt her any further.

As she neared Bree, the landscape began to change subtly. She could see small farms along the hillsides, smoke rising from humble cottages, and the distant sounds of livestock. It was a welcome sign of civilization, of stability that had grown rare. Villagers working in the fields gave her cautious nods as she passed, their eyes showing both curiosity and wariness. She responded with a polite nod but kept her pace steady; she had no intention of lingering any longer than necessary.

Dusk was falling by the time she reached the outskirts of Bree, the familiar wooden gate looming ahead, guarded by watchful eyes who recognized her as a traveler. She urged Chubby forward, the town's lamps beginning to flicker to life as she entered. Bree was alive with activity, its streets bustling with merchants, locals, and a few wanderers like herself, each seeking some semblance of security within the town's borders.

Making her way to The Prancing Pony, she was greeted by a stable hand who took Chubby's reins, promising to care for him as she dismounted and stretched her sore muscles. She offered the young lad a nod of gratitude, her mind already focused on the warmth and comfort that awaited inside. The inn's familiar sign swung gently overhead, creaking in the evening breeze, and she pushed open the door, greeted by the welcoming murmur of voices and the scent of hot food.

Once inside, she approached the innkeeper, arranging for a modest room and a hearty meal. She settled at a quiet table by the fire, her mind finally allowing itself a brief respite. As she ate, she observed the patrons around her: travelers sharing tales of the road, townsfolk exchanging news, and the occasional cloaked figure slipping in and out, eager to go unnoticed.

Tomorrow, she would restock her supplies—fresh food, sturdy leather straps, and other provisions for the journey south. She would need to prepare both physically and mentally for Umbar, a place where kindness was a liability and survival was hard-won. Though she had no fond memories of it, she understood that Umbar held the answers she sought, secrets buried in its alleys and whispered in its shadowed corners.

Xena awoke to the soft embrace of a comfortable bed, a rare luxury in her life of constant movement and rugged trails. She stretched out beneath the warm blankets, savoring the feel of the mattress beneath her, and allowed herself a moment of pure contentment. Her journey back to Umbar would offer few such comforts, so she took full advantage of the peaceful morning in Bree. Rising, she made her way to the small bath prepared in her room, the water still warm. She sank into it gratefully, letting the warmth soothe her muscles, the scent of herbs calming her senses as the grime of travel washed away.

As she soaked, her thoughts drifted, lingering perhaps longer than they should on Legolas. She'd done her best to bury the memories of his quiet glances, the shared silences that spoke louder than words, and the camaraderie forged in battle. Yet here, with the quiet peace of Bree around her, he was as close in her thoughts as if he were right beside her. With a sigh, she reminded herself to keep her focus. Her mission was paramount, and distractions, however comforting, could not be afforded.

Dressed and refreshed, she made her way downstairs for a simple breakfast by the fire. The inn bustled with morning activity, patrons murmuring over mugs of tea and plates of hearty fare. She ate quietly, taking in the warmth of the room, the quiet hum of conversations—ordinary lives untouched, as of yet, by the shadows gathering in the world. After finishing her meal, she paid the innkeeper, thanked him with a nod, and left to retrieve Chubby from the stable.

Outside, a soft mist lingered over Bree, the early morning light filtering through in pale rays. She approached the stable where Chubby was well-fed and rested, nuzzling her hand as she prepared him for the journey ahead. The stable hand nodded in respect, admiring her gear and her well-kept steed, but Xena wasted no time in idle conversation. She mounted swiftly, feeling the familiar weight of her gear and the reassuring strength of Chubby beneath her.

She had noted that the elves who had been tracking her remained unseen in Bree. Of course, they would. They preferred the sanctuary of nature, resting under the stars rather than risking attention in towns like this. She had no doubt that once she left Bree, they would resume their watchful pursuit. But here, within the town's borders, she was left alone, free to move at her own pace without feeling the press of their silent presence.

With Bree fading behind her, Xena turned southward onto the Greenway, a long, once-famed road that stretched far through the lands of Eriador. It was quiet now, worn from years of disuse, its stones overgrown in places with moss and grass. As she rode, the early morning mist began to lift, revealing fields and meadows that stretched wide and open beneath the rising sun. The Greenway was not without its risks; it had grown more dangerous as shadows encroached and creatures of darker intent roamed more freely. Yet there was something peaceful about the open road, a simplicity in the solitary rhythm of Chubby's hooves striking the old stones.

Xena kept her gaze sharp, alert for any sign of danger, yet for the moment, all seemed calm. The air was crisp, the scent of damp earth filling her lungs as she breathed deeply, her senses attuned to the subtle shifts in her surroundings. She knew she was far from her destination, the shadowed port city of Umbar. Her heart felt heavy at the thought of returning there, a place that had once shaped her and tested her in ways she would rather forget. Its harsh streets and ruthless denizens awaited, yet she felt a grim determination. This journey, however long and grueling, was necessary.

For now, she focused on the journey itself, each mile bringing her closer to the answers she sought.

As Xena rode further down the Greenway, the landscape grew quieter, the road less crowded with travelers. News of war was spreading, and its shadow lay heavy across the land. Her original plan, formed back in Rivendell, had been to ride south toward Umbar directly, but now, as she crossed into Eriador, doubt crept into her mind. She wasn't alone on this path; three elves followed her—no ordinary elves, but the elite guard of Thranduil himself, trusted warriors who had watched over Prince Legolas. Their presence was a comfort and a reminder, a silent pledge from the prince that she need not face this journey entirely alone.

Leaning forward, Xena rested a hand on Chubby's neck, pondering her route. Bree had provided some rest, but it was clear to her now that the path ahead would only grow more treacherous. Perhaps there was a safer way, a path less obvious but no less determined. She glanced over the landscape, her thoughts shifting. Abandoning her original course southward toward Tharbad, she pulled the reins, redirecting her journey northward, aiming for Sarn Ford. The route would take her through lands she had only heard of in tales—the Shire, with its quiet hills and rumored peace. From there, she could make her way toward Michel Delving, gathering any news of the world's shift toward war and the strange threats creeping from the east.

The path toward Sarn Ford grew rugged and foreboding as she entered Eriador's wilder territories. The skies were overcast, the air thick with a strange tension, and as Xena rode, she became aware of eyes upon her. A rustle in the undergrowth, a quick flash of movement from behind the trees—something dark and malicious lurked in the shadows, stalking her with a predatory patience. She tightened her grip on the reins, her gaze sharp and wary, prepared for whatever lay hidden in the misted woods.

A sudden rush from her left signaled an ambush as a band of orcs charged toward her, crude weapons raised, their guttural voices breaking the stillness. Xena reacted instantly, her chakram flashing out in a deadly arc, cutting through the air with a high-pitched whine before slicing into the nearest attackers. She leapt from Chubby's back, drawing her sword as she moved with deadly precision, each strike fluid and practiced, every movement honed by years of battle. The orcs fell around her, their cries fading into silence as the last of them collapsed.

Breathing heavily, Xena wiped her blade clean, casting a cautious glance around her. The threat had been dealt with, but it served as a grim reminder: the darkness spreading from Mordor was no longer contained to the borders of distant lands. Even the heart of Eriador was now tainted by shadow. She remounted Chubby, urging him onward, pushing past the tension in her shoulders and the unsettled feeling in her heart.

Reaching Sarn Ford, she found it eerily quiet. The ford, once a tranquil crossing, seemed deserted. The river murmured softly as it passed, the waters darkened by clouds overhead. Xena dismounted, scanning the area carefully. Though she found no sign of immediate danger, the ford had an unsettling emptiness, as if those who once kept watch here had long since abandoned their posts. She knelt by the water, trailing her fingers through its cool surface, then remounted and pressed forward, crossing Sarn Ford and heading north toward the Shire.

The Shire was a world apart from anything she had seen—its gentle hills and verdant fields spoke of a peace untouched by war, a simple beauty rarely found elsewhere. As she rode, she noticed hobbit holes nestled into the hillsides, smoke rising from chimneys, and tidy gardens blooming with color. Hobbits, she'd heard, were a quiet folk, preferring songs and feasts to any thought of battle. She admired their spirit, their ability to maintain such harmony even with the world on the edge of chaos.

Her journey took her further into the Shire, winding through hidden paths and grassy trails until she reached Michel Delving. The town was charming, with whitewashed walls and bustling markets, and for a brief moment, Xena felt as though she had stepped into a dream untouched by time. Hobbits moved about, cheerful and busy, tending to their daily chores as though no darkness lay beyond their borders. She dismounted, allowing Chubby to rest as she strolled through the village, her presence drawing curious glances but little more than that.

While wandering Michel Delving, Xena picked up rumors of strange sightings near the borders—shadows moving in the night, strangers lurking just out of sight. She listened carefully, piecing together fragments of conversation. Though the hobbits remained largely untouched, there was a growing unease even here, a faint recognition that something was amiss.

As she prepared to leave the Shire, Xena felt both a sense of relief and a pang of sadness. The peace of these lands was precious, yet so fragile. With a heavy heart, she mounted Chubby once more, heading to MithLond. The Shire faded behind her, a green haven left untouched, but she knew the shadow grew ever nearer, and that her own journey had only just begun.

At first, Elros was perplexed by Xena's sudden change in direction. He knew her ultimate goal was Umbar, so her decision to venture through the Shire and further north made little sense to him. Why would she stray from the most direct route? But as they followed her through Michel Delving and beyond, a new understanding dawned on him. She wasn't aiming for Umbar by land—she was trying to reach it by sea, and she intended to head for Mithlond, the Grey Havens.

The Grey Havens, or Mithlond, were legendary seaports on either side of the Gulf of Lune, near the mouth of the River Lhûn in western Eriador. The port had long served as the final embarkation point for the Elves of Middle-earth, where ships set sail to Valinor, leaving behind the world of men and mortal lands. After the fall of Gil-galad and the fading of the High Kings of Arnor, the Grey Havens had become the home of the largest remaining population of Noldor in Middle-earth outside of Rivendell. Círdan, the ancient Lord of the Havens, ruled over the Elves of Lindon, who remained vigilant and resolute even in these waning years.

Yet Elros found himself skeptical. While Mithlond had ships setting sail, they were bound mostly for Valinor, or used occasionally to bring reinforcements or supplies to key locations within Eriador. He couldn't imagine that any vessel departing from the Grey Havens would willingly turn its course toward Umbar. For the elves of Mithlond, Umbar was no ally but a harbor of cutthroats and danger.

As they rode, Elros shared his thoughts with Thalion and Mírdan, his tone edged with incredulity. "She thinks she'll find a ship to take her from Mithlond to Umbar," he said, shaking his head. "But she'll only discover the impossibility of it and be forced to turn back."

Thalion gave a knowing chuckle. "She may be headstrong, but she's not a fool. She wouldn't choose Mithlond if she didn't think there was a chance, no matter how slim. I'm willing to bet her plan goes beyond what we see."

Mírdan, ever the astute observer, nodded thoughtfully. "You're right, Thalion. It was a calculated choice. If her goal was solely Mithlond, she would have taken a more direct path. But I suspect she's chosen this route precisely because she knows we are following her. She's counting on us to help her get through."

Elros frowned, absorbing Mírdan's words. Slowly, he began to understand. She knew they were shadowing her, had known for some time. And rather than confront them or evade them, she was using their presence to her advantage. They were, after all, Thranduil's men, and as trusted guards with the authority of the Elven King, they might find doors opened to them that Xena alone could not pass.

"She's playing a dangerous game," Elros muttered, though there was a grudging respect in his voice.

Mírdan gave a wry smile. "She's clever enough to know when to rely on others, even if it's by silent persuasion. Xena's no stranger to strategy, and if we are the key to getting her to Mithlond, then she's already a step ahead."

Thalion exchanged a glance with Elros, a faint look of amusement softening his usually stoic face. "It seems our journey has grown more interesting than we expected. She knows we're here, and she intends to make full use of us."

They rode on in silence, each processing this revelation. Xena's plan, they now realized, had shifted and adapted, and she had quietly woven their presence into her path, counting on their allegiance to Legolas—and, by extension, to her own safety. With newfound resolve, the three elves continued on, knowing their roles in her journey had just taken on unexpected weight.

((Upcoming Chapter Eighty-Three))

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