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)

ActI

Undoing The Quest

Chapter 85: The Strange Stars of Haradwaith

Haradwaith, December 5th - 21th 3018 T.A

The dawn was heavy with mist as Xena led the company out of the City of the Corsairs. She rode at the front on Chubby, her cloak pulled tightly around her to shield her armor and weapons from view. The streets of Umbar were quiet at this hour, the low murmur of waves against the harbor the only sound as they passed shadowed alleys and narrow, winding streets. Behind her rode Malik and Azar, their horses' hooves striking a steady rhythm on the cobblestones. At the rear, Rafiq, Khalid, and Scarface kept pace, their expressions wary, their eyes scanning the city with practiced vigilance. Each of them was an outsider to trust, and the air between them was thick with unspoken caution.

The mist clung to the city as they crossed its borders, the scent of salt fading into the dry, earthy aroma of Haradwaith's desert lands. Xena knew these lands well; she'd ridden through the wild expanses of Harad before, back in a different life. But the Haradwaith she entered now was a changed place. Sauron's influence had seeped into every corner, and she could feel it in the very air—a dark, pulsing presence, like a storm gathering on the horizon. Even the ground seemed different, dry and cracked as if anticipating the coming of something darker.

As the sun rose higher, the mist gave way to the stark winter light of December, casting long shadows over the cracked earth and sparse shrubs that dotted the landscape. The sky was a bleak gray, with clouds swirling in slow, ominous patterns. A chill wind whipped across the open land, unusual for this region, where even winter brought a biting dryness. Xena's cloak billowed behind her, her silhouette dark against the muted landscape. She cast a glance over her shoulder, meeting Malik's eye, then scanning the rest of the group.

This was not like the journeys she'd taken with Legolas or the elves of Rivendell. These men rode with a constant, simmering suspicion, their eyes darting to every shadow, their movements quick and deliberate. Rafiq rode with his hand close to his dagger, while Khalid's sharp gaze missed nothing, constantly flicking between his surroundings and his companions as if measuring their worth. Scarface kept to the back, a scowl on his face, no doubt irritated by his position in the formation but wary enough to stay there without protest. Each man rode with the self-assuredness of one who trusted no one else but himself.

The road out of Umbar soon turned into a rough path through the dusty plains of Haradwaith. As they ventured deeper, they encountered the first signs of Sauron's gathering forces. Not an hour into their ride, they came across a company of Haradrim warriors—a large band, their spears glinting dully under the pale sky, their crimson and black garments stark against the muted earth tones of the landscape. Their faces were hard and expressionless, eyes fixed ahead as they marched along the path. It was unclear where they were headed, but they moved with purpose as if answering a silent summons.

Xena slowed Chubby, watching the company pass without acknowledging her presence. Malik and the others followed her lead, keeping their heads down, their expressions impassive. The Haradrim took no notice of them, but their sheer numbers sent a clear message: these lands were no longer open for travelers. Sauron's reach had extended here, his forces gathering and marching in numbers that made even Xena pause.

Once the Haradrim were out of sight, Azar rode up beside her, his voice low. "We'll see more of them, I expect. Sauron's been pulling the strings hard here in the South."

Xena nodded, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "This isn't the Haradwaith I knew. We'll have to be careful if we're to reach Harnen unnoticed."

Malik let out a grim chuckle from behind. "You say 'unnoticed' like it's an option. These men will be everywhere soon enough, and they're not exactly welcoming of strangers."

Khalid, riding close to Rafiq, cast a wary glance at the path ahead. "We'll need to ride fast and avoid the main roads. The closer we get to the Harnen, the thicker these bands will be, and they won't all be inclined to ignore us."

Xena took his words into account, studying the road as it wound eastward. The journey to the River Harnen would not be as straightforward as before; they would need to veer off into less-traveled paths, keeping their eyes on the horizon and their weapons close. She turned back to the group, her expression firm.

"Then we'll stay off the road as much as possible," she instructed, her voice calm but commanding. "Anyone who hesitates will be left behind. We don't have time for stragglers or second thoughts."

Scarface muttered something under his breath, earning him a sharp look from Azar, who merely nodded at Xena. "We understand. None of us are here to make this difficult, so let's keep our heads low and get moving."

The group fell into a tense silence as they resumed their ride, each man scanning the horizon with a heightened sense of caution. The land seemed to grow harsher with each mile, the sparse vegetation giving way to barren rock and dry riverbeds. The quiet was punctuated only by the sound of hooves on gravel and the occasional clink of weapons and armor shifting. They were moving deeper into enemy territory with each passing hour, and every shadow seemed to watch, every gust of wind whispered with the threat of Sauron's forces lurking nearby.

The further they rode, the more Xena felt the weight of her companions' distrust, not only toward her but toward each other. They were men of coin and chance, not bound by honor or kinship, and each one rode with the knowledge that their loyalty would go only as far as the gold she promised them. But for now, their goal was aligned with hers. And that was enough—for now.

The first night they set up camp in a rocky outcropping, hidden from the main trail and shielded from view by the natural formations around them. The River Harnen was still days away, a daunting distance considering the growing presence of Sauron's forces in the South. No one suggested a fire; the cold would have to be endured, and the flicker of flames would be far too risky. Instead, each of them found their place among the rocks, huddling against the jagged surfaces to block the relentless, chill wind that swept across the forsaken land.

Xena settled down beside Chubby, her cloak wrapped tightly around her to ward off the cold. She'd learned early that Harad's nights were as unforgiving as its days, the temperature plummeting as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. She let her back rest against a large stone, her eyes half-closed, scanning her companions who were scattered across the makeshift camp.

These men were a different kind of company than she was accustomed to. Though she had spent years in the presence of mercenaries, raiders, and men bound only by coin, her recent travels had softened her to something different. With elves, even in moments of distrust or wariness, there was a mutual respect and an unspoken bond of purpose. They shared a sense of light, something that felt like kinship. Here, though, was a stark reminder of her past life—a time when trust was a fool's gamble and every ally was a potential traitor.

She glanced briefly at Malik, who lay stretched out on his side, eyes half-closed but alert. Azar, closest to him, seemed equally watchful, his rough features softened in the shadows. Scarface lay a bit further off, muttering to himself in low tones, as if already cursing the harsh wind. Khalid and Rafiq, the quietest of the lot, leaned against the rocks, one hand always near their weapons. Their eyes roamed the night, taking in every sound, every shift in the darkness around them.

Xena's thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the nights she'd spent in other company—among elves, and most recently, in the presence of Legolas. The contrast was sharp, almost painfully so. Even when she had not known whether to trust him, there had been an understanding between them, a quiet respect that had grown over time. She had come to rely on his watchful calm, his lighthearted resilience, his silent strength. And now, here she was, with men who saw trust as a weakness and honor as a disposable coin.

As she lay there, trying to find sleep, her mind lingered on Legolas. He was still in Rivendell, she reminded herself. The Fellowship wouldn't leave for another few weeks; he was safe, for now. She knew he could take care of himself, but she worried still, her thoughts flickering to the curse that haunted him, the darkness that fed on his spirit and lingered in his dreams. It was a part of him she'd wanted to understand, to heal, and she had hoped that by setting out on this quest, she could find answers—perhaps even a cure.

With a sigh, she tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword, drawing comfort from the cold, steady weight of it in her hand. She knew these nights would only grow harder, that each day would bring her deeper into Khafir al-Rahûn's world, a world where danger was certain, and safety a fleeting illusion. Her gaze turned to the stars, scattered across the night sky like distant memories, faint and unreachable, and she let herself drift into sleep.

As the winds howled their eerie lullabies around the rocks, Xena slept lightly, her senses always on edge, the sword at her side a silent reminder that trust was scarce and danger ever-present.

The next morning, they packed up their belongings in silence, each of them moving with practiced efficiency. Xena tightened Chubby's reins, gave him a quick pat, and adjusted her cloak to hide her armor and gear. Her companions moved in quiet unison, not exchanging more than a few brief nods or gestures. In this company, words were rarely needed; the harshness of their mission bound them together more than any camaraderie ever could.

As soon as they were ready, Xena urged Chubby forward, setting a steady but brisk pace. They rode eastward, aiming to cover as much ground as possible while keeping to the less-traveled paths. Malik and Azar flanked her, their horses' hooves kicking up dust on the dry, cracked earth. Rafiq, Khalid, and Scarface followed behind, their eyes sharp and watchful, scanning the horizon for any sign of movement.

The landscape of Haradwaith sprawled out before them—endless stretches of barren plains, interrupted only by sparse patches of hardy shrubs and jagged rock formations. The ground was dusty and parched, cracked from the relentless heat that plagued the land even in winter. The sun bore down with a fierceness that felt unnatural for December, its rays casting sharp shadows that stretched across the rocky terrain. Even in this cooler season, the air was dry and biting, carrying with it the faint scent of salt from the far-off sea.

By midday, the wind picked up, blowing in gusts that sent small whirlwinds of dust spiraling across their path. The sky was a pale, washed-out blue, a flat color that seemed to amplify the harshness of the land. Xena pulled her hood lower to shield her face, her eyes narrowing against the sting of the wind. They avoided the main roads, weaving their way through narrow paths and rocky outcroppings, always mindful of staying out of sight. Every so often, they would spot movement in the distance—small bands of Haradrim warriors, marching in formations that suggested a readiness for war.

Whenever they saw these groups, Xena would slow their pace, guiding the group into the shadows of the rocks or the sparse, twisted trees that dotted the landscape. They would wait, silent and still, until the warriors had passed. Each encounter was a reminder of the growing presence of Sauron's forces, and each time, Xena felt a chill—not from fear, but from the weight of what lay ahead. The Haradrim were not yet mobilized into a full-scale invasion, but their movements were precise, as if they were preparing for something significant. She could feel it in the air—a tension that vibrated through the land itself.

Malik leaned close to her at one point, his voice low. "The numbers have grown since you left, haven't they?" he murmured, glancing at a group of Haradrim disappearing over the crest of a hill.

Xena nodded, her expression grim. "More than I expected. Sauron's influence is stronger here now than it ever was. We'll need to stay alert."

He gave a short, humorless chuckle. "Staying alert is second nature out here, but I don't need to tell you that."

They pushed on, keeping their pace fast and their movements deliberate. By nightfall, they found another secluded spot to set up camp, a small cluster of rocks that offered some protection from the wind. They huddled in the shadows, each of them eating a meager meal in silence. No one started a fire; they knew better than to risk drawing attention.

The next day was much the same. They rose with the dawn, packed up swiftly, and resumed their ride. The land grew even more desolate, the sparse vegetation giving way to stretches of barren rock and sand. The journey was grueling, the unchanging landscape a harsh reminder of the unforgiving nature of Haradwaith. Even the horses seemed to sense the bleakness, their ears flicking back as they trudged forward, their steps slower, more labored.

Around midday, they spotted a large encampment in the distance—a cluster of tents surrounded by banners bearing the mark of Sauron's eye. Xena guided the group to a halt, raising a hand to signal silence. They watched as soldiers moved about the camp, their armor catching the sun in sharp glints. The sight was unnerving; even from a distance, the discipline and sheer number of the forces made it clear that Sauron was gathering power in Harad.

Azar let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "That's more than just a war party. He's got an army out here."

Xena's eyes narrowed. "It's a piece of something larger. He's not just gathering; he's building."

Rafiq muttered under his breath, shifting uneasily. "Let's just get to the river without any trouble."

She nodded, and with a quick gesture, they moved on, skirting the edges of the encampment until it was safely behind them. As the sun dipped lower, the terrain began to change slightly, with small clusters of reeds appearing sporadically—a sign that they were nearing the Harnen. The wind had grown stronger as they traveled east, picking up a fine layer of grit that clung to their clothes and stung their skin.

By the second nightfall, they could hear the faint rush of water in the distance, a low, steady sound that mingled with the wind. The River Harnen was close, and with it, the next stage of their journey. As they prepared to camp again, the air was thick with unspoken tension. They were heading deeper into hostile territory, where even the smallest mistake could mean death.

Xena settled into her place near Chubby, her mind focused on what lay ahead. The men were close, each keeping to himself, their expressions wary and their weapons within reach. These were not comrades in arms but rather allies of convenience, bound by coin and self-preservation.

As she closed her eyes, her thoughts drifted once more to Rivendell, to the companions she'd left behind, and to the path she now walked. She steeled herself for what lay ahead, knowing that this journey would only grow more perilous with each passing day.

On the fourth day, they finally reached the River Harnen. The sight of the wide, winding waters cutting through the barren landscape was a welcome one, and Xena let out a quiet breath of relief as they approached. The river offered a chance to clean off the dust that clung to their skin, and perhaps, for the first time since leaving Umbar, a night of relative peace.

They chose a campsite close to the water's edge, where the soft murmur of the river mingled with the rustling reeds. The group fell into their routines, Malik and Azar setting down their packs while Rafiq and Khalid scouted the area for any signs of trouble. Scarface, already stripping off his gloves, grabbed his fishing line from his pack and headed toward the river with a grin.

"Been a long time since I had fish," he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. "Better than that hard bread we've been chewing on."

Xena joined him at the river, her hands dipping into the cool water, letting it wash away the grit and dust. She savored the feeling, glancing around at her companions as they gathered by the river. There was an odd sense of camaraderie forming here, not one she would have anticipated, and it reminded her of her old life—back when her allies were rough around the edges and didn't fuss about decorum or silence. These men were not elves, nor warriors bound by honor; they were survivors, and that made them familiar in a way she hadn't realized she'd missed.

The fire they built that evening was a small one, but it crackled warmly as they gathered around it. Scarface returned with a good catch of fish, the silver scales glinting in the firelight as he cleaned them with expert hands, tossing the scraps to the side. Azar and Malik took turns spearing the fish and holding them over the flames, the smell of cooking meat mingling with the earthy scent of the river.

As they ate, the men's voices grew louder, the quiet tension of the last few days easing as they laughed and traded stories. Rafiq recounted a tale of a tavern brawl in Harad's southern towns, each detail more exaggerated than the last, and even Khalid, usually reserved, joined in with a few well-timed jabs. Malik leaned back, laughing freely, his face lit with amusement in a way Xena hadn't seen since their journey began.

"Only in Harad would a brawl end with half the tavern setting out to raid the other half's village," Khalid chuckled, shaking his head.

Azar smirked, adding, "And yet somehow, they'd all be friends again by morning, toasting each other as if nothing happened."

Xena found herself laughing along with them, the sound blending into the night air. It was a kind of freedom she hadn't felt in some time—a chance to forget, if only for a moment, the shadows lurking on their path. Her companions were crass and unrefined, their humor dark, their voices loud and without the reverent tone she'd come to expect from her time among elves. But it was a comfort, a return to something she understood deeply. Here, there were no illusions, no pretense of honor or high ideals. It was survival, stripped bare and honest.

As the fire burned low, Xena leaned back, her gaze drifting to the stars, their light scattered like fragments across the dark sky. She let herself relax, savoring the warmth of the fire, the low hum of laughter, the taste of the freshly caught fish. For tonight, at least, she felt at ease.

But the peace did not last long.

The next morning, they set out again, heading toward the Harad Road. Khafir's camp was still days away, and the journey quickly turned from simple to treacherous. The sandstorms came without warning, fierce winds whipping across the desert plains, carrying with them a thick veil of sand that cut visibility down to mere feet. On more than one occasion, they were forced to huddle together, covering their faces and pressing against rocky outcrops to shield themselves from the biting winds.

The storms slowed their progress, forcing them to take shelter more often than they'd planned. Days bled into one another as they navigated the endless stretches of desert, the barren landscape broken only by the occasional twisted shrub or jagged rock. The sand was relentless, seeping into every crevice of their clothing and leaving them parched, despite their attempts to conserve water.

On the seventh day, they encountered a party of Haradrim warriors—no larger than their own, but heavily armed and suspicious of strangers. Xena and her companions halted as the warriors approached, their eyes narrow and hostile. Malik raised a hand in greeting, his voice casual as he addressed their leader.

"We're passing through to join Khafir's forces," he said, his tone neutral. "No quarrel with anyone here."

The leader, a man with a sun-weathered face and a hawk-like gaze, scrutinized them for a long moment before nodding curtly. "Best keep moving, then," he replied, his voice rough. "This land is Sauron's now, and strangers aren't welcome."

They nodded in agreement, and as they rode past, Xena felt the weight of the warriors' stares lingering on them long after they'd left the party behind. The encounter left a chill in the air, a reminder that they were surrounded by enemies who would not hesitate to kill if they saw reason.

By the tenth day, the sandstorms finally began to ease, though the winds remained fierce, kicking up small clouds of dust around their path. The Harad Road was finally within reach, a strip of hardened earth that cut through the desert like a scar. But their journey had taken its toll; each of them was weary, their faces shadowed with exhaustion and strain.

Late that evening, they made camp once more, settling into a hollow sheltered by a curve of rocks. They ate sparingly, conserving their supplies, each of them aware that they would need every ounce of strength for the days ahead. As night settled over the desert, Xena sat with her sword by her side, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon. Khafir's camp lay just beyond, the final destination in a journey that had tested each of them.

Around her, her companions spoke in low voices, their laughter quieter now, edged with tension. The sands of Harad had begun to reveal the true nature of the journey—one of endurance and survival, where trust was scarce and every step carried a risk. As Xena lay back to rest, her thoughts returned to the task at hand, the weight of what awaited them looming like a shadow over the desert. The days ahead would demand everything they had, and she knew, in the depths of her being, that this journey was only beginning.

The night had fallen by the time they neared the convergence of the River Harnen and the Harad Road. The landscape had transformed, sprawling into a vast field of camps, their fires dotting the darkening plains like stars fallen to earth. Xena took in the sight, the sheer size of Khafir al-Rahûn's forces stretching farther than she'd anticipated. The flickering firelight revealed row upon row of tents, armored figures moving through the shadows, their silhouettes barely visible but unmistakable. This was not merely a gathering of mercenaries or bandits; it was a formidable army, disciplined and massive, far beyond anything she had imagined.

But before they ventured into Khafir's camp, she spotted an old village at the river's edge, a place mostly in ruins, with a handful of structures that still stood. Among them was an inn, its crumbling walls softened by age but sturdy enough to offer shelter. A few stables sat adjacent, sheltered by the remnants of a weathered fence. She realized this place might serve her purposes well—it offered shelter for her horse and, more importantly, a place to stash her gear. She could hardly walk into Khafir's camp bearing elven weapons and gear, which would only raise suspicion. No, she'd need to appear as one of his own.

With a nod to her companions, Xena led Chubby toward the stables, then approached the inn. Its wooden sign swung loosely, creaking in the evening breeze. The building's walls were made of sun-bleached stone, with narrow windows that barely let in the dim light from the fires outside. Inside, the inn was sparse, the furniture aged and worn. A thin layer of dust clung to the corners, and the low ceiling beams gave the room an almost claustrophobic feeling. A single, wavering candle sat on the bar, casting a warm but feeble glow across the room.

As she stepped inside, the innkeeper looked up from behind the bar. He was an elderly man, his face weathered by both age and the relentless desert winds. His eyes, however, sparkled with a surprising liveliness, as if pleased to have guests after a long spell of solitude.

"Welcome, welcome," he said, his voice raspy but warm. He hobbled out from behind the bar, extending a hand to Xena and her companions. "It's been some time since I had travelers here. Not much left in this old village, but you're welcome to stay. I've got rooms upstairs, nothing fancy, mind you, but warm enough."

Xena returned his greeting with a nod. "We're not here to stay the night," she replied, her gaze flicking to the dusty tables and chairs. "But we could use stables for the horses and a place to leave some belongings."

The old man nodded, gesturing toward the back of the inn. "The stables are yours. It's quiet here—no one's likely to bother you or your horses. And I've a stew on the fire, if you're hungry."

After securing their horses, Xena joined her companions at one of the tables, where the innkeeper brought out a simple but hearty meal—stew with chunks of vegetables and tender chicken, served alongside a loaf of bread. As they ate, he regaled them with stories of his past, his voice softening with a distant sadness as he spoke of a village he once called home.

"It was in Far Harad," he began, his gaze drifting as if he could see the past in the flickering firelight. "Azrath, it was called. A small village, tucked away from most, but with a community stronger than any fortress. We lived under the protection of those who knew the old ways. But things changed when Sauron's shadow grew. Without the old guardians, the village fell—its people scattered, some fleeing north, others joining the larger settlements in hopes of surviving."

Xena paused, her spoon halfway to her mouth. Azrath—the name struck a chord deep within her. It was the village she'd once called home herself, the place she'd come to when she first arrived in Middle-earth. She glanced at the man, wondering if he could truly be from the same place.

"What happened to Azrath?" she asked, her voice quieter now, laced with a hint of something she rarely allowed—hope.

The innkeeper sighed, his gaze turning toward the darkened window. "Azrath is no more. The last I heard, those who remained were overrun or forced into hiding. But I remember those who defended it," he added, his gaze returning to her, an odd look in his eyes. "There was a figure once… a woman. I was just a child then, but she wore a pendant of Azrath, a mark of her status among us. They spoke of her strength, her courage. She was like a shadow, fierce and unyielding."

Xena's hand went to the pendant she wore around her neck, feeling the familiar shape beneath her fingers. "It sounds like a memory worth holding on to," she replied carefully, a small smile tugging at her lips.

The innkeeper's eyes widened slightly, recognition dawning as he looked more closely at her. "I… I knew I had seen that pendant before," he murmured. "It was hers… yours." His voice softened, almost reverent. "I didn't think I'd ever meet you again, after all these years. You left Azrath when I was barely old enough to understand."

A connection sparked between them—a bridge spanning years and memories. Xena felt a sense of kinship, a bond tied to the past they shared. For the first time since arriving in Umbar, she felt that perhaps she had found someone who could be trusted.

"If you're from Azrath," Xena said, choosing her words with care, "then maybe you'd understand why I need your help. I can't go into Khafir's camp carrying all this gear—it would give away too much. I need somewhere safe to leave it. And… I need someone I can trust to look after my horse."

The old man nodded solemnly, understanding immediately. "You have my word. I'll look after your horse and your things as if they were my own. I'm no warrior, but I can still guard what's worth guarding."

Xena gave him a nod of gratitude. "Then we'll leave Chubby and my gear here, and when I come back, I'll make sure you're compensated."

The innkeeper waved his hand dismissively. "You've already paid, and more than that. My debt to the people of Azrath has never been repaid. Consider this my way of honoring that."

With arrangements made, Xena felt a rare sense of ease as she gathered her companions to prepare for the final leg of their journey. Tomorrow, they would head into Khafir's camp, and she would step into her role—another game of shadows and deceptions. But tonight, in this small inn on the edge of the river, she had found a connection to her past, a reminder of who she was before this path ever began.

As she left the inn to rest, she cast a final glance at the old man, his quiet resilience a comfort. It was a reminder that, even in the darkest corners of Middle-earth, there remained a flicker of loyalty, a bond that ran deeper than coin or allegiance. And with that thought, she closed her eyes, readying herself for what lay ahead.

((Upcoming Chapter Eighty - Six))

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