Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters or settings from Lord of the Rings or Xena the Warrior Princess
Author's Note:
I've always felt the need to connect the timelines in the fan-fictions I write. It helps me place events accurately and know where the Fellowship of the Ring would be at any given moment, ensuring the story unfolds in proper chronological order. Mistakes might happen, but I hope you'll indulge me as I revisit a few familiar scenes before continuing the narrative. Although we've leaped ahead in time, the next chapter will bridge those connections—and it's shaping up to be a long one.
To everyone who comments: thank you so much! For those with accounts, I've responded or will respond soon. To those who don't have accounts, I owe you a response as well, and I deeply appreciate the time you've taken to share your thoughts. Your support means a lot.
To the talented creators who have suggested turning this story into a comic book or art project: thank you for your enthusiasm! Unfortunately, I don't have the resources to pursue that right now, but I'm truly honored by the idea. Writing stories gives us a unique space to imagine, where each reader can create their own mental imagery. While a picture is worth a thousand words, a story invites infinite interpretations, and I hope we can continue to enjoy that freedom in the future.
Finally, thank you all once again. I would have written this story even if no one read it, simply because it's a tale I love, featuring some of my favorite characters. But knowing readers from all over the world are enjoying it brings me an extra layer of joy. :)
To those waiting for the romance: I know it's taking time, but I promise I'm working to make it worth the wait. I hope you'll keep enjoying the journey ahead!
This is a LegoRomance (slow-burn)
ActI
Undoing The Quest
Chapter 92: The Breaking of the Fellowship or not
Edoras, March 5th 3019
The Fellowship of the Ring emerged from the depths of Moria scarred but alive, clutching the fragile hope that they could endure the trials ahead. Moria had been a suffocating labyrinth of darkness and despair, but it wasn't the shadows or the ancient stone that truly tested them—it was the horrors that dwelled within. Orcs swarmed the halls, relentless and innumerable, but they were not the greatest threat. That came in the form of an ancient terror: the Balrog, Durin's Bane.
Its malevolent presence was first understood by Gandalf and Legolas, their sharp senses detecting the unnatural weight in the air long before the fiery glow of its approach. The orcs themselves fled in terror at the Balrog's awakening, their shrieks swallowed by the roaring inferno of its fire. Even the most battle-hardened among the Fellowship realized that this was not a foe to fight, but one to flee.
Gandalf had made the ultimate sacrifice, standing alone on the Bridge of Khazad-dûm to face the beast, buying the others the precious moments needed to escape. His fall into the abyss with Durin's Bane left the Fellowship fractured in spirit. As they pressed on, crossing the Silverlode and arriving at Lothlórien's golden woods, the absence of the wizard loomed large.
The Fellowship felt Gandalf's loss in their own ways, though its weight was understood most deeply by Aragorn and Legolas. Aragorn mourned not only the death of a trusted companion but also the heavy burden of leadership that now rested squarely on his shoulders. With Gandalf gone, the path ahead seemed even more perilous, and the hope he clung to for Frodo's success felt all the more fragile.
Legolas bore his grief silently, the elf's deep connection to the balance of the world making Gandalf's absence an almost physical void. To him, Gandalf was more than a leader—he was a guiding light in a world increasingly consumed by shadow. Without him, it was as though the very fabric of their quest had frayed. For others, the grief manifested as uncertainty and doubt.
Frodo felt the responsibility of the Ring grew heavier, while Sam worried incessantly for his friend. Boromir, ever conflicted by the Ring's presence, grew restless, and Gimli's fiery nature was tempered by the loss of one he had come to respect. Even Merry and Pippin, though young and resilient, carried an uncharacteristic solemnity. The Fellowship was united by their shared sorrow but strained by the weight of their individual fears.
Lothlórien offered respite from the chaos and grief, its golden woods a haven where time seemed to stand still. Within the embrace of its ethereal beauty, the Fellowship found a reprieve from the darkness that had haunted them since Moria. Protected by Galadriel's power, the allure of the One Ring was subdued, its whispers quieted—for a time. Yet even in this sanctuary, the Fellowship wrestled with their inner demons.
For Legolas, Lothlórien was more than a place to rest—it was a balm for his troubled soul. The nightmares that plagued him, remnants of a curse and his own guilt, were dulled in the serenity of the golden woods. For the first time in what felt like an age, his heart was not burdened by the haunting screams of his past. But even in this peace, another longing filled his thoughts—a longing for someone he should have forgotten.
Legolas often found his mind drifting to her. Though their paths had parted, her presence lingered in his thoughts, a stubborn ember he could not extinguish. He told himself it was foolish to dwell on her, yet his heart betrayed him. In moments of stillness, he imagined her voice—sharp, biting, and alive with fire. Once, he even awoke with a start, certain he had heard her curse him in the darkness. 'The damn elf,' the memory of her voice echoed in his mind, and despite himself, he smirked.
He missed her. He told himself he shouldn't, but he did. Deep down, he longed to see her again, even from a distance. Yet he knew such a meeting could only bring pain—for both of them. Legolas believed his burdens were his alone to bear, and he would not draw her into his life of sorrow. But lately, something else gnawed at him.
At times, he swore he could feel her pain as if it were his own, a deep and unrelenting ache that left him restless. He dismissed it at first, blaming his imagination, but the sensation persisted, leaving him unsettled. He could not deny what he feared to admit aloud—somehow, they were connected. It was maddening and comforting all at once.
Lady Galadriel, in her wisdom, had shown him glimpses of what might come. In her mirror, he had seen a vision of the sea, vast and unending. Its call was distant, but it stirred something within him—a longing he did not fully understand. Legolas dismissed it at first. He had sworn long ago, after his mother's death, that he would never sail. He would remain in Middle-earth, enduring its trials as penance for the guilt he carried.
Yet, the vision planted a seed of doubt. Could it be that one day, when the weight of his emotions became too much to bear, the sea would be his escape? It was a thought he tucked away, far from the forefront of his mind. Time moved differently for elves, and centuries might pass before such a choice became inevitable.
For now, he focused on the present—the peace of Lothlórien, the grief of losing Gandalf, and the journey that still lay ahead. He allowed himself a brief respite, knowing it was fleeting, and steeled himself for the trials yet to come. Though his heart remained heavy, Lothlórien gave him a sliver of the solace he so desperately needed.
The time came for the Fellowship of the Ring to leave Lothlórien. Their rest in the golden woods had offered a temporary reprieve from the shadow of their quest, but their journey could not wait. As they prepared to depart, Lady Galadriel, with her unparalleled grace and wisdom, gifted each member of the Fellowship a token to aid them on their path.
To Aragorn and Boromir, Galadriel presented their gifts first. Aragorn bowed deeply, his voice resonating with gratitude. "My Lady, your gift honors me." Before this exchange, they had shared a long conversation about Arwen, for Galadriel, ever perceptive, knew where her granddaughter's heart truly lay. Despite Aragorn's belief that Arwen would sail west and leave him behind, Galadriel understood the depth of Arwen's resolve. She had already made her choice—a mortal life bound to Aragorn.
Boromir, receiving his gift next, offered a polite nod of thanks, though his mind was troubled. The allure of the Ring weighed heavily on him, a shadow growing darker with every passing moment. Now that they were leaving the sanctuary of Lothlórien, the whispers of temptation would return to plague him once more.
Legolas was gifted a bow of the Galadhrim, strung with elven hair, and a quiver of arrows. The craftsmanship was exquisite, and Legolas admired the weapon with reverence. "I shall wield this bow in the defense of our cause and honor of your kindness, Lady Galadriel."
To Gimli, Galadriel offered three strands of her golden hair, a gift so precious it left the dwarf speechless for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. "I asked for one hair, and you have given me three. My Lady, I am unworthy of such generosity."
Frodo received the phial of Galadriel, containing the light of Eärendil's star, which she said would be a light in dark places when all other lights go out. "May it serve you well in your darkest hour," she whispered to him.
Galadriel bestowed gifts upon the remaining three hobbits, each token chosen with care. With the Fellowship now prepared, they gathered to depart. As they left the haven of Lothlórien, Galadriel's voice resonated in their minds—a parting filled with both blessing and caution. Boarding the elegant boats she had provided, they set out down the Anduin. The mighty river bore them steadily onward, carrying them ever closer to their intertwined destinies.
The river was calm as they paddled downstream, but a sense of foreboding lingered in the air. Frodo sat quietly, his hand brushing the Ring hidden beneath his shirt. Sam kept a watchful eye on him, while Aragorn scanned the shores for any sign of danger. Legolas's keen eyes were fixed ahead, ever vigilant, and Gimli's grumbling voice broke the silence occasionally, though even he seemed subdued.
"It's too quiet," muttered Boromir, his voice low and uneasy. "The shadow grows darker, even here."
Legolas nodded solemnly. "The trees whisper warnings, though I cannot yet discern their meaning. Evil stirs on the wind."
Their unease proved justified when Uruk-hai, foul creations of Saruman, ambushed them. The Fellowship scattered to defend themselves, the river separating them as chaos erupted. The Ring's lure grew stronger, and Boromir, though valiant in battle, finally succumbed to its temptation.
He tried to take the Ring from Frodo, but realizing the danger, Frodo fled. In his moment of clarity, Boromir defended Merry and Pippin from the onslaught of Uruk-hai, his horn ringing out in defiance. He fought valiantly, but the Uruk-hai captain, Lurtz, struck him with arrows. Though grievously wounded, Boromir continued to fight until the hobbits were taken.
Aragorn found Boromir slumped against a tree, his body pierced with arrows. He knelt beside the fallen man, his voice choked with sorrow. "They took the little ones. Forgive me; I could not stop them." Boromir's hand trembled as he reached for Aragorn. "I tried to take the Ring… I failed you all."
"You fought bravely," Aragorn assured him, gripping his hand. "You did not fail."
With his final breaths, Boromir's gaze softened. "I would have followed you… my captain… my king." His hand fell, and his eyes closed. Aragorn's tears fell freely as he whispered, "Be at peace, son of Gondor."
The Fellowship was broken. Frodo and Sam had slipped away to continue their journey alone, while Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli mourned Boromir and resolved to rescue Merry and Pippin.
"We owe them our aid," said Aragorn, his voice firm despite the weight of his grief. "Let us hunt these orcs."
Legolas and Gimli exchanged a look, their burgeoning friendship forged in battle and loss. "We are with you, Aragorn," Legolas said.
"Aye," Gimli added. "Let them taste the wrath of a dwarf!"
Their pursuit led them to Rohan, where they encountered Éomer and his company. Initially mistrustful, Éomer accused them of being spies of Saruman. Aragorn stepped forward. "We are not your enemies," Aragorn said, his tone commanding but respectful. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and we seek our friends, taken by Saruman's orcs."
Éomer's suspicion eased, and he offered them aid. "We slew the orcs last night. Your friends may yet live, though I cannot say for certain. Take these horses and ride swiftly."
Their journey brought them to Fangorn Forest, where they made an incredible discovery—Gandalf, returned from death, now Gandalf the White. The sight of him left them awestruck.
Pippin's voice rang out with incredulous joy when they reunited later. "If I hadn't thrown that bucket down the well in Moria, Gandalf, you'd never have faced the Balrog and been… upgraded!"
Gandalf chuckled softly, tapping Pippin lightly on the head. "Your mischief is legendary, Peregrin Took. But even you could not have orchestrated my return."
The Fellowship rode to Edoras, where Gandalf healed Théoden of Saruman's influence. As Théoden took up his sword again, Aragorn and Legolas shared a moment of reflection.
"He is a strong man," Legolas observed. "The shadow of Saruman could not break him entirely."
Aragorn nodded. "Strength is not measured by the absence of fear but by the courage to face it. Théoden has that courage. Now he must lead his people."
With Edoras free from Saruman's grip, the path to Helm's Deep lay ahead, fraught with peril and the promise of war. Gandalf now returned as Gandalf the White, saw the looming threat Saruman posed to Rohan. With Théoden healed and his spirit restored it was clear the people of Edoras were not yet prepared for open war. Saruman's forces would descend upon them swiftly, and Théoden's first priority was to safeguard his people. Thus, the king resolved to lead his people to the stronghold of Helm's Deep, a fortress that had withstood countless sieges.
Théoden hesitated, still grappling with the weight of his decisions. "I am not sending my people to a battle they may not survive," he said gravely. "We will Ride to Helm's Deep."
Gandalf placed a hand on the king's shoulder. "Courage will follow. Sometimes retreat is not weakness, but wisdom." With that, the wizard mounted Shadowfax and rode off into the plains, swift as the wind. But not before alerting Aragorn to look east at dawn on the first light of the fifth day for his return.
The company prepared to leave Edoras. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli remained by Théoden's side as they began the arduous journey with the refugees of Rohan. Women, children, and the elderly made up the majority of the caravan, their faces drawn with fear and exhaustion.
As they journeyed toward Helm's Deep, the company encountered a deadly assault. Saruman had sent Warg-riders to harry the people of Rohan. Their howls echoed across the plains, striking terror into the hearts of the refugees.
"Wargs!" Aragorn called out, his voice sharp with urgency. "Form a defense around the people! Protect the wagons!"
The Fellowship sprang into action. Legolas drew his bow, releasing arrow after arrow with deadly precision, while Gimli stood guard with his axe, cutting down any Warg that came too close. Aragorn moved swiftly, leading the Rohirrim warriors in fending off the attackers.
The battle was fierce, chaos spreading as the refugees screamed and scattered. Legolas's eyes scanned the battlefield, his focus honed on protecting those unable to defend themselves. From the corner of his vision, he saw Aragorn locked in combat with a Warg-rider. The beast lunged at the ranger, its powerful jaws snapping, but Aragorn dodged and struck it down with Andúril.
A moment later, another Warg charged Aragorn. This one knocked him to the ground, its massive weight pushing him dangerously close to the edge of a steep cliff. Aragorn fought valiantly, but the momentum of the beast dragged them both over the edge.
"Aragorn!" Legolas's cry was sharp with panic as he sprinted toward the cliff, but it was too late. All that remained was the echo of the fall and the sight of the river far below.
For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Gimli, bloodied and breathless from the fight, looked up at Legolas. "Is he—?"
Legolas clenched his fists while holding the Evenstar, his expression grim. "I do not believe it is the end. Aragorn is too strong, too stubborn to die so easily." But his voice betrayed a flicker of doubt.
Théoden, shaken but resolute, called out to the remaining fighters. "We must move. We cannot stay here."
Legolas hesitated, his eyes lingering on the cliff's edge. Every instinct screamed for him to dive into the waters below in search of Aragorn, but the safety of the refugees came first. He turned to Gimli. "We will follow Théoden to Helm's Deep. But once they are secure, I will return and search for him."
The dwarf nodded solemnly. "If he's out there, laddie, we'll find him."
The mood was somber as the company pressed onward to Helm's Deep. Legolas rode in silence, his gaze distant. Gimli tried to lift his spirits with words of encouragement. "Aragorn's survived worse, you know," he said, though the worry in his tone was clear.
"Perhaps," Legolas replied softly. "But each moment we delay, the more danger he faces—if he still lives." His voice faltered on the last words, betraying the depth of his worry.
By the time they reached Helm's Deep, night had fallen and the refugees were ushered into the safety of the fortress. Legolas wasted no time. The gates of Helm's Deep groaned shut behind the last of the refugees, their echoes reverberating through the stone walls of the fortress. Darkness had settled fully over the keep, the only light coming from torches flickering in the cold wind. The weight of the journey hung heavy over everyone, but Legolas's mind was elsewhere. His sharp eyes scanned the horizon beyond the gates.
Gimli caught up to him, his axe slung across his back. "Are we truly doing this, elf? Running off into the night when war is at our doorstep?"
Legolas's lips pressed into a thin line, his voice steady but urgent. "I cannot rest while there is a chance Aragorn lives. He would not abandon us—we owe him the same."
"And you'll not be rid of me, I take it?" Gimli asked, arching an eyebrow.
Legolas almost smiled. "Of course not. You're too stubborn to stay behind."
The two companions had just reached the stables when a sharp knock echoed from the gates, carrying through the crisp night air. The guards halted, their weapons drawn, exchanging uncertain glances. Gimli, whose sharp ears caught the sound first, squinted toward the source and grumbled, "What now?" He yelled over his shoulder to Legolas, who was tightening Arod's straps.
"Something stirs at the gate!" Gimli barked as he stomped toward the commotion, his grip tightening on his axe.
Legolas followed a few steps behind, his keen eyes scanning the dark beyond the walls. A tense silence hung in the air until the guards cautiously opened the gate, revealing a battered, familiar figure leaning heavily against the stone frame.
"Aragorn!" Gimli's booming voice broke the quiet. Relief flooded his face, though his sharp gaze flickered warily to the cloaked figure standing a step behind Aragorn, their hood concealing their features.
"You're a fool and the luckiest fool at that," Gimli muttered, gripping Aragorn's arm firmly. "Falling off a cliff and still managing to come back in one piece." His eyes lingered on the silent figure behind Aragorn. "And who's this shadowy companion of yours?"
Aragorn managed a faint smile, though his weariness was plain. "A friend who pulled me from death's grasp." he replied, his tone firm but grateful
Legolas arrived as Gimli stepped aside, his gaze sweeping over Aragorn with an intensity that quickly gave way to visible relief. His shoulders eased as though he'd been carrying the weight of Middle-earth itself.
"You are late," Legolas said, his voice steady, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips. He hid his deeper emotions behind the words, unwilling to fully reveal his gratitude. "And you look terrible."
Despite his exhaustion, Aragorn chuckled faintly. "I'll take that as a compliment, coming from you."
Legolas extended his hand, and in it lay the Evenstar, gleaming softly even in the dim torchlight. "You dropped this," he said, his voice quiet but filled with meaning. "I thought you'd want it back."
Aragorn's expression softened as he took the pendant, his fingers closing around it with reverence. He met Legolas's gaze and gave a faint nod. " Hannon le." (Thank you.)
Legolas's gaze briefly shifted toward the cloaked figure still lingering near the gate. Something about their stance—calm yet coiled, as if ready to spring into action—piqued his curiosity. There was a familiarity there, though he couldn't place it.
"You should not have survived that fall," Legolas said as the three of them began walking toward the keep. His tone was somewhere between relief and admonishment.
"I didn't plan to," Aragorn admitted, his voice low. "But fortune—or something greater—had other plans." He glanced over his shoulder at the cloaked figure still standing in the shadows by the gate. "And I did not return alone."
Gimli turned again, his eyes narrowing. "A friend who saved your life, eh? I'll give them that, but they're a strange one. Staying out there like some wraith."
Aragorn only nodded. "Their reasons are their own. But they are no enemy."
Legolas studied Aragorn for a moment before nodding as well. "Rest will come later. You said you needed to see Théoden?"
Aragorn's face darkened slightly, his weariness giving way to urgency. "Yes. I have seen things on my way back—things he must hear of before it is too late."
With that, the three of them continued into the fortress, leaving the cloaked figure to linger behind, their presence like a riddle yet to be solved.
((Upcoming Chapter Ninety-Three))
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