Outskirt of Rhovanion - Mirkwood, 2941 TA, July 4
Three days into their journey, the oppressive quietude of Mirkwood was suddenly shattered. Legolas, who had been leading with his usual silent vigilance, stiffened. His keen elven senses had picked up something – a disturbance that was out of place in the stillness of the forest. Xena, attuned to his reactions, readied herself, her hand instinctively moving to her chakram.
They had barely taken a few steps when a guttural snarl ripped through the air, shattering the silence. From the dense underbrush, a group of orcs emerged, their crude armor clanking discordantly as they moved with a clumsy yet menacing gait. Their snarls and growls filled the air, a stark contrast to the eerie silence that had preceded their arrival.
Legolas nocked an arrow to his bow with fluid grace, his movements a dance of deadly precision. Xena, gripping her chakram tightly, stood back-to-back with the elf, her eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of additional threats.
The orcs, driven by their lust for blood and battle, charged. Legolas released his first arrow, finding its mark in the lead orc's eye. It fell, but the others surged forward undeterred. Xena unleashed her chakram, which whirled through the air, slicing through the thick air of Mirkwood and striking an orc in the throat before returning to her hand.
The battle erupted into chaos. Legolas moved with an elven swiftness, dispatching orcs with a lethal accuracy that was both beautiful and terrifying. Xena fought with the ferocity and skill that had earned her the title of Warrior Princess. Her chakram flew with deadly precision, while her sword skills kept the orcs at bay.
Despite their prowess, the orcs managed to land a few blows. Xena grunted as a clumsy yet powerful strike from an orc's blade grazed her arm, drawing blood. Legolas, too, sustained a minor injury, a shallow cut across his forearm, but it did nothing to slow his deadly dance of arrows.
The skirmish was over as swiftly as it had begun. The orcs lay defeated, their lifeless bodies a testament to the skill of their opponents. Breathing heavily, Legolas and Xena surveyed the aftermath, ensuring no further threats lurked in the shadows.
With a nod of understanding, they tended to each other's wounds, their actions efficient and practiced. Legolas's touch was gentle as he applied a healing salve to Xena's cut, his eyes betraying a hint of concern. Xena, in turn, bandaged Legolas's arm with a grim determination, her respect for the elf's prowess deepening.
As they continued their journey, the encounter with the orcs served as a grim reminder of the dangers that lay within Mirkwood. The forest was not just a place of shadows and whispers; it was a realm where the threat of violence was ever-present. But for Legolas and Xena, it was another obstacle overcome, another step closer to the heart of the forest and the answers that awaited them.
The dense canopy of Mirkwood seemed to swallow them whole, its oppressive gloom thickening with each step they took deeper into the forest. Xena's voice cut through the heavy air, her tone laced with a hint of unease. "Legolas," she called out. The elf paused, his posture tense, as he turned slightly to acknowledge her. "I think we're running in circles, are we lost?"
Legolas' sharp gaze scanned their immediate surroundings, a growing sense of disquiet mirrored in his eyes. Indeed, the gnarled trees, their bark festering with dark rot, had become a familiar sight, a grim echo of their path repeated.
Without a word, he steered Arodil, his steed, towards a cluster of trees that seemed less touched by decay. Xena followed suit, guiding Swiftwind to a relatively safer spot under the twisted boughs. The forest around them was a maze of shadows, the light struggling to pierce through the thick foliage above.
Legolas dismounted with an elven grace, delving into his saddlebags to retrieve something. Xena watched, her gaze flickering around the dark forest, the sense of being watched never quite leaving her.
"Are you skilled in the art of ascending trees?" Legolas' question snapped her attention back to him. His face was serious, devoid of any jest.
"I can climb a tree," Xena replied, slightly puzzled. "But how will that help us?"
Legolas didn't answer. Instead, he approached the tallest tree nearby, a massive sentinel that stretched high above the rest. With an effortless leap, he began to ascend, moving with such fluidity and ease it was as if the laws of gravity had loosened their grip on him.
Xena didn't hesitate. She took a running start, her movements a blend of power and grace. In a swift motion, she executed a flip, propelling herself upwards and bypassing several feet of climbing in a single bound. Her landing on a branch was silent, a testament to her own warrior's skill.
Legolas shot her a brief glance, a silent acknowledgment of her prowess, but his expression quickly shifted to one of caution, signaling her to maintain silence.
Together, they climbed higher, the oppressive darkness of the forest floor giving way to a lighter canopy above. Breaking through the final layer of leaves, they were greeted by a rush of fresh air, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere below.
The view from the treetop was both breathtaking and revealing. The forest spread out in all directions, a sea of green and shadow, but from this vantage point, they could discern a clearer path forward. The fresh air seemed to cleanse their lungs, infusing a sense of clarity and purpose.
Legolas and Xena perched on a sturdy branch, their eyes scanning the horizon. They sat in silence, each lost in thought, but the shared experience of reaching the treetop forged a subtle bond between them. For a moment, the weight of their journey seemed lighter, the path ahead less daunting.
As they prepared to descend, the reality of their situation set back in. But for that brief moment atop the world of Mirkwood, they had found a rare instance of peace in a land that promised none.
As they both breathed in the untainted air atop the forest canopy, a rare moment of tranquility enveloped them. Legolas, usually reserved and distant, turned towards Xena with a purposeful look. Their interactions, sparse and necessary, had not prepared her for the elf's sudden directive.
"Remove your vest," Legolas commanded crisply, his gaze fixed on her with an intensity that bordered on impatience. "And turn around."
Xena, taken aback by the abrupt request, shot back with a mix of incredulity and annoyance. "What has gotten into you? You want me to undress up here, in a tree?"
Legolas, unfazed by her reaction, maintained his stoic demeanor. "I need to inspect your wound, you foolish human," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of irritation that was uncharacteristic of him.
Realizing the practicality behind his request, Xena acquiesced, albeit grudgingly. She turned her back to him and began to remove her vest. "We could have done this on solid ground, you know," she muttered under her breath.
Legolas, focusing on his task, replied curtly, "There are reasons for my actions." Carefully, he untied the bandage, revealing the healing wound. His fingers worked deftly, applying athelas with a gentle touch that contrasted sharply with his usual distant manner. The difference in his touch, so distinct from a human's, did not escape Xena's notice.
Her thoughts were interrupted as Legolas surprisingly engaged in conversation. "Up here, we're unseen, and the air is cleaner. Isn't that reason enough?" he said, his tone softer as he finished tending to her wound and helped her adjust her shirt back in place.
Once dressed, Xena received a small jar of athelas from Legolas. "Apply this nightly until the wound heals," he instructed, handing her the jar.
With a nod of gratitude, Xena accepted the jar, a silent acknowledgment of the elf's care. They lingered for a while longer, soaking in the rarefied atmosphere high above the forest floor. But the serenity was fleeting, and soon they descended back into the shadows of Mirkwood, resuming their journey in a shared silence that was becoming all too familiar.
As they continued their journey through the dense woods of Mirkwood, the atmosphere grew increasingly ominous. The forest, already shrouded in an almost tangible darkness, seemed to thicken around them, as if reacting to their presence. The path they followed became more treacherous, with twisted roots and unseen pitfalls lurking beneath the leaf-laden ground.
Their progress was slow, and the silence between Legolas and Xena was occasionally broken by distant, unsettling sounds – the rustling of leaves, the snapping of twigs, and the eerie calls of unknown creatures. Both remained on high alert, their senses attuned to any sign of danger.
As evening approached, they found a relatively clear area to set up camp. The tension that had been building throughout the day did not dissipate with the setting sun. Instead, it seemed to intensify, as if the forest itself was closing in on them.
That night, their campfire flickered uneasily, casting long, dancing shadows among the trees. As they sat in silence, Legolas suddenly stiffened, his keen elven senses detecting something amiss. Before Xena could inquire, a low growl echoed through the woods, sending a chill down her spine.
Without a word, Legolas stood up, his hand reaching for his bow, his eyes scanning the darkness. Xena, equally alert, gripped her chakram tightly, ready for whatever threat lurked in the shadows.
Suddenly, a pack of wargs, fierce and snarling, emerged from the underbrush, their eyes glowing menacingly in the firelight. The pair sprang into action, Legolas with his swift and precise arrows, Xena with her chakram slicing through the air with deadly accuracy.
The battle was intense and dangerous, as they fought back-to-back against the overwhelming odds. Despite their valiant efforts, both sustained minor injuries during the skirmish. As the last of the wargs fled into the night, Legolas and Xena took a moment to catch their breath, realizing the depth of the peril they faced in this dark part of Mirkwood.
That night, as they tended to each other's wounds, and then settled down to rest, the forest seemed to watch over them with a quiet, ominous presence, a reminder of the challenges yet to come.
As the first light of dawn broke through the forest canopy, Xena found herself waking to a new day. The fire from the previous night had been extinguished, and their campsite was tidied, ready for departure. Legolas, his figure silhouetted against the morning light, was quietly preparing his horse, a rare weariness evident in his posture. Xena, recalling a night shadowed by his troubled dreams, realized it might not be the first time she had seen the elf so burdened.
Noticing her approach, Legolas quickly masked his fatigue with a familiar coolness, though his movements betrayed a lingering heaviness. Xena, busying herself with Swiftwind, cast a concerned glance toward him. "Legolas, are you unwell?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry. The elf, however, seemed determined to ignore her inquiry.
Their journey had bound them as unlikely companions, a bond that Legolas now seemed keen to dismiss. "I am quite well, mortal," he retorted sharply, his irritation inexplicable even to himself. Perhaps the encroaching darkness of their quest was taking its toll. "Unlike you, I do not recklessly seek battles beyond my winning."
Xena, taken aback by his sudden outburst, arched an eyebrow. Until now, Legolas had remained largely indifferent to her confrontations, showing curiosity but never judgment. His words now, pointed and accusatory, struck a chord. "And what makes you think I couldn't win that fight?" she retorted, her voice sharp. "You weren't there, Legolas. Do not presume to know the outcome of battles you haven't witnessed."
Legolas's response came with a steely conviction, his gaze unwavering. "This much I know," he said firmly, "challenging the Elvenking would have led to but one end - your defeat."
Xena watched Legolas with a mix of confusion and curiosity. His insight into her recent skirmish left her puzzled. "I never mentioned who I battled with," she remarked, a hint of defiance in her voice. "And even if it was the Elvenking, Thranduil himself, I'm not so easily bested."
A sudden shift overtook Legolas's demeanor, his usually stoic expression giving way to laughter, a rare and unexpected sound. "Your spirit is commendable, Xena, but sometimes your imagination knows no bounds. To defeat Thranduil? Unlikely. Even I, with all my years, would hesitate. He is centuries old, seasoned in countless battles. You were fortunate he did not pursue you further."
Xena felt a sting to her pride. Deep down, she knew he was right. The encounter with Thranduil had been a stark lesson in humility, one she was not eager to acknowledge openly. Yet, there was an unspoken understanding between them, a warrior's recognition of another's might and limitations.
Breaking the brief silence, Legolas shared the source of his knowledge. "Tauriel briefed me," he said, his attention now on his horse. "She encountered some of Thranduil's guards searching for you. When she inquired, they revealed the nature of your clash."
Xena's gaze lingered on him, expecting more questions or insights, especially about the sword she carried, which had often drawn Legolas's gaze. Yet, he offered no further comment, simply mounted his horse and began to ride ahead.
Mounting Swiftwind, Xena followed, her thoughts wandering. She had noticed Legolas's interest in her blade on numerous occasions, yet he had never broached the subject. Deciding to bridge the gap, she attempted to engage him in conversation, probing gently. There were mysteries about this elf that intrigued her, and perhaps in unraveling them, she could understand her enigmatic companion a little better.
As they journeyed through the verdant forest, Xena rode closely behind Legolas, her curiosity piqued by his recent revelation. "And Thranduil's guards would so readily share such news?" she questioned, half expecting the usual silence that accompanied their travels.
"Nay," Legolas replied, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia. "Tauriel and I were once members of the guard. We are known to them, trusted. It's no surprise they shared such information with her."
Xena, sensing an opening in the elf's usually guarded demeanor, pressed on. "You were part of the guard? And now?"
Legolas gave a small nod, a rare gesture of openness. "Tauriel defied Thranduil's orders, following the dwarves out of love for one," he recounted, a note of disapproval in his tone. "A foolish decision, to forsake duty for personal sentiment."
Xena, intrigued by this glimpse into Legolas's past, ventured further. "And you, Legolas? What led you to leave?"
For a moment, the elf seemed to weigh his words, then he spoke with an uncharacteristic frankness. "I followed her, and after the battle of the five armies, returning to Mirkwood was not a path I could tread. I chose a different way."
His admission, rare and revealing, marked a departure from his usual reticence. For the first time, Legolas shared a piece of his story, a gesture that, to Xena, felt like a bridge being built across the chasm of their mutual enigma.
As they continued their journey through the whispering woods, Xena's words seemed to draw a rare reaction from Legolas. "That dwarf must have been quite the sight," she remarked, a playful edge to her voice.
Legolas glanced back at her, a smirk briefly lighting his usually stoic features. Xena, who had seldom seen him display such levity, couldn't help but think how the expression softened his usually proud and distant demeanor.
"He was indeed taller than most dwarves, but no less ugly for it," Legolas retorted, a hint of humor in his voice.
Xena, catching his fleeting glance, added teasingly, "I suspect it might have bruised your pride, seeing Tauriel follow him so devotedly."
There was a pause, a moment where Legolas seemed to reflect upon her words. Then, surprisingly, he conceded, "Perhaps, at that time, it did trouble me." And with that brief admission, he retreated back into his customary silence. Their conversation, brief as it was, seemed to weave a subtle bond between them, bridging the gap of their different worlds and pasts.
As Xena and Legolas ventured further into the dense, ancient forest, the atmosphere grew increasingly ominous. The darkness seemed to thicken with each passing day, an oppressive blanket that muted the vibrant life of the woods. The forest, a labyrinth of ancient trees and shadowed paths, held dangers at every turn. They encountered creatures of darkness: spiders with venomous fangs lurking in their webs, orcs and goblins sneaking through the underbrush, each encounter a reminder of the perils that infested these lands.
The deeper they delved, the more frequent these confrontations became. It seemed as though every shadow held a potential threat, every rustle in the leaves a harbinger of danger. Yet, amidst these challenges, there were moments of respite. Legolas, with the wisdom of his elven heritage, guided Xena in the ways of the forest. He taught her how to discern which roots and plants were safe to consume, delicacies hidden beneath the forest floor, untouched by the corrupting influence of darkness. They discovered water, pure and refreshing, in the deepest roots of the ancient trees, a hidden bounty in a land that seemed increasingly barren.
Their routine fell into a rhythm dictated by the need for survival and the urgency of their quest. They alternated between rest and vigilance, seeking refuge in the heights of the trees where the air was clearer, away from the dangers lurking on the ground. Their meals were often frugal, foraged from the forest's bounty or what they had brought with them, consumed in the brief pauses in their journey.
As days turned to weeks, time seemed to warp within the forest's embrace. Some days were stiflingly hot, the air thick and unyielding, while others brought a chill that seeped into their bones, an unnatural cold that defied the season. It was as if the forest itself was removed from the normal flow of time, its environment an ever-shifting tapestry that challenged both mind and body.
Throughout this journey, Xena and Legolas had grown accustomed to each other's presence. Fifteen days, perhaps more, had passed since they became travel companions. In this time, they had seen the many faces of the forest, felt its changing moods, and faced its dangers together.
As Xena and Legolas ventured deeper into the heart of Mirkwood, they encountered an area that felt like a chasm of despair, a void stretching endlessly before them. The trees, once a symbol of life and resilience, now seemed like silent sentinels to an abyss. The void was so consuming, so absolute, that it rendered them oblivious to their familiar surroundings.
Legolas, with an instinct honed by centuries of vigilance, dismounted swiftly. His bow, a constant companion, was drawn and ready as he moved forward, his horse Aradil trailing closely behind. There was a tension in his every step, a readiness for the unseen and the unknown.
Xena mirrored his actions, leaping from Swiftwind with a fluid grace born of years in battle. She walked alongside Legolas, her senses acutely aware of the engulfing blackness. They found themselves on a vast, desolate plain, a place devoid of life, light, and hope. It was as if the very essence of the world had been drained, leaving behind a hollow echo of existence. Her hand instinctively rested on her chakram as she whispered, "I don't like this!"
"Quiet," Legolas hissed, his eyes straining to pierce the oppressive gloom. The air was deathly still, lacking even the slightest whisper of wind. The silence was so profound, it felt like a physical presence, a weight pressing down upon them. This place stirred in him memories of a past encounter with what he believed to be his mother's spirit – a haunting experience marked by a sense of loss and disconnection. But this was different; there was no comforting lullaby here, only a suffocating void.
An aura of malevolence permeated everything, stifling the land and extinguishing any semblance of light or sound. They continued forward, each step drawing them deeper into the heart of this desolation. Suddenly, the oppressive silence crescendoed into a soundless echo so intense that it overwhelmed their senses. They found themselves clutching their ears in a futile attempt to block out the unbearable noiselessness, collapsing to the ground as their weapons – bow and chakram – clattered beside them.
Only their horses, Aradil and Swiftwind, seemed immune to the tormenting silence. The animals stood stoically, unaffected by the eerie soundlessness that was mercilessly assaulting their riders' senses. Xena and Legolas, trapped in this void, struggled against the overwhelming emptiness that threatened to consume them, until...
In an instant, the oppressive void that had enveloped Xena and Legolas dissolved, returning them to the familiar, shadowy embrace of Mirkwood. Blinking away the disorientation, they exchanged puzzled glances, their warrior instincts immediately kicking in as they retrieved their weapons and rose to their feet. With cautious steps, they advanced, soon emerging into an unexpected clearing.
Legolas, his sharp elven senses alert, tilted his head in bewilderment, and Xena understood his confusion. Before them lay a striking anomaly in the heart of the forest: a circular clearing, sharply defined, where the dense trees abruptly ended. This was no natural formation; the trees appeared deliberately cut to create this space. Beyond this border, the forest remained dark, the trees interlocked and the air thick with the oppressive weight they had grown accustomed to.
However, within this circle, there was life. A town bustled in the heart of the clearing. Smoke gently curled from chimneys, and figures moved about, a stark contrast to the lifelessness they had just endured. Xena and Legolas shared a look of astonishment. This town, vibrant and seemingly thriving, was an unexpected haven in the midst of Mirkwood's darkness.
Legolas, always cautious, pulled up his hood as a disguise, signaling Xena to do the same. Realizing she wasn't wearing her coat, she quickly donned it, and together they approached the town.
The town itself was a paradox. Despite the gloomy forest surrounding it, the area was bathed in sunlight. Streams of water ran clear, gardens flourished with vegetables and plants, an idyllic scene that felt out of place. But Legolas, with his keen eyes, noted something peculiar – the ground. It was black, reminiscent of ashes rather than the natural brown of earth or sand. The buildings, too, bore an unusual aesthetic, constructed from black stone and dark wood, as if mirroring the somberness of the forest yet defying its deathly grip.
As they ventured closer, the surreal nature of this enclave in Mirkwood struck them. A lively town thriving amidst the darkness, its very existence a riddle wrapped in an enigma.
Legolas, with his elven sight, discerned the first signs of life in the village from a distance. His keen eyes, adept at spotting the finest details, confirmed their identities. They were elves, unmistakable in their grace and appearance. Pointed ears, dark hair, and pale skin were characteristic of his kind. Their movements, fluid and poised, were quintessentially elven. To a less discerning observer, they might have passed for any other elves, but Legolas noticed subtle differences that set them apart.
He halted in his tracks, his hand gently grasping Xena's wrist to still her. "I am uncertain if this is reality or some form of enchantment," he cautioned softly. "We must tread carefully."
Xena, well-versed in the deceptions that could befall a traveler in unknown lands, especially in a forest as treacherous as Mirkwood, nodded in agreement. Appearances could be deceiving, and in these woods, what seemed real might be anything but.
As they ventured cautiously into the village, however, it became apparent that the settlement was indeed tangible. The elves they observed were real, their homes solid structures of wood and stone, and the water that flowed through the village was clear and genuine. Xena, perplexed, turned to Legolas with a questioning look, "But how?"
Legolas, deep in thought, had no immediate answer. His contemplation was interrupted when he noticed an older elf emerging from what appeared to be a tavern. The sight triggered a memory, a realization. 'Moriquendi,' he murmured, a term referring to the Elves of Darkness, those of his kin who had not seen the light of the Two Trees of Valinor.
He couldn't be certain whether these elves were direct descendants of the 'Moriquendi' or if they were elves who had chosen to establish their own communities within Mirkwood. However, these particular elves, residing in an isolated village deep within the heart of Mirkwood, exuded an eerie and enigmatic aura. Legolas couldn't say for sure, as he had never ventured so deep into the forest before. The revelation of this enclave of elves hidden in the depths of the woods added a fresh layer of intrigue to their journey, one that both Xena and Legolas were eager to explore and uncover.
"The Elves of Darkness," he mused, "were similar to those who decided not to make the journey across the sea to Aman and witness the light of the Two Trees of Valinor. It's possible that some of the elves dwelling in this village might be Moriquendi like we in the Woodland Realm are, but unlike us, their ancestors refused to march West. Where we came partway, they never started."
Xena, though not deeply versed in the history of Arda, had gleaned some knowledge from her travels through Edoras and Rivendell. Legolas, typically reserved, had seldom shared the rich history of his people with her. This moment, as he began to unfold the lore of his ancestors, was a rare opportunity to learn more.
"Amon Lanc, now known as Dol Guldur, was once the pinnacle of the highlands in the southwest of Greenwood, before it became the foreboding Mirkwood," Legolas continued, guiding them through the village towards the stables. "It was named for its treeless summit and served as the capital of the Woodland Realm under Oropher, in the Second Age."
Legolas, sharing such personal history with Xena, was a significant departure from his usual reticence. They found the stables, securing their horses and paying the necessary fee before venturing into the market, hoods drawn over their heads for discretion.
"Oropher was compelled to abandon Amon Lanc multiple times, driven away by the growing menace of Sauron. Eventually, he relocated his realm to the western side of the Emyn Duir," he explained, his eyes scanning the surroundings, vigilant and discerning.
Xena followed closely, her gaze sweeping over the villagers. They appeared elven in form, yet their demeanor was distinctly more mortal – ordinary in their activities, unlike the ethereal presence she had come to associate with elves.
Legolas's narrative continued, "After Sauron's initial defeat, he returned to reclaim Amon Lanc, transforming it into Dol Guldur. The Greenwood, surrounding this fortress, darkened and was henceforth known as Mirkwood. Oropher's people retreated north to the Mountains of Mirkwood, led by his son Thranduil. But not all elves followed; some remained, and others sought different paths. This village is an example of those who chose a different way, not aligned with the Elvenking's Halls."
Xena listened intently, piecing together the history and politics of the elves. Legolas's account shed light on the depth of Thranduil's legacy and the long, complex history that preceded their current time. His mention of Thranduil, the Elvenking whom Legolas had once called foolish for challenging, helped her understand the elf's perspective better. The weight of centuries, and the rise and fall of realms, all played a part in shaping the characters and destinies of those they encountered.
As they meandered through the bustling market, Xena observed Legolas closely. His eyes, ever watchful, surveyed their surroundings, assessing the safety of this unique village nestled within Mirkwood. Despite its unusual inhabitants and location, the village bore the semblance of any other, with an air of mundane tranquility.
Legolas motioned for Xena to follow him toward the inn, suggesting it as a brief respite from the oppressive darkness of the forest. "Try not to draw attention," he advised quietly. "Let me handle the negotiations for now."
Xena, although slightly amused, complied with a roll of her eyes. Her interactions with elves of this village, were limited, so she was content to let Legolas take the lead. They entered the inn, a place that seemed to echo the village's peculiar mix of elven grace and mortal ordinariness. Legolas approached the innkeeper, who sat behind the counter, and requested a room.
The exchange was smooth, with Legolas offering a handful of gold coins in payment. He received the keys and gestured for Xena to follow. They ascended to the second floor, finding their room amidst a corridor where shadows seemed to linger, despite the presence of torches. The room, though shrouded in dark hues, was clean and adequately furnished with a basic table, armchairs, a fireplace, and notably, a single bed.
Upon entering, Xena's gaze sharpened as she realized the arrangement. She confronted Legolas, her tone a blend of irritation and practicality. "I have coins; I could have paid for another room, or at least a separate bed," she asserted, removing her hoodie.
Legolas, facing her, seemed to consider her words. His usual aloofness gave way to a slight, unspoken acknowledgment of the oversight. The situation, unusual for both, added another layer to their journey – a journey that was not just about traversing physical distances, but also about navigating the complexities of unexpected companionship.
Legolas, with a sense of urgency, swiftly drew the curtains and secured the door. His voice carried a firmness that bordered on command. "We shall share this room. I do not trust them. If they are indeed like the Moriquendi, caution is paramount. You will remain silent, avoid their gazes, and follow my lead," he said, his expression tinged with concern.
Xena, taken aback by his authoritative tone, bristled at the instructions. "You've got to be joking!" she retorted defiantly. "I'm not your property. You think I'd play the part of your helper in this act?"
Legolas's response came with a sardonic edge, a dark smirk crossing his face. "Helper? No, a servant," he corrected with a shake of his head. "You're here because I required assistance, and it was you, a human, whom I encountered. Remember that role, lest we both land in deeper trouble."
Xena's response was immediate and heated. "A servant? I'd choose death first," she declared, her glare intensifying, fists clenching in silent protest.
Legolas let out a weary sigh, recognizing the challenge of convincing Xena. "We are merely passing through," he explained, trying to temper his tone. "I wish to avoid any unnecessary entanglements with these elves. We can't trust them, and we certainly can't reveal your true nature. So, for the duration of our stay, can you abide by my guidance? Trust that I know something of my kind and the dangers we may face."
"Fine, Elf," Xena conceded grudgingly, her words laced with a warning. "But tread carefully. Use this 'servant' ruse only if absolutely necessary, because if not, you'll have more to fear from me than from any elf here."
With that, Xena gathered some of their belongings and retreated to the adjoining room where a bathtub awaited. The tension between them, a product of their circumstances and Legolas's drastic suggestion hung in the air, a silent testament to the challenges of their uneasy alliance. Their stay in the village, it seemed, would be a delicate balance of deception and survival.
((Upcoming Chapter Thirty))
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