Shredders of Destinies

74: A Curse of Whimsy and Woe

Woodland Realm, 3019 TA, May 14th

As the sun climbed high in the sky, casting its golden light over the verdant lands of Middle Earth, Legolas, Prince of the Woodland Realm, emerged from the solace of his chambers. The echoes of the prior night's tumultuous events mingled with the burdensome shadows of a curse that lingered upon him, had robbed him of rest, leaving him to grapple with pain and torment in the quiet hours.

His footsteps, light as the falling leaves of autumn, halted momentarily outside the chambers of Xena, the Warrior Princess from a land far beyond the boundaries of the familiar world. In his mind's eye, he revisited the events of the previous evening. Her curse, unlike his, had woven a peculiar enchantment around her, a human caught in the web of otherworldly forces.

The night had revealed much; Xena, though ensnared in the throes of her own curse, had not sought his end. Her intent was not to slay but perhaps to witness his anguish, maybe even to inflict punishment. Yet, in this, Legolas found a sliver of solace – a faint hope that he might not face immediate peril in her presence. However, proximity to her had grown increasingly complex, for he now understood a truth that gnawed at his heart – his feelings for her transcended mere fleeting attraction or superficial dalliance. By the Valar, as one of the Eldar, his emotions were bound to be profound, woven with the deeper threads of his ancient being.

Yet, how to confront these burgeoning feelings remained a riddle. Xena, even without the distortions of a spell, was an enigma. To her, what blossomed between them might be nothing more than a brief spark, a transient affair of little consequence. She was not of his kind, her heart perhaps not attuned to the deeper, enduring love that he, as an Elf, felt. And, truth be told, Legolas questioned the wisdom of dwelling on thoughts of love and tender affections when more pressing, darker matters loomed over them both. Their fates, intertwined by curses and the tumult of their respective worlds, demanded attention far beyond the realm of personal desires and yearnings.

Legolas lingered for a moment longer outside Xena's chamber, his thoughts a tempest of concern and curiosity. Since her arrival in the hallowed halls of Thranduil, his father, the Warrior Princess had been a figure shrouded in weariness, her slumber deep and unbroken. Only on the previous night had she emerged, a specter of her former self, seeking him out in a manner that bespoke not of her true spirit but of the cursed shadow that now clung to her.

In his heart, Legolas felt a stirring of responsibility, a prince's duty to protect and oversee. To him, Xena seemed akin to a newborn, unfamiliar with her own form and the nascent powers that the curse had bestowed upon her. It was a dangerous time, one that demanded vigilance.

Casting aside hesitation, he pushed open the door without a knock, asserting his princely right with a rare display of assertiveness. The room, dimly lit, was within the keen sight of an Elf. He noticed the healers and maidens who turned towards him with a mix of confusion and surprise. They were there in service to the human warrior – to tend to her needs, to feed her, to attempt various enchantments that might alleviate her affliction.

His elven eyes, sharp and discerning, settled upon Xena. She lay there, a figure of vulnerability under the sheets, her body bare as the attendants had just finished their ministrations. She appeared unresponsive to the sounds and movements around her. Legolas pondered this; perhaps she remained in an unconscious state as before. Yet, a part of him suspected this might be but a facade, a defense mechanism against an environment and a situation she could not comprehend or control.

Legolas stood there, momentarily unsure of how to proceed in the presence of these attendants, his mind a whirlwind of concern and duty. His actions, driven by the weight of his title and the compassion of his heart, had brought him to this juncture, standing on the threshold of a dilemma that intertwined duty with a burgeoning, unspoken affection.