The Price of Pride

27: Echoes of Healing

ActIII

Frenemies

Chapter 28: Echoes of Healing

Outskirts of Lothlórien, August 1st 3018 T.A.

Peaceful was the night of the first day of August. The safety and calmness of Lothlórien had performed its miracle. The company was under the protection of the Lady of Lórien, Galadriel, who wielded Nenya, the Ring of Water, safeguarding her realm and everyone within it. The tranquility of Lothlórien enveloped them, yet the Prince of Mirkwood did not partake in this peace. It wasn't due to ignorance of his surroundings; Legolas knew well where they were and would, under different circumstances, have welcomed a few days under Galadriel's blessings, hoping to find some solace.

But tonight, no peace came to the prince. His usual nightmares didn't visit him, for he was awake, sitting beside the human he disliked. The same human who got on his nerves—the prideful, full-of-herself warrior with whom he constantly argued and fought. And it was the same human who had thrown herself between him and the blow meant for him.

A few nights ago, she had told him she didn't trust him, just as he didn't trust her. She had declared her dislike for him, finding him irritating. Yet, her actions contradicted her words. She had not hesitated to save him. Not that Legolas needed saving—he could have dodged the blow or, if it had struck, borne the burden himself. It was not her place to take such a risk for him.

What angered him more than her reckless and selfish action was the knowledge that she would do it again without hesitation. Her behavior confused him. Xena was prideful and stubborn, confident in her powers and skills, and fully aware of her flaws. Such a self-centered character shouldn't take so many risks for someone she didn't even like.

Now she lay pale as a night star, her life force drained by the wound inflicted by a Morgul-blade. The healers had done their best, and despite the darkness trying to consume her, Xena held on. She should have succumbed already, but she hadn't. The healers were baffled, sensing she was no stranger to darkness.

Legolas understood their silence, refraining from speaking ill of one of the prince's company. It was evident to them that Xena had her own connection with the dark side. Legolas recalled her mentioning it before—not in detail, but enough for him to know she had faced such shadows before.

This revelation might have shocked the healers, Rúmil, and even Elros. But for Legolas, it brought a sense of gratitude. If her dark past helped her survive today, so be it. He, too, was no stranger to darkness. He remembered all too well that it was his fault his mother was taken, turned into a monster he eventually had to kill. He had no right to judge Xena.

As Legolas sat there, watching over her, he contemplated the enigma that was Xena. He found it difficult to reconcile her fierce independence with her selfless act. Despite their differences and constant clashes, there was a bond forming, born from mutual respect and shared adversity.

Legolas sat a little further away, leaning against the trunk of a massive mallorn tree, his legs crossed and his gaze fixed on Xena. The night had deepened, and the healers had ceased their visits. The camp was quiet, its inhabitants either asleep or resting. Legolas closed his eyes, but he did not sleep. He waited, anxious to see what the night would bring.

Xena was aware of her breathing, aware of lying on a bed. But her consciousness was embroiled in a battle, a battle against an unknown darkness. It was as if, through this darkness, she saw a strange light, a bright eye far away, calling to her. It called not because of her dark past, nor because of her identity, but because she had been injured by the Morgul-blade.