The Price of Pride

56: The Bet

ActVI

The Shadows

Chapter 56: The Bet

Imladris, September 18th 3018 T.A

The night had grown late, and the stillness of Rivendell seemed to press in on Xena as she lingered in the garden's opening, her thoughts tangled in the complexity of the mission she had accepted months ago. Back then, she had been driven by the promise of gold and the thrill of the hunt—chasing down an "evil elf" who had played a role in his mother's fall to darkness, ultimately leading to her death.

But four months had passed since then, and what she knew now complicated the simple tale she had been given. She had met that elf—Legolas—and things were far from how they seemed. Yes, there was truth to the story: Alakar had twisted the queen into something monstrous, and it was Legolas who had put an end to her suffering. Yet, Xena now understood that Alakar was not some long-dead, faceless orc, as she had once believed. He was alive, and his role in this tragedy was far more dangerous than she had anticipated.

She began walking back to her chamber, the soft taps of her slippers on the marble floor echoing through the empty halls. For a brief moment, her thoughts shifted to something trivial—her boots. They were worn and in need of repair, or perhaps it was time for new ones. The randomness of the thought almost made her laugh. But then, as she reached her door, a strange sound caught her attention.

At first, it was faint, like heavy breathing—labored, strained. She paused, listening, but it quickly faded. Her hand hovered over the door's handle, but just as she was about to enter her room, the sound came again, clearer this time. It was the sound of someone in distress, gasping for breath.

The moonlight spilled through the windows, casting long shadows, but the halls were deserted. Her chamber was quiet, but there was only one person near enough for the sound to be coming from—Legolas.

Her heart quickened, and without a second thought, she gathered the hem of her gown and walked swiftly toward his door. The closer she got, the more distinct the breathing became. It was heavy and uneven, each gasp a clear sign of suffering. Her hand rested on the door for a moment, hesitant. She knew that Legolas often had nightmares, but something about tonight felt different. Darker. More intense.

Without waiting any longer, she pushed the door open and slipped inside, closing it softly behind her.

The room was thick with the scent of summer rain, mingled with the earthy freshness of mint and citrus—Legolas' scent, though stronger than usual, likely from his distress. It was intoxicating in its way, but tonight, it only heightened her concern. The room was dim, lit only by the pale light of the moon filtering through the high windows. Legolas lay on his bed, his body restless, drenched in sweat, his features twisted in agony. He was lost in his nightmares, so deeply that he didn't even notice her presence.

Xena stood there for a moment, watching him. The prideful, often arrogant elf she had come to know was gone, replaced by a pale, tormented figure. His usual air of control and composure had crumbled in the grip of whatever horror plagued him.

She moved closer, her steps silent, and leaned over him. His silver hair was tangled, clinging to his damp forehead. Gently, she reached out, brushing the strands away from his face. His expression was tight, his jaw clenched as if he were fighting some unseen force. His breathing came in ragged gasps, and his hands clutched the sheets as though he were trying to anchor himself against the storm inside his mind.