The Price of Pride

50: Is it true?

ActV

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Chapter 50: Is it true?

Imladris, September 11th - 13th 3018 T.A

The days that followed settled into a rhythm, one that was both comforting and increasingly frustrating for Xena. Each morning, she found herself in the company of Arwen, the Lady of Rivendell. Together, they wandered through the gardens, discussed the various flora, and delved into ancient texts within the grand library. Arwen's presence was soothing, her wisdom gently guiding Xena through this period of healing. Yet, despite the serene environment and the calming influence of the elven maiden, Xena couldn't shake the restlessness that gnawed at her.

She made her way to the training grounds on several occasions, hoping to find an outlet for the warrior's energy that still thrummed within her. The grounds, nestled within a secluded corner of Rivendell, were surrounded by tall trees and flowering vines, their colors vibrant against the stone of the courtyard. Here, the sounds of sparring echoed softly, swords clashing and bows twanging as elves honed their skills. Xena watched as the warriors moved with an elegant precision that was unique to their kind, each strike and parry executed with a grace that bordered on the otherworldly.

But despite her desire to join them, to feel the familiar weight of a sword in her hand and the thrill of combat, she was met with gentle resistance. Elros, Thalion, and Mírdan were often present, their sharp eyes tracking her movements as she observed the training sessions. They, along with the other elves, subtly but firmly dissuaded her from participating. It was as if an unspoken agreement had been made to shield her from the strain of battle until she was fully recovered. While Xena appreciated their concern, the warrior in her bristled at the notion of being coddled.

Still, she recognized her own limitations. Her strength had not yet fully returned, and the sharp aches that occasionally radiated from her healing wound reminded her that she was not invincible. So, she refrained from pushing herself too hard, choosing instead to channel her frustration into long walks and quiet moments of reflection.

As for Legolas, the days seemed to stretch longer as he found himself drawn to her chamber each night. Initially, his visits were out of concern, a need to ensure that she was resting and recovering without incident. But as the nights passed, his reasons became less about duty and more about the rare opportunity to simply be near her. The quiet of her room, illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight, allowed him to observe her in a way that daylight never could.

Here, in the stillness of the night, he could study the delicate curve of her features, the way her dark hair fanned out across the pillow, and the peaceful rise and fall of her chest as she slept. It was a time when he could let down the guard he so meticulously maintained during the day, a time when he could indulge in the simple pleasure of her presence without the burden of words or explanations.

Yet, unbeknownst to Legolas, his visits were not entirely unnoticed. Each morning, Xena awoke with the distinct scent of summer rain, mingled with mint and citrus, lingering in the air. It was a scent she had come to associate with the elven prince, a fragrance that clung to him like a second skin. At first, she dismissed it as a trick of her mind, a lingering memory from the previous day. But as the days passed, and the scent persisted each morning, doubt began to creep in. Was she imagining things? Had she become so attuned to his presence that she was now conjuring the scent in her mind?

The thought nagged at her, unsettling her usually composed demeanor. She prided herself on her strength and clarity of mind, yet here she was, second-guessing her own senses. Was she truly losing her grip, intoxicated by a scent that haunted her waking hours? The idea frustrated her to no end, leaving her restless and more determined than ever to uncover the truth.