LotR - Rise to War {LegoRomance}

XI: Fleeing Imladris

Imladris, 3018 TA, October 23

Xena felt refreshed and well-rested a few days later when she awoke early in the morning. Her leg had healed and she was able to walk on her own for the first time in a long time. She strolled down the hall and out into the flower garden, where she watched the autumnal sunlight palely illuminate the distant mountains in the background. She seemed to be in good spirits, clothed in her full armour and armed with her weapons.

Imladris was in complete disarray for the previous two days. A hobbit in critical condition was brought back to her by an important elf by the name of Glorfindel. The elf transported the wounded hobbit to Imladris, where it was treated by Elrond. The hobbit was injured by the black riders who Xena thought to be part of the evil that was growing in Middle Earth. The small creature seemed to carry evilness, it was mentioned by others, but Xena couldn't figure out what it was.

Meanwhile, Elladan and Elrohir had returned as well, after a brief voyage of a few days. She suspected it was connected to the hobbit and the assault, but she wasn't certain. She had overheard Arwen talk of Aragorn's homecoming and even of Gandalf the Grey. Everyone was occupied with deciphering the turmoil, and it seemed as if a grand council would convene in two days.

The healers had removed her bandages; only Gimli the dwarf kept her company these few last days. And now she realised that would be the only way out of that crazy chaos. No one would notice her absence, and this would give her sufficient time to flee Rivendell. She sat down and devised a strategy. It had to be early in the morning when everyone was still sleeping, and she'd have to take a horse and flee Rivendell permanently.

The early morning came as a promise kept. There was an awakening magic, a sense of an old earth-spirit rekindled that seeks to knit together. The clouds that gathered, a silver fade, from the strongest of grey to soft whites, have command of the skies today. Yet what they promise was life-giving rain that would only aid her plan. She carried out the plan, taking her possessions and the rucksack she'd loaded with apples and a few other goods she discovered in the basket handed to her by the elven maiden. She was now acquainted with the hallways of Rivendell, and she was well aware of her ability to sneak out.

Those in need of escape create a fantasy. It manifests in ways that seem to be lighthearted, but it's actually a smock burning slowly. The warrior princess did not dwell in the fantasy; she was restless and would never spend an excessive amount of time overthinking things. She had been cured, the plan had been made, and now she was fleeing. That was all there was to it. She remembered all the warnings the elves had given her. However, she chose to accept her chances and see what lied ahead of Rivendell.

She would not stay in an elven settlement as a prisoner awaiting her fate. The extended days she spent there were soothing; the elven town was unlike anything she had ever seen. However, she needed to learn more about Middle Earth and the conflict they were facing. Even if Gandalf could provide her with some answers, she was so enraged by Legolas and Elrond and the way she was treated that she wanted to flee.

She was well aware that she was behaving childishly. And Xena was never one of those people. However, she was not the kind to stick around and let others control her. She found out that if she could survive on her own in her previous existence with Gabriel, she could also survive in this forsaken world. And if she did wind up dying, it would be to her advantage. After all, she was meant to be dead, not living and wandering the lands of Middle Earth.

Lightning lit the skies in brilliant streaks. Fog embraced every tree, every square centimetre of ground. Thunder introduced itself as a rock star on stage. The grass was revitalised by sheets of rain, echoing and rippling without bounds. And he stood farther along Rivendell's entrance, away from the calm that Rivendell offered. Green eruptions engulfed him in a carpet of living nature. Vine-covered trees and brunches now thrive, victorious in their claim to the valley. He remained there while the torrential rain lashed his fair figure; neither the cold nor the rain disturbed him.