".....Many human legends, myths and tales speak of blood and the importance of it. Take the legends that concern vampires, for instance. Though imaginary, it relates to some important facts, amongst which, of course, the main issue is the fact that blood means life and that it holds many secret and mystical powers that grant both vitality – and immortality. For it is said that when a vampire shares his or her blood with a mortal, the mortal, too, becomes a vampire.

"If we take this "metamorphosis into a vampire" as a translation for "becoming an immortal" (which, naturally is the case), we find yet another solid proof why elves were probably the inspiration for such a legend in the first place. Because many millennia ago, the Eldar discovered that it was the peculiar chemical nature of their blood that granted them what humans call immortality – which, by the way, is more like an ultra-slow aging, almost undetectable to the human eye and the constant revival and rejuvenation of the physical body (whether they knew of this in the former years, remains a matter of discussion). It seems that, while genes do not grant such a distinctive gift, the actual sharing and mixing of blood, and its routine repetition does change a normal human body, slowing down the aging process and speeding up the healing and mending that the body exerts under normal circumstances and tends to lose with age (this is why humans age, in the first place).

"However, it must be said that such a sharing is not without consequences for a mortal and therefore, is heavily discouraged by the Eldar, who believe that nature reigns over all and that immortal and mortal should remain in their own territories, not crossing the line. Nevertheless, this line was indeed crossed on rare occasions – unfortunately with dire results for the mortal. A mind, so used to the concept of time, had refused to change, and deep emotional and mental anxiety had followed. On many occasions the loss of mental health and then a fading into death had been the end result.

"Wary of the idea in the first place and having observed these grave results, the elves decided that only a council should hold the right to grant permission for this sort of exchange. The Council (also known as the Circle) still has full possession of this right and has used it only rarely – remaining mostly in ill favor of it."

The Nature and History of the Eldar

"Chapter XIII – Blood and Immortality"

(Also see "Chapter XIX – Life Never-ending", The Nature and History of the Eldar; "Chapter III", The Book of Life and Death; "Chapter VI – Immortality", Remnants of Valinor".)

****

'What is it that you want, Legolas?' echoed the taunting voice in his head and he turned in his bed, hissing with discomfort.

'What is your sole desire?' it said a while later, and if a voice could sound amused, this one did.

Legolas swallowed and closed his eyes. 'I will not answer,' he thought, his determination fueled by both anger and that strange, damned fear. 'I will not answer. It is only a ghost of the past. Nothing more.'

Instead, he turned his focus on other things. On the soft, cool touch of silk on his skin. On the earthy and comfortable scent of his room. On the gentle dripping of raindrops outside. The relaxing warmth of his surroundings. It was a perfect state and the perfect night to sleep. Then why, cursed be it all, would sleep evade him now?!

'We all want what we can not have,' it said suddenly and Legolas bolted to sit upright, against all odds. "Mithrandir!" he whispered into the silence of the room, as the melody of the rain continued in the background and as soon as the word rolled off his tongue, a blinding fury ignited in him for showing such weakness. He jumped down the bed, the wish to tear the sheet into pieces and kick the bed into fragments pulsing in him like some mad desire. Instead he threw the bundle of sheet away and it caught something during its flight, causing a clatter in the room. The elf heard none of it as the flames of his temper, refused release for such a long time, licked at his very spirit, taunting him madly. He laid a palm on his face, shutting his eyes and urging his heart to cool down.

Ghost of the past indeed! 'And as stubborn as ever!' he thought bitterly, suddenly finding himself striding out of his chamber, through the dark corridor that was no obstacle to his eyesight. His anger as well as a distant fear to leave the premises where to the past lured him like a merciless whip on his back, he walked with determined steps, not really knowing where he was heading at this uncanny hour but feeling the need to walk, anyway.

With such a gloomy mood he found and entered a room where the fireplace was still glowing and the armchair facing it was inviting in its comfort. He sank into it with a sigh, the mad swirl of his ghosts slowly fading into the realm of dreams and letting go of their painful grip on his psyche. He sat there for a long time, cherishing their farewell, glad of their departure.

In the eerie hours of dawn, one of his servants glided into the room, meaning to rekindle the fire and found him there, still sitting and brooding, his face having gained a blush from being exposed to the heat for so long. Indecisive of the expression he saw on the man's face he had halted briefly, then advanced and tentatively asked: "Sir? Are you well, my Lord?"

Legolas only nodded curtly, not turning around or tearing his gaze away.

The servant, relieved of having received an answer but nevertheless a little alarmed by the curtness of it, prepared to leave, then remembered a detail meant to be asked to his employer.

"Sir...Lady Victoria called yesterday. As she did the day before...What would you wish us to tell her?"

Legolas did not answer immediately, annoyed at being prodded by such minor and needless details and even more annoyed by the fact that this was, nevertheless, inevitable. The servant waited patiently through it. "I shall send flowers to her this day," he said then, still his gaze unmoving. "If she happens to call after that, tell her that I have nothing to speak with her."

From the corner of his eye he saw the servant produce a paper and pen and bow slightly to offer it to him. "For the card, Sir," the man said. He kept himself from sighing and giving the man finally a brief glance, took the items from him. After silent moments of scribbling, the pen and paper were returned and he was granted peace again. Peace to watch the flames of the fireplace die as the rays of the sun woke.

The servant walked down the hall with long strides. His steps did not falter as curiosity got the better of him and with a last glance to his surroundings; he hastily opened the folded paper to read it.

"Dear Victoria,"

it said and it was hard not to marvel at the impressive beauty of the handwriting.

"What we have shared was soothing, physical and natural. This, and no more. You are too fine a woman to demand what I am incapable of giving. And for that ever to be respected by me.

Note: Please do not call or inquire further. My hopes and wishes are for a bright future for you."

Heath Greenleaf."

The servant smirked to himself. "There goes another one," he murmured inaudibly, folding the paper again and continuing his walk. "Nothing new and worthy of gossip yet."

The elf sitting in his armchair spent no more than a few moments in the memory of Victoria who -unknown to him- had spent days of agony and grief at his refusal to reply. Not that this knowledge would stir anything in him. She was a good memory. Gentle and passionate. And gone and done with. It was not often that he sought physical pleasure or intimacy with a woman, yes. And elves took this kind of bonding rather serious. But still…it was but merely nature playing its game. It was electricity pulling and pushing. No more. One could watch a thunderstorm and marvel at its majestic tantrum. One could watch a movie and feel intrigued at how much work, effort and creativity was put into such small a thing. One could watch a plane fly and find oneself at a loss of words for the mental skill that had given birth to it. All these, one could admire and feel diminished in comparison to. But the physical act between man and woman was nothing like that. It was a relief. An act of mutual needing and wanting. Beautiful and precious. But not an act that should necessarily be taken as a promise for something further.

Humans spoke of passion. They spoke of longing. Of love. And yet knew nothing of these things. They knew only the flicker of a flame. The ignition of a spark. The sudden illumination of a lightning. And then...silence and darkness. One small pulse, then nothing. It was human nature – Legolas had learned that long ago. A simple incapability. In the Old Days they had been weak and immature. But now they were incomparable even to their state of back then. Shadows they were – forever in thirst of real blood and flesh. Doomed to be fading shadows of what they could have become for all times.

All virtues were lost to them. All passion taken from them. All sentiments drained from them.

'Love,' thought the elf and chuckled slightly, a first in days, "Indeed! Love!" He laughed again, shaking his head at such childish notions. Rising from his seat, satisfied that the bleak darkness had lifted from his spirits for good, he walked to the window, taking in the scenery. "A giant amongst children I am," he whispered to himself, eyes taking in the newly washed view, wet with the rain of the former night, "One who cares not where he treads."

***

"Alright now...this country REALLY blows!" Irulan moaned, looking up to the drizzle that broke out...AGAIN! "How can it rain so damn much?" she said to the other woman beside her.

"Don't tell me," her friend murmured, "I am almost expecting people to have roots instead of feet."

At that, another rumble shook the heavens and both women moaned simultaneously, then chuckled, shaking their heads. "What IS this? Some sort of curse?"

"Perhaps it's a prophesy," said Anne slyly. "And by the looks of it," –at that, she glanced up to the swiftly forming dark sky- "not a good omen at all."

"I was not expecting it to be," the other one murmured, almost to herself.

"Irulan, you MUST keep yourself at bay this time."

"Huh? When did I not?" was the shocked answer. Anne only gave her a dry look. Irulan sighed and looked away. "I admit that I can be…passionate at times," she chocked out then and the blonde woman only snorted at that. "But I also happen to be reasonable and calm." At the prolonged silence she received she turned to Anne, who happened to be staring at her, agape. "What?" she said defensively, "I am!"

"Irulan…Cate is your friend. She is mine, too. And so is…Jonathan. I mean Analoth. Whatever! The point is, it is normal to feel an obligation to defend them. And yet…this is the Circle we are talking about! Not a bunch of fools!"

"You might want to rethink that comment," was Irulan's dry retort, but Anne ignored it.

"We can not convince these people by making humans look fervent, uncontrollable and impulsive creatures! THAT is exactly what they are looking for!"

Irulan bit her lip and looked away, at the passing throng of people in the streets – an ocean of umbrellas, coats, boots and hats. She sighed unconsciously and eyed Anne again. "I don't understand why the Circle has to summon for something like this! I mean…an elf and a mortal decide to be together. He accepted to share blood with her and she accepted to be immortal. To me, the matter is solved and taken care of. Who else has a say in something like this?!"

Anne rolled her eyes and just at that moment, spotted the driver who was holding out the sign that had their names on it. She grabbed Irulan's arm and waving to the driver, began to walk towards the revolving doors that led outside. "You make it sound so simple!"

"It IS simple!"

"Don't be foolish, Irulan. The immortals as well as the Circle are a very sensitive and at this point, well-balanced community. The Eldar take this whole issue –as any other issue, may I point out- very seriously. You know how responsible they feel about everything. Making a human immortal is always a big matter to them. And understandable, too. I mean…even YOU can not deny that such a power can and should only be granted to the worthy!"

"But Cate is worthy!"

"To you she is. You know her and you like her." She stepped swiftly aside to avoid colliding with an old woman, pulling Irulan with her. Then found her path again and continued walking. "But…is that enough?"

"Is what enough?" asked Irulan, annoyed by the crowd and trying not to lose her bag in this tumult.

"To like someone. I will not deny that both the elves and in general the Circle have far better judgment in these matters than you and me do. We like Jonathan. And we like Cate. So we think it's alright for him to share his blood and rid her of her mortality. But…" With that she glanced up at the other woman whose mind was reeling with the hate she felt for crowds, "…immortality is a strange thing. Neither you, nor me have the experience to understand its impact, or its consequences, or its risks. Especially for the mind and psyche of a mortal!"

"Look," Irulan said finally, more than glad that they had made it outside and had almost arrived by the limo and its driver, "I can understand that. And yet…to hell with it all! They love each other. That is such a rare thing, it deserves all the support we can grant it. Period!"

"Well…that's why we are here, isn't it?" Anne huffed then, and without waiting for a reply, smiled and shook hands with the driver, who was eager to take them to their destination.

The glided into the limo and with the shutting of the doors, the sound and mayhem of outdoors instantly vanished and was replaced by a steady and soft silence. It took hold of them for several minutes as the car hummed and began a soft motion in the streets of the city. The women, sitting across each other and sharing the view of England, remained silent and panting from the short but rather annoying run.

After a long silence, Anne spoke up again: "I think your appearance will cause some…irritation in the Circle."

"I am aware of that," mumbled Irulan, not looking away from the window.

"Will you take your rightful place in it?"

At that, she could not help but lock eyes with Anne, who was sitting in a relaxed pose with a blank look on her face. A moment passed between them. "I have no place in that community, you know that," Irulan said finally, weighing the words cautiously before she spelled them out.

"No, Irulan. YOU know that you do," the blonde woman said finally, an odd tired tinge to her voice.

"I have no interest in their affairs," was the dismissive reply.

"It is your duty to serve this world," her friend insisted and ignored the sharp glare she received for that. "It is in your nature to do so. In your genealogy. In your…" She did not finish, pursing her lips and Irulan only stared back before she finished in her stead:

"In my BLOOD, Anne?" She received no answer. "Just because a man who lived ages upon ages ago, has done something…some sacrifice," she began, her irritation obvious as her face gained a sour expression when Anne cut in:

"Not one. Many GREAT sacrifices! Many LEGENDARY heroic deeds!"

"Whatever! And just because I carry his blood –if I do and if it is not washed away already somewhere along that loooooong line…"

"You know that it is not."

"…I really don't think that I should do the same. No! His choices were his. Mine will be mine. I have nothing against elves, nor the Circle. They rule the world behind closed curtains and they have been doing so for many millennia. Long before I was ever born! They can continue doing so, for all I care!"

"Then why is it," seethed Anne finally, leaning a little forward, a slight anger forming in her green eyes, "that you are here now, Irulan? Huh? If they are so wise and all-knowing and just, why are you coming in the open for the first time, to persuade them in a matter?" Irulan stiffened visibly and resisting the urge to bite her fingernails, sharply turned to observe the passing scenery once more. That, of course, only served Anne to continue. "Could it be because you don't trust their judgment, after all?" The blonde woman crossed her arms on her chest, slightly tilting her head and raising one eyebrow. And only the Heavens knew how much Irulan hated that pose! "Could it be that you fear them to be prejudiced and in ill favor of such a union?"

"Ah be quiet! I am only attending because it is my duty as a friend!"

"Exactly! DUTY, Irulan!" Irulan only moaned and returned to the landscape. The silence that followed gave her the hopeful idea that Anne had finally given up the tugging. No such luck, of course. "You ARE Aragorn's kin," she growled and it took Irulan a lot of strength not to turn and lock eyes with her. "And heir to his rights."

She sighed finally, glancing only sideways to the determined stance of Anne, who still sat in the same fashion. "I am only a friend who goes for aid. Nothing more, Anne." Unknown to her, a flash fluttered trough her eyes then, as she added with a lower voice, laced with threat: "And nothing less."

***

Finally they arrived at the castle that looked like it had jumped out of ancient times – standing on the hill overlooking many others and in the middle of a dense forest. Both girls just remained agape, unable to find words to say, as the car approached this dazzling piece of architecture. They were expecting something of this nature, yes, but it was still understandable that city life can never prepare you for a sight like this.

Irulan stepped out of the car when it halted, noticing the silence of the forest. It was strange to her ears that were used to a symphony of annoying sounds. Almost…deafening. The air, too, was…neutral. The scent of the forest was there, yes. Of rain and wet earth. And yet it was almost virginal in its cleanness. And there was that strange sensation…the feeling that time flowed different here. It was a subtle, and yet distinguishable feeling (if one gave heed to it) in all locations where elves dwelled for a prolonged time. Even in Middle Earth, places like Lothlorien or Rivendell had had their own aura that was born from their long stay there. It was only normal that places, locations, dwellings pull and tend to hold the very essence, air and mood of their long-term visitors. No doubt that Auschwitz held an air of dread, even though it was closed and unused for many years; that Jerusalem remained mystical, though the mighty people who have passed through it are long gone; and that…this castle was simply…simply… "Underwater," thought Irulan suddenly. "A glittering metal underneath layers and layers of blue, salty waters. Waiting to be found and pulled out."

She unconsciously took a shaky breath and only woke from her daze when a servant walked up to them, greeting and welcoming them. Smiling shyly to him, she followed him inside as Anne remained with the driver, asking him directions to the city.

Irulan followed the man, who led him through a maze of corridors, rooms, halls. "Lord Greenleaf was expecting your arrival. He wanted to meet you before you retired to your chamber, my lady," he said, half-turning to her as Irulan followed him in amazement, trying to see everything at once. At his words she blinked and snapped around.

"Y-you mean…NOW?" she croaked, unable to keep the alarm from her voice.

"Yes. We will pass by his chambers. I am sure that he does not mean to keep you long."

Irulan, caught very off-guard by such news, gulped audibly. Thankfully the servant did not hear it in his hasty stride. She had never met Legolas and to be honest, the idea of meeting THE elf, the one who had actually taken part in the legendary Fellowship (not to mention, the one who held one the highest position in the Circle) made her more nervous than her possible and probable confrontation with the Council. She had often thought about what he would be like. Too often. Meeting Legolas was, after all, meeting a distant part of her past. Meeting the elf who had befriended Aragorn himself. "But I am not ready!" she said unconsciously. Then, realizing that she had indeed uttered the words, hastily added: "I can meet Lord Greenleaf later. I am sure that he is busy and…"

"Ah but here he comes!" cut in the servant then and Irulan, her breath caught in her throat, could do nothing else but follow his gaze up a set of stairs that led to a dim corridor. A corridor through which a figure was walking at the moment. A figure that continued his stroll to arrive at the stairs and began a gentle and leisure descent.

The servant uttered a small description of her quarters (which her mind barely picked up) and then left. Thereby leaving her alone with…with this…creature. Irulan gulped again, her grasp tighter on her bag, her eyes unable to detach themselves from the man who had noted her presence already.

The first thing that went through her mind upon his sight was 'He is immaculate!' And Legolas truly was. Always had been. Always would be. All elves had an aura around them that invoked amazement, true. And most were the kind one would turn on the street to take a second look at. But, as with every other creature, they had their range. And this one was, without a doubt, one of the finest samples.

And very aware of that.

He glided down the stairs, his fingers absent-mindedly buttoning the sleeves of his fabulous black shirt, his silver-blonde and quite long hair hanging loosely in the back, his matching black and by the looks of it, expensive, pants revealing only the most beautiful of male forms.

His skin had that natural elven glow to it and his eyes spoke of…centuries. Irulan gulped for a third time despite herself and hastily looked down with the urge to gain control over her heart again. No matter how many times she came face to face with them, elves still had an incredible effect on her. One she had learned to resent, for it made her look so…weak, and girly and…human.

She did not look up until the man came and stood before her, looking down at her. And Irulan doubted that anyone could look more arrogant at the moment. She swallowed softly and pushing her chin up and her shoulders back, tried to look as unimpressed as ever.

"Finally we meet," he said and by the gods, his voice was beautiful! Irulan smiled and giving a curt nod, extended her hand. He shook it gently, his skin incredibly soft as it was with all elves.

"So we do. I was looking forward to this, Master Legolas." His blue eyes fixed her with that sentence and Irulan sensed immediately that he did not like her usage of his real name. He said nothing, but his eyes gained a frosty hue. She managed a shy smile, against all odds. Not knowing what to say to a man of his position, finally she sighed: "This is a nice castle."

Legolas did not answer right away. He clasped his hands behind his back and began a leisure walk through the gigantic hall, and Irulan followed, looking up at him with expectation. "It keeps me away from the rest of the world," came his cool reply.

"Is that…good or bad?" Irulan only realized that she had actually spoken after the words rolled off her tongue.

He halted and looked down at her as she shifted uncomfortably on her feet, her gaze taking in the immensely tall windows. Deciding that it would be better to return his gaze and thereby assure him that her intentions were not evil (as he seemed to think) she looked up. The tenseness only settled further with that as he denied her an answer and, pursing his lips, scanned her with that intimidating gaze. "You are Aragorn's kin," he said all of a sudden, surprising her. His eyes were narrowed and there was an intrigue in his voice as he scanned her features.

Irulan shifted with discomfort once more. "So they say," she said a moment later, not looking away. His eyes betrayed none of his thoughts and feeling a little annoyed by his hostility, she suddenly said "I suppose I don't look like him," with a tinge of sarcasm. "They say that I resemble Arwen more."

It was meant to be a joke. Irulan knew well enough that she resembled no elf – especially not the legendary beauty of the Evenstar. But obviously Legolas was not a man with a sense of humor. His eyebrows rose and the tenseness doubled instantly. "You were misled, I'm afraid," he said a moment later, his tone as expressionless as his face. Her heart missed a beat. He could NOT be that rude! Surely he did not mean to say-

"For she was a woman of marvelous beauty," he added then. And that was the moment Irulan hated him. Or rather, the first one, since she would have several in the future. Not because of his comment as much as his rude attitude. She had hated men for less. Why should an elf be an exception to the rule?

"I am well aware of that," she said with a low growl after a moment's silence. "It was meant to be a joke." Irritated by having actually explained herself to this rude creature of a man, she clasped her hands behind her and looked away, short of anger.

Legolas, again, chose not to answer, but resumed his walk and Irulan followed, seething and avoiding to look up again.

"What news of the world?" he said, his voice berating his disinterest.

"Last time I looked, it was still turning," she murmured.

The man ignored her. AGAIN! 'This is certainly beyond impolite at this point,' she thought. "You have no television?" was her slightly bitter question.

"I do," he groaned. "But I prefer not to watch it."

"Well perhaps you should, then."

The tenseness grew yet again. But Legolas had no intention of letting this human get the better of him. "Famine does not interest me, Lady Irulan. Or war. Or deception, pretense and hypocrisy."

"That is not ALL there is to this world," she retorted with angry disbelief.

They halted yet again. Irulan realized with frustration that her relationship with this elf had started rather awkwardly and seemed to be set on an uncomfortable path. She just hoped that the ride would not get any bumpier.

"You are young, Lady Irulan," he said finally. His tone seemed somewhat softer. But she had no intentions of trusting such a sign. He looked as arrogant as ever. "As is your kind." He gave her another look that spoke -ONLY slightly- of sadness and regret. "Children playing with fire," he added, absent-mindedly.

"I suppose," she said in reply with obvious mocking and bitterness in her tone while she looked up at him again, "we are lucky then that The Council has been taking so good care of the world and the rest of us!"

For the first time she saw something that looked suspiciously like a shock on the elf's face. He blinked and only managed to stare back for several moments as Irulan stubbornly gazed into his eyes. Brown locked into blue and this was the moment Legolas felt the faintest sense of acquaintance. The feeling that he was NOT standing with some stranger in this hall as the light streamed in from the tall windows, and a silence had covered his surroundings, but someone he knew well. Better than most.

It was only a fleeting feeling and as quickly as it had appeared, soon dissolved into dislike again. He took a deep breath and diverted his gaze, feeling the rise of irritation of observing the never-ending and ever-frustrating human traits, once more. "I hope that you will find your lodgings to your comfort. And I shall see you at dinner." With that, and not even glancing back at her, he strode away, the pressure on his psyche lessening with each step as if he was leaving deep and dense waters for more shallow and breathable shores. His mind did not dwell on why she exerted such presence. Not now, anyway.

Irulan watched him walk away, a major part of her downright furious at his "dismissal" of her while a minor part felt…now what was that itchy, peculiar thing…could it be…sadness? She closed her mouth, concentrating on that sentiment and failing to analyze it to the fullest. It did feel a lot like sadness. And why should that be strange? After all, she had been more than excited to meet the man of legend, the very Legolas himself! The only remainder from the Fellowship. The elf who had all the things Tolkien had written about and seen Aragorn and Frodo and Gimli in flesh and blood!

"So much for a legend!" she smirked and thinking that there was indeed nothing magical and romantic and mysterious left in this dull, boring world, turned on her heels to find her way back to her room.

****