Another chapter. This one painfully long and hopefully not boring.
Very quick notes – interesting to see that some found Irulan submissive. I don't find her like that at all. Perhaps 'overwhelmed' would be my word for it. Or maybe Legolas is more dominant and she responds to that different. In any case, as I have said at the beginning of this story, I do not want them to be the same in every story anyway. Besides, it has been ages since I stopped being a feminist. And grew into a humanist. I think she is strong in different ways. Not the loud and stubborn and heartless kind of strong. Often in self-doubt, temperamental and full with fear, Irulan is far from a Mary Sue. And yet, I truly never thought of her as spineless. She is forceful in the face of force and gentle in the face of kindness. And last but not least, she is facing Legolas. For me, she simply stands no chance against him, no matter what.
That does not mean that she will not stand up to him when the time comes for it. Not at all. But until then….I think as someone who has forgotten to be so, Irulan needs to learn that gentle submission is not the same thing as weakness.
After the meal Legolas took her to a café. "I thought we were going on a tour of Paris!" she whined.
"Of course we are. What is the haste?" was his amused reply as he held the door for her.
"But the day is late already!"
Legolas chuckled while he motioned her to ascend the narrow wooden steps that led to the second floor, from where the rather alluring smell of baked goods and the sound of music were floating down. "There will be other days." It was with annoyance that she recalled him to be an elf and therefore, a person with a rather different perception of time. Especially compared to someone from New York! Once they reached the second floor, he opened the door of the little café for her and closed it behind them, waiting at the entrance. "You had no coffee for a rather long time. I thought you would like to have some now."
She turned to look at him, surprised. A slow frown came over her features. "True," she murmured in confusion, under his bemused observation. For someone who was addicted to coffee, Irulan had survived a miraculously long time, indeed! "I would like to!" she added, smiling. "That's very thoughtful of you, Legolas."
The elf said nothing as a petite blonde waitress walked up to them and after a short dialogue in French with Legolas (during which she could not help herself staring at this amazingly handsome blonde man), she guided them to a small, rather humble wooden table with two wooden chairs. Irulan walked there, on the way observing the clean but old and plain decoration, the blue-green walls and the wooden furniture. There was a soft music in the background and it was coming from a gramophone, not an electronic CD player and therefore hissing a little. Legolas pulled the chair for her and she sank down on it. The waitress disappeared with their jackets, hanging them on a simple hanger by the door on her way to bring in the coffee.
"This is so different from New York," she said, gazing around the small, cozy room. "More……humane."
Again, his reply was a silent look that lasted for a few moments. "Why did you feel the need to make up something like David?" was his sudden question and caught Irulan literally off-guard. Involuntarily her eyes locked with his and she could not help staring for a moment before she looked away again. She did not answer and decided to inspect the menu (which was in French and meant nothing to her, by the way). Until he slowly pulled it from her hands and placed it away, his gaze not wavering.
"I do not want to speak about it," she said finally, drawing invisible designs on the tablecloth as the crackling music in the background stopped and a new, more joyful song began.
"But you will," was the determined reply.
"Legolas," she said a moment later, "this is rather personal and-…"
"There is no such thing as 'personal' for you, any longer," he cut in and once more their gazes collided. She remained silent under his blank stare and a moment later, he continued: "I do not like to demand such things. I would much rather ask for it. But often you give me no other option."
She exhaled in frustration and did not speak right away. In between their coffee and tea arrived. To her irritation, he kept his silence after the waitress left (smiling shyly at him several times), and waited in typical elven patience. "I just felt…..I felt……" She didn't know how to continue. Because it was such an ethereal detail! Maybe, deep down inside, she didn't exactly know the reason, either.
"You felt more confident as someone with a lover," he finished for her. And only when he said it, did she know it to be true.
"Yes," was the surprised reply. "Yes, I guess I did. How did you….."
Legolas smiled a deft smile. "Even the blind would see with the time I have spent in the company of your kind," he sighed.
She nodded, looking him up and down. "I guess it was a rather common move," was her dry comment.
The elf waited a moment. "There is nothing common about you," he said finally and Irulan lowered her gaze, grasping her warm mug with both hands and allowing the smell of the fresh coffee to swirl up to her. He leaned a little on the table, observing her for another second. "I suppose the common move would be for you to pretend that you have no lover. Even if you had one."
She smiled up at him and he smiled back, slowly cupping his chin and placing his elbow on the table, giving her a more inspective and rather amused look. "Nevertheless, I am amazed that you do NOT have a lover. Why is that, Irulan?"
"Well," she said smugly, "I happen to be very selective." Once again, she was amazed by the nature and maturity of elves. Her mind lingered on the question as to how any of her former boyfriends would have reacted to the David issue. 'They would have rubbed it into my face for YEARS, no doubt!' she moaned silently. But although it was a more discomforting experience for an elf and a graver mistake on her behalf, Legolas seemed to have closed the chapter for good. No teasing. No reminding. No constant prodding. A simple question had been asked and answered, and the issue was pushed aside. Unconsciously, she exhaled in relief, feeling happy for the fact that he would not use her lie to torture her any further.
"So I see," he mused then. A moment passed. "I want you to be my lover," he said suddenly and Irulan, who was having her first taste of her coffee, shook with a mighty cough. He got up and patted her back until she calmed down, and only then returned to his seat across her.
When she finally managed to stifle the remnants of the incident, she looked up at him with teary eyes and he looked back, still smiling. "Is that…..is it a……a demand?" she stammered, more than a little alarmed.
"Of course not," he said in awe. "Irulan," he added with a graver voice, "I would never place such demands; you should know that." When she exhaled with relief and then took another sip from her coffee to wash down the dry feeling in her throat, he continued: "It is a wish."
"Look Legolas," she sighed finally, "I think you are a fabulous man. I am honored and happy that you are sharing your time with me."
"Nowhere nearly as happy as I am," he whispered, and gently folded his hand on hers again.
Irulan did not look up and decided to resume her speech before he distracted her once more: "However…….once we return to England……and the meeting…..this will……be no more," she finished with difficulty.
A moment passed and Irulan kept her eyes on her green mug and the dark coffee reflecting her rather sad and anxious face. "Well then I will have to make sure that we never return," he said finally and her head flew up. Legolas smiled in amusement and brought up her palm for a long kiss, his eyes glued to hers, and all she could do was to remain unmoving, alarmed that he might actually be serious. "Stay with me," he said gently a moment later, ending the torture of the tension. "Stay in England. Or anywhere else. With me."
"But I…..I…..live in New York!" All right, so it was a stupid remark, but she found nothing else to stammer at the moment. "I have a job and-.."
"You do not need to work ever again," was his dismissive reply. Irulan just remained looking at him agape. "I will take care of you."
She laughed then, shaking her head. This was getting interesting indeed! "And what happens when –for this or that reason- the affair between us ends, Legolas? What will I do then?"
Her amusement vanished at the cold look he gave her. "I am no Man, Irulan," he said with a cool voice. "Do you think that I will leave you to your fate in such a case? I will take care of you," he added. "For life." She gulped down another mouthful of coffee, now overly intimidated. "I can buy a house in New York," he continued a moment later, rather displeased with that idea, but ready for such an engagement anyway. "Will you stay with me then?"
"Well....." said Irulan, her bafflement only increasing. Only two days and Legolas was already asking for too much again! "I....I don't know."
He gave her a long look. "Your work will not allow you to see me too often, will it?" he said slowly. She chose not to answer. To be honest, it wasn't easy to have a time-consuming relationship in Manhattan - the city of workaholics. "If you insist on working, I can find you dozens of jobs anywhere else in the world. And I will make sure that you will be rewarded more for your effort. And that you will have more free time. Better working environment...whatever you ask for. You can have your own work, if you want to."
Her eyes widened at that and she spoke up quickly so that Legolas would not delve into an option like that too much further: "Thank you, Legolas. That is.....most kind of you."
"Or you can stay with me and never work again."
"And do what?!" was the baffled question.
He shrugged gracefully. "Whatever you want. There is much to do in life. You can engage in fine arts," he said, waving his arm. "You can go back to school. You can travel. Read. Write a book. Do voluntary work for others in need of it."
His speech was cut off by her laughter. The elf watched in slight amazement and a tinge of amusement as Irulan laughed a good while before she spoke: "I can not believe that you are offering me such a thing!" She smiled brightly. "Thank you, Legolas. But.....I could not accept."
He cast his gaze down then, as a sudden sadness enveloped him. "Once again, you refuse me," was the slow statement that followed.
"I do not refuse you," she said despite herself and maybe a little too hasty. It felt downright wrong for Legolas to look like that. Sad....and sort of disappointed. "I mean.....I do....but I don't." Irulan sighed in frustration. "I am just a little.....overwhelmed, Legolas!" He cocked his head and met her gaze for a silent moment. "I need time."
The elf smiled at that and placed another kiss on her palm. "How fortunate that I have a lot of that!"
She nodded in silence, not certain how to react. It was not easy to refuse or even slow down his advances when a major part of her heart actually just wanted to go ahead and be with him, no matter what the price. Her rational side, it seems, was coming less and less frequent to the picture. 'Why not?' it kept saying and though the answers to that question had been rather large in number in the beginning, they seemed to get fewer by the hour. Indeed.....why not? Irulan had always believed that life was more than just working. Or just traveling. Or having a hobby and a nice routine. Even New York had not changed that in her. She longed for more. For things that seemed out of date and useless in this century. She wanted to SHARE life with another. Sure, she wanted to travel and have hobbies, and do many things. But not always alone.
"You are a strong woman," he said finally, his fingers still entwined with hers and she looked up to meet his clear gaze. "Your strength comes partly from you and partly from being human."
"What do you mean?" she asked in intrigue.
"You do not fear solitude," he replied a few moments later, his gaze heavy on her.
"Of course I do!" she chuckled.
Legolas shook his head. "No you don't. You dislike it, yes. But you do not fear it, Irulan." His grave tone kept her from a reply and a moment passed between them. "It is because you did not live long enough to detest it. Then grow frustrated of it. Then feel pain because of it. And then, finally, fear it."
She remained silent as a deep concern came out of nowhere, and landed on her heart like a lethal arrow. Sure, she had felt excitement with Legolas. And awe. Infatuation and attraction. But never concern. And yet, at this moment, a strong urge to soothe his sorrow overcame her, because a grief like no other emanated from him. So sharp it was, that it had almost a tangible and solid aspect to it. This was a rather common phenomenon with elves, actually. Whenever they felt strong sentiments and did not control them, these feelings emanated from them in the most peculiar manner and could be sensed easily enough by all elves, and rather evidently by most humans. The more sensitive mortals, of course, felt it far stronger and could distinguish the particular sentiment easily. Others just felt comfort or discomfort, a pull or a push and acted most of the time in response to it, but unconsciously. Irulan, no doubt, was a sensitive human being. Though not overly romantic and not even very sentimental, her perception was very finely tuned and at that moment, coming face to face with Legolas' sorrow that had momentarily slipped from the reins of his control, she moved ahead and enclosed his hand with hers, very much like she had done the day before in Rome.
Once again startled by the simple action, the elf found her gaze. "I can not imagine your pain, Legolas," she said then. "Or the pain of any Firstborn. Often I have tried, though I knew that it was beyond me. And I know you do it for us." His heart began to hammer away again and it was then that the elf realized why that was: because she had a way of slipping past all iron gates, all stone walls, all rusted fences, all threatening barbwire and then reach out and touch his spirit. It was a miracle. A phenomenon. It was pure magic and Legolas had no idea how she did what others had found impossible to do. Being an elf, he did not try to understand it further, anyway. To his mind, the ways of life could be magical and mysterious and often it was more enticing to experience them in that fashion, instead of laying them down on the surgical bed and slicing them open.
Irulan smiled at her own silliness, not knowing that the smile instantly made him dizzy. "If it doesn't sound ridiculous, I would like to thank you for that. On behalf of all humanity. For all your years amongst us." She smiled deeper, shaking her head.
"Coming from you, it is not ridiculous at all," he managed to say finally, a sincere smile breaking on his lips. "You are welcome." She laughed softly, feeling incredibly bewildered and exposed, but also somewhat relieved and comfortable – as strange as that might sound. "I feel no solitude when I am with you," he added then, realizing the truth of that statement and therefore saying it with a rather amazed tone of voice.
She leaned back, happy to have an effect like that on someone. Especially someone like Legolas. For, no doubt, he was a man who needed nothing and no one. Such a thing coming from him, was an invaluable praise. "Neither do I," was her simple statement, accompanied with a shrug. Another silence visited them shortly and they remained unmoving in the bliss of it.
After that bliss of an interlude, ever so slowly her features began to reveal a certain itching on her behalf and the elf hid his smile, already guessing why that was. Irulan looked down at her mug as her free hand played with it for a moment or two and still he did not break her struggle. Finally it was simply too much for her and she burst, the excitement and impatience evident in her tone: "We had no time to complete your telling of Italy, yesterday. Will you not tell me the rest?"
Legolas chuckled, an uncommon joy illuminating his skies. "Do I have an option?" he said with mock desperation.
"Not really," was her smug comment as she felt relief at his relaxed and positive attitude. "And when will you tell me of Paris?"
"Indeed," he said, smiling broader, "when will I?" She gave him a pleading look. "It seems not so long ago," he said then, narrowing his eyes and looking at her, "that Rousseau spoke to me about how a revolution was needed in France. A revolution that would bring liberty, equality and fraternity."
Her eyes widened with excitement. "The French Revolution!" she whispered in understanding. "ROUSSEAU?" was her astonished question.
He nodded mildly and Irulan moaned out of sheer excitement. Legolas laughed heartily at her obvious thrill, making heads turn to that exquisite sound once more. "And," he said a moment later, leaning on the table again, "he sat not far from where you are sitting, now." Irulan clasped both her hands on her mouth, stifling a mumbled "Oh my God!" and another gentle laughter shook the elf. He could not remember laughing so many times a day in his entire life!
She waved her hand in an attempt to breathe again, took a hearty gulp from her coffee, and looked at him with expectation. "Tell me EVERYTHING!"
"Ah," he said, almost grinning now, "what shall be my prize, then?"
Irulan looked at him with a mixture of worry and excitement. "I have nothing to give!" she said with disappointment.
Legolas gave her a long glance. "You do. I have felt much desire for it."
She shifted a little with unease, shooting him a sidelong glance and playing with her mug. "What is it?"
He smiled brightly and perhaps also a little deviously. "A kiss."
"A w-what?!"
"Why such alarm? Will it be your first?"
Irulan turned her head with both embarrassment and discomfort. "Of course not!"
"Then you must know that it does not hurt," was the amused retort.
Her eyes found his. "No. Don't ask for it again."
"No?" he said in gleeful surprise. It felt very strange to be refused for a kiss. Since it had never happened before. "Does a single kiss mean so much?"
"Of course it does," was her baffled answer.
"More than what you will learn this day?" A moment passed as she swallowed softly. "What no other can tell you?"
"That is really not a fair comparison!"
"On the one hand there is knowledge like no other to be found in all the libraries of this world," he said, disregarding her remark. "Of France. Of the Revolution. Of Bastille. Of the time before that – the time of richness and never ending Balls. The time of the Hundred Year Wars. Ah….not to mention…..Napoleon…..and the secret order of the Knights of Rosy Cruz……" Irulan swallowed again, feeling almost dizzy with his words. "About Degas. And Kant. And Sartre. He smiled at her suppressed frustration. "And on the other, a single, innocent, simple touch of lips." He waited another moment. "I always thought you as one who would sacrifice much for such information. While many humans would sacrifice much knowledge for a single kiss." He was doing it again….that traitorous art of discussion, that is! She looked away in anger. "Or perhaps you are afraid to fall under my spell?"
"Please!" snorted Irulan with half-hearted amusement.
His eyebrows rose gracefully. "Well then?"
She stubbornly tried to tell herself that not even in return of these things, she should engage in such an act. Although his argument was beginning to make sense. AGAIN! 'Aw come on! You can not trust yourself with a single stupid kiss?!' a part of her thought. The other part immediately cut in with alarm: 'NO! Don't you dare think in that direction!'
"Yesterday it was only dinner. Today it's already a kiss! What should I expect tomorrow, Legolas?" she said with a scolding tone.
Only when he broke into a slow grin did she realize the implication of her words and instantly retrieved her hand to tuck back her hair behind her ear. She was aware that the blush was spreading on her face once more, but had no means to change that at the moment.
Legolas, very amused and attracted by her shyness, prodded on: "You ARE afraid!" he said with a tone of surprise. "That is rather new for Aragorn's kin."
It was a very, very cunning move. For if one thing was common in Estel's line –and the elf was very aware of that- it was blind courage and stubborn pride. Irulan's head snapped up and, just like he expected, her brown eyes spoke of no entertainment at the moment. "I am NOT afraid," she said slowly.
He crossed his arms on his chest. "There is no shame in being afraid, Irulan. Though….." he said, his grin returning to his face, "the object of fear in this case might be somewhat….."
"I am NOT afraid!" she said, this time louder and with a certain tinge of protest.
"All right," he said with disinterest. "If you say so."
"This has nothing to do with fear. It just is not…..proper," she insisted, more annoyed by his retreat than his prodding. She knew that it was childish to be affected by something so silly, but such challenges had always forced her into mindless battles.
His eyebrows rose slightly and suddenly Irulan thought how similar this reaction was to Anne's – the very reaction she had always hated to see in the girl. Mainly because the twinkle in those eyes foretold the approach of a rather logical and annoying argument. "Not proper?" he said in awe. "Who is conservative and….what did you call me…..oh yes… 'stiff' now, Irulan?"
She clenched her jaws and ignored his amused pose as well as the dangerous things that pose was doing to her brain. She would not walk into a trap! She would not! 'I will ignore it. I am NOT afraid and I know that. No need to prove it to anyone!' she told herself over and over again. 'Too many times have you witnessed what your temper can do, Irulan. Let it go. Do NOT give in to it!'
Her fury was downright attractive to the elf, who was enjoying this moment more than one would suspect. "No worries," he sighed then, "If I had known how much discomfort these….simple….things cause for you, I would not have asked. Forgive me."
"They do not cause me discomfort," bolted Irulan, although she had really, really tried hard not to speak up again.
Not surprised by her reaction at all and expecting no less, Legolas smiled inwardly while his outer facial expression did not change in the slightest. "Of course," was his polite response. "Nevertheless, let us forget about it."
"I know that you are trying to manipulate me, Legolas."
He gave her an amazed look. "Do you think of yourself as a person that can be manipulated?"
Irulan, more than a little annoyed with his cunningness, simply could not stop: "I don't want to kiss you," she seethed.
"Then don't," was his gentle and calm statement.
"But you want me to!"
"Of course I do," he said softly.
"Yes but….." she swallowed, trying to gather her thoughts and failing miserably. The flame of irritation and that curious, peculiar anger would not die, no matter how many times she stomped on it. "I mean……." she sighed in frustration and looked away, annoyed by her own rambling. It was not fair to be put into this situation with an elf. An ELF! A meeting with them was no big deal. But such a personal and intimate setting only served confusion and uneasiness on the human's behalf and often enough, downright defeat in the matter of discussion.
He found her hand again. "I take it back," he said gently. "Perhaps it is too early." Irulan swallowed hard, keeping her mouth shut with all her might. Right now, she was very tempted to say that it was not early and perfectly alright – out of sheer, childish pride.
But Legolas had no intentions of losing. He never did. Whenever he engaged in something, it was with the sole aim of winning. And at this moment, his personal desires only served to make that attempt stronger. From the very beginning, he had known that she would react to a demand of such nature. And he had WANTED her to react. Simply because the principle of human psyche was rather easy: Introduce something radical and you will face reaction and denial. However…..introduce something less radical right after that……and with the dislike for the former suggestion yet very much warm and sizzling, the second and seemingly innocent demand will have a very high chance of acceptance. It was with that formerly observed and tested knowledge that he acted, now: "I should have known better," he said, his tone speaking of perfect regret. "Even a kiss on the cheek upsets you greatly."
Alright now this was too much! As a mature woman, a 20th century lady, a New Yorker, an independent spirit and not to mention, Aragorn's kin, she could NOT keep her mouth shut if her life depended on it: "It does NOT!" she gasped with horror.
Ah…the perfect timing to entrap the beast! The elf would never miss this chance! "Why dishonesty, Irulan?" he said, his tone tired. "I know that I have made you uncomfortable on the train." He waited a moment longer as her inner battle bloomed further on her face, then continued leisurely: "It is an interesting aspect in your line – this shyness and……intimidation. But I find it intriguing."
"Look," she said finally, "on the train I was just….I mean…..I was surprised, that's all. I am not afraid of a kiss on the cheek! Hell, I had relationships of much further intimacy!"
Legolas momentarily had to stomp down the incredible jealousy that flared up in him out of nowhere at that comment. He took a moment to do that and continued with perfect calmness: "Should I assume then that such an action will not upset you any longer?"
Irulan halted, suddenly afraid of what she would say to that. "Well…." she stammered, "well…..I…..I don't think that….." He just looked at her as blank as can be and she mentally waved her arms at the edge of the abyss, in an urge to regain her balance and not to fall. Further and further she tipped and desperately waved her arms some more, trying to battle against gravity. "I don't think so," she finished finally with a whisper. Behold, the graceful fall of Irulan!
Against all his intentions not to, Legolas simply could not help himself smiling. He was aware that it was not fair to use his observations and conclusions of her character in this manner. But then…..the force of the need he felt for her could only be described as ridiculous! And after all, it was not like his actions would cause pain and torment. All she needed to do was to breach her discomfort and he would make sure that she felt nothing other than pleasure in return. In one fluid motion he stood up, pulling her up by her hand as well as he walked to her side. He dismissively removed a stack of bills from his pocket, leaving it on the table, then leaned in to place a long kiss on her cheek.
Her heart exploded in her chest and she felt both surprised and yet expectant of it. And God knows that she had been kissed too many times and with far more intimacy to feel excited over something like this! But she did. She simply, absolutely and truly did. "Excited" was not the word for it. She felt blown away!
Irulan, till that day, had often tried to imagine what intimacy with an elf would be like. All the hours she had read about Aragorn and Arwen, she had wondered about it. Throughout the days she had watched Cate and Jonathan and how they used to look at each other, or smile to one another or how their fingers entwined in that lazy, yet passionate fashion, she had thought about it. Once she had even dared to ask Cate, and the woman had smiled and apologized, saying that there simply was no description to such an experience.
And finally she had reached an opinion on the matter – an opinion that she was certain to be drastically romantic and mistaken. However, at this particular moment, she knew that she had been wrong in that belief. For it was FAR more passionate than that. Far more romantic. And demanding. Yet gentle. Enflaming, yet soothing. Intimidating yet alluring. It was only a kiss on the cheek, true. But it was also more than that. When forced to find a fitting allegory for it, the track of some wild animal appeared in her mind. Though the beast itself was perhaps long gone, the imprint spoke of it. Of its height and weight. Of its pace and motive. And likewise, this simple kiss alone spoke to her momentarily – of an intimacy with Legolas that was beyond anything she could imagine.
"Let us go," Legolas whispered finally, his heart a volcano from which liquid fire erupted over and over again. His hand did not let go of hers and his feet refused to move as he stood looking down at her baffled state.
"Let's," she said, swallowing softly.
He sighed then and, for the sole purpose of bringing blood back to his brain, walked, pulling Irulan along. They stopped at the entrance, putting on their jackets and then he opened the door, letting her walk through. Just when he meant to step out himself, the waitress stopped him.
"Monsieur, your change," she said in French.
"No change. Keep it," he replied with a gorgeous smile.
"But…" she said, throwing a baffled look at the bills in her hand, that were several times the value of their order.
"For excellent service," he said, "on an excellent day."
"Any time, Monsieur," she smiled then. "I hope that your night will be even more excellent."
The elf smiled again in reply. "I hope so, too," he said and left, eager to join Irulan, already feeling the distance between them too unbearable.
****
The day had grown late indeed, so Legolas decided that they should go to the Versailles and leave the rest for tomorrow. It meant another day in Paris and sure enough, Irulan had absolutely nothing against that! This trip was the best experience in her whole life – despite the unusual and sometimes intimidating rush of feelings.
The history of France was not a particularly nice one. Though of course it had its glorious times, most of it was about plagues, war and hunger. It was perhaps one of the most chaotic places in Europe. It was the land of wealth and poverty. Of the finest cuisine and famine. Of great ideas of freedom and equality and Marie Antoinette. Of incredible art along with witch burnings and the reign of a dark and frightening Church in the Middle Ages. Of scientists like Pasteur and mystics like Nostradamus. France, it seemed, was a place of contradictions. And always of extremes. And she loved every detail of it.
There was simply too much to tell in a day about this country. Every detail was a separate book, a novel in itself, waiting to be read. Legolas had visited France and Paris many, many times and knew an immense amount about it. Time for an elf was very different from what it was for a human. In his mind, all eras were like books on the shelves of a gigantic library and the organization of those books had a logic and order to it - which logic and order was strange and rather difficult to understand for Irulan. Fortunate for her, he had lived amongst humans too long to get carried away in his own way of telling. Therefore he tried to keep to a timeline – though it was not easy, since he had to jump back and forth in time or in his own experiences to explain certain things further or better.
"You have met so many people! And seen so much!" she said and looked up at him as they strode through the immense garden towards another wing of the palace. The cool breeze played with the silver strands of his hair and unlike Irulan, his face showed no signs of the cold. "How did you even come close to these men and women?"
"There are very few doors that wealth and status will not open," he said matter-of-factly. "And those few usually open with looks, charm or wit." He smiled down at her and it was as fabulous as any smile can be. "I do not say that I have much of those. But certainly enough to find my way around."
Irulan chuckled and shook her head, the grip of her hand in the crook of his arm tightening a little. "So much to talk about! And so little time," she sighed, squinting her eyes to look at the majestic structure ahead of her.
"We have all the time in the world, Irulan," was his slow and cautious reply. "Unless you want to return?"
She sighed again, feeling uneasy and shy once more. How strange that she felt it more in his presence than ever before in her life! Irulan had always been less feminine than most – living in a fast and driven city, all by herself and all that…... But with Legolas, she felt more like a woman than she would have imagined herself to be. Perhaps because he was so masculine and forced that side out of her.
Legolas exhaled softly and watched her worry her lower lip for a moment. "The choice is yours," he said then, gently enclosing his hand on hers that remained on his arm. The woman observed a group of leaves swirling in the cool breeze, dancing like a pack of children and sighed once more. The sound of her sigh spoke of a melancholy that seemed too evident for someone of her nature. "Ask it, and it is yours," he added, not turning away from her profile.
"I do not know what exactly I will be asking for, Legolas," she whispered almost inaudibly.
He came to a halt and so did Irulan. "Ask for my company," he whispered, laying his palm on her cheek, his thumb caressing her cool skin. "Say you desire it. I am ready to give it to you. And everything that comes with it."
She smiled with amusement. "Of course I want your company, Legolas!" she said softly, almost as if speaking to a child. "That is more than I could hope to have."
Legolas stepped up to her then, although he was rather close in the first place. He placed a warm kiss on her forehead. "You shall have much more," he said, his heart burning and burning and burning, and his head spinning, and his mind turning……. What strange spell was this - the pain so agonizingly and brutally pleasurable? He did not move or look away and many moments passed. Never had he been so lost and dazed, and yet so uncaring about it. He found her hand and caressed it in the softest manner, looking down at her as Irulan finally felt the courage to meet his gaze. Anywhere else than Paris, they would have looked ridiculous. Here they looked.....in love. Of course either would have denied that statement, if asked.
A couple passed by and Irulan turned in time to see them looking back at them, smiling in the most peculiar fashion. She shifted on her feet and cleared her throat, feeling more than a little exposed. The elf followed her gaze and smiled back at the couple who turned around several times, throwing them glances and speaking to each other in whispers. He placed another kiss on her palm and turned around to guide her towards the palace once more. "Ah....the Versailles!" he said, joining her gaze that wandered on the building, "Long have I not visited it! Most of my recollections here are not of the fondest nature, I'm afraid." He turned to see her shrug and grin with excitement, urging him to continue, no matter what dark tale would follow.
***
Legolas guided her through the rooms of the impressive palace and told her about the terrible intrigues and deadly plots in the royal circle. She walked amongst the fancy gold gilded furniture and the dark velvet of the curtains and the heavy grand chandeliers while a history of incest, betrayal, greed, passion, enmity, vengeance, murder and power came alive before her eyes.
She did not like Versailles and was relieved to leave its constricting atmosphere. Only when they were back in the garden that dazzled the visitors with its vastness, did the feeling of silent dread leave her. She looked up to the bluish light of the autumn day and took a deep breath. "I already feel better," she said and turned to him, but realized that he was focused on someone else - a man walking towards them. Irulan turned completely and stood waiting, and only after the approaching figure was much closer, her trained eyes recognized him to be no man, but an elf.
Although she had been in the company of one for days now, instantly she felt excited to be meeting a Firstborn. Legolas did not move, only shifted on his feet and placed them a little apart, clasping his hands behind his back in a leisure fashion. The man was incredibly attractive and had a masculinity to him that perhaps some elves did not emanate this openly. He had short tousled blonde hair with a modern cut, deep but sharp hazel eyes and skin that was a tone darker than the Prince's. His face carried the same high cheekbones and the prominent jawbone and these features seemed to add to his masculinity. He wore a black woolen sweater and dark grey pants – both betraying his interest in quality, which he shared with other elves. But the dark green coat on top of that along with the cream colored scarf showed a rather fun and eccentric side to him that Irulan found surprising.
Elves, of course, had many secret codes that they used during their communication amongst mortals. They were overly subtle and perfected with time, and therefore, impossible to be read or detected by humans. Irulan did not detect either man doing a peculiar or curious move, but unknown to her, during his approach the stranger asked if it was safe to speak around her and the Prince motioned him an approval. Finally he arrived and smiled a broad smile that widened to show his perfect teeth. A slight bow followed. "Lord Legolas," he said and his voice was beautiful, but deeper than that of the Prince, "147 years it has been. And you have not aged a day!"
The smile turned into a grin as Legolas smiled in his own charming way. "You, Baeron, have aged into tastelessness, it seems." With that his gaze wandered over the other's attire and he slightly shook his head with amusement.
"Again, my friend, I am only ahead of my times. Better than to be behind," was the pleased reply and then both elves took the final step and shook hands by grabbing each other's wrist.
After an exchange of elvish sentences, Baeron fixed his hazel eyes on Irulan, who was watching the conversation with utmost interest. At his piercing gaze, she actually blushed a little. "Another amazing lady, Legolas? I have walked the earth and not found a single one of the dozens you find in a century!" Irulan smiled and blushed a little deeper as Legolas said nothing in reply. Of course the mention of former ladies was the usual Baeron nudging, that also happened to be very unbecoming of elven manners.
"Lady Irulan is not one you will find anywhere else. She is Kingskin."
Baeron's eyes twinkled at the mention of her ancestry, which denoted her lineage of Aragorn's kin and while she was expecting some kind of greeting, his hand reached out and -to her shock and amazement- gently ran through her long dark locks. She froze, observing his delicate fingers slowly reaching the end of their journey, then fanning out to grasp hers in an attempt of a handshake. When she locked eyes with him again, he did not say anything for a moment or two. "My apologies. But it was too tempting to pass by," he said almost with a whisper.
Irulan laughed nervously, glancing at Legolas who was watching with utter blankness, though something dangerous was emanating from him. Or perhaps it was just her imagination. "No problem," she whispered in return, a little dazed.
He scratched his chin in the most unelf-like manner then and looked at the palace standing a short distance away. "Of all romantic places in the city, why the Versailles, my friend?" was the mocking question.
"It is where the wolves lurk," the other said with a certain implied meaning and Baeron grinned openly, showing his perfect teeth once more.
"Only in the deepest hours of the night, dear Legolas. Evenings, we take our long missed friends and fabulous ladies to dinner."
***
Baeron was the most unusual elf. No…the most unusual creature - since he was like no elf and no human she had met before and defied all categorization. He and Legolas talked much about this and that and from the conversation she understood that Baeron was a Scout – an elf who traveled, lived here and there, and often meddled in dangerous and unusual locations with the strangest people to deliver useful information to the Council.
Like all elves he had seen much of the world. But too far into the human domain he had wandered. Later Irulan would find out that most elves spoke of him as someone who preferred the company of mortals to the company of his own kind. Though always in great respect to the Circle and especially to Lord Legolas, (who had saved his life in a battle long forgotten in Middle Earth), he remained detached from them, roaming the wilderness instead.
"And you, Lady Irulan?" he said suddenly, breaking her out of her daze. "How do you like Paris?"
"It is fantastic," she said, looking around the crowded restaurant that was decorated in a rather eccentric fashion. Oriental carpets covered the floors, upon which large Ottoman pillows were spread, with small tables in between. The walls were a mixture of warm hues and orange, gold and red curtains hung from here and there, granting some seclusion to the groups. Hundreds of candles adorned the tables and the walls and were the only light source in the room that also held the distinctive smell of incense. "Very sensual," she added after her inspection.
"It is, after all, the city of Love," he replied with a grin. "Certainly no better guide in that than Lord Legolas."
Irulan pursed her lips and sipped some of her wine. "I think Irulan has too many suitors as it is, Baeron," Legolas said, crossing his arms on his chest and giving the other elf a cool stare. "One more, would be one too many."
"Ah….I have no luck in the matters of the heart," he said with a tinge of sadness along with a splash of playfulness. "And I stand no chance against the finer samples of my kind," he added with a sigh.
"Wisely put, Baeron," was the dangerous growl of the other elf and all three chuckled to it after a moment.
"Would you like to attend the Masquerade in Vienna?" Baeron said suddenly, enthusiasm adorning his face. When Irulan looked up from her wineglass, open curiosity on her expression, he continued: "It is two days from now."
"Oh my God! How is it?"
"I think it will be very entertaining, to say the least," mused Baeron.
She glanced at Legolas, who gave her a bemused look in return. "Well...." she said then, "I've never been to a masquerade. I don't even have a costume!"
"Ah," Baeron said, waving his hand, "that can be arranged rather easily. In fact, I have the perfect costume for you. That is, if you wish to attend."
The woman laughed out at that. "I would LOVE to! But.....I guess we will have to return to England."
Legolas leaned forward and held her hand, under the curious and amused gaze of Baeron. "Anne said that some Council members were delayed. I suppose we will have time."
She looked from one elf to the other and back. The temptation to do something crazy, to turn her back to the Council and Cate and Jonathan and Anne and everyone else, rose in her. In her younger years, Irulan had been quite bold - especially in things like this. Perhaps not very spontaneous, but daring and determined. And often she missed those times. What was true freedom, if not the fact that you could risk everything in a single instant? She would be late for her work in New York. Her boss, who already complained more than enough about the days she was taking off, would no doubt cause some serious trouble. But in that instant those things did not seem too important. She wanted to let go and remain with Baeron and Legolas and talk and travel with these incredibly interesting elves. The fact that she would never ever get a chance like this again was an incredible motivator, pushing her to take the step.
"Say yes, Irulan," smiled Baeron, looking more attractive than ever. "This masquerade is not one you would want to miss. And I promise good company," he added with a wink.
She bit her lower lip and waited, two opposites clashing in her. The responsible and rational Irulan challenged the impulsive and intuitive one and the duel was very bloody. The feeling of Legolas' fingers caressing her hand made her look up to meet his eyes. "I would demand it of you. But I think you should make your own choice."
"I want to stay," she whispered finally, her gaze momentarily resting on her glass before she raised it and looked from one man to the other. "I do."
Both elves smiled in unison and in such similar fashion, that she could not help to smile back in amazement. "Then we shall stay," The Prince said gently, the warm pulse of his hand on hers growing slightly.
"Wonderful!" exclaimed Baeron. "I have the perfect costumes for all of us!"
Irulan laughed again, feeling excited out of her wits - more due to the fact that she had chosen to stay, than the masquerade itself. "I can't BELIEVE I am doing this! You elves have a terrible influence on us, I tell you! How will I ever go back on this freedom and fun?"
"Perhaps you won't," said Legolas suggestively and she smirked at him, afterwards grinning out of pure joy. "Allow me to call the castle for recent news," he said then, rising from his seat. "I won't be long."
He strode away to use the phone and Irulan's gaze followed him until he disappeared amongst the shower of red, blue and orange curtains and the mist of the incense. Perhaps it was the atmosphere of the place. Or too much wine. Or simply the glee of the moment, but her thoughts once again dwelt on his beauty and charm. A strength was emanating from Legolas. A strength that none other in this room -with that, her eyes wandered around it, taking in the people scattered here and there, half hidden amongst the linen curtains- possessed. Until her gaze met the hazel look of Baeron's. 'Except perhaps one other,' she thought then, her lips curving into a smile.
The smile received one in response and the elf leaned on the small table between them, stretching lazily and placing his elbow on the furniture in a leisure manner. "He likes you," he said, the smile widening further. "A lot." Irulan diverted her gaze to the wineglass and found nothing to say. She shrugged and took a sip from it. "For a woman of such strength and presence, you certainly lack self-confidence, Irulan," he added a moment later.
She glanced at him briefly with mock irritation. "I just find it hard to believe that someone like Legolas.....or any elf, for that matter, would find interest in me."
"Hmmmmm...." Baeron mused, playfully placing his chin in his palm and giving her a long look. "And why is that?"
The wine was getting to her senses, indeed. Irulan laughed softly with the effect of it before she answered: "I am not graceful. Or beautiful." She shrugged, taking another look at the room. "I am not wise beyond my years or anything. Hell....I doubt that I'm even mature." She shrugged the third time, failing to find other words to say.
Baeron laughed a musical laugh and shook his head. "Humans! How I love you all!" He halted a moment, inspecting her in that most annoying penetrating manner that all elves had a habit of doing. "An elf would tell you that, if a peacock, a dolphin or a jaguar could speak, they too would say the same thing. An elf would say that beauty is not something that one is apt to see in oneself. That it is only visible to the outer eye." He grinned at her slight blush that could easily be from the alcohol, but that he knew to be from her shyness. "*I*, on the other hand, would say that you are right."
Irulan, momentarily shocked by that reply and not certain if he was joking or not, remained staring at him with raised eyebrows and an open expression of curiosity on her face.
He leaned in further, not blinking as the distance between them diminished drastically. "And that you are immensely attractive because of it." The woman just stared at him in surprise, then slowly leaned back to clear the distance between them. It was not easy for a human to be in the company of such creatures and remain in total control, and often she found herself backed into uncomfortable corners. "There is nothing more attractive than an attractive woman who has no care about her attraction," he added with a slow grin and watched her run her hand through her hair, in an attempt to shake off the effect of the wine. A useless attempt, since the music and the incense and the dim lightning and the warmth of the room only added to its intensity. "You, Irulan," he said, his voice lowering even further, "are a very attractive woman." He gave her another look before he continued: "Are you Lord Legolas' lover?"
She swallowed down the wine before it could spray out of her nose. Elves were straightforward. But Baeron was even beyond that! "No!" she managed a moment later.
His eyebrows rose gently. "But he is courting you." It was half question, half observation. She chose not to reply that as the elf gave her a long look. The mystical music playing in the background swept between them like a breeze and Irulan tried very hard to stay focused, against the pressing effect of the alcohol. "I envy him," Baeron said finally. "And it is not the first time I do so."
Another moment passed and when a look in that direction told her that Legolas was nowhere in sight and was not about to return, she replied: "Thank you. I.....am a little bewildered. At all this attention that I am getting." The statement was followed by a nervous chuckle.
"I would never court you while he does, Irulan," he said gently and her breath caught when his fingers glided once over hers in the softest and most ethereal of touches. "Even *I* have enough manners not to do such a thing. Especially to Lord Legolas. But...." with that he looked up and Irulan was caught in his hazel gaze instantly, "....I would feel honored to do so, if life should part your roads for this or that reason."
She remained looking at him, baffled beyond words and action. Why did it feel wrong? No doubt that Legolas was not her lover. And nobody said that he would be. And yet, even though it was very gentlemanly and well-mannered and sincere, Baeron's offer felt wrong. It felt almost indecent. 'Don't be silly! You are an independent woman! You could choose an affair with this elf right this moment, if you wanted to! You have no ties to Legolas," said a part of her mind. But another part just shifted with discomfort, not sure why that was.
The elf took out a pen from his bag and wrote a series of numbers on the napkin. Then, folding it, held it out to her. "You can find me in either of these. I will be a very happy man the day you call."
Silly, but she glanced towards the entrance again and still there was no Legolas. "Well....I....," she begun, torn in indecision and the ridiculous lack of understanding why that was.
"I shall not ask for yours," he said then, a gentle smile invading his lips. He reached out and took her hand, turning it to place the napkin into her palm, then gently folding her fingers close. "For it will be your choice. And I make no promises or set no standards. But....I am very willing to give it a try, King-daughter," he finished with a low voice. He released her hand and she slowly retracted it, looking at the crinkled napkin in it. "Know also that I will feel no dislike for you if you choose not to call." He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "And no surprise, either!" Their gazes met again. "And yet....," was the gentle addition, "I had to try. Because hope, dear Irulan, is a mighty force."
The smile Baeron gave her then was too fabulous for a mere description. It held amusement as well as sadness; understanding as well as rebellion. She smiled back in return, liking him even more for it. She took the napkin and folded it one more time, then placed it into her jacket pocket.
"What costume will I wear?" she said suddenly, in an effort to change the topic. "Can I be Joan of Arc?"
The elf laughed softly and the waitress who had just arrived to bring in another candle for their table, blinked and momentarily froze at that, her looks glued to the blonde man. A few moments later she regained her wits and replaced the item, leaving the table in confusion and looking back several times over her shoulder. "I should have known that you would pick her!"
"Well...we are in France, after all. And she had a glorious life!" she grinned.
He leaned slightly back and looked at her for a moment. "A glorious life," he said slowly, as his eyes glazed for a moment. "And a pitiful death." A moment passed as Irulan felt his mood shifting ever so slightly and chose to remain silent. "Yet," he said finally, his eyes focusing on her once more, "she did not cry out till the flames took her and her body and mind snapped. Even though all had deserted her. Her king. Her country. Her followers...." a momentary silence, "....her God."
Her eyes widened slightly when she understood the meaning of his words and all she could do at the moment was to swallow. His gaze was heavy on her, and she saw a deep sadness in it, although that coy smile had not left his features. The excitement to urge him to tell was incredible, but Irulan pressed it down mercilessly, afraid to stir something that was better left unsaid. She shifted once. Twice. Then took another look around and finally managed to choke out the words: "You.....you met...her?"
Baeron's smile did not change. Nor did he move. But something shifted in the very air between them, ever so slightly. It was too small a thing for her perception and lasted too short to be dwelt upon. "I did. On her final day. She thought I was an angel," was his gentle reply.
Irulan blinked. Slowly, but with certainty the hairs on her arms rose and a shudder overcame her. She felt the warm surge of wine through her veins and heard the beating of her heart. But other than that, the moment became timeless as they sat there, hanging in limbo. The environment and the music and all the people were forgotten and for that moment, all that there was to the world was Baeron's handsome face as the candlelight played on it. She did not know how long they sat so, but finally it was him who spoke once more: "I sang to her on her last night in the prison cell. And she thought I was an angel," he repeated bitterly, suddenly looking away.
That break of eye contact made Irulan gasp for no apparent reason. Once more she shuddered, although she felt more hot than cold. Unconsciously she tilted her head, seeking out his gaze again, but Baeron did not respond. There is was again…..a bitter, constricting sadness, pulsing out of him and crashing on her shore like the waves of a dark ocean. It became almost tangible in essence and Irulan felt it seeping into her own spirit. It came over her again and again and again…..pulse….pulse…pulse….waves…..salty and cold. She sat unmoving, barely daring to breathe. "What did you tell her?" she heard a whisper and only after having said it, she realized that she herself had spoken.
The man sighed audibly and turned his gaze on his wineglass as his fingers began a silent play with it. "I told her that she was right," he said finally, his voice less emotional and more controlled. He looked up and she remained absolutely motionless, eager to keep his gaze on herself and downright afraid to lose it. "That I had come to ease her passing." Another chuckle rose from him and he gulped down the remnants of his wine before he pushed the glass aside and leaned in on the table, placing his forearms on it. "She was a child in a woman's body, Joan of Arc," he mused, a broken smile on his lips, though his tone lacked the sadness this time and only reflected bitterness. "And it was hard not to envy her for it." He smiled broader when Irulan swallowed hard, a slight tremble moving through her as she gave in further and further to the strange lullaby. "How she had managed to come that far in life, remains a miracle to me. Perhaps because it was a different time and the world cared less for the things it cares for, today." Another silence followed, and Baeron took a lazy look around the room before he continued: "Nevertheless, I was with her on her last day." Once again his eyes glazed and several moments passed. "I remember. It was chilly. And so....dull. And I remember her pain and anguish. So lost.....like a little child." His hazel gaze locked on Irulan's once again and strange enough, a sound came with it. No…..no sound. Since she was certain that her ears had perceived nothing. Yet there it was….like a suction along with the bang of a distant door. "She stared into my eyes till the very end. And I hope she found the ease of pain she hoped she would."
There was suddenly extreme silence as the echo of that sound died out and Irulan passed into a state when she was not sure if she was dreaming or actually living the moment. A haze came over her mind while she sat, astounded and not blinking, trying to understand why that was. Like smoke sweeping over water, it glided over her, around her and with an inhalation, into her. The sadness expanded. It stretched, stretched and stretched, and like a seed from which suddenly many minuscule roots shot out with urgent speed, it sprouted into anger and frustration and bitterness and sorrow and anguish and pain and pain and pain and pain….
She did not see his gaze sweeping over her features and did not perceive it when Baeron reached out slowly, stretching his fingers, and finally touched the corner of her eye. Only upon the contact did Irulan feel the wetness that stood between his skin and hers and blinked both in surprise and in bafflement. Why she would cry to a memory like that, was beyond her. For she was not a very sentimental person. She hardly cried for books or movies that moved so many. And yet....the sorrow settled on her like a dark garment, warm and chilly at the same time. And the sadness became her own, and the pain became unbearable and the bitterness was like her skin and anger was her flesh and torment lashed like blood in her veins and hate pumped in and pumped out and pumped in and pumped out….
She blinked again, trying to gather back her mind. 'It must be the wine,' she thought distantly. 'It must be all the overwhelming things that have happened in such a short time! It must be the company of elves. And the city of Paris!' But it was none.
His fingers glided down her cheek, leaving a wet trail behind while his eyes did not release her even for a single moment. Only when he reached her jawbone, did they depart and break the touch. Baeron said nothing and his face was that elven blankness that she found impossible to see through. He took back his hand, placing it on the table while his eyes did not look away from her as her own fingers replaced his and wiped at the fluid on her cheeks with disbelief. She looked down at them, trying to understand how this was possible.
It was then that a shadow landed on her and Irulan blinked once again in an effort to wake up from her trance. On its own accord, her head slowly tilted and her eyes met the fierce fire of Legolas as the elf stood looming over her, the light coming from his back and leaving his face in shadow – other than his sparkling blue eyes that seemed even more alive at the moment. And yet, she failed to return to the present and understand the happenings around her. As a result, certainly she also failed to read his expression that spoke of surprise, alarm and sharp anger.
Again she blinked and again she tried to return. Her brows furrowed and her lips slightly parted as she tried to say his name, in hope that it would break her away from the alluring glow of the flames that burned and burned and burned and filled the heavens with that awful stink. She felt his cool fingers on her chin, lifting it to take a better look at her and she tried really hard and harder but her fingers slipped and slipped further and slipped some more.
Then the strangest thing happened. For he spoke, and it felt as if the whole world was ringing with his voice. No, as if the world was MADE of his voice, no matter how gentle and low the whisper. "A cuivie (wake up)," he said and the words etched into her mind like a knife etching into soft, pink flesh. They meant nothing. Nothing but a call that made her turn from the horrible cries that rang that chilly day as the flames hissed and the crowd roared and the wind whined and the trees swished and the shouts echoed and the pile of wood crackled and the crows croaked and the chanter boomed and the hooves clanked and the bells swung and…… "A entulesse (return), Irulan!" Legolas said, his voice inhuman in its texture, "ta nwalya ea il doost ten colin (this pain is not yours to bear)."
She blinked again, and this time the music came back, as well as the soft murmur of the background and the smell of food and incense and perfume. One more blink and her sense of time slowly returned, as well as her memories. She took a deep breath. "Legolas!" she whispered, her eyes completing the gaze around the room and finding his again. Why had she thought of him as a dark shadow with piercing blue eyes? He looked rather ordinary at the moment. His fingers were still on her chin and his look was still on her face, but other than that, the strange feeling she had believed to emanate from him was no more. "Legolas!" she croaked again, tilting her head back to break the contact, and rested her face into her palms.
Legolas placed his hand on her head, caressing it with the gentlest touch. He looked at Baeron and the blank look on his face could rival his. For an outside observer they might seem mirror images. But for an elf much was displayed there to read. Many moments passed. "King-daughter shared my pain," the other said finally with a sigh, and his voice held the mildest tinge of sadness as well as surprise.
The Prince's eyes blazed, but other than that, he remained utterly motionless. Only his fingers continued their caress of her hair while Irulan slightly tilted back and forth, trying hard to regain her wits. The wine was spreading still, surging through her like a strange whisper. She felt him sinking down onto the pillow next to her and his hands gently removing hers. Then she found herself face to face with him and his hands rested on her cheeks as he gave her a long, inspecting look. "I……I think I….." she whispered, swallowing in between words, but he stilled her with a kiss on the forehead. "Come," he whispered, smoothly pulling her up. Her slight sway was probably more due to the alcohol than anything else.
She did not know where he was leading her until they ended up in front of the bathroom. "Go on," he said, one last time caressing her cheek and motioning to the door. "Wash your face. You will feel better. It is over now."
She nodded, not really understanding what was over or what had happened in the first place. "I think….it was the wine," she said, wiping her forehead. "Don't wait. I'll come to the table," she added a moment later, then went in.
By all means, Legolas meant to return! He strode to the table with such slow but steely determinism, that the aura made everyone unconsciously cringe and step away from his path. Though he looked rather ordinary and common, his emotions marked him as a real threat and danger and all cleared his way, moving aside. "What do you think you are doing?!" he hissed once he reached it and stood looming over Baeron.
The other elf slowly stood up as well, facing Legolas for a moment, slight alarm in his stance. His head dropped and his hand traveled to his heart. "Forgive me, Lord Legolas," he said slowly, then met his eyes again. "I meant no intentional harm." They remained like that for a moment or two, until both almost simultaneously remembered that they were not in a secluded room but in a crowded restaurant. "Please….." said Baeron, his hand gracefully motioning to the Ottoman cushions across him.
Legolas took a slow breath and, not diverting his eyes from the other elf, assumed his place while Baeron sank into his. They remained silent for another moment or two. "I did not suspect her reaction. It was foolish of me. Forgive me, my Lord."
An icy stare was the reply as the Prince, with the leisure threat of a panther, leaned in and placed one forearm on the table flat before him. The candlelight bounced of his sharp features and his silver blonde hair. "She is Kingskin!" he seethed. "How can you be so careless?"
Baeron took a deep breath and pursed his lips. "Her beauty clouded my mind." And that was an even worse thing to say as the Prince's blue eyes lit up with deep fury. The other man looked away, a tired expression on his face. "I fell prey to the desire of Sharing. It has been lifetimes since it happened. I guess I missed it more than I thought."
"Your selfish desires put her in grave danger!" was the utterly calm but hostile reply.
Baeron hung his head again in an act of submission. "True. I regret it. It will not happen again," he said, leaning back and focusing on his glass as he slowly turned it clockwise, then counter-clockwise. Legolas crossed his arms on his chest. He chose to remain silent. Mainly because his fury was boiling in his veins. It was not a good idea to speak when one was so angry. "I know she means much to you," Baeron resumed then, his gaze not seeking his. "And I would never harm the line of the King. It was a mistake and one that I hope to be buried and forgotten."
The other elf grinded his teeth, his eyes still fixed on him while Baeron refused to make eye contact. "Nothing we burry remains forgotten, Baeron," was his tired sigh of a reply a moment later.
The Scout only nodded to that. "The earth can only hold that much," came the bitter comment.
After that neither spoke again. The past slid between them like a venomous snake and each retracted into their shells, not daring to risk a confrontation with it. Too many times they had been bitten by it. And each time it had been an experience of deep torment and fear. Their silence continued, an absolute contrast to the music and laughter and conversation around them.
****
