Irulan looked up into the mirror. She seemed rather pale. But other than that, not worse than usual. She placed her fingers on her cheek and watched them slide down in the reflection, following the path Baeron's had laid a few minutes ago. At the end of their journey she swallowed and once again looked down at the sink and the flowing water. A final time she splashed her face, then turned it off and leaned in, supporting herself on her arms, her gaze cast downwards.
At that moment one of the doors banged shut in the bathroom and she jumped at the sound that reminded her so much of what she had heard when...when... Unconsciously she looked up to the mirror again. The pale reflection was staring back at her. Her brown eyes seemed even darker in the lighter tone of skin. Drops of water were running down her cheeks and had settled on her forehead. She sighed and wiped away the strands of hair that stood plastered on her temples.
The woman responsible of the banging door came to stand before the sink next to her and gave Irulan a small smile before washing her hands. Irulan just stared back at her reflection. She was beautiful; with black hair and prominent, shapely black eyebrows. She was wearing a red top and red lipstick to go with it. An excellent contrast to her own paleness. Irulan sighed and looked away again, pulling out some paper towels to dry her face. 'What happened?' she thought for the fifth time since she had entered the bathroom. 'Baeron was talking to me. He was telling me about...about Joan.' She halted, the crumbled paper towel forgotten in her hands. Her hesitation was not for any particular reason, but a fearful expectation of that terrible pain. She held her breath, waiting for its impact, mentally cringing into a corner.
But it did not come. Irulan exhaled very slowly in relief and threw the towel away. 'That happens when you drink too much wine!' she thought to herself, annoyed. 'You made a fool of yourself! Some grown-up woman!' Having wasted enough time, she sighed and strode out, the music and odors of the salon instantly enveloping her and changing her mood for the better.
When she arrived at the table, both elves jumped to their feet and only sat once she sank down on her own pillow. She looked from one to the other, and wondered if the tenseness that seemed to hang in the very air was her own imagination or real. "Was I long?" she said, merely to speak and lift the stagnant air. In truth, she had no idea how long she had been away. It could have been minutes, or it could have been days. Her sense of time was rather messed up at the moment, but Irulan was not too aware of it.
Legolas, surprised that she seemed to be so recovered in such a short time, placed his palm on her cheek again, turning her face to look into her eyes. She swallowed softly, as he gazed into them for a moment or two. "I am fine," she said finally and smiled a little to convince him. He hesitated a moment, then leaned in to place a kiss on her cheekbone and that was the moment when Irulan thought that she was not strong enough to endure the company of two elves. The constant switch from fire to ice, from storm to calm, from heaven to hell would crack the toughest pot.
"Forgive me," Baeron cut in and she turned to see him looking at her with a penetrating gaze. "It was my mistake. It will not happen again."
She gave him a long, surprised look. Then another to Legolas, who did not return his gaze to the man, but remained focused on her profile, his fingers gliding down her hair. Which was extremely distracting by the way, but she managed to ignore it for the moment. And finally it dawned on her that it had NOT been the wine or anything else. Her heart broke into a gallop at the realization of what had happened. Something that she would have never imagined to happen to her. Never ever! "You...y-you Shared with me!"
Baeron nodded once. "I have. And I ask for forgiveness."
A moment of silence passed. Then another. Baeron's eyes remained fixed on her. Legolas kept gently combing her hair. The background music continued.
The fact that Irulan had gone through something that only very, very few people were seen fit to experience, blew her mind. An elf had actually SHARED with her! Her breath caught in her throat. He had allowed her to share a memory! No...that was a lame way to put it. Sharing was so much beyond that! It was an intimacy beyond anything for an elf. And invaluable for a human. No doubt that many Circle members would kill to be in her place right now!
It was an incredibly rare phenomenon. There were times when elves lost control of their sentiments and allowed them to flow freely. In these cases there was some sort of sharing for the more sensitive humans and it involved the current perception, sentiments and state of the Firstborn. But…the real Sharing was nowhere accidental. It required utter control and care and was the sharing of memories. She had never heard of any occasion that was performed this spontaneous, and no doubt that Baeron regretted it greatly, for it was dangerous indeed. But then...he was a spontaneous elf.
"Do it again!" she whispered finally. All motion stopped instantly. The world froze in the strangest silence as the look of both Firstborn almost bore holes into her. "Do it again," she said then, her voice slightly shaky but a little more audible.
"Irulan!" said Legolas, his tone both alarmed and baffled. "You could have lost your sanity!"
"Yes but," she said and wiggled a little as his hand grasped her upper arm, "but...I didn't!" Once again she turned to Baeron: "Have you seen Degas? Have you met Kant? Can you Share with me? Please?!" The elf just looked at her, amazed. No doubt that it was a highly intimate and unbecoming thing to ask from them. But at this point, Irulan was too excited to think of manners. Suddenly there was a slight pain on her arm as Legolas squeezed it strong enough to gain her attention. "Enough!" he hissed. "It will not happen. Never again!" Unwillingly she turned to him and was instantly speechless at the intensity of his gaze. Her mouth opened and closed several times, finding no words. "This is no game!"
"But...but Legolas!" she protested finally, her childish excitement making it impossible for her to remain motionless in her seat. "You have seen Caesar! And King Louis! And you have seen the great battles! Share with me!"
The disbelief and shock in his eyes was, no doubt, the rarest sight. Baeron's sudden chuckle made them both turn to him once more. "I think I am in love," he grinned with amusement, then laughed softly, shaking his head. At Legolas' furious gaze he shrugged and laughed even harder.
The other elf took a deep breath and forced the woman to look back at him. "Irulan, this is wrong. It is dangerous for your kind. Baeron here…," he said and gave the other –still chuckling- elf a sidelong glare, "…no doubt felt incredible relief as a result. For you it will mean only pain and disturbance. You do not understand its impact yet. But it will become evident in time. Do not ask for such a thing again."
She stared at him with frustration and turned her pleading looks to Baeron, who was grinning at the couple. "He is right," he sighed finally.
"I am tougher than that!" was her disappointed and stubborn (not to mention, stupid) reply and forced another, this time even louder laugh from the elf across her, making heads turn in their direction.
"And more precious," Legolas seethed in reply, the determination in his voice rather evident. "I will not allow you to waste yourself like this."
"But Tolkien Shared! Many people Shared with elves!"
"Under high control, yes. With utmost care, yes. Not like this! And even then it was too much to bear for some!"
"But Legolas..."
"Irulan, enough!" he said and his tone said that it was final. It also reminded her right away of her pledge. She swallowed hard and cast her eyes down with a deep sigh. A reluctant nod followed as she gave in to his wish. And to logic, of course.
Baeron remained silent and observant as Legolas released her arm and looked away. He had no intentions of revealing her pledge to the Scout – that concerned only the two of them, no other. A moment later he continued in a milder tone: "Perhaps we should go. It has been a long day and you are tired, no doubt." She nodded in submission and he turned to Baeron to discuss the Ball and how they should meet in Vienna two days later. Finally he rose to his feet and gently grasping her elbow, pulled her up as well.
He helped her to put her jacket on and finally the woman approached Baeron, who was smiling down at her. Strangely, she felt so much closer to him now. Actually it was not strange at all, since the intimacy of Sharing was incredible. "You have taken a great amount of my pain, King-daughter," he said slowly. "There is nothing superior you can do for an elf."
"I am honored," she whispered, looking into his hazel eyes.
To Legolas' utter dislike he asked Irulan if he could run his hand through her hair again and she agreed, of course. The Prince watched with sharp impatience as Baeron combed his hand through it, the pale digits delving into the dark locks. Irulan had a curious and almost amused expression on her face and observed the elf's features that berated astonishment. "Curse of the times," Baeron said then, "Women don't grow their hair this long anymore."
"Good thing too," was Legolas' icy reply. "Or you would be doing this to each and getting into trouble, no doubt." Unable to hold it in any longer, he grasped Irulan's hand and pulled her away from the other elf who blinked and gave him a look that soon melted into amusement.
They parted then and Legolas placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her out of the restaurant. After waiting a short while at the entrance a cab was hailed for them and a few moments later they were driving towards the hotel. Dazed by both what had happened and the realization of the nature of it, Irulan remained silent as the colorful streets of Paris washed by her.
Legolas held her hand and smiled in silence when she turned to look at him. Neither spoke and not too much later they arrived and he led her through the lobby. The receptionist told him that another room was available now, but he turned it down. He would never leave Irulan alone this night. Her Sharing was too new and who knew how deep her reaction to it would be?
Irulan stepped into the room, swaying a little. From the happenings of the day (let's not exclude the David issue here) or the wine, she could not tell. The elf guided her to the bedroom. "Take a shower, Irulan. It will make you feel better. Call me if you need anything."
She nodded and gathering the clothes she would wear, dragged herself to the bathroom. And the shower did indeed make her feel much better. Though it took nothing from her fatigue, it cleared her mind and lifted the dread that had been on her spirit. Finally she put on her pajamas, pulled her hair to a simple bun, and walked into the bedroom.
Or rather, she managed to take one step, then remained rooted. Was this the same bedroom? It seemed VERY different with the dozens of candles lighting its darkness. Unconsciously she took another step, her gaze wandering around the chamber, her lips parted with awe. So amazed was she by the unexpected setting, that she walked right into the elf, who appeared out of nowhere.
"Ouch, Legolas!" she said, jumping a little, "Watch where I'm going, will you!"
He chuckled softly, then touched her temple and locked eyes with her. "Tell me how you are feeling."
"Good," she said, giving the room another inspecting gaze. "I am fine. Just a little…tired." It sounded better than "drunk". Legolas smiled and nodded, then grasped her elbow and slowly guided her to the bed. "What happened to the room?"
"I prepared it for you," he said with a killer smile, "the light of fire will relax you."
"Will it?" was her somewhat nervous reply. He motioned for her to lie on the bed that stood with the covers peeled aside.
"What did Baeron show you?" he said, suspicious by her answer.
Irulan's gaze did one more tour over the flickering candles and when she felt her heart speed up for no apparent reason, she hastily diverted her gaze from the fire. Her eyes met his as he stood by the bed in his cream colored soft cotton outfit and looked down at her with silent expectation. "He…he met…Joan of Arc," she replied, her voice a bit hoarse.
A slow but steadfast understanding bloomed in his face and after a moment or two Legolas carefully sat on the edge, then pulled himself up to lie on his side, facing her as he diminished the distance between them. It was like a single, flowing and utterly graceful movement, and the woman watched it with fascination as the natural manner of it made her forget to pull back when he finally settled inches from her, propped up on his elbow and looking down at her. "Irulan," he said gently, his other hand gliding over her cheek once more, his crystal blue eyes looking fabulous in this light. "Do not dwell on it. It was long before your time. You were not meant to see it."
His hand glided over her shoulder, down her arm, then along her side to settle on her waist. But she did not feel it as her eyes glazed and she, too, raised herself on her elbow like his mirror image. A long moment they remained like that, Legolas watching her carefully as she remained in deep thought. "What horrible creatures we are!" she whispered finally and the elf remained frozen by the tone of sadness in her voice. Irulan met his eyes and his heart wrenched at the tell-tale signs of tears building up there. "The things we have done!"
Alarmed by her sorrow and grief, he cupped her cheek. "You once told me that hunger, war and pain is not all there is to the world. Do you remember?" Irulan blinked in surprise, the pull of melancholy broken by that unexpected intervention. "You were right." He sighed, his thumb gliding over her cheeks and her lips as she just stared back, oblivious to the touch. "I have seen much cruelty and dread. But I will not deny that I have seen much greatness and beauty as well." The glow of the candles was traveling over her silk pajamas like ripples on water. Her skin was a darker shade in the light and for a moment he remained stupefied, looking into her eyes that were like dark pools in which golden flames danced. She smiled a broken smile and the elf swallowed softly at the charm of that.
A deep silence settled between them, and only then Irulan realized the intensity of his gaze and the proximity of their bodies. She looked away and shifted slightly, betraying her intention of moving away when his grip landed on her waist once more. "Stay," he whispered and just the way he said it made her heart explode in the most unexpected manner.
Once, Irulan had been a different woman. The clouds of doubt and insecurity that traveled her skies so often these days were no source to block her sunlight in those times. The chilly gust of fear was not so ever-present in her tundras. She had been bold once. Unafraid of taking steps. Intimidated by neither beginnings, nor endings.
Life had taken that fearless little girl and twisted it into something fragile and weak. Where was the bold little child? Where was the rebellious teenager? The uncaring adult?
'I am still her,' she thought suddenly. Out of nowhere, a protest and rebellion rose in her – to all that had been taken from her and to all that had been placed into her instead. 'I am still her!' she thought again, the determination in her growing. 'And I want her back!'
A voice in her head laughed at such childishness. No doubt that Irulan was getting carried away here. Probably due to the alcohol. And the sizzling atmosphere of Paris. Not to mention, the warmth of Legolas against her own body!
Time stretched as she remained in indecision at the very crossroads that -unknown to her- Legolas had stood at, not too long ago. But unlike his case, she knew exactly which one meant danger, and which one meant safety. Unfortunately that did not make her choice any easier. Not at all.
'An immortal!' screamed her common sense. 'Are you insane?! Have you forgotten what that means?!' She sighed in frustration. 'You know where this road is leading. No surprises there, Irulan. There can never be happiness for you in this direction. Do not step onto it!' True. But the other path held no happiness either. Only safety. And boredom. And a life full with regrets of untaken chances.
Finally what tipped Irulan's scales was, ironically, the same thing that had made the decision for Legolas: Exhaustion. She was tired of being safe and whole. She was tired of being comfortable but alone. She was tired of walking through life as if walking through a museum - always on tiptoe. Always admiring but never touching. Always looking but never feeling. Always dreaming but never really taking the step.
She looked up to see his crystal blue eyes inspecting her with patience and perhaps a tinge of alarm. It was with fascination that she watched her own hand traveling up then, ever so slowly, floating between them in hesitation, like a gull hovering in a gust of wind over the blue, sparkling ocean. Legolas did not move. Nor did his eyes leave hers. But nevertheless, a sharp waiting and concentration pulsed out from him. Only a moment's hesitation, then it finally rested on his chest. Still he did not move, even though the warmth of her palm against his cotton sweater and more so the contact of her fingertips on his bare skin was devastating to say the least.
There it was, at last. Her approval. Her acceptance. Her 'yes'. And with it came an incredible joy that he had not felt for the longest time. It was no formal declaration. No spoken word. No open explanation. But it was as subtle and graceful as any step could be. He did not care why it meant the world to him. He did not care why it felt like a divine blessing. Why it felt as if he had just proposed her and she had accepted. Legolas blinked, momentarily confused by that strange allegory.
Irulan was confused, too. And rather afraid. But at the same time, happy with her choice. She had chosen Legolas. She had chosen to let another in to this old and rusted mansion that was her heart. She had chosen to give love another chance. 'Love?!' she thought, startled. A sudden excitement exploded in her with that word, but she did not get to dwell on it further as Legolas sighed softly and placed his cheek against hers. His hand that had been on her waist slowly glided to the small of her back, then traveled up to rest between her shoulder blades and pressed her to himself.
This time it was not discomfort, but only slight embarrassment that bloomed in her when Legolas began to place long and searing kisses on her cheek and her neck. She stifled a moan at the incredible pleasure of it and remained unmoving. His kisses traveled over her face, at times passionate and desperate, immediately afterwards tender and innocent and they were a perfect reflection of the chaotic battle in him.
But he did not go further. Not tonight. She was, after all, intoxicated both by the wine and the Sharing and –though the passion in him screamed for him to do so- he would never take advantage of that. Also, he would not risk all he had achieved till this point for a mere moment of haste. Once he tilted back again, the smile on his face could have made the sun jealous – so sincere and sparkling it was.
"Some day I shall tell you of those merrier moments," he said slowly, his fingers entwining with hers once more. "But not this night. This night you will rest." Irulan, too dazed to come up with a reply or protest, remained silent. His eyes glided over her features and ended at her bun. "What crime is this?" was the question that carried a tired and scolding tone to it.
She grinned lazily. "It is comfortable."
"That may be…" he said then and slowly pushed her back onto the pillow as he began to undo it, spreading the dark mass of hair above and around her, "...but THIS...is beautiful."
She did not say anything and once again Legolas glided his hand over her waist in an easy caress, feeling the silk underneath and the skin underneath that, but never to the limits of her discomfort. He placed gentle kisses on her cheeks, her face, her neck and on her hands, but never beyond that. And yet, in the dimness and warmth of the silent room, it was the most intimate and enflaming act. Though both had shared far deeper intimacy with others, neither had felt this excited and weakened by a simple touch, an innocent kiss, a mere closeness.
Perhaps an elf would define it as courting, since they were overly passionate beings, but always in fierce and rather easy control of that passion. However, to a human it could only be compared to the most ardent foreplay, setting each and every single nerve on fire with the longing for more. If not that, at least for its continuity forever.
But with the later hours her body and her mind finally began to give in to the exhaustion of the day as well as the torture on her sentiments and her perception. Irulan felt herself drowning in a pool of warm whispers, caresses and kisses and she did not resist when Legolas pulled her closer. A distant part of her felt the covers partly enfolding her and the elf embracing her waist, pulling her to his chest, eliminating all distance between them. Then there was only the long awaited comfort of sleep.
***
Irulan stood facing the mirror in the bathroom. She blinked, suddenly baffled by that. 'This is a dream,' echoed a thought in her mind, then, and relief came with that thought. 'Indeed,' she thought in reply. 'Only a dream.'
She shifted on her feet, and took a look around. A perfect replicate of the actual bathroom. The dimness of it. The exotic flowers in vases or hanging from the ceiling. She turned on the water and felt its wetness. 'Amazing!' she thought in bafflement. 'How real it feels!'
A moment passed as she slid her fingers through the coolness of it some more time. Then came the sound. The sound of the banging door. She flinched momentarily of its echo in the silence, then slowly relaxed. Her gaze went up to the mirror again, expecting the beautiful woman in red.
Instead, another came and if Irulan had ever had been afraid in her life, it was this moment.
Joan of Arc stepped into the dim light that shone above the mirror and left the remaining part of the bathroom in mysterious darkness. She took a slow step, her eyes glued to Irulan's reflection as the other failed to move, breathe, speak or even look away. A tremble came over her, very much like the one she had felt while Baeron had spoken and she shook with it, like a leaf would shake with the wind. A whimper fell from her lips and the fear turned like a knife would turn in a heart. The effort to inhale forced another whimper as the young girl came to a standstill next to her.
They stood side by side, identical in pose and stance – facing the mirror, their feet slightly apart, the light flowing over their faces and their looks locked through their reflections.
She looked exactly like in the vision. Shorter and skinnier than Irulan, with sunken cheeks and short, harshly cropped ash brown hair. Even the few freckles on her incredibly pale skin were evident. She had very pale blue eyes that were perhaps a little big for her face. Actually Joan was not beautiful at all. A thin nose, prominent and sharp cheekbones and flat lips. All in all, she could easily pass as a young man. And yet...a power was throbbing from her. Not a gentle power. Not a wise or mature one. It was...raw and primitive. The power of stubbornness. Or perhaps the kind that people of Faith had – the ability to turn your back to the world and stride on, no matter what the price.
"A dream," choked out Irulan, her fingers feeling numb as she sank them into the porcelain of the sink. The water kept running, a soft swish in the background. "This is a dream! It is a dream! I am dreaming."
"Life is a dream, King-daughter," the girl said then (and strangely in English, with a heavy French accent, too!), and Irulan almost jumped when she spoke. She gasped and bit down a scream, her fingers clutching the rim of the sink and trembling with the implied force. Her voice was young and flat. Not a voice to command armies. Not a voice to make big speeches. There was a tinge of cold authority in her tone, but it did not sound incredibly threatening, because it came from a mere child. Though at the moment Irulan was more than terrified by that child.
"Oh sweet God!" whispered Irulan, still unable to tear her eyes from the reflection of the other, whose blank expression slowly broke into dry amusement. The girl's face twisted, slightly tilting down, making her look below her eyebrows as a cut tore through her visage. The cut turned into a grin, and a rather feral one in nature.
"Oh," whispered Joan of Arc, going from dry and cold to entertained so fast, that the action itself made her seem even more frightening, "Call Him." Her grin widened further, revealing not so well kept teeth. "He will not come." Once again Irulan thought of closing her eyes, but to be in the same dim room with this...this...thing while her eyes were shut was even scarier. So she kept looking, unblinking. It was then that she realized with horror that the girl was wearing the same rags she had the day she was bound to the pile.
A moment passed and it was Joan who broke the silence again: "Will you share MY pain too?"
Her tone spoke of amusement, anger and mocking – and Irulan failed to understand why any of those sentiments would be directed to her. She swallowed. Then swallowed again. "I," she tried to say, but it came out more like a wheeze. "I...I can not," was her whisper-whine-gasp of a reply.
Joan's head cocked to the side then and her grin became a small smile. "You, too, desert me," she whispered in awe. But it held no surprise. Just the fulfillment of something expected.
At this point Irulan could speak no more. She just shook her head mightily, not looking away during the action. The water ran on and on and on and she trembled again. The only thing she could think of at the moment was 'Legolas'. Her mind grasped the idea as if grasping the only rope that led to survival. 'Legolas!' she thought again, hope flowing out of her very much like the water that was still flowing into the sink.
"Call your angel," said Joan of Arc, once again sounding amused. "But…" and her blue eyes flared up with something utterly alien, "…do not expect salvation. No salvation for the likes of us, King-daughter."
Irulan watched the reflection of the other girl's hand stirring and her heart stomped faster at the sight. It slowly rose and reached out to her. 'Legolas!' she screamed silently. Again. And again. But no Legolas came. "Allow me to show you," whispered Joan of Arc, "what I mean."
When her fingers grasped Irulan's upper arm, a fire bolted through that spot and in an instant exploded in each and every cell. 'LEGOLAS!' she screamed as the flames burnt every nerve cell, every single hair, every muscle, every gland. The word "pain" suddenly gained a new meaning, for this was like nothing she had ever felt before. It was beyond the combination of any kind of pain she had felt – including the pain she had gone through in the restaurant. That had been sad and bitter. This one was pure fury and flame. It tore through every organ, every tissue and every limb, setting everything in red and orange hurt and the ache was simply beyond words. She screamed then. Again and again and again as the fire burned her tongue and her lips and her jaw and her throat. Yet she screamed, her body not her own anymore.
"Irulan! Wake up!" he shouted in return, but still she thrashed, her fists flying in every direction as he swatted and evaded them, trying to lock her motionless without hurting her. Which proved to be impossible. "Wake up!" he roared and his elven voice bounced off the walls of the chamber, yet Irulan did neither wake, nor calm. Without thought or hesitation his hands appeared on her throat then and Legolas pressed his fingers against the sensitive points, not faltering at her struggle that continued for a few more moments.
After those moments unconsciously her hands clamped over his, trying to pry them off. Yet he pressed, shifting to sit up and trap her legs below him. A moan along with a choking sound erupted from her and she instinctively fought the sensation of fainting that came when the oxygen flow to her brain was being held off. Her fingers dug into his with final strength and then slackened as her eyelids fluttered at the edge of letting go and giving in to unconsciousness. Instantly his hands disappeared and he fluidly got off the bed, taking her with him. She felt limp in his arms but he did not halt as he tilted her slightly and her head fell back, the hair flowing down like a dark curtain. He tilted her further to aid the blood flow to her brain and a few moments later indeed her eyelids fluttered again and another moan broke free from her throat.
He walked around the room and continued to tilt her slightly back, then a little up again. Although he knew that she could not understand him, he still spoke comforting and soothing words to her. In his frustration he did not realize that he spoke in his native tongue, which he seldom did, unless highly disturbed.
Finally her eyes cracked open, and though they were still glazed and dull, it was a good sign. Legolas strode to the bed and gently lay her down and remained seated at the edge of it, his hands traveling over her incredibly pale face and wiping the strands away. Out of sheer shock, she began to cry then, taking big gulps of air in between the sobs.
"Cry, Irulan," Legolas whispered, never stopping his caress of her face. "Cry. Let it go."
At the recognition of his voice her hands clamped over his with sudden speed. "Legolas!" she said, her tone high with alarm. Her gaze remained fixed on the ceiling, but her fingers dug into his as his other hand folded over hers. "Legolas!"
So he waited in patience as she cried some more and finally, perhaps because she had no more tears left, her sobs turned into sniffs and the glaze on her eyes lifted. After another string of minutes her sniffing stopped somewhat as well, and she swallowed a few times as her gaze found his and her grasp on his hand became even stronger. Legolas, though, felt no pain at that clutch and just remained gazing down at her, freeing his other hand to wipe away her hair once more. "Are you better?" he said so softly, it was almost inaudible.
She only nodded, realizing her grip and slowly softening it. Another look at her and a moment later he was sitting right beside her, looming above her. His hands slid between hers and cupped her face, a look of deep worry and concern written on his expression. Which looked strange on his usually expressionless visage. "What happened?" he whispered in urgency, his eyes wandering over her features again and again.
"I...I dreamt," she whispered in return, discomfort washing over her at the recollection of the dream. "I think," she added then, shuddering a little. Slowly she lifted her right arm and rolled up the sleeve of her cream colored pajamas. To her utter amazement and disbelief, a red blotch rested on her upper arm. It did not resemble a wound or a burn, but rather the remnants of a painfully strong grip. Irulan stared at it, stupefied and could not look away as the elf slowly took a hold of her limb, turning it a little for better inspection. When their eyes locked again, Irulan whispered "Was it real?" in alarm.
He sighed and glided his fingers over it. "It was not real. Nor was it a dream," he said quietly. She shivered slightly despite herself. "It will pass in a day or two," was his gentle addition and Irulan nodded, not sure what to think of it. The elf sighed again and then slowly leaned in to kiss the mark. It felt incredibly good. As did his presence. She had no idea what she would have done if Legolas had not been with her this night. In an almost childish fashion, she was frantic for him to be nearby. Especially now.
He opened his eyes and locked gaze with her. Irulan did not move or pull away her arm. And that gave him confidence to place another one, watchful of her reaction. His fingers glided over the heated skin, his eyes never looking away from hers. She seemed not to mind and did not have the intimidated expression that she had had in the train. It was all the encouragement he needed and he continued to kiss her arm in the softest manner as she watched him with slight confusion, but lack of alarm.
Moments passed and the Heavens knew that he did not want to stop. But going further would be to take advantage of her dazed state. Finally he grasped her hand and leaned in to kiss her cheek a few times. No more pulling away. No more objection. No more refusal. It was pure bliss! "Shall we return, Irulan?" he whispered, drawing back a little. "We can choose to go back."
"And forget the Masquerade?" she sniffed with astonishment. Legolas almost laughed out at her enthusiasm, but pressed it down, merely nodding in response. "But..." she stammered and wiped away the remnant of tears from her face hastily, "...but...I want to go! You said we have time!"
"We have time, yes," he said, cocking his head and looking down at her with amusement. "But do we have further strength?" She opened her mouth, but Legolas was faster: "Sharing is not a lightly thing, Irulan. Not only is it new to you, but it also happened too abruptly for your good. Not to mention that it was not a fond moment that Baeron picked." The last part came out far colder than the rest.
She sat up then, facing him. "I asked it of him!" When his blank stare did not betray anything, she continued: "He has no fault, I chose the topic."
"He had no right to do what he did," the elf growled. "You are Aragorn's kin, Irulan! You are expected to be responsive and sensitive to it!"
Irulan sighed and cast her eyes down, observing the candle light shimmering on her silken pajamas. "If he had asked me, I would have agreed, Legolas."
His fingers found her chin and she was forced to look up at his determined features. "And now, Irulan? After you have merely tasted the price, would you still do so?"
Upon what followed, Legolas could only blame himself for forgetting her lineage once again. "I would," she said slowly, her sparkling brown eyes finding his. His head tilted up slightly in wonder and yet, recognition, and he found nothing to say in reply as they stared at each other in silence for several moments.
"Is your life so worthless?" he managed finally, the anger in his tone rather evident.
"My life!" chuckled Irulan, almost bitterly. She shook her head and took a deep breath, massaging her face. "My life!" Another chuckle. "What life, Legolas?" The elf just stared back both in confusion and amazement, trying to understand her meaning. He chose silence. She sighed once more and looked around the room. "I have no life." Her eyes locked with his again and she shifted slightly to lean on her injured right arm, an expression of surprise adorning her face momentarily as she discovered that it did not hurt at all. "Sure...if breathing, eating and moving is the same as being alive, then I am. But so are plants," she said, waving her arm in frustration. "And sea anemones! And coral reefs. Caterpillars and even bacteria! Fungus is alive, too, Legolas!" His expression slowly became one of mock scolding, but she continued with determination: "And that's all I am. Alive. But I have no LIFE!"
"Do you think that carrying the burdens of things long gone and dead will give you a life?" Legolas said suddenly in a grave voice.
Irulan just stared at him. "Legolas," she sighed finally, "you will never completely understand me. And God knows it is beyond me to ever come CLOSE to understanding you!" She halted momentarily, pursing her lips. "I know that you Firstborn would think me as naive and foolish. Maybe I am a child in a toy store to you - longing for things that have no essential value, that are just means of entertainment. And most probably you are right." She sighed, diverting her gaze again, her other hand traveling to the arm she was leaning on and unconsciously rubbing the mark underneath the silk. "But...just like we do not understand the burden of too much time, I sometimes think that you do not understand the agony of too little."
Another slice of silence came between them and Legolas did not dare to break it. Irulan amazed him. Just when he thought her to be a sweet child, she portrayed deep wisdom. Just when he was convinced that she was a strong woman, she showed weak spots in places he would never have guessed. Just when he believed her to be afraid and timid, she turned around and the tone of command in her voice was not something one would hear every day. True, this palette of diversity and the clashing of opposites were human features - and rather beguiling ones, too. But not too many of her kind carried it to this extend.
"Look at me, Legolas!" she said finally, both bitter and desperate. "I have a profession that has become dull and routine. It saves nobody's life. It does not even contribute anything in the name of good to this world! Because like many other things, it is based on sales and marketing and money. I live in a big city with millions of others and there are days –DAYS- when I don't have a real conversation. I work like crazy -sometimes out of sheer boredom, I think- and I spend the money on things that I don't really need. It is the way of life. Of the times. And I am so SICK of it!" Once again Irulan found his eyes as he stood in utter patience and she could not help continue speaking: "The times of magic, mystery and glory are lost to me. All I can do is read and imagine them so that my grey life can gain at least a LITTLE tint of color!" She sighed again and a sadness like no other was in that sigh. "Some life! Some Aragorn's heir!"
His fingers glided down her cheekbone and rested on the crook of her neck to cup her face. "Believe me, Irulan," he said gently, his voice somewhat raw and hoarse, "I know the torture of boredom only too well."
She nodded in understanding and reveled in the feeling of his warm palm against her face. "Often I wish I did not know the truth," she whispered some moments later as Legolas could not look away from the sea of candles that reflected in her dark orbs. "About me and Aragorn. About elves and humans. Now that I know it, I long for things that are simply...beyond me."
The elf smiled a breath-taking smile. No wonder that Joan of Arc had believed Baeron to be an angel. When they shed the curtains of control, they were creatures that one could only define as 'divine'. "I, too, long for such things," he said softly, a comfortable numbness on him. Sure, he had felt excitement in her presence. And curiosity as well as enthusiasm. Joy, glee and surprise. Now, though, he felt such relaxation, it was beyond any description. As if his spirit was a musical instrument that she tuned so easily and that resonated to the soothing notes that seemed to stream out from her.
"Have you ever felt so in need of something that the danger meant nothing, Legolas?" she said. "That you did not care if you died from it? That it was more than worth to take the risk instead of the safety that meant the lack of it?"
Legolas took a deep breath. "I did," he whispered gently. And then: "I do."
Feeling suddenly a bit awkward at his penetrating gaze, Irulan tilted her head and looked down. It was only the second night away from the castle, and yet the intimacy was still growing between them. Who would have thought? Just two days ago she had believed to despise Legolas. And now...well, it was hard to put a name to the feeling. But it was certainly much more than mere liking. And what would she do if this ended? Would she compare every other man in her life to Legolas? In that case, she was certainly doomed to unhappiness for a whole lifetime! "I want to go to Vienna," she said finally, mainly to break the intensity that seemed to have settled between them again.
Legolas pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to regain his wits. Not to mention, resist the temptation to pull her to himself and kiss her. Whoever had said that elves had control over passion, had certainly never met Irulan! He closed his eyes, eager to shake off the fire that fanned through him. Vienna, yes. The Masquerade. And Baeron. With the last thought came a rather unpleasant sentiment: anger. All right...so the anger had a good amount of jealousy in it as well!
He sighed and looked up, finding Irulan fixed on him. His hand traveled to her arm and glided over the wound on her forearm. "If that is your wish," he said finally. "But you will never attempt such a thing with Baeron again," he added then. "Even if he offers it, you will decline, Irulan. That is not a simple wish - it is a demand," he concluded with a dangerous tone. She nodded once in silence. He looked away, taking a deep breath. How come their roles seemed to be so reversed? HE was supposed to be in control and in charge. HIS wishes should matter, not hers, was that not true? But he could no longer deny the pleasure he felt at the thought of fulfilling her desires. He sighed again. "Very well. It is the early hours of morning yet. Let us go back to sleep."
She smiled with childish glee and assumed her former place as he held the cover aside for her. Legolas, too, assumed his position and embraced her once more. This time his movements held no hesitation. A silent agreement had flourished between them and though both the terms and the future of it seemed shadowy, one thing was certain enough: it was a journey that they were embarking on hand in hand.
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