Ah…so many hate Irulan now! I guess she should have stayed behind and become Legolas' humble and obedient servant, huh? Sigh…I guess she was not as submissive as thought, was she? All aside…who can say that we always act with our reason and our calm, cool mind? Most of the time we act out of sheer fear, passion or greed. Irulan is not perfect. Nobody in this story is. They are driven by their own needs and fears and though we might wish it to be different, so are we, my friends.

Baeron bought them train tickets with cash and under different names (to bribe one's way around Madrid seemed to be surprisingly easy). He said that they could not take the plane, unless they were willing to wait for his friends to prepare a fake ID for Irulan (he himself had several such papers that no one knew about), because they could not bribe themselves to travel incognito on an international flight. Even if fake IDs and passports were prepared for her, the Circle would immediately know about it, and therefore that option was pointless anyway.

Irulan didn't really listen to all the intricacies of traveling without being caught. She looked out to the view of Madrid as the cab took them to the train station after they had shopped for clothes and necessities. Legolas was there...somewhere out there. So close and yet so far.

An incredible regret was running through her, more so with every minute she stayed with Baeron. The regret of having come to him. For in her own greediness to avoid her lover, she had dragged this man into unpleasant danger and a sound fight with his friend for over thousands of years. She had always hated the women who ended up doing that in novels or movies. But now, Irulan the Great, was doing that very same thing - pulling two old friends into a fight over her silly self!

She sighed and swallowed softly. Not that she had a choice now! Now, instead of running from one elf, she had managed to put herself in a position where she was claimed by two! 'I mean...how stupid do you have to be to end up here?!' she thought, the confidence and respect she used to feel for herself drastically diminished in these last days.

But then...she didn't know about the Bentanta issue. Neither did she know that elves simply came with a price. They were fabulous beings - and better than any Man, true. But their company and their love were not free. Their overwhelming presence robbed you of your breath and you could just say goodbye to your modern ways. For no elf was modern in their relationships and none would ever try to be. They were gentle and kind. Respectful and reserved. But once you said 'yes' to them, nothing could undo your word and you were forced to submit to their ways. Gently they would rule you. Softly pull you along. Tenderly convince you. But rule, pull and convince you they would nevertheless.

'I am so stupid!' she thought again, unable to think anything else of herself. 'I should have never come to Baeron! Never should I have sought the help of an elf who had feelings for me. What made me think that he would be different than Legolas in this matter?'

"Irulan, you have been very quiet," he said just then.

She turned to him, giving him a soft smile. "I was thinking."

He found her hand again. Just like Legolas, Baeron too refused to slow down his advances, even in her current state. "About Legolas, yes?" was the cautious question.

Caught a little off-guard at that, she cast her gaze down to their entwined grasp. "Him, too." A moment passed. "I fear that I have done something irreversible, Baeron," she said finally, finding his hazel gaze once more. "I should have never come to you. I mean...it seems so stupid. We had an argument...and everything spun so out of control! Because of me. Maybe I should have stayed at the castle and done as he wanted."

"To be honest, you should have," was his simple reply.

Irulan sighed with frustration and gave him a sour look. He grinned in return, delivering a kiss on the back of her hand.

"I only wanted a little space. To...think about things. I feared that if I left alone, he would find me..."

"Which he would, no doubt, in a matter of hours," he inserted smoothly.

"...and I guess...I didn't want to be alone. So I called you. But...Baeron, I would hate myself if your friendship is ruined because of my stupidity."

"If it is ruined, the cause is not your, but our own stupidity," was his gentle reply. "You did what every person in your position would." She nodded, trying to convince herself of his words. "Any woman would choose me over Lord Legolas," was his lofty addition.

Irulan smacked him on the shoulder. "I did not choose you over him!"

"Yet," he said, grinning again. Irulan rolled her eyes and shook her head. A moment later she was pulled to him and remained pressed to his chest, shocked to immobility. Baeron had a tendency of changing with lightning speed and could go from friendly to arduous so fast, that it was simply beyond her to be prepared for that. "You are still his lover," he whispered into her ear and gave it a warm kiss. She swallowed hard, trying to resist the urge to tremble at that. "And what I am doing now is very, very unbecoming. But...I don't care, Irulan. I will make sure that you get the option of choice." Another kiss landed on her neck and Irulan this time placed her hands on his shoulders and tried to push him off. It had no effect on him at all. "I will buy you the time to consider. If you decide to go back to him -not to save me or to do his wish, but out of love and compliance on your own behalf- I will stay in your way no longer." She managed to push herself enough to look up to his incredibly intense eyes and froze, her hand stiff on his chest. "I was always honest with you, was I not?" he said then, almost playfully. She nodded with unease. "Even at the risk of losing your liking, I would not change that." A moment passed as his hand combed back her hair, his eyes following the movement. "I desire you, Irulan. More than you can imagine. But I will not go further than a kiss, until you make a choice. I am still that much of an elf." He sighed with regret and cupped her chin once more, a strange fire leaking from his entire frame. "Lord Legolas knows this. He knows that I will do anything in my power to convince you. Just like he has done. It is only understandable that he will do anything in his, to prevent it." He pulled slightly back and combed his fingers through her hair. "We have been down that road before. Him and me."

She nodded. "Bentanta."

The elf gave her a long, deep look and she dared not move, remaining pressed against him with unease. "Indeed," he said almost minutes later and his grip softened. Irulan moved back to her former position, trying to still her breathing. Baeron did not look away from her, a thoughtful expression on his face as he sighed. "One would think we would have learned after that payment."

"Tell me of her," she said quietly. "What was she like?"

"I am not the right man to ask," he said after another long interval, cocking his head and continuing his caress of her face. "For to me, she was perfection."

Irulan bit her lower lip. "And to Legolas?"

"Again," he sighed, "I am not the right man to ask. You have to ask him." She cast her gaze down, feeling uneasy. "Bentanta meant much to him as well, I am certain of that," he said then. Irulan nodded, unable to meet his gaze. "But I know that it was incomparable to what he feels for you."

She smiled deftly. Their looks might be resembling humans more than ever, but they were still as different from their Younger Brothers as can be. "What exactly happened?" she said, forcing a slight anger into her voice. "If you have confused her as you are confusing me, she must have gone mad!"

The reply was a silent, broken smile and for a moment, thinking that she had hit on the truth, Irulan froze, ashamed. He inspected their hands leisurely before he spoke. "It was not her that went mad. But Legolas and me." He grimaced and looked out the window, the passing view of Madrid bright and sunlit. "We pushed her and pushed her and pushed her. At one point I think we became so blind with the desire for victory, that we forgot her frailty. The frailty of a human girl. Of one who is young and naive. Who is tender and gentle. And yet we pushed on." He turned to lock eyes with her and Irulan swallowed hard at the anger and sorrow that pulsed out from him and filled the vehicle. It was sharp enough to even make the rather uninterested and unkempt driver glance at the couple in the backseat, shifting with uncertainty at the sentiment of sadness that enveloped him.

"Whom did she choose?" Irulan whispered, despite herself.

"She chose neither," was his final reply. "She chose wisely."

A very long time passed in silence and finally they pulled into the train station. Baeron paid, then found their bags and stepped out, Irulan following at his heels. Her eyes nervously scanned the surrounding, looking for Legolas. She was not used to hiding or running like this and to be honest, it was not a thing she would wish to get used to. Even when they finally found their seats in the dilapidated and extremely old train, did she not find it in her to relax. Even when the cabin began to shake and squeak and the train began to move, was she tense. Only after half an hour of hectic riding did Irulan breathe out gently and lean back with relief. Again, they had managed to evade him. For how long? Who knew? She glanced at Baeron, but the elf was looking out the window, in deep thought. Irulan dared not break his concentration and instead, joined his inspection of the scenery of Spain as they glided out of Madrid, where the true love of her life was.

***

"The day is bright, Princess!" greeted Baeron, placing his fist on his heart and bowing slightly. His sandy blonde hair hung freely down to his waist, several strands separated and held back with leather cords, leaving his tanned face in the open. He looked magnificent with his current attire of cream colored and light blue cloth, draped over his well built figure and leaving a good part of his torso open to the glimpse.

Yet in his eyes that elven beauty was incomparable to what the girl before him held. Her skin the color of the earth, her hair as black as a raven's wings, the normally curly texture of it flattened and parted in the middle, allowing it to flow down to her waist like a soft whisper. Her eyes were painted with dark coal, pronouncing her light brown orbs even further. But it was not her slim and fragile figure, or the white linen dress or the golden ornaments she wore that Baeron saw. Neither was it her perfect eyebrows or the high cheekbones or the slender neck. It was simply her essence that flowed from her like gentle and cool water in the desert that was Egypt. She grinned a similar grin, her white pearly teeth showing for a moment before she playfully walked to his side and with no hesitation slid her slender fingers through his blonde mane, as she always did. The bracelets on her wrist jingled and Baeron just remained fixed on her, unable to look away.

"You tease me again, Kamoses!" she said playfully, the grin turning into a fabulous smile while he simply forgot to breathe. "You know I cannot resist your hair when you leave it like this." The elf remained perfectly still as she combed her fingers through it once more, her brown eyes following the act. Again the bracelets jingled. It was like music to his soul. "It is the color of Egypt," she sighed, the golden and sand colored strands flowing over her fingertips. "But like the Nile to the touch." Bentanta locked eyes with the mesmerized man, smiling a slender smile. "What magic is this?"

Finally, his minding scolding him repeatedly how unbefitting this was for someone of his age, Baeron smiled and turned to her, his height not uncomfortable because she stood still on a higher step than him. "I posses no magic, Princess," was his gentle reply, together with a smile of tender joy. "I am prey to yours."

She smiled brighter, another one of those tempting grins forming on her face as she released his hair and the jewelry jingled a final time when she lowered her arm. Her eyes squinted as she gazed into the open, over the workers sweating under the heated sun of midday and the gigantic blocks of stone pulled back and forth. A warm breeze lifted the ends of her hair ever so slightly, playing with her white dress and carrying the scent of the lotus flower to him. "All this work, Master Kamoses," she said, the left corner of her lips curved up, "for the sole desire to be remembered forever?"

Her eyes found him again and another episode of speechless staring threatened to come over him. Thankfully this time he was faster and managed to tuck it away. He joined her inspection, delivering the scrolls to his left hand. "You should ask your father," he said almost playfully.

"So you do not share his desire in this field?"

"I have come to learn that nothing lasts forever," he whispered as his hazel eyes locked into her immaculate, light brown ones.

She cocked her head, her smile not vanishing. Only death would wipe it from her visage. "Though not the remembrance of my father's rule, your work might," was her amused response.

"It would be useless, then," he sighed, tearing his eyes from hers and swallowing softly. "For it is being made for that purpose."

"A priest once told me that things serve their own purposes - not the ones we attribute them," was her mysterious statement as she playfully wiggled her eyebrows, breaking into chuckles - very unbecoming of a princess but incredibly attractive to the elf. Bentanta glided down the steps then and he followed, feeling helpless and foolish in her presence. "What say you, Great Architect?"

"I say that the Princess is as wise as she is beautiful," he managed to choke out finally, finding no other response in the heat of her aura.

"Would you say that the same is true for people?" she continued, as always ignoring his compliment of her.

"I suppose so," he said, not really thinking out his words.

"What would be my purpose, then?" Bentanta said suddenly, turning around to face him. Baeron, caught by surprise, halted as his eyes glided over her hair flowing out to settle back on her waist and her arms clasped behind her. His eyes traveled up to her young face and over the amused and innocent expression that he had come to love so dearly.

"I..." he began, and feeling his throat run dry, tried again. "I...think..." No mocking was on her face as she regarded him, expectant and silent. He swallowed, his mind suffering an incredible overload that he had come to recognize as love. He felt himself on fire, and yet under water. Subject to heated torment, and cool, gentle caress. A very long moment passed and he cast his gaze down, pursing his lips. He was a fool! Standing here, in front of the one person to whom he wanted to look mature and impressive, and stuttering like some imbecile! What was Bentanta, shy of twenty years, compared to Baeron, hundreds of times her age? What was Bentanta, a Princess who would never assume the throne and probably never even enter the history books, for not only was she a woman, but one of countless of the Pharaoh's children, compared to Baeron - an elf and a creature of mighty power? Her life was the blink of an eye, then she would perish and be forgotten by all who had laid eyes on her. And those who had laid eyes on those. And so on - for generations. Baeron would remain, almost completely unchanged, if not more beautiful.

Unfortunately the thoughts served him no good. This moment she was all and he was nothing.

"Do not ask me that, Princess," he managed finally, his eyes on the stone steps between them. "I don't have the words to express it." A moment passed as he tried to shake off the daze, feeling more childish by the moment. "Neither do I have the skills to manifest it!" he added with a loftier tone, forcing a grin to his face as his eyes found hers once more. He swept his arm out over the working men, and his mighty work in the distance.

To his utter surprise she glided closer to him, her hands still clasped behind, her face cocked slightly, a mischievous expression on her young face. "You always speak in such riddles to me! Must I command you for answers, Master Kamoses?" she chuckled, softly shaking her head.

It was a miracle that he did not grab her neck, pull her towards himself and kiss her at that moment. A miracle that, no doubt, saved his head. 'What torment is this?' he thought, literally dazed by its aching agony. 'Where is the big fool who said that love is a tender and lovely sentiment?' His hand reached out on its own accord and to the tantalizing surprise of both man and woman, glided through her long hair, very much like she always glided her slender fingers through his. A bluish wave accompanied his pale hand as the dark mass reflected his movement in the daylight.

Both remained frozen at the very unexpected, dangerous and also quite ill-mannered action. He rose his eyes to meet hers, finding a combination of shock, alarm, intrigue and amusement there. Every fiber in his body screamed with love for her and he knew with certainty that even if she had been a goddess, he would be incapable of more admiration than what he was feeling this moment. The torment deepened further and further, almost physical in its essence. He parted his lips and the word fell out by itself, a whisper as gentle as the warm breeze that swept over the land of Egypt… "Bentanta."

She said nothing, and in return, only smiled very slowly. This day she would be silent. Later days he would listen to her beautiful voice as she lay in his arms, her skin smelling of the lotus flower, of sand and musky earth. He would listen to her little dreams and her fragile hopes and her tender fears and comb his hand through her raven hair, his lips traveling over her warm body, slim and perfect. He would silence her then, his lips demanding on hers, his hands gentle and possessive, and for a long time speech would give in to the whispers and moans of love and desire. Such flame was this woman! Such burning ache. Such sweet torture. No matter how much he had her, he just wanted her more. Their minds would never match. Their experience never equal. But it meant nothing, for in an unspoken, unexplainable and irreversible way, she was made for him. Him alone.

Until one day an old friend came to visit. And Bentanta spoke no more of herself. Instead, she marveled how the eyes of Baeron's friend were the color of the Nile and his hair like the silver thread of the Moon God Chons. She chimed continuously with awe of his wisdom that was like the bright and brilliant sun of Egypt. This man, with a passion like the heat of the desert and heart like the scent of the lotus flower, came to the palace and Baeron's castle of hope and love dissolved, very much like his work had dissolved into the sands of Egypt…

Baeron blinked and turned his head to her, his eyes sparkling in the darkness of the cabin. His gaze did a quick round, then found her again, sitting with her knees drawn up in the darkness. Her expression was timid and alarmed and she looked like a little child. They locked to each other for a moment and she bit her lower lip, waiting anxiously. "Come here," was his gentle command. Irulan only swallowed and cast her gaze down. A short silence followed. "Come," he said again, this time holding out his hand.

"I'm fine here," she managed to say finally, shaking her head. She had not turned on the lights. She had not even moved. The bitterness and longing in the cabin was like a cold chill and Irulan had sat through it, feeling small and afraid. She did not have the heart to interfere in whatever he was going through. He sighed and got to his feet and came to stand before her, his dark figure looming over her. Irulan looked up at him, but could not see his expression. He stood in silence for a moment, then leaned down, his hand finding her chin and cupping it.

"No you're not," he said softly, his thumb drawing lazy circles on her cheek. "You are cold." Another moment passed and she did not speak. "Do you fear me, Irulan?"

"No," she said immediately.

He nodded but she did not see it. "You must forgive me. I was...carried away."

She nodded. "It's all right. I have been thinking, too."

"Have you, now?" he said, sudden amusement in his tone. Irulan, instantly feeling relieved, rolled her eyes in mock frustration. A moment later she cried out when Baeron picked her up and walked back to his seat by the window. "What about?" he said, sitting back with Irulan still on his lap. She tried to push him away weakly, feeling discomfort and mocking it, too, so that it would not look too childish. "Let me guess," he whispered to her ear playfully, pulling her to himself.

"Baeron, enough already!" she groaned, chuckling a little despite herself.

He stilled then, pulling a little back to give her a better look. The scenery of a southern Spanish countryside was passing by them – the Moon up in the dark sky as fields and farms swished by. "I have been thinking about him, too," was his slow statement.

She waited a little, inhaling deeply and trying to imagine what he could be thinking about Legolas that had caused such an atmosphere of dread in the cabin. The answer became obvious to her in moments, but she did not prod on, eager to remain respectful. "Baeron...you need to let me go," she whispered finally, her fingers playing with his shirt. "Then...then everything will be better. The three of us will be friends. Like in Vienna." She rambled on and he listened with patience, his hand caressing her back as she sat sideways on his lap, her face turned to the passing view but her eyes on his shirt. "If you let me go and I..."

"Vienna is behind us now, Irulan. You must say good-bye to it." Irulan swallowed again, her eyes still on his shirt. His hand traveled up to her hair and he combed through it. "It is YOU who must let go."

"What of Legolas?! He is your friend!"

He did not answer immediately and the silence made her feel very self-conscious. "He is more than a friend," was his final reply. "Nevertheless, I will not walk back on this, Irulan," was the sterner addition. "I am ready to face all that comes with it. I will protect you and guard you until you make up your mind. But not before that will I let you go. Not for the sake of saving me. Or saving Legolas. You need to understand your heart and you need to understand love." Baeron halted shortly before his tone gained a more bitter and strangled edge to it. "It is not a word of poems alone. It is also a spike. A blade. A loop. All comes with a price." He gulped, his voice fading into a whisper. "We are stones set in motion. We can NOT stop. At this point, it is beyond us." Once again his hand delved into her hair and soothed her anxious spirit with the constant motion of gentle combing. "You only see your part. But there is much between Lord Legolas and I that fuels this battle. Our past. Our pride. Our greed. Our nature. Even WE are weak in the face of such things." He sighed regretfully, locking eyes with her as Spain passed by them and the night moved on. "Sadly, so are you," was his final addition. "Sadly, so are you, Irulan."

***

"I'll be damned! This tastes GOOD!" Gimli barked and banged his empty mug on the wooden table, forcing the cutlery on it into a clatter. He burped loudly, as if it was a compliment to the ale, and glanced over his shoulder to the bar.

"Would you like another one, Master Gimli?" Sam said with enthusiasm.

"Huh?! Well of course! This was nothing but a mere tasting yet," the dwarf rumbled as droplets of ale ran down his long red beard. A sly grin appeared on his face suddenly. "But...you've been running back and forth too much, lad! I can get my own!"

"Oh no! Not at all," said Sam, a little uneasy, scratching his hair. Legolas noticed the red spreading on his cheeks that was a different hue from the one that came with the alcohol. He smiled and crossed his arms on his chest, leaning back on the bank he was sitting on.

"Why, it'll be good exercise," insisted Gimli with hooded eyes. "Besides...there is that gorgeous hobbit at the bar back there...I would very much like to meet her."

Sam's head snapped up to lock to his eyes as Frodo grinned to Legolas, then cast his head down to his own mug which -the elf realized- stood as full as it had hours ago. "Oh...," was the only reply he could come up with.

"You mean Rosie?" came Gandalf's amused voice as he, too, ignored the hobbit who stood, shifting from one foot to the other with discomfort.

"That's her name?!" said Gimli with mock surprise. "By the Heavens! Why, it fits her perfect!" Sam only swallowed in reply.

"Indeed," drawled Gandalf, sipping on his pipe before he continued: "But I doubt that you are the reason she is eyeing our table for hours now, Gimli."

"Eh...don't tell me it's Pointy Ears here, again! Has NO woman in Middle Earth taste in men, any longer?!" He banged his fist on the table as Legolas' smile spread to become a grin.

The elf glanced over his shoulder, finding the object of the argument. "She is very beautiful indeed," he mused. "Alas, I'm afraid there are more famous heroes here that have caught her attention."

"How on earth would you know that?!" sighed an annoyed Gimli, shifting a little to give him a sidelong glance.

The other's eyebrows rose gracefully. "Because I have pointy ears, of course" he said loftily. Following the groan of the dwarf, he continued, his long slender fingers playing with his own mug. "They have heard of her praise for another."

"Another?! Who?!" yelped Sam before he could stop himself.

Frodo grinned again and just for the sole intention of hiding it, took his first gulp from his mug. A shrill song began at that very moment and he almost spit it out at the terrible voices that sang it. The entire company turned to the far corner of the inn where Merry and Pippin were -once again- on the table, engaged in what looked like some wild stomping-hopping-shaking thing of a dance, accompanied by a loud song of their own creation. The quartet watched the silly state of the duo for a while, all feeling strangely relieved by it. In a world where everything had changed, this was the relief for something that had remained.

"Would you gentlemen like something else?" came a female voice suddenly and they turned to find Rosie by the table, her hands entwined in front of her, her fingers nervously fidgeting with her apron. Legolas kept himself from smiling as he observed a blush very similar to Sam's crawling up her neck and slowly fanning out her face. To hide his amusement further, he assumed his blank elven face as Gandalf spoke.

"How about your company, Rosie?"

She smiled a shy smile. "My company is no match for heroes like you," she said a moment later. Sam was staring fixed onto the wooden table and she seemed to be obsessed about ridding her apron of an invisible stain.

"It is true that we are all humbled in the presence of Sam and Frodo," Legolas replied with utter gentleness and threw the dwarf -who was about to object- a warning look, "But we have come to realize that hobbits do not care much for greatness. That is an admirable thing. Join us, my lady."

"I would love to…" she locked eyes with him for a moment and her curiosity and admiration for his kind was evident in them, but his expression did not give away his observation. "…but…I must return to the bar. Perhaps later."

"Indeed," said Legolas, bowing his head slightly.

"Are you well, lad?" rumbled Gimli and everyone followed his eyes to an abashed Sam who shifted on his feet with unease before he managed to choke out, "Of course!"

"You don't look well. You're all flushed and all!"

The Prince thanked his elven control for not breaking into a sly grin with that. "Yes, yes!" mused Gandalf, biting on the stem of his pipe and giving the hobbit an overall look with narrowed eyes, "My dear Sam! Maybe we should take you home."

"I am fine, Gandalf Sir!" he stammered, flushing further at Rosie's observation.

"Are you sure, Master Gamgee?" she said finally and he stilled all motion, staring at her with a mixture of fear and excitement.

"I…yes," he whispered and at that moment, he really DID look ill – so dreadful was his excitement.

She was not convinced of course and prodded on. "Maybe it's these close quarters. Would you want to step out a little?"

Sam stared at her, agape and she looked back, unsure how to proceed. It went on for quite some time before Gandalf dared a rumble of an intervention. "You might be right, Rosie. Sam here obviously does not mean to tire you. But if you have a few minutes to spare…"

He trailed his voice, rose his eyebrows and waited for her reply. Which followed with another wave of pink on her cheeks. "Of course! Please, Master Gamgee…please allow me to take you outside a little!"

The hobbit swallowed to that, then with a mighty inhale pushed up his chin and nodded. Everyone at the table watched their shy and clumsy leave-taking and heard only of Sam's insistence for Rosie to call him by his name before they exited into the night.

A satisfied silence set on the table. Despite the shrill song of Merry and Pippin that continued in the background.

"Were it that I had the option of trading all my worthy deeds for a look like hers!" sighed Gimli finally and his sincere and sad manner surprised Legolas. Though he thought to know the dwarf by heart, Gimli always found a way of surprising him.

"Alas! Look at the lot of us!" mused Gandalf, absent-mindedly gazing at the door again. "Sitting here in our own solitary misery! Fools we are!"

"You can say that again," mumbled Gimli, inspecting his empty mug with distaste.

"Well…does saving Middle Earth count for something?" smiled Frodo, biting down a chuckle.

"Saving Middle Earth!" groaned the dwarf and waved his arms in frustration. "That is easy! Try finding true love, my little hobbit friend!" Frodo only shrugged with amusement in defense. Gimli then turned to the elf sitting in silence beside him. "What say you, elf?!"

Legolas looked down at him with amazement. "About what?"

"About love of course! You elves gloat much about it!"

The Prince resisted the urge to object and say that elves would not gloat in this matter or another. Instead he sighed and throwing a long glance at the two hobbits still torturing the surface of the table, said leisurely, "It is a mighty subject. I have nothing worthy to say."

"Hah!" thundered Gimli. "As always!"

"I hope to be blessed with it some day, of course," continued Legolas, unaffected by his rude interruption.

"Is that so?" chuckled Gimli slyly, his eyes sparkling with a devious glitter. "I would like to see that, Legolas!"

"See what?" was the lofty and cool question.

Gimli showed his large teeth, cackling with amused laughter. "The woman who will tame you, of course!"

"My dear friend," exhaled the elf as both Gandalf and Frodo threw each other amused glances at their usual banter. "I'm afraid you confuse love with other sentiments. Love is gentle. And kind. And supportive. It is tender and-…"

"Nonsense!" Legolas looked down at the mischievous expression of his friend. "I predict…" the dwarf continued in a serpentine manner, obviously enjoying himself immensely, "…that yours will rob you off your wits! Which you don't seem to have much of, to begin with." The Prince only inhaled in annoyance, but got no chance to respond. "She will throw you around like a sack! Hah! Shake you to your senses! Out of the boiling water, into the cool stream, Legolas! By the Valar, you will CRACK like an old vase!" A loud rumble of laughter followed and was strong enough to still even Merry and Pippin and make heads turn their way.

"Do you speak from experience, friend?" was the only statement Legolas found to say in his irritation. That served to stick some uneasiness into his expression and even though it was only temporary, Legolas loved the expression of distaste that crossed Gimli's face. "Is that the reason for your….cracked….appearance?" he mused on while Gandalf could not hold it in any longer and barked with laughter, pulling Frodo along.

"You'll see!" Gimli shouted over the laughter of the trio when the Prince added his beautiful melody of joy to it. "You'll see! I hope she'll teach you manners too, while she is at it, Legolas!" he yelled and banged his empty mug on the table. Then banged it some more with frustration as everyone kept laughing, not feeling threatened by his fiery anger at all…

'And tamed me she has, indeed,' he thought as he sat in the cafe, the day melting into twilight. 'Your wish has come true, Gimli! She has done all that. And more.' His right hand was on the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed. He was a strong contrast to the people around him with his fair skin and his silver blonde hair. He was more of a contrast in nature and race, but that was hard to tell by his appearance alone. None of these people would ever know, but sitting amongst them was a god. A man who had ruled their world for years, manipulating it, pushing it, urging it to this or that direction. No king, emperor or leader of the past had ever come to posses his powers. He was mightier than all of them in his craft and status. And...victim to the tormenting longing for a simple woman.

He sighed and dropped his hand, swallowing softly. His eyes did a round and on some level he noticed the curious and apprehensive looks that he always received in public. Though not conscious of his identity, most people still felt in slight awe and intimidation of him - due to what is known as 'charisma' and 'presence'. And, of course, due to his physical attraction that exceeded any mortal man's easily.

He sighed and entwined his fingers on his chest, leaning slightly back in his chair. For someone of his status and age, his current situation was more than embarrassing. Not because he was foolishly in love. Not because he was on the track of a mortal woman. Not because he was devastated and lost because of the lack of a simple touch from her for two days now. Not because the idea of her being with another man -one whom he simply knew would pursue his interest in her, sooner or later- struck such fury and jealousy in him, that it set his entire being on fire.

But because he, more than any other, should have known that cause and effect is the greatest natural law there was to life.

Because he had forgotten that the past haunts you no matter where you run and that it never lets go until the balance is paid in total.

Because he had ignored the fact that all great mistakes were due to the reign of sentiments replacing the reign of reason.

In appearance Irulan was, no doubt, very much like other women. In fact, though she was beyond beautiful to the elf, any outside observer would have seen that she was not a perfected sample of her gender. But underneath the same skin, lay a different spirit. How foolish was it for someone of his experience and for someone who had actually spent many years with Estel himself to forget that Irulan never was and never would be like any woman he'd had an affair with, before!

But he HAD forgotten. Even though that was what had made him fall in love with her in the first place, he had forgotten her heart and her spirit. She was not interested in his riches. Neither was she in awe of his power. His looks served him no advantage. And she was not in deep adoration of his kind. All his attributes that had made every woman bend to his will throughout his long life, held no importance when it came to Irulan. If she had fallen in love with any of these men right here in this cafe instead of Legolas -and his eyes did a round on the present (and not too impressive, one must add) company- Irulan would not have hesitated in the slightest to be with one of them instead of choosing him. No matter what he offered in return.

And he had treated a woman of that nature like he would treat any other woman. He had courted her, overwhelmed her and won her. Perhaps the fact that he had never encountered a woman like Irulan before could be an excuse for his actions in the beginning. But what about the time she had wanted time and space? Could he actually deny that his excuse of Sharing was the sole and sincere reason? No...Legolas was too old to lie to himself. The truth was, he wanted Irulan with a passion that was frightening in its intensity. He wanted her so much, he was ready to walk over anything and everyone to still that need. Countless times he had scolded humans for acting on such basis and especially the way he had. And yet, now that he had tasted the flame of need to such extend, he knew that he was not spared from foolishness in the face of it.

He wanted Irulan. Everything else was irrelevant. It should matter what SHE wanted, should it not? More than his needs, it should matter what SHE needed. And if her road was somewhere else and with another, true love would demand him to let go and be happy for her, no?

Those were all arguments of his reason. His heart cared for none of them. His heart wanted her, period. He was ready to become anything and anyone for that purpose. She could just take him, twist him, change him, play with him or command him. Legolas was not sure how far his nature and his character was willing to bend under such whim, but he was more than ready to do his best to satisfy her. If only she would be with him!

His blue eyes moved up and inspected the first stars that bloomed in the darkening sky. Another night was setting in and again it would be a night without her. A sharp pain issued in him with that thought. After all was said and done, the problem that was lying in blood and gore on the operation table was evident: Both Legolas and Irulan were warriors. Their tactics were different, their strengths on different ends. But their will and their skill were simply equal. He could not dominate her and she could not evade him. They were locked in a deathgrip, each unable to break away from who they were, and each unable to continue in this manner. Why oh why, were they chosen for each other, when they were so different and so incompatible?

Any woman would bow before him and would she not end up being happier for it? Would she not live in glorious bliss and wealth until her last days, forever flattered, pampered, spoiled, showered in surprises? Yes, any woman he knew how to make happy. But not Irulan. And any man would bow before Irulan, would he not? And would she not support him, care for him, mother him till the end of his days? Yes...any man. But not Legolas.

He sighed again and stood up, leaving a stack of bills on the table. He strode away then, his hands in the pockets of his jacket, his face unreadable. Another day was setting and at the end of it, one thing alone remained: He wanted Irulan. And he knew where to find her.

***