Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Hail the mighty Tolkien.

Author's note: And the special "thank you" goes to – Deana! (pam-pam-pa-pam!) Your review was the first one I ever got, and it means much for me that it was positive. I hope I won't disappoint you. I was touched by your reaction, really. :o) Thanks.

So, the next chapter is ready.

Help yourself. ;o) Review. Please?

Chapter 2.

Healing…Hatred…Hope…

She was a person many preferred to avoid, and she liked it that way. Indeed, the talent which was brought into the world with her was supposed to help people… To bestow them new hope…But it happened so that she did not share the opinion that people must be helped. Not by her. Not every minute of her life. Since her early childhood everybody around Rexia had been trying to persuade her that she was not the one to belong to herself. How could she be so selfish? How could she think about her own life, when she had a chance to save the lives of other people? She had barely remembered the first time she healed someone. She was six and went to the river with Ralon. They were having so much fun, diving and splashing and laughing… And then Ralon made another dive and didn't emerge from the water. She was screaming so loud that some adults, passing by the river, heard it and managed to help. But when Ralon was found, it appeared that he was not breathing. She recalled how a sudden impulse made her kneel before him, put her hand on his heart… And then her own lungs began to ache, as if being pierced with many needles. She started to cough and gasp for some air just the moment Ralon opened his eyes. Soon she lost consciousness.

Since that day her joyful life found its end. People came in hundreds just to see her. They brought sick relatives and friends. They didn't give her a minute of rest. With each of them her power grew – the faints stopped, it took not too much time to see what ailed a patient and heal him or her… But with each of them grew another thing – her hatred towards her talent and those who were using her. They had no pity for her – and she ceased pitying them. She accepted their gratitude with a scowl, because it couldn't pay back for a chain of painfully sleepless nights, for headaches and, what was the most awful – for the feeling of being deprived of her life, of being enslaved.

"Rexia! Come down, eat something!"

"I don't want to," she muttered under her breath.

"Rexia! Rexia?"

Rexia snorted… When will he stop pestering her?

"I am not hungry! Leave me alone, if you please!"

A dark-haired head appeared in a doorway.

"But why, sister?" Ralon's face could move to pity a stone, "Are you well? Let's have a breakfast here! I can bring something tasty…"

"Ralon, darling… Just leave… I need to concentrate."

Ralon, Ralon… Sometimes she wondered why she kept behaving like that towards him… He has never even fallen ill since the unlucky dive. Though may be it was due to his habit of befriending elves. She had nothing against them, but the admiration they aroused in her brother was beyond all limits.

The elves came back seven years ago and claimed their rights on the land, which had previously belonged to their people. They actually met no objections from the race of men, except for one – the elves were asked to put up with the fact that people would live closer to them, than they had used to. Why did they decide to come back at all – was a complete mystery. They never told.

Rexia and her family lived in a small town quite near … Mirkwood? Yes, it seemed to have that name. When the elves arrived, she was thirteen – a clumsy adolescent with sharp elbows and knees, covered with bruises. She stood in a big crowd, listening to cheers and shouts and watching a long string of stately horses flowing along the road. The horsemen - golden-haired, slender, sparkling with celestial beauty – made her hold her breath in admiration. At the head of the procession was riding a majestic elf; she guessed it was King Thranduil, mentioned in so many stories Rexia heard from her grandfather. She didn't know why, but the King disappointed her – there was something about his cold blue eyes under the perfectly-cut lines of eyebrows, or about the haughty curve of his lips, that made her think of the excessive pride, defensible, but overpowering.

A rapturous murmur swept over the crowd, when the King was followed by another horseman - a younger one. He looked very much like Tranduil, though his face was lit up by a mild smile and didn't seem so aloof. People recognized him as Prince Legolas, a legendary hero of the War of the Rings, and the cheers doubled. Girls were showering him with flowers… By the time his horse approached the place, where Rexia was standing, people behind her had grown so impatient that she was simply shoved out of the crowd. She lost her balance and tumbled down right under the hooves of a gracious animal.

The feeling of embarrassment and anger filled her eyes with scalding tears. Rexia tried to get up, licking the lips, which were rapidly swelling up and bleeding. Suddenly she felt a strong arm around her waist. One jerk – and she was on her feet again.

"Be careful, my little lady," said Legolas, bending forward to her and wiping away her tears, "or at least try to fall near somebody, who will catch you."

Rexia shook her head, turning back to reality. Those years passed, and the image of the elven prince faded. But when Ralon asked her to heal Legolas, it flashed in her mind's eye once more – shining hair, streaming in the wind, a tender touch of his hand and a ghost of a smile in the eyes, glimmering with the purest azure.

What she saw yesterday ruthlessly crashed this image. The only thing that could still remind of the Legolas she had known once were the same sky-blue eyes, yet they were not lambent anymore. And all the rest was frightening.

The golden shimmer of his hair died out. His face became dead-pale and weary. Ten eerie scars stretched from his forehead to the chin. And he grew different… Sharp and embittered.

She had already regretted having promised him her help. It was too impulsive of her, considering the vision she had dragged out of his memory. No slightest desire she had to deal with the powers so strong, that they were beyond the control of the elves. The balrog take it! And Ralon! And Prince Legolas for company!

Rexia angrily threw fragrant tufts of dry herbs into her bag, snapped it shut and stormed out of the house. In half an hour she had to be at her first patient's and there were six more for today, including a certain elf. A new day has come…

Legolas woke up earlier than usual, shaking violently, dripping with cold sweat. He couldn't remember his dreams, but one thing he knew for sure – they had been somber ones.

He got up and moved to the door, his hand in front of him to prevent running against some obstacle.

Having left the room, Legolas searched for a jug of water and a wash-basin. A splash of chilly liquid cheered him up a bit; he scooped some more, dipped his face into the small lake in his palms and gave a start…

It could not be so… It was impossible…

Legolas feverishly touched his forehead, his cheeks, then his chin. He refused to believe it - the skin under his fingers was smooth. The scars were gone…

They appeared that fateful night, together with blindness. At first everyone thought, they were the marks left by a survived monster, but then it became clear, that Legolas had scratched himself. He was not sure - he did not remember it.

But now there were no scars.

For several minutes Legolas stood silently, not noticing the water running down his face on the chest. Then he smiled – slowly, awkwardly, as if he had forgot how to do it.

Now he would wait for Rexia as eagerly as he was waiting for her to leave him alone yesterday. She wasn't just a mortal healer anymore. She was his HOPE.