Disclaimer: It is "too dear for my possession", (as well as Shakespeare's lines) so – don't own it.
Author's note: Thanks everyone who reviewed.
Deane: You keep making my day. Or rather my days. :o) It's awfully nice of you. And don't be so worried – do you really think I shall allow Legolas continue suffering? Though… :o) It would be very much like me.
Inwe Tasartir: Eru, I'm beginning to love myself, let alone my writing. :o) Thank you. Your review made me feel inspired.
Irael: I was always fond of constructive criticism. We are grown-ups, aren't we:o) And – mea culpa – I have already mentioned that English is not my native language. And in my native language commas are placed just the way I did it. I put them quite subconsciously. I will certainly try to watch myself. Thank you for pointing it out and for your estimation, too. :o)
Blackrosemystic: Yes, madam. :о) Or mademoiselle. And - thanks.
Chapter 3.
Not I.
She lost control. It had never happened before. She lost control and cured his scars, though she hadn't intended to. A fine state on affairs, indeed…
Something was wrong, and Legolas felt it. Yesterday Rexia produced quite a different impression on him. He expected harsh words, snorts, importunate questions, but nothing like that came. She just entered, asked him about some water and then, judging by the sounds and smells, began brewing something to cram him with.
At last the elf grew tired of silence. If that girl was reluctant to speak, he would converse with the empty air. One thing is to be bored to death by the loneliness, when there is no one by your side. And quite another thing is when your opponent withdraws into herself as if you do not exist. He still had his self-esteem, didn't he?
"Thank you."
There was a faint noise on his left, and he turned his head in that direction.
"For what?" her voice was shrill. Legolas winced – the sound turned out to be so unpleasant, that he almost repented having provoked her to produce it.
"I've noticed the absence of scars," answered he, for some reason feeling that the tone he had chosen was stupid.
"It does credit to your observation."
The phrase held no jeer, the way, it was said in, just did not allow to treat it as a retort, notwithstanding the words which made it up.
"Give me your hand."
He obeyed, and Rexia handed him a hot cup.
"Drink it up. Preferably in one gulp," advised she.
Legolas took a sip, and the warmth of the beverage slid down his throat. It had no taste, not even the lightest flavour, still he couldn't get rid of the sensation that he had already drunk something of the kind. His head grew heavy. In spite of the darkness surrounding him, the elf clearly understood that the world around him was spinning.
"What was that?" inquired Legolas with a fair amount of curiosity. His tongue moved lazily, slurring the words.
"This blindness was provoked by a curse. The curse is not realized by your mind, it exists in a body quite separately, and your reason gives it a perfect disguise, shifting your attention to the consequence, and not the cause. By making your mind slumber I can try to remove the curse and keep you in your senses."
However hard he attempted to suppress laughter, he didn't succeed in it – the potion obviously told upon his restraint.
"Forgive me, milady," he was still struggling with giggles, "you sound so serious. But I'm afraid, you are mistaken – if there were any curse, my father would have known it by now."
"You know, Prince of Mirkwood, we, people, have already accepted one thing – there is no man without fault," Rexia deadpanned, taking the cup away from him. "May be you, elves, in your endless wisdom should resign yourselves to the same, concerning your race?"
It was strangely uneasy to hear her calm, reserved tone. Legolas believed she should have been in rage, he attempted to break her self-possession, but the more he pushed, the more she quieted down, as if the manifestations of his imperfection pleased her. He could not see her face to know it for sure. He was only able to feel his way through the conversation, as he had been forced to feel his way through life for these five years. What a humiliating state for an elf – to be doubly blind!
"What's the matter with you?" came a sudden question, "you've grown dark."
"Does it really bother you?" he asked bitterly and turned away from her voice.
"Not too much to satisfy you, but too much for my usual self, Prince."
He had no time to contemplate over this statement, because it was followed by a question.
"May I touch you?"
"Touch me?" Legolas was taken aback, "What for?"
Rexia muttered something under her breath, harsh sounds clearly stating her annoyance.
"I am not going to enlighten you as to my purposes. Still, you did not seem very happy with my touching you last time. So I ask your permission to do that again."
Musing at how she would act if he refused, Legolas inquired:
"Will my answer change something?"
"No," she confessed calmly, "I just wanted to be polite."
"Not that you've succeeded," retorted the elf, resenting her careless attitude towards him.
She gave a vexing laughter.
"Not that I care."
A slight ruffling of material indicated that Rexia moved closer to him, yet he was surprised, when her palms lay on his face once again. She stood behind him, so that her fingertips were almost on his chin. Her voice dropped to whisper, and a single word reached his ears. "Relax…"
And Legolas did so. He would do so even if it was against his will. It was like losing consciousness, though he managed to remain aware of what was happening. Her hands were sliding up and down his face, barely touching, but still touching it. One moment her palms were icy-cold, then they grew hot, like the flame itself. There was pain, but he did not realize it as his own, there was weakness, but he wanted it to last. He winced each time her fingers came in contact with his burning skin, until all sensations concentrated on his eyes, and rested there, palpitating on the eye-lashes. And when this biting pulsation became unbearable, when he was eager to beg Rexia to stop, she took her hands away…
"Legolas?" whispered she questioningly, "Is it too much?"
He was astonished by the softness of the words.
"It's … too different," he said at last, and it was true.
It seemed as if he finally took off a heavy iron mask, which had been clasped to him and about which he hadn't even known. It was easier to breathe – he suddenly felt fresh spring wind come from nowhere and caress his cheek.
"Now you are smiling," Rexia snorted and left her position behind his chair.
Was he? And then, why not… Something about her steps put him on his guard. They were heavier, than when she came in an hour ago. Heavier and slower… He heard such steps, returning from hard battles – the warriors by his side used to tread that way, fagged out by the fury of the fight, half-dead from fatigue. She could not be that tired, could she?
…to heal an elf! Isn't it beyond my powers, brother?
"I must go now," the girl said, her voice even hoarser, than it usually was, "It's getting late".
Legolas wanted to object, but she practically ran to the door. In a second the sound of her steps died off somewhere in the street.
All that Rexia could do was to go out of that house and fall down, squirming with pain. Eru, Varda, Manve, it was horrible… So horrible… She raised her hands and squeezed her aching temples. Little by little she was coming to herself, but there was no strength to get up, just to define, what was left of her.
How could she even try to do it? How could she be so self-confident?
"I guess, I've had enough of elves," declared Rexia out loud.
She was not going to cross this threshold once again. Let someone else give up her life for the sake of the throne of Mirkwood. She just didn't care.