Disclaimer: Don't own it. (grinding my teeth)

Author's note: Since some of you are unhappy with my "dashing" instead of "quoting", I decided to use quotes – to ease your task and diversify my writer's experience. Again – we just have different schools of literature. If you don't mind, the previous chapters stay in their original version. I'm so terribly lazy. :o)))

Thanks everyone who is reading my opus. Wouldn't you like to share your opinion with me?

:o)

Deana: She will do everything possible. :o) Especially if you keep sending your wonderful reviews. (blackmail) By the way, you had your birthday not so long ago, didn't you? Or am I mistaken?

Inwe Tasartir: Glad that you came back. :o) And do you have any suppositions of your own about my native language? It's not that I don't want to tell. I'm just curious about what you may think. ;o)

Chapter five.

Talk to me.

"You are not like him at all."

"M-m?"

"You are not like Ralon."

Rexia gave a short laughter. It was quite in the character of their brief "meetings", which had been lasting for two weeks already. Each time both of them would keep silence, then Legolas would suddenly make a dreadfully out-of-place remark and she would be involved in a seemingly harmless conversation. Conversation about her… Rexia did everything to tell him as little as she could; she was always on the alert to prevent the intrusion into her life. She would answer dryly, almost with hostility. The elf would take offence… End of the story. But what put her on her guard was that he never stopped trying to get her talking. And that her wish to relax and let him this liberty was gradually getting stronger.

"I don't want to be like him," said she, stirring the usual portion of sedative.

"It's too bad. He is a nice boy."

It seemed to her that there was mockery in the voice of the elf and for some reason she felt hurt. Swallowing the resentment, she muttered:

"That's why I want to bear little resemblance to him. One "nice" child is enough for my parents. They must have some diversity."

If Legolas was disappointed with the result of his attack, he showed no sign of it.

"You are older than he is, aren't you?"

"You are mistaken."

Was he going to continue irritating her? Silence reigned for some moment, followed by another question:

"What is it you smell of?"

Rexia almost dropped a cup she was going to hand him. A fair half of the potion immediately splashed out onto her dress and hands, and she gave a hiss of pain – it was obviously too hot to be used as bath water. Lucky the elf was to be able to ask such preposterous questions – otherwise by now he would have been a happy possessor of a burnt mouth and tongue. At least it would have set her free from his … sociability, thought Rexia vindictively.

"What's the matter? Are you hurt?"

Damn his curiosity!

"A bit," admitted she reluctantly, "I can bear this."

"Why won't you heal yourself? I shall wait," suggested Legolas. He was so surprisingly anxious that Rexia, who was going to snarl at him, suddenly decided not to. Instead of it she took a chair and sat down, blowing her fingers to calm the shooting-pains.

"I cannot," said she simply, "I can never heal myself. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try – there's no result. If I catch a cold, I have a seven-day fever, if I cut myself, I'm not able to stop a wound, if I have a headache, I'm up against a brick wall with little outcome. I guess it's a law of nature."

"Then shouldn't you at least take some of the beverage, you always give to me? I had the impression that it can serve as a pain-killer."

She made a little face of disgust and purred as nonchalantly as she could:

"Oh, sure. And then you will drink it, and later we shall hug each other and sing: "There is an inn, a merry old inn", swaying back and forth, like young birches under the wind. And if for a moment you thought… What?"

Legolas was laughing so hard that the girl felt confused.

"Evidently you drank too much of it yesterday," her sarcasm was an attempt to hide strange embarrassment, "I should have watched you more carefully."

"I'm sorry," shamelessly lied he, "Though no, I'm not. It's … a long time since I laughed last."

"It was not funny," mumbled Rexia, thankful that he cannot see the deep scarlet shade of her face.

"It was unpredictable. So, what did you hurt?"

The girl tarried a little, then shrugged her shoulders.

"My palm… My fingers…"

She was surprised, when Legolas resolutely stretched out a hand.

"I want to help, if you don't mind. Will you let me…"

He didn't finish the phrase, and his smile suddenly stiffened and slowly vanished from his lips, as if washed away by the rain. The change stung Rexia… Her heart sunk at the realization of what he was going to say. Let me see… The veil of sadness descended upon him once more, but this time it had the shade of another feeling, something more complicated. His face had a strange mixture of expressions – hurt, pride, vulnerability and anger at himself for having exposed it, anxious suspense and inceptive detachment… Not allowing him to plunge deeper into that vortex, she chose the best thing to do – to pretend that she didn't understand what had happened, or rather that nothing had happened at all. Her palm lay into that of the gloomy-looking elf. He gave a start and then silently covered it with his left hand, entrapping her fingers into the circle of his own ones.

"It's a scald," stated Legolas in an undertone, "Am I right?"

Rexia nodded, quite oblivious to the fact that he would hardly perceive this sign of agreement. Though he didn't seem to be waiting for the answer. His fingertip accurately followed the contour of the red spot on her skin, shifted to its center and began drawing small spirals, each time coming back to the most injured place. The girl watched his movements, unable to get rid of the impression that he was "listening" to her body, to the running of her blood, so grave and concentrated he was. The colour of the burnt was getting paler and paler; it disappeared almost completely. Her palm grew unexpectedly hot under his touch, she was fervent and cold all over, and her heartbeat, usually so calm and measured, turned into a chain of prickly pangs. Half-spellbound, Rexia shifted her gaze from the interlacement of their hands to his face – and did not recognize him. She used to see rather lackluster features, a hard and bitter line of the mouth, stooping shoulders… But at that moment, sitting in a dark room and holding her hand, he was…unearthly. Alight… Elven.

"Why are you shivering?" asked Legolas softly, never breaking the skin-contact. Rexia flinched, instantly shaking off that insane delusion.

"You are hurting me," responded she with a catch in her voice. The elf stopped short and, pulling her hand away from his hold, she inwardly shrank at how staggered and offended he looked.

"Forgive me." Rexia had to read his lips to understand it.

"That's all right. Now, I think, the drink is cold enough," her insouciance was as feigned as his restored composure, "Shall I begin?"

Legolas folded his arms and closed his eyes as if isolating from the whole world.

"No," answered he at last, "Not today. I'm tired."

Not uttering a word, Rexia took her bag and came out of the room. She did not turn around, otherwise she would have noticed, that the pale back of the hand of the elven prince was now marred with the shapeless red stain, identical with the one which had already faded on her own skin.

A/n The song "There is an inn, a merry old inn" belongs to Tolkien and was sung by Frodo in "The Fellowship of the Ring".

Waiting for your reviews.

And – sorry to say that - soon I won't have the opportunity to post chapters as quickly as I do it now. But I shall keep writing, don't even doubt.

Me. :o

P.S. Happy St.Valentine's day.