Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. :o) Such a pity.

Author's note: Here I am, still sneezing a bit, but upon the whole rather cheerful. :o) It was a tough week, I should say. I really appreciate your patience and your concern.

Deana: In this case I'd rather advise you to wait for Chapter ten (pretend that I didn't blurt out a secret). O:o)) Thanks for always being there.

Blackrosemystic: The main thing is that you manage to find time and to read what I breed. It's important for me. And, by the way - you dance great. ;o))

x-jacqui-x: Thank you. You are very thoughtful. In fact, you are just a honey-bunny. :o)) Take care.

Well, where did we stop? Ah, I remembered…

Chapter 8.

Meet the danger.

Another week was on the verge of falling into the troubled waters of time. She was still a young rebel with a stormy soul and clever fingers. He was still a noble elf with thousands of years and hundreds of battles behind him, an elf now fettered to one place, to one voice, to one touch. Neither strangers, nor friends…

She became a little milder. He did not push her anymore. They could spend a day in complete silence. When they spoke, they spoke calmly, almost indifferently. Nothing inimical, nothing personal… A thin brink between a smile and a frown.

Sometimes she allowed herself more than this… Sometimes after a usual procedure of healing she forgot her hands on his face, pretending to be exhausted. Just for several heartbeats she permitted her palms to sense the warmth of his skin and a slight caress of his breath.

Little she knew that she was not the only one, counting seconds, not daring to scare off a frail moment by a heedless motion.

He learnt to foretell when his patience would be rewarded by this gesture of confidence. He learnt to wait for it and to freeze in false apathy and inattention under the radiance of her touch. He forced himself not to flinch of delight, when she took her hands away, randomly brushing her fingertips against his lips, dry and sore of anticipation.

She could hurt – Legolas realized it long ago. It was like she was born to mock and cause pain. It seemed extremely difficult to avoid her thorns, because she kept them sharp instinctively. At times he was on the edge of losing his heart, bleeding from the attempts to approach her. But he felt that her soul was not icy. She could be generous, and just, and rather brave, though her bravery to a great extent originated from her obstinacy and her spirit of contradiction. There was something wistful about her independency, as if she had no choice but stand on her own feet, not because it was really so, but because she prohibited herself to see any other opportunity or did not see it, indeed. He longed to show her that she was wrong… Yet he knew that it must bring only circumspection or, what was worth, a sarcastic repulsion, could he but unleash his desire to … to take care of her. And if he had to stay far to stay near, he would keep it in.

Once again Rexia was anxiously examining the still pupils of Prince of Mirkwood. She began to worry… She did not understand why her cure didn't bring any results. Earlier she had been dead sure that she could do something. But however unpleasant it might be, that Edwen appeared to be right – there were no betterments.

Obviously to distract her from biting doubts, her subconsciousness obligingly offered her another thread of a thought. That Edwen talked some nonsense about Valar… There was something she missed in his story, something that suddenly became of an intense interest for her.

"Legolas!" called she, "May I ask you a thing?"

"Ask," nodded the elf so promptly as if they had been talking all day long and stopped a minute ago, what was untrue. In fact, it was the first time she said something for the last twenty-four hours.

"What will you do when you find the one you are searching for?"

His brows rose a little, but he didn't evade the question.

"Take him to Valinor, I suppose. He is meant to live there."

"So … You will leave…," a month ago this idea wouldn't seem so vexing, but now the realization of it unsettled Rexia. She suddenly felt very lonely and robbed of all her joy, if she had any.

"I think so," admitted Legolas cruelly. Rexia's heart stopped still. She stood up from the chair, which from a certain time was considered to be hers and came up to the window.

"Don't you mind some fresh air?" asked she thinly, desperately hoping that he wouldn't distinguish nervous tremble in her voice.

Not waiting for the answer she turned the handle and cracked the window open. The bittersweet summer wind brought heavy smells of oleasters and rich grass into the room. She leaned against the carved windowsill to let it permeate into her lungs, but instead of soothing her it brought her sadness.

"And what if you don't find him?" she wanted to know, clutching at straws.

"It's hardly possible. We must find him, since there are enough of scums here wanting to get him. Orc, for instance. We mustn't allow them surpass us."

"And what if he has already become the creature you are afraid of?"

Legolas straightened himself, and in his response she could hear wounded pride.

"We are not afraid of anything."

"On no account I thought you are," smiled Rexia, excursing from gloomy thoughts, "What I want to know is what you are going to do if he is not that kind and divine Vala you think him to be?"

The elf hesitated. Somehow Rexia understood that she had just touched something not so harmless and pure.

"We will have to do everything possible to stop him." said Legolas confidently. His face was hard and serious.

"You are going to kill him." surmised she, her eyes wide open. Legolas nodded assent.

"And then you will leave anyway…" muttered she, getting another nod in response.

The room plunged into silence.

"No wonder he is hiding," Rexia remarked quietly, "I would hide, too."

"Did I disappoint you?" inquired the elf.

She couldn't say no, because she was disappointed. She couldn't say yes, because …because she couldn't. Because his question didn't presuppose the real reason of her disappointment.

"It's your war," said she finally, "It's you choice. In any case I'll probably die before he grows strong enough to hurt somebody. So why should you care about my feelings if I don't?"

It seemed to her that Legolas wanted to say something, yet he instantly changed his mind.

"If you don't want to speak about us anymore, let's speak about you," proposed he, "You can heal, I know that. What else?"

"I beg the pardon?" laughed Rexia, surprised with rather an unusual question, "What else would you need?"

"Can you dance?"

"Do you want to dance?" supposed she sarcastically, "If so you've found the wrong girl. I'm no more inclined to dance than a decrepit old ent. Never even tried to."

"Sing, may be?" suggested the elf, "Can you sing?"

Sweet Eru!

"Actually, my singing can be very useful," chuckled the girl without a shadow of confusion, "Because of it not only our orchard, but also the orchard of our neighbours doesn't suffer from crows anymore. I frightened them away thoroughly."

"Is it really that bad?" he seemed to be mocking at her.

"Not that it is bad," said Rexia thoughtfully, "Just … nobody can listen to it. They say it's hard."

"Sing for me," asked he suddenly, "Sing and I'll tell you if it is really so."

"I dare not harass your elven ears with it."

"I'll bear."

Rexia considered for a moment. What harm can it bring? She will sing and the subject will no doubt be closed. She didn't hesitate as to choosing the song – it was prompted by their talk and had been running in her head even before they spoke about singing.

"Very well," she gave in, "But don't say I didn't warn you."

You had three arrows in your quiver,

One – to deprive me of my eyesight,

So that you were my only sunlight,

So that your shining made me shiver…

But you lost it…

And so you took another arrow,

Aimed at my neck to mute me, dear;

You hoped I'd yield to you in fear,

And all my world to you would narrow…

But you missed it…

Your hands around you bow you folded

And tried to pierce my poor heart

You wanted it to break apart

Since you were not the one to hold it.
But I hid it…

I lifted arrows from the ground

And for the battle I prepare,

Now you're the one, who must beware,

For you're my prey, and I'm a hound.

Soon I'll catch you…

He recognized the song at once, and wondered at how it was that she knew it. It was the elven song, very ancient, even older than he was. But the performance of Rexia made it sound quite differently. Indeed, those who were not able to listen to her could in part be justified. There was nothing wrong with her ear or voice, nothing more than what he noticed during their first meeting. Though… There was something unbearable in her manner of deepening the sounds, in the aggression and threat, heard in each note, in her passages from hoarse cries to dangerous whisper. As if she treated the song as a spell, as a curse… The last sound died down, and he felt the drops of cold moisture on his forehead. A voice not for a mortal ear… Singing not for the elven understanding… No wonder nobody wanted to hear it. Even he couldn't keep from wincing at each new line.

"I told you," he heard that she was smiling, and smiling rather sadly, "Actually, my only consolation is that Ralon sings even worse."

"It was strange." Legolas had to admit, "I cannot judge it."

"I don't force you to," she was calm and reserved, "I must be going, you know."

He was not ready to let her go - for an instance he forgot that she was only a guest in his house. But she didn't forget it. Once more he failed to make her feel at ease near him. He shouldn't have told her about their search. Yet he was so glad that she got interested in him at least marginally, that answered all the questions with eagerness. She was upset, he felt it. May be what he said wasn't what she could expected of lofty elves, and his attempts to smooth away this impression led to nothing. One more mistake, one more chance missed…

"Good bye, then," he half-bowed and almost inaudible added, "Come back sooner."

"I will," promised she much to his wonder, "Good bye, elven prince."

As always he heard her light steps rustle down the stairs, in the street and … stop. For some reason it made hair on his neck stand on end. It was not as if she began to tread so quietly that he couldn't hear her anymore. She stopped like someone suddenly staggered. The sound renewed, but to his horror he understood that she was stepping back, frightened by what she saw. Besides, there was something else, something that froze him alive – wild roaring, whistles, laughter and the clunk of orc's yataghans. And, overriding all that dreadful noise – one sound – Rexia's voice, screaming out a single word. His name.