Anne felt odd. Considering where she was, what the circumstances were, and who she was with, this might not exactly make the news of the month, but she felt odd in a good way. If someone had asked her what was so different from before, she would not even have been able to tell them – but something was different.

Oh well, so today she had - without any prior warning – found herself in the middle of the scene of a small genocide, followed by seeing something that still filled her with horror if she came even close to thinking about it, (and which could probably provide the material for a couple of year's worth of nightmares) only to then recall a memory that presumably had been suppressed for a good reason. Not to mention her complete breakdown in front of Delior right afterwards.

She must have been in quite a state, since she could barely remember leaving that spot, getting back on her horse, or how they had gotten to this small pine grove, which Delior had chosen for their camping place. And yet, now she was sitting here under a tree (which was past his best), shivering slightly in the cool breeze that smelled strongly of resin and peat, and without even a hot drink to warm her hands, and she felt almost… light-hearted?

If that was not a reason to question her own sanity, then she did not know what was. Perhaps she was still in shock. The only other explanation for her peculiar state of mind that she could come up with was that facing those horrific things had somehow put everything a little more into perspective. Maybe her subconscious mind somehow knew that she was now able to look forward. Or something like that. Even if, at the moment, that prospect was not the most inviting.

Speaking of looking forward… Delior was sitting opposite her, leaning against his own decrepit tree and gazing into space, and right there was another thing that caused her to seriously doubt her rational thinking. Not the Elf's behaviour - which was, after all, nothing more or less than his usual mannerism - but rather the course her own thoughts appeared to pursue when he was their subject. Alarmingly, they were bordering on warm, if not friendly, she realised.

She needed to remind herself of the fact that she had been snarled and sneered at by him, that he probably felt nothing but condescension or, at best, pity for her, and who had told her this and other pleasantries more than once. Apparently he was mentally unstable, or had at least some very serious issues, which made him completely unpredictable and therefore probably even dangerous. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he had slammed her with what had felt like at least half of his strength against a rock.

Anne was actually surprised that she seemed to have emerged from that experience relatively unscathed. She had a couple of faint bruises on her arm where he had grabbed her, however.

Only an insane person would think of someone like that as dependable, or even nice.

Which settled the matter. She was completely demented.

It was official, the judges had reached a verdict, and it was irrevocable. As likely as not he was insane as well, and that was why she felt like this. Birds of a feather and all that.

But no, most of the time he appeared, in fact, very sane, very in control and everything but out of his senses. Most of the time being the operative phrase. Of course, it was possible that yesterday's outburst had been an exceptional situation, which he would not let happen again. After all, how could Delior maintain that carefully cultured stoic image of his, if he lost his poise like that?

Despite herself, Anne felt a small smile creep on her face. Then she remembered how he had told her that he did not wish for her company. To her great annoyance, this put a damper on her winged mood, and before she could control her features, the smile turned into a scowl.

Well, there she had it, though it had not exactly been an immense surprise to hear it from him. Of course, it was not like she was overly fond of his company either.

Still, one just shouldn't throw this kind of thing into the face of someone who has no choice but to be that company, Anne thought sullenly, while glancing up at her companion's flawless profile.

There was the possibility that he had only meant to silence her with his harsh words, but, if Anne was being honest with herself, she considered that rather unlikely. Too open and… genuine was his indifference.

And yet, was it not sort of contradicting? If it had not been for her 'company', there would be no one around he could taunt and look down his nose at. Surely that would be hard for him to endure.

The thought almost made Anne grin, but she stopped halfway in her musings, and mentally slapped herself.

What is the matter with me, she thought with an inward groan. She must not get too attached to him, no matter in what manner. She wasn't going to stay with him, and if he had a chance of getting rid of her sooner than Bree, he would do it without a second thought.

It was dangerous to become too friendly with him, even if only inside her head. No doubt, the things she had experienced might cause her to feel and act differently than she would have done under normal circumstances. Not only that, but because of her current isolation and complete lack of human contact or interaction, it seemed like she was beginning to see the Elf as some sort of substitute for those deprivations.

Delior had become a constant for her - like a bastion of calm in this bedlam storm her life seemed to be descending into.

All right, perhaps that was putting it a little too dramatically. Her situation could be a lot worse and she was well aware of that. Yet she also could imagine umpteen ways in which it could have been better. First of all, fate had willed her to be rescued by someone who, admittedly, might fit the description of the knight in shining armour at first sight, but was anything but. And though there might be people who were less suited for that role, the undeniable truth remained: Delior clearly lacked certain qualities of a fairytale hero - or if he did possess them, he was concealing those traits most convincingly.

Be that as it may, Anne thought wearily as she rolled up against the tree, wrapping herself tighter into her blankets and deeply inhaling the scent of earth, moss and pines. He did rescue me, and he did stay by my side. Or rather I am staying by his.

Unfavourable as the circumstances might be, unconsciously she had begun to think of him as an anchor, as the one solid thing in her life to hold on to.

Not that she would contemplate actually doing something like that… literally.

:::

The morning came and with it a faint but very persistent growing drizzle. Anne actually woke up from it, muttering and wiping her face. While slowly emerging from the bewildered state of half-sleep she realised that it was no use. Her tree proved to be as non-protective as it looked.

This of course meant: no fire to cook breakfast or even to warm up. Wistfully Anne remembered the sunny morning in the mountains a couple of days ago. It just figured that the weather would not do her the favour of staying agreeable for a while. At least she had escaped the icy winds, but being warm and dry was obviously too much to ask for.

She glanced over at Delior, who was standing near the horses, and tying up his hair. He seemed completely unfazed by the rain; Anne dropped the idea of complaining a little about the weather to him.

She then rummaged through her bags in search for fresh clothes, only to discover that they were all rather damp, safe one or two pieces at the very bottom of the bag. She swallowed down the curses she would have loved to utter right now more than anything else and went behind the unreliable tree to change.

Half an hour later they were off once more.

Another half an hour later, Anne wished herself back under her tree. The drizzle had turned into a steady downpour, her cloak was nearly soaked through and the water seemed to be dripping even into her boots.

From what she could see of their surroundings through the curtain of rain, the scenery was actually rather beautiful – or would have been under different weather conditions. Despite the lateness of summer, everything was still very green - only every now and then there was a tree already clad in gentle tinges of gold or scarlet. The tangy, not unpleasant smell of leaves freshly fallen was all around them.

They passed through several small copses, but even riding under the trees' canopy did not provide much shelter. Twigs whipped the hood off Anne's head, leaves got stuck to her wet forehead and water was running down her neckline.

It was around midday when Delior brought his horse to a halt and turned to look back at the miserable female heap behind him.

"We should dismount here. The ground is too marshy, leading the horses through the bog will be safer."

Anne, who had been deep in a fantasy of four walls, a roof, warm fluffy blankets and blazing fires, needed a moment to realise that she was being talked to.

"Bog…?" She followed his example of sliding off her horse's back, and at once her feet sank several inches deep into the mud. She stared at the ground, dismayed. "Can we not go around it?"

He glanced at her as he took the reins over Dûrfang's head.

"Do not worry. Should your dream prove to be prophetic in any way, I shall pull you back out again."

Anne tried to wipe the wet horsehair off her equally wet hands, before brushing her own dripping hair from her face and peering up at him.

Pull me out? she thought distractedly. Dream? Oh yes, that dream.

The one from their last night in the cave. The dream in which he had left her to be bogged down. She had forgotten about that. Nice of him to bring it back up, though. There it was again – delightful, black elvish humour.

Only a shame that it seems to be directed at me, most of the time, Anne thought grumpily while stomping along after Delior.

Her dream did not turn out to be prophetic, however, and they got through the bog without any incidents. Which probably meant that she could cross seer and dream interpreter off her list of possible future occupations. Another gift she did not possess, but in this case, it was decidedly no great loss. On a less positive note, the rain seemed to become even stronger, until Anne felt something like icy needles pinch her forehead and cheeks; it was hailing.

At this point Delior either finally took pity on Anne, or otherwise decided to stop battling the elements for his own sake. As luck would have it, they had passed by the ruins of an ancient watchtower shortly before, though Anne had not even noticed it. Therefore she was slightly confused when the Elf gave the command to turn around.

A couple of minutes later however, she felt ready to forgive him pretty much anything.

Here she had her four walls. Well, three walls, to be exact. Also, the roof was leaking in several places, and a tree was well on the way to grow into the building through the no longer existing fourth wall. The air smelled of rain and mould, and there was also a faint flowery scent that Anne thought she recognised as the same one she sometimes perceived around Delior, and which seemed to be coming from those clumps of small white flowers growing near the entrance. There was only one circular room, and of the flight of winding stairs that once must have been here, nothing was left but a pile of rubble, but to Anne, this felt like a palace. That was, at least, until she began to feel the cold again.

Once they had seen to the horses, she sat down against a wall as far away from the entrance as possible, shivering and hugging herself. Every now and then, the wind carried a spray of the icy rain inside, like small chilly clouds, settling on half-dried skin and already drenched cloth.

"C-can't we have a f-fire," she asked through chattering teeth before even realising that her tongue and lips had formed the words. There was some wood and dead leaves, which looked like they might even be dry enough.

"I need to dry my clothes, or I will get sick."

Delior looked about the small room with an air of hesitance about him.

"I remember that you said, only Eru knew how long that would delay us," Anne added, beginning to feel desperate.

She thought she saw a strange expression dart across the Elf's face – as if he tried not to smile. Anne found this odd; surely, during their time of forced companionship, there must have been more amusing moments for him than her remembering something random and patronising he had said to her weeks ago.

At any rate, whether it was kindness on his part or rather rationality, he agreed to start a fire. Therefore, twenty minutes later the flickering light of the still feeble flames danced upon the walls, creating strange shadows, like minute snapping dogs.

Anne cast all thoughts of decency to the wind for the moment, stripped off everything but her underwear and sat down as close to the fire as she possibly could without being singed, and curled up into a ball with her arms about her knees. There was a time for embarrassment, she decided, and that was not now, but… later. Of course, she felt embarrassed nonetheless, but her need for warmth was greater at the moment, so she tried to look like this was the most normal thing in the world for her.

Despite the cold draught in the room, smoke lingered in the air above their heads, slightly burning in her eyes.

Apparently even Delior felt uncomfortable in his wet clothes, for he pulled his tunic over his head and rolled the sleeves of the thin shirt he wore underneath up to his elbows, before sitting down next to her, his hands resting lightly in his lap. He had untied his hair again, probably to dry it. Judging by its length and quantity, that had to take hours. Unlike Anne, he had not been wearing his cloak - she had long since realised that the cold bothered him much less than it did her - and his drenched shirt clung to him like a second skin. Anne felt slightly sorry for him, but was still grateful that he kept it on. Without meaning to, she found her eyes wander up his long, bare forearms, and there she saw – on the inside of his right arm, just beneath the elbow – a long, ugly-looking scar, running vertically over the pale skin. It looked very old.

Anne stared at the scar for a couple of moments, before realising what she was doing. Upon glancing uneasily at his face, she found that he was not looking at her, though. The Elf's gaze was cast towards the entrance, seemingly watching the storm outside, his eyes as dark and still as a frozen lake in midwinter.

Anne had no more than a second to feel relieved, before he suddenly turned his head to look down at her, causing her to jump slightly.

"What," he said tonelessly.

Embarrassed at being caught staring at him, she wildly cast around for something to ask, and her eyes fell on the blooming weeds near the doorway again.

"Er… What are those called?" she piped, gesticulating in the direction of the white flower clusters.

Saved.

His glance followed her outstretched hand.

"Ah… Nimlest. Windflower, I think they are called by Men."

Out of the corner of her eyes, Anne saw the grey ones wander back to her.

"Why do you ask?"

Damn it.

"Oh, well - only because... I noticed, that sometimes you –"

Stop, stop, stop.

"I mean – It smells good, but I wondered, why you…"

With an inward groan she interrupted herself and glanced up at him; he was watching her sideways, his expression as unreadable as always.

"Never mind," Anne muttered, training her eyes on her knees instead.

"Their scent wards off flies and midges," he surprised her by saying after a moment.

Anne glanced at him, slightly taken aback, but he had turned his gaze outside once more. Perhaps he didn't want her to labour under the impression that he would do anything for mundane reasons, such as vanity. That actually was difficult to imagine, truth be told.

"Oh, I see," was all Anne could think of replying. Still feeling rather self-conscious, she lowered her head and closed her stinging eyes, trying to concentrate on the patter of the rain.

There were a few minutes of silence before he calmly spoke again.

"I make you nervous."

Anne's eyes snapped open. "What! N-no, you d-don't," she stuttered, probably voicing one of the most ill-concealed lies ever told.

"Because of what I told you," he continued quietly, ignoring her stammering.

Because of what he told me? Anne, now utterly bewildered, tried to think of something he had said to her that – from his point of view – might cause her to be nervous. What did he mean? Seeing as he rarely spoke to her, to begin with, that should narrow down the possibilities quite a bit. Was he, perhaps, referring to him hauling her over the coals the other night?

"The night before last..."

Bull's-eye.

"I meant what I said."

Delior's tone was austere, though not harsh. "That does not give you, however, any reason to doubt my watchfulness. I will take you safely to Bree."

Anne kept staring at her hands. She did not doubt his watchfulness, she never had, and she was not quite sure why he would think that she might. She really did not fancy clearing up the misunderstanding right now, though. Since she also could not think of any suitable reply for what he had just told her, she muttered, still not looking at him, "Yes… Bree. I have been thinking – what will happen, once we are there?"

"Nothing will happen. You will stay there," came his placid reply.

"Yes, I know that," Anne said while staring out into the rain and biting her lower lip. She tried very hard not to think about how that prospect made her feel. "I mean, what will you do?"

Delior remained silent for so long, Anne began to doubt that he would answer at all, when he finally said:

"I will meet with someone in Bree and then return to the east."

She looked back up at him to find that he was staring outside as well.

"To do what?" she dared to ask, since it did not look like he was about to slam her against a wall again. Perhaps he was in a good mood.

"There are thing I must tend to," he said levelly, his gaze still cast into the distance outside their shelter.

Anne thought, briefly, that there seemed to be a grim twist to his mouth. She frowned, but thought it better not to press the matter. Besides, it was not like she had really expected anything more forthcoming than this.

For a few minutes she gazed mutely into the flames, listening to the strangely calming sound of the falling rain. In the end though, she could not resist.

"What happened to your arm?"

After all, she had to make the most of him actually answering questions - who could say when, or if that opportunity would present itself again.

If he was surprised by her question he hid it well; his gaze brushed her like a feather tumbling past, before fixing itself upon his forearm.

"It happened during battle."

A war injury?

"When?" she asked a little cautiously. Somehow, this - him in a battle - was a strange thought.

"Long ago, at least for a child like you. More than four decades."

Anne decided to let the 'child'-comment slide; too fascinated was she by what he was saying.

"That great war from forty years ago? You fought in it?"

The Elf made a sound like a sigh, and for a moment, closed his eyes. The eyelids shimmered bluish, even in the firelight.

"I fought in several, but yes – that was when I received this injury."

Anne had not exactly asked this, but recognised it as what it was – his way of ending the exchange. As she regarded his fair face that looked so weary at times, she wondered how much he had seen. How many mornings, how many wars… how many lives he would have witnessed, and how many deaths. It suddenly hit her how much she was relying on him, and how little she really appreciated it - no matter how haughty, strange or sinister he might be.

"I..." She swallowed. "I am sorry." She was not even sure where this came from, but somehow felt that she needed to say it.

His eyes opened and he turned his head to look at her for a moment, his gaze flitting over her face as if reading some thoughts left unsaid - which was something she wouldn't entirely put past him.

"For what?"

Anne felt herself faltering under that steady, piercing gaze, and looked down at her knees.

"For… well, I realise that I must be quite a burden to you." She pressed her fingernails into her palm; somehow, hearing herself voice this seemed worse than being told by someone else. She cleared her throat. "I know that without me things would be a lot easier. You would not need to rest so often if you were on your own, and you would not need that much baggage. But… maybe you should –" she hesitated for a moment, not quite knowing how to put her thoughts in words. "I mean, this situation is not my fault either. I do not mean to… to pester you." She risked a quick glance to the side and found that he was watching her calmly.

"I know," he said simply.

All right, perhaps she had hoped that he might contradict her a little, but then she really should know better by now.

"Anyway, if I knew how to be of any more help then I would, but… I don't, so for that I am sorry," she finished sort of lamely.

The Elf did not reply, but continued to gaze at her in that quiet and somewhat searching way. Feeling awkward, Anne turned her head away from him, and towards the comforting sight of the stonewall. The comfort did not last long though; she was just starting to berate herself for opening her mouth in the first place, when she felt her chin being lightly grasped and her head turned around, forcing her to face him once more.

He had not changed his position, had only reached for her with one arm – the one with no scar on it – and was now scrutinising her face with his head tilted to the side, his brows drawn together slightly.

Although his grip on her face was not firm by any means, she had the strange sensation of his strength radiating through the light, warm touch of his hand.

Anne could feel her pulse beating wildly in her throat, fluttering against the back of his fingers, like the wings of a captured bird. Heat was creeping into her cheeks. They were close enough for her to detect the faint scent of peppermint coming from him. She felt oddly out of breath.

"Your eyes are red."

With this languidly offered observation, Delior released her and leaned back. "We shall dry the things which are most necessary, but then we should extinguish the fire."

Anne, who was still busy catching up on breathing, needed a couple of moments to process his words and to get her own thoughts in order.

Her eyes were red? After what she had just said to him, all he could think of was to… to manhandle her, and to inform her of her reddened eyes? Of course her eyes were red, this room had turned into something close to a smokehouse, but that was beside the point.

She inched sideways to establish some sort of safety distance. Then she glared at him, but the Elf had turned his gaze back outside, his face looking softened by the warm light of the flames, harmless even, and somehow almost... pure.

Well, Anne knew better than to be deceived by appearances.

III III III

:::

AN: Good Morning, and here we go again - a little later this week because I didn't have Internet until yesterday.

First of all: Wow … I must say I was absolutely overwhelmed by the wonderful feedback I got for the last chapter. If anything, I had expected some confusion because of the unfamiliar darkness of the part, and the character-twists (or strictly speaking, perhaps not a twist, but rather a discovery/development)

Thank you all so much for the generous praise, I'm all jittery :)

Concerning the chapter: A lot of musings and inner conflicts but occasionally there must be time for that as well. It also was (mainly for me) a short respite from all the angst and drama of the last part, before things will sharpen up again next week.

I would also like to address something that has been mentioned by several people already - Legolas' character. I am actually trying to stick as close to canon as I can, so - not to give anything away, but there is a reason why he behaves like that. It wasn't my intention to create an OOC-version of him à la "Let's make him an ass, that should be fun"… (Hm, well I guess it would be fun, but that wasn't the thought behind it.) I promise though – it will be explained how he came to be this way.

Oh and - Jay and Phase D: Since you guys never sign in, I'll just have to thank you here in order to do it personally at least once ;)

Well, that only leaves me to say: Thanks everybody for following this, and I can only hope that I will be able to live up to the expectations you suddenly seem to have /breaks into sweats/ :)