I received some awesome reviews for both FATH and Pentimento. It's astonishing that there are new readers after all this time. Astonishing in a very good way, of course. I'll try to answer all mails that have an address to reply to so try to leave one.

Alas, another chapter. Took long enough. I am glad that the slow pace of this story hasn't really scarred people away. I thought it might, since it's always easier to read fast-paced action and adventure. But once again, a little change has killed no one. Yet.

I must admit that this story is nearing its conclusion. Not too many chapters left. But don't worry, I won't make it too easy.

…

Irulan closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on pushing everything away and letting the great emptiness engulf her. It was no easy practice but she decided that she would never come to enjoy the atmosphere of the house if she didn't excel in this art.

Of course the elf had to make it harder.

She felt his lips on her neck along with the dance of fingers that sneaked from behind to fold her into his embrace and sighed with more frustration than passion. "Legolas! I'm trying to concentrate here."

He chuckled briefly against her skin and gave her another kiss. "It is only a worthy victory if there is a challenge."

Irulan opened her eyes and blinked in the dimness of the cave. He kissed her again, tightening the embrace and she fought the tremble of desire rushing through her. Elves, it seemed, were amorous beings with a stamina that could only awe a human mind. Maybe some more than others. "I would much more prefer assistance than challenge at this point." She mumbled and glanced around again as he continued his ministrations, ignoring her protest. This cave was smaller than most but made up for it by being quite unique. Her eyes glided across the drawings on the coarse walls, dancing with the soft shimmer of the nearby torch. "I'm afraid I will never understand Baeron!" she whispered, taking in his deed that seemed to fill almost every scrap of surface offered. "Why would he paint and draw here on walls and in the dark when he could have done it on canvas or paper or any other and much more convenient medium?"

The elf sighed and placed his chin on her shoulder, joining her puzzlement. They were still for a few moments before he offered a soft opinion. "Convenience is overrated. It takes more will and passion to do this."

She shifted a little in his arms. "Yes," was her sigh of a reply. "Also...I don't know...it feels more intimate."

She felt him nod. "It is reserved to only the selected few who can cross the distance and enter this domain and stand in this cave. Perhaps the story of a life was not what Baeron wanted to be seen and judged by anyone with half a mind."

Irulan took a step forward and felt his reluctant release. But Legolas didn't let go of her hand and followed instead. Ever since yesterday he seemed to avoid letting go of her at all. So much so that Irulan felt tempted to think that he feared her loss rather than a persistent passion. Her fingers touched the cool and damp wall and ran across figures that seemed to be sitting on some steps, immersed in some silent and ancient conversation. "What, do you think, does this stand for?"

Legolas moved to stand beside her and looked at it for a while. "Who knows? A moment in Greece I can see. But beyond that, it is closed to me."

"In Greece? How do you know that?"

He cocked his head slightly and his eyes narrowed on their own accord. "The way he drew it. His fingers moved over the drawing that seemed to be so efficient and yet so simple, saying a lot to the knowing eye but speaking nothing other than skill to the ignorant one. "The manner of garments. The pillars in the back...I am certain of the location and roughly of the time. But who these people were and what they spoke is only for Baeron to tell."

"And now he can never tell," Irulan sighed, that damned taste of regret forcing its way up her throat once more. Before she could give in to it, she moved on, gliding to the side and tried once again to see something -anything- relevant, interpretable, recognizable. It all seemed to alien - scenes and poses that were just a jumble of people, but none frozen in an act of any importance. People speaking, people smiling, figures running as if in a hunt, shapes standing on hills... And yet there was life here. More life than any human would ever witness. Baeron's life. The style varied, too. At times it was awkward and clumsy, as if Baeron had been hasty or uncaring of details, only immersed in the desire to jot it down before it slipped away from him. Other times it was done with great care and the details of this or that face were so mesmerizing that it seemed if one could breathe life into stone, they would step out of their slumber and speak of what deed they had done worthy enough to be engraved here. Some were small and faded, others big and sharp. Some had color in them - chalky residues of red, blue and white, and others were merely black smudges.

"How strange...and how beautiful," she sighed after several moments, still not wiser to the silent language that was spoken right under her nose but revealed nothing of its wisdom. "Just like...elves."

Legolas said nothing but walked with her, for once more interested in something than the woman at his side. His surprise woke her trance. "I know this one, I think."

She almost gasped and quickly squinted to see what his fingers were pointing at. "What is it? A lake?"

He nodded. "It is in Finland. The shape is unmistakable."

Irulan looked at it for a long moment. "The frozen lakes of Finland..." she whispered, remembering what Baeron had always mused about. "Legolas, why would he draw that one? What's there?"

The shrug was almost imperceptible. "It meant something to him, though I do not know what. Once our mutual mission took us there and he said nothing but stood at the shore of it for a while, gazing across it." He was silent for a moment. "It must have been a place he returned to from time to time. A place that held his heart."

The frustration rose in her once more. She would never know what it had meant to Baeron or what had happened to him there. Worse, she would never go with him there to share it with him, as she had promised to. She bit her lip to prevent a groan of unrest. Here, in his very house and at the spot he had stood to spill his life into stone, she felt further away from him than she ever had, before. She might be close enough to reach out and touch his work, but she would never understand it. The elf must have felt her unrest, for he stepped closer to her and squeezed her hand ever so slightly. "I am sorry."

Irulan shook her head and swallowed as she turned her head, walking away from the picture of the lake. "It's just such a waste! I wish so much to see...something! To hear something. But it was stupid of me to think that I could. I knew Baeron for merely days. How could I ever hope to glimpse into his past?"

"You are wrong," he said gently. "I knew Baeron for far longer, but am none the wiser. In the end, all our lives are lived by one person alone - ourselves." He halted then and despite her irritation Irulan looked up to see what held his gaze and his breath. "You must know that he trusted you deeper into his heart than he rarely did any other," Legolas added with an eerie whisper as once again his fingers slowly flew out to trace the markings at his eye level. "That he let you wander where he led none, before."

At first she could understand neither his mystified expression, nor the tautness that he had momentarily acquired. But then, with the slap of a tantalizing surprise she recognized the shape there underneath his touch...the rough outline of a small hill, the shadow of boulders just so, the streaks of shadows that stretched into long, black, dancing hair, the crack of an entrance transformed into the hint of a smile. Irulan flinched unwillingly and hastily took a step back to see more of it. Her hand, lost in his, with a launch of desperation sought for a stronger grasp.

And there it was. The curse and the blessing pressed in one - the picture of a woman and the drawing of a tomb married on the wall with such strength that the lines had sunk into the surface as if they had been bleeding with acid and burrowing their tale like the talons of a restless falcon buries them into flesh. The spitting of the torch was suddenly loud in her ears and she felt hot in the cool of the cave, taking no notice of the dancing shadows or the warmth of the elf's touch by her side.

She knew it had a name - this thing that lay here in silence but never slept, never rested as all the other pictures. A name that was like the web of a spider - crossing the life of one over to the other and weaving in and out in circles ever broadening until it had consumed everything it had touched. Until every person who had been touched by the sticky spell of death lay poisoned and weak of it, trembling with fever and revolt. If any curse was true, this would be it. If any damnation was tangible, this would be it.

"Bentanta," Legolas whispered into the silence of the cave and broke it.

Irulan made a guttural sound as it seemed to bloat into its full ugliness, then as suddenly as it had reared head, broke into shards underneath her feet. She held his hand even tighter and felt Legolas, alarmed by that touch, gather her in his arms. She took a breath that threatened to turn into a sob but didn't, then took another, and slowly a third one until she dared to open her eyes, gripping his shoulder as he embraced her and soothed her worries with a string of murmurs. She felt Legolas tremble slightly then and shut her eyes tightly to burrow herself further into the haven that he was. A piece of her mind refused to believe that she had stumbled upon that very tale that she had tried to avoid at all costs after having witnessed its last victim. Or had it been the last victim indeed? Would there be more? She took another shaky breath and murmured. "Of course he would draw that, too." She didn't look back at the wall, afraid that she would see the picture changed, as mad as that sounded. That, somehow, Bentanta would wink back at her, her seemingly innocent smile turning into a devious grin.

Legolas pursed his lips and threw a glance at the wall. At this point he should have been used to curses and to being the subject of one, but this one, it seemed, startled him no matter how often he came across it. The avid hunter that he was, he feared this one beast and felt weak at the slightest hint of its presence. Especially when Irulan was around, too. "It is dead and past," he murmured to himself as a consolation. Irulan stirred to it, so he continued. "It is no more."

She hesitated, then nodded once, but didn't lift up her head to take a second look. 'One day,' she thought then, 'I will write about this. I will write it so that it will ring the same frustration in the hearts of others, although they will never know the truth of it, assuming it as fiction. Maybe all that frustration will still her anger and have her be still, at last.'

"I wish I had never ventured into that land of blood and sand!" Legolas' ferocious whisper startled her. His fingers gently dug into her flesh, drawing her closer still and she sensed that it was him for once who sought refuge, more than herself. "I wish I had never laid eyes on her face!" It was childish, this wish, he knew it. But he could not help wishing it, nevertheless.

It was the fierceness of his want that suddenly reminded Irulan of who Bentanta had been for Legolas. She realized then that she had always seen the Egyptian princess through Baeron's eyes. But there was also the third player in this game. A third pawn. A third wheel. It was funny how this had never really occurred to her until now. Sure, she had known of it - after all, neither Baeron nor Legolas had denied his role in the affair - but she hadn't really dwelt on it. Until now. In the silence of the cave she felt Bentanta come alive once more. As if she meant to reclaim the last player of the game, the last loose thread of the tapestry. The fear as well as the unreasonable jealousy gave her the strength to stir and step away from him. She turned her back to the wall and let her eyes focus on the flames of one of the torches on the wall, desperate to regain her wits. Legolas, due to his care for her or due to the insecurity he found himself in, stayed in her circle, never too far.

"I find it strange," she mumbled, feeling her heart return to its normal pace, "that you now curse the sight of someone whom you must have cared for dearly, before." She felt him stiffen beside her and it would have been unnoticeable to anyone who didn't know what this memory held for the man. Irulan was surprised to find the will to turn and look up into his eyes. "Next thing you know, you'll deny ever having loved her."

Legolas was too old not to pick up the double blade that was swung his way. Either answer - approval or denial - would bear bad things for him. And yet, an answer was expected. "I never denied my weaknesses, nor my mistakes."

Irulan's eyes narrowed ever so slightly and if the topic of the conversation had been anything else, he would have found it marvelous, chuckled at her ire and kissed her soundly for it. But in the current circumstances he didn't feel too glad about it. "To love her was a mistake?"

He sighed, tempted to give Bentanta's drawing a hateful glare for the deeds she seemed capable of, even though her bones had melted away long ago. "To act on it, was."

Irulan bit her lip in frustration. It was downright stupid to feel jealous of a mummy. Something only a foolish human would do. But then, that's exactly what she was. And this woman had stood between her and the ones she loved for too long. The sweet Bentanta who had been frantic at the duel of her two lovers and who had sacrificed her own life to end it (an act that had seemed so honorable to Irulan before) suddenly reminded her more of a spinster who had lured both Legolas and Baeron into her web and who kept pulling the strings long after she had devoured them and satiated her hunger. "So you DID love her?" Immediately her shame at her own foolishness swelled anew. Of course he had loved her! What else could have led to those dreadful events?

"I did," Legolas whispered and this time it was him whose gaze broke and settled on the torch. He was silent for a moment or two. "And I paid for it. Still am paying for it."

As much as he seemed willing to divert the issue from sentiments to his own pain and embarrassment, Irulan was unwilling to let it be so. 'What did you expect?' she thought to herself, feeling sour and moody at the same time. 'That his heart was only yours to claim? That you, with all your imperfections, were someone who would hold it while all others failed? That he waded through centuries untouched and unmoved?' She hadn't thought it. But she had wished for it. The stupidity of it only made her feel more desperate, more human. Also, she suspected that Bentanta, the beautiful princess that she had been, had been more able to handle these feelings than she was, at the moment. 'Look at me!' she thought, a silent laughter of anger surging through her, 'I'm competing with a mummy!' She turned and stalked towards the entrance of the cave, suddenly anxious to see the sun and leave Baeron where he belonged – in the past.

"I know what you are thinking." His voice, so soft and yet so commanding, stopped her. "And you are wrong."

Irulan turned, her eyebrows reflecting her doubt. "Oh?"

"Why do you doubt my word?" was the gentle conclusion.

"I don't," she sighed, somewhat frustrated. "It's just that...ah it's stupid. Just ignore me."

Again she turned to leave and again he forestalled it. "That is something I can not do." Irulan only let out a frustrated sigh and this time didn't face him. She didn't hear his approach but felt his hands cupping her shoulders from behind. "I know," he said slowly, his tone at the border of amusement and gravity, "because I feel the same way about you." Irulan bit her cheeks, not eager to intervene. "It seems foolish to envy every look, every touch you have bestowed to another man in the past," he continued, his hands running down her tense arms, "but I have come to accept my foolishness at last."

Her eyes involuntarily rose once more to the silent messages, lying scattered in some cave in the middle of nowhere. "The past never really dies, does it?" she heard herself whisper. It was as if she was asking the core, the real face of things. The face that everyone flirted and darted around, too afraid to peek at. The face that was ignored, showered instead with claims of untruth, of lovely lies. "Not really. Ever." Once she had claimed that and in the strangest way, managed to soothe the restless spirit that Legolas had been. Today her own claim seemed like a damnation to her own ears. One couldn't have the good without the bad, the gleeful memories without the stabbing ones. Was one better off without it altogether or was it really worth hanging on to?

Legolas walked around to face her and lifted her chin to meet her gaze. "You proved me so," was his eerie whisper. Not the answer she had wished for. Not at all. There were, after all, many things she wished to forget, to leave behind in due time. But, it seemed, things liked to waltz in circles in the universe and get back to you - sooner or later. "I loved Bentanta, yes," Legolas said and she felt the knife of disappointment sliding between her ribs. Nevertheless, their gazes held. His fingers came up to wipe the stray locks from her face. "But not like you. Never like you."

She felt numbed by his whisper and by his touch. And ashamed to have wished for so much, ashamed of the boldness that had made her reach for the sun. What did it matter, if he had? He loved her now, of this she was certain, and his love for another a long time ago didn't lessen it in the least. Until now she had believed this greed to have it all, this avarice to swallow whole to be a flaw of her own race. But after his confession -and maybe long before it, as she had watched Legolas' infuriating jealousy- she knew that she wasn't the only one cursed by it. Did great love always come with such great, mindless greed? Her fingers found his and she watched the light of relief wash over his features. "I know."

A moment passed by as Legolas held her and kissed her. The acceptance had -to her surprise- taken the pain with it. Bentanta was long gone and dead. Irulan was alive. She was lucky not to be tainted by that tale, by that road in the past. So she was free to enjoy tomorrow, free to ignore dreadful past happenings. In the deep core of her heart, Irulan understood that Legolas had loved the Egyptian princess enough to estrange an irreplaceable friend for her. But –and this was an important 'but'- he loved Irulan enough to go to far more extreme measures. No, it wasn't the death of Baeron - she had accepted on that train a few days ago that it hadn't been a murder but an accident, to begin with. With that acceptance had also come the forgiveness, the true forgiveness for Legolas. Extreme measures, in this case, was for Legolas to stamp on his pride, ignore the call of reason, turn his back to the known ways and walk after a woman who, with all the ignorance and coarseness of her race, had refused him over and over again. This, she realized, had been a much greater sacrifice than the friendship of Baeron or the life of Bentanta. This was a self-sacrifice she knew she couldn't match, herself.

She sighed into his shoulder. It seemed like the simple trip to China -though it had turned out far beyond 'simple'- had indeed changed a lot for her. It had been a journey of acceptance, forgiveness, a quest to one's inner sanctum, a yearn for the last touch of a friend. The fruits of it - the sweet as well as the sour - were ripe and edible. In the strangest way, Irulan felt that she had completed something of major importance there and that day. Despite, or maybe because of the danger, the pain, the fear along the way, night gave way to day and even the longest journey ended. Hers had ended in the arms of the man she loved and who loved her in return. She had no reason to complain.

And so it was that, as if spurred by that insight, she felt the need, the call to return. The job was done, the deed accomplished, the road walked and finished. The world was calling and she heard it, despite the heavy stone around her and the distance from her home. Life was calling. The present was calling and its cry was strong enough to overcome the pleasure one found in stalking through the dusty past. Much stronger.

"Let's return," she whispered into the silence. She didn't see Legolas smile against her temple, deep satisfaction seeping into him. He knew why she had said what she had said, just like he knew that it was private and not translatable into language.

He also happened to know the right answer to that. "Let's," he said as he guided her out of the cave, leaving the last fragments of a distant curse behind for good.

---

Haldir felt the absurd need to clear his throat and suppressed it. He knew that Mona must have heard his approach long ago, so it hadn't been the urge to be heard, but merely the urge to be acknowledged. Something she seemed to deny him in every thinkable fashion. So, after a few moments staring into her back, he allowed himself a frustrated sigh. "I think we are leaving." His tone had been blank enough and he thanked the gods for that.

"Good."

So much for trying. He pursed his lips, not eager to let another frustrated sigh escape. "It was a good journey." Immediately he rolled his eyes at the stupidity of the remark. Even a human would have sensed his desperate need to make conversation with that statement.

Mona, too, must have sensed it because she finally turned around. There was something about her that always threatened to leave him speechless at her sight. He had long ago decided that because her vision brought some sort of madness with it. Yes, madness was the only word for it. How else to explain the angry buzzing of contradicting emotions in him? How he wished he could tell Mona his feeble attempts to find a suitable place for her in his mind! Was she the girl he had watched growing up? Was she the responsibility entrusted to him and him alone? Was she a fellow warrior? Was she the gentlest of friends? Indeed! She was all that. But she was also a woman - perfect somehow, despite what others might think of her physical plainness. Wasn't she also a creature that had finally, with all the irritable shouting and kicking she had managed over the centuries, succeeded in waking something terribly and hideously beautiful in him? Wasn't she the one and only person he felt his thoughts turning to whenever he was alone but in the company of many? Damn it - she was all that, too.

Madness, that's what she was.

And he was too old for that sort of disease. He found the burden of her silent looks too heavy and gazed at his feet. 'If Legolas knew that all my virtuous words to him about love and hanging on and not giving up were nothing but hollow assurances coming from a hollow man, what would he say?' he thought to himself. For indeed, what else was he but a hypocrite who had laughed at the folly of a friend, only to find himself in deeper folly?

"Was it good for you, too?"

The question startled him from his silent misery. Surprise held his tongue for a moment or two. "Was what good?"

Mona, instead of a gentle smile, produced an upraised eyebrow at his stupidity. "The journey."

He wanted to believe that she was asking out of her care for him of some sort, but the possibility of this being another introduction to hostility was far greater. The gods knew that he had lived long enough to know of the undying and never relenting memory of women! No one could nurture the memory of a wound like they did and slash it open once more without flinching at every possible chance. He thought deftly of saying something polite and unimportant but suddenly felt too tired for the attempt. If she was going to cut him, she might as well do it when he was not trying for a defense. "I saw you on this journey. It made everything worthwhile."

'How come parents as gentle and romantic as hers managed to raise such a frustrating, hard, sharp, cold creature of a woman!' he thought with building anger when no visible emotion appeared on her face at his confession. Out loud he softly said "I have missed you. A lot."

"Have you, now?" was her slightly amused answer. She gave him a long, quizzical look, then walked towards him with the carelessness of her nature.

Haldir, suddenly afraid that she would say something like 'Well, Marchwarden, I haven't!' and break his heart all over again, spoke abruptly. "You know I did!" There was a strange urgency to his tone. Probably because every word was truer than true.

Finally emotion showed in her gaze, though it was not a good one. "If I remember correct, it was you who shunned me," she spat slowly.

True enough. Despite their age, elves still did some very stupid things when tangled in emotional webs. Such as cowering in corners and hoping that whatever the problem was, someone mighty would take care of it or it would simply dissolve itself into thin air given enough time. "I was wrong," he said solemnly. Her surprise didn't elevate him as much as it should have. He feared that making her uneasy would only add to Mona's spite. But at the same time he felt that at the end of a journey like this, after their roads had crossed at last, he should make use of the chance and get over with his own crucifixion. "I had no idea that it would pain me this much." She didn't say anything. Not even anything dark and unswallowable and indigestible. He exhaled and waited a moment. "And of course I had no idea that you could keep a grudge for this long."

Incredible as it was, Mona's lips twitched with the ghost of a smile. Haldir stood, perplexed. He had been waiting for the blade to fall. Hell, maybe the delay is only to make it more painful, he thought then. "Of course you did," she said at last and miraculously, the words didn't drip with venom.

Momentarily stupefied with the glimmer of hope at the end of the tunnel, he reached for more words, whatever they were. "Well if it's any consolation, you accomplished far more than what I gave you credit for."

She shrugged, letting the smile grow a little further. "I have always been morosely obsessed with impressing you, Haldir."

For her to say his name was beyond his expectations and Haldir was certain that it showed on his face, despite his struggle to hide it. He hadn't heard it in so long! Too long, far too long he realized. Incredible, how much it meant for his name to be spoken by one person. Incredible how much power it had over him. He took a sharp breath, his mind chiding him about his boyish, foolish situation in her presence. He was her guide, damn it! Her elder. Her uncle. That word, once so true, lately seemed oddly wrong and silly so he held his ground against reason and decided to continue the ridiculous banter and be someone else for her, for once. Not what she wanted him to be, that much he knew, but someone else. Someone more useful, for Mona didn't need a guide, an elder or an uncle. This once, he could ignore what he was supposed to be and try to be someone she wanted or at least, needed.

He allowed an expression of loftiness creep into his features. "And failed at it, of course."

For a moment he thought he had taken it too far. She gave him a long look and Haldir gazed back, anxious of a reply that confirmed his attempt for a joke. Surely the gravity that came over here couldn't be good, could it? And why was it so damn important not to disappoint her! She was a child! If he wanted to, he could flog her for her slightest impoliteness, cursed be it all! "Except in this, of course," was her serious answer. "In defying you, that is."

Haldir wasn't sure if she was really sad about it or triumphant. He knew her well, granted, but as his feelings for her fluctuated, he felt like he didn't perhaps know her that well, after all. That there was another Mona he had ignored long enough and grown apart from. "Aye," he whispered at last, "that, you do well."

She nodded as if accepting some sort of compliment and tore her gaze away for a moment. The sudden disconnection was most irritating and the elf found himself at a loss for words, once more. What did he want to tell her, anyway? They had said all there was to say about it. She had pushed, begged, cursed, threatened and he had kept his resilient but unbreakable facade in the face of it. Her wish was beyond him. 'I can not be more to you than what I am!' he had begged, frustration coloring his tone. 'It has always been enough for you!' Mona had just looked at him with those dark, tranquil eyes and retorted 'Not anymore'.

Not anymore, indeed. Next to him she was a child but the time had come when Haldir was forced to agree that no matter how many years she had been in this world, Mona had reached maturity and was no longer the little girl who was a little infatuated with her father's closest friend. All creatures had to be judged in their own lifetime and for her, another age had begun many, many years ago.

In short, he had to let go of her.

Or, he had to hang on to her.

There was no in between. Not with Mona. And...not with him, either. It was easy to deny his love to her. It wasn't so easy to do that to himself. Was it love? He sighed, uncomfortable in a territory so ill-known to him. He had loved his share, for sure, and he had had ample chances to witness and observe it. Despite all that so-called archive in the back of his mind, he didn't know what exactly he felt for Mona, except that it was huge and fierce and painful. 'Maybe,' he had thought in the desperation that had come with her absence, 'I DO love her as she says. Only I suppress it because, well... she grew up in my damn hands!'

Legolas had only been too quick to quip that this was a very possible 'maybe'.

Legolas had found love. Cate and Jonathan had found love. Even treacherous Anne was skirting around it. And what of him? He glanced at the woman beside him, who stood silent and seemingly lost in thought. What of Mona? 'Are we to walk eternity alone?' He sighed again. He didn't know how he loved her. It didn't really matter. He knew he loved her in some fashion. It wasn't a lot to hang on to. But it was a start.

"Maybe we can try again, Jiang-qing," he said softly, watching her profile. She started, clear surprise on her face as well as suspicion and mistrust. The latter feelings dissolved into the former one as he felt himself biting his lower lip in discomfort. "I have said and done some foolish things. I would appreciate the chance to do it better." Haldir was not a man to squirm with silence when a confession was due. He was not eager to pretend he was perfect, either. When one lived as long as he had and seen all he had seen, it was almost impossible to grasp of one's own perfection anyway. The world might sing otherwise, but in the privacy of his heart he knew that he was like any other man – no less and no more.

Her response came after a very long interval during which the elf suspected himself of having almost mastered the art of not breathing. It was a simple, subtle nod. Plain and economic as with everything else about her. He knew her language, he knew her ways and the slight softening of her look meant books to him. "You did, indeed, Marchwarden." No reproach in the title this time. Only a matter-of-fact recognition. It felt glorious to be acknowledged in the slightest and he inhaled, the sentiment a warm fuzz in his chest. Never mind that she hadn't tried to deny his mistakes. Leave that to a decent lady. Mona would stray far from such shallow attempts of healing a wounded ego.

"I told you that I'm too old," he said, feeling himself gaining a strange balance that he didn't know he had missed these last days.

Something akin to a snort left her lips and she turned back to her task, knowing that he wouldn't leave but remain with her. "At last I am beginning to believe you."

---

"We are so damn lucky to be here to see this," came his awed murmur as his torch appeared behind her in the dark, dripping cavern. He chuckled momentarily. "To think that I would have missed out on all this if Irulan hadn't spoken his name by mistake!"

Anne grinned, too, although her back was turned to him and he wouldn't see it. It was only true. Here they were, in the strange but fabulous house of Baeron and every time she walked the corridors, she seemed to find something else in them. The house was empty for the most part - Baeron must have not visited in a long time - but that took nothing away from its beauty. Especially since there was a sense of adventure involved, as well. "Yeah," she mumbled slowly, continuing the stroll, "it's good to know that there is more to the world than meets the eye, isn't it?"

This time it was her who didn't see Russell's nod. He gave her back a long glance then and kept his silence, resisting the temptation to say something silly like 'It's even better with you as a company'. A certain and most unwelcome sadness gripped his heart once more. Though everything was out in the open now -and God, in what an embarrassing way it had been revealed thanks to the stupid elf!- Anne acted as if the last couple of days never happened. Partly he was glad for it. He wouldn't know what to do with himself if she didn't. Her reaction had been something long pondered upon in the last few years and his imagination had given him some rather discomforting glimpses of possibilities. It had only spurred his fear and helped him to burry the truth deeper, ever deeper until it had become a throbbing thorn in his side.

On the other hand...her complete disregard had been in none of the scenarios he had outplayed in his head. How, he wondered, should he take this silence? 'This kind silence,' he reminded himself. Hadn't Anne been sort of...gentle...afterwards? Most certainly, he convinced himself. As gentle as she had managed to be, anyway. It was a side of her that he rarely saw -most of the time it was the infuriating, attractive, playful, sarcastic and utmost annoying Anne he faced- and to tell the truth, he liked this change. A lot.

She must have sensed his brooding because she turned to glance at him over her shoulder just then. "What's cooking in your head?"

He rolled his eyes, feeling oddly caught red-handed. "Just thinking about the journey back," he said, wording the first thought that sprang into his head.

Anne nodded. Then suddenly another, unreadable expression crossed her face. "Any plans regarding New York?"

It was an innocent enough question but the way she said it -a bit hesitant and even a trifle anxious- made him rethink. Was she actually trying to say something? He wasted a moment in hesitation. "Not really. Why?"

Anne shrugged and waited for him to catch up before she entered yet another chamber that seemed to have a use as a ale depot. She stared at the empty gaskets. "They could have left one, the servant pigs!" was her wistful murmur before she abruptly turned to face him. Russell only had the time to see a most unusual anxiety in her eyes before he was slapped with the question: "Do you really love me?"

Years of close friendship with the most unusual woman he had met couldn't have prepared him for this. Naturally he just gaped.

Anne, a bit angry now (more at herself for having asked it then for him to gape speechless), pushed her chin up and glared at him with those green gems. "Cause I think you just made that up. For whatever reason...like you always do!"

He should ignore the last part thrown at him but momentarily it became the most important issue. "Like I always do! When was the last time I plotted, Anne? No need anyway - I leave the mastering of devious schemes to you, sifu!"

Anne pursed her lips and gave him a withering look. She would have laughed at Russell's meager vocabulary of Chinese, now more often being used, but had more important things on her mind. "Don't play innocent with me, Russell. That's certainly not the way to impress me."

He found himself gaping for a few seconds again before he managed a retort. "Who the hell said I was trying to impress you? What the hell for!"

Anne only raised her eyebrows in a knowing manner. "I knew it," she drawled at last. "You do not love me."

He opened his mouth for something burning and acidy, but instead slammed his jaws shut, took a deep breath, combed his hand through his wild hair and gave her as penetrating a look as he was capable of. "As I have said before - you-don't-know-shit."

"I must admit," she countered, "none of the men in my life so far had your vocabulary of romantic terms, Russell."

A dry look from him. "Yeah, I noticed."

That seemed to inflame her. True enough, Russell had an annoying habit of ridiculing her and pinching her pride at every opportunity (never mind that she asked for it half of the time), but in this new light shed on their relationship, it felt more hurtful. "You forget that Mark was a poet!"

This time he didn't need to pretend amusement - the snort was as genuine as it could be. "Spare me any quotations! I still see nightmares about that poem he read to us on New Years!"

For a moment she seemed tempted to concur. After all, that had to be the most awful piece of written word in history. But that would be too easy for Russell. "I never said he was a poet of words. His skill was...in different areas."

Later Anne would think that it had been very, very odd that Russell, who had known of her affair with Mark, who had endured and accepted it without giving away himself for quite a while and who had never given an awkward reaction to any part of her private life, had acted indeed awesomely strange upon those words. No...she really couldn't remember him ever gaining that tint of crimson before. Nor could she recall a time when his hands rolled into fists and shook. Even when he so had heroically (and did one really need to add 'but stupidly') stood by Irulan against the monster Legolas, he hadn't seemed so infuriated.

In short, never having managed to anger him in all their long years together as much as she angered him with those few words, Anne felt a rather strong breath of fear and surprise - enough to realize a mistake and take a step back.

She watched him bristling and shaking with inner turmoil, watched his tantalizing effort to get himself under control before he said or did something he would regret and -surprisingly- for the first time, saw something in Russell that she had failed to see before: Here in this room a man stood with her. Not a friend. Not a shoulder to cry on. Not a traveling partner. Not an annoying older brother. A man. The thought did strange things to her gut and she pushed the sentiment away, too torn to deal with it now.

At last Russell looked up and she froze at the dark and unprecedented look in his eyes. She managed to hold it despite all odds, though. "Who," he said slowly, so very slowly, "in their right mind would love you, Anne?"

If it held anger and disgust, it was directed to himself. As if his answer was 'Yes, I love you and yes, therefore certainly am not in my right mind'. But even this managed to activate something in the intricate system that Anne was that had never really been nudged before. Shame. "No one, really," she heard herself mumble as a strange heat walked over her face. Part of her mind marveled at this, at the sentiment of it, at the startling absence of her ever-present self-confidence. Part of her mind found nothing but her own misery to hold on to. "As a matter of fact," she sighed, for the first time feeling rather uncomfortable and...exposed... in front of Russell. It seemed as if in a matter of seconds he had shed the garment of trusted old friend and had become something else...something...alien. "...I don't think anyone really did."

He didn't answer right away. Anne watched the swaying of the torchlight on the cave walls. Why on earth had she come here with him? And why had she started the conversation? And why oh why had she mentioned her ex-boyfriend!

"You make it awfully hard," was his final mumble of an answer as he hesitated another moment, then made if he meant to turn around and leave.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, suddenly certain that she didn't want him to leave. She still felt strange about the idea of Russell's infatuation with her and she didn't really think that she would be capable of returning it, but they had been friends for so long, the idea that she would lose him as a friend was completely unacceptable to her. Maybe not for that kind of love, but for the love she felt for him, she would fight. "I really am. Can we start again?"

Russell glanced at her in the semi-darkness, trying to read her mood. That last part seemed anxious and not so confident. God knew that Anne could use some modesty. But then...what choice did he have in this whole thing, anyway? If she refused him, he was doomed. And she would refuse him. This, he knew with certainty. He had seen Anne's choice of men and he had no delusions - he was far from her type. And it must be strange for her to even think of him in that way after the long years of friendship. He had been seeing her in a different light for a long time now, but this must be very new and maybe even revolting for Anne.

He sighed and scratched his neck again, rooted to his spot. Then he shrugged, trying to look indifferent. "If you want..."

Anne sighed in relief. She had managed to make everyone dislike her these days. If she could change that at least with one person, it would be a worthy deed. "Okay..." she said softly, daring to give him a glance. Before she could find a way to continue on more dangerous ground, he interrupted.

"I'm sorry I spoke like that about...him."

She blinked, momentarily not certain what he meant. "Oh," she said then, strangely delighted. "Don't be. I mean...I don't know why I was defending him. He was such a jerk."

Russell observed her making a dismissive headshake and despite his desire not to, felt happy for it. As if it mattered whether she had really loved Mark or not! He shrugged again, not sure how to continue. "You were right," Anne sighed. A strange feeling came over her, then. Never before had she felt tempted to gain his liking or his confirmation in one thing or another. Now suddenly it seemed important that Russell thought well of her. It was such a strange sentiment that she blinked with the realization and hesitated for a few moments.

"I just think you deserve better," he said then. Here in this surreal environment and with all the cards already on the table, Russell felt tempted to be a bit bolder. Being reserved surely hadn't helped him much.

To his amazement she didn't give a sarcastic reply, but smiled sincerely in return. "Thank you." It seemed like the kindest thing any man had said to her in a long time. Then she shook herself awake. 'What am I? Human? Get a hold of your reins, woman!' "Well...I was saying when we return…to New York, I mean…we should…I don't know…hang out?"

It was too weird a statement to be overlooked. His confused eyes that met hers were pulsing darkly in the cavern. Or maybe it was her heart that was pulsing with…what? Shame? Excitement? They always hung out together, for God's sake! Why ask it as if it meant…something else than just hanging out! Suddenly too embarrassed about her words, she blurted "Cause I don't think we'll see Irulan for a while. And even though she is annoying and all that…I'll miss her company."

"Who says we won't see her for a while?" was the careful question.

This time she rolled her eyes. "By now you know what Legolas is like. I mean I can guess that he'll be too eager to have her for himself. If not forever, for a while."

"He would, wouldn't he?" Russell sighed, glancing away. He carefully walked around the question posed to him moments ago. Hope was too daring a thing in his position. Better not to make much of it. "Well…too bad for her. She'll miss our company more than we'll miss hers." That was not true at all considering that she would be with Legolas-the-god, but it felt good to say it.

Anne smiled again, this time with relief. "Then I guess we'll hang out."

This time it was Russell who rolled his eyes. "Why the hell not?" was his frustrated exclamation.

"Good. Cause I don't intend to change my life just because my best friend was swept off her feet by some elf," she sniffed, pushing her chin up.

"Thanks to you," he mumbled as he turned to leave the dead end cavern.

"I heard that."

"O gosh, don't kill me in this dark cave!" Russell moaned with mock terror.

"Grow out of it, Russell. I did what I thought was best for them."

"Well, aren't you the angel!" he laughed, exiting the dark corridor, closely followed by a mumbling Anne.

They argued, slowly tracing their way back to the entrance. Russell stepped out into the warm summer day and took a long look at the swaying forest. He heard Anne behind him, silent as he was, and for the moment he felt content to just stand here, with the woman he loved nearby, glance towards nature and not think of anything further. The web they had managed to tangle themselves in was had carried them this far had entangled itself a bit and had finally given them room to breathe.

Breathing was good. To be able to step away from everything and anything and to let the world spin by itself for a while was a healthy, satisfying break from the madness that was life. She came to stand next to him then, so close that he could reach out to touch her if he had wanted to. But he didn't. Many things could be said about Russell, but no one could say that he was greedy, that he overreached himself. He was contend to be by her side and even though he didn't know what the future would bring –or if it would bring anything at all- the future was far away this day and all that mattered was the freedom, the lightness, the gentleness of the moment.

Russell was there to enjoy it to the fullest.

---

They packed the horses, took their last glimpses of the house and reluctantly began to prepare to leave. It was a saddening and strange thing – even though they had had an awkward and terrifying journey, still it had felt good to be in Baeron's house. They couldn't help but feel a little out of place, a little somber and quite a bit miserable to be leaving with the possibility of never returning.

Legolas and Haldir pulled close the door that shut itself with a dense and dull sound and joined the rest of the silent group. Everyone stood watching the mansion as if they meant to engrave it into their memories. The idea that she was mentally trying to achieve the very thing that Baeron had done on cave walls struck Irulan then. She smiled despite herself, then took a deep breath of the incredibly clean air. 'Will I ever see it again?' she mused, trying to unhook herself from the place despite her wish. Who knew? And in a way, it hardly mattered. She had seen it and now, it was like a drawing on a cave wall – something that no one could take away from her. Baeron had used his own means to revere what he missed. Perhaps Irulan would use her own and write about it. The idea made her smile again and after a brief inspection, she walked a few steps to pick up a single bamboo leaf from the edge of the forest. She twirled it in her fingers thoughtfully, then returned to the awaiting company.

"Keep this for me? I know I'll tear it on the way." Legolas gave the leaf a knowing look, then graced her with a smile and gently took it from her to put it into this backpack. He held his hand to her afterwards and she accepted, scrambling unto the horse as he lithely glided to sit behind her.

A few more moments of silence followed and Irulan thought to sense a feeling of contentment emanating not solely from herself, but from everyone around her. As if hearing her thoughts, Anne sighed. "We have to come back some day. Can you believe that I forgot the most important thing! A camera!"

"Ah well," Haldir chuckled from behind her, "We can't have that now, can we? We must return."

Irulan shook her head at Anne's somber look of conviction. "But next time," Russel said not without a tone of warning, "no more of this stupid chasing. We'll do it the proper way."

"So you really mean to return?" was Mona's half curious, half amused question.

No one answered it. In a way, they all felt like if they did, the repetition would undo the impact of the first experience. If they left now and never came back, Baeron's house would be recalled with more than fondness, because it represented a haven at the end of danger, a mystery that had lured them from thousands of miles away, a treasure that had been uncovered by walking through the dingy darkness, and a victory that had been won not too lightly. If, however, they returned one day and traveled here with leisure and joy, it would become something else and lose its uniqueness.

No, perhaps they would not return.

"If the road wills it so," Legolas said at last and turned his horse around. The others followed and despite her want, Irulan did not turn to take a last look. She told herself that she didn't need to pine for something that no one could part from her, now. She did, however, spare a moment for Baeron's memory. 'Such beautiful things you have built, my friend! I am honored to have glimpsed it. Thank you!'

It would be a long ride to civilization. No doubt that Legolas and Haldir were more eager then they acted, for as soon as they were in range, they would activate their cell phones and try to find out if the Circle had managed to gather more information about Irulan's mysterious pursuers. At this point she had convinced herself that it was somehow related to Legolas and thereby, let the issue drop from her hands into his. Not that she would have been able to find anything by herself, anyway. He was the man for the job and Irulan was glad that she didn't have to hunt the kind of men that had killed Ellen and John.

The idea as well as the diminishing distance to their goal made her uneasy. She had been able to suppress even thinking about it for a while at Baeron's estate. There had been other…matters…to attend to. But now as the hills gave way to rice fields and the forests diminished, as they began to see other people once more, it refused to be subdued that easily. She shuddered a little and touched his arm that encircled her waist. Legolas, always perceptive and three steps ahead of her, said gently "Don't be afraid. I am with you now."

"I'm not really afraid. Though I should be, I guess. It's just…kind of new to me."

He smiled as his fingers caressed her bruised rib. "I suppose it is the price of my company," was his final sigh.

This time it was her smile and she turned her head to look into his eyes. "It's totally worth it, Legolas."

He kissed her brow and kept his silence. For him, it was a matter-of-fact thing that people close to him were and always had been at some sort of risk. Despite the fact that he was a skillful chameleon, Legolas was too important a man to pass as common and there were always those who detected it and meant to explore it. Maybe a wiser man would choose to isolate himself from others just to keep them safe. But with the time span granted to his kind, that would only mean madness. Besides, he was here for a reason, and isolating himself from others was the least preferable thing to do in the name of that cause.

So Irulan would have to stand in his circle and like everyone else who stood in his proximity, feel the heat of the fire. He had accepted that the moment he had allowed himself an affair with her and despite the risk, he simply could not regret his decision. She was too precious to be passed on and he was too much in need to show such nobility.

Instead, he would redouble his caution and aim to protect better. He would find these pursuers and track them down to locate the key person who had started it all. There was always a key person who wanted something from him – power, money, his death or his help… It was hard to understand how in this case Irulan had been dragged into the whole issue, but Legolas was not in doubt of his skills – he would find answers, and soon, too.

His dream returned to him then and for a moment his spirit and decisiveness faltered. Then, just as quickly as it had shown up, it dissipated into the dusk of the day. 'It meant nothing,' he thought to himself as crickets began their never-changing song around them and the air cooled pleasantly. 'Or it meant everything. Perhaps I saw her impending danger. Perhaps it was my sickness. Or maybe it was just that I was worried. And most possibly, it was just what it was – a dream. This is a different age. It is the age of reason and information – the time I acted on dreams is a time that belongs amongst Baeron's drawings.'

It made brought relief, that avenue. He strengthened his grip on her waist and exhaled the remnants of his irritation. There were far more pleasing dreams and reality, it seemed, was sweeter than any of them.