Single Blond Elf

By Jinni

Part One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve

He stayed originally because he knew that there would be work to be done. With the One Ring gone, Middle Earth needed to pick up the pieces; what was left of their world needed to be put back together, or at least patched up so that future generations would stand a chance. Gondor was in good hands, the hands of his friend and ally, Aragorn and his Queen, the Lady Arwen, formerly of Rivendell.

And so he stayed, helping to rebuild, forging friendships that would last longer in his heart than those that he made those friendships with. He walked with them, passed the time with them.

When finally the last of his friends had parted from the world, and Arwen was gone with her grief, he had thought of building a ship to sail over the Sea to the Undying Lands, to rejoin his father and family. His friends and loved ones.

But still he didn't.

He liked this world and the people in it. The race of Man had been making steady progress for years at that point, having long since rebuilt that which was destroyed during the time of Sauron and Sarumon. The creatures of magic were slowly fading from the world. The dwarves had long since retreated deep into their hills, and he hadn't heard from Gimli's great-grandchildren in years. They were deep in the earth now, far below the land of Man. If they ever came out again, back into the light and the land which Man had slowly overran, it would surprise him to no end.

The Hobbits were safe as ever, something Gandalf had seen to before leaving for the Undying lands so many years before. Only those that knew of the Shire would ever be able to find it. It was as though that entire land, and the acres surrounding it, were removed from this plane of existence and transferred to one that only just barely overlapped. He had visited often in those first years, meeting Sam's daughter, Pippen's son. And then, in years to come, their grandchildren, great-grandchildren. Hobbits, he had found, were much like rabbits in some regards.

But, as his friends passed on, it was harder and harder to visit the places they had once shared, to walk the fields he had once strolled with curiosity. To look on faces that were similar to those of his deceased comrades - their family - and know that he would never see the men that had sired them again.

There were still Elves wandering the forests. Some still lived in Lorien. Some in Rivendell. And a scant few still wandered the forests of Mirkwood.

But he did not stay in any of these places.

They were his people, yes, but few were his friends. Merely acquaintances, some that he had known for many hundreds of years; but few to none that he could call 'friend'.

He preferred to wander, his cloak up to hide his ears; and pass amongst the Men without ever being one of them. Most wouldn't know what to make of him even if they saw him with his cloak down. Three hundred years passed since the One Ring was destroyed, and history had faded to myth and legend. These people knew nothing of Elves and Dwarves. Mirkwood was just a forest to them, one that they were slowly but surely encroaching on. And Lorien was a haunted place where someone's great-great-great-great grandmother claimed to have once seen a beautiful lady, unlike any other.

That was, of course, the Lady Galadriel.

He missed her. And her Lord Celeborn. And Halidur. They had left, with Elrond, to go to the Undying Lands. He hadn't thought it would be so hard, to just stay away for a few hundred years, to not see his kith and kin for that long a period.

But it was.

And his heart ached at times.

And so, nearly five hundred years after the One Ring was cast into the fires of Mount Doom, he set out to build a ship. A ship that was imbued with the magic he inherently possessed. A ship that would carry him to his brethren, where he could leave behind this land of Man forever.

But something went terribly wrong.

He could remember the day it started very vividly. Man had become too cocky, too self-assured. They had started to doubt the One in the heavens. He couldn't really say he blamed said deity when It began to rain fires from the heavens, smiting the wicked. No, he didn't blame the One at all.

But that was all speculation, of course. He had no proof that his heavenly creator was the one to cause these changes. And, as time went on, he began to doubt his own convictions on the matter, until he became sure that it had just been some twisted magic, left over from the dark times, that had set out to warp reality as it was known.

But then the lands began to change, to rend asunder that which was once whole. These new islands would grow further and further from each other every day. Until such time as one could no longer see the side which once was right next door to your home. The woods were changed. He no longer recognized Mirkwood as his home, and the fantastical creatures that had once taken shelter in its depths were gone, or hiding. He hoped they were just hiding; it was too much to think that they may have all been destroyed during this time of Sundering.

He stayed, not knowing if it was even still possible to reach the Undying Lands. And, if it was, he no longer knew where to find them. How could they be in the West when there was else in the West now?

It took nearly a hundred years for the lands to calm down, for the Men that remained to adapt to the mountains, the rivers, the valleys and vales that had once not existed.

And time, for Men, started anew.

They saw this as a predetermined fate; from someone they termed "God". Much like the One, but different in theology, he quickly learned. Men, it seemed, had made a mess of divinity just as they had been slowly making a mess of Middle Earth.

Middle Earth was, of course, no more. And the peoples were split, divided. The darker races had broken off to the large island of the south, while the more yellow in hue had taken themselves off to the eastern reaches of what he came to call the 'mainland'. They began to call themselves by different names, and it seemed that they no longer remembered anything of what had passed before. The stories remained, by only as just that, stories.

Men had forgot about magic. About hobbits and elves. They no longer believed in wizards. These were the things of myths, stories to tell the littles. He no longer knew if the hobbits existed still, hidden in their Shire. Even when he looked, the entrance was hidden. . . or gone completely. He couldn't have said which it was, and the idea of it saddened him.

Then a man came. And he claimed to be the son of this God Men had begun to worship. And others came, too; Men who claimed to be sons or prophets, or Gods themselves. The race of Man was now many races with different ideas of religion and worship. They fell away from the old ways completely. Magic and myth was now something to be reviled at all costs. Heretics were burned. 'Witches' were put to torture. Death in the name of religion, when none of them were right.

At least to him.

He watched it all, as the years wore on, tiring at times and wishing that he could find a way Home. His people were still there, somewhere. He had to believe it. They would have found a way to hide themselves from the ugliness of the World. The One would not have allowed them to pass from this world entirely.

This much he prayed in his heart of hearts. That they still exist, even if he could no longer be a part of them. If that was his fate, then so be it. Just let them still live on, somewhere away from the hate Men had wrought with the power of their mindless emotions.

And then more changes began, slowly, but building to great leaping advances that left him stunned and breathless at times.

Technology. Steam engines. Electricity. These things scared him at first. He was still stuck in the old ways, the ways of his people. He missed the forests that were wild and free during the days of the old Middle Earth. His heart ached for the forests that his father had ruled over, a King just as he was a Prince. These people wouldn't recognize him as such, of course, even if he were to let down his glamourie long enough for them to see him as he really was.

An elf.

The last of his kind to still walk the forests and mountains. To swim the rivers and lakes. And, now, to stroll the roads and lanes of this 'modern world'.

He found himself drawn, almost inexplicably, during the first years of the new century, which was, for him, just a small portion of the actual time of the World; to the 'continent' called "North America", to the country called the "United States", and then to the very borders of that country, straight to the other Sea which Men had named the Pacific. And to a town called Sunnydale.

Here he learned firsthand that magic still existed. That demons and vile creatures still roamed the Earth. Money he had, from years of gathering trinkets and gems, ancient coins. He had started a bank account when they first came into being; just for the fun of it. And that had earned him years of interest. He was not a pauper, and would likely never be so. He rented out a flat and began to explore the town.

It was during his first week in this strange place, while feeding an unhealthy addiction to the invention of Man called 'caffeine' in a small coffee shop, that Legolas, once a Prince of Mirkwood and part of the Fellowship of the Ring, saw Her.

He watched, sipping at the hot liquid in the small cup in his hands, as she strolled into the coffee shop, smiling at the woman behind the counter. She was so pale of skin, so fine of feature. Someone in her past, he knew instantly, had to be Elven kind. It may be pretty far back, he admitted silently, but the blood was still there. She was too fine of limb and form to be one hundred percent of the race of Man. Too delicate of beauty and grace.

She turned, leaning back on the counter while she waited for the worker to gather whatever it was that she had ordered. Her green eyes wandered over the shop's patrons, as though she wasn't quite looking at anything, but *through* it.

And then she looked at him.

He knew the second her eyes got wide that somehow she had seen through his Glamorie to what was beneath; and he cursed himself. Of course she would see through it if she were, as he believed, possessing of even one drop of Elvish blood. Elves could not hide from their own blood. They could not maintain any illusion from those of their own kind. He met her curious eyes, nodding ever so slightly in greeting, which she returned with a nod of her own.

"Thank you." He heard her murmur, somewhat distractedly, to the woman at the counter, taking the cup that was offered to her. She held it to her lips, cautiously sipping at the steaming liquid, her piercing green eyes never leaving his face.

What did he look like to her, this beautiful young woman that had seen through his disguise? The rest of the patrons in the shop would see only a young man, short blonde hair, and smoky gray eyes. He knew this, he had seen it often enough in a mirror while trying to perfect the image. But her? She would see him as he had always been. Fine of feature, fair of face. Long blonde hair, still carefully braided in the eternal style of his people. His eyes clear and bright. And the ears, of course. Clad in a green shirt, silk, and pants that were just a shade darker, in a type of smooth cotton that he had become fond of over the years. This was the closest he had been able to find to his own woodland garb that would not draw stares from passerbys on the street. Disguise of the face was possible, disguise of the cloth was not.

She would see the overlay of his Glamorie if she wanted to, which she apparently already had figured out by the way she focused and unfocused her eyes, as if looking at something directly in front of him before settling again on his face.

And then she did the last thing he had expected.

She flashed him a bright smile, winked, and left the shop, coffee in hand. He saw her pass by the window, and wondered if she would stop to look at him again. But she didn't. And he felt somehow cheated that she had not been curious enough to come over and talk. To ask any questions that were flitting through what looked to be a very intelligent brain, if the light in her eyes was any indication. It was more than that, though.

He felt cheated that he was unable to spend more time in her presence, the closest he had felt to his kind since the Sundering.

But she was evidently busy. There was a bag on her back that he recognized as something the students of this time used to carry their books in. The local university was only just down the street. She had needed the coffee to stay awake for her class, maybe?

"So perhaps she will come back, to this place, again?" He murmured to himself, swallowing the last lukewarm mouthful of his own cup.

Feeling better than he had in many a year, Legolas tossed the cup in the trash bin and wandered out into the streets of Sunnydale, sending up a silent hope to the One that he would see that woman again.

And maybe, next time, they would have a chance to talk.

Part Two

He couldn't get her out of his head.

She was there waiting behind his eyes when he went to sleep at night, her flaming red hair taunting him. That had to be a trait she had picked up from the Men in her bloodline, for he had never seen any Elves with hair of that color, as lovely as it was; much like the fires that burned at sunset, back in the days when Middle Earth was still Middle Earth and not a scattering of continents separated by oceans.

It was her that he thought of, the kinship he had felt with a creature that was still nothing more than a child, even by the standards of her own race. She could not have seen more than twenty, maybe twenty-two, seasons at best; and he couldn't get her out of his head. It wasn't lust; that particular emotion was foreign to him. She was beautiful, yes, but he saw in those brief moments of watching her in the coffee shop something that was much more valuable than the pleasures of the flesh.

He saw a potential companion.

And so he came back to the coffee shop, day after day, always at the same time. Taking his drink to one of the tables by the window, just as he had that day; and he waited, hoping that she would come in, swearing to himself that this time they would speak.

But a week went by, and the beauty eluded him. If she came into the shop it was during a time when he was not there, eagerly watching the comings and goings of the establishment in hopes of seeing her again.

It was raining on the eighth day of his vigilance, and he debated internally on whether or not to even leave his flat. If she was there, she would undoubtedly not be in the mood to converse. Men did not like the rain, and he could not say as how he blamed them. For all it was natural, it was also cold and damp. And Legolas wasn't particularly fond of dampness outside of the modern miracle of the 'bubble bath'.

'If I do not go, today will be the day she comes in. That is just my luck in these things.' He thought miserably, pulling his coat from the hook by the door. It seemed to rain harder the moment he stepped outside, as if the heavens themselves were cursing his stubborn resolution to see this wisp of a woman again. Perhaps the fates were against him, then. But the fates could damn themselves into the fiery pits of what was called Mount Doom for all he cared. He wanted to see her again, and let it not be said that Elvish determination fell short of any mark.

Trudging through the rain took longer than he had expected, and it was with a heavy heart that he finally made his way into the shop, out of the rain. If she were going to come today, it would have already happened; of that he was sure.

He didn't even look at the other patrons in the shop, expecting there to be little to no point in such a futile gesture. The heavens were mocking him with their downpour, and the One must be laughing at his plight.

"Vanilla mocha - medium." He murmured to the girl behind the counter, smiling out of courtesy when she extended the same gesture to him. He fished some bills out of his pocket, paying for the steaming cup of liquid before raising it to his nose to sniff deeply of the tangy flavor. The shop was quite busy he found upon turning away from the counter, and it didn't take him long to see that there were no empty tables, though quite a few with only one occupant.

And then, as he was debating on which of the lone patrons to beg a seat from, he saw her. Sitting at a table in the corner, reading a book. She had her back to him, but the fire of her hair was enough of a giveaway. He felt his heart give a double beat in anticipation.

Threading his way through the mass of tables and chairs, legs and arms, he finally found himself standing before her. A faint smile played upon his lips when she didn't look up, enraptured by what she was reading.

"May I join you?"

Now she was looking up, her eyes focusing first on him, then inwards, on his Glamourie. She bit her lip and then nodded once, smiling in a manner he recognized as shyness.

"Go ahead." She gestured one elegant hand to the seat across from her, the other hand resting lightly over her book, as though to cover it. It seemed accidental at first glance, but upon a quick, closer, inspection, he could tell she was trying discreetly to hide whatever it was that she had been reading.

That was fine with him, nosiness was not a strong point in Elves; and her personal business was just that - her personal business.

They sat that way, silent, for a moment, neither knowing quite what to say though it was clear they both wanted to say, to ask, something. It was the woman that broke the silence first.

"You --?" She stopped, eyes flying to his ears, and then down to the table, a crimson blush stealing over her cheeks.

Legolas laughed softly, taking a sip of his cooling coffee.

"If you have a question, fair lady. Just ask it of me. If it is within my power to answer, I shall."

He could see her visibly stiffen, her eyes flying to the book before her, the words she could see between the splayed fingers of her hand. Had he said something to offend her?

"Such pretty language." She murmured mostly to herself, frowning. It was a fleeting expression, though, and a moment later she was looking back up, into his face. "You're not human, are you?"

He tilted his head in acknowledgement of the question.

"No. But you already knew that, did you not? You can see through this?" He cocked an eyebrow, gesturing at his face, the Glamourie that rested upon his features.

"Yes." She grinned slowly then, playfully; throwing his own words back in his face. "But you already knew that, did you not?"

He laughed fully, then; and knew the sound was like that of a song in the air. It couldn't be helped, such was his nature, and he couldn't disguise it. A few patrons turned to stare, but the rest continued on with their daily injections of caffeine as though they had heard nothing amiss.

"Lovely." Willow sighed, shaking her head. She reached for her own cup, closing her book and laying it off to one side, the title pushed towards the wall. She had done it intentionally, of that he was sure; and, despite his own nature, he found himself getting curious about the book and why she would not want him to see what she had been reading. "What are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

He gave a little quirk of his lips, a half-smile; a shrug of his shoulders as if this was all very commonplace to him and not at all a bit unnerving. He hadn't spoken of who or what he was in many hundreds of years, and now he was ready and willing to do it with a beautiful woman in a coffee shop.

"Elf."

Her eyes widened, though it wasn't surprise; more like an acknowledgment of something she had already decided upon inside and was merely awed to hear aloud. She laughed lightly, and though it wasn't the pure sound of a song on the breeze as his own had been, he could hear bells within it, like a wind chime far off in the forest, dangling in the trees. She was part elf, and if he hadn't been sure of it before that moment, he was now.

"Vampires and demons." She grinned, shaking her head in wonder. "Hell goddesses and children created from mystical energy. Witches." She stopped here to point to herself with that same wink she had used on him the first day he saw her. It was a playful gesture, not flirting, as many humans would have it be. "And Slayers. But never any Elves. Nor Fae or any other mythological race. Though - not so mythological I see." She tilted her head towards him.

"Myths are merely tales that have passed out of history as too unbelievable or unsettling to be told as truth. So many 'myths' are in fact nothing more than history that Men did not wish to be told during this time of the world." He didn't bat an eye at the admission that she was a witch. That was common amongst the mixed-blood 'humans' borne of an Elven and Man coupling, though those couplings were few and far between. She could, he reasoned, be one of only a handful of such progeny still walking the face of the earth; for he had not come across any others in his years of wandering.

She smiled, nodding.

"Isn't that the truth. I remember the first time I saw a vampire. And all I could think was I must have hit my head and gotten knocked for a loop, because vampires were a thing of myth. Something from horror stories, like the bogeyman. Though - the bogeyman, I found, was just as real as those vampires. And vampires weren't myth - they were all too real and recorded in texts that would be passed off as fiction."

"The truth is always there, if you know where to look." He agreed, a slow smile curling the corners of his mouth as he lifted his cup to his lips.

"But, wow." She continued. "An Elf. That's something for the journal. 'Today I met a fantastically handsome creature sitting in the coffee shop. He said he was an Elf, and I believe him'." She blushed at the last moment, perhaps realizing just what she had said. Her face turned so that she could look out one of the windows, a nonchalant attempt to hide the scarlet streaks on her cheeks.

"Thank you." Legolas murmured, pleased on some basic level to know that this fair creature found him to be 'fantastically handsome' as she had so eloquently put it before retreating back into her thoughts. Talking with her was like talking with one of his own kind; like a warm cloak on a cold day. Her aura was soothing, even while they sat in silence, each meandering through their own thoughts as they sipped their cooling cups of coffee.

She laid a hand on her book, a small crease of concentration appearing between her eyebrows, as though she were debating something with herself.

"May I ask what is troubling you?"

She gave him a shaky smile, her head swaying from side to side in negation.

"Nothing, really. Just thinking of. . . something, . . ." She stopped, biting her lip as she struggled to remember something. A laugh escaped her lips and she gave him a rueful smile. "We haven't even introduced ourselves yet. My name is Willow."

He smiled gently, taking the hand that she offered and holding it to his lips.

"A lovely name for an equally lovely creature." He offered, secretly delighting in the blush that stole across her cheeks. He reminded himself one more time that he was seeking only her friendship, not her love; though his heart was beginning to ask for more despite his best mental fortifications. "My name is Legolas."

She gasped, jerking her hand back as though burned, her eyes flying to the book that lay on the table with her and then back to his eyes. She shook her head slowly, as if to release a thought that had gone astray or become tiresome. There was shock, perhaps fear, lodged in the emerald depths of her eyes, and he wanted instantly to take back his name, for that seemed to be what caused her such great distress.

But distress was a two way street, and Willow set him upon it with her next uttered words.

"Prince of Mirkwood. . .Part of the Fellowship. . ." She whispered, so softly that no one save herself and he would have stood any chance of hearing it.

Now Legolas felt his own eyes widen with surprise. No one that still lived in this realm knew him by that name. Her eyes flew to the book again. And now he reached for it, this object that she had been trying to hide from him from the time he approached her. She didn't stop him, and indeed it looked by the shock on her face that she couldn't have moved if she wanted to. He knew the feeling, it was one he was battling with himself at that moment.

The book was thick, much larger than most he had attempted to read through himself; and he sighed as he caught the title, saw the illustrated cover with a depiction of a wizard he knew all too well. Yes, he remembered this book now. It was a book based on the myths and legends, that had once been the fact and history of his day, which had managed to survive the weathering of time. Written by a professor of something or other in a style of tongue that was so hopelessly outdated that he had set it aside after the first few pages, only to go back and read it in its entirety over a span of three years. So this is where she knew him from, and knew of his people. He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head in silent wonder. Why was it that the one person he felt he could connect with in so many years would already have preconceived notions about him and his past? The tales were pretty accurate, he would agree to that, but they didn't show the entire picture and they were warped in places, as things passed down over so many hundreds and thousands of years were bound to be.

He looked up, surprised to see that Willow's eyes were sparkling with amusement. She had her lower lip pulled between her teeth, as though such a simple gesture could ward off the laughter that was bubbling up from within her. And when she opened her mouth, he had to laugh aloud with her at the driving relevancy and wit of what she said.

"So what was that you were saying about myths being nothing more than history. . .Legolas. . .?"

Part Three

Legolas followed alongside Willow in companionable silence, every now and then sneaking a look at the woman who had offered without hesitation to take him back to her home to talk some more and some dinner, if he could 'put up with her awful attempts at cooking'.

He had laughed and accepted the invitation, none too eager to part ways with her, even if it meant walking through the streets in the drizzling rain that had persisted through his time in the coffee shop.

They had not spoken much after his startling revelation that he was, indeed, the same as the elf that she had read about. To his surprise she hadn't thought him crazy, but seemed to accept it for what it was - the truth.

"You live here? By yourself?" He gestured to the house they were walking towards, curiosity in his eyes.

"Sort of." She shrugged. "It's my parents' house, but they're never here. I used to live with friends but . . ."

Legolas felt the strings of his heart twinge at the look on her face. So sad and remorseful.

"Are you okay?"

She smiled, still looking quite sad despite what he could tell was her best effort not to.

"Yeah. I'll be fine. Just. . . memories, you know. But, I'm sure you don't want to hear about my dark secrets."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. What kind of dark secrets could one so young have? There was some darkness there, he could sense that much. Everyone had darkness, though; even those amongst his own people who had considered themselves above such petty things as doing 'wrong'. Yes, evil was everywhere.

But her light outshone the darkness on a scale he could not put into words; could never possibly hope to express. He wished to not only hear her tale, but to ease whatever pains she carried in her heart as well.

"On the contrary, my lady. I would love to hear anything you have to tell me when and if you are ready."

He watched as a blush stole across her face and wondered at his seemingly random ability to make her flush so prettily.

"You speak just like he wrote it." She laughed softly, her pain forgotten for a moment; lost in the wonder of a fantasy man standing there, speaking to her like he was not thought of by most to be anything other than pure fiction. "And I'll tell you about me. . . but you must answer my questions as well, hmm? Tell me of your time. . . your people?"

"Whatever you wish." He nodded. "Spending time with you is like a breath of fresh air to this weary elf."

Again he watched as she blushed. She was unused to such compliments as those he paid her without even thinking. It was a sad world in which they lived that such a wonderful flower went without the light it needed to grow and flourish. And that is what she was, a flower of a woman, still trying desperately to bloom amidst whatever forces had held her back her entire life. She was a delicate blossom, waiting to open and show its face to the world; he could sense that within her.

"Such pretty words." She shook her head, opening the door and taking his coat to hang on the rack to dry out, along with her own. "Speaking of pretty words, say something in Elvish for me? Anything at all. . . I just want to hear it spoken by someone who is native and not some Tolkien buff. Please?"

He smiled gently, stepping into the living room after her. She turned and he licked his lips, speaking aloud a language he had not had a chance to use in more time than he cared to remember, pushing away the sadness those memories brought for him to answer a request made in innocence.

"Vanimle sila tiri."

She blushed crimson, her eyes darting away from his in a moment of startled embarassment. And he understood her gesture immediately. She had understood the compliment. 'Your beauty shines bright', he had said. And it was a true compliment, not just pretty words spouted off in the moment. She was a beauty for all ages, as fair as any elf maiden that had ever caught his eye. But he had not thought that she would understand. No, not in a million years.

He laughed.

"Lle quena i'lambe tel' Eldalie?" - Do you speak Elvish?

She blushed brighter and turned her eyes from him again, quite embarrassed.

"Yes, well. I may knock those hard core Tolkien fans, but don't let that deceive you. I thought that the language was pretty -"

"And so you learned it? Just for the fun of it?"

She shrugged.

"Not much else to do when I was younger. . . and it was easy enough. . . as easy as learning any language is, that is."

"You are full of surprises, Lirimaer."

Lovely one.

And again her face lit up with a blush. He chuckled softly, reaching out to run a hand over her scarlet cheek. She was so soft, so delicate. Much like the maidens back home, though it was clear that the human blood in her veins was much stronger than the small bit of Elvish she carried. He could feel it now, touching her skin with his, that call within him that drew him subtly to those he would share the bonds of blood with.

She leaned into the touch, accepting the caress without a second thought. She, too, felt that call of kinship, though he knew she would not recognize it for what it was. To her elves were just a mythological race that she had only just discovered to be real. How far back would she have to trace her bloodlines to find that one elf that had given her such fair grace, such delicate beauty? A thousand years? Two thousand? To a time before the Sundering or a time after it? He could not say by looking at her. The blood was there, but many times diluted.

Still . . .

It called to him, called to her. Blood to blood. Like to like. He had always enjoyed man's myth of 'soulmates', knowing that there was no such thing. This was the closest there would ever be to such a feeling of oneness, the feeling shared between two who were alike in their differences, separated from the rest of the world by circumstances beyond their control.

And so he stood there, enjoying the touch of her skin to his while she allowed it; reveling in that feeling of 'home' she gave to him, if only in a small amount.

"Just call me surprise girl." She murmured quietly, breaking the moment. He felt a pang in his heart when she stepped backwards, away from him, though he did not worry that it was from regret, for there was none of that in her eyes. She had simple decided that that was enough.

For now.

"Would you like me to begin cooking now - or would you rather hear my story? I will warn you that you may not wish to stay for dinner when I'm done. . . as much as that would pain me."

"I hardly believe that." Legolas murmured. "However, as luck would have it, I am not hungry at this moment and would like to know what is so wrong in your past that you fear my recrimination so heavily."

He watched her eyes darken with sadness and longed to reach out, to touch her again and bring what comfort he could through touch.

But he did not.

He stayed back from her, allowing her this moment to herself, to decide whether or not telling her story was truly what she wished. It was evident, even to he that did not know her well, that she was in pain. A pain that lurked deep within her heart, perhaps her very soul, and tainted every part of her being.

"Very well." She smiled, again so sad that he began to think that those laughing grins she had given him in the coffee shop were gone for good. He would do anything, he decided, to make her smile like that again. Happy and carefree, as she had been the moment she discovered that he was something out of a book. A fantastical creature that she had only read about.

"Come, sit."

He sat in the chair she gestured him to. But that was far away from the couch whereupon she had placed herself and he looked towards her in question.

"Might I sit there, with you? So that I might hear you better?"

If she remembered the legendary Elvish hearing from her readings, she made no note of it; simply waving him over to sit with her.

"Alright. Where to begin." She drew her lower lip into her mouth, worrying it with her teeth.

"My name, as I said, is Willow. Willow Anne Rosenberg. I am twenty-three years old and have lived here for my entire life."

She spoke with her hands, he noted absently, listening to the smooth melody of her voice as she went through the general facts about her past. It was the voice of a storyteller and the melodic, whispering breaths that again spoke of that miniscule amount of Elvish blood that ran in her veins.

"This town, in case you haven't noticed, is on a Hellmouth. Boca del inferno. The mouth of Hell itself. And, let me assure you, that's not just a scary name. It's the literal truth. Demons, vampires, werewolves. . . monsters from stories and myths. They all come here." She snorted derisively. "Funny that I could always accept the bad things out of mythology, but I never stopped to question if the good existed. Just shows how jaded you get, dealing with evil day in and day out."

"I dated a werewolf once, and I have to say that they aren't all bad creatures, just ruled by forces they cannot control. Vampires, on the other hand, are completely evil. Demons in the bodies of people that were once alive and breathing. I've only known one vampire that was truly good, and he had been given his soul. One other was forced to do good by his inability to do evil, but that's another story for another time."

He was curious about those two that she spoke of. Who wouldn't be? But that wasn't her tale tonight, and he did not doubt that they had not yet reached the part of her life that caused her such grief.

"Skipping a lot of stuff that means very little in the entire scheme of things, we reach my college years, where I dabbled even further in magic and met a woman, a fellow witch."

He saw the flash of pain in her eyes, the hitch of her chest as she took a pause to deal with the grief this memory caused.

"Her name was Tara. And she was my everything."

Friendship, it seemed, would be all he could hope for with this beauty. Though he could guess already that the tale of Tara and the lovely Willow ended in sadness; the mere fact that she was a lover of women precluded him from her heart. This realization was met with sadness, and he wondered at what point he had gotten up any hope of being more than merely her friend.

"We studied magic together, her and I. But - magic is a tricky thing. The more you use it, the more you want to use it. And, unless you learn control, you fall to that doom rather quickly."

"And you fell?"

She laughed, bitterly.

"Yes. I fell. Hard. She left me at one point, vowing to not return until I got 'clean'. And so I stopped using. I quit. For her, I quit. And we got back together. . . "

She stopped talking, the sweet melody of her voice breaking off into silent tears. Legolas leaned in, taking her into his arms, and letting her cry out the pain that was suffocating her. Would that he could take her pain away, make it a part of himself so that he would never have reason to see her cry again; he would do that for her.

"She died. . ."

He barely heard her begin speaking again, nearly mistaking her pain-slurred whispers for the sound of her sobbing breaths.

"She died only a couple minutes after we made up. Shot and killed by a bullet that wasn't even meant for her as we sat in our bedroom."

"I'm so sorry." He didn't know what else to say. Words seemed inadequate next to the pain she was feeling, the absolute despair that rolled off of her in waves that were tangible to his heightened senses.

Still, he reasoned. She had not mentioned anything about 'horrible actions' on her own part.

He didn't have to wait long, for he found that the next time she opened her mouth she cleared up the questions that had lain in his heart.

"I went nuts." She admitted softly, pulling out of his arms and looking into his eyes. "I turned back to magic, the Dark Arts. I pulled all the blackness I could find into myself. . . and I went looking for Warren, the one that had killed her. And when I found him I showed him pain unlike any he had ever experienced. I tortured him before finally granting him release, ripping the very flesh from his body as I ended his life."

He met her eyes, unflinching, nodding. This was what passion did. This is what grief could do. And he did not think her a monster, unlike what she believed of herself.

But, there was more. . . he could feel it in the way she held her head high, as though she could brace herself for the pain that was yet to come.

"A good friend came to stop me. . . and dosed me with some very powerful magics, hoping to cleanse me. They did, eventually, but not before I lost my mind. You asked why I fear your recrimination so heavily and this is why -"

He held his breath, waiting for the words that would spill from her mouth, an explanation for the pain she carried within herself.

"I'm afraid to lose the friendship we have only just begun because of one big thing, Legolas - I tried to end the world."

"You -"

Alright.

So it wasn't what he had expected.

Not in the least.

Perhaps another murder. Some more torture.

But not trying to destroy all life; to end that which the One had created so perfectly.

"Tried to end the world." She repeated. "If you no longer wish to associate with me, I won't blame you. In fact, it's probably for the best. My own friends have long since abandoned me to work things out for myself; and they knew me for far longer than you have."

"Hold." He murmured, raising a hand to ward off any more of her precious babbling. He sighed, closing his eyes. As a creature of the earth it was difficult to understand why anyone would want to 'end' it. She had said she wasn't in her right mind, though. And he was sure she had still been running quite high on the emotional devastation she had experienced.

How could he not forgive her and attempt to provide that same surcease of pain that he had wanted to give only moments after meeting her?

"Do you want me to get your coat?"

Her tear-filled voice penetrated his thoughts, bringing him out of his silent meditation; and he glanced up into her eyes with a look of reproach.

"Lirimaer," He began gently, with the name she had responded most enticingly to. "Do not fear that I shall leave you here, with your pain; because I shall not. I have seen much evil in my life time, more than I think even you could imagine."

"I forget that you are not as young as you look." She sighed.

"No. I am not." Legolas conceded. "And I have seen great darkness, and equally great light. And you are not a 'great darkness', though I cannot guarantee that you do not fall into the category of 'great light'. Be strong, little one. The pain shall pass, and with it the tears. The guilt may never fade, but that is okay. Guilt can be lived with, borne on strong shoulders. And you are strong, I can see it in those sparkling green eyes."

He saw her shoulders relax, the tension leave her body visibly; and knew that his words had gotten into her heart, at least for now. She would need reassurance in another day or two, when the strength of his words, the power of his voice, had faded; and he would be there to give it to her again if she would allow it. Until such time as she believed that which he said with all of her heart and soul.

"Diola lle."

A simple thank you, spoken in a language he hadn't had the pleasure to hear in so long.

And it touched his heart.

"Lle creoso." - You're welcome, he replied with all sincerity. She had relaxed back into the couch, closer to him than she had been when they started out. He could feel the press of her leg against his own, the aura of her body mingling with his. And he longed to take her back into his arms, to offer her comfort now of a different nature than the simple caresses that he had given while she was crying.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, wishing for just a moment that he did not know now that she was a lover of women. At least if he were ignorant to that fact he could kiss her, just once; experience the sweet taste of her mouth before she informed him that the advance had not been welcome.

But he did know.

And he was too much of a gentleman to even try, for all that he knew that being that close to her would feel like he had died and gone to the havens for his eternal reward.

"I don't still, you know."

"Don't still. . .?" He questioned, confused.

"Like women." She murmured, blushing. "And I don't know why I told you that. But I did. So make of it what you will. Would you like dinner now? I'm hungry. I'll go cook."

She stood before he could say anything, try anything; leaving him staring at her back, at the way her sweater fell just to the rise of her jeans, revealing small bits of skin as she walked out of the room.

But her embarrassed babbling had given him much needed information; and hope that any advances he might would make would not be rebuffed entirely, if at all.

He stood, following the same path she had taken only moments before; ready to answer any questions she may have and to offer further comfort if she was willing.

Part Four

Legolas followed her into the kitchen, taking note of the precise way she moved, stilted, as though she were arguing with herself and not liking the outcome of it. It almost seemed as though there were tears still lurking behind her eyes when she glanced his way, her lips a thin tight line across her face. She had gone from smiling and embarrassed, back to sad and empty; all in the space of time it took for them to walk through her home.

"Will you be alright?" He asked quietly, sliding onto one of the stools surrounding the small island of a countertop.

"Yeah." Her smile was shaky, and the hand she ran back through her hair trembled just a bit. She was trying to look calm and collected for him, but he could tell that the relating of her story to him had hurt her inside, opening wounds she had thought she had closed.

He felt bad for this, though he also felt as though he had been right to push now that he knew the reason for her reticence. After all, it was his right to make an informed decision, and without that information he would have been sorely misinformed about who and what she was.

Though, it wasn't as though the information changed how he felt towards her, or the growing feelings that he hadn't even yet to really admit to himself. He would just be more cautious, is all; make sure that he was satisfied in his heart of hearts that she was not a threat to him or any other innocent creature before allowing himself to get too close to her.

Although. . . not getting 'too close' was proving more and more difficult the longer he was in her presence.

"Why do I not believe you?" He asked finally, curious to what her reaction would be to such an intrusive and blunt question. It was pushing, and something he was entirely unused to doing. Especially to a woman that was broken up inside like this one was. It went against his nature, for sure. But he wanted to see, in some ways, if she would break under his words. If she did it was definitely not a good thing.

If she didn't. . . there was plenty of room for him to get to know her better.

She raised one, thin, red eyebrow at him; and the smile that quirked at her lips was full of both humor and bitterness.

"No clue, Mister Elf-Person. You tell me - why *don't* you believe me?"

He smirked at the sarcastic retort and shook his head, not put off in the least.

"Perhaps because you just told me some very awful things. Things that I do not think you have fully dealt with. . . and then you spoke hastily about something that seems to have embarrassed you and ran away. . ."

"Hmm." She nodded in mock-thoughtfulness, a blush stealing across her features. The smile returned to her face within a moment; and he knew he had made the right decision about her. "You make a very good point. Very good point, indeed."

She turned back to the ingredients she had laid out, humming under her breath. It took him a few moments to realize she wasn't trying to be rude by not speaking to him; she was just trying to gather what remained of her pride and courage in the face of someone that was trying hard to understand her and what she had done.

"You had questions for me, did you not?" He prompted her, giving in to the silent urges within himself to take her mind off of her troubles, off of her pain. She was so beautiful when she looked up at him, a wisp of hair escaping the bun she had it pulled into. Yes, this was a woman that would have shone brightly amongst either Men or Elves. She was a beauty. A treasure to be cherished for all time. A -

He gave a mental sigh, shoving those thoughts away. She was breathtaking, yes. But he had said he was just going to be her friend. And, no matter how great the urge, he was not going to reach out and caress her the way his body and heart were imploring him to do.

Not now.

Not while she was cooking, anyway.

"Questions. . .?" She murmured, distractedly; slicing some chicken and tossing it into a frying pan. Her head snapped up, eyes going wide with shocked remembrance. "Oh! Oh! OH! You! Ring! Elves! Hobbits! Elves again! Yes! Questions!"

There was that babbling again, the one that had already found a place in his heart.

"So - ask away."

"Wow. Where to start?" Her eyes were glazed with the insane taint of wicked curiosity. "Here's one - the story is real? All of it?"

He tilted his head to the side, smiling; and reached up to pull his hair back, effectively exposing those ears that labeled him for exactly what he was. The gesture was meant to say that Elves were very much 'real', and to remind her who exactly she had invited into her home. It was hard not to laugh as her eyes wandered from his hair, to his hand, to the ears, then to his eyes; her blush creeping up a notch in color with each flick of her eyes. She licked her lips, a flash of something he could almost swear was lust darkening the emerald orbs of her eyes. And then she shook her head, to herself, and put her eyes back on her task, still blushing.

Were his ears a turn on for this creature who looked very unearthly and ethereal all by herself?

He filed that tidbit away for later use - 'ears, sensual'.

"The story is fairly accurate." He began. "Though parts of it were very odd to read. I knew the moment I began reading it what people who live to see their own biographies published must feel like. It was disturbing, the level of accuracy he found at points, and humorous the liberties he took with dialogue and situations at others. This was a very large part of my life, you must understand, despite the fact that it only took a very short time."

Willow nodded.

"I can see where that would be weird. Reading about yourself and going 'whoa, that's way wrong!'." She giggled. "But still. . . it must be pretty cool to know you're the stuff legends are made of - literally. I mean. . . an Elf. . . "

"You realize how silly that sounds coming from a 'witch', right?"

She paused, giving him an odd look. A look that clearly said that she didn't think there was anything at all unusually about being a witch.

"Yeah, I guess." She conceded. "To a normal person, that might be a little odd. . . But this is Sunnydale. Land of the Not-So-Normal. City of the Freaks, Vacation Spot for Hell Goddesses, and Locale of Choice for Apocalyptic Prophecies. In Sunnydale you either know what's the what or you ignore it. Those that are of the un-oblivious nature don't see a witch as something that unusual."

He had noticed this as well and couldn't help but ask -

"How does one go about ignoring the monsters that lurk outside of homes, businesses. . ."

"Parks, supermarkets, etc etc - the list of haunts goes on and on, doesn't it?" She shrugged in answer to the question, though. "Its weird what the human mind can block out when it really, really wants to. I mean, my mother conveniently forgot that she tried to burn me at the stake - wiggy much? But. . . we weren't talking about me anymore. . . were we? I thought I was about to hear all sorts of Elven and Fellowship nummy goodness."

He coughed to hide the chuckle that bubbled from his lips at the wonderfully magical way she moved from one subject to another with the speed of thought. And what was this word 'nummy'? She had blushed as soon as she said it, leading him to believe it wasn't entirely innocuous in nature, though what it could possibly mean. . . he really didn't have the slightest clue.

"It was real. . . The Ring of Power. The Fellowship. Even who was in it, right down to the last hobbit."

He was rewarded with a smile as he told her about each of his companions one by one. From the poor tortured soul of Frodo, to the crazy antics of Merry and Pippen.

"Gimli is about the only character in the book that he got all wrong." Legolas smiled, playing idly with the glass of juice she had set before him. "He didn't really have anything against Elves - one of the reasons we got to be such good friends. . . He just had an image to live up to. . . and that didn't involve allowing an opportunity for glory to pass his people by. He didn't want an elf taking the ring to Mount Doom because then the Dwarves wouldn't be able to say they had done it. He would have been the same way if Aragorn had said he'd do it. . .Or Gandalf. The hobbit was the only one he couldn't find threatening. Because Frodo would need protection - and who better to do it than a Dwarf?"

Willow laughed, and he could almost hear the tiny tinkle of bells in it. It made him giddy inside, lightheaded with his own happiness.

"I never really thought of them as being glory hounds."

"They really are not." He nodded thoughtfully. "Just prideful."

She snorted indelicately.

"Pride and power. Fame and glory. These are the things evil is made of."

And when she said it, she spoke with a certainty, with a tone of voice that brooked no room for argument. She spoke from the heart in this matter; she spoke with a knowledge and understanding that he would never have, despite his many long years.

The longing to reach out and take her into his arms increased tenfold; and he forced himself to pick up his juice, take a long swallow, an then set the glass back down before saying another word; all the while watching as she, again, dealt with the demons within her.

"What else do you want to know?" He offered after a few quite moments. In his lap his hand was itching with the desire to just touch her, skin to skin; to feel the bond of kinship between them.

She shrugged, leaning against the counter as the food in the pain sizzled. He had to admit it smelled delicious, not something he would expect from someone who seemed so in doubt about her own cooking skills.

He held his breath, wondering where the randomness of her brain would lead them next -

And he wasn't disappointed, for the next question seemed to come out of nowhere.

"Was Galadriel really that pretty? Arwen? Is that just an Elf thing? I mean, human women must pale in comparison the way the books describe them."

He hid a smile, knowing she didn't realize one bit that she had inherited the delicate beauty of his kind.

"There are women of this world, still, that are in their own way more beautiful than the Lady Galadriel ever was."

His eyes met hers, and he could almost hear her breath catch in her throat. Yes, he had meant the words for her. He wanted her to take them the way she was doing right at that moment. She wouldn't believe him for long, though; and even as he watched she saw her lose the battle in her mind, chalking up the compliment he had meant for her to conversation.

Though it was not.

He had meant it.

She was more beautiful, in her own fiery way, than Galadriel; for he had never really found himself attracted to blondes.

"Yeah, right." She murmured, half-smiling, before turning her back to him to stir the meal she was cooking.

"Is it that hard to believe?" He questioned lightly. "That there may be a woman out there that is just as beautiful as an Elven woman?"

She laughed, her back still to him.

"You could say that."

He knew she was smiling by the tone of her voice. Truly amazing, it was, that he knew her so well after only a few hours that he could tell such a simple thing as whether or not she were smiling by the sound of her voice.

"There are people walking the earth today that have Elven blood in them, Willow. Very few of them, as my kind did not marry between race casually - but they are out there. And in those women, yes, there are beauties that rival the women of my kind in their grace and poise, their beauty and fairness."

She didn't take his hint at her own lineage or bloodlines; though that was fine as far as he was concerned. Even without knowing that she had some Elvish blood in her, Willow had been through enough shocks for one day. He could put off that revelation to another day, when perhaps she hadn't had so much to think about already.

"Do you know when you see them?" This was spoken with the curiosity of a born researcher. "Is there a way you can tell?"

He nodded, again hiding a secret smile.

"They are more fair than most humans, no matter how diluted the blood in their veins is. They are delicate, almost dainty. Skin that seems to glow at times. And I can feel it, in my very soul; the call of like to like, kin to kin."

"Wow." She murmured, turning with one of the pans in her hand. A pan-seared chicken with a lightly breaded crust. "Are there many Elves still here? I thought the book said that you all left. . .?"

"Most of us did." And now his own voice was quiet, bordering on sad; the most painful of all of his memories being forced to the fore. He had known all along that it would come to this, of course; yet that had not made the moment any more easier to bare. Of course she would want to know about that time, that event. Was it not mentioned in that book many, many times?

"I-I'm sorry."

"Why?" Legolas looked up at her, eyes filled with concern for her sudden outburst of apology.

"I didn't mean to make you sad." She sighed, spooning out some sautéed vegetables onto each of two plates.

"It is not your fault, Lirimaer. I had my chance to go with my people and I missed it."

Over and over and over again, his inner voice reminded him needlessly. It wasn't as though he had missed one single boat. He had deliberately not set sail on many of the dozens of boats that had left carrying his people across the sea. It had been his choice, and by the time he had a chance to regret that choice, it was too late.

"You can't go now?"

Legolas smiled sadly.

"I no longer believe it is even possible. When the world reshaped itself to become what it is today I do not know what happened to the positioning of Valinor or those that lay within it."

He felt her hand on his arm, not realizing until that moment that he had dropped his eyes to the countertop.

"I'm sure they're okay."

The smile he gave her was brave and quietly thankful.

Thank you.

He didn't need to say it aloud. She could see it in his eyes, just as he could see that she understood.

There was something else in her eyes, though. A something he couldn't name. Curiosity? Intelligence? A brain that was working feverishly on a problem? It was hard to say. And even more curious to him was what problem she could be trying to figure out in that startling little mind of hers.

"Come on." She gestured for him to precede her out to the living room. "You need to be cheered up and I know just the thing to do it. No more questions. Not now, anyway. Now we do the whole mindless entertainment thing and just enjoy not being alone, k?"

"And what qualifies as 'mindless entertainment', fair one?" He felt his heart lift back into his chest, leaving the vicinity of his shoes with rapid pace at the playful kindness of her words.

She grinned at him and set the plates down on the coffee table, turning her full attention to the television and something he recognized as a DVD player, despite never having owned one himself.

"Tell me, dear Elf, have you ever watched 'Harry Potter'?"

Part Five

She was perfect.

This, after only having spent a single night in her company, was what Legolas had decided about the fair maiden known as Willow.

Beautiful, kind, accepting of all things wondrous in the world, and that hint of Elvish blood in her, enough to calm that portion of his soul that was weary with this world. She was delicate, like a flower caught in the moonlight; to be cherished and held for all of time. True, she had a dark side; but so did most. His people were not immune to the lures of the dark, just a little harder to corrupt than the race of Man. And she had not only struggled against her dark side, she had triumphed over it. She was a survivor.

Just like himself.

He smiled, hurrying through the streets of Sunnydale and towards her house. She had invited him back tonight, only two nights after their initial time together, for another night of relaxation and talking. The other night had gone well, watching that 'Harry Potter' movie with her had been enlightening, to say the least. The movie's views on the world of wizardry was quite humorous, far different from what he had known in the days of Middle Earth. And the actor that played Dumbledore reminded him so much of Gandalf, good-natured in a slightly mysterious way, that he had found himself lapsing into memories of so many thousands of years past.

But that was not a bad thing.

No, not bad at all.

Those were the memories of happy days; and to remember them was not a trial on his soul.

The living room light was on when he walked up the sidewalk and to her front porch; and despite thousands of years of grace and poise, he found himself suddenly nervous over seeing this woman he had now termed as 'perfect' again. She was there, somewhere on the other side of the door, and although she had been the one to invite him back; he couldn't stop the plaguing thoughts that perhaps she would not want to spend time with him again, that she would not find him nearly as enjoyable tonight as she had on their previous encounter.

All that worrying, though, proved for naught when she opened the door, a bright smile on her lovely face.

"Hey." She greeted him softly, standing back to let him enter her home. "I'm glad you could come over again."

He smiled, glancing discreetly at her clothing and admiring the way it fell upon her. A peasant blouse and jeans. Typical of a woman of her age in this time. He longed to see her in the dresses of his people, though. The fine, flowing fabrics and elegant lines meant to highlight the delicate grace of the women that wore them. He met her eyes, drawing her hand to his lips for a kiss.

"It is I who am glad that you could find time to spare me again out of your busy day, Lirimaer."

"Again with the lovely one stuff." She blushed, turning her eyes from him in embarrassment.

"Of course." He shrugged lightly, playfully. "What else would I call someone as beautiful as yourself?"

He had struck a nerve from the look on her face, but it appeared to be a pleasant if the dazed look in her eyes was any indication.

"I'm not beautiful." She argued gently, shaking her head in bewilderment. "You've seen better, I'm sure."

"Oh, but there I must argue." He pressed, taking a step closer to her and laying a hand to her cheek. That familiar pull of kin to kin flared up, and he allowed himself a moment to just revel in it, to smother himself in the warmth that this familiarity provided him.

"You really are very kind." He heard the words fall from her lips before registering that she was pulling away from his touch. He scarcely hid the pain that flared up from the loss of her touch. She turned to the living room and he permitted himself a soft sigh of disappointment. Every time he tried to get close to her, she found a reason to pull away. He didn't think it was due to lack of interest, he saw that in plenty each time she blushed. But it could, he conceded, have something to do with her own startling lack of self-esteem.

That was something he would definitely need to chip away at. She was far too bright to diminish her light with such self-deprecation.

"I was thinking the other night. . . about what you said. . . about not even knowing where Valinor was any longer. . . and I had a question for you."

Her softly spoken words, straight to the point, drew him away from his thoughts and back to the present. She had turned in the entrance to the living room and was giving him a questioning look, mixed with hesitation.

"And what is that question?" He prompted gently, almost afraid of what she might ask in relation to Valinor and those that he would never see again. It was a loss that burned brightly in his heart, even to this day; one that he wasn't sure he would ever truly get over.

"Did you ever try magic to find them? A locating spell, maybe?"

It wasn't the question he was expecting. In fact, it wasn't any of a host of questions he could have expected.

"No." He answered quietly. "Elves, aside from a very small few such as the Lady Galadriel, do not use magic. We have the natural abilities, of course, but that is all. So if you are asking if ever I attempted a spell to locate my friends and family -- No, it never once crossed my mind."

"Ah!" She jumped once, joyous. "Then, let me help you. I know a spell. . . it takes about a month to complete, but it can be used to find those that are closest to you in blood. . . so, as long as you have a living relative. . .like a mother, sister, father. . .then I can find where they are. . ."

Legolas felt as though the very world had dropped out from beneath his feet. She could help him? She could, perhaps, find his family?

He swayed and felt a hand under his elbow, leading him to her couch. She was babbling in the background, apologizing if she had done something wrong. But she hadn't done anything wrong. She had only handed him hope, a hope he had disregarded after so many years.

"You think this could work?" Breathless was the only word he could think of to describe his mental and physical state at that moment.

Her eyes widened with happiness and she nodded, sucking her lower lip into her mouth.

That, and the shock she had just given him, were the only excuses he had for what he did next.

Leaning forward, the blonde Prince of the land once known as Mirkwood grabbed her head between his hands, gently holding it in place as his lips slowly came down to cover her own. He felt her teeth release her lips, her mouth opening in surprise.

And that was all the chance he needed. He parted his lips; taking the opportunity she had unknowingly given him to deepen their kiss. His tongue traced a gentle path over her lower lip before slipping into the warmth of her mouth.

She was home. She was the havens. She was everything he had ever wanted and never knew it, all wrapped up into one package that could only be described as beautiful.

And she was offering to help him.

He drank the kisses from her mouth, aware only that she had wrapped her arms around his neck and that her body was pressed to him. She was moaning softly, gentle noises of pleasure that sounded just as heavenly as any Elvish song he had ever had the grace to hear.

They broke apart, panting.

"Wow." She whispered, her fingers flying to her lips, tracing over the spot where only moments before he had touched with his lips and tongue. Her eyes were wide and glazed, filled with something he knew now was lust. Lust for him. "Elvish smoochies feel good."

He laughed, and she blushed, but that lusty expression never left her face.

And it thrilled him to the core of his being.

Still, she was a maiden and he had just taken liberties with her. No matter how much it looked as though she had enjoyed his kisses, observing some sense of propriety was first on his list of things to do.

"Willow. . . I apologize for being so forward. . . It is just that I have wanted to do that since the moment we first touched. . . If I have offended you in any way. . ."

He watched her eyes come into focus, staring at him with confusion, a smile on her face.

"Offend me? By kissing me?" She laughed, pure and happy. "Believe me, that's not what you did. . . "

He smiled and placed another, more chaste, kiss on her lips. Away from the intoxication of her mouth, he remembered the reason he had felt so giddy in the first place.

"Tell me about this spell you know of?"

It was amazing, he reasoned, watching as she slipped from lustful to serious in a matter of seconds; the depth that this woman held in her heart and soul was almost incomprehensible.

"Well - basically I take a little bit of your blood - just a couple drops. And then we mix it with a bunch of other stuff, wrap it up and let it sit outside for the span of a full moon cycle - waxing through waning and then back to the beginning again. Then we take that mixture, a piece of parchment, some candles and a talisman that we can get at the local magic shop - and 'poof' - location of Valinor. A translocation spell can be used after that to get you there."

It seemed too easy for something that had harbored in the sadness of his heart for so long.

"You are truly amazing, Lirimaer. A gift from the One, for sure."

She flushed, shaking her head.

"I'm just a witch that can't stand to see someone else unhappy. Nothing amazing about that."

He laughed.

"I'll make you believe it one day, Willow-fair. This I vow."

"Pushy little Elf, aren't you?" She joked, taking the initiative to kiss him this time. Not to disappoint her in any way, he returned the kiss, letting that bond of blood build up between them, a caress over their skin.

He could spend an eternity in her arms, breathing her scent, touching her skin.

It was only then that it hit him, a physical pain in his very chest.

If he left here, if they found a way to his people; he would never see her again. . .

Unless. . .

But, no, he couldn't ask her to come with him. That wasn't fair to her. This was her home, her people. This was where she had lived her entire life. And while he was free to bring her along with him if he so chose, there were no rules against such a thing; he did not doubt for a moment that she would be saddened to leave her home.

And so it was that Legolas found not only great joy, but a deep sorrow; all in the arms of one red haired witch.

Part Six

It was with reluctance that he gave over the droplets of his blood that she needed that first night that they well and truly found each other. How difficult he found it to knowingly begin a process that would, if all worked as it was supposed to, take him away from this creature that had already touched his heart.

Legolas sighed, staring down from the small balcony-like porch of his apartment and into the copse of trees behind the complex. The sun was setting. Soon the night animals and birds would be out, moving amongst the leaves and branches. He had done that once, walked the highest branches of the trees like he was nothing more than an overgrown squirrel. And, the way things were going, he might again do so.

She, his Willow, was expecting him tonight. Four days had passed since that night they had kissed, and still he burned for the touch of her lips to his own. Tonight he would again be able to take her in his arms, look into those emerald green eyes and -

And remember that he could very well be leaving in less than a month's time.

He was happy. Let it not be said otherwise. The prospect of seeing his father and mother, Galadriel and Haldir, Celeborn and even Gandalf; this seemed like a gift to him, a glorious gift for his years of tirelessly living a good life, never straying from the Light.

It was just. . .

He had found Willow now. And she was just as wonderful as any thoughts of going to Valinor. What he felt for her could be ageless, though she herself would eventually fade and wither, as all Men did. If he were to fall in love with her it would be a love that was doomed from the start. That drop of Elvish blood in her would only allow her, perhaps, an extra ten years on her life. And that was such a small time in his eyes.

So very small.

So he was stuck between the lure of returning to his people and living out his eternal life there, amongst his brethren, or staying here, with her; perhaps passing up the opportunity ever to return; and enjoying that fellowship he had found in her.

It was a hard choice.

But one he had already made, despite the weariness it placed on his very soul.

If things progressed any more than they already had he would ask her if she wished to come with him. Even a mortal such as herself would find life to be near-eternal in Valinor. She would not accept, this much he knew already. This was her world, her people. And she was a child of this age more so than he could ever be. She loved television and modern conveniences, whereas he would be happy to live without them. Hunting and cooking over an open fire, these were things he missed. Wandering the forests and not running into any trappings of 'civilization' is what he longed to do. To be at one with nature again, to feel the trees that had stood for ages whisper their secrets.

There was so much he missed about that land, his people; and so little he would miss about this age and time.

With Willow being the most notable exception.

There was no help to it, though; he would leave and she would inevitably stay.

And that was just the way the fickle hands of destiny seemed to be guiding his life.

He would just have to make the best of things until that time.

Pushing off of the railing, the blonde spun around, entering his apartment and sliding shut the glass door behind him. He pulled on his jacket and grabbed the little box next to the door. A present for the woman he was visiting. Nothing too large or fancy, something small that he hoped would be an adequate thank you for the spell that she was doing for him.

Spell.

She was doing a spell - for him.

And that alone was enough to cause him to thank her. He knew how difficult it was for her to place herself within that type of temptation; yet she was doing it willingly, for him. He would be there until the very end to make sure she didn't give way to that temptation, of course, and by doing so he was making sure in a very roundabout way that she was not a threat to the world.

The streets were already quiet, not surprising considering what he knew lurked in them during the night. Residents of the sleepy little town were locked away in their homes, doors barred tight against everything that went bump in the night; though according to Willow none of them really knew why they did it. They felt the need to be safe, but it was instinctual; they were oblivious to the evil that lurked under their very noses.

She had promised to take him out and show him his first vampire sometime before they completed the spell.

"No one should go to a land of fantasy without seeing a demon first hand." She had said, laughing; as though seeing demons was an everyday occurrence for her.

Which, he supposed, it was. Middle Earth had been full of its own share of awful creatures, though nothing he would have ever termed 'demon'. Not even Sauron, in all of his evil glory, was deserving of that kind of title. A demon was not a thing of this world, after all; and Sauron had most definitely been of this world. No, demons were from a different plane of existence entirely, from what he understood. How they had landed in this realm, he did not know; though reason led him to believe it must have happened during the Sundering, when everything was reshaping and reforming to become what it was today.

He passed the rest of the walk to Willow's house locked in contemplation on demons and their entrance into the world that had once been Middle Earth; arguing various theories with himself as he slipped quietly through the dusk-filled streets.

Thoughts of demonic origin fled his brain when Willow opened the door to her house, gesturing him inside with a smile and a blush that clearly said she remembered all too well what they had been doing the other night. He fought back a smile, instead pulling her towards him the second the door shut, his lips claiming hers for a brief, tender kiss.

"Hmm… nice to see you, too." Her whisper floated across his lips, teasing them into another kiss. She tasted like vanilla. Something sinfully sweet that still paled in comparison to the delicate sweetness her own body afforded her.

"Do you want to stand here doing this all night or . . ." She trailed off, blushing at something he couldn't fathom. What wondrous thoughts went through her brain at times, he often found himself wondering; for her babbling was something of great intrigue when it spilled across her lips.

"Or what, my lady?"

"Or sit down. . . yeah. . .sit down." She shook her head, mumbling to herself in tones she apparently thought he could not hear. "Smooth, Rosenberg, just throw yourself at the sexy Elf and then get all flustered-blushing-like and practically invite him into your bedroom."

He felt thankful at that moment that she was not facing him, for it would have been true embarrassment for her to see the blush that crept across his own features, heating him up from the inside. While taking her to bed would be a treat in and of itself, such forwardness, even in this modern age, was a source of much embarrassment to him. She was lovely, indeed, and deserved to be treated with courting deserving of a Queen. To bed her so quickly whether or not she seemed agreeable to the idea, would tarnish the morals he carried within his heart to no end.

"I would like that very much." He managed to murmur, giving her a small smile when she turned back to face him.

"Anything to drink? I have wine, if you like."

He raised an eyebrow but did not comment. Wine was something new. She had never offered it before, at least.

"If you will have a glass as well." Another small smile as he caught her eyes looking longingly at his lips.

She nodded in concession and left down the hall, leaving him to make himself at home, as her casual words, tossed over her shoulder, gently ordered.

Legolas' gaze traveled around the living room, examining in further detail what he had not paid much attention to before. There was a blanket on the back of the couch that looked to be well-used and soft. He could picture Willow here, at night, curled up with a book or watching television, under the blanket; until perhaps her eyes closed in sleep.

He wandered across the room to the bookshelves, his keen eyes taking in titles that were both new and old from spines of books that looked to have been read either numerous times, not at all, or somewhere in between.

It was the book on the second shelf from the bottom that caught his eyes.

The bindings looked old, the leather supple and well-cared for, though still cracking now around the edges. The lettering on the spine had been in gold at some point, though now it was faded to near nothingness, and try as he might he could not discern what it had said.

Curiosity won out over not wanting to invade her privacy, and he plucked it from the shelf, opening to the first page.

"Family."

Just that one word. No author or summary. And the pages looked to be mostly old fashioned parchment, brittle and yellowed. With great care he turned to the first page, his eyes scanning over the entry.

It was a family tree of sorts, he soon discovered. Flipping to the back of the book, he found himself smiling at the sight of Willow's name, the last entry in the book. She had no siblings, nor anyone else in her generation. Loneliness, it seemed, had followed her for her entire life.

Going back to the beginning of the book, his eyes danced across page after page, waiting for her to return with their drinks.

And there, on the third set of pages from the front, on the right hand side, he saw something that made his mouth drop open in pure amazement.

Finrod Felagund.

He stared at the name, unable to contain the shock that had invaded every pore of his being. Galadriel's brother. He was in Willow's family tree. The knowledge very nearly made Legolas laugh aloud. All this time he had known that she had Elvish blood in her, but to have the proof of it suddenly tossed in his face and to have it be Finrod, the first Elf to befriend humans?

Well, it was almost too much for Legolas to take.

"Sorry that took so long. Couldn't find the cork-thingie."

He couldn't speak, couldn't think to form the words to answer her. The book felt like a block of lead in his hands.

"Legolas? Are you alright?"

He heard her move, saw a shadow fall across the book; and finally he could look up into her face. The worry that he found there instantly snapped him out of his stupor.

"I am fine, Lirimaer. Just. . ." He paused, holding up the book, a finger marking the place that had caught his interest. "This is your family history? Your lineage?"

She blushed and nodded.

"Yeah. Silly, huh? But that was mom's hobby, and great-grandma's before her. And so on and so on. I suppose I'll need to carry it on one day. . . if there's ever another generation to put in it."

Legolas felt saddened by the casual way she could mention the cessation of her bloodline, as though it truly meant nothing to her. A child was a wonderful gift, after all - and the continuation of a family was important, even on the maternal side.

"Why?"

He shook himself out of his daze once again, giving her the briefest of smiles. It was time, as they said, to come clean. Time to tell her what he had known all along and show her the proof of it in the book her family had kept for generations.

"Come, sit with me." He tilted his head towards the couch, waiting until she had set the glasses of wine down and curled up next to him before beginning.

"You asked once if I could tell if someone had Elvish blood just by looking at them. And I told you yes."

She nodded.

"I remember. You said you felt it somehow."

"Correct. What I neglected to mention at that time, because I was not sure how you would take it, was that I feel that from you."

His eyes crept up to her face, watching as a myriad of emotions ran across it. Disbelief, amazement, skepticism.

"I think your spidey sense is out of whack."

He hadn't expected the laugh that bubbled from her lips.

"Spidey sense?"

"It's a movie, TV show, comic book. . . Spiderman?"

Legolas shook his head in confusion.

"Nevermind." She waved her hand dismissively. "What I was saying is that I think your sense-thingie is wrong. I don't have anything special in me - just one hundred percent grade A human Willow."

"Are you sure of that?"

He saw her start, her eyes flickering to his lips and the self-assured smile he had there. She frowned.

"Well I was sure until you said that, anyway." She muttered, shaking her head. "So - tell me - what makes you think that I'm all Elvish-blood-having?"

He smiled gently.

"This name."

Her eyes followed his finger, coming to rest on the name that he had discovered for himself not too long before.

"Finrod? What kind of name is that?" Her brow was furrowed, eyebrows raising as she met his eyes.

"Elvish." He smirked. "He's Lady Galadriel's brother."

"He's - No!" She shook her head. "You're mistaken. There is no way I have any ancestors that are all Elf-y. It's just not possible."

"Why?" He questioned, reaching a hand up to hover just over her cheek. "You're delicate, beautiful. Graceful and supernatural. You cannot tell me that you do not feel this, either."

He ran a finger down her cheek, his flesh to hers; the bond of kindred calling out between them.

"That's just. . . hormones. . ." She argued weakly, leaning into his touch despite a look in her eyes that said she wanted to deny it all. "How can I help it if you're so sexy you make me go all jelly inside?"

"Hmm. . . Just hormones?" He questioned, laying his palm to her cheek.

"No . . ." She shook her head, grinning in a matter that could only be described as 'impish'. "But that's what I've been telling myself since I met you, so what's the point in changing now?"

Legolas laughed, withdrawing his hand slowly.

"You can keep with the touchies, if you like. Because, you know, *I* like. . ." She stammered, disappointment in the loss of contact clouding her features.

He felt like a hunter stalking his prey as he leaned in, capturing her lips with his own.

"Smoochies good too. . ." She murmured, the sentiment barely comprehensible between the kisses he was lavishing upon her.

"Wait. . ." She broke apart from him, hands on his chest to ward off any more silencing kisses. "So - I've got, ya know, a little Elf in me?"

Legolas nodded, unable to stop the smirk that raced across his lips.

This time it was her that initiated the contact between them, her hand coming up to trace a line along his cheek. He closed his eyes, this feeling so wonderful and pure. The gentle touch of a maiden. It had been too long since he even had longed for this kind of contact; so terribly long since he had felt this alive. Eyes closed, he abandoned himself to her softness, as her other hand joined the delicate ministrations of the first, this time on the opposite cheek. Her fingers felt like the gentle kiss of flower petals upon his skin, so sweet and tender.

It seemed that her hands were trembling as they moved on, up his cheeks and then over, running lightly over the edge of his ears, those tips that had caught her fancy. His note to himself came rushing back now, 'ears, sensual'. He could not deny that it felt good to have someone touch him so intimately.

"Lle maa quell, Heruamin." / You look good, my lord. /

He smiled, eyes still closed.

" Ar lle naa venima, Awenamin." / And you are beautiful, my lady. /

"Such pretty words." She whispered, much as she had commented on their first meeting. Her touch did not let up, she was caressing his face just as warmly as a lover would caress their partner's body. Her disbelief over her own lineage had faded rapidly under the weight of the desire between that was growing between them.

And so another night went by, getting closer to the one he knew he was destined to never have.

Was this how Aragorn had felt so many years ago, when Arwen was being told to leave for Valinor and there seemed to be no hope?

Was this what it felt like to lose a part of yourself, and gain something so much greater - all at the same time?

A human author once said 'Twas better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all' . . .

If that was true, it was one of the most painful things he had ever heard.

And did not bode well for how he would feel when he left this land.

Willow's lips were on his now, and they chased away the sadness that had been creeping its way into his heart. He opened his eyes, closing them again to melt into her hands, her arms, her mouth.

If this was the last moment he could spend with her, Legolas reasoned silently, giving one last thought to the melancholy which had invaded his heart; then he would cling to it for the rest of his days and revel in the memory it provided.

He would, in other words, treasure it just as he had come to treasure the woman in front of him.

Part Seven

Two weeks did not make an Elf's heart grow less fond. Nor did it make the thought of leaving one red haired witch any more the easy. In fact, time spent with Willow only made the inevitable thought of leaving this realm that much more the harder.

"Why so unhappy-looking?"

Legolas shook his head, forcing a smile onto his features.

"Nothing, Lirimaer. Just thinking."

The smile she sent his way was almost enough to pick his heart up from the place where it was currently residing - somewhere near his feet. It was a smile full of tenderness and happiness, one that was filled with none of the pain that he had seen that first night, when she had told him all about herself.

"Well . . . whatever you are thinking about seems to be very much of the sad variety - so, stop it or share."

He gave her another of his forced smiles, thankful that she was unable to read through it to see the pain that was lying beneath. He did not wish to trouble her with his own melancholy thoughts or the sadness that seemed to plague him. Going back to his people was the right thing to do, he did not doubt that.

But every day the idea of leaving Willow behind grew more and more difficult.

"I am sorry, I did not mean to drag you down with me."

She shrugged.

"No big. Just share what the problem is so I can make you happy again."

"I -"

He paused, holding up a hand for her to stop; which she complied with almost immediately. They were passing by one of the many cemeteries in the city; the rusting slatted spokes of the iron gate giving him a clear view of that small portion of the cemetery that they stood nearest.

But that wasn't what had stopped him dead in his tracks, his eyes scanning through the darkness. There was something in there. . . something was whimpering and muffled.

"What's wrong?"

Legolas turned to her, blue eyes worried.

"I can almost swear that I hear someone in there, someone scared and crying. . . gagged, maybe."

Green eyes widened.

"Goddess damn it all. . ."

She took off at a run before he could stop her, leaving him staring at her back in shock. It took him a moment to realize she wasn't running away from the noise he had heard, but into the cemetery.

He set off after her, easily catching up to her just as she came into sight of the source of the noise.

A demon.

No.

Vampire, he corrected himself. This. . . thing. . . was feeding off of nothing more than a girl, still dressed in a uniform of some sort. This early in the night she had probably been coming home from school. The sight made his heart weep. A life lost to a creature of the night.

A snapping twig drew the vampire from his meal; the creature's entire demonic attention turning from the girl in his arms. . .

To the red head that had been trying to creep up behind him.

He watched, momentarily stunned, as the vampire turned on Willow, eyes blazing with an evilness that he had never had the displeasure of seeing before. This is what his darling one had grown up with. She had lived here her entire life and would continue living here once he was gone. She fought against the darkness in little ways.

She was poetry in motion, he soon discovered, her arms and legs moving in a dance of flesh that was both powerful and beautiful. The vampire could not have stood a chance against this fiery wonder. She was a warrior, a goddess in her own right. The touch of Elven blood gave her a quickness that was unnatural to his eyes. Just a touch smoother, quicker than a pure human. Most people would never notice it.

But he did.

And so he did not worry for her safety. She had this well under control, and he was there to intervene if anything went wrong. He stood back and just admired the way that she moved, her face steely with resolve and courage.

Within less than a minute it was over. He could hear her heavy breathing in the quiet still of the night; his keen eyes picked out the drops of sweat on her brow. Her lower lip was trembling as she caught sight of the attack victim, lying so still on the ground. She was not amongst the living. He knew that by the odd angle at which her head lay. That was not a way that a normal being would lay, even in sleep. It was too far bent to still be in one piece.

"Lirimaer."

"Shhh. . ." She shook her head, motioning him for silence. Pain was etched in the lines of her face.

If his heart had not already ached at the sight of the dead girl laying on the ground, it surely would have broken when the woman that had stolen his heart knelt down next to the still-warm body, crying silently.

"This is my world. . ." She whispered, more for herself than for him. "All this pain. . .all this suffering. . . and it never stops. . ."

The crystalline beauty of her tears falling down her cheeks was only broken by the sadness of the situation. He moved to his knees, settling next to her without so much as a whisper of sound. Without thinking he pulled her to his chest, holding her as she cried for this girl she had never known, for a life she had not been able to save.

"I'm sorry." He murmured into her ear.

She shrugged in his embrace.

"I'm just being silly. . . really. . . I've seen it all before. Death is nothing new. . . It's just hard sometimes to not be able to save them all . . ."

He nodded, choosing to remain quiet; after a few moments her tears quieted, fading to nothing by the time he tilted her face up to his.

"I am truly sorry, Lirimaer. The world is not a pleasant place. It has never been so."

It was far from a comforting thing to tell her, though it was the truth. But he could see by the look in her eyes that it had not hurt to say it, despite how callous it had ended up coming out.

"Come on." She smiled sadly. "Let's go back to the house. . .If you don't mind? I'm sorta tired of the walking thing now."

They walked in silence, hand in hand, sharing glances every so often. She would smile, but he could see that she was still upset. Death was never an easy thing to witness. Not even after many thousands of years upon the earth. She unlocked her house, flipping on the hall light. He had been here often enough now to know where to hang his own coat, and he did so before she could offer to take it from him.

It dawned on him at that moment that he was comfortable here. This had become a home, a haven, to him during the time he had known Willow. Her home was as much his as his own apartment was. He spent a good portion of his time here, now. Only nights and school days were spent within his own space, otherwise he could be found here, getting closer to the red head that had captured his heart like the sneakiest of thieves.

"Go on, sit down." He gestured. "I'll get you some water."

"But -"

"No 'buts'. Go. Sit." He shooed her towards the couch, giving her a playful grin. "You're the one who just defeated a vampire single handedly, after all. Let me wait on you a little."

She laughed and nodded.

The kitchen was just as they had left it the night before - spotlessly clean. His father would be highly amused to know that he had become quite proficient as a dishwasher. He pulled a bottle of apple juice out of her refrigerator and filled a glass, leaving out the ice which he knew she detested in her juice.

She was laying back on the couch when he returned to the living room, her eyes closed. Tear tracks lined her cheeks, smudges against her otherwise perfect skin. She was breathing lightly, not asleep, though definitely not fully awake, either.

He set the glass of juice on the table, hovering over her; worried.

"I'm fine, Legolas. Stop worrying."

The Elf smirked, sitting on the edge of the couch nearest her head.

"And you know me so well already that you can tell without opening your eyes that I am worried?" He scoffed lightly, running a finger over her forehead, smoothing out creases of emotional pain that lurked there.

"Well. . . when you do the stand over me and stare act . . . yeah, I guess I can make an educated guess."

She leaned up, allowing him to sit back against the couch, her head falling easily into his lap. There was a sadness on her face that he could not place, something that he knew instinctively went deeper than just the events of that night.

"Mani naa ta, Willow?" //What is it, Willow?//

She smiled, her eyes still shut.

"I was just thinking how sad it was that this wonderful dream has to end soon."

His own eyes closed then, her sadness all too tangible to him, for it was a grief he shared as well.

"Come with me." He whispered, knowing even as he said it what her answer would be.

"I can't."

And there it was. The conversation he had been putting off for so long, knowing that it would just end in heartache. He had asked. She had declined. That was just the way life was. He could no more expect her to come with him to Valinor than she could expect him to stay here. Either way was unfair to one of them -

And that just was not what you did to someone you cared about; to someone you loved.

"I know." He sighed, smiling sadly into her eyes when she opened them.

"Good." She nodded.

Words seemed immaterial. They both knew her reasons. Valinor was not her world, and though she would age more slowly there, she would still die. When they parted in a little over a week they would have only known each other for a month's time. Time enough to live and love; but still short enough of a time that they could, perhaps, grow past the pain of parting to lead happy lives.

"I wish I could." She offered quietly, matching his sad smile with one of her own. Her eyes told the story of a lifetime of pain, wherein happiness had been found for only a short time.

"I wish you could, too." He held a finger to her lips. "There's no need to explain, a'maelamin. I understand."

He placed a gentle hand under her neck, pulling her head slowly upwards until his lips were able to meet with hers. It was meant to be a tender, comforting kiss.

It did not stay that way.

Her hands were all over him, touching his body in ways that no woman had done in many hundreds of years.

"Leg-o-las. . ." Her whispered words were a purring delight across his sensitive ears.

Never before had he considered not being a perfect gentleman when it came to a woman. Being with a woman, having her touch him in this way before he was wed, had never appealed to him, though he was not an innocent by any means. Reckless days in his youth had claimed that from him early in his existence. That type of thing had not called out to him since those early encounters.

But it did now.

She was the one for him, he did not doubt it. And he would be leaving soon. They would never know the pleasures of a betrothal or their wedding night. And, while he would loved to have had the time to take things slowly, to woo her for many months, perhaps years, before finally falling before her to show her the pleasures of the flesh; they did not have such time.

"Stop being such a gentleman."

He laughed, capturing her mouth. How did she always know just what to say at all the right times?

Her body was like liquid fire beneath him, melting at each touch he dared to lavish upon her delicate frame. He was hesitant with her, scarcely daring to do more than run feather light touches up and down her body. She was moaning in his arms, squirming to get more of his caresses.

He was a man.

And this was a woman.

Her hands were inciting him into a frenzy of passionate fury. With a growl he made his move, laying his body upon hers.

"Bedroom. . .upstairs. . .not the couch."

He pulled back, blushing.

"I am sorry. Really. I don't know what possessed me."

His goddess laughed, the sound filling the air.

"I do. . . same thing as I'm hoping will 'get into' me in just a few minutes."

He smirked, lifting her into his arms and making for the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him.

Part Eight

Waking up in Willow's arms was unlike any joy Legolas had ever had the opportunity to experience. He relished it, eyes closed, still as possible, just enjoying the feel of their bodies melded together, still sticky with the aftermath of sweat and sex.

But eventually the desperate need of his body to stretch out its overworked muscles forced him to move, stirring the red haired beauty next to him from the rest which she had so devilishly earned the night before, over and over again.

"Go back sleep." The mumbled words were only half intelligible.

"What was that, Lirimaer?"

"Sleep. Now." She groaned, flinging an arm over her eyes. "Too early to be awake."

Legolas chuckled softly, eyes alighting on the clock that was only inches away from her head, on a nightstand.

"But, dearest one, I hardly think two in the afternoon counts as 'early' - unless of course you meant early afternoon. . ."

"Two in the afternoon?" She exclaimed, sitting up quite suddenly in the bed. She frowned, glaring at the red digits on the clock with a venom he had not before seen her possess. "But - no. No, its not allowed to be two yet. That means that today is almost over. . . and then, after today there's only a few more days left. . ."

And then he would be gone.

She didn't finish the statement, which was just as well since he knew all too well how it ended. He was beginning to question his own desire to return to his kind, to Valinor. This earth was certainly a lovely place - and Willow was here. He had found love, as crazy as it seemed, and he was loathe to let it go.

But the object of that love would fade and wither as time passed, until one day she surrendered her soul up to her Goddess and left this mortal realm. And then all he would have left would be her memory. The spell she had found could be stored, saved, but there was no guarantee that tomorrow would not bring another Sundering that may at last put Valinor completely from his reach, if it weren't already so at that very moment.

And so he was going.

No matter how much his heart wanted him to stay he would go. And he would seek solace in the arms of those who had known him for many lifetimes. He would rekindle friendships and bonds with men and women he had known since he was a child.

And he would hope that it was enough to, if not forget his pain, then at least dull it.

For losing Willow was going to be the pain of all pains, a literal breaking of his heart. He wasn't sure if he would recover from it, though it was said that time healed all wounds. But that led him to an interesting question, one he had never had cause to ponder before he met the red haired witch that had ensnared him so thoroughly without even lifting a finger -

Could time heal a wound of the heart and soul?

"Watcha thinkin' about?"

He shivered as her breath brushed over his earlobe, her fingers twirling absently a strand of his hair.

"Nothing important." He smiled, unwilling to share his grief with her when she had so much of her own that would need to be dealt with when he left. He had promised to make her believe that she wasn't a bad person - and he hoped that by loving her every moment of the time he had left that he would succeed in his task.

"Well. . ." She drawled, climbing slowly onto his naked body. "If its nothing - let me just take your mind off of it? I intend to use every minute we have left giving you something to remember for the rest of your life."

He smiled, genuinely, hiding his sorrow behind a mask he hoped she couldn't see through. He didn't have words to tell her what she meant to him, what she had given him just by spending her time talking and understanding him.

She had -already- given him something he would remember for the rest of his life.

Love.

~*~*~

It seemed that the next days flew by in a whirlwind of activity that startled Legolas in its rapid set pace. They spent every moment together, sometimes just sitting under the stars, not talking; and at other times making love to each other until the early hours of the morning. He felt that he knew her better than any other; better even that the friends that had abandoned her to deal with her pain on her own.

They spent that final day at his apartment, packing the few things he wanted to take with him, among them a small assortment of pictures of Willow, and a few of Willow and himself. He would never have a reason to forget her face, even if it were not forever etched in his mind.

And then they locked the door and he handed her the keys. If the spell worked she would come back and do away with his remaining things. The rent on the apartment was paid up for the next two months. She would have time to sort through them and do as she saw fit. He was taking the only things that mattered with him, after all.

He was almost wishing that the spell would not work, as they drove out into the forest outside of Sunnydale, the full moon high in the air. At least that way he would have tried, and failed, which was not nearly so bad as never trying at all. If the spell did not work he would be free to live out the rest of Willow's life making her the happiest woman ever to grace this earth.

The click of the key sliding out of the ignition, the cessation of the whir of the engine; all this signaled their arrival. They would walk from here, she was telling him quietly, tears in her voice. It was a short walk, she promised.

He nodded. It was all he could do to hold back his emotions, to clamp down upon them. This was hard enough without him abandoning himself to the passions of his race. He would go through with this because, in the end, it was the right thing to do. He did not belong here anymore than a human would belong in Valinor.

But that did not mean that he would not attempt, one last time -

"Lirimaer - is there no way that I can convince you -"

She held up a finger to his lips, her eyes filled to overflowing with tears that sparkled like little prisms in the moonlight.

"I can't, Legolas. I don't belong there."

And so it was his own words that he heard echoed back to him. He knew she did not belong there. No human did. That was just how things went in the universe. This was a little piece of heaven that had been set aside for the Elves by their maker. Gandalf had gone, but he was not human, and Frodo and Bilbo - but again they were not human and they had deserved that rest in their final days, no one could deny that.

Willow was human, though. And though he had no doubt she could be admitted to Valinor by the grace of that one drop of Elvish blood flowing through her veins, he also did not doubt that she would still wither and die there, amidst a people that were as unchanging as time itself. She would find no happiness watching him stay young while she succumbed to the wiles of old age.

"I know," he sighed, sadly.

"Thank you. For everything. For believing in me. For being my friend. For loving me." She choked on a sob and coughed, loud in the otherwise silent night. With a desperate sigh of his own he pulled her into his arms.

"Amin mela lle," he whispered around a throat clogged with grief. /I love you/

"And I love you, too."

She pulled away, smiling at him. Her hand reached up to smooth back an errant lock of hair, brushing one last time over those ears that she had reacted so favorably to.

"You will be forever in my heart, Lirimaer."

Willow smiled, briefly.

"And you in mine, my Prince."

It was the hoot of an owl that broke their moment, shattering all the silent things they had been saying with the power of their eyes alone. And once that moment was gone all they had left was the spell and the pain it would bring.

~*~*~

Legolas sat within the circle she had outlined for him on the forest floor in a mixture of herbs and powdery chalk. It shone bright in the moonlight, the chalk capturing up the rays of the moon and glowing with their power.

Willow was seated only a few feet away, cross-legged, her supplies laid out in the leaves in front of her, a book in her hands. She had pulled her hair back from her face and was scanning the spell one last time.

"Are you ready?" She asked quietly.

It was now or never.

If he said no he would keep saying no and nothing would come of all the pain they had already endured, the suffering they had already forced themselves to bear. In the end it would only lead to more pain.

And so he said -

"Yes."

Just that.

Yes.

She began the chanting of the spell, her eyes on the book as her hands moved to toss the ingredients one by one in a thick based candle that burned with a flickering light. Those hands that had touched him with such kindness were shaking now, as she dropped the ingredients into the fire; the flames hissing and crackling.

He was so caught up in the movements of her hands, the soft lull of her chanting, that for the first half-minute of the spell he did not even listen to the words she was reciting.

And when he did he was floored.

This was an Elvish spell. True, the styling of it was old and he doubted she knew what language it was that she was speaking, but it was still an archaic form of Elvish. It was a plea, a prayer, for the One to bring her lost child back to his kith and kin.

The barrier that the circle provided became real with a snap and he reached out to touch it. White lighting curled up where his fingers met with the incorporeal boundary, neither hurting him nor allowing him to pass through it.

And still she chanted.

She looked pale, sitting there in the moonlight. Her skin seemed to glow. She was beautiful, and he let his eyes rove over her lithe little body for the last time, tears freely flowing down his cheeks.

The wind that whipped through the forest suddenly caught him off guard, and he saw her shoot out a hand to shelter the candle, the book propped open by her elbow as the other hand continued to add the ingredients. Not too many more now. The last would be his blood.

He stood, fearing for the woman that was slowly becoming caught up in a maelstrom of leaves and debris that she seemed unaware of. Sparks were flying out of the air, bits of electricity and power that were coming from the very trees and living creatures of the forest. They were circling her.

And still she chanted.

Legolas took a step forward, the barrier bringing him up short. He watched in growing horror as she added the last of the ingredients, her chanting fading away to an unearthly scream as the particles of light, the leaves and debris, descended on her.

Many things happened then, as his blood crackled in the candle's flames.

The candle flared up, the flame bright red; and then died out completely. Light came now from the moon overhead and the cocoon of pure natural power that had encased her. She was still screaming as the power in the circle he was within built to a level that made his ears pop and pressurize over and over again. He screamed for her, desperate to know that she was okay, praying to the One for her very life and soul.

But there was no stopping what had been set in motion. Like a snowball rolling down a hill everything was gathering speed, gathering strength. He felt the breaking point as she continued to scream, his eyes going dark as the pressure grew to an unbearable level within the circle. He screamed for her one last time, knowing as he did that he would never know what happened to her, if she had lived through the spell or not.

Then the world disappeared, faded to nothingness.

And all went to black.

Part Nine

Willow was screaming, over and over, until her throat hurt and the cries pouring from her mouth were hoarse from exertion.

And still she screamed.

But the pain in her throat was the least of her worries.

How long had she been within this glowing case of pure light and pain? How long had she lain there, leaves still sticking to her hair and skin; trapped within that cocoon of radiant energy that seemed to tear at ever fiber of her being until she wanted nothing more than to loose consciousness, or life itself, just to escape?

She felt as though every nerve in her body was on fire, burning her from the inside out. It was liquid heat, pooling in her veins, tearing her apart. Dying would be a blessing, if only to end the seemingly never-ending torrent of pain.

Her eyes were open, but she was unseeing. Nothing existed now except the pain, pouring through her body like water through a streambed. She was nothing more than pain. Nothing but pure agony.

She couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.

All she could do was scream.

~*~*~

Legolas felt the world spinning, the nothingness slowly fading from black to grays, then to shades of green and blue. . .

Then to other, more varied, colors, as the world around him slowly solidified.

Sunshine overhead, a blue sky, green grass. Buildings he didn't recognize, though he knew their design in his heart of hearts.

And people were speaking, somewhere up above him; talking in a language he knew all too well.

All he could do was look at the sky, trying to get his bearings in their crystal blueness; hardly seeing the faces that hovered over him.

He had been in the forest, with Willow. They had done the spell. She had screamed. Light, encompassing her body. Painful shrieks of terror.

And then -

Here.

Valinor.

He focused inwards now, looking into faces that were familiar and some that were not. They were calling for Galadriel, for his father, for others that knew him. Murmuring things about the 'long lost son'. The one that they thought had been lost to them for sure. Thousands of years had passed, but time was nothing in Valinor. This was a place where time didn't exist. It just 'was'.

"Legolas?"

He blinked and licked parched lips, struggling to sit up to offer a decent greeting to one he had missed so much.

"Father?"

A rustle of cloth and then arms encircling him, holding him. Words in Elvish, endearments. Yes, he was 'home'. He was safe.

But what of the one that he had been forced to leave behind?

Willow.

Screaming.

He closed his eyes, tears escaping. Tears of joy and sadness, fear and worry. She was there, back in that realm. Far away from his worried eyes. He would not know now whether she had lived or perished in her mission of sending him back to his kin.

"It will be alright. Welcome home."

Home.

He felt grief bubble up from his very soul. How could this be home when he had left his heart in a little place called Sunnydale, with a red haired witch? He clutched the precious bundle in his hands, the pictures that he had brought with him; and allowed himself to be held and comforted by friends and family who thought him to be crying tears of relief and happiness.

And he didn't have the heart to tell them otherwise.

Not yet.

~*~*~

She woke slowly, hesitantly; as if scared that waking would bring more of the torment she had endured only too short of a time before. A moan escaped from lips that were chapped.

"Goddess. . . Please just let me get home. . ."

It was a prayer, and one she knew she would need to come true if she were to ever make it back to her house. Just moving brought on wave upon wave of pain from muscles that screamed with every slight gesture. Her skin even felt like it was in agony, every pore and cell alive with excruciating pain.

It took the better part of an hour, she reasoned mentally, for her to climb to her feet, brush the leaves from her clothes, and walk unsteadily to her car.

Tears burned her eyes. She could remember walking this same path the night before, with Legolas; her heart filled to the brim with the desire to do something good with her magic and sadness over losing the one person she had ever truly connected with.

And now she was walking back alone.

She had not wanted to make this trek by herself. Deep in her heart she had hoped that the spell would not work.

But that just wasn't to be.

She smiled sadly, hoping that her love was happy with his friends and family. If she could believe that he was happy then she could keep going on. She had to think that he was content with his people or else all of her efforts, her sacrifice, would have been in vain.

And she wouldn't be able to live with that.

She climbed wearily into the car, sitting in the seat for a few long minutes before placing her feet on the pedals.

A frown passed over her face. The seat was too far forward, her legs scrunched up just a little too uncomfortably. She gave a mental shrug and adjusted the seat to her liking, putting the car in drive and pulling out.

The drive from the woods to her home seemed to take an eternity, though she knew it was only ten minutes, maybe less. She wasn't exactly keeping with the speed limit. All she wanted was to go home, crawl in bed, and cry herself to sleep.

In that order.

~*~*~

"There is no way back, son of Thranduil. I am sorry."

Legolas nodded, mute. He had known this. Of course he had. He could not go back to that realm. There was no passage from here to there. The fact that he had made it here in the first place was nothing short of a miracle, as he understood it. The One had definitely been looking out for him.

"Then I shall never know."

Galadriel nodded, her own face sad. The pictures of her many times over removed niece were laid out on the table before them; the Lady's scrying bowl set in the midst. But even with these pictures to serve as a guide she had not been able to penetrate the mystical shields of Valinor.

"I am sorry."

Legolas shrugged and murmured his thanks he didn't really feel; the pictures were slid back into his pack. He exited the Lady's chambers with a heavy heart, only to be surrounded immediately by friends and family who wanted to know why he had run off so soon after rejoining them. There were many years to catch up on. Didn't he feel like talking, just a little?

But he couldn't share his grief with them; it was still too fresh in his heart. The memory of her screams still rang in his ears, breaking his heart time and again. Had he known being apart from her would be this painful, this unbearable, he certainly would never have come back. Damn immortality for all he cared - for she was his life and now she was no longer with him, no longer living if her screams were to be any indication. He allowed himself to be held and touched by his kin, though he wanted nothing more than to run away, to hide himself away from these people he cared so much for.

All he wanted, after so long away from all he had known and loved, was to be alone.

~*~*~

Willow stumbled in her house with hardly enough presence of mind to lock the door behind herself. She grabbed a hair tie from her bag and bound her hair in a ponytail, moving past the entry hall and towards the stairs. Her bed awaited her, she had tears to cry, and a loss unlike any she had ever known to mourn. It felt as if a part of her soul was missing; a part she had never realized was there until it left.

Legolas was gone.

Forever.

He wouldn't be over that night or any night after that. Back to his family and friends he had gone, leaving her here alone.

That wasn't fair, she knew. He had asked her to come along and she had stubbornly refused. Valinor was the haven of the Elves; it was no place for her. No matter how much she had longed to go with him and live out the rest of her days in his arms.

Everywhere she looked she remembered him. The living room where they had first kissed. The kitchen where she had cooked for him on many a night. And now she was going upstairs to her bedroom, where they had made most tender love hour after hour for those last few days they were together.

She sighed, giving herself a once over in the mirror on her way past the hall.

Wait.

She backed up a step, her stomach doing a weird flip at the sight that greeted her.

Emerald green eyes, sparkling with a fire she had never seen in them before. Skin that was luminescently pale.

And -

Sweet Goddess. . .

Ears. . .

Her ears. . .

She felt faint as her hand traveled of its own accord upwards, touching the tips of her ears with a hesitant finger. They were pointed. Definitely Elven ears.

She swallowed, lightheaded and scared, sitting down on the bottom step before she fell down completely. It made sense now. Her skirt wasn't as long as it had been the night before. She was taller now, just a few inches. Her body had changed, transformed. The pain she had felt . . .

She shook her head; unable to comprehend what her own eyes and senses were telling her.

What had happened to her in that cocoon?

How had the partial Elven blood in her veins become *pure* Elven blood?

Part Ten

Willow held the mirror in her hand up to he face, her tear-filled eyes gazing thoughtfully up at the reflection that was both familiar to her and not familiar. There were her familiar eyes and that red hair she had both loved and cursed at different points in her life.

But those eyes now sparkled and glimmered from within, like emeralds twinkling under a bright light. Her hair was a little more shimmery, silkier if possible, and despite the fact she had slept on the dirty ground the night before, it was falling perfectly about her face, not a snag in sight - something she had always envied about her Elven lover. The general shape of her face was still the same, though a little leaner, her cheekbones just slightly more evident. Her skin was glowy, like Legolas' had been. She'd need a glamourie just to go out now. Of course there were the ears, and her body had grown a few inches taller, not enough that she had even really noticed until she began to take into account all of the other changes.

She closed her eyes and dropped the mirror onto the bed next to her, a hand to her forehead as if to ward off the reality that had come crashing in on her the moment she stepped in her door an hour before. She had made it no further than her bedroom before she collapsed, sobbing, on her bed, grabbing a mirror from her nightstand so that she could gaze at the 'new' her. She had cried then, staring into the mirror. Cried for what she had lost when Legolas left and what this change would mean for her.

How had it happened?

Why had it happened?

And why couldn't it have happened before Legolas left her here on her own? He was in Valinor now, with his family - and she had no one. He'd have an eternity with his loved ones and she -

She'd get to watch the world change, as she did not age. Undying and immortal until the end of time. Any friends she made would die and become memory to her as the years passed.

It was sad, she realized, to understand completely now what Legolas had faced now that he was gone and could no longer offer her advice. Or a hug. Or a kiss.

She felt as if a part of her soul had been torn away. Soulmates was the flowery term for what she thought of him, but this went deeper than that. He was hers and she was his - and that was just the way it was. It was so much more complex than him being a mate of her soul. He *was* her soul.

And she had let him leave without her.

"I made a mistake, Goddess," her soft whisper floated into the air, eyes shut tight against the tears that came up from her heart. "I denied his offer . . . told him my place was here. . . but my place wasn't meant to be here, was it? I was so stupid. I miss him. . . need him . . ."

She broke down then, sobbing uncontrollably. She rolled over, burying her face into her pillow, muffling the heartrending cries that poured from her mouth. How could this have been allowed to happen? Mother Nature was cruel to have done this to her, if indeed it was Mother Nature and not a demon of the perverse that had cursed her so. If she had known that this would happen to her she would have ventured off to Valinor to live out the rest of eternity with the man she loved, side by side for hundreds and thousands of years of smoochies and nookie.

/What's stopping you?/

In years to come Willow would never be sure whether she had imagined the crystal clear voice that spoke in her mind or whether it was truly a prompting from the heavens for her to get off her butt and do something about the cards Fate had dealt for her. It didn't matter in the end, because it did spur her into action, goading her to do something about her current state rather than whine about it. She climbed wearily from the bed, glancing down at her dirty, torn clothing that no longer fit properly. Shopping would be in order once she could figure out the whole glamourie thing enough to go outside her house without causing a stir. Wouldn't do for anyone to actually glimpse an Elf at the local mall.

That was actually the least of her worries at that moment, though. The book with the spell she had used, in her bag downstairs, was her goal.

Willow walked slowly, her muscles still screaming from the forced transmutation they had undergone in that glowing cocoon. At least, that's what she assumed had happened within that iridescent torture device. She made it to the bottom of the stairs, collapsing on her knees next to her bag. The book was in there, along with the remnants of her supplies. But the vial of Legolas' blood was missing, probably left on the forest floor in her haste to get back to her home and just rest her aching body.

She felt despair well up again in her heart and bit her lip to keep from crying out. This was hopeless. Just hopeless. He was gone and the only way she could think of to get to him was no longer an option because she didn't have the key component.

/Galadriel./

"Huh?" Willow murmured aloud, glancing around. The voice was gone just as quick as it had came, if indeed it had been there at all. She shook it off, chalking it up to nerves. But the flash of voice, if that's what it had been, had given her insight. She, too, had blood relatives, though they were far, far distant. The spell would need to be modified, though.

And there was only one person she could turn to for help with something like this. Only one person who could also maybe shed some understanding on the transformation she had undergone and guide her through getting to where she would fit in. If nothing else he could maybe assist her with learning the basics of glamourie so that she could still function in society.

Whether or not he would help was a mystery to her; but she'd take the risk of rejection.

The price of success was too high not to at least try.

~*~*~

"If ever there was an Elf that had met his Intended, it is Legolas."

Lady Galadriel arched an eyebrow at her own Intended, favoring him with a sad smile.

"The one that would never believe in the term 'mate of the soul' has found himself Intended with a woman he may never see again. A woman of my blood, separated by thousands of years in a realm I cannot even begin to comprehend. It is sad, really. All his hopes and dreams were shattered, though he has regained his rightful place in the world. His father broods as much as does young Legolas himself. One for the son that is bound in sorrow, the other for the woman he has left behind."

Celeborn's expression echoed the sad smile of his mate.

"I fear for him, for the choices he has made. He wakes in the night, his father says, screaming for his Willow. His Lirimaer. And he worries constantly for her safety, for what he saw as he left that realm disturbed him to his very soul."

Galadriel sighed, staring across the lawn at where Legolas lay on his back, eyes to the heavens, as if sending constant prayers up for the well-being of the one he had left behind.

"I would that I could pierce the veil between our realms and offer him comfort in knowing how she fares. . . But I cannot. I fear that she is lost to him forever." Her soft words were not lost on the Elf that lay unseeing on the grass, his keen hearing not diminished in the slightest by the years he had spent trapped in the world of Men.

A lone tear fell from his eye, rolling down over his cheek and then into the grass. His mouth opened in a sigh so soft no other would hear, his heart aching with the word -

"Willow. . ."

~*~*~

"Giles. . .don't speak. . .just let me talk, please. I'm begging you. . .I need your help. Something's happened. I'm not myself anymore. I mean - I am, but I'm not. There was this Elf. Yes, Elf. Like total Lord of the Rings. Did you know that was real? You did. . .way to not share with the rest of us. . . Anyway. . . I met Legolas"

She paused, almost giggling at his response.

". . .Yep. *The* Legolas. Isn't that so cool? Uh huh, he told me about that time and people and stuff and I'll happily tell you all about it if you'll just agree to help me. . . Giles. . . I fell in love with him. . . and I did a spell. . . ack! No yelling!" She winced, holding the phone back from her sensitive ear.

"It was a harmless spell . . . " She rushed on, biting her lip with worry. "I sent him on to Valinor to be with his people. . . But. . .Giles - it did something to me. . You see, Legolas said I was part Elf. . .like one percent or something miniscule like that. . . my great-great-great-many-times-great granddaddy was someone called Finrod. . . oh, you've heard of him, I see. . .anyway. . .guess what. . . I'm pure Elf now. Pointy ears and everything. And I miss Legolas and I want to go to him and. . . I need your help with the spell. . . Please? I can't stay here Giles. . . not without him. . .not now."

Willow nodded into the phone, her eyes brimming with tears while other crystalline drops ran down her face. She muttered some 'mm hmm's and some 'uh uh's and then hung up, smiling.

He would leave today and hopefully arrive by tomorrow night if he could catch an early enough flight.

She felt hope well up in her heart and squashed it just as quickly. She would not get her hopes up. Not until he had a chance to look over the spell and tell her whether or not there was anything to be done about her situation.

No.

No hope for this little Elf.

~*~*~

He was due at any minute and, although she had a perfectly working doorbell, Willow was sitting in the window, watching anxiously.

Giles.

So many bad things had happened to tear them apart. He had been like a father to her for those high school years, then into the early years of college. She had been the one to screw it up, she could admit that now. First by bringing Buffy back and then by dabbling in magics she had no business getting anywhere near. She had thrown off his attempts at putting her back on track. And then he had left. . . but he knew what had happened in Sunnydale. Buffy had kept in touch with him.

Willow felt the tears start in her eyes, mourning friendships she had lost in the course of her dark period. She was a bad girl back then; though she had to believe that she would never have been worthy of Legolas' love, of this gift of immortality, if she was still a bad person.

There was a knock on the door, the car outside of her house a shock to the woman who had been so lost in her own thoughts that she had fell out of touch with reality. She stood, wiping sweaty hands on her skirt, her breath caught in her throat.

When the door swung open and she saw him for the first time in years, those tears that had been threatening her all afternoon began to fall. His own eyes were wide, taking in her changed appearance with a calm indifference that was a true testament to his gift of unemotional scholarship. For that moment she was something to be observed, so that later he could write about the experience for his journals, for the Watchers if he still kept in contact with any of them.

"Dear Lord. . . You really did . . . I mean. . . You are . . ." he stammered, mouth hanging open in shock, eyes fixated on those ears that she was already self-conscious about. She put a hand up, covering them with a blush.

"Yep," Willow laughed through her tears. "That's me - Willow the Elf Girl. Come in and stop staring at the pointiness?"

He nodded and lifted his suitcase, walking into her home and coming to a stop only a few feet in before turning to look at her again.

"It is. . . amazing. . ."

Willow snorted. "Easy for you to say. You didn't experience the entire Hellish pain part. I felt like I was being remade from the very beginning, Giles. Like every single cell in my body was burning hot, melting and then reforming. It was. . .scary."

"I can imagine," he murmured, giving her a true smile. "I will need to know from the beginning what you did if you want me to make a guess on what happened."

She nodded. "I thought you would. I can go make some tea while you freshen up - and then I'll tell you the story, show you the spell."

And she did.

The tea was warm in her hands, the hint of honey flavorful as she told the story of her meeting with the Elf from straight out of a novel, their companionship and love, and then the inevitable parting.

"Here is the spell." She laid the book open in front of him, gesturing to the one she had used to send Legolas away from her. She could still remember reading it, her mouth forming words that seemed both familiar and not at the same time.

"This is ancient Elvish," Giles muttered, adjusting his glasses. His eyes scanned over the words. "Ah - here we are. This is a completing spell - used to send lost loved ones back to their families, yes. But it can also be used to set right what was wrong - in this case I believe that the Elvish magic honed in on that one percent of your blood and decided that there was something 'wrong' that needed to be made 'right'. So it did what nature had not and reformed you to be what that one part of your blood would consider 'right' - pure Elven."

"So - this is all my fault?" she whispered sadly, laughing tiredly. "And here I thought I was doing something right for a change. My good deed and all that stuff."

She met Giles eyes and froze, feeling measured.

"You did wrong in the past, Willow. I cannot and will not deny that. But you were stopped before it went too far. You do not have that much to atone for."

She snorted. "Yeah, sure. Tell that to Buffy and Xander. They hate me. I passed Xander on the street three months ago, tried to say 'hi' and was ignored like he had never seen me before in his life, Giles. It hurts. I screwed up and I know it. . . but I can't change the past."

"No, you cannot," he agreed. "Running away to Valinor isn't an answer, though."

"Don't I know it. But where else is there for me? I'll live and never get older. My friends and family will die and the world will keep going. I'll keep going. And . . . I miss him, Giles. He is a part of me that I need. I always felt so grounded around him, so content and loved. I need that back again. I want to feel whole."

"Very well. If that is what you wish. You are right, of course. In the years to come you will need to be near your own kind, or else the passing of time may very well drive you insane. And I would not wish that upon you." He glanced down at the spell and the back up into her eyes. "I believe I have the answer you want - but you must do two things for me before we try it."

Willow nodded, eager. She was willing to try anything to ease the pain in her heart and soul.

"Just say the words."

"First," he began. "You must tell me everything that Legolas told you before he left so that I can record it for my journals."

"Done." Willow beamed, practically bouncing in her seat. "We can do that tomorrow. . . all day if you want."

"Very well," Giles smiled indulgently at her, sadness stirring in his own heart for the time they had lost and the parting that would soon occur. "The second is that you will meet with Buffy and Xander the day after tomorrow. You owe it to them to say goodbye."

She froze, her tongue daring out to lick lips suddenly gone dry.

"O-kay. . . but they won't see me Giles. They'll refuse and it will all end very badly. . ."

Giles shook his head.

"I've already spoken with them, on the drive over, to let them know why I am in town. They miss you. . . though I cannot say that forgiveness has found them, yet."

Willow swallowed and averted her eyes. It was terrifying, this idea of meeting with people that she knew in her heart hated her with a passion. Would Dawn be there, too? She hoped so. If she had to see them, might as well see *all* of them. It would be her last time, of course. If it meant seeing Legolas again she was willing to do just about anything.

"Fine. It's a deal."

~*~*~

Legolas felt something lift in his heart and smiled, feeling as though his prayers had been answered. Something was going to happen. Something big.

And it would involve Willow.

He was sure of it.

Part Eleven

The sun was bright. The grass was green and the sky overhead seemed an impossible shade of blue.

It wasn't that the day was unlike any other, Legolas surmised with wry amusement; it was just that he was viewing things differently. Everything was going to be all right. He knew that now, just as he knew the moon would come up tonight to chase away the sun, as it did every night. Some things were just a given.

And this was one of those things.

He couldn't argue the feeling that he had in his heart, no matter how many times his brain refused to let him be with the knowledge that there was no way he could know such things. Something had touched him. Not a vision or words from the heavens. This was just a feeling, something that was a part of him. He knew without a single doubt that not only was Willow all right, but that something momentous was going to happen.

All he had to do was wait.

~*~*~

It was with a heavy heart that Willow greeted the next morning. On one hand she was very much looking forward to giving whatever Giles had up his sleeve to return her to the side of the Elf she loved. On the other hand she was dreading her inevitable meeting with Buffy and Xander, which would be taking place that morning. She shivered.

"Just get through it," she told herself quietly, slipping on a pair of loose jeans and a t-shirt. She glanced in the mirror, smiling at her reflection. Never before had she truly thought of herself as beautiful, but now she did. The glow of her skin, the sparkle in her eyes. It was a wonder to behold. She ran a hairbrush through her hair, smoothing out the sleep-tousled locks into silken strands that hung delicately around her face, covering those ears that she had come both to hate and love. They made her feel so self-conscious, while reminding her at the same time of Legolas.

Willow smiled, closing her eyes and conjuring his image to the front of her mind. Standing there, dressed in deep greens and earthen browns and tans. So much a creature of forests that no longer existed in this realm. How she had yearned for him from the moment she laid eyes on him in that coffee shop, even before she knew who he was. And when she did know? Well then she only wanted him more. Wanted his friendship, and then his love.

And she had gotten both. He loved her just as much as she loved him; it was a mutual sharing of feeling that had passed between them. She could still feel the touch of his hands on her body, glancing over her skin as though she had been made of delicate glass. He had been so gentle with her, so hesitant even in the midst of their passion. She could feel him now, if she tried hard enough, touching her body like he had known her intimately for years, knowing just how to please her. . .

~*~*~

Legolas sighed in frustration, closing his eyes and trying to will away these images of Willow that were coming to his mind at such an inopportune time.

'All times are inopportune when I am not with her,' he reminded himself harshly, his body tightening as thoughts of Willow naked, beneath him, ran through his brain. This was torture sent by the One to punish him for leaving her, of that he was now sure. Why else could he practically feel her body against his, her soft hands wandering without abandon over every inch of his skin. He could still smell her rose-vanilla body wash if he just lingered on those memories too long. He could feel her lips on his mouth, her tongue swirling in to capture his own for a duel of love.

He groaned, slapping his forehead with the palm of his hand, as if by pain he could shatter these torturous visions. That feeling that she would once again be back in his arms had only strengthened as the day passed by, the sun rising and setting as he wondered why he was lingering on a hope that he had no physical proof would ever come true.

But there was no answer.

~*~*~

Willow fell to her knees, shaking as the last of her pleasure rode through her body.

That had been. . . intense. . . Mind-blowing. . .But not nearly as good as the real thing. Just thinking of Legolas had been enough to bring her to the edge, and as she squirmed in her jeans she had felt her release hit her, suddenly and without warning. Goddess, she needed to get back to him. And never let him get out of bed again.

She stood, using the edge of her vanity for help, and looked at herself in the mirror. Now instead of just the Elfy glow in her skin she also had the pre-orgasmic glow . . .

And Giles was calling her from downstairs.

Buffy and Xander were here.

Great.

"Goddess, give me strength," she muttered.

~*~*~

"Tell me about this one that has bewitched your heart, my son."

Legolas didn't open his eyes in the least when his father entered the room. He didn't want to betray the lust that was still in his heart, the images of his red-haired witch writhing in pleasure still coursing through his very blood.

"She is everything to me, father. You have seen her picture, yes? Then you know that she is beautiful."

He dared to open his eyes now, giving Thranduil a small smile.

"She is enchantingly sweet, a true testament to the beauty of her soul. And when she speaks it is like a breath of fresh air after a mid-afternoon rain - clear and refreshing. There's no way to describe her, truly, without doing a horrible injustice."

"She is your Intended, then?"

Legolas frowned.

"You know I do not believe in such a thing, father. She is my love, and that is all."

"Still you do not believe in the marriage of the souls? Even when you claim this young lady has yours in the palm of her little hand? Legolas, to find your Intended is something that you should treasure above all else. You should feel happy and not deny that it is happened. To do so is a disgrace to the meaning of the word." He paused and gave his son a tender smile. "We will be eating dinner in the main hall tonight if you wish to join us."

Legolas nodded, his mind caught up in the whirlwind of what his father had said to him. Intended - a word that he scoffed at because it was just another way of making flowery a union between two souls. He didn't believe in soulbonds, why would he give relevance to this, either?

But what else could this be, his heart asked him? What else could make him long for her like he had never longed for any other? Why did he feel like he had this connection to her that was now telling him she was all right and would be with him again?

He laid his head back, closing his eyes once again, thinking on life and love.

And everything in between.

~*~*~

The hand that held onto the banister was trembling, Willow noted with detachment, placing one foot in front of the other, down the stairs one by one. It was almost as if she were watching a movie, where you knew something bad was going to happen to the main character and everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.

Yes, that was how she felt exactly. She was like a woman being led to the death chamber. . . Step by step she walked, reaching the bottom too soon for her liking.

She took a deep breath and turned in the direction of the voices, recognizing Buffy's immediately, as if there hadn't been so much time spent apart from them. She could hear the Slayer rambling on and on about how patrol had been the night before. Nothing major, Willow was glad to hear, not wishing harm upon her or Xander no matter how they had hurt her by their rejection.

Willow moved to the entranceway of the living room, staring in and letting the scene etch itself into her heart. There was Xander, with his profile towards her. He was laughing at something Buffy had just said about some demon they fought last week. They both look happy and healthy.

The happy part was about to change, she knew.

She cleared her throat, wandering into the room without aplomb, her eyes to the ground, picking out little bits of dirt on the carpet with her eyes, refusing to look up at a room suddenly gone silent. She moved to the far wall, leaning against it for support, trembling in her own skin.

"Willow. Nice of you to join us."

The red head glanced up, meeting Giles' eyes with a look that clearly said she had not been given a choice.

"I know that I did not give you a choice," he continued on, as if reading her mind. "But don't you owe it to them to say goodbye?"

She snorted, covering her pain with sarcasm. "We said our goodbyes a long time ago, Giles. . . But if you want me to tell them that I have every intention of leaving this world behind, then so be it."

Green eyes turned towards the two that she had called her best friends, her voice wavering as she spoke.

"I found someone very special to me. . . and in sending him home I have changed myself forever." She pulled her hair back from one side of her face, showing them her ear. "And so I'll be going to be with him now - hopefully. If Giles can get the spell to work, that is. So - that's it. Thanks for coming. I've said my goodbyes."

The room was silent.

"I told you she hadn't forgiven us," Xander muttered, shaking his head. He stood up from the couch and glared down at Buffy."

"Forgiven you?" Willow muttered, her forehead creased with confusion. "For what? You're the one that passed me on the street and couldn't be bothered to even say 'hello', Alexander Harris!"

He tore his eyes from Buffy to look at Willow, then, sadness clear on his face.

"I was afraid that you wouldn't say anything to me, Wills. We abandoned you. What right did I have to act like I was still your friend?"

The red head felt her lower lip tremble, her legs weakening.

"Xan. . .I've never stopped being your friend. Either of you. I missed the two of you so much it hurt sometimes. Physical, gnawing pain that just wouldn't go away."

"But you've moved on now?" Buffy whispered, her own eyes wet with tears. "You're leaving?"

Willow nodded, not trusting herself to speak. This was cruelty of the worst kind. Giles had to have known how they felt. He knew before he even let them into her home how much this would hurt her.

"I have to go," she muttered finally. "I'm immortal now. Comes with the whole Elf thing. If I don't go now who's to say I'll ever have another chance? And I miss him. I miss my Legolas."

"Damn," Xander sighed, flopping back onto the couch. "There's so much to say. . . but there really isn't a point in any of it now. We'll miss you. . . just like we have been. . . "

Willow smiled. "Then remember me with fondness this time, guys, and know that I never stopped loving either of you."

She pushed off of the wall and came to kneel before them, grabbing up their hands and squeezing.

"You will always be in my heart. Always."

"You'll hang around long enough for us to get some pictures together - to remember us by like a hundred years from now, right?" Buffy sniffled, wiping roughly at the tears on her cheeks.

"Yeah. I think I can do that," Willow smiled for her, knowing on the inside that the longer she had to stay the harder it would be when she had to leave. It would have been so much better for her, for them, if they had never reconciled.

She needed to get away from this place soon, before attachments were reformed.

Before it got any harder to go.

Part Twelve

Today.

It would happen today.

It.

The thing he had been waiting for these last few days.

Legolas smiled, still not quite sure what 'it' was or how he knew that 'it' would be happening today and not tomorrow, or even ever at all. It was just a certain feeling in his heart, perhaps even his soul, which told him that today was the big day.

"You certainly are looking happy today, Legolas."

The blonde haired elf turned to the speaker, flashing her a dazzling smile.

"That I am, Lady. Today is the day."

Galadriel raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him, the corner of her mouth twitching as she fought back a smile.

"The day for what?"

He grinned, holding his arms out and spinning in a slow circle, giddy on nothing other than life. His long hair blew in the warm breeze, the braid flapping at his back. He was the picture of unfettered joy.

"Today is the day," he repeated, laughing.

Galadriel frowned, crossing her arms. She watched Legolas spin in his slow circle, eyes closed and head tilted up to the sunlight overhead. He was repeating himself and being altogether evasive and mysterious.

'Now you know how others view you at times,' an inner voice twitted her. She felt that smile that had threatened to break out come fully to the fore now and turned, leaving Legolas to his thoughts. Whatever this event was that he was waiting for, he wasn't sharing it with her.

Perhaps his father would know.

~*~*~

"This is it, Wills. No turning back. If, you know, it works. Are you sure ---?"

Willow bit her lip, giving Xander a weak smile. The last two days had been wonderful, spending time with him and Buffy, catching up on lost times. But, in the end, it had not been enough to sway her decision to leave this land.

"Yeah, Xan, I'm one hundred and ten percent sure. From the top of my head to the tips of my toes - I have to go. There won't be a place for me in this world in the coming years. Legolas thought he was the last true elf walking the earth - and now I'm in the same position. I have to try to go there. . . "

Xander nodded, eyes glassy with tears.

"I understand . . . sorta. I'll never forget you. . ."

Willow felt the tears coming from her eyes, dripping in long, wet lines down her cheeks. She tried to fight back the sob that rose from her chest, but it escaped anyway. And then he was holding her, and they were both crying.

But it was still not enough.

When she pulled away at last her face was dry, albeit puffy and pink from the crying. She gave her childhood friend a sad smile.

"Live a good life, Xander. Find a good woman, have lots of kiddies. You're gonna make someone a great husband. A good father. You already proved you could be the bestest of friends."

He nodded, hugging her one last time and placing a gentle kiss on her forehead before leaving without another word. Willow sighed, feeling emotionally drained. This had been her second goodbye of the morning, with the first having been with Buffy. The blonde had, in the end, walked off with tears in her eyes, after begging and pleading for nearly an hour for Willow to just stay for another week or two - or forever.

She didn't understand what she was asking for. Not really. Forever was quite literal for Willow now, of course.

And when Buffy hadn't been able to make her say she'd stay, the Slayer had done nothing more than nod and give her a smile, hug her until she thought all of her ribs would surely break, and then she had left, tears streaming down her cheeks.

So that was that, Willow thought, sitting gingerly on the edge of the chair in her parents' house. A letter would be delivered to them, mailed by Giles, if this afternoon's spell went according to plan. In it would be the keys to the house and little else, save a small note from Willow thanking them for all they had done for her.

As little as they had actually done for her during her life, she was still too polite to run off without leaving them anything. And so, the letter.

"Are you ready?"

Willow nodded, still wondering how exactly the spell would work. As far as she knew he had made only minor changes to the original.

He drove them out to the woods, to the same spot where she had sent Legolas off from. Her backpack was clutched tightly in her hands. Pictures, letters, a few odds and ends, one precious stuffed animal and a single change of clothes - that was all that she would take with her.

She walked unerringly to the place where she had kneeled to do the spell, marveling at the patch of scorched earth that now lay there. This was where the spell's cocoon had worked its magic, transforming her from just another human woman to an Elven maiden.

"We should get started."

Willow whirled, her eyes alighting on Giles. He had what she had promised him, her memories of Legolas and the stories he had told her written down in journal form, for him to mull over until the end of his days.

"Thank you," she murmured quietly, stepping forward. "For everything. I would never have made it through high school without you being there. You were like a father to me - even if I did turn out to be a bad daughter."

His eyes were filled with a myriad of emotions when he whispered sadly, "You were never a bad daughter, Willow. Just a misguided one, as all children are wont to be at some point."

So here it was - her third tearful goodbye of the day. She embraced him softly, sniffling into the rough fabric of his jacket.

"Make sure the others stay safe for me, k?" It was a last request, and one she knew he could not deny.

"Of course. Do be safe where you are going, as well."

Willow smiled, much brighter than she would have moments before, when she was saying her goodbye.

"I will. Legolas will take care of me."

Giles smiled and handed her the piece of paper he had written the new and 'improved' spell on. A bag of supplies lay at his feet.

"You will draw the circle and stand within it. Light the herb bundle and candles and then begin the chant. You believe that you are a part of Legolas and he of you - this will fix what it 'wrong' and return you to him. The changes I made were merely to exclude the blood from the ritual."

It all made sense to her at that moment. The spell was meant to set right a wrong, if Giles' explanation of it was true; and she didn't doubt for one second that it was. Since she was now apparently destined to be with her elf, there was nothing for the spell to do but return her to him, to right the wrong they had committed by sending him away from her in the first place.

"You should stand back - just in case," she whispered, strapping her backpack to her back and grabbing the bag of supplies. She began with the circle, praying in her heart as she went that this would work.

~*~*~

Legolas looked up to the skies. The moment was near. He knew it with every ounce of his being. Something was going to happen.

"Come in, Legolas. Its getting late. Dinner will be served soon."

The Prince of the land once known as Mirkwood shook his head, calling back to his father, "Just a few more minutes. . ."

~*~*~

The words tumbled from Willow's lips. She felt the magic of the circle coalesce into reality as the spell reached the point of no return, the last lines falling from her mouth in a pure cry of delight. The magic was building with her circle, pushing at her body, pulling at it. It was an odd sensation of pressure and release, all at once. She turned, catching Giles' eyes and mouthing the words 'thank you' to him.

And then, with a snap, she was gone.

~*~*~

Legolas felt the air just above him open before he actually saw the rift, a line of brightness against the sparkling starry sky. He held his breath, his heart thudding painfully in his chest.

And then 'it' happened.

He lurched forward, catching the falling woman in his arms, staring down in wonder at her face. She had her eyes closed, and the only sign that she lived was the rise and fall of her chest. Something was different about her, was his immediate reaction, though try as he might he could not put a finger on it. He knelt, removing the pack from her back with some maneuvering so that he could lay her on the ground.

"Lego . . .las. . ."

That soft sigh was an arrow of joy straight to a heart that had nearly torn itself asunder with its grief. He smiled, leaning forward to brush a kiss across her forehead.

It was then that he noticed the changes, as she began to open sparkling eyes to Valinor. Skin that was just this side of luminescent. Her facial features were still the same, almost; slightly more defined than he remembered. And there, peeking out from her hair. . . her ears.

"Lirimaer. . . what has happened?"

Her eyes snapped the rest of the way open to stare, dazed, into his face.

"Legolas? I made it . . . Or is this a dream? Oh, please, Goddess, don't let it be a dream. Because if it is I never want to wake up."

"It's not a dream," he murmured to her, awed by the very evident changes in her. He reached up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled at the little points. He did not know what had happened to cause this, but it could not be anything other than a blessing. "You are as I am now."

She giggled, tears of happiness pouring down her face. "Yup. That silly spell decided that I'd be better off as an Elf and sent this glowing pain thingy to take care of it. . . "

He felt his breath catch in his throat. So that was what had been happening as he was whisked away from her. He hugged her tightly to his chest, enjoying the feel of her body near his again.

"I love you, my Willow. Not a day has gone by since I left that I did not miss you . . ."

"Silly elf." He heard her whisper. "Like I could stay away from you. . ."

There were others coming now, someone had noticed that he was no longer alone on the great lawn. He could hear their whispers and knew that she could too.

"There are some people you need to meet," he grinned down at the woman that was trying her best to imbed herself in his chest, her nails digging into the cloth.

"Do we have to? Wanna run off and do some serious smoochie making instead? I've missed my Legolas-smoochies."

He laughed, holding her tight to him as he slowly levered her into a standing position, his back to the oncoming crowd. She was staring at his face, his chest, anywhere except the group that was almost upon them. Poor shy little maiden. He would hold her hand and get her through this, and then they could be together. All day and night for weeks and weeks and. . .months?

Yes, months seemed like a reasonable time to sequester themselves in his bedroom.

"I am afraid that is not possible. You have quite a bit of explaining to do, anyway. Perhaps it is better you tell the story in front of us all so that you do not need to repeat it in the near future?"

She laughed, throwing her arms around his neck and not caring who was watching them. He knew where this was going and surrendered to her insistent tug with a smirk, their lips meeting for the first time in days. It was as though they had never parted. . . two halves of the same whole coming home in a spark of desire that left even those watching breathless.

"Remind me later to tell you about this odd vision I had after you left, Lirimaer. It was quite. . ."

Willow gasped, shushing him with a finger to his lips. She was blushing, her eyes darting furtively to the waiting assembly of Elves, some of which who were even now murmuring something along the lines of 'I thought he said she was human'.

"We'll talk more about that 'vision' later, Mister Elf-Man."

Legolas laughed, sweeping her into his arms for another kiss.

"As you say, Madam Elf-Lady."

 

~Fin~

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