The Price Of Being An Elf

Disclaimers: Legolas and friends belong to Tolkein, but the other bloke was created by me. Not that he's that important. Strange little fic, explanations at the end just so I don't destroy any element of surprise.

Pale skin gleamed in the moonlight as Legolas crept between the trees, light feet padding on the ground. Shadows balanced themselves across his face and figure, slipping off as quickly as they asserted themselves. The elf was an ethereal creature, not of the earth yet on it. His flesh appeared translucent, framed by a shining golden halo of hair. He stalked through the woods, following the bloody thoughts of his prey.

The man who walked before him trailed his memories behind, allowing Legolas to pick up the remembrances of killing and slaughter. They hung in the air, tangible and rich to the open mind, a foretaste of what was to come later that night. Velvet and silks covered the man, disguising his crude thoughts with apparent finery, but not hiding them from the hunter. Legolas smiled, teeth showing shyly over the perfect lips. This kill was a worthy one, the man deserved this end, blood-stained and cruel as he was.

Deciding that the place they had reached was satisfactory, Legolas moved faster than the eye could see to stand before the richly-dressed man. Oscitar Ensear, who had murdered many people of Middle Earth out of some longing for causing pain, was startled by the appearance of the strange figure. He stumbled backward, nervous and scared of the elf who reached for him. Primal instinct screamed in him, and he tried to escape back through the woods, but the elf's strong, slender arms pulled him back, embracing him tightly, lovingly. Suddenly, he wasn't fighting any more, as the elf's sensuality washed over him, stupefying him.

Legolas' lips pulled back as his head dipped lower, revealing the delicate, pointed fangs to the midnight air. One white arm wrapped around the man, supporting the relaxed frame while holding it up against the elf's own body, and the other held up the head, baring the thick neck. The artery in his neck throbbed, and instantly Legolas was upon it, teeth piercing the flesh and allowing the blood to rush free, over the elf's tongue and down his throat. It burnt like fire and froze like ice, bringing with it many images. Murdered men, women, children and dwarves, many of the races of Middle Earth, poured from this man along with his life's blood. Legolas suckled, almost like a child, feeding physically and mentally, enjoying the fierce orgy of feeling that he ripped from this killer. The taste of wine was in the blood, fine and expensive wine. Oscitar's loves in food and drink had been as expensive as his clothes, far above his preferred habits. Depraved ideas fled through Legolas' mind as he pulled the blood from the man's body, down to the last drop.

Oscitar gave one last shudder and then died, sending waves of pleasure through Legolas' body. Unable to hold them both upright, he let the dead weight carry them to the floor where he sprawled, exhausted and satiated by the kill. His senses were heightened, he was aware of everything around him. A beetle scraped its way across some bark, a mouse watched with beady eye, the grass grew ever upwards. Legolas could feel the eyelashes brushing his cheek as his heavy eyelids blinked slowly. His blue eyes shone in a now ruddied face as he stood to leave the useless body. A few bloody tears fell from them.

It was the price of being an elf, or as some had it, the curse. The price for immortality, beauty and strength was to be a killer for all eternity. An eternity of life, but in many ways also an eternity of death. It was as the Valar had created the elves to be, rulers of the Middle Earth realm. The men were inferior and weaker, yet some elves envied these mortal creatures, who were allowed to die.

But even in the old days, as the number of elves spread, so did the number of orcs. These pitiful remains of elves had been warped, half destroyed, by the light of the trees of Valinor, their decreed fate after disobeying the Valar. They fled to hide, and increased their forces to be whole armies, with their skins blackened and burnt, and minds turned crazy.

Legolas reflected on this as he walked away, letting the forest animals advance for the remains of the body. He returned through the silent trees to where the rest of the Fellowship slept soundly, knowing little of the full power of the elves, or of the price they paid for it.


A/n: You're probably thinking "What the Valar is she on?!". Well, I was thinking recently about the similarities between elves and vampires. Just the normal kind of things I think about, you know? Anyway, they're both immortal, beautiful and superior to men. Maybe elves don't die in the sun, but otherwise there's that similarity. So I decided to write a fic about if the elves were vampires. Hope it worked, let me know if you loved it, hated it, wanted to scream, vomit, whatever. I enjoy the feedback, and it's always useful.