Disclaimer: I own nothing

Author's Note: This is my first attempt at a story, I intend on making this a series of one shots until i decide where I want to go with this. I am open to any suggestions anyone may have. Also, if anyone is interested in being a beta, i would thrilled to have help. Enjoy!


Mortals, Time, and Ballerinas

Nobody has the patience to sit in a Chicago traffic jam.

Not even an immortal, and certainly not Elrohir Perhedril. He could remember a multitude of times sitting at councils that lasted days and yet... this seemed so much worse.

Maybe it was that life just wasn't as busy then. Back then, way back then, he had lived strictly among elves who had all the time in the world. When one was immortal, they didn't try to fill every living moment with activity; he had time to think and muse and learn. Now people move so fast. They feel the need to fill their every living second with social media and television and gossip.

Truthfully, it wasn't fair to criticize this society for these things. He too used them far more than he should, he understood the attraction. Hell, if the cell phone had been invented during his time in middle earth it would have been very useful. He could only picture the conversations.

A half dead Legolas saying, "I am fine. I've been shot with an arrow" Elladan would have laughed even in that situation... his brother had always had a weird sense of humor. So did he actually.

Everyone he had ever really cared for had a bizarre sense of humor. This was why when a beautiful young barista at a downtown coffee shop spilled coffee on his Dolce and Gabbana jeans (mind you those cost a great deal) and burst into laughter, he was impressed. It was not a nervous laugh either. It was the kind that made people stop and smile. That took an excellent sense of humor, not to mention guts. She should have been bawling for her soon to be lost job and reputation.

To be fair to her, she did apologize profusely after the fact. When he asked her why she laughed, her response was, "I'm a dancer, tripping on a flat floor really should not happen to me... Irony is a funny thing". He gave her his number and, as was expected, she did not refuse.

Nobody had ever refused him actually. It was not a hard thing to understand if you had ever looked at him. He was beautiful. Many painted lips had told him such. Of course, the terminology had changed over the years. Lovely. Handsome. Fair. Majestic. Fine. Noble. Stunning. Sexy. Dangerous. Elrohir was not opposed to any of the above names, but she had called him beautiful, and that was his personal favorite.

All elves were stunning and he was no exception. He had starry blue eyes and hair that was dark and luxurious. He had breathtaking bone structure which made him stand out in even the crowds of Chicago. Because of the slight bit of human blood in his veins, Elrohir was a bit darker than most elves, which helped him to blend into the mortal world considerably better than Legolas ever had. When asked how he got his unique looks, he would respond that his mother was Native American and his father was French. For some reason, unique ethnicity tended to stop questions dead in their tracks.


The girl who had literally stumbled into his life was actually a ballerina. An excellent performer with multiple contracts on the line; a rare thing in the world of aspiring dancers. Her name was Sophia. She was from a Russian family (second generation), had extensive experience in classical piano and violin, and a crystal blue eyes to match her sharp mind. Her body was strong, lean, and distinctly elvish; a trait he unconsciously searched for in women. He liked her quite a lot.

At the moment, he was not entirely sure she felt the same about him. He had just stepped inside her apartment (only five minutes late) when she went off at him in Russian; one of the few languages he had never taken the time to learn.

He could tell from the tone of her voice and the few things (mainly foul) he could pick up, she was less than thrilled. Why did females have to be so damn picky.

Five minutes late.

Heavens above, he'd been months late to things before. She acted like he actually had been months late. It was rather amusing really, in a sort of obnoxious, frustrating way that only Erestor had ever managed. However, even Erestor could not possibly have convinced him that it was a problem to be five minutes late.

Elrohir felt that traffic was a perfectly understandable reason for tardiness.

Time just was not an issue for him, and no female, no matter how beautiful, was going to change his mind. In his desperation, he decided the fastest way to get her to stop speaking that godawful language was to kiss her hard.

Sophia shut up very quickly.

"You need to stop doing that", she stated with a pout.

"I don't know Russian, it drives me crazy. You need to stop yelling in languages i can't understand." He smirked. Sophia liked it when he smirked.

She smiled at him with an ease that can only be found in the performers of the world.

"If you were not so darn beautiful, you would be long broken up with," She giggled, "You know, it's not just stuff like this, your disregard and everything, it's your secrets. It's like you don't have a past. Not one i could ever understand anyway."

It was quiet for a minute. She was hitting far too close to home for his liking.

She started up again, "Its your eyes that give you away you know. There not like other peoples. Sometimes i forget where I am when I look at them." She touched his face. "They are like the ocean..." She muttered softly, "someday, if you really care about me, you'll tell me about your past."

Elrohir almost blushed in shame. He really couldn't tell her anything. It wasn't that he didn't like her immensely. Her sharp mind and curiosity were more than enough to deserve his attention. It was just that he couldn't really trust her. She was hungry for fame and success, and Elrohir knew from experience that she was the most dangerous kind of person for him. The last girl like her had landed him in a world of trouble, and that girl had been before social media and instantaneous news. Long before such things.

If the truth of his genetics were to get out now...

He knew he couldn't risk it. It was only a period of time before Sophia's patience would run out and his fear would win over his feelings. It wouldn't be the first time such things had occurred. Each time he was left with the same feelings of intense loneliness and longing to live life how the rest of the world did. Short, fast and sweet. Immorality was a curse in many ways. He knew he could never settle down and marry, no matter how much he liked a girl.


Five sleepless nights and six blurry days later he would send her a package that contained an elegantly written letter, a few meters of the finest Indian silk (for ballet naturally), and a generous amount of cash. With tear filled eyes Sophia would read these words,

Dear Sophia,

I fear that our paths are to split ways from this day on. I am simply not suited for this relationship. I am to leave the city immediately; I will marvel should our paths ever meet again. You are beautiful, young, and talented. I fear not for your future. You will surely find a man better suited for you. I leave you with no hard feelings, do not regret what has and will happen. You have done nothing wrong.

With love,

Elrohir

Elrohir knew that the letter was hardly his greatest work. It was short, choppy, and impersonal. He could not however afford room for apologizes and second chances though. There was nothing to apologize for on either end. She had done nothing wrong and he had done what was best given the situation. The relationship had not been safe. The truth he held would have been too much for a soul such as hers, his life was not an easy thing to grasp.

Once her tears had drained, Sophia would say that he had been more trouble than he was worth anyways. Love had a tendency to be an immense bother.

Elrohir would agree.