(A/N: I couldn't help myself. The story simply needed to be told. How could I possibly leave poor Mardil hanging like that? So out of my fevered and rather twisted mind sprung this little ficlet, seeded by fancy and incubated in the heat of my imagination, frivolous, frothy, with absolutely no redeeming value whatsoever save as a distraction to the darkness and tedium of February. Enjoy! -- Le Rouret)

“You cannot be serious, Legolas,” said Faramir.

He turned to his friend in mild consternation. The Green Knight, Lord Legolas of Dol Galenehtar, Prince of Eryn Lasgalen and hero of the Ring War, Champion to the White Lady and oftimes called the Jewel of Ithilien, scratched his bare belly, shifted the stalk of grass on which he was chewing, and stretched his long legs out in front of him. His eyes were closed and he looked indolent and lazy, like a cat sated on cream; his fair flossy hair spread over the rock on which they lay, and his skin shone like polished marble in the high hot sun. Faramir sat up and ran his fingers through his dark tangled mane. His skin felt very warm and he thought perhaps he ought to go into the water again; however the memory of that shock of icy-coldness dragging him up out of his comfortable lethargy did not appeal overmuch. He stretched, liking the feel of the warm breeze whispering round him from the woods, smelling of peat and pine and dirt, and setting the heat round the rock shimmering.

“And why,” asked Legolas languidly, the grass-stalk moving with his lips, “may I not be serious? I admit I am frequently flippant, but I assure you, Faramir, in this instance at least I am in earnest.”

Faramir sighed and lay back down, rolling over onto his stomach. The rock was hot beneath his belly, and he stretched his arms over his head. In the bushes by the rock a wagtail chirruped and squeaked, high-pitched over the low sighing of the breeze, and the slurk and chuckle of the river. He folded his arms beneath his chin and turned his head to look at his friend.

“You know little about such things,” he said. “You are not even wed yourself.”

“One does not need to be wed to understand the economics of succession,” said Legolas, opening one eye and squinting at Faramir. “If Mardil cannot produce an heir his lands round Ethring shall go to his second cousin Renrath, and that would be disastrous.”

“Simply because Renrath trades with Eryn Vorn – “

“The loss of the vineyards alone would cut Aragorn’s tithe too deep, and he needs more ships.”

Faramir sighed. “You do not know whether Renrath would sell the holdings.”

“Would you?”

Faramir pulled a face. “Well, perhaps – “

“The only man in Ethring who could afford such extensive land would be Eradan the Traitor’s nephew Olórdin of Linhir, and you know, my friend, what he is like.”

“Sadly, yes.” Faramir sighed. “Well, then, perhaps Mardil might adopt an esquire, as did Cirien – “

“Formal adoptions cost money, of which Mardil has little, after the drought last year. He cannot currently even afford to keep an esquire, much less adopt one.”

“T’ch!” Faramir shook his head. His long black hair shifted over his bare shoulders, and he closed his eyes against the glare of the sunlight on the bright sand. “If he cannot afford an esquire how can he afford a wife?”

“He needs a wife with a dowry, of course,” said Legolas. He too rolled over onto his stomach, folding his arms beneath his chin. He studied the wagtail, which turned its little white-masked face to the Elf-lord and sang cheerfully of bugs and nests and tiny mottled eggs. The Green Knight’s fair face was pensive. “Matchmakers are too dear, and he is getting too old to wait much longer.”

“He is not so old.”

“He is forty. And the older a mortal man gets the less likely it is he shall sire heirs. ‘Twould be wise to find him a very young girl; he shall have a better chance that way.”

“Yes, but that child - !”

“She is a woman – a young one, I will admit to you, but a woman yet.”

“Her father will never agree.”

“No more he shall. That is why I must beguile him ere the deed is done.”

Faramir frowned. “Mardil will not agree to it.”

“He will get used to the idea of a young and pretty wife. He is a man, after all.”

“Legolas,” sighed Faramir. “I do not think you will succeed in this venture.”

“O I think I shall,” smiled Legolas. “I have thought of everything and I am certain of my triumph.” He stretched, wriggling a little against the hot stone. “Now I know how a pastry feels when placed in the oven.”

“Or trousers against a flatiron.”

Legolas snorted with laughter. “Hence the reason I have dispensed with them for now. Can you imagine what my Bandobras would do to me were I to return to the party creased and dirty?”

“Mm.” Faramir closed his eyes. The skin on his shoulders was burning he knew, but he was too warm and comfortable to move. “Would not a cold cup of ale taste good right now?”

“It would,” agreed Legolas with a smile. “A shame there was no ale at the party.”

“Only resinated wine.”

“And raspberry ices.”

Faramir shuddered and opened his eyes. “Ugh! Do not, I beg of you my friend, remind me of the raspberry ices! I was so contented ere you brought them up.”

“I beg your pardon, Faramir.”

The two friends were silent for a time, listening to the trout splash in the river, and the herons groan and hoot. Back in the firs cigales started to trill. Faramir was much happier now than he had been two hours hence. The party on the lawn upriver had been a stiff and formal affair, with trestles laden with flowers and fountains and dainty foods such as sugared candies and trifles and meringues, and all that the Queen had offered to drink was sweetened wine and fruit-ices, neither of which had appealed to two war-hardened soldiers more used to strong red wine and roasted venison. Moreover the guests had been for the most part quite a bit older than the Prince of Emyn Arnen – aged courtiers and vassals and minor landholders, their wives tottery and corseted and elaborately dressed; the talk had been genteel and restrained – this or that young lady’s marital prospects, the bland scandal in Eryn Vorn, the niggling gossip of the courts, and over all the tedious talk droned the mannerly minstrels in the corner. The sun had risen hot over the pavilion, and Faramir had seen the Lord of Dol Galenehtar, reluctant guest he was anyway, trapped with the Lord of Serni and his arch and ancient wife Lady Aranath, suffering through the old bore’s pontifications and Aranath’s supercilious cheek-pinching. Faramir excused himself from the discussion of how the trout from the Anduin did not taste as good as trout fifty years ago, and insinuated himself between his friend and the old couple saying: “Ah, my lord Legolas! I am dismayed to interrupt your conversation but something of great delicacy has come to mine attention and we must needs confer on it immediately.” For he had seen the flash of irritation in Legolas’ grey eyes, and knew it would not be long ere the Elf’s polite phrases began to twist and sour on his tongue; he did not know how long Legolas would submit to having his cheeks pinched by a desiccated harridan but calculated against his own tolerance that the Green Knight could not stand but a mere five minutes more. A brief disappearance, the Steward postulated, would be preferable in Queen Undómiel’s eyes than to have the Green Knight slyly offensive, especially to so old and forbidding a lady. So he and Legolas had strolled out of the pavilion down to the river-bank, gleaming and sluggish in the hot summer sunshine, and once out of view of the pavilion the two campaigners exchanged knowing looks, and slipped off into the forest.

They pressed east and down ‘til they found a broad flat expanse of sand and rock, baked white-hot and broiling; the heat steamed out the heady scents of pine and fir and spruce and lavender, and they could see the ducks screened in the cool blue shadows of the great white boulders. Legolas had given Faramir a roguish look then and said: “One may prise the archer into fine satin garments and surround him with flowers and lace, but he is ever an archer – is he not, Faramir?” And he had begun to unfasten the brads holding his fine white doublet together. Laughing Faramir agreed, and within moments they had shed their hot heavy clothing and plunged into the river. The water at the surface had been warm as bath-water but further down it was shockingly cold and very refreshing. They had swum about a while, splashing and wrestling with each other, until they felt the confining propriety fall away; then they had climbed wet and shivering to the broad white boulder and stretched out to dry themselves ere they regained the ostensible revelry.

Faramir began to drift off, sinking comfortably into the soft warmth of sleep; already the stiff-collared doublet, beneath which he had been sweating all afternoon, was but a memory. He rose up to wakefulness to hear Legolas saying:

“Well, no, my Bandobras, I had not thought of it though it is certainly a capital idea. But do you not think Lady Éowyn shall object?”

“To tell the truth, Master, I think she’s woman enough to enjoy such a to-do. Besides it will be good practice for her, what with all those little ones growing up. What did Lord Faramir think of your scheme?”

“I think he is mad,” said Faramir into his arm; his skin smelt of river-water and mud, a comforting scent, and far superior to soap in his estimation. “What are you doing here anyway, esquire of the Green Knight? I do not recall seeing your jolly face at the party.”

“I was not,” said Bandobras, affronted. “Me, a mere esquire? The Queen knows better than to even invite the likes of that – put off the quality, you know. No, my lord; I’d snuck round to have a peek at my Master here, and saw you two had gone missing, and figured you’d run off someplace nearby to cool off in this here heat.” He cast a critical eye over the two naked men. “Though if I were you I’d cover up a bit,” he said. “Fastred and Léodwyn are punting not a half-mile from here.”

“Speaking of match-making,” began Legolas impishly, but Faramir laughed.

“They are young yet, my friend! Do not I beg you marry off my son ere he has achieved his majority; besides which Léodwyn’s heart is ever in Rohan.”

“Well some of Fastred’s is too,” said Legolas cheerfully. “Do you really think me mad, Faramir?”

“Yes,” said Faramir. “Everyone will end up hating you.”

“You are getting rather pink, my lord,” said Bandobras thoughtfully, poking Faramir’s shoulder. “You ought to get dressed. And what’ll you do if some stray maids wander by to admire the view of the river? For they might, it being so hot and stifling in that pavilion.”

“Then they shall have ample view to admire,” said Legolas with a laugh. He sat up and stretched his fingers to the heavens, where the sun westered; far overhead a kestrel whistled, and the wagtail chirruped from the bushes. “Mardil will never hate me Faramir; he is too gentle for that.”

“It is insulting to him though,” said Faramir, also sitting up and scratching his head. He felt very muzzy and warm, and wondered if he could risk the Queen’s wrath and impose upon his son to take him home directly. “You are saying to the entire nation of Gondor that your choice supersedes his own, and he is incapable of finding a suitable bride!”

“He is too modest,” said Legolas, groping round for his under-linens. “He has not set his sights high enough.”

“And what of the maid?”

“Modest too, but not so gentle,” grinned Legolas. “Listen! I hear the voices of the queen’s maids; we must clothe ourselves ere they find us.”

Legolas and Faramir scrambled into their clothes, with Bandobras aiding as best he might. Faramir buttoned his doublet collar with a grimace. He disliked the heavy garment in the sweltering heat, but knew once the sun set he would be glad of its weight. “And how shall you bring about this miracle?” he asked Legolas, sitting back on the rock and tugging his boots on. “All the actors in your mummer’s play are set against you.”

“That,” said Legolas with a mischievous smile, refastening his doublet, “is a secret, Faramir.” He allowed Bandobras to straighten his disarranged hair and added, “But I need you to do something for me in order to compel Mardil’s choice to match mine own.”

“O do not bring me into it I beg of you!” exclaimed Faramir, much alarmed. “Think you I am so well-loved that these two knights will turn a blind eye to my meddling?”

“Peace!” laughed Legolas, and Bandobras chuckled richly to himself. The three rose and headed back up the river bank toward the pavilion; they could see the white shapes of Undómiel’s ladies maids wending their way down the path, and hear their lilting voices. “You have naught to do but keep quiet, and allow me certain liberties in Osgiliath.”

Faramir shook his head uneasily. “If this goes ill Legolas … “

“It will not,” said Legolas. “Trust me.” But the wicked laugh he gave following that phrase did not make Faramir much inclined to his confidence.

“You cannot be serious, Legolas!” said Araval.

He turned to his friend in consternation, heavy brows knit over his eyes. He was perspiring in the late summer heat, and to make matters worse he had injured his leg upon the lists during the tourney in Langstrand, causing him no little discomfort and making him to be less tractable than usual. But the Elf stood tall and composed over him, pouring sweet yellow wine from a cold sweating pitcher into their flagons; he knew wine would soften Araval’s mood and aid him in his arguments.

“I assure you Araval, I am quite serious,” said Legolas sweetly. “Now tell me how sorry you are to have doubted my gravity, and when I am placated I will give you your wine.” He held up the goblet with a sly smile. “Come now,” he coaxed, watching Araval stew uncomfortably in his chair. “Do you not be so peevish Araval; it is unnatural for you and I miss my jolly friend!”

“I would be more jolly were you less aggravating,” said Araval shortly; he leant forward to grasp the flagon from Legolas’ hand but the Elf danced out of his way, laughing. “O you are fortunate, Green Knight, that Malena is away! How she would scold you for mocking me.”

“Say you are sorry,” teased Legolas, holding the wine aloft. Araval gave an aggrieved sigh.

“Very well; you are serious and I am sorry! Now give me the damned cup.”

“Much better,” said Legolas nodding portentously, and handing his friend the flagon. “But you also are fortunate Malena is away, for she would censure you for such language. And before a noble guest too!”

Araval snorted. “I have heard you say worse things,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching in spite of himself. “Yesterday at the tilt in fact, when Hammer threw that shoe – “

Legolas’ delighted laugh rang out like a bell over the shaded balcony. “Yes; was not the look on Cirien’s face delicious! I was not even aware he knew the word I used; he is so proper – “

“And,” chuckled Araval, “when Fenwine threw you off your horse and you ended in a pile of splinters – “

“Desist! It still stings when I sit.”

“It serves you right then Legolas; it is your recompense for meddling.” Araval took a deep draught and sighed. “Ah! This is a good vintage; it is from your eastern vineyards, is it not?”

“I declare you know my wines better than do I,” said Legolas with a smile. “Do you truly think I am meddling overmuch, Araval?”

The Dun Knight sighed, and looked out over the balcony rail to his lands below. The summer had been hot and dry, and his fields had not fared well; Araval was far too kind-hearted a landlord to overtax his tenants and his coffers were low. He knew Mardil had suffered worse, for Ethring had been in drought for two years, and several of his fellow vassals had given up their seats in despair. “Well, I think the time inauspicious to find him a bride,” he said. “Much as he would love to wed he has not the funds for either a match-maker or a wedding.”

“But that is the beauty of it, Araval!” said Legolas cheerfully. He hitched himself up onto the balcony rail and let his feet swing as he drank. The setting sun ignited his golden hair, and etched his white doublet in flame. “I am match-maker and require no fee; and Faramir has offered his Hall for the wedding-feast. If Mardil is amenable he may wed with no disbursement whatsoever.”

“That is generous of you,” said Araval wryly. “Yet I well know you will not let Mardil off so easy, nor will he take so much of you without recompense. What is your price?”

Legolas shrugged. “To accept full willing my choice of bride,” said he. “I have thought long and hard on it, and have found a maid of good temper and thrifty habits who is quite suitable.”

“Indeed!” said Araval, surprised. “Is she agreeable? I would not like to see Mardil in any less than domestic bliss, or at least felicity.”

“Very agreeable! And easy on the eyes as well. Mardil is so handsome; it would not do to pair him with a homely maiden.”

“Hm,” said Araval thoughtfully, taking another deep draught. “For myself I like to see one handsome and one homely in every marriage; that way the children even things out somewhat. For when two handsome folk wed the children are usually quite fair, yet the poor ugly ones like me need a dram of good-looking blood in their lines to produce pretty girls.” Legolas chuckled but did not reply, and the two sat in the sweltering heat and drank their wine in silence for a while. At last Araval’s curiosity got the better of him and he prompted: “Well, is her father a good man? Upright, steadfast, loyal and true? For you join house to house and the line of Mardil son of Múrin is an ancient one and worthy of high standing.”

“Her father is an excellent man,” said Legolas stoutly. “Honest, affable, courteous and well-liked. The kin are models of familial constancy and they are well respected.”

“Hm,” said Araval again. He drained his flagon, and Legolas solicitously refilled it. “Well,” said the Dun Knight slowly, with the air of one who reluctantly concedes to a poorly-worded treaty, “What is the name of this maid, and of her house? Whom have you chosen for our dear friend the Silver Knight?”

Legolas coughed. “Well, I have chosen Elwen daughter of the Dun Knight, O Araval,” he said carefully.

Araval spluttered into his drink, and setting his flagon down with a thunk upon the side-table he stared aghast at Legolas, who looked apologetic. “Elwen!” he exclaimed. “My little Elwen!”

“Yes,” admitted Legolas, biting his lip, but his eyes twinkled. “As I said she is agreeable and fair – “

“Legolas!”

“Her father well-respected and her family of suitable rank – “

“She is fourteen!”

“Fifteen next month,” said Legolas, wagging his finger at the knight, who gaped at him, appalled.

“No!” roared Araval, banging his meaty fist on the arm of his chair and sending the silver flagon clattering to the tile floor. “You are – he is – No!”

“I will pay the dowry – “

“Enough!” Araval staggered to his feet and lurched over to where Legolas sat upon the balcony rail. His face was dark with anger. “Fourteen, Legolas – fourteen!”

“But she is so affable,” protested Legolas, smiling at Araval. “All your daughters are. They are so like you, Araval – well not at the moment – I have never seen you lose your temper before; does your foot pain you so badly?”

“If all my daughters are so affable why Elwen?” demanded Araval, thumping his fist on the balcony beside Legolas. “A shame it is Telinath is walking out with Archad’s esquire - why not Deniel? At least she is sixteen!”

“Elwen is prettier,” shrugged Legolas. “I said I wanted a pretty maid for Mardil, remember.”

“Deniel is the prettiest of my daughters,” said Araval angrily. “With her dark hair and pale eyes – “

“But Mardil already has dark hair and pale eyes,” protested Legolas. “Do you not want your grand-children to be fair-hared?”

“Grand-children!” Araval went white and staggered back, and Legolas hopped off the balcony rail to help him to sit again. “Grand-children by my old friend Mardil! Heaven help me!” He passed a hand over his sweating forehead, and Legolas fetched his goblet and refilled it.

“He would make a good father,” said Legolas. “And an excellent son-in-law. You already know he is a good man, Araval; he is courteous and honest and just and brave. He will make Elwen an excellent husband.”

“He is too old,” said Araval, taking an agitated gulp of wine. “He is forty – “

“And hale and strong yet,” said Legolas. “Pasty?” He held out the platter to the Dun Knight, who snatched one up with ill grace and took a bite. As he chewed he glared at the Elf, who stood smiling and composed over him.

“Damn you, Legolas,” he growled after he had eaten the pasty. “I know Mardil would make some maid a good husband, and some knight an excellent son-in-law – “

“So why not Elwen and you?” asked Legolas reasonably. “O do be sensible, Araval! You like Mardil well enough, and he is a welcome visitor in your home. Your wife and daughters know and like him too. Would it not be wise to have a husband to one of your children you know you can trust? It would save much worry and concern that might occur should Elwen choose a man you know not. And remember I will pay the dowry, which benefits everyone.”

“You would have to pay all three dowries to get me to concede,” said Araval with grim satisfaction, shaking his head and taking another pasty.

“I can do that,” said Legolas easily. “I purchased some peach orchards in Edhellond, and have several docks in Erui. My harvest last fall was quite bounteous.”

Araval stared at him. “You cannot be serious.”

“Again, I am, my friend.”

“Three dowries – “

“Three very generous dowries, O Araval. And I shall make up to Calima the difference in the dowry you paid out for her marriage last spring.”

Araval glared. “You think to purchase my daughters – “

“Not your daughters, O Araval,” said Legolas gently. “Simply your conciliation. For poor loyal Mardil is in straited means and this benefits him as well, you know.”

“We have not the capital for another wedding,” grumbled Araval. “I could not possibly afford – “

“Faramir of Emyn Arnen and his White Lady have generously offered their Great Hall and butteries to Mardil and his new bride,” said Legolas. “And as always the pantries and kitchens of Dol Galenehtar are at your disposal.” He smiled. “And the cellars, too, of course.”

“The gowns – “ spluttered Araval desperately, but Legolas waved one long white hand in dismissal of such a trivial thing.

“Are not the tailors and seamstresses of my demesne renowned for their fine work? My wedding-gift from the Lord of Dol Galenehtar and his seamstresses to the daughters of Araval shall be their wedding-costumes.”

“And the trousseaus as well?” asked Araval angrily. But Legolas gave a sweet smile.

“Silks and satins, velvets and ribbons and lace and pearls. All, Araval.” He gave the Dun Knight a sly smirk. “I will even concede four new gowns for your dear Malena – one for each daughter. When, O Araval my friend, did your lovely Lady Wife last have a new gown, much less four at once?”

“Leave Malena out of this!” shouted Araval, banging his fist on the arm of his chair once more; Legolas laughed.

“And a new doublet for you,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “Now then!”

Araval scowled at the Elf. “You are bribing me!”

Legolas cocked his head thoughtfully; his long pale hair fell like a shining curtain round his shoulders. “Well, yes, if logic fails a bribe usually succeeds.” He grinned at Araval. “I cannot see you lose anything in this, my friend. Elwen weds well to a fine man, your womenfolk are appeased with fine vestments, and your coffers are given time to breathe and recuperate. So? What do you say, dear Araval? Do you concede?”

Araval stared past Legolas to the sere fields below, chewing on his lip. In his eyes was the look of a man pushed past concession into obligation, and he frowned fiercely into his grey-streaked beard. He shook his head again, but with resignation this time.

“Your exchequer will hate you at the end of it,” he said at last, and the Elf smiled. “Three dowries, you said? Very well, but it must needs be Deniel not my little Elwen, for Deniel is the elder of the two and ought to wed first.”

“Very well!” said Legolas cheerfully. “I think Elwen would have been the wiser choice, but any of your daughters will do, Araval; Mardil will be glad to have a girl so fair and happy. I shall have Bandobras draw up the necessary documents.”

“Elwen, indeed!” grumbled Araval. “I think you wished to force Elwen on Mardil to keep her falling in love with yourself.” He held out his goblet to his friend; Legolas filled it without comment. “She is too fond of you, has always been. But I suppose she is young yet and all her calf’s-eyes mean naught to a warrior as old and experienced as are you.”

“Perhaps,” Legolas conceded, lowering his eyes so Araval did not see the laughter in them. He turned away from the knight and sat down, also fixing his eyes upon the fields below; but round his lips played a wicked little smile.

“O you cannot be serious Lassah!” exclaimed Elwen with dismay.

Legolas sighed and thought to himself, “I am hearing that far too often – am I of habit so frivolous then?” But he leant forward upon the allure-wall and looked out over the moonlit plains of Tarlang and did not reply straight way. The maid beside him also leant forward, her small arm brushing the sleeve of his doublet. He could descry above the lace of her bodice her heart-beat, fluttering beneath the pale skin of her bosom, echoed like a drum in the hollow of her collar bone. She worried at her lower lip, a curling pink rose petal against her white face. Her eyes were worried, and aged far beyond her years, and her fingers clutched at the old pitted stonework of the parapet.

“It is true, Little One,” said Legolas after a moment. “Your Lord Father has given his consent for Deniel to be wed to Mardil son of Múrin. Mine esquire composes the betrothal documents at this very moment; he did say to me he wished to waste no time for the Silver Knight has waited long enough.”

“But – but Deniel is but a girl,” murmured Elwen; “even as I am but a girl. We are so young O Lassah; is it possible my Lord Father at last consents to join his children to older lords?” She turned her face to him then, her eyes full of hope and the light of helpless adoration; Legolas winced as though she had hurt him, and likewise biting his lip he shook his head so that his long pale hair floated about his shoulders.

“My child, my child,” he sighed. “How I did press him in this, and beguile him with mine exchequer! Even now the contract is neither signed nor sealed. It is quite possible he shall have a change of heart on the morrow and the betrothal be brought to naught.”

She fell silent again, though her eyes were fixed upon the Elf’s face; he but cast his gaze about the sere and withered fields, reaching with his eyes to the far edges of the rivers in the moonlight, as though by wordless command he could lure the recalcitrant estuaries to water the Dun Knight’s crops. It was hot in Tarlang’s Neck in the summertime, made moreso by the dearth of water coming down from the mountains; there had been little snow that winter, and the wheat suffered. Even beneath a gibbous moon the dark blue shadows shimmered with heat, and the girl standing beside him had grown far too thin, wilting in the unending oven of the great plateau. She shifted a little, lifting her small pointed chin to the errant breeze.

“It is too hot here,” she whispered. “How I wish I were in Dol Galenehtar, O Lassah! How deliciously cool it is there beneath the lindens and oaks of your home; how the white marble mocks the crystalline snows of Mindolluin!”

“There are many demesnes and fiefdoms in Lamedon that broil not in midsummer,” said Legolas absently. “Why even Ethring, sitting upon the Ringlo, is caressed by cooling breezes from the outcroppings of Dor-en-Ernil.”

She turned to him, her eyes flashing. “And think you my sister shall be content to sit upon the high seat in Ethring, Lassah?” she demanded.

“Why should she not?” asked Lassah, his smile crooked. “Has she spoken to you of Mardil, Little One?”

“I wish you would not call me that,” grumbled Elwen discontentedly. “I am not so little anymore, Lassah – you know that well – or at least – you should,” she murmured, and turned away, her cheeks flushing.

Legolas closed his eyes. He could hear the hammering of her heart, could nearly smell her sharp disappointment, her thwarted passion. “You did not answer my question, Little One,” he said pointedly. She drew up her shoulders and ducked her head, and he smothered a smile; she had made that gesture when unwilling to reply since she had been but a very small child, and he missed the little girl she once was, missed dandling the golden-haired sprite on his knee, her fat little legs swinging, clapping pudgy hands with their wee dimpled fingers. It saddened him to see her as she was, slight and small still but hovering ecstatically upon the cusp of womanhood, fair and pretty and with dimples in other, more distracting locales. She was his favorite of all Araval’s jolly daughters, and it pained him to see her so discontent. “Ardor is such an impediment,” he thought blackly; “if I could but infuse a dram of common sense in this morass of romantic twaddle how happy all the little maids might be!”

“Deniel speaks highly of Mardil of course,” said Elwen. She studied her hands on the balustrade, tracing the worn whorls and runes carven in the old stone. She cocked her head prettily to one side, her pale curls clinging to her sweaty throat. “Deniel rarely speaks ill of anyone.” She sighed enviously. “She is so good, so sweet to everyone.”

“Yes,” said Legolas with a smile. “Sweet, like sugar.”

“Sweeter than I anyway,” said Elwen with a frown. She turned her limpid gaze to the Green Knight. “Do you prefer a sweet maid to a pretty one?” she implored, fluttering her lashes at him.

Legolas could not help but to smile. “Deniel is quite pretty,” he chided her. He leant forward again, and laced his long white fingers together. There were servants on the balcony below them; he could see their foreshortened forms moving about, arranging chairs and picking up cups and plates. Elwen also leant forward and peered over the edge. Her arm pressed up against his; she felt hot to the touch. “You are all pretty, you daughters of Araval. It must come from your mother for I see little of your father in you save your merry natures.”

“Mother is merry too.”

“And what do you think she will say to all this?”

Elwen sighed. “O she will be pleased of course,” she said dismissively. “Mother wants to see us wed and wed well. Mardil is an especial favorite of hers for he is so handsome and courteous. And it is nice of you to pay our dowries. I confess we have been on rather short rations lately, and Mother and Ilieth were worried no man would speak for us after Calima’s wedding, for it near beggared us, and her gown had but two rows of pearl-beads.” She turned and thoughtfully fingered the Elf’s epaulettes, studded with shining gems and edged round with silver thread. “Will you see to the gown for Mardil’s bride yourself, Lassah?” she asked, looking up at him with a winsome smile and wrapping a silver tasseled cord round her finger. “The seamstresses and tailors of Dol Galenehtar are renowned for their dainty needlework, and you know well how the daughters of Araval love their finery.”

“So they do,” agreed Legolas smiling down at her. She beamed at him, her eyes sparkling more even than the beadwork on his white doublet. “And the youngest daughter of Araval is prettiest in columbine for it brings out the color of her eyes.”

She blushed again and looked demurely down. “And here I thought such a great Elf-Lord would disdain to notice the vestments of a lowly mortal maid,” she said, teasing. She played a moment more with the cords of his epaulette and said, her voice sober: “It is hard, Lassah, for a very young girl to love a great lord – especially one who is so much her elder.” Her eyes when she lifted them to his mirrored the moonlight; she looked very fragile and afraid. “Could a knight and mighty statesman love a very young girl - one such as I?”

Legolas pulled his shoulder back so that the cord slipped through her fingers. Her hands fell to her side and she looked away, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Elwen,” said Legolas carefully. “I am an Elf and a warrior. Do not I beg you expect so much of me.”

Her small form trembled and her lips quivered. “Ever since I was a babe have you been to me a being capable of all,” she said brokenly. “You are strong and lovely and brave. Nothing is too hard for you.” She turned back to him, desperate in her fear. “The turning of a warrior’s heart to a mere maid – “

“Is yet a mystery to me,” said Legolas firmly. “Is it not enough, Elwen, that I have coerced your father to give of his seed to Mardil of Ethring? Marriages I can arrange; love-affairs however run too deep and are steeds too unruly, too stupid to control. Enjoy your dowry and your gowns and your arranged marriage; perhaps if the stars smile down on you love and passion shall be your portion, but for myself I should wish rather for contentment and friendship, which are longer-lasting, and easier on the heart.”

She tried to laugh, but it caught on an aggrieved sob. “You are so cold-hearted,” she complained, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand; she would not meet his gaze but looked instead over her father’s dark fields. “Do you not believe that love may germinate and bear increase with the passage of time?”

“Why do you ask me questions I cannot answer?” countered Legolas, though his tone was gentle. “Dear little Elwen, do you please attend unto me! Can you not trust me to know mine own limitations? I cannot pretend to understand another’s but I think I am well-enough acquainted with myself. I am not perfect, Little One. I may fail you as well as any other man, mortal or immortal. But will you not trust me enough when I tell you that I shall do all I can for you, all within my limited power and understanding to make sure you are well-cared-for? Can you, Elwen?”

She turned from him and he thought she would run away, for she trembled like a linden-leaf, pale and lucent in the sickly moonlight. But she stood her ground, stifling her tears and wiping them away, though her hands shook. At last she stood bravely before him, her smile firmly fixed, but her lips quivered a little. “Of course I trust you Lassah,” she said; her voice bright and brittle. “I am sorry; I know you can no more conjure love than you could make a new star to appear. It is merely selfishness compels me to so speak. Please do not think anything of it.”

“Let us be friends then,” said Legolas kindly taking her small hand in his own; it was cold, though damp with sweat, and her fingers clutched at his. He peered closely at her and she averted her eyes from his, as though unwilling to let his sharp gaze pierce her defenses. “Now it is late Little One; do you please go unto your sister and inform her of the events I have caused to be put in place; this concerns her deeply, and she may yet in her lovingkindness speak to you words to comfort and encourage.”

“Well if any one can do that it is she,” sighed Elwen, brushing back her hair and squeezing Legolas’ hand before releasing it. “She and I are so little alike; she is so sweet and gentle and good! She speaks ill of no one and has no fault; she is perfect.” She looked sidelong at him then and grinned. “Poor Mardil!”

“Indeed,” said Legolas with a wicked smile. “Poor Mardil!” He watched her as she went within, then turned back to his contemplation of the heavens. He heard her small footsteps patter away down the allure and out of the solar-room, and the servants upon the balcony below had long departed. It was quiet save for the trilling of a nightingale, and the restless crackle of dry leaves against the stone walls. Dry and hot, it was so terribly dry; Legolas had lived through many droughts and still his heart ached for the dead and dying vines and trees, and for the men whose well-being depended upon their crops, withering in the cracked and parched soil. He looked to the stars and sighed. Usually he was glad to see their faces, but he wished they were occluded by cloud, and that cloud by rain, but it was not to be. He resisted the urge to shake his fist at the empty sky, and filling his goblet with wine took a deep draught. It was tangy and lemony on his tongue, and tepid; he grimaced, and sent a brief prayer fleeting to Yavanna to relent and water the earth. “And while you are at it my Lady,” he thought, “will you not lessen Elwen’s ardor, and so constrain her soul from much wounding? I cannot help her, Sindar Prince though I am!” Not wishing to taste the lukewarm wine he set the goblet down and loosened the collar of his doublet. He would not seek his chambers yet; they were stifling, and he was not tired, only discouraged. He thought of poor Elwen and her girlish passion and shook his head, disgusted at himself. His heart was heavy on her account, and he wondered why in all his many years he should still find the thought of true love so peculiar.

“You cannot be serious, Legolas!” exclaimed Mardil.

Legolas carefully schooled his features to reflect simple politesse and decided henceforth to ignore all his friends’ assertions that he was steeped in frivolity. He shifted upon the thickly cushioned seat in the low hall and picked up a beautifully carven silver goblet; it threw back the torch-light and gleamed upon his glittering blue robe. He was thankful Ethring was high enough in elevation to alleviate the heat, and Múrin’s Great Hall was built back into the side of the mountain, and the air was cool and damp within. In midwinter this was an impediment, and Mardil Lord of Ethring was constrained to set the peat-fires burning; but in high summer it was a pleasant change from the oppressive heat outdoors. Legolas turned to his friend the Silver Knight, who was resplendent in a peacock-colored doublet, silver grapevines embroidered throughout, the sigil of the house of Múrin. Mardil of Ethring was staring at his friend in horror, his handsome face aghast.

“I assure you, O Mardil, I am in earnest,” said Legolas, taking a sip of wine. “Ah! Is this from your ten-year reserve Mardil? And you drew this from your cellars just for me! I am flattered; this is a kingly vintage.”

“But – but – that child!” The Silver Knight cut himself off when a servant approached to bring out the pheasant; when the man had retired the knight continued in a low voice: “Do you wish my fellow knights and vassals to think me a salacious letch, a wanton?” He looked angry and provoked and his hands as they picked up the carving-knife were trembling. “To take to wife a young girl, and at my age – “

“At your age you have little time to lose,” said Legolas reasonably. He watched Mardil dismantle the left leg of the bird and said impatiently: “Here, give me the carving-knife; you are making poor work of it in this state.”

Mardil surrendered the knife; he looked very upset. “She is – what is she now – fifteen – “

“Sixteen, Mardil,” said Legolas easily, splitting the breast-skin. The juicy pale meat burst forth with a crack and the Elf sawed through the tender flesh.

“Sixteen!” said Mardil agitatedly. “A child!”

“A pretty child though,” said Legolas with a smile. “What flavor meat will you take, my friend?”

“I am no longer hungry,” said Mardil weakly, and rubbed his face with his hands. Legolas turned to him; the Silver Knight looked a bit wild about the eyes and his face was very white. Legolas lay the carving-knife down and patted his friend’s trembling hand solicitously.

“There, there!” he said, his voice gentle. “You did ask me O Mardil to find for you a suitable bride and I have done so; I had expected thanks not criticism for my choice.”

“And I,” said Mardil, stung, “expected a reasonable age for said bride!”

“Sixteen is reasonable,” protested Legolas. “She knows her own mind at least, and has ceased growing – that is something.”

“But – sixteen – “

“Many maids wed at sixteen,” said Legolas practically. “She is of child-bearing age.”

“Yes, but sixteen-year-old maids habitually wed sixteen-year-old esquires and young lords,” protested Mardil. “She could be my daughter, Legolas! Why I am forty – “

“And hale enough still I am certain,” said Legolas picking up the carving-knife once more. “I shall give you some breast; you are looking slightly pale.”

“I am pale because I am dismayed,” cried Mardil. “Legolas, how could you do this? Have you gone mad?”

“You as I recall laid few restrictions upon my search, my friend,” said Legolas equably. “Would you like a taste out of each breast?”

“I must have said something – “ Mardil racked his brain, his hands on either side of his head, elbows on the edge of the table, a testament in incivility to his dismay. “I said a maid of suitable age – “

“Which she is. Sixteen is eminently suitable. Fat from the neck, some skin? A little leg, perhaps?”

Mardil caught the wicked twinkle in the Elf’s eye and went scarlet. “Legolas! “

The Green Knight grinned impudently at his blushing friend. “I declare Mardil, you are more innocent than she! Come my friend, and eat some of this excellent bird; if for no other reason than to regain your composure. Why Araval’s daughters giggle quite appreciatively when I carve a fowl accompanied by such comments.”

“Araval!” Mardil looked stricken. “And Araval! How could he give one of his precious daughters, his very issue unto me? They are the light of his life, his most cherished possessions! And you have managed to convince him – no, I will never believe it Legolas – “

“He has but daughters and no sons,” said Legolas, putting a generous helping of pheasant on his friend’s trencher. “That is such an impediment for a man, you know, especially in these hard times. He needs sons-in-law he can trust, who can not only raise the fortunes of his family but treat his beloved daughters well. I did argue this to him and he conceded; why do you object?”

“I had thought you would get for me a girl whose father I knew not – not a friend’s daughter!” cried Mardil, greatly distressed. “Araval as a father to me – Araval! He is near my age!”

“Have a potato,” said Legolas comfortingly. “It will make you feel better.” He exchanged a look with his little esquire Bandobras, who hovered by his Master’s side. The Hobbit was engaged in simultaneously pouring the wine and attempting to force his smile into a severe frown. “And mushrooms,” Legolas added on inspiration. “Bandobras made them himself and you must try them, Mardil!”

“But – Araval – how could he agree to this?” asked Mardil weakly, watching Legolas heap food on his trencher. “He has just married off the eldest girl – he cannot possibly afford to pay a reasonable dowry – “

“That has been taken care of,” said Legolas firmly. “Eat, Mardil! You will need all your wits and vigor about you if you are to wed a strong young girl you know.”

“Wait – “ Mardil turned to Legolas, his brows lowered. “Araval has an older daughter – “

“Telinath,” agreed Legolas, filling his own trencher with dark meat and gravy. “But she is spoken for.”

Mardil stared at Legolas in horrified disbelief. “Sixteen - !”

“Pretty as a picture too,” piped up Bandobras, bringing round the wine-jug. “All Araval’s daughters are pretty. And she’s the only one with dark hair you know; she’ll fit right in here with you.”

“But – I – “ Mardil cast about himself helplessly looking very lost. “What – what is her name again?”

“Deniel,” said Legolas, helping himself to some mushrooms. “She is quite agreeable to the entire scheme. Actually she is agreeable to anything; I have never heard her protest; she is very easy. And the wedding will be nice, Mardil; Faramir and Éowyn have agreed to let us use their Great Hall and servants, and Dol Galenehtar will provide the comestibles.” He cast a critical eye upon the brilliant doublet in which Mardil had clothed himself and added, “And I believe I shall request of Dúrfinwen she construct for you proper wedding garments – would you prefer a doublet or a robe and sash? The robe is more of an Elvish tradition – “

“Legolas,” protested Mardil, turning very red. “I am confounded by your generosity – no, truly, I am, my friend; you display every superlative trait in munificence and I should be churlish indeed to balk at your liberality – but I – “ He turned away, deeply embarrassed. “A sixteen-year-old girl!” he muttered under his breath, cheeks mantled. “I should – that is, my neighbors – what – what will everyone think?”

“The men I’ll bet will think you right lucky,” piped up Bandobras with a grin. “Why, a pretty young thing like that – “

“Bandobras,” chided Legolas as Mardil made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Mardil is correct; the difference in their ages may cause some small stir amongst the gossip-hounds in the courts. But no fear my friend,” he said cheerfully to the Silver Knight; “All you have to do is to tell them I was your matchmaker, and Araval to say the same; none shall blame you in this nor accuse you of grasping after the tender shoot upon the vine – do you know I first chose for you Elwen who I still contend is the better match for you, but at fourteen – “

“Fourteen!” Mardil went so white Bandobras feared he would swoon, and solicitously pressed an iced biscuit to the back of the Silver Knight’s neck. Mardil batted it aside impatiently and said to Legolas: “Fourteen! Legolas, they are children – “

“Mardil,” said Legolas calmly. “Your age I deem drives you to impose childishness upon those less aged than yourself, and in my mind that smacks of arrogance. Bear in mind, O my friend, that I have achieved more than two millennia over you and have no opinion of an age-difference of a mere twenty or thirty years. One hundred, one thousand, what of it? You need children and she may provide them. Is it so difficult for you to accept that a younger woman is better able to give unto the House of Múrin the heirs demanded of you? And anyway I have noticed that the younger the daughters of Men the firmer and more pliable are their accoutrements, the breasts and buttocks and legs – “

“Legolas – “ Mardil was scarlet, and Bandobras scarcely less so; he restrained his Master with a laugh though and said:

“O Master! Do not say such things; you’ll send Mardil’s heart a-racing, and that’d be poor tactics considering you’ve arranged the wedding to be two months’ off. That’s a terrible long time for a man to wait for the wedding-night, you know, Master.”

Mardil went red, then horribly white; he murmured distractedly: “The wedding-night!” and hid his face in his hands. “That child, the daughter of Araval – “

“Her name is Deniel,” said Legolas firmly, taking his friend by the shoulder and shaking him ‘til he raised his head. “Listen, Mardil! I have at great trouble and expense procured for you the daughter of one of the most respected and beloved knights of the realm. The girl in question is intelligent, frugal, of good nature and very beautiful. The dowry is generous, the wedding and clothes paid-for, and you have naught to do but to sign Bandobras’ documents provided and allow me to arrange the whole thing. In two months’ time you shall be wed, and I shall make this augury, that in less than two years’ time shall you have for yourself an heir, and I swear unto you I shall personally see to his emergence, that the line of Mardil son of Múrin be safeguarded.” Mardil shook his head, but looked at Legolas and smiled weakly.

“Thank you,” he said brokenly. “I did not think – that is, I had hoped – but – it is likely foolish and you will but laugh at me – “ He cut himself off and turned away, deeply embarrassed; Legolas frowned and cocked his head.

“What is it, my friend?” he asked, concerned.

“Well,” said Mardil slowly. “I had thought – that you should find an older woman – and her heart be drawn to me for she was but a widow or spinster – but – “ He blushed crimson and murmured: “This shall be a girl, untried and of pure heart. What hope have I of drawing such a chaste and wholesome soul to one as I? I have known her since infancy, and she has before her many years to be beautiful and beloved – “

“Stop!” commanded Legolas shaking him. “Why do you denigrate yourself, Mardil son of Múrin? Why should a maid like Deniel not be filled with joy to be united with you? You are handsome and strong and just, and better than that in mine eyes you are good and honest and gentle. What maid could not but give her heart to you? And Deniel is the most perfect of all Araval’s daughters – in fact I aver she is more perfect than any maid in Tarlang – she will be a good wife for you, steady and gentle and pure, and an excellent mother to your children. So chin up!” He refilled Mardil’s goblet and his own and took a deep draught. “At the Fall Equinox shall you be wed, and she shall be garbed in white and strewn round with lace and goldenrod in her dark hair, and you shall be in silver and blue and take her to wife in splendor to spend your wedding-night in the private chambers below Dol Galenehtar’s tower. I have taken care of everything, my friend,” he laughed, though Mardil looked sick. “Trust me!” And he gave a wicked laugh, winked at his jolly esquire, and drained his goblet.

“You cannot possibly be serious, Prince Legolas!” exclaimed Lady Aranath indignantly.

Faramir, overhearing this comment from his position at the head of the table, looked up in consternation wondering at his friend’s response; Legolas however showed to his neighbor a bland countenance, though the small smile that graced his lips did not touch his grey eyes, and although he spoke politely there was edge enough in his voice to attract the attention of his little esquire, who handing round the soup plates with Faramir’s butler widened his eyes and exchanged worried glances with the Lord of Emyn Arnen.

“I do assure you I am, O Lady of Serni,” said Legolas, turning his attention to the soup. “The institution of the matchmaker is an old one and well-respected, and affords the least amount of difficulty when marriages are arranged by neutral parties.”

“When I was a girl it was considered unseemly to let a stranger handle one’s love affairs,” said Lady Aranath with a sniff, looking down her nose at him and pointedly ignoring the little Hobbit who placed her soup before her. “It must be some modern convention that all you young people are following nowadays.”

Éowyn’s coughing-fit neatly disguised her snort of laughter, and she excused herself, red-faced, to her noble guests. “Pepper,” she said hoarsely, and her son Fastred hid his smile behind his serviette. Bandobras solicitously gave to her a goblet of water and the Princess of Ithilien after drinking it declared herself cured, to her lord husband’s gratification, for her interruption had given their immortal guest time to compose his features into decorum. Faramir wondered if Legolas blamed him for this ridiculous dinner-party; after all had he not lured the Green Knight away from the Lord and Lady of Serni during Queen Undómiel’s affair then Lady Aranath would not have complained so severely to Elessar, who with an eye to his own domestic felicity, and a hearty fear of losing Serni’s vote in the council-chambers, assured the harridan that his Steward would cover the offense with good food and fine wine. But really, thought Faramir, he had only been doing what he thought the Queen would prefer in such circumstance; Legolas Thranduilion’s temper was long indeed, but the end of it was a dark and dangerous place, and Lady Aranath did seem to believe that in her advanced years the cheeks of beautiful young men belonged to her questing fingers. “Why her husband rebukes her not I shall never comprehend,” he thought to himself, giving Legolas a cautious look; the Elf had thanked Bandobras for his soup with smooth and dulcet voice but his eyes were hooded. After Aranath had forgiven the Lady of Emyn Arnen and turned peevishly to her own bowl the Lord of Serni raised his querulous voice.

“It is simply a fad, my dear Aranath, simply a modern fad. I believe I speak for the rest of my generation when I say that the joining of heart to heart is a sacred and precious institution and cannot be improved upon by the insertion of politics and economics.” He tasted the soup. “Hm!” he said, smacking his lips appreciatively. “I commend your butteries, O Prince of Ithilien.”

“My thanks, Lord Meril,” said Faramir, glancing at Bandobras who had concocted it himself; the Hobbit but winked and shook his head, disdaining the old man’s praise.

“And what of those instances when a good heart cannot find another good heart of like mind to succor it?” asked Legolas easily enough, letting the butler fill his glass. “Do we allow these poor souls to sadly languish in their unwed state when by the application of logic and reason one might find for them a mate with which to face the world and all its injustices and difficulties?”

“One cannot,” said Lady Aranath severely, shaking her soup-spoon at the Elf-Lord, “apply logic and reason to love.”

“That is very true,” agreed Legolas. “But I do not speak of love, only marriage.”

“You would condemn this couple to a loveless union then?” demanded Lady Aranath growing angrier. Legolas raised his eyebrows at her in surprise, and smiled silkily.

“What is loveless about this union?” he asked, his face innocent, his voice injured. “Do I not love my friend and neighbor Lord Faramir, and do we not make for good companions?”

“You flatter me, O Green Knight,” said Faramir wryly as Lady Aranath glared at him. Legolas’ lips twitched but he fought the rebellious smile down.

“I do not speak of mere friendship,” snapped the Lady of Serni. “I am speaking of love, O Green Knight – LOVE,” she repeated, shaking her spoon so vigorously bits of soup flecked Legolas’ doublet, much to Bandobras’ consternation. “One cannot compare friendship to true love, young man!”

“Do you place love above friendship?” Legolas asked, avoiding Éowyn’s gaze; for he knew she was near abandoning all pretense at propriety. “For Lord Mardil and Lady Deniel are already friends; that ought to be enough to see them through any troubles they might find. And anyway I said naught about love a-purpose. Love is all very well I suppose, but it is fleeting, and has no intrinsic value in and of itself, especially when one considers the economic status of both parties. Mine is a sensible choice and one which will benefit both families, and the seat at Ethring.”

“But you must admit, O Lord of Dol Galenehtar, that love is a rather important ingredient in a marriage,” said the Lord of Serni, concerned. “Why without love the couple might live for years at odds with one another, cold and unfulfilled, growing ever further apart and increasing in apathy, or worse, bitterness.”

“Why should that be the case?” asked Legolas. “All one has to do is to choose a partner of like interests and status, who is also committed to the agenda of land and tithe and holding, and promise to bear up under any difference of opinion, or shortness of temper, or other such mundanity. When one is faced with poverty, or discord amongst one’s tenants, or treaty-disputes, what good will love do you?”

“Love,” said Lady Aranath, lifting her crepey chin and frowning at the Elf, “conquers all.”

“Indeed?” Legolas smiled at the bromide, and his eyes flashed. “Will it end drought, stop famine, arrest war, alleviate illness?” The Lady of Serni glared at him and he added, “Or perhaps my lady intimates that love will aid a couple in overcoming these difficulties.”

“Of course that is what I meant,” said Lady Aranath angrily. “The very idea that love will end drought! Why if that were the case the drought in Tarlang would have long been over, for I have never seen a couple as in love as Lord Araval and Lady Malena!”

“Ah!” Legolas drained his goblet and set it down with a thunk; his eyes sparkled. “You did say unto me in love and not love; shall we two dissect these distinct phrases and so untangle our dispute? I am bewildered, O Lady of Serni, at your rather fluid terminology; you seem to me to bandy about the phrases love and in love interchangeably which is deceptive, for I deem to be in love is a very different thing from loving.”

“Do you!” exclaimed the Lord of Serni in surprise. “For myself I see no difference.”

“Then your Lady Wife is to be either congratulated or pitied,” said Legolas, and his smile slid into a rather evil smirk, which puzzled the Lord of Serni greatly. Lady Aranath flushed, and Faramir said quickly:

“But do elucidate to us, O Lord of Dol Galenehtar, your differing philosophy in this, that to be in love is not to love. I confess I like the Lady Aranath comprehend you not.”

“Even so,” agreed Éowyn, glancing at her husband and pursing her lips to tamp down her smile. “Do you please expose your mind to us, O my Champion; I am entranced by this argument and would so improve my mind by your youthful wisdom.”

“That is a conflicting pair of adjective and noun,” said Lady Aranath coldly. “Certes it is that the Lord Legolas would not be so churlish as to attempt to waylay wisdom from the aged and those with greater experience in such worldly matters and pass it off as his own. And as eldest in this room I do say to you that you err when you declare that to love is to not love; that is directly contradictory.”

“I never said that to love was not to love,” protested Legolas, tapping his lips with his serviette. “Nor did I suggest that to be in love was to love not. Were that the case the Great Hall of Osgiliath should be a lesser place, one in which meeting of mind and heart could not occur, and the grace of Lord and Lady both elude the character of the city, leaving its denizens half-satisfied. Nay; one has but to look at you, O Lord of Emyn Arnen, and your White Lady to see the perfect union of love and being in love, that idyllic state to which all might aspire.” Éowyn blushed but hid her smile, and Faramir gave Legolas an arch look. “Nay; I equate being in love with such frothy things as moonlight and white roses and poetry and bad lute music – the fluttering of the heart and lashes, the thrill of catching a glimpse of one’s spurious beloved across a room.” He flicked his long white fingers dismissively and tossed his pale hair over his shoulder. “Piffle,” he added, rather rudely, and Lady Aranath flushed with anger.

“You say those things as though they were detestable,” said Lady Aranath coldly. Legolas smiled.

“Detestable in that they distract the lover from the beloved’s true nature,” he said. “Think you the young maiden who has fallen for the rake should countenance to admit to his depredations? Or should she see only his fair face and hear his dulcet voice? In truth to persuade one such as she that her beloved plays her false is a useless endeavor, and she weds him, only to discover when her ‘love’ has failed that she is for the rest of her life chained to a scoundrel.”

“Her parents ought to have stepped in to forbid the liaison,” said the Lord of Serni firmly, pushing his bowl aside and looking very disapproving.

“And she should defy her parents’ edicts and elope because she is in love,” said Legolas, rolling his eyes scornfully. “And she is forgiven this lapse because she was in love and therefore excused from any semblance of logic, social obligation, or rational thought. Had her parents truly ‘stepped in,’ as you said, my Lord of Serni, then they would have rather arranged a more suitable connection for their daughter and so prevented a lifetime of heartache.”

“But at times the parents choose as poorly as the children,” protested Éowyn, unwilling to let this go by. “Oftimes their own marriages are unhappy, and they know not how to arrange one for their sons and daughters; or they think solely of economic or social gain and not for the child’s well-being.”

“Hence the revered institution of the matchmaker!” cried Legolas, holding his goblet aloft, for the butler had just refilled it again, desirous of the Green Knight’s good humor in such trying circumstances. “For matchmakers see to the deficit and benefit of both parties and are not swayed by such transient things as damasked cheeks and long eye-lashes.”

“There is more to love – to being in love, rather, than the countenance of one’s beloved, my friend,” said Faramir, glancing at his wife and smiling; she was wearing blue, his favorite color, and her hair was very becoming that evening, coming in shining tendrils down round her fair cheeks; when he spoke again his voice was lower: “Though to be certain the perfection of her form and face certainly aids somewhat in the initial stages.”

“And not the subsequent ones?” challenged his wife, her eyes flashing. Faramir smiled, and lifted her hand to his lips.

“Need you inquire, after three children?” he asked dryly, and Legolas gave an irreverent grin when she blushed.

“There, my lady!” he said to Lady Aranath, his eyes gleaming mischievously; the butler and the Hobbit exchanged uneasy looks. “There you see reflected in this union here the very thing I admire about the Dun Knight and his lady wife. They love and are in love in chorus, so bringing in harmony these very disparate sentiments.”

“I still do not understand you, O Prince Legolas,” said the Lord of Serni, puzzled. “How then do you attribute this disparity to these two phrases? For we use the same word the same way do we not?”

“Nay, it is quite different,” said Legolas as the soup plates were collected. “The verb used, for example, is not the same verb. To love someone is not to be in something, and when one is in love, one loves not – one simply is in it; one merely feels one is in it. To love and to love properly is to place the other’s well-being above one’s own, even at great cost and discomfort – or what is more difficult usually, at niggling cost and irritation – whether one feels like it or not. To be in love is to love the sensation of being in love, of being round the other person, of admiring their form and features, of wanting to spend all one’s time with that person – not for the person’s well-being but for one’s own comfort and the satisfaction of one’s desires. It is in essence centered upon one’s self, not upon the other’s self; it focuses upon how the other person makes one feel, and whether that person responds to one in kind, for if they do, then one feels good about oneself – one feels handsome, or witty, or great-hearted. To love another, to love that other person truly, is to act in such a way that the other’s needs and desires are met regardless of how one feels – not because one has the sensation of clouds beneath one’s feet, or one’s heart thumps when the other is near – but because one has made a decision despite the consequences, apart from any consideration for one’s self or one’s own feelings, to treat the other as a higher order than one’s self, for no other reason than it is the right thing to do. And that,” said Legolas, taking a forkful of fish with satisfaction, “is the sort of love Mardil of Ethring can bestow upon the daughter of Araval – not rose-petals and perfume and sonnets in measured cadence, which are rather silly things anyway – but a vow and a promise to care for her as he cares for his own body, to cherish her and treat her with kindly tenderness, irrespective of his own desires for a wife, irrespective of the way she looks when she is ill, or how her breath smells when they awake in the morning, or how irritable she gets when the children misbehave. I can think of no other man in Gondor who would choose to love in that fashion; indeed one might say I could have chosen any maid in Arda for him and she would be so well-loved as to flout flowers and poetry and boast she had the greatest husband in the realm.”

There was silence then; Lady Aranath still seemed offended, but was unable to argue with the Green Knight’s adamance and frowned at him disapproving, and her husband gaped at him, letting his fish grow cold. Faramir reached beneath the table for his wife’s hand, and she turning to him grasped his fingers and squeezed them, smiling at him, for she recognized he felt as did she, that this love Legolas had spoken of was their own – love and in love in concert, and their hearts swelled, and they desired nothing more at that point than to dismiss their guests and retire them to the privacy of their chambers to explore that concept in depth. And Legolas looking upon them then felt something within his own heart twist; his academic dissertation seemed very flat to him and he took a rather deep draught of wine.

“Why then did you choose Deniel?” asked Fastred in the silence that followed the taking up of the fish plates and the presentation of the roast. He had not dared to speak before then, as he was so very young and felt he could not hold his own amongst these adults dissecting an emotion which he felt he did not fully understand as yet; besides which he did not want Lady Aranath to notice him overmuch. But the thought nagged at him that Legolas could have chosen any maid for Mardil and the marriage would have been good; he liked Deniel well enough but to his mind she was though pretty rather boring; he preferred a girl with a bit more snap to her.

“I did not,” confessed Legolas, turning to him with a wry smile. “I chose Elwen. I merely settled upon Deniel because Lord Araval said Elwen was too young.”

“She is, Lass – Lord Legolas,” said Fastred, turning pink. “I am fourteen as is she!”

“So you are, my Fastred,” said Legolas, his eyes twinkling. “Shall I play match-maker for you as well? ‘Twould be an easy task and hardly fitting my talents.”

“Do you not listen to him, little Lord Fastred!” said Lady Aranath indignantly, reaching over and pinching Fastred’s cheek, much to the boy’s dismay. “Your Lord Father would never allow it I am sure! To let this fellow choose your bride and at your age; and he does not even believe in falling in love! Why it is monstrous; pay him no heed; let him spout his foolishness.”

Lord Faramir opened his mouth to protest thinking Lady Aranath had gone too far, and Legolas would surely be offended; however that good Elf but bowed in his seat to the harridan and said with deceptive gentility: “Ah! My dear Lady of Serni, I beg of you, be gentle with me, for certes it is we do not see in like fashion – and that surprises me not, for you are so young after all. Perhaps when you are old like me you will see things a little differently.”

This had the pleasant effect of flattering the Lady Aranath into a semblance of good humor, for she was stupid and unsubtle and did not catch the insult; Éowyn however shot her champion a dark look, and he with a wicked smile saluted her with his wine glass. In his ear the little Hobbit whispered:

“O you are naughty, Master! When will you learn to behave?”

“When she stops pinching people’s cheeks,” muttered Legolas under his breath, and snorting with suppressed laughter Bandobras distributed the trenchers.

“You cannot be serious, your highness!” exclaimed Meivel.

Meivel’s assertions of his lord’s frivolity were alleviated by Legolas’ amusement at his surprise; it was difficult to tease such a reaction out of his captain and he always gloated when he accomplished it. “I am indeed, O Captain,” he said, smiling and resting his palms on the balcony rail; it was hot to the touch beneath Ithilien’s blazing sun. He turned to Meivel, who stared amazed at his prince, his dark eyes bewildered. The captain’s cheeks were burnished by the heat for he had come in from patrol and still wore his leather armor; Legolas was cooler in a thin linen shirt, and had spent the morning in his shady offices doing nothing more arduous than signing and sealing documents, with a chilled pitcher of yellow wine at his elbow for added comfort. He had pity upon poor overheated Meivel and added kindly, “But do you not go straight way; there is no call for it. The air is broiling and the way long and dry; rest and drink for several days in the cool of the cellars, and make sure the horses are fresh too.”

Meivel shook his head, his dark hair mussed and coming out of its confining plait. He stared out over the shimmering sea of leaves below him and muttered disbelievingly, “Break his leg – “

“Just a little,” Legolas conceded. Meivel frowned.

“How can I break his leg just a little?” he complained. “When I break something, it breaks.”

“Crack it then,” shrugged Legolas. “Just so long as he remains incapacitated.”

Meivel sighed and turned from his lord to the back of the balcony, loosening the brads round his neck. “He will not take this sitting down,” he said discontentedly.

“He will when you are finished with him,” smiled Legolas. “Go get some rest, Meivel.”

“Yes, my lord,” grumbled Meivel, and vanished into the cool blue shadows, his dark helm swinging from his hand. Legolas smiled after him, then turned back to the railing. The noon was bright and the sunlight felt thick and heavy upon his shoulders; the pungent scent of pine and rosemary filled the air. Now and again a breeze stirred up the heady scent of warm loam, and the oak-leaves rattled together unhappily, for even oak trees desire to drink deeply. The Lord of Dol Galenehtar had instructed Hwindiö and his workers to divert streams into the gardens of his demesne to water them, and the cataracts of Ithilien still wet the earth round the vineyards and olive-groves; but the herbs browned and withered in the heat, and the peach orchards and wheat fields in the Pelennor had failed. Lord Gimli of Aglarond had been commissioned to dig new wells in Ithilien and Minas Tirith, for the cattle were thirsty and the crops in need; the parched earth cracked beneath the sun and the poor sweltering farmers labored to get the sluggish Anduin to aid them. Legolas could not see the Dwarvish workers for the low hills obscured them, but he knew they were there, toiling beneath the sullen sun. He hoped Gimli was not too hot and wondered if he should send out another barrel of water for them, and if perhaps his friend might like better cold meats and cheeses in Legolas’ private chambers that evening than the big meal in the Hall. From the Green Knight’s perch upon the high balcony of the tower of Dol Galenehtar one could see the great river, ponderous even at the best of times, but this summer brown and muddy and shallow, and sunk far in the earth. The trout had all fled upstream and with them the water-fowl, and it was a skillful archer that kept goose upon the table, or a wise fisherman who could provide his family with one or two small graylings.

The Elves had fared better, being higher up in the hills where the waterfalls and cataracts sprung from the rocks; deer and goats and boar fled east to the foothills of the Ephel Dúath and kept Andunië and her dogs very busy. Legolas aided his friends in Osgiliath and Minas Tirith as best he could but he was reluctant to draw too much water from his own demesne, for he had many hectares of crops and knew all round would suffer should he let them perish. He did however provide his neighbors with game and fish, and if he heard of some poor family languishing in the stifling heat he sent Kaimelas to fetch them to Dol Galenehtar, to rest in the cool marble halls and refresh themselves at his fountains. There were seven such families under his protection at that moment, and he watched the little children frolicking in the shade of the lawn below him; he saw their foreshortened figures and heard their small voices calling out to each other as they played hide-and-seek amongst the topiaries and statues.

He did not hear the woman approach but sensed her presence, and without turning said: “Well, Dúrfinwen? How did your meeting with the silk-merchant go?”

“He is fragrant as ever, my lord,” said Dúrfinwen coming beside him. “Worse, really, in this heat; I believe he has gone well past the accumulation of bodily secretions and has progressed to fermentation.” She had pulled her thick curly hair up off her neck and was clad in a simple linen shift, and in her arms were several swatches of fabric. “But see here; I have procured four excellent bolts of white damask and three of pale yellow. Also did he offer green and blue to me – many different shades, my lord, but though I call them by their proper names, such as peacock and cyan and robin’s-egg I shall take pity upon your masculine sentiments and tell you they are green and blue – and I think Hirilcúllas and I shall be able to make good gowns out of them all. And,” she added triumphantly, displaying a square of pink satin over her bare arm, “I did as you requested purchase a rose for little Lady Elwen – Hirilcúllas will make it in the latest fashion, and put embroidery upon the waist.”

“You have the lace, the beadwork and boning too?” asked Legolas, glancing disinterestedly down at the fabric she showed him. Dúrfinwen smiled, her creamy cheeks dimpling.

“I shall simply say ‘Yes,’ my lord,” she said. “I will not tax you by describing them to you.”

“Thank you, Dúrfinwen,” said Legolas simply. The two Elves fell silent, watching the children upon the lawn run and play; after a moment several women came out, Elvish and Mortal alike, bringing pitchers of drink and trays of biscuits. The children swarmed them, their voices like magpies chattering and laughing, and the Elvish women led the mothers to the cool shade of the oaks by the fountain. Dúrfinwen smiled again, though her brown eyes were sad; this was such a foreign expression for her that Legolas said, “What is it, Little One? What has pulled down your countenance in this fashion? I beg of you to pine not for ever you are a comfort to me, your bright heart and merry ways; nothing seems so terrible so long as Dúrfinwen teases and smiles beside me.”

“Ah, my dear prince!” she sighed, and set the bundle of fabrics on the balcony rail; they fluttered limply in the hot breeze. “May I not bend but a little beneath this horrid heat? For myself I may bear under it quite well, but when I see ones such as these oppressed by its slow horror my heart wilts within me even as do our crops and fields.”

“Rains will return to Ithilien eventually,” said Legolas, turning his gaze to the north. “I have seen drought before, and always has it been arrested; this is actually not so bad yet; my fear is that it shall continue another two or three years – ‘twill be arduous recovery then, and much shall die.”

“And this, after that blight six years ago!” Dúrfinwen shook her head. But Legolas smiled.

“Hard heat in the summer, and rains in the autumn and winter,” he said. “We have lived in Ithilien fifteen years and you have yet to see this rhythm?”

“Fifteen years is very small shakes indeed,” said Dúrfinwen solemnly, though to her lord’s pleasure her eyes twinkled. “I shall let you know my opinion on the matter when a century has passed.”

“Fair enough, Little One,” said Legolas with a smile. “When do you think the gowns will be finished?”

“If you let us steal Maelaëri and Celelindë from Rúmil the work will go the faster, and we be finished in four weeks,” said Dúrfinwen hopefully, and Legolas laughed.

“Do that then!” he said. “And do you use some of these women there – “ he gestured to the lawn, where several thin and tired mothers worked on their embroidery hoops. “Some bad-hearted folk have said they take advantage of the charity of the Elves; let them sew for their suppers and dispel the rumors.”

“As you wish, my lord,” said Dúrfinwen neutrally. Legolas, desiring to sting her to more ardent speech, replied:

“And Dúrfinwen – I wish that you should go with Meivel unto Tarlang’s Neck, to fetch Araval’s daughter to the wedding.”

He turned to her, his grey eyes sly and twinkling; she looked at him in surprise, though her sweet pink-lipped mouth curled upward, like a rose-petal falling from a fresh blossom. Her dark lashes fluttered, and the bosom above her yellow shift heaved with delighted laughter.

“And do you set me once again against my sisters?” she asked, her eyes shining; she shook her chestnut curls from her flushed face. “Andunië’s anger I can well bear, for she is ever churlish and disagreeable; but would you alight Hirilcúllas’ wrath upon me?”

“And why should you think I do such a thing, O Dúrfinwen?” asked Legolas innocently, though his smile was roguish. “Why should either Andunië or Hirilcúllas think you any less than an obedient maiden of her master’s house?”

“O you are naughty indeed, Legolas Thranduilion!” chuckled Dúrfinwen, brushing her dank curls from her forehead, and scrubbing wearily at her eyes. “Very well, my lord; I shall go with poor lovelorn Meivel, who though sober and conscientious has not yet managed to persuade Hirilcúllas to be his bride. To be certain I do fear me her refusal of his offer was due to his rather abrupt and unsentimental proposal; she does not see that he disdains formal lovemaking. His offer was genuine; why she persists in teasing what she calls ‘a proper offer’ from him I shall never guess.”

”Some ladies equate sentiment with sincerity,” said Legolas, thinking of his conversation with Elwen. Dúrfinwen tossed her head impatiently.

“Verbal frippery,” she said, her voice laden with scorn. “Why had I a lover and he spoke thus to me I should laugh him out of the demesne! Give unto me firm fidelity and a gentle spirit, and let the roses bloom on their own. I can admire the fullness of the moon and the breath of many gardens without poetry.”

“It is for that reason then I surmise lovers have so far avoided you, Little One,” laughed Legolas. “For all your dainty ways and pretty looks you desire such masculine things. Why are you and Andunië not better friends then?”

“She has no sense of humor,” sniffed Dúrfinwen, turning to go. “Besides which she suspects me of debauching Himbaláth when her back is turned.” She looked over her shoulder at Legolas, her dark eyes flashing. “That is your fault, my lord.”

“So it is,” agreed Legolas equably. “But I lay not duty upon any one’s shoulders who is not strong enough to bear it.”

“No more you do,” she shrugged. “And it seems to have worked anyway. I am glad their wedding is pushed off ‘til next year for Hirilcúllas and I have not time to make Andunië’s gown, with all this extra sewing. So if I might become the catalyst in some other romance it is worth it I suppose.” She paused beneath the lintel, the shadows falling blue across her pale skin. “When does Meivel leave, my lord?”

“In two or three days,” said Legolas.

“All the more reason to sew and sew quickly,” said Dúrfinwen with a grimace. “You are certain I must needs go with him? I feel I should be better used home than abroad, for Tuilíndo and Laivánwa are so busy preparing for the wedding, and poor Hirilcúllas though quick with the needle has much to occupy her in high summer.”

“I have my papers well in order, and Hirilcúllas I deem requires much labor – and time away from Meivel – to convince her his presence though dour is far superior to his absence,” said Legolas. He gave her an anxious look. “You do not mind being the wedge again, do you, Little One?”

“It keeps me occupied I suppose,” grimaced Dúrfinwen. “What silliness! Ardor is such a hindrance to contentment.”

“You echo my thoughts strangely!” laughed Legolas. “Take your bits of cloth, Little One, and gather up your little band of seamstresses – bring in Onborn for the boning; he is a master at fitting it though he will not admit it, thinking it too womanish a task. And if you should come across my little esquire in your travels to the work rooms do you please send him up to me; I must needs confer with him regarding the menu for the wedding banquet.” Dúrfinwen picked up her swatches, dipped a quick and perfunctory courtesy and moved into the shadow; Legolas however arrested her by calling: “Dúrfinwen!”

“My lord?” she said, peering back around the corner at him. Legolas smiled, though his eyes were wicked.

“Make sure it appears to be an accident.”

She grinned, and her creamy cheeks dimpled. “Trust me, my lord,” she said, and with a little bob left him.

(A/N: A/N: Several of my readers have requested I write a subsequent story in which Legolas has his romantic notions turned upon his head, and he fall irrevocably in love. I hate to be pedantic, but nowhere in Tolkien's writings did he ever hint at such a thing happening to my favorite Elf. However, I am AU enough to admit it would be a fascinating tale. Is there enough interest generated by my Legolas' assertions that "in love" is a detestable state to warrant creating such a thing? And would anyone be willing to give me some ideas? Just a throw-out; I'll watch my responses to see if I've struck a nerve. As always, thanks for reading! -- Le Rouret)

“You cannot be serious, Legolas!” exclaimed Aldamir of Amon Din.

Legolas turned to him, his face dark with annoyance. “Why does everyone say that to me?” he complained. “For the last time, I am serious, I am serious, I am serious, serious, serious! Cirien, do you please tell Aldamir I am serious.”

“He is, I fear,” said the Yellow Knight, wagging his wisp-crowned head sadly, his crepey jowls trembling with the movement. “And you know, Aldamir, though I doubted him at first now I am persuaded of the efficacy of his schemes. And poor Deniel – “

“If I cannot doubt the Green Knight’s sincerity I shall doubt yours then,” said Aldamir, his face deeply troubled. “Araval is our friend – at least he is my friend – why I thought you loved him well, Legolas!”

“So I do,” said Legolas, raising his arms out to the side so Kaimelas could affix his sash. The late afternoon sun shone through the low windows of the room and struck the Elf full on the chest; the myriad beads and baubles and metal threads and pearls embroidered into the formal robe flashed and sparkled, and the little gems on his epaulettes threw back tiny rainbows over the faces of his two guests. Yet brighter than gems were the Elf’s grey eyes, and his hair like molten gold lay upon his shoulders to rival all the embroidery in his fine vestments. “But loving someone does not mean one ignores his shortcomings. Araval is a fine man – brave, loyal, good-hearted, kind, generous - but he steadfastly refuses to see his daughters as women and not children.”

“But she is a child!” cried Aldamir. “Especially compared to Mardil.”

“I am certain Mardil will be well able to overlook her youth at the appropriate time tomorrow evening,” said Cirien dryly, filling himself a goblet of yellow wine. The rooms in Osgiliath were damp and cool, a relief from the oppressive heat without, low autumn though it was, and the Yellow Knight did not bear the summers as well as he used. “She is quite beautiful after all.”

“Cirien!” Aldamir protested. “Not you too!”

“Come, come!” laughed Legolas, lowering his arms and letting Kaimelas brush his hair. “We are all men here and can well appraise the value of firm bosom and blushing cheek. What man would not want so pretty a maid for a bride?”

“I for one,” said Cirien, smiling in spite of himself and taking a deep draught. “A girl that age and with such vigor and fire in her veins would surely be the death of me.” His smile deepened, and he gave to Legolas a sly wink. “Though I own it should be a death more enjoyable than some.”

Legolas laughed as Aldamir gave to the Yellow Knight a dark look. “What is this O Cirien?” asked the Elf merrily. “Wish you for me to find another bride for this lord of Langstrand? What would you like, fair-haired or dark? What flavor meat do you favor from your birds?”

“My lords both,” said Aldamir disapproving, his cheeks flushed. “I find naught in this amusing to me. And Mardil is my elder yet you seek to pair him with a maid so young and high-spirited! ‘Tis unseemly in the extreme; she shall wear him down and overrun him quite.”

“Well Mardil is still quite hale and strong,” shrugged Legolas. He held his head still as Kaimelas affixed his circlet; the bristling mithril leaves and branches sparkled with gems. “I am sure he will be able to handle anything his little bride chooses to fling at him. And all the merry little daughters of Araval are high-spirited it is true, but also forget not that they are very kind; if anyone is wounded in this venture it shall be the third one.”

“Poor Deniel!” muttered Aldamir under his breath, but Legolas laughed again and said to him:

“She has made her choice; she is a wise maid and a good girl. She may be looked askance for this but I doubt not her marriage shall be a happy one.” Above them the bells began to ring, and Kaimelas went to the window and looked out, the bright sunlight gleaming on his sleek head.

“The ship is pulling into the harbor, your highness,” he said, grinning over his shoulder at his lord and the two knights. “And if I am not mistaken here comes your little esquire now, to chivvy you along to the reception.”

Sure enough the door to Legolas’ dressing room burst open, and Bandobras rushed in, still fastening his waistcoat. “Hurry, Master, hurry!” he panted, very red-faced, perspiring from his run in the heat. “The ship’s here and I can see Meivel standing at the bow, and the ladies are all in a tizzy on the lawn, with Lady Éowyn the worst of the lot though you’d never believe it – I keep forgetting she’s never had a wedding here in Osgiliath before – and the Dwarves have already got into the drink and are singing, which is awful, and Lord Faramir is having such a time with poor Mardil, who is so nervous I think he’s going to faint, really I do Master, the poor man’s quite white and I told him to eat a pastry but he don’t want to get his pretty blue doublet smeared, and Hallas gave him a glass of wine and I think it’s gone to his head for he looks so queer and panicky, and all the men are giving him advice and chaff about the wedding night, and if you don’t make them stop I’m afraid Mardil’s going to bolt like a frightened rabbit.”

“That would be unfortunate,” said Legolas with a grim smile. “I have gone through all this trouble to get him married; I do not wish to be obliged to drag him to the altar by his hair.” So saying he strode from the room, and the two other knights followed.

The air was heavy and oppressive, and the sky was dark with cloud to the north; however the folk so demoralized by the drought did not mark them overmuch, for ever during the long sullen summer had clouds gathered yet yielded not so much as a drop of rain upon their parched and thirsty earth. Gathered upon the lawn by the docks of Osgiliath was a great crowd of folk, colorful beneath the shimmering stuttering sun like a field of wild flowers, and clustered at the edge of the main dock beneath a pale pavilion were the Lord and Lady of Emyn Arnen, hosts to the affair; Mardil of Ethring in pale blue, the agitated groom; the Lord of Aglarond, after his third flagon smiling and beaming despite the stifling air; and sundry knights and lords in attendance by virtue of their close friendship with the Silver Knight: Cirien the Yellow Knight, aged and wise; Aldamir of Amon Din, kindly and loyal; Hallas of Lossarnach and his two strong sons all in brown; and of course the Green Knight, the catalyst of the whole event, resplendent in his formal robe and circlet, his little esquire hovering anxiously round his skirts and continually tugging and rearranging his Master’s clothing. A great carpet had been rolled out leading from the edge of the dock up to the main entrance to the citadel, and it was round this the other folk were clustered, bearing rather withered-looking rushes and branches to greet the betrothed couple and welcome them to the city. Poor Mardil kept fidgeting, glancing round nervously and tugging at the edges of his new doublet; he was as Bandobras had reported very pale, and his hands trembled. But he looked very handsome, his dark curly hair lay in shining coils upon his broad shoulders, and the color of the doublet was flattering to the blue of his eyes. He could not take his gaze from the ship approaching; it tacked crookedly into the little harbor and bobbed heavily, its sails luffing, up to the dock. At last it hove to and everyone could see the sailors running up and down the lines, casting and securing the ship, and when the gangplank was lowered with a thunk Mardil jumped and became if possible more ghastly than before. Legolas turned to him irritably.

“Mardil,” he said, his voice firm. “Do you please attempt to look lest ghost-like when your bride approaches! Do you want the poor maiden to think marriage is a thing to be feared? Come; put your chin up, and pinch your cheeks! You are so pale she shall suppose you too ill to wed.”

“I feel ill O my friend,” said Mardil; his voice trembled. “For twenty years have I longed for this moment, to take me to wife a maid both tender and true; yet never did I think me the maid chosen for me should be younger than my sentiments!”

“Nonsense!” said Legolas. “I tell you Mardil, this is the maid for you. Now! You have said that you trusted me with your life; do you not trust me now O my friend?”

Mardil hesitated, biting his lip; seeing the slow ire in the Elf lord’s eyes he said quickly: “O yes my friend, I do! But sixteen is so young, and – “ He lowered his voice, and glanced behind them to where Gimli and the other knights were chatting and laughing. “They have been giving me advice,” he said, his cheeks scarlet. “About – tomorrow night – and I – “

“Good heavens Mardil!” exclaimed Legolas, his eyes twinkling. “Do you not realize your bride shall be as uneasy as are you? Now come; I see Meivel at the head of the plank. Let us walk together you and I; it is not customary for the match-maker to accompany the bride-groom on this jaunt but I think you have need of my comfort right now.”

“I do that O Green Knight!” said Mardil with a shaky smile, and he and Legolas strode down the length of the carpet to the dock.

Meivel paused at the foot of the gangplank and glowered at them; he looked very hot and sweaty and disagreeable. But he bowed to them both and said evenly: “Your highness; my lord.”

“Meivel!” cried Legolas. “How delightful to see you my friend! I have missed you; I should embrace you but I perceive you are quite sweaty and soiled and my Bandobras should scold me were you to perspire upon my robes. How was Tarlang?”

“Hot,” said Meivel, adding sourly, “your highness.”

“And have you succeeded in your venture, O my sober and conscientious captain?” asked Legolas cheerily. “You have brought the daughter of Araval unto us then?”

“Yes,” said Meivel glowering at his lord’s jolly countenance; he looked very put out.

Mardil shifted from one foot to the other, looking behind Meivel anxiously; he said: “Where are they? Where are Araval and his family?”

“Lord Araval could not come,” said Meivel. He glanced at his lord and said, a little diffidently: “He – er – broke his legs.”

“Legs, plural, not leg, singular?” asked Legolas, looking very startled. “Both legs, O Meivel?”

“Yes,” said Meivel sullenly. “It was … “ He cleared his throat. “An accident.”

“Really.” Legolas raised his eyebrows at him and Meivel scowled blackly.

“Yes. Really. Your highness,” he said.

“Well you are a font of news and ill-favor,” said Legolas, his voice tart. “Where is Dúrfinwen? I have need of her cheer after so sour a reception.”

“She is not here,” said Meivel, glancing at Mardil, who was nervously plucking at his doublet sleeves. “She is in Erui.”

“Erui?”

“Yes. Erui. Your highness.”

Legolas stood very still and breathed in and out for a count of five. “And why, O Meivel my Captain,” he said, his voice forcibly calm, “is Dúrfinwen in Erui?”

Meivel looked again at Mardil; for the first time he seemed uncomfortable. “Well,” he said, and paused.

“Yes?” said Legolas; his voice brooked no further delay. “Well, what? Why is Dúrfinwen in Erui?”

Meivel swallowed, then turned away and ran his fingers through his dusty matted hair. “Well,” he said slowly. “Your highness, my lord. Er … she is with … Deniel … overseeing her wedding.”

Legolas blinked and said very deliberately: “Dúrfinwen, O Meivel, was charged by me to oversee the delivery and wedding of the daughter of Araval. So why is she overseeing Deniel’s wedding in Erui? Did she forget the wedding is to be in Osgiliath?” His voice sharpened and he added, “Tomorrow?”

“Dúrfinwen did not forget that you had charged her with overseeing Deniel’s wedding,” said Meivel looking supremely uncomfortable, and unable to meet Mardil’s worried stare. “Er. She is overseeing Deniel’s wedding to Lord Aldor of Erui. Your highness,” he added, and coughed.

There was a dreadful little silence at this. Meivel seemed embarrassed, and Legolas too stunned to speak; Mardil however looked from one Elf to the other, from the shining silver and gold of his friend the Green Knight to dark sullen Meivel, very perplexed. At last he said, his voice diffident: “O Captain Meivel, I do not wish to seem lack-witted or slow of thought, but did you not say not one minute ago that you had brought with you the daughter of Araval?"

“I did, my lord,” said Meivel, gesturing behind himself; and Legolas and Mardil beheld standing at the head of the gang-plank, wringing her little hands and looking very nervous and frightened indeed, fair-haired Elwen, daughter of Araval.

(A/N: Well, the results of my impromptu – and highly unscientific – poll regarding Legolas’ love life are in:

From LotRFanfiction: Yea

From Open Scrolls: Three “Yea,” though one was a repeat (see LotRFanfiction; this person loves me way too much)

From SoA: Nine “Yea,” with another couple of repeats (same reviewer; do you sense a trend?)

What I find interesting is that none of the people who replied to my query gave an unequivocal “Nay.” I didn’t even get equivocal “Nays.” What does this mean? Are we all so love-starved that we want to live vicariously through some lucky woman who gets into Legolas’ trousers? And am I so shamefully led by public opinion to deliver such romantic sentiments upon the poor Green Knight’s head?

Only time shall tell. I need a plot, first. And I would welcome any suggestions in that arena, too!

Enjoy the ensuing mayhem.

Le Rouret)

“You cannot be serious, Legolas,” said Faramir angrily.

“And why not?” demanded Legolas, his eyes flashing. “It is a flagrant and deliberate breach of contract! She has purposely and with ill intent flouted the agreement made betwixt her lord father and the Lord of Ethring to let Mardil take her to wife. That she has allied herself with this Lord Aldor means nothing. I have the papers myself – mine own esquire drew them up and saw to their signatures – the marriage betwixt these two spurious lovers is illicit and unlawful and I shall not countenance such brazenness, such effrontery to her father who lies injured – to her mother who waits attendance upon him, trusting Deniel to be in Ithilien – to me! Bandobras,” he said, turning to his esquire who hovered uneasily on the outskirts of the impromptu council, “fetch the betrothal documents at once!”

Bandobras glanced from his Master’s angry countenance to the Lord of Emyn Arnen’s equally furious face, shot Mardil a sympathetic grimace, and scampered from the solar as fast as his little feet could take him. Mardil, the unfortunate bridegroom, shifted on his feet uncomfortably and cleared his throat. He did not care for the position he had been thrust into, for he felt ten different kinds of fool, yet could not be angry at the poor girl who sat so quietly in the corner, her future debated by men far greater than she in age and wisdom. He found himself vaguely resenting Legolas, who had orchestrated the entire ordeal; yet was in accord with his friend’s annoyance, for the ridiculous position into which they had both been thrust. He hoped it would be soon resolved, for Mardil was a man of patient habit and tranquil demeanor; yet he feared it would be longer than he had anticipated ere he attained to his wedded state, and what he hoped would be the connubial felicity that followed.

When the great oaken door slammed shut behind the little Hobbit Legolas swung on his captain, who stood propped in a dark cool corner, drinking his third glass of cold yellow wine; he glowered at his lord. “And you Meivel!” said Legolas, his eyes glittering; “What is the meaning of this? I did charge you to bring to me Deniel the daughter of Araval! How could you have let Dúrfinwen run off with the bride? Have you no sense? Are you not the Captain of my militia? Can you not tell one mortal maid from another?”

Meivel looked over at Elwen, who sat, hands clasped tight together on her pink-clad lap; her blue eyes were wide and her face pale beneath its trembling golden curls. In the distance rumbled a low growl of thunder, and the sun faded; Cirien and Aldamir exchanged significant looks, and Gimli glanced out of the window, looking bored. Meivel ran his fingers through his tangled dark hair, dislodging a goodly amount of dust. He took a deep draught from his wine-cup and gave to his lord a sour look. “All mortals look the same to me,” he complained, turning away with a shrug. “What matters it really, one maid to the next? It is not as though either were favorites of Lord Mardil anyway. Will not the fair one do as well as the dark? Were it not for the color of their hair I could not tell a difference.”

“Now, really, Meivel,” chided Cirien reprovingly, but Legolas said, his voice angry: “That matters not to me, O Meivel! ‘Twas Deniel daughter of Araval whom you and Dúrfinwen were to have brought unto Lord Mardil here, not this child – “

“Legolas – “ interrupted Mardil, glancing uneasily at Elwen, who had flinched when Legolas waved an arm at her; she looked very small and fragile and afraid sitting on her chair and his kindly heart went out to her. “It is not Meivel’s fault, nor Lady Elwen’s either, that Deniel has done this to us – “

“Bring her back!” said Legolas to Meivel, who hid his grimace behind his wine-cup. “Get back upon that ship immediately – go to Erui – bring Deniel back here at once!”

“Legolas,” said Cirien, attempting to attain an air of sweet reasonableness, but he was interrupted by Faramir for whom the effort was immaterial. The Lord of Emyn Arnen said to the Green Knight:

“This whole affair is ridiculous, Legolas! Send Meivel back down the river if you like, but have him to take this little girl with him – fourteen, and brought to be wed? It is monstrous, Meivel – “

“She said she was fifteen,” said Meivel sullenly, accompanied by another low rumble of thunder; he shot Elwen a reproachful look, and she swallowed heavily and lowered her eyes.

“I am fifteen,” she whispered; “I was fifteen two months hence. And Meivel did not force me, my lords all; I came to … to uphold my family’s obligations.”

Mardil despite his disappointment looked at her, admiration stirring in his breast. He had not known girls could have the same feelings of familial loyalty and duty as did boys; he knew nothing of girls or what made their complicated little minds work and was pleased to note that Elwen at least took her role as Araval’s representative seriously. But the other men in the room did not see this the same way; Aldamir and Cirien looked appalled, and Gimli deriding; Faramir Lord of Emyn Arnen shook his head with disgust and said to Legolas:

“There; you see what your machinations have done to this little girl? Worse yet than the match-maker’s contract is the child’s compunction to cover her sister’s sins! Barely fifteen and boot-horned into a marriage – “

“I have no intention of boot-horning Elwen into anything,” said Legolas hotly. “But I shall take the horn, and the strap as well, to her sister and that saucy maid Dúrfinwen for their impertinence – “

“You cannot rescind a marriage made in another demesne,” said Cirien carefully. “Need I remind you that you are a vassal of Gondor as am I? To annul the marriage betwixt Aldor and Deniel supersedes even Elessar’s authority, my friend; you have no right – “

“I cannot imagine Mardil would want Deniel anyway!” exclaimed Aldamir, very distressed; Mardil’s cheeks turned a little pink when he realized the implications of Deniel’s elopement, and he caught Elwen’s eye; she looked terrified, as though he would blame her for it. He longed at that moment to reassure her he felt no rancor toward her, nor to her sister either; but everyone was shouting and interrupting each other and he felt it might be more politic to keep his mouth shut. Aldamir looked extremely affronted for Mardil’s sake and said indignantly: “Why to run off and in this hectic fashion, upon the very eve of her marriage! It is an insult to Mardil for her to waste her maidenhood so and I for one would not wish my friend the Silver Knight, good-hearted though he is, to accept damaged goods! But I agree with Faramir, O Legolas; her family’s honor or no, little Elwen here is under no obligation to fulfill her sister’s contract. Have Meivel send her home.”

“Send her back by all means,” said Legolas, exasperated. “Meivel, tell that captain to reprovision and load all the girl’s trunks back in the hold; I am determined she shall not stay in Ithilien to suffer this indignity a moment longer than absolutely necessary!” Elwen blanched and turned away, and Mardil regarding her was cut to the quick, for she was mortified and afraid. “It is ridiculous – a Captain who cannot tell a fair-haired maid from a dark one – “

“Well, you yourself said it did not matter, Legolas,” said Gimli, waving his hand at Elwen dismissively. “One daughter of Araval or the other; it is immaterial – “

Mardil saw Elwen turn very red then, and upon her face was a look of deep humiliation; and in his benevolent heart he felt the tight grip of righteous anger generated by the plight of the weak and helpless, which translated into a surge of fury against the men who so callously belittled poor Elwen’s selfless sacrifice. Rarely did the Silver Knight raise his voice to his enemies much less his friends but he could not stomach such injury to the little maid’s sensitivities. “ENOUGH!” he bellowed, and even Legolas jumped, his grey eyes wide with surprise. All stared at him amazed, for ever Mardil was a clement man and to see him so angry was astounding for none had seen him lose his temper before. But he stood before them, eyes flashing with fury and jaw tightly clenched, his hands in fists, breathing heavily through his nostrils like a bull.

“This has gone on long enough,” he hissed, indignation standing out all over him like hedgehog’s spines. “To debate the qualities of one maid to the next is one thing but to disparage a girl to her face begs even the basest of misconduct, and I shall not countenance such impertinence to her person.” He turned to Elwen then, who shrank back in her chair, her lower lip trembling; feeling his heart constrict with pity he went to her and offered her his hand. “Come with me, O Lady Elwen!” he said, his voice gentle. “I shall take you from these men who seek to barter you and your sisters as one trades sheep for gold; this pastime of match-making turns you poor maids into chattel.”

Elwen hesitantly placed her hand in Mardil’s; her fingers were very small and cold and Mardil was dismayed to feel her trembling. Legolas stepped forward then looking contrite, though his lips twitched with some secret amusement, which served only to make Mardil the angrier; the Elf removed his circlet, and ran his hands agitatedly through is pale hair. “I did not mean to make you feel that way,” said Legolas looking apologetic. “It is just that the contract has been breached and now we will have to start over.” He looked down at Elwen, who turned away from him. “You ought to go home, Little One,” he added, not unkindly. “Meivel ought not to have dragged you up here to be the pawn in this awful little game.”

Elwen looked up at him then; her eyes were aggrieved, and clouded with unshed tears, and Mardil became even angrier. “I would hardly call this a game, O Green Knight,” he said coldly, and tucked Elwen’s tiny hand in the crook of his elbow. “And to my mind she and I have both been made the dupes in this. I shall take mine own blame but do you lay none of its consequences upon Lady Elwen’s fair head!” So saying he quit the room, taking Elwen with him. He even contrived to slam the heavy oak door behind him, and in the silence that followed Faramir cleared his throat, and glanced over at Legolas, who was regarding the door with a singularly blank look on his face. Before he could speak Gimli stumped over to Meivel’s corner where the Captain still sat sulkily and drank; the Dwarf appropriated the wine skin of him, and an extra cup, and filling it up took a deep swallow.

“That went well,” he said cheerfully.

************************************************

Mardil was greatly discomfited by these events and hardly knew what to think or where to go. The Keep of Osgiliath was not unknown to him but they had been hurried so unceremoniously up the path through the mass of spectators and through the gate that he was not entirely sure where in the barbican they had ended up. Not wishing to come across a crowd of people and further debase the poor girl whom he pulled alongside him he found the first available empty room, bundled her in, and upon following her shut the door to. He looked round to assure himself the room was indeed empty; it was a small servant’s chamber he saw, unused but clean, with another door at the other end, and an ancient arrow-loop, pock-marked and narrow, through which he could glimpse the roiling heavy sky. Another rumble of thunder echoed through the Keep and a hot gust of air hissed into the room.

He turned to Elwen, still seething with anger on her behalf, and stung by his spurious betrothed’s jilt. She flinched, alarmed, though he was relieved to note she stood her ground; she trembled but did not step back, standing before him in her new columbine dress, that ought to have mirrored her roseleaf cheeks; she was pale though, and her blue eyes glimmered with unshed tears. “Lady Elwen,” he said earnestly, taking one small cold hand in his own; his hands felt very big and clumsy holding her tiny fingers. “Do not I beg of you weep on my account, or for the inelegant and discourteous words spoken in that other room! To be certain this is a problematic occurrence and I am sure the lords who spoke did so out of perplexity and confusion; no one is angry with you, and you have no reason to be frightened or affronted.”

“Do I not?” she demanded; her voice wobbled but she lifted her little chin and her eyes flashed. “I have at expense of my lord father’s health, my mother’s good will, and all my friends and acquaintances in Tarlang quit my home to fulfill my family’s obligations to you, Lord Mardil, and to Legolas of Dol Galenehtar, and Faramir of Emyn Arnen, and here I am met with men who tell me to run along and play, as though I had not put my hair up or started wearing long skirts!” She snatched her hand from his, and he let his arms fall to his sides, staring at her in amazement; he did not realize she was angry too. “Is it not shameful enough Deniel has run off with Lord Aldor, who is fat and bearded and tells awful jokes and serves tripe for breakfast; now must I be sent home in ignominy because my betrothed and his friends think I am but a bit of mislaid baggage? Oh,” she said, gritting her teeth and clenching her fists; her cheeks flushed and she stamped her foot, her little slipper clicking on the rutted stone floor. “I will not go home – I will not. I care not what Lassah or Lord Faramir or Lady Éowyn or anyone else says – I will not go back to Tarlang in disgrace!”

“Very well; very well!” said Mardil placating her; beneath his words came another rumble of thunder, louder, accompanied by a brilliant flash of lightning. “You will not go back to Tarlang; Meivel is a surly companion anyway and I am sure you would find a better traveling attendant anywhere else. I will tell Lord Legolas and the others not to send you back; I will speak for you; do you not bother your head about it. You do not have to go back to your father’s house if you do not wish it.”

“Do I not?” She brightened then, and Mardil with surprise noted how when she did not frown she had a dimple in her cheek; then she gave to him a hesitant smile and the dimple deepened. He had never noticed it before and he found it rather distracting, especially with the pale gold coil of hair trembling by it, lying across her neck and trailing down to her creamy bosom surrounded by a froth of lace. He blinked in astonishment; when had Little Elwen, this small girl-child, youngest offspring of his friend Araval, developed a bosom? Were she and her sister as Legolas had averred truly women and not children only? He could see her heart-beat in the little dent between her collar bones; it fluttered the silver chain she bore, and he realized he could mark her breaths with the swell and fall of her breasts. Blushing in confusion he tore his eyes away and forced himself to look her in the face; she was smiling, her eyes though yet shining with tears sparkling and blue like a cool lake shimmering beneath the sunlight. “Well I would not mind going back if you insisted, Lord Mardil; for you as I are but pawns in this, and you are the only one so far who has not treated me as though I were the one running away, for I am running toward and not away from duty and none of those men seem to see that at all! And I feel so sorry for you – I do, you know – it must surely be a mortifying thing to have one’s betrothed run off like that. Deniel is not seditious as a rule you know; of all my sisters she is the one that is always doing just what Mother and Father say – but I am afraid this little bit of mutiny got into her blood somehow and now it has gone to her head – really, I should have thought Telinath would have run off by now, but with the dowries – do you know, my lord, the dowry is very large? I am not certain but I believe it is for that reason Aldor did appeal to Deniel’s heart and she being enamored of him – really I do not know why; he is not handsome at all, and as I said serves tripe at breakfast, I do not mind smoked fish but tripe I cannot bear – but her wedding-gown is quite lovely; Dúrfinwen saw to that of course, and she brought Celelindë with her to see to the sewing, and all our trousseaus were finished by the time Meivel came to Tarlang; even Mother’s gowns were finished, and she has not had pretty clothes in ever so long! But I am fondest of this one,” she said, proudly smoothing the embroidered waist, and touching one errant curl with her small hands. “Do you not think it a pretty dress? I love pink, and Lassah says it is such a good color on me. Do you like my dress?”

“I – it is a very nice dress,” said Mardil, a little confused; to his knowledge she had never spoken more than three or four words to him at a time and he had no idea she could chatter so; she reminded him then of Lord Legolas’ esquire. “It is very pretty.”

“Why, thank you, my lord!” exclaimed Elwen, and her eyes shone like stars; her red lips smiled at him and another enchanting dimple appeared. “And wait you ‘til you behold my wedding gown, my lord; such a confection it is, all in cream sateen with three layers of hand-tatted lace and pearl buttons and epaulettes of silver and crystal beading; the bodice is cut rather low here – “ she drew one pink-tipped finger across her bosom and Mardil went scarlet “ – and the waist is high-set, with two rows of gold trumpet beads – “

“I – trumpet beads?” said Mardil, very perplexed; he had no idea what she was saying, and was at a loss as to what to say to her.

“Yes,” she said, beaming at him; her face when she smiled was like the newly risen sun, and her blue eyes danced. “I have never had such pretty clothes before! And I see Lassah got to you too, my lord,” she added, twisting her finger round the ribbon point at his shoulder; he flinched back from her touch. “Such a pretty shade of blue! And is it not comforting we both have blue eyes? I like blue eyes you know; I am the only one of my sisters with blue eyes. Deniel has grey eyes like Lassah’s which are very pretty, but do you know I think it is a good thing she has run off with Aldor, for if you wed to her you would not know whether your children would have grey or blue eyes, or even brown ones like Father’s, but anyway I do not think she would have made you a good wife at the end of it, my lord, for she is perfect, and as you know perfection is such a hard thing for a man to have in a wife; it gives him no purchase should they quarrel. But I will make you a good wife,” she insisted, fixing him with her limpid eyes, smiling endearingly up at him. “I am not so tractable as Deniel nor so practical as Telinath nor so good a cook as Calima, though I am a good cook you know, but it is a pity for your butteries are renowned and I shall put my talents to waste, though perhaps I might cook for you on occasion, but I will be a good wife to you anyway and I will never quarrel with you, and I know my numbers and sums my lord so I am rather clever and I will help you run things at home so you might not be so busy, and I love children so I want to have many of them, if you do not think four is too much – “

“Wait,” said Mardil, his heart turning to lead in his chest. “As I have said to you, O Lady Elwen, there is no call for you to forfeit yourself on my account; that your sister has chosen this – this tripe-server – “

“Aldor,” said Elwen, opening her eyes wide innocently. “Though you ought not to refer to your brother-in-law as a server of tripe, my lord; it sounds ill.”

“Aldor,” said Mardil hurriedly, feeling very bewildered. “That Deniel has chosen Aldor in preference to me is immaterial; the contract states – “

“O but the contract is still in force,” said Elwen anxiously, touching her lip with the tips of her fingers. “You see – “ she blushed and looked up at him through her eyelashes with a hesitant smile. “I read the contract – the Perian did not use a name for the bride; he only wrote The Daughter of Araval. So really my lord it is a binding contract yet.”

There was a brilliant flash of lightning followed immediately by a horrid crack of thunder, and they both jumped, looking to the arrow-loop nervously. Then in the silence that followed they could hear voices coming down the hallway; strident over all of them was the voice of that awful harridan, the Lady of Serni. She sounded affronted and officious and Mardil realized with a guilty pang that if they were caught alone together Lady Aranath would certainly make it look worse than it really was, and he had compromised Elwen greatly by shutting the bedroom door. In a panic Mardil took Elwen by the arm and hauled her to the other door, hustling her in and hurrying after her, shutting the door to; it proved to be but a small closet filled with baskets and boxes, very musty and close and dark. The only light came from the edges of the door in the dim room beyond; they stood silent, listening to the voices pass in the hall beyond, breathing rather heavily. After a moment Mardil realized how close they were and drew back. It was stiflingly hot and he was perspiring in his fine blue doublet. “Lady Elwen,” he began, but she stamped her foot as best she could in those close quarters, and put her hands on her hips, frowning at him and thrusting out her lower lip, and her darling little dimple disappeared entirely.

“I am not Lady Elwen to you,” she said angrily. “I am Elwen. Or do you find for me some tender appellation – I care not what it is so long as you do not call me Buttered Muffin or My Little Cabbage or Little Red Berry or some such nonsense as I hear from my brother-in-law – why Calima lets him call her these things I shall never comprehend! I think a husband ought to call his wife some sweet gentle thing, like Dearest or My Best Darling or even My Love which is old-fashioned but still very sweet; please do not make me to sound like a dish on the sideboard!”

“But, but,” said Mardil, beginning to panic. “I cannot be wed to you – you are not the maid promised me! Lady Elwen – Elwen, then,” he said hurriedly, seeing the light of anger in her eyes and anxious to placate her, and perhaps tease another dimple out of her. “Elwen, do you please listen – contract or no, the Lord and Lady of Emyn Arnen, the Lord of Dol Galenehtar, your noble parents, all have contracted in the spirit of confidence the expectation I be wed to Deniel Daughter of Araval, and though I am pained to rebuff you I fear I cannot be wed to you.” To his dismay he saw her eyes fill again with tears; the flickering lightning coming through the door-jamb glinted on her face and upon the fine beadwork and embroidery, and her pale creamy skin. “I am too old for you, O Elwen,” he pleaded, catching an errant hand in his own; he was once again startled by how small they were. “I am forty – “

“Aldor is thirty-two,” sobbed Elwen, the tears flowing down her fresh cheeks. “And my Lady Mother is nineteen years Father’s junior. To wed an older man must run in our family, my lord.”

“But – “ Mardil racked his brain for a suitable rebuff, but all he could think of was the injured look on Elwen’s sweet face, and how her lower lip trembled in grief. “O please dear Elwen, do you not be so sorry – “

She snatched her hand away and drew back from him. “I offer to you myself,” she cried, dashing her tears away. “My youth, my purity, my untouched form; it is all for you. And still, my lord, you degrade me by your repudiation – “

“No – “ begged Mardil greatly distressed, reaching for her; but she turned grasping for the closet door, though her slipper caught on a rolled-up carpet and turned her ankle, casting her to the side. Mardil caught her ere she could strike her head upon the wall, and when she scrabbled ineffectually upon the hard slick floor he scooped her close, not wishing her to fall.

In the sudden stillness he could hear the steady patter of rain, and the low grumble of thunder; yet overall his ears were filled with the sound of her breath, hurried and panicked and snagging on her sobs. She turned her face to him then, and so close had he clutched her their lips brushed together.

Now Mardil was a temperate man, sober, upright, careful and courteous in all things. His father had been a model of decorum and had ere his unfortunate and untimely demise imparted upon his son the importance of good manners and unimpeachable deportment. His Lady Mother in her turn had impressed upon Mardil the concept of every maid’s entitlement and privilege of integrity and the inviolability of decorum and modesty required by a landholder. Mardil also did not drink to excess, nor run to gambling or gaming, and had not to any acquaintance’s knowledge ever used an inappropriate phrase or foul word in his life. He treated all women, matrons and maids alike, with courtesy and careful regard for their persons, giving naught but the briefest of caresses, prudently avoiding all threats of inappropriate behavior. Therefore he was unprepared for the feel of the soft giving flesh beneath his fingers, the warmth of the girl’s breath upon his cheek, the press of her breasts against his own. He stared down at her in a combination of shock and chagrin, only to see those brilliant blue eyes gazing up at him, limpid, soft, her voice husky and tremulous over his lips:

“Mardil – “

He could feel the swell of her bosom as she breathed, pressed so tight against him; then to his bewilderment he felt her small arms snake round his neck, twining little fingers into his dark curls. “Mardil,” she sighed, and pressed her lips against his.

He had never kissed a maid before; had never felt the giving flesh beneath his hands, never realized the rumors that ran amok were true – that young women spurned stays in the heat of the summer – had only ever felt the stiff corseted women turned about on the dance floor, prim, proper, restrained and reticent. The thunder rumbled again and he found himself cautiously answering her kiss, curious about the taste of her lips, the feel of the soft mouth beneath his, so foreign to his senses, so beguiling in its peculiarity; she sighed beneath his kiss and he discovered to his rather muddled amazement he had twined his fingers in her tangled golden curls. They were soft and flossy beneath his touch, and before he knew what he was doing he was kissing the curls that lay across her collar bone and throat, their silky texture titillating beneath his lips. He felt frighteningly free then, as though he had loosed his fetters to fall flailing to the earth far below; but it was an exhilarating fall and he did not want it to stop. “Elwen!” he exclaimed, his head awhirl. “Elwen!”

“Yes!” breathed the maid, her fingers clutching his hair, his shoulders, his back. “Mardil!”

He pulled away, his mind spinning; all he could see was her face, flushed and eager, and the flickering lightning from the edges of the closet door. “Elwen!” he gasped, framing her face with his hands; her cheeks quivered beneath his touch. “I have never – I have not – Why have I not seen you before, seen your rose-blossom lips, your starry eyes? Where have I been, that I have foresworn your hair golden like the corn’s flax, your skin like satin, like living ivory?”

“You were not looking, my lord,” said Elwen, her breath grown short; far from fearing her panting desperation he kissed her again, touching his tongue to hers, thrusting his hands in her golden hair and feeling her respond likewise, her little fingers trailing down his long tumbling curls. He did not realize he had pressed her against the closet wall but only knew the weight of him upon her, the yielding suppleness beneath his chest and thighs, her open lips and harsh breath, the scent of lavender and rose petals and sweet grass. “Your eyes,” he moaned against her mouth, his hands on her hips, her waist, her back. “They are like stars, like the heavens, like the flickering depths of the ocean – “

There was another crack of thunder, and coinciding with this the bang of the closet door opening. Mardil looking up beheld to his horror the Lady of Serni, crumpled, wrinkled and dried and disapproving, and beside her the Lord of Dol Galenehtar, in his white bejeweled robe mithril-crowned, a startled look on his face. There were other people there too, crowded behind them, craning their necks to see the spectacle.

“Good heavens!” exclaimed Lady Aranath, whipping out her handkerchief and pressing it with vigor to her nose. “How shocking! Such debauchery! That poor maid! Such a shame! Well he must marry her now and no mistake, for after word of this gets round her reputation shall be fair ruined, her sister’s iniquity notwithstanding!”

“You amaze me, O Lady of Serni!” said Legolas turning to the old termagant. “Why here is the perfect exemplar of being in love; how may you disparage such ardor? Let them wed and wed well; can you not see their passion lies but for one another? Indeed,” he added, casting a contemplative look at Mardil’s and Elwen’s limbs intertwined, particularly the maid’s rose-colored skirts disarranged by the Silver Knight’s breeches, “I might impose upon them a wedding more urgent than the one designed, for I doubt me we should compel these two to let each other be during the long dark hours betwixt sun-down and sun-rise.”

Elwen let out an indignant squeak; Mardil desirous of her protection clutched her but closer, eliciting a sigh of anticipation from his betrothed; by the Lord of Dol Galenehtar’s side the little esquire said solemnly:

“Better get the Lord of Emyn Arnen, Master; these two have the look of them what won’t wait for morning!”

Legolas grinned wickedly at his friend Mardil, who stared aghast and mortified, though his arms still held the little maid close, and his face was half-obscured in her fair flossy hair; and the Lord of Ethring, the Silver Knight, renowned for the graciousness of his tongue and impeccable speech in public, but uttered this word to Aranath Lady of Serni, and Legolas, Prince of Eryn Lasgalen and Lord of Dol Galenehtar, the Green Knight of Ithilien: “Er.”

“There we are then,” said Gimli Lord of Aglarond from where he stood behind his friend the Green Knight. He turned and toasted Meivel, who still held the wine-skin. “To the barrels!”

“And well do I deserve it,” grumbled Meivel, and casting the lovers a dark look he and the Dwarf stalked away.

“You cannot be serious, Legolas,” said Faramir in surprise.

The Lord of Dol Galenehtar took a deep draught of rich red wine, and stretching his long legs out to the flickering flame he sighed, and set the goblet upon the little table next to his armchair. Outside in the dark the rain hammered down, gray and pewter and iron and cold, obscured by thick rich mist and heavy leaden cloud; the leaves bent beneath the weight of water, and the streams and estuaries choked and chuckled down to the west, to the heavy overburdened Anduin below, sluggish still, but swollen and brown and foamy, and the tailraces roared and boomed red-brown and weed-choked. To the East rumbled and grumbled thunder, half-hearted and heedless, and the bells of the campaniles were muffled in the mists and heavy downpour, stifled and insubstantial. But in the Green Knight’s offices the fire flickered warmly upon the hearth, and in the shivering shadows sat not only the Elf Lord himself, quiet and subdued, draining his heavy goblet, but his friend the Lord of Emyn Arnen, Prince of Ithilien, himself swathed in warm fur and imbibing the strong purple wine of the Green Knight’s vineyards, and Gimli of Aglarond, nodding and drowsing in the warmth of the cremiére.

“But I am serious, O Faramir son of Denethor my dear friend,” Legolas said; his voice was distant, his eyes hooded. “Elwen has loved – or been in love, rather – with Mardil these past three summers, sighing and pining after him in the best tradition of all those unctuous love-ballads despite her habitually commonsensical and curly little head. She did pour her heart out to me last winter, begging me to give unto her some trick, some secret, some Elven magic to induce love of the Silver Knight. She did also entreat of me a love-philter, saying Liquíseleé of a certainty could concoct a potion to make Mardil fall in love with her.” Legolas shook his head, his mouth quirking into a half-smile. “Love-philters!” he chuckled, refilling his goblet. “The poor silly child.”

“Court gossip set her eyes on you, my friend,” said Faramir disbelievingly. “Why even Araval did say to me not two seasons ago he feared his youngest would break her heart over ‘her Lassah,’ so enamored was she of the great Elf-Lord.”

“Pah!” Legolas took another drink. “She loves me it is true, but it is the love of a child for a being she sees as marvelous, wonderful, larger than life. To her I could do any thing to which I put my purposes; for that reason did she appeal to me to turn Mardil’s heart to hers. Besides which,” Legolas added with a smile, “it were better for her, for her reputation and social standing, to be seen as a maid with an unrequited yearning for an Elf-Lord, than to be known to pine for a forty-year-old knight with very little sense about his own attractions.”

“So she encouraged this deception!” exclaimed Faramir shaking his head. “Astounding!”

“More astounding than that was this plot of hers,” said Legolas. “O yes, my friend; I say of hers and not of mine; for did she not know full well how Deniel made calf’s eyes at Aldor of Erui? The tripe-server himself was full cognizant of this, though his sire lost the docks in a wager twenty years hence and he desperately needed a good dowry to regain them.”

“The docks – “ began Faramir in growing comprehension, and Legolas laughed.

“Yes indeed!” he said merrily. “The docks of Erui, that I purchased not six months ago! Dúrfinwen made certain they were written into Deniel’s dowry, and that, O my friend, did establish Aldor’s resolve.”

“But you have lost the docks then,” said Faramir, concerned. “You are rich I know, O Prince of Eryn Lasgalen; but your coffers are far from bottomless. How do you salvage such great losses? The docks, the peach orchards to Calima’s husband, the gowns and food and wine!”

“As match-maker I am accorded dock-fees,” said Legolas with a smile, refilling Faramir’s goblet. He glanced at Gimli, who was snoring, and decided against giving his Dwarvish friend any more to drink; it would be difficult enough to roll him to his rooms. “And as Ethring and Tarlang join together I shall be more than accorded ample reparation for dowry and gown.” He gave a sly smile. “Did you realize, Faramir, that Aldor of Erui’s cousin owns the finest silk-houses in Eryn Vorn?”

Faramir started, and laughed in amazement. “What; that fragrant fellow?” he exclaimed. He shook his head disapprovingly, though he smiled. “I had no idea the silk-merchant was Aldor’s cousin.”

“Well, why do you think he sold me all those cloths at such good price?” asked Legolas easily. “He knew it would be in his best interest to clothe both Araval’s and Mardil’s kin.”

“And Calima of Tarlang’s husband signed that trade accord – “

“To the benefit of his own and mine own demesnes,” said Legolas comfortably, draining his glass; it was his fourth and he was feeling very comfortable. “He was unsure to start, but when I offered to supplement Calima’s dowry to reflect that of her own sisters’ – “

Faramir shook his head, and took a deep draught of wine. “You are wicked, O my friend.”

“You are no less wicked,” said Legolas, winking naughtily. “Provoking Mardil like that – !”

“Well he does not get angered easily,” complained Faramir, taking a pastry. “He is so passionless, so clement – “

“Passionless! Ah, but you did not catch him with his knee between Elwen’s thighs,” said Legolas with a smirk, holding up his goblet. Faramir laughed despite himself, and touched the edge of his goblet to Legolas’ with a clink. “The look on his face - !”

Faramir shook his head and took a deep draught. “I must admit to you my friend,” he said, closing his eyes and resting his head against the back of the chair. “I did doubt me you should succeed in this venture, for you had both Araval and Mardil set against you. But once again you have proven to me to be capable of near anything.”

“Well I cannot be held responsible for all the success of this venture,” chuckled Legolas; “nor the inception of it! Little Elwen did the lion’s share of the work, including goading me into it.” He sighed again, and his smile went sideways. “Poor Elwen.”

Faramir opened his eyes and gazed upon Legolas in mild astonishment. “Why poor Elwen?” he asked. “She got what she wanted did she not?”

Legolas roused himself and said, “O I did not mean poor Elwen now – she has as you did say get what she wanted; indeed what she has wanted for three years now; likewise has Deniel gotten her wish and wed her beloved tripe-eating Lord Aldor. I was more thinking of Elwen two years ago, coming to me, sobbing, begging her Lassah to make Mardil love her.” He shook his head and refilled his goblet. “I told her I could not make a man fall in love with her – there are no love potions, no spells or inducements I know of that would cause the Silver Knight to see her as anything but Araval’s youngest child – yet she wept, and clung to me, and told me she should surely die, did she not win for herself Mardil, the best and handsomest knight in the realm.” Legolas paused, then chuckled and said: “I ought rather to say poor Deniel than poor Elwen; at least Mardil knows well enough to not serve tripe at breakfast!”

“What did Deniel and Elwen say, when Araval consented to wed Deniel to Mardil and not Elwen?” asked Faramir.

“O they went to their plotting,” said Legolas dismissively, picking up a pastry and looking absently at it before popping it into his mouth. “Deniel would tell her father this, and Elwen would write a letter to Aldor, and their Lassah should send an escort for Deniel to escape to Erui … now I am thinking, poor Dúrfinwen for I did rather send her and Meivel upon a fool’s errand did I not?”

“Dúrfinwen especially,” Faramir agreed, stretching his feet to the fire. “It is fortunate for you she is a maid of clement temper.”

Legolas snorted. “Clement! Well you have not known her as long as have I.”

“No more I have,” conceded Faramir, thinking again how strange it was he should be friendly with a being so old, who had seen the centuries rise and wane. He frowned thoughtfully, thinking of Dúrfinwen’s unlined cheerful face, and rich chestnut locks untouched by frost. “How old is she, anyway?”

“Ah, ah!” chided Legolas, wagging his finger at his friend. “A gentleman does not inquire after a lady’s age, Faramir; you well know that!”

Faramir laughed. “Speaking of aged ladies, Legolas, how did you manage to get Lady Aranath down that hallway? I had thought her a thorn in your side – “

“So she was – her, and her cheek-pinching!” Legolas laughed loudly. “And I shall not tell you what other cheeks she pinches … poor Lord Meril! But despite her assertions of true love I managed to provoke a proper moral response from her. I had need to suffer her hard, bony fingers upon my face and other districts of mine anatomy that ought rather to be held inaccessible, but the result was gratifying; her outrage at Mardil’s so blatantly taking advantage of so young and innocent a virgin – “

“Legolas,” chided Faramir. “Have a care, there, O my dear friend; you shall wake Gimli again.”

“Eh?” said the Dwarf stirring, and smacking his lips; Legolas patted him on the hand and said:

“There; there! No fear, O my good Gimli; I meant not to wake you – go back to sleep! Dúrfinwen has not yet returned.”

Faramir laughed, and Gimli, sluggish and nodding, muttered into his beard: “O very well – only let me know when it is bed-time.”

“I shall, my friend,” promised Legolas fondly, and muttering under his breath Gimli returned to slumber-land.

Legolas and Faramir fell silent for a while, listening to the steady downpour round the windows and oriels of Dol Galenehtar, and the fire flickered low and orange in the dimness. Faramir’s head felt very heavy; he had had overmuch wine the past few weeks, for the celebrations surrounding the joining of the House of Múrin to Araval’s kin had gone on far past the wedding itself, and though none had seen hide nor hair of the happy couple, lurking in their wedding-chambers with only the cooks to visit, all present resolved to celebrate the occasion with much food and wine and dancing, and when at last Osgiliath emptied and the festivities migrated to Dol Galenehtar Éowyn had flatly refused to come, exhausted and wanting only to sequester herself in the stables for at least five days, forswearing satins and laces for her comfortable riding-skirt. Faramir did not begrudge her this, but followed the parties to Dol Galenehtar; now his feet ached from dancing, and his head from much wine; but he was settled and comfortable in the dark shadowy chamber, and the sound of Gimli’s snoring was very soothing.

He had all but drifted off when he heard voices; he recognized his friend Legolas, and then after a moment’s rather muddled thought discovered Bandobras was standing between them, putting down a platter of bread and cheese. The tangy scent teased his nostrils and he wondered how he could possibly be hungry after all the feasting of the past few days; however that thought smacked of practicality and that had no place at a wedding-feast. So he sat up and stretched, and reaching for a piece of cheese listened to knight and esquire speak.

“Saw it meself, Master; she set about it hammer-and-tongs, with Dúrfinwen giving as good as she got, and Meivel glaring and glowering as always. How Himbaláth did laugh, to be sure! And then Dúrfinwen, she says to her: ‘Well if you will not take a good man as he is, seeking to mold him to your own fancies, how may you expect Meivel to like you despite your vile temper?’ And then, Master, Andunië laughed – Andunië, of all people, Master! Never heard her laugh before; didn’t think she knew how.”

“It does not happen often, Little One,” admitted Legolas; Faramir saw he was grinning, and his eyes gleamed in the firelight. “So what did Hirilcúllas do then, my Bandobras?”

“Well,” said the esquire with relish, rubbing his little hands. “Then Dúrfinwen says, she says, ‘I sicken of being the goose-berry; I shall wed to Galás and so take myself from this trick of badgering you stupid maids to leave your foolish whims behind you and take these poor good men to bed!’ And Galás, Master, he’s standing there with the others, and he gets this look on his face, all incredulous, and he says, Master, he says, ‘Heaven forbid!’ he says. ‘Why I had no idea you hated me so, Dúrfinwen!’ And Hwindiö, he says, Master, he says, ‘O Galás, how could that be so truly horrible?’ he says. And then he takes Dúrfinwen by the hand, mad as she is and all that, and says with a laugh: ‘Horrible for you I mean; we all know how horrible ‘twould be for her!’ And Galás, Master, he goes and says with his nasty grin: ‘If you must ask, does it truly matter? Horrible it is and horrible it shall remain; I am not Mardil and would not wed a maid as young as she.’ Everyone laughs then, Master, even Liquíseleé and Maelaëri, and Dúrfinwen, Master, she’s in a terrible stink of a temper, and she takes off her slipper, all dirty it is too from the trip, and chucks it at his head – “

Legolas gave a whoop of laughter, and Gimli came to with a snort. “What is this racket!” he growled, rubbing his eyes. He blinked at the Hobbit and said: “O! It is you Bandy; about time you have shown up! Well did Dúrfinwen make it home acceptably? And more important than that have you brought any more wine?”

“Yes, and yes, Gimli!” said Bandobras with a grin. “O listen to this Gimli, Lord Faramir; this is the best part yet: She throws her slipper at Galás, then, and it catches him right over the eye it does – “

“Serves him right for saying such a thing!” said Faramir with a smile. “And about Dúrfinwen too.”

“Got mud all over him it did,” said Bandobras, laughing. “And then Meivel, he turns to Hirilcúllas then, and looks right aggravated, and he says to her, he says, ‘How can you think, beloved, I should abjure you for she? At least you but strike me; she throws things.’ And Hirilcúllas, she’s got the look on her of a lady what don’t know which way to turn; then Andunië goes up to her and she says, Master: ‘Marry him quick, Hirilcúllas, ere your fellow eavesdropper loses his temper and patience both, and I be caught with a sister-in-law who casts crockery about the place.’ And then Meivel looks at Hirilcúllas, all challenging-like, and Hirilcúllas looks at him, and seems to all like she’s confused and don’t know which way to turn, Master, and then Meivel, he strides right up to her then, and takes her hand and says all angry: ‘I have asked you thrice and thrice have you rebuffed me,’ he says, Master; and then he says, ‘I shall ask you but once more and this fourth time I will take your answer as final and harass you no longer.’ And we all go quiet, Master, for he’s about to do it again, and this time we’re all standing round listening, even Galás who don’t even note he’s given the slipper back to Dúrfinwen, and Hirilcúllas goes so red it looks like someone’s painted her cheeks, it really does, Master, and then she says all quiet-like: ‘Ask me no more, Meivel my dearest; I shall but humbly entreat your pardon of you, and accept the first suit which you did lay at my feet, but I beg of you, let us do this in private!’” Bandobras took a deep breath, relishing the rapt faces round him, and said, “And then Meivel went red too, Master, and awful excited, and he hauls Hirilcúllas off, and everyone starts cheering, which makes them run the faster, and Himbaláth, he’s laughing fit to burst, indeed everyone was, Master, except Dúrfinwen who – “

The door banged open, and that maid indeed stood there beneath the lintel, dirty, wet, disheveled, and shod with but one slipper; the other one she hurled across the room where it struck her lord wetly on the forehead. Legolas yelped and dropped his goblet, and Faramir saw her reach for her other slipper; he ducked, not wishing to become a target of the woman’s wrath. “Peace, peace!” he heard Legolas cry, though beneath the plaintive words there was delighted laughter. “It has all ended well – “

“For whom?” demanded Dúrfinwen. She stood, arms akimbo, the one remaining slipper clutched firmly in a white-knuckled hand; her hair stood out round her head like a curly chestnut halo, and her brown eyes flashed. There was a smut of mud across the skirt of her pretty yellow dress, and the lace was drooping. “O certainly do Mardil and his little golden-haired chit sport themselves in the wedding-chamber, where likewise in Erui do damned Deniel and that tripe-eating bearded letch of her husband roll about together, and now Meivel and Hirilcúllas sigh and croon to one another upon the lower turret – “

“Do they really?” asked Legolas, brightening. “Sighing and crooning? Why how delicious; it is better than I dreamed!”

“You – you men!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed with anger and her eyes flashing dangerously. “Blackguards, the lot of you! Why Meivel would not even break Araval’s legs, I had to do it myself – “

“You broke Araval’s legs?” exclaimed Faramir in disbelief. “How? All Meivel would say to us was that the bridge across which Araval walked collapsed!”

“I knocked out the keystone with a mallet,” said Dúrfinwen, a little wildly, and when Gimli chuckled with approval the barest hint of her dimple reappeared, creasing in her cream-colored cheek. She looked apologetically at Faramir and said, her cheeks coloring: “I – I did not expect both legs to break though.”

“I will make it up to him,” Legolas promised, rising bravely to his feet. “I will go to Tarlang and shower him with gifts and apologies – “

This time he caught the slipper ere it connected with his head, much to Dúrfinwen’s chagrin. “Ah, ah!” he chided, his eyes twinkling, wagging his finger at her. “Do you not let your temper get the best of you, Little One – “

“And do not Little One me, my lord!” she spat hotly. “I have toiled up the Anduin these past four days – in pouring rain – without a change of clothes – on a barge filled with half-drunk men – all to see the wedding we did plan – and you did not make them wait for me to see it!” She stamped her bare foot, though it made but little sound in the thick plush carpet. “And I am cold, and wet, and dirty, and hungry, and O so tired of tripe, and I do not wish to be the wedge betwixt courting couples any more, or even to see any more courting couples, they are all aggravating to me, and I hope never to see a pair of people in love again, they sicken me!”

“To be sure, to be sure!” said Legolas gently, and taking her by the hand he led her to his chair by the hearth, and set her in it; she glowered up at him, and he smiled at her, and ran his fingers through her disarranged curls. “Warm yourself here then, O Dúrfinwen, and eat some of this excellent cheese my Bandobras has brought – it is the hard white cheese you like so well, Dúrfinwen – and have some wine – “ He pressed a goblet in her hand and filled it, and though she looked with suspicion at him through the tangled mess of hair she drank it down. “Put your feet upon the fender and dry them, and I shall have Caïlamel take a hot bath to your chambers, where wait therein clean dry clothes; and Liquíseleé has made fir-scented bath oil for you – I remember well your affinity for the fir tree, O Dúrfinwen! – and you shall have naught to do the next moon-round save rest and eat and bathe and dance, for Hirilcúllas in reparation for her obduracy shall finish hers and Andunië’s trousseaus both, and now that summer has ended we shall but set our minds to merry-making and the winter following.” He took a handkerchief from Bandobras and set about mopping up the dripping curls while Dúrfinwen sulkily drank and picked at the cheese; his voice was placating and unctuous and Faramir wondered at this. “You have performed all your duties superlatively O Dúrfinwen,” said Legolas with a smile, patting the maid’s hand, and refilling her goblet. “I am deeply indebted to you you know; I could not have done what you have for I am but a man, and in this venture your skill and feminine nature were far more valuable than any skill of warrior or statesman I could bring to bear against it!”

“Flatterer,” sniffed Dúrfinwen, though Faramir could tell she fought back a smile; her dimple was dangerously close to reappearing. “May I have my slippers back?”

“Er,” said Legolas, glancing down at the offending articles; “no. I think not, at least ‘til you have lost that angry glint in your eyes, Dúrfinwen.”

“You are wiser than you appear,” she said, and at last sighed and settled back into the arm chair. Faramir, Gimli, and Bandobras relaxed too, seeing her ire had faded and they were in no more danger from slipper-missiles. “Heavens above, but I am weary! Do not I beg you my lord indulge in this match-making any more, for you have this maddening habit of dragging me along into it, and though I never thought I should hear myself admit to it I miss my quiet drudgery with my loom and spindle.” She extended one small arm to the fire, examining her long white fingers, and said wryly, “I have so many pin-pricks upon my fingers I more resemble a hedgehog-hunter than a woman.”

“I would hardly say that,” said Legolas with a smile, and tucking his long legs beneath him he sat at her feet, wrapping his arms round his knees and looking up at her fondly. “After all soon you shall be wed to Galás and you will labor in the fullery no more!”

“You did not mean it, did you, Dúrfinwen?” asked Faramir in surprise when the maid laughed. “You will not truly wed to Galás, will you?”

“Good gracious, no, my lord!” exclaimed Dúrfinwen, and to everyone’s relief her brown eyes sparkled merrily; she drained her goblet, and Bandobras refilled it. “He is too flippant, and pulls my curls and calls me little Laiquenda, the percilious beast; I am not yet so desperate as that.”

“Well, do you not give Legolas any fresh match-making ideas anyway,” growled Gimli, looking down at his friend before the fire, who glimmered white and gold in the gloaming. “If you start talking about marriage and weddings again he might take it into his foolish head to find a mate for you, Dúrfinwen.”

“I should have thought he would be weary of it now anyway,” said Faramir. “This debacle was convoluted enough! Legolas, promise us you will not meddle in any more love-affairs again!”

“I cannot promise that,” protested Legolas looking injured. He put his arm round Bandobras as the Hobbit passed and held him still. “After all I have mine esquire to see about. He achieves his majority in four years and I am sure his dear mother would like to see him well settled.”

Bandobras’ jaw dropped and he looked at the Elf in horror. “O Master, you cannot be serious!” he cried in dismay.

“No, my Bandobras!” laughed Legolas wickedly, kissing the top of his curly crown. “I am not!”

**fin**