Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Eryn Lasgalen, Lord of Dol Galenehtar, Dwarf-Friend, Of the Three Hunters,

To Bandobras son of Reginard, of the Right and Noble Clan of Took, Esquire of the Green Knight, Comforter of the Bereaved of Long Bank

My Dear Bandobras,

O how my heart froze within me, when I read the contents of your last letter; how horrible a thing it was indeed, my dear Little One, that all those merry and good-hearted Hobbits should come to such a terrible end!  I share with you your grief, as do all in my household; we held a commemorative ceremony for the Bracegirdles upon the lawn last night, filling our sacred ewers with fine oils and fire and sending up our prayers to Námo to succor their souls in Mandos.  Lady Éowyn, who was present with her children, was also moved, indeed to tears; upon seeing her weep her children were made aware of the terrible tragedy that had occurred.  In point of fact Hísimë was especially grieved, when she understood that so many children had perished; she wept as well, and begged of me to go straightway to the Shire to fix it immediately.  "Lord Lassah," she sobbed, "Will you not go bring them back out of the river?  You will, will you not, Lord Lassah?  Please say to me you shall bring them back out of the river!"  Well she knows, the dear child, the arrogant caprices of a great river, as the Anduin has flowed beneath her feet since birth; however the immutability of death is yet a mystery to her.  So you may tell those whom you bless with your Munificences, dear Bandobras, that the plight of the Hobbits of Long Bank has stirred my folk and the folk of Osgiliath to tears and cries of grief, and we weep with them, and pray for hope of new life this Spring.

How proud I am of you, my dear Little One, for your acts of charity and generosity in this time!  To go unto Long Bank with shovel and rake and to labor in those ruined holes, to drag the bodies from the river and deliver them unto their grieving kin, to comfort and succor your people with no thought save restitution and justice – O my Bandobras, my heart swells within me to think of it; you rightly deserve the title of Knight of Ithilien, though you have yet to achieve the full measure of your terms of apprenticeship!  What a magnificent Hobbit you shall make, my Little One; your compassion toward these unhappy folk, your kindness to their neighbors, your willingness to put your own back to work and so strengthen your word becomes you greatly; I am honored indeed to be named among your friends and acquaintances, and as your Master I am pleased and gratified to have been associated with you.  Even Gimli admitted to me he was proud of you, though he asked me not to tell you he said so, as he seeks to perpetuate his private myth that he loves you not nor takes notice of your doings.  Rest assured, though, my Bandobras, I did not promise him this, so that you may know I am not abusing his trust; I told him I should relay his satisfaction concerning your actions, and he merely grunted and told me I "spoiled that urchin beyond belief."  I took this as his consent, and so impart his delight in you, that you may be reassured he does indeed love you, as do I, my Bandobras.

My land blossoms and shimmers and quivers with Spring, my Bandobras – would that you were here to see it!  The blight which previously marred last spring and summer shows no sign of raising its rotten head, and the trees and fields blush green with new growth and flower.  Never have we had such a time of rejuvenation, and the Mereth en’Ehtelé shall be merrier and grander and brighter than any other we have held.  We have heard naught of Círdan's delegation, and hope that they shall arrive in time for the festivities, for they promise to be splendid and luxurious to the point of ostentation – we Wood Elves are not called "barbaric" by the other races for nothing! – indeed, Himbaláth, Hirilcúllas, Seimiel, Dúrfinwen, Galás, and Kaimelas do circle me in mad orbit, ordering the building of the trestles, the construction of the ovens and spits, the enlarging of the Great Hall and the dais to include the lawn and fountains beyond, the fabrication of the lamps (O my Bandobras, that you could see what Hwindiö has made!), the arrangement of the food and drink and the flowers and vines and tapestries to decorate the halls – what a marvelous celebration it shall be!  I am almost – almost, mind you, Little One – looking forward to it.  For still there mars the bloom of Spring the remembrance of the lady who comes with Círdan's folk, whom I must meet and shunt aside as I have all the other maids foisted upon me.  Almost do I pity the child, and earnestly hope she does not arrive expecting aught else of me; I know not what she has heard of me or my folk, nor do I know what hopes Círdan or his household have pinned upon my parents' eagerness to see me wed; should she anticipate a potential lover's greeting I fear she shall be deeply disappointed.  But at least we shall quell her subdued hopes with a grand and glorious festival – surely no maid will be able to resist the allure of light and blossom, lyre and drum, wine and sweet and savory that shall be laid before her.

I shall not even dignify your suggestion I wed Seimiel with a full paragraph in reply.  Suffice to say the spark of desire betwixt us two is not, nor has it ever been, present!  Why is it she and I are so constantly thrown together?  It is true, I find her company pleasant, but her impertinent habits and unguarded tongue make her a most unlikely match for me.  It would be as bad as my consenting to wed Lady Éodild!  Now, laugh, Bandobras, and admit that I am right.

The name "Laustairë" has a meaning, and a marvelous one at that, befitting an Elf born upon the Gray Havens; it is "Sea-Wind."  One thinks of salt spray and cold water and the mewling of gulls when one hears it, does one not?  And perchance she is not so quiet as rumor has painted her; the wind upon the sea roars as well, perchance as Estella does, when little Saradoc is colicky.  (I have had advice given me for Estella and Meriadoc from Lady Éowyn; she says to take an old wineskin filled with hot water, and wrap it in a flannel, and hold it upon Saradoc's belly when he squalls; that, she assures me, may ameliorate his discomfort, and in consequence theirs as well.)  It will be a passing strange thing, to have so many Elves here who have dwelt all those long ages upon the Sea, for we of the Silvan folk know well the woods and forests and trees and mountains, but little of the sand and surf and rhythm of tides.  What shall we speak of, I wonder, when we foregather?  Shall there be rich and varied conversation, full of interest and friendliness, or will it be like unto my last meeting with the Lord of Dor-en-Ernil, a quiet and stilted dialogue peppered with vague dislike?  Galás is confident and cheerful, and tells me to not worry so concerning this; he said to me, "Well, my Lord, should aught go ill about the banquet-table, we have but to serve more wine, and that will loosen their tongues aplenty."  Perhaps he is right, and I but add one more concern to my growing list in my anxiety.

Do not, I beg you, my dear Little One, marry simply so that you may produce a son to name after me!  Should your desire to have my namesake overshadow the distribution of desirable maids, well, get you a dog instead, and name him "Legolas."  I promise I shall not feel insulted.  And also, my Bandobras, though I also love you and desire to be with you, you must not so denigrate your mother and your homeland in deference to me and my own; you are at an age where your elders and their traditions seem to you to be quaint and old-fashioned things, to be thrown aside so that new ideas and different accomplishments may be acquired along with the freedom attendant to your majority.  Trust me when I tell you this:  The time shall come when you will look back upon the things you thought and said and did in this time of your youth, and you shall blush crimson with chagrin, realizing at last how short-sighted you were in your childhood, and how little you understood or appreciated your parents' will and desire for you during that time.  I say "trust me," for I speak from painful experience.  Am I not many centuries your senior, and have seen again and again this cycle of childhood to youth to adulthood, and its many foibles and cares?  Your mother understands you better than you think, and better than you understand her; after all, though you have never been a grown Hobbit, she remembers well what it was like to be a young Hobbit, and has more wisdom within her storehouse, garnered from her years beneath the circle of the earth.  So do not say to her, my Bandobras, though you speak in the heat of anger or perturbation, that you love me best and would rather live in Ithilien with me; that would cut her deeply, and wound her with your words, and you would later regret them when you came at last to realize how cruel they were.  So be a proper esquire to the Green Knight, O Bandobras son of Reginard, and treat your Lady Mother with all the honor and consideration she is due, in all politeness and gentility display before her your filial affection so that her heart may be full, and all around her consider her blessed indeed to have with her so devoted a son.

Ah, how my own words cut upon my very flesh!  Do I not rebel against my own Lady Mother and Lord Father in my heart, in that I thrust aside all their arguments and pleas that I find for myself a bride to rule by my side in Dol Galenehtar?  Have I not been guilty of that against which I have warned you, to listen to their counsel and disdain not their words and experience?  O my Bandobras, I am all the more confounded; I know not whether I come or go; my days are full of work and worry, my nights of restless sleep and midnight ruminations; this question of marriage does harrie and press upon me, so that I am perplexed and bemused by it, and it does color my perception of all I do.  Yet do not my Lord Father and Lady Mother know better than I the manner in which to run a kingdom?  Have they not for many millennia held firm sway over a dark and dangerous land, standing side by side like two strong pillars upholding their people?  How can I, then, presume my paltry wisdom is superior to theirs, and their debate secondary to mine?  O my Little One, I do not know; how I wish the stars would tell me what I ought to do – "Marry," or, "Do not marry!"  Or better yet, since I wish upon them, "Marry thus-and-so!"  Then would all my meditation be set to naught, and I could slacken my guard and live as I used, that is, as to all a friend and companion, expecting little and giving much; I have been so twisted and wrenched within this past year of being the pursued and reluctant bridegroom, I desire only to be let alone so I may rest and work as I desire to.  Perhaps I shall go to see Aldamir – he is not so wise as Cirien, but he listens so attentively, and his very presence is a comfort – yes, my dear Little One, perhaps I shall ride out to see Aldamir and lay my case before him.  Though he may not be able to tell me what to do he at least will be a kindly and sympathetic ear.  And then he shall make me to hold his little child, at whose birth I was present (though much against my own wishes), and his wife Lalanath shall infuse an herbal tea for me to drink, and give me her cook's special digestive biscuits, because they are convinced I do not care for myself as I ought.  Well, perchance they do not err in this – though as an Elf I cannot suffer illness, I feel within myself a tight and clenching apprehension, which I am sure is a direct result of my misgivings swirling about my lands – the new vineyards and groves, the trade agreements and various disputes – and, of course, the matrimonial question.

How pleasant it would be, my Bandobras, were you here with Gimli and me (for he is here as well, having seen to the wells in western Osgiliath on Faramir's behalf), and if we could but sit upon the lower lawn together, with naught to discuss save our dinner; I should even allow you and Gimli to smoke, my dear Little One, though I reserve the right to sit upwind of you.  He sits here beside me now, drowsing in his low cushioned chair, his pipe cold in his hand and a half-empty jug of ale at his elbow.  He is even snoring, my dear Little One – remember how we always used to make gentle fun of his snoring?

It seems I always write to you in the evening, and such an evening it is, Bandobras!  The sky fades upward from orange to green-gold to pale blue to velvety black, and the stars twinkle wanly at me, silvery and clear:  Nierninwa, Alkarinque and Elemmiire; Menelmakar, Soronuumë, and Telumendil; they sparkle and shine to rival the lights of my city, and the lamps in the talans about me answer their call; I can just descry the glow of Osgiliath to the west, which cossets my friends Faramir and Éowyn and their dear children, and beyond it like a gleaming spike piercing the rich darkness I see the White Tower, where dwells my friend Aragorn, and his bride Undómiel.  There are no clouds, my Bandobras, to mar the canvas upon which Elbereth paints her picture; her framework is the earth itself, black spires of trees brushing the edges of the sky, rich with birdsong and fragrant with bloom and herb; I hear and smell the cold rushing waters, and see the glint of beastly eye within the brakes below.  And all about me are my friends and kin, those who love me, though we are caught all together in the hurried cycle of the seasons; I know them though, and know well their affection for me, and I am comforted despite my fears.  For are not my fears the sign of arrogance, that I am as important as the sky, and the stars therein?  Long shall I have departed the circle of this world before they have any thought of fading, and such trifling considerations as matrimony and trade delegations wilt and wither beneath their cool regard.

Well, my dear Bandobras, I shall quit you with that thought, that your Master is a fool, and an inattentive one at that; so wrapped up have I been in my own concerns I had forgotten the stars and their promise of permanence. You were right, my dear Little One; I do indeed have need to stop and rest betimes, lest my cares overwhelm me.

Give my greetings to your esteemed mother, and beg her to come with you to Ithilien; does she not wish to see me joust as well?  And I beg of you, please relieve my worries concerning the bull; how did his leg heal, and is he showing renewed interest in your heifers?  If not I might tell Hirilcúllas I am needed in husbandry elsewhere, and she must needs rearrange my schedule to accommodate it.

How I miss you, my Bandobras, and desire to see you once again!  Write to me quickly I beg of you, that I might be refreshed once more.

Your Master,

Legolas

P.S.:  Has your Uncle finally decided to end our misery, and marry his precious Diamond?

L.