“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.