“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.