“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.