(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.