“Fourteen days,” growled Haldir, “fourteen days’ kitchen duty.

“Valandil!” He gestured to Thorkell bogsveigir’s elven comrade. “You are his gaoler—take his bow and quiver from him—during the day I want him bound to his horse; at night you are to hand him over to the Cook,”—he turned back to Thorkell—“who will report on your conduct, first thing every morning.”

Thorkell sighed—

“Do that again and it will be the last sound you ever make.”

“Oh for the gods’ sakes!” The man held up his hands in mock surrender. “I accept your punishment: I will do it. But let us not pretend that I am one of your warriors—”

“You are a member of the Eryn Carantaur Guard,” hissed Haldir. “You have taken an oath of fealty to Lord Legolas.”

“Balls,” said Thorkell. “What would you have done in my position—beaten senseless by a bit of a woman, abandoned by your Lord, given the choice of either remaining in custody or swearing loyalty to Princess Legolas…?” He grinned, suddenly. “She did not ask you, did she? She made me an offer I could not refuse and dropped you straight in the privy,”—he spread his hands—“and now you are having to deal with the shit.” He gave his bow to a very uncomfortable Valandil and began unbuckling his quiver. “But then, to get up My Lady’s skirts, you would happily roll—agh!”

The blow came from Valandil—and, as he reeled backwards, Thorkell bogsveigir had to admit that he had seriously misjudged his comrade.

“When you speak of Lady Eowyn,” cried the normally placid elf, “you speak with respect!” He loomed over the fallen man.

“Valandil… No.” Haldir, suddenly icily calm, grasped his warrior by the shoulder. “Go and prepare the horses.” He pulled the elf back, roughly. “Valandil! Walk away. Now!”

“He should not be allowed to say such things,” said Valandil.

“I will deal with him. Go and prepare the horses.”

…

“What was all that talk about not harming comrades?” asked Thorkell, rubbing his jaw.

“Get up.”

The man raised an eyebrow but—with his size and his elven strength, and his aura of fury barely contained—the March Warden was an impressive sight. On reflection, Thorkell bogsveigir did as he was told.

“I have no idea what game you are playing—why you challenged Legolas,” said Haldir, quietly. “But there are two things I will not permit. I will not allow you to distract my warriors with your antics. And I will not allow you to harm her—yes, I have seen the way you look at her—and I will tell you this now: if you ever lay your hands on her, in anger or in lust, I will make you sorry. Believe me, adan, we elves are patient, and I will make you beg for death.”