Eowyn untied his leather belt, unbuckled it, and let the ends drop to the ground, ran her hands up the soft suede of his close-fitting jerkin—“Do you remember the first time you spoke to me?”—and unhooked the fastenings, one by one.

Lying on his back, his pale golden hair spreading out across the fur blanket, Legolas smiled up at her. “Of course…”

“We were standing on the wall-walk, outside the Golden Hall, and you said, ‘Take care, my lady, you stand too near the edge.’ And you took my arm and drew me back.” She unfastened his tunic.

“Not my most impressive attempt at seduction,” said Legolas.

Eowyn laughed. “I did not know then how typical it was of you—always there, when anyone strays into danger…” She pulled aside the silvery fabric and, leaning down to him, kissed his warm skin. “I thought you were so remote, Lassui—so ethereal. When I looked at you—”

“You never looked at me,” said Legolas. “Your eyes were fixed on Aragorn—that is why you nearly fell twenty feet and broke your neck.”

Eowyn came up on her knees.

“I did look at you, my love, ” she insisted, “but you seemed so far above the rest of us… So far above me. I never dreamed,”—she had pulled open his lacings, and now she peeled back the flap of his leggings—“oh, Lassui!”—and fell upon him, devouring his hard flesh—

“Valar!” he gasped, catching two handfuls of her hair.

“Mmmmmmm.” She released him and, raising her head, grinned up at him. “I could not imagine you doing anything like this, Lassui. I had no idea what elves were like.” She brushed her lips over the head of his erection. “What this elf was like…”

“Melmenya?”

“Mmmm?”

“Let me, Eowyn nín.” He stroked her hair, and she let him take hold of her, and lay her on her back, and settle himself over her. “This morning I might have lost you,” he said, kissing her tenderly, “so let me make love to you…”

Her smile was the only reply he needed.

…

Without taking his eyes from her face, he parted the skirts of her velvet riding gown, unlaced her leggings, and, with her help, pulled them down.

She shifted her hips invitingly, her smile broadening with anticipation.

“Impatient Shieldmaiden.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Always so impatient. When I fell in love with you—that day, in the Golden Hall—I had no idea the white lady was such a wanton…” And, sure enough, he felt her little hand push between them and, finding him, curl itself around him. And he closed his eyes, breathing a long sigh of pleasure. “No idea at all…”

“Take me, Lassui,” whispered Eowyn. “Take me. Please…”

He shifted his weight onto his arms. “Guide me, meleth nín.”

She drew him close and, the moment he felt her wetness, he entered her with a single, smooth thrust—“Sweet Eru!”—and he shuddered, for—despite his size and their often vigorous lovemaking—her body still held him tightly. But, frowning with concentration, he took a few deep breaths, then lowered himself and buried his face in the crook of her shoulder. “I did know, even then,” he whispered, “that you would be mine some day. You had to be mine, melmenya…” Gently, he rocked his hips—

“Oh—gods…” Eowyn wrapped her legs around his waist. “You are so…” she whispered, “so…”—her fingers dug into his back—“oh, Lassui, you are so…”

He rose up on his hands and ground harder, pressing himself into her most sensitive flesh.

“OH!” Her hands flew to the fur rug beneath her, and she clutched at it and, confined as she was, moved her hips, desperately trying to ride him, until, at last, he reared up and began to thrust in earnest, withdrawing almost fully and—knowing how much she liked it—driving in hard, ending each stroke with an extra push.

“LASSUI!”

“Shhhhh.” He covered her mouth with his hand.

“Make it last,” she moaned, against his fingers, “like this… please make it last…”

…

It did not last.

But it did not matter. Contented, she curled up in his arms.

And Legolas, after a brief but heartfelt prayer of thanks to the Valar, closed his eyes—like his human love—and let himself drift off into reverie.