"Legolas," roared Laralin, leaping from the bathing pond, shedding drops of silvery water from her flowing hair and her graceful limbs, "give it back!"

Naked as the day she was born, she pursued the laughing elfling through the trees, dodging this way and that, ducking under low branches and leaping over fallen boughs. "GIVE ME MY GOWN!"

In truth, she was no match for the elf, but—since he had never had any intention of getting away from her—she soon had him at bay, trapped against the rocky hillside that housed his father's palace.

She scowled. "Give it back!"

He laughed. Then, without warning, he pounced on her, bringing her down to the mossy ground, rolling her onto her back, and trapping her beneath his slender frame. "Got you!"

"I shall tell my ada," threatened Laralin, "and he will tell yours."

Legolas grinned. "Tell him what? That I caught you? Or that I kissed you?" He leaned down, and gently pressed his lips to hers. "What was that like?" he asked, proudly.

"I hardly felt it," said Laralin, coolly.

Legolas tried again, this time pressing a little harder, softly sucking at her lips, and stroking them with his tongue. "What about that?"

"Better…" said Laralin, grudgingly.

Suitably encouraged, the young elf experimented further, dropping brief kisses on her throat, the tip of her collarbone and the velvety skin just above her tiny breasts. "You are so nice, Laralin," he said, honestly, "like a little faun… And these…" He smiled, teasing one of her rosy nipples with the tip of his nose. "Do you like that?"

"I might…"

"Mmmm." He kissed the nipple. Then, acting on instinct, he drew it into his mouth and, delighted by its firmness, sucked it, rubbing with his tongue.

"Oh!"

The elf's head shot up. "Did that hurt?"

"No…"

"Was it nice?"

"It was—strange."

"Would you like me to do it again?"

The elleth blushed. "To the other one."

Legolas nuzzled her other breast.

"Legolas…"

"Mmmm?"

"What is that?"

"What?"

"That—" She shifted her hips against his groin to indicate the object of her curiosity. "There."

"It is my… You know…" he said.

"What is it doing?"

"It likes you."

The elleth pushed him away, and stared up into his face, searching for an explanation.

"Do you not know?" Legolas' chest swelled with masculine pride at the opportunity to educate her. "When an elf likes an elleth," he explained, "his—thing—grows and gets hard."

"Why?"

"So that they can make babies."

"How?"

Legolas moved his hand.

"No!" cried Laralin.

"I am just showing you."

"Well…" She swallowed hard.

"Here." He pressed his long fingers between her thighs. "He puts it here."

"And what does that do?"

"It plants his seed."

"How?"

Legolas, at the limit of his knowledge, was temporarily at a loss. Then, "My ada says it only happens when the elf and the elleth really love each other."

"Do you love me?"

Legolas evaded the question. "You are very nice."

"Can I see it? Your thing?"

Legolas rolled onto his side, unlaced his leggings, and pulled open the flap.

"That would never fit," said Laralin.

Legolas shrugged his shoulders.

"It is nice though." She stretched out her hand and stroked it, giggling when it jerked under her fingers. "It is warm—"

"LARALIN? LARALIN! WHERE ARE YOU?"

"Oh," whispered Laralin, "my ada!"

Eyes wide, Legolas pulled up the flap of his leggings and scrambled to his feet. The elleth, meanwhile, was struggling to pull her gown over her damp skin. "Run away," she whispered, urgently. "Go that way, quick!"

Legolas hesitated—if Laralin were going to be in trouble, he should be there to take at least half the blame—

"Go! Then he will not know!" hissed the elleth.

Good thinking. Legolas took to his heels.

…

"There you are!" said her father. "What in Arda are you doing here, Laralin?"

"Nothing, Ada," replied the young elleth, fingers crossed behind her back. "Nothing at all."