Theodred had laughed at such nonsense.

And Faramir, though an attentive husband—at least in those early days—had never bothered.

Eowyn sighed. Why should Legolas be any different?

…

“Come, melmenya,” he said, rising from the breakfast table.

“Where are we going?”

He smiled.

…

The glade where the craftsmen-elves had their workshops was still filled with morning mist, but Master Nolofinwë was waiting for them.

“It is ready, my lord,” he said. “The finest I have ever forged.”

Legolas drew the graceful blade from its scabbard and carefully tested its balance. “Perfect,” he said. “Happy Sweetheart’s Day, melmenya.”

…

Epilogue

He arched his back and, suddenly turning his head aside, growled, deep in his throat.

Eowyn, between his legs, waited until his body had relaxed; then she came up on her knees and, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissed his mouth, whispering, “That much, Lassui.”