Poor Legolas…

(Pretend it’s a drabble).

…

“Open it!”

Eowyn looked at the large, flat parcel, lovingly wrapped in green and gold fabric and secured with golden ribbon. It was clearly a book.

“Is it the story of Beren and Luthien?” she asked, for he had promised her an illuminated copy.

Legolas shook his head.

“The Lays of Beleriand?”

“No.”

Carefully—because she knew that Legolas took great pride in his gift-wrapping skills—Eowyn pulled apart the bow and opened the fabric. The book was old, its faded leather binding blocked with a series of strange golden characters. “It is from Far Harad,” she said, running her fingers over the title. “This is their language.”

“Look inside.”

Eowyn opened the book at a beautifully painted miniature depicting a man and a woman. She turned the volume sideways—then upside down—then righted it again—but it still took her several moments to decipher the picture—and several more to believe what she was seeing.

“Legolas!”

The elf grinned. “Do you like it? I thought we might—”

“It is certainly educational.”

Eowyn turned several pages. “They are a very adventurous couple. And the man is extremely well-endowed.”

“I imagine the artist has exaggerated that, melmenya. To excite the reader.”

Eowyn looked at one of the pictures more closely. “He has a golden ring, Lassui; right through his—”

“Oh!” The elf turned away, closing his eyes in a grimace of sympathetic pain.

Eowyn turned another page. “Now this position is interesting—perhaps we could ask Haldir, or maybe Lord Fingolfin, to join us—”

Legolas seized the volume. “It is just an old book, melmenya.” He shut it and set it on the nightstand. “Forget it.”

Eowyn grinned. “Come here, edhel nín.” She twined her arms around his neck. “No mere bearded man from Far Harad could possibly compete with my elf for skill and stamina,” she whispered.

And she sucked the tip of his ear…