Height: somewhat less than an elleth.
Build: slender but rounded.
Hair: golden, waving.
Eyes: grey-blue.
Face: charming.

Charming, sighed Thranduil. He re-read the description. Nothing remarkable there. She is short, grinning, and tends to fat, as edenith do.

He continued reading.

‘Prince Legolas introduced her as his wife.’

“NO!” Thranduil’s cry of horror echoed throughout his cavern-study. “NO, LASSUI! NO!” He crushed the report in his fist and threw it to the floor. “You foolish elfling! You foolish, foolish elf—

“Oh...” On second thoughts, he retrieved the parchment, hastily smoothed it out, and continued reading.

‘Lords Caranthir and Fingolfin address her as ‘My Lady’ and refer to her as the colony’s co-ruler.’ Of what concern is that to me? He scanned further down the page.

‘The lady herself is charming’—That word again!—‘Intelligent and considerate, a very agreeable companion at dinner and—’

“You,” said Thranduil to his absent messenger, “are bound for the Halls of Mandos. No—better still—for a nice, long visit to Bergthórr beytill.”

He rose from his desk, crossed to the sideboard and poured himself a large measure of strong red wine. Then, somewhat fortified, he continued reading: ‘His Highness is a very attentive husband—’ Thranduil shuddered at the word, ‘—and seems, if I may be so bold, your Majesty—’ “No you may not,” ‘—happier than I have ever seen him.’

Thranduil laid down the parchment, and—his mind numbed by excess emotion—stumbled into his garden cavern. The small space was filled with lush greenery and the Elvenking took a deep, calming breath, inhaling the comforting scent of fresh, living things—

The green smell! How Lassui loves it!

He sat down heavily.

‘Happier than I have ever seen him…’ What is the fool talking about? Lassui has always been happy. He was a happy little elfling. Always smiling. Always...

Always ready to be taken in by some scheming female.

Thranduil returned to his desk, selected a piece of parchment and took up a pen.

‘My son,’ he wrote.

He tapped his fingers on the wooden table. My son… My son… “You should have told me, Lassui,” he said aloud. “You should have brought her here and let me...”

Put her to the test.

Thranduil sighed. “Of course, after that unfortunate business in Eryn Aras...”

Ahem.

But perhaps there is another way to test her.

He retrieved his pen and continued writing, choosing his words carefully.

‘Aerandir tells me that you are now calling her your wife. Do not be a fool, Lassui! Both Lord Galdor and Lord Nevlondeion have, quite separately, assured me that this cannot be the case—’

Well, they would—if I told them to, he thought.

‘In any case, Lassui, you know full well that a Crown Prince cannot marry without his King and father’s permission, and I will never give it in this case ’

“That should give her something to think about. Now for him.”

‘Aerandir, of course, extols her charms and says that all of your Counsellors adore her. I have heard about human women and their unique ability to pleasure an elf. Are you absolutely sure that she is not demonstrating her talents to them? Your choice of lovers has never been fortunate, Lassui.’

He signed his name with a flourish.

Then another thought struck him. It can only work if he reads it out to her. Hmm...

Smiling, Thranduil added, ‘Be sure to read this in private,’ in large letters, across the top of the sheet.

“If she loves you, Lassui,” he said, scattering sand over the wet ink, “this will only bring you closer.” He shook the parchment, folded it carefully, and sealed it with wax. “But if she is a fortune hunter, it is better for you to know it now.”

And if a letter does not do the trick, he thought, as he rang for Aerandir, I can always pay a visit to Eryn Carantaur, and remedy the situation in the usual way.