Why the look of sadness, lovely one?
Surely you must be content in these moonlit woods
It wounds me deeply, fair one, it truly does
That some of your old fear of me lingers still
No desire have I to give you pain or fear
And easily could you defend yourself if I tried
Still you stiffen when I take your hand
My gifts you receive with downcast eyes
Often I wonder what caused this change
You used to look upon me more favorably
True, I have used force to keep you here
But never have I raised a blade or hand to you
Nay, I used a more pleasant means of binding
You were not so unwilling in those times, my lady
It would not be so wise of you to leave
Not in your present condition, my sweet
What must I do to gain your affection?
At least your affection, if not your love?
A rose blooms near the path we take
Mayhap it will please thee more than jewels
At last, I am rewarded with a smile
When I hand you this blood hued flower
A soft cry steals away your smile
One of the thorns has pierced your flesh
Fear not, my sweet, your wound is little
You won't die from a cut so small
I will take your hand, fair Aredhel
And still the blood from flowing
Ah, good, the blood has stilled
No longer does it flow from your hand
Again your skin is flawless and pale
And mine is stained with rose hued blood