The Second Chapter In That Which I Call A Story.
Thankyou.
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It is fair to say that Elves, when it comes to 'those naughty deeds' are fairly liberal. I suppose it just comes about that a immortal race isn't exactly raging in that department to prevent a little thing called 'over-population'
So it becomes like a ceremony, or a ritual, mate for life and all that. This of course is fine, especially when you see all the crowded, people-packed houses that happen when silly humans and their over-active hormones start running about the place.
What I'm getting at, is that the act of... well, you know... as a marriage ceremony amongst Elves is all fine and dandy until someone (like me) comes along, drunk on their own angst, sorrow and self-pity and sleeps with the first trollop that comes along (like Legolas). Then things get a little more tricky.
Which I hope explains a little bit as to why up until 5 minutes ago I was running around Lothlorien, my trousers on backwards, trying to wipe clean my memories of the night before, hiding from Legolas or anyone else who would ask awkward questions like 'Why is Big Scary Ranger Aragorn looking like a flushing, blushing bride and jumping at any sudden movement. And why is blondy over there looking so smug?'
Of course, I probably could explain all that by putting it down to coincidence. I think that, however, I would have a hard time explaining why I was sat in a tree truck with two eye holes drilled out.