November 2022 update - Rewrite currently being uploaded and last chapters are being written.

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***WARNING!*** This story is a work of Fan Fiction.

Although weeks of research went into the preparation, creative liberties have been taken for the good of the story. Middle Earth is as Tolkien vision however some other things have changed. I would consider these minor changes, yet in the past many readers have rushed to point out these differences with dissatisfaction.

This is why I am reinstating this warning. I beg readers to please accept any 'inaccuracies' as intentional.

*Authors Note: This is a slow burn romance. Expected story length 310,000-330,000 words.

Dedication:

I dedicate this story to the one who will now never read it. Through my own shame of writing a fanfic instead of an original work, I never swallowed my pride to share it with her. I know she would've been thrilled to share this part of myself with her and trust her to understand. My hope is that she is looking over my shoulder each time I pick up the laptop and spell out the letters to the words I don't know how to spell.

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For my mum, with all my love.

*Mother VQ , 1948-2019*

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Acknowledgements:

To my dear friend, Fran. We started this journey as Beta readers and/or writing buddies, and became life-long friends. I would've have given up years ago if not for you. We are Gimli and Legolas, different people yet perfect friends. And someday, we will see New Zealand together.

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Ideas come from many places, but it would be wrong of me not to name YouTube and the historical wizards making history available and exciting for everyone. My favourites (no, I am not affiliated with them in any way) Townsends and Modern History TV, just to name two. But there is a plethora of content, so easily accessible for everyone.

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"Gimli, what about you? Does your wife wait your return?" Pippin asked around a mouthful of hot sausage.

Two weeks into their quest with the towering ranges of the Misty Mountains their constant companion to the left, the company comfortably took their ease sitting around a small campfire. The locations minimal danger afforded them the luxury of conversation during the day, but even more so when they sat together to eat their evening meals.

This evening was no different.

"I have not married." Gimli chuckled from his belly. "There are far too many beauties in my land to settle for just the one," he said, his voice full of good mirth and a wink.

Pippin joined in Gimli's chuckle, "Well, as I say, that is just as well. We all free from the oaths of matrimony and are at liberty to embark on this fellowship without fear of leaving behind a grieving widow."

The nods of agreement pleased Pippin.

Aragon gently cleared his throat, "Not all, Pippin."

"Not all?" he asked, very much surprised. "Oh! All this time, you never said you were married."

"Not I," Aragorn shifted his gaze behind Pippin's shoulder, "Legolas is married."

"You are married, Legolas?" Pippin inquired, twisting awkwardly around.

Legolas's good-natured features, so often found stern or aloof, softened noticeably, "I am."

"But," he frowned, "but you've never said so."

"You did not ask."

Pippin smiled coyly. It was true. The Woodland prince was a lot more affable than Pippin would've expected from the son of a king, and had requested he be known by his name not his title, and yet-

Growing up on old Bilbo's stories told at Shire gatherings, tales of monsters and treasure,

And of those haughty, royal elves. Those tales included Legolas' name, a persona of note.

Their time since leaving Rivendell, Pippin's wariness lessened. Legolas was polite to the hobbits but remained quiet during their conversations. He was especially brisk with Gimli. Nor did he and Boromir engage more than necessary.

Pippin might have considered it Legolas' nature, was it not for Aragorn. With Aragorn, Legolas was at ease. The two of them would talk at length, often in elvish. Sometimes they would joke and banter.

The first time seeing the tall, dangerous ranger and elven prince break out in laughter, stunned Pippin.

In the end his curious nature took over and demanded inclusion to the joke. He was a Took after-all and what was a Took if not filled with game and gumption.

Afterwards, Pippin never let a chance to join in slip away.

Neither was Pippin going to let this story escape.

Turning his legs and swishing his backside around to a more comfortable position by the fire, he gave the elf his full attention. "Go on then. I'm asking. I bet you've been married longer than adding together all the years we have lived."

Aragorn snorted behind his pipe.

Legolas' head tilted to the side, "You consider me so ancient?"

The blood from Pippin's face felt into his gut, "Well, I-"

"I have not the years of Gandalf."

There. The corner of the elf's mouth; a slight twitch and Pippin grinned. "No offense intended. But if you were older, I'd have complimented you on looking so youthful. I mean, Gandalf looks-"

"Yes?" Gandalf's voice cut through the air.

Pippin swallowed, but kept his wits, "A picture of health and handsome."

Gandalf grumbled under his breath and Legolas was smiling easily.

"So?" Pippen gestured at him. "You didn't answer the question."

A flicker crossed the elf's smile. "Alas, our union came but mere days before my journey to Imladris."

"Not even a week?" asked Sam. "Blimey, sir! That must be quite a hardship for you."

Legolas's eyes remained staring into nothingness as he spoke. "You can be sure, Sam."

"Were you courting long?"

Aragorn chortled and Legolas shot his friend a glare. "Officially, not very long."

Pipping glanced between them, "Unofficially?"

"A bit longer."

There was a joke there between Aragorn and Legolas, but before Pippin asked, Merry reached over and took a sausage out of the fire, "What is she like? She must be the most beautiful elf woman to marry you, a prince."

"Fair, yes," Legolas confirmed, "But she is no elf."

"Not an elf?!" exclaimed Merry. "What is she?" His surprise caused him to drop the stick and sausage back in the flames.

"Merry!" Gandalf reproached, glaring at the hobbit.

Pippin jabbed his cousin in the ribs with an elbow. "Don't be rude."

"I meant no offense. I simply meant if she's not an elf-?"

"She is Eryndes of house Carthal, Mistress of the Dúnedain."

Pippin's mouth dropped. "Like Aragorn?"

"A mortal?" Boromir's voice cut in from the other side of the fire.

"Yes." Legolas leaned his shoulders back further to accept the support of the tree behind him. "She is."

"Aragorn told us stories of she-elves falling in love with mortals, but not one was of the opposite."

"It is rare," Aragorn put in quietly, "but love respects no boundaries, least of all the boundaries of race."

"What is she like?" Pippin pressed, "She must be something very special. Will you tell me?"

For a moment, a shadow casted over Legolas. But at once his long figure shifted forward again, again permitting him to be a part of the group. "Tell me, Pippin, how should I describe her to you, taking care to be brief as to not bore your friends?"

Pippin thought for a moment. "If I were asked to describe Merry, I would begin by saying my friend is handsome, but not more so than I," he laughed. "He is funny, loyal, brave, and has a terrible talent for leading us into trouble." Pippin ignored the snort of outrage Merry levelled at him and nodded. "Establishing the stoutest qualities of character are most important, the qualities that burst into your mind at the mere thought of the person in question."

Legolas pursed his lips. "Then I would begin by saying my wife is strong willed, vibrant and kind in spirit," He broke off to chuckle. "And unquestionably foolish."

Aragorn snorted loudly. "And fortunate not to be in earshot to take offence."

"Foolish?" Gimli barked with laughter, "What kind of husband calls his wife foolish?"

Legolas gave a small shrug but did not look towards the dwarf, "There is no doubting the truth."

"How is she foolish? Do you mean to say she is a little simple?" asked Frodo, speaking for the first time since they had stopping to make camp.

"In many ways foolish, Frodo, but in no way simpleminded. Indeed, she is very clever."

"What Legolas means by foolish," Aragorn stopped to consider, "'One' of the reasons he would consider her foolish-"

Legolas smirked.

"Is her stubborn unwillingness to learn how to wield weapons. You see, Pippin, most women of the Dúnedain are skilled warriors and hunters. We adapted this way since the sinking of Númenor and then the destruction of the Northern Kingdom. So skilled are they, many of our rangers are women." Aragorn paused, "However, there are some who choose a more learned style of life, as was the case with Eryndes's mother. Her choice was books, music, and the healing arts, while forsaking blades and bows to the domain of mindless brutes. Dutifully, Eryndes followed her mother's example."

"A good woman then," Boromir offered Legolas a companionable smile for what surely was the first time.

"However noble her intentions," Legolas said, "I do not agree. I myself endeavoured to school her in the basics of weaponry and self-defence, but to not avail; to this day she still fumbles nocking arrows." He snorted, "Or wield a sword without dropping it on her foot. I will admit her fair with daggers, and even fell an orc once."

"How long was she under your instructing?" Boromir asked.

"Few months."

Most of the company sniggered, none so loud as Boromir, "You may find that unlike you elven folk, most women prefer gentler occupations than warfare."

"I have seen this."

"Perhaps the problem lies with the teacher, not the student," Gimli grumbled.

Pippin grinned broadly at Gimli's teasing but after glancing back at Legolas, he dropped his grin.

"It couldn't have been easy, to leave her so soon. She must've been angry," Sam mused, perhaps knowingly diffusing the tension by his cheerful manner.

Legolas looked Sam, his eyes piercing, and then to the surprise of all, he gave an incredulous laugh. "What do you think?"

After a blink in surprise, Sam joined in with a light chuckle and shook his head, "Yes, indeed she must have been very angry."

Pippin too laughed, but his curiosity was yet to be satisfied. "What does she look like? Fair hair and skin like you?"

"Most Dúnedain have dark hair and pale skin. Taller also, than the men from the south." Before Pippin could express his disapproval of Legolas's prevarication, the elf continued, "Eryndes is the same; dark hair, fair skin, taller than women of the south." He paused, his manner turning awkward, turning his gaze away from them, "And a smile warm enough to melt the coldest of hearts."

Quietly, he added, "Though perhaps I am guilty of bias."

Pippin grinned, "I think it's every husband right to think his wife beautiful."

"You must miss her terribly," Sam's voice called out softly from the growing darkness. "I do hope you will be reunited soon."

"Thank you, Sam. That is too my hope."

The next day was bright and sunny, and the company were all in good spirits.

Pippin waited until the early morning turned into another sunny day before seeking to expand on his new rapport. Legolas walked at the head of the group, so Merry quickened his pace to catch up.

Legolas glanced down at him when he reached his side, "You are jovial today, Pippin."

"Who could bleak on a day like today?" he grinned, looking around the dramatic landscape, made brightly green by the abundance of warm sunlight.

"My heart is lighter today too."

"I've heard it can be helpful to talk, you know, unburden the heart."

"Truly?" Legolas shot him a wry smile. "Then I should thank you?"

"Think nothing of it. Members of the fellowship get my services cheap," Pippin winked at him.

The elf scoffed with a shake of his head.

"Will you tell me more about your wife?"

"What is it you wish to know?"

"We have a full day of walking ahead of us," Pippin said, "Why not start from the beginning? Tell me everything. How did you meet? It must be a fine story."

Legolas walked around a large boulder before answering, "A fine story? I am uncertain of that."

"If you tell it to me, then I can say if it is or isn't."

For a moment it seemed the elf would refuse.

"Very well."

"Great! As folk say, start from the start. When did you meet?"

"Last summer."

Pippin waved his hand, "And? Where was this meeting?"

"Along the Northern Road, not far into Dúnedain lands."

With a quick swipe, Pippin grabbed a stalk of sweet grass. He went to put the end in his mouth when he saw Legolas watching him. "I'm sorry. Would you like some?"

With a blink, Legolas returned to watch the landscape around them, "No, thank you, Pippin."

Chewing on the grass, Pippin decided to change tact with his questions. "What did you think when you first saw her?"

"I . . . was not thinking," Legolas admitted, "at least, not clearly."

"Why weren't you thinking clearly?"

"That day, I was not quite myself." Legolas paused, a moment to look out across the vista, no doubt spying anything in the distance which may have proved a danger to the company. "My life has always been simple but harsh. I have moved from battle to battle, day to day."

"Like Aragorn?"

"Perhaps, but far longer." Legolas' eyes softened in memory, "That day, a hot summer's day, I felt . . . joyful. I cannot recall a time before feeling such lightness of spirit. My mind and manner were so changed; I should have not known myself. Carefree. Perhaps it could even be called, careless."

"What caused this careless joy?"

"The light of a beautiful day? The simple freedom of riding with no cares to weigh down my thoughts? I do not know." His lips twitched, "Or perhaps the lure of a happy spell."

"And that is where you met her?"

"My long journey to meet Aragorn was at an end; mere hours before reaching the Dúnedain stronghold. There was no need for haste and so I decided to enjoy the day." Legolas paused, and for a moment Pippin thought he'd have to coax out every detail.

"I was passing a farm, the first I come across for many days." Legolas features lifted into a smile, "There she was, keeling in the grass to collect walnuts. At first, I could not see her face, but I heard the whispered song she sung."

Pippin stared at him in disbelief, "It was her song that called you to her? That you fell in love with?"

Legolas looked to the hobbit and shook his head, "It was not simply her song I was drawn to, but it did give me reason enough to stop. I did not fall in love with her that day, yet as we spoke, something within me was captivated. She was," His smile grew bashful, "enchanting . . . "

"And of course, you were charming?"

He laughed lightly, "I am no silver-tongued charmer, Pippin. My tongue has wounded many. Even so, I found myself daring to try."

Pippin's laugh bubbled up his throat. "You flirted with her!"

Legolas joined with a quick laugh, "If you could call it that. Something for which I was embarrassed when fate wove her back into my path."

"And? What did you do when you met again? Flirted?"

"Worse. I behaved badly . . ."

It was a hot and sunny day. Sunlight streamed fiercely down upon the small hills and valleys, lighting up the tops of the forests, and filtering down to the ground below. The wind was fresh and fragrant, the smell of life basking in a glorious late summer's day.

A lone figure sat atop a magnificent young grey stallion, as white as freshly fallen snow. The figure rode at a gentle walking pace, his lungs breathing in deeply the beautiful song of the late morning air.

His cloth was of the finest make, in tones of the forest; long brown leather boots sat at ease in the stirrups, covering long legs up to the knee to be met by dark green trousers and suede jerkin. Peeking underneath, tapered by two brown leather bracers, was a fine tunic.

The shine of the tunic's silver matched the colour of the rider's eyes.

A dark cloak, normally carefully wrapped around the figure's long frame, was on this day pulled back to allow the passage of both light and air. On the figure's back strapped a bow, a quiver full of well-crafted arrows, and two very gracefully decorated white handled blades.

The beauty of the day bid the figure to abandon his wish for anonymity and bask in the glory of the sun. The cloak's hood, normally pulled far forward to ward off curious eyes, today was back to reveal a long mane of golden hair.

Most notably about the rider however was a pair of pointed ears.

The road, deserted for six days, stony, stopped its restless tight winding through forest and mountains, settling for gentle slopes and bends upon green plains, travelling along a great forest remained to the right and cleared grassland to the left.

This area was known by most as simply 'the north'. The area was in the north of Middle Earth and considered inhospitable by all those not living there. It was a landscape sculpted by thousands of years of unforgivable winters and flood waters supplied by rain and the mountains to the west. The north was known to be grasslands stretched over endless plains, gentle hills, large untamed forests, torrent rivers, infinite sky, and icy cold nights. Even during a baking summer, the chill of night could turn water to ice.

However, for this day, the figure mused, the north could not be more perfect. The warmth from the sun of his face, the scent of life in his nostrils and the sound of dozens of birds in the forest lulled the rider along the path. Blooming wildflowers lined the top of the next crest as the stallion eased them slowly over towards them.

A recent gift from his father and proudly named Aglarebon, the horse was as contented as his master to gently glide them across the land, giving not the slightest hint in want of haste.

Once at the top, the road levelled out to a completely different landscape.

To the right, the forest continued, however the left side lay a farm of fruit trees, nut trees, herbs, and vegetables. The apple trees bore the season's bounty and as the horse and rider gently passed by the trees, he wondered to himself the method involved in cultivating such a vivacious establishment.

Not that a warrior like himself cared for such things.

A small road ahead bled off the main road to a small cottage, built sturdy from wood and stone, and a small cascade of grey smoke escaping through the chimney. The cottage was occupied. Sneaky out from behind the cottage was a little animal barn and large wood stack. Well maintained gardens surrounded the cottage and even lead up the path to the road.

It was not until Aglarebon almost reached the small path did the rider noticed a woman kneeling beside one of the trees. Her nimble fingers picked through the nuts scattered across the ground. Beside her lay two baskets, one full of the day's best apples, and the other had more gatherings of herbs and nuts.

The woman's focus so intent on her task, she failed to notice the visitors.

The rider considered continuing on his way without making his presence known. He loathed making idle small talk at the best of times.

And particularly with those of other races.

He guided his horse to stop close to the woman for there was a faint melody upon the light breeze.

Sung too softly for even his keen ears to pick up the words, the poignancy of the tune, so delicate her voice, held him in strange rapture. Even without the words, the song spoke to him of despair and agony.

He watched her gather nuts, her song, beautiful and wretched, and far too gloomy for the lightness of the day.

Remaining still on his calm horse, he listened and was not able to feel anything but the brisk beating of his heart.

All too soon her song ended. For a time, he did not move, nor look away from her. What powers could a simple song possess?

Decided, he guided Aglarebon closer. It was such a glorious day, and he was in a fine mood. Why not attempt to make pleasant conversation with one of the north's people?

In truth he'd not spoken to another besides his horse for nigh two weeks.

The rider breathed in deeply and smelt the sweet tantalizing scent of the apples and woody nuts against the sweet flowers and herbs in the air. Setting his features to a pleasant expression, he called out, "Good morning."

The woman's head shot up at once. Eyes the colour of the sky keenly found him, blinking at him for a good moment.

Tipping his head to the side, absorbed her graceful gathering of her skirts and the two baskets and stood, his parted mouth slowly shifting into a smile.

She was tall for human woman, with dark hair, eyes blue and pale skin, there was no doubt she was of the Dúnedain.

Bowing her head smoothly, she greeted, "Good morning, my lord."

Politely inclining his head, he took a moment's delight in the sight of her. Although dissimilar to the women of his own race, he found her pleasant looking. Thick hair like polished onyx fell loosely down her back. Clear, pale skin, the day's warmth gifted a pretty tinge to her soft, kind face. Her eyes were the bluest he'd seen, as if the sky itself favoured her with its colour.

Her cloth was poor though and hung loosely around her frame. She wore no weapons either. And was all alone.

The woman held his gaze, but unlike his own curiosity, her bearing was one of caution.

"May I assist you?" The pitch and tone of her voice were just like her features; sweetly feminine.

The question tugged him from his daze. "Assist me?"

"Forgive me," her hand fidgeted with the basket handles, "I assume you lost your way."

That raised a well-defined eyebrow, "Why would you assume so?"

"This road is seldom used by strangers," she explained, "And never by elves."

There was something in her expression that made him smile. "None of my kind venture this way, how fortunate I am to be the first."

Her expression was close to a smile, but to his regret, not as committed as his. "Not many would call venturing to the north fortunate."

"Indeed, mistress?" His smile grew, and he inclined his head to her, "From where I sit, I do not see why."

A small, bashful laugh and finally her smile emerged; warm and kind, taking up her whole face.

Such a smile could surely lead a seafaring fellow to ruin upon the rocks.

"You are Dúnedain."

"I am. And you? Where do you hail from?"

"Woodland."

"Then I welcome you."

His brow rose in question.

"Folk around here hold the great elf-king's subjects in the highest honour," she explained. "King Thranduil has been most generous to us."

An uncomfortable flutter rose in his belly, and he sat back in the saddle. "You hold my lord Thranduil in high honour?"

"Yes, my lord."

"You have met my king? Or know his kin?"

Her sudden chuckle, innocent and astonished, eased his tension. "Not in my wildest dreams." She breathed in deep, intentionally breaking their eye contact and gesturing to the road ahead of him, "My assumption was incorrect; you are not lost."

"I am not lost," he agreed, his unease fading. "I am looking for someone."

"Someone? Around here?" She asked. "If it is perhaps trade you seek, most folk around here produce only keep enough to keep last the long winters. The rest is sent south to trade for vital provisions."

The elf held up his hand, "No, no. I am looking for a friend of mine. He is Strider, a Ranger."

"Strider?"

The woman's open manner closed at the mention of Aragorn's ranger moniker, and those eyes pierced through him like an ice spike.

"Yes, Strider as he is known," he said conversationally, pretending not to notice her nervous scrutiny. "Or you may know him as Aragorn, son of Arathorn, chieftain of the Dúnedain."

For a moment she studied him, her eyes looked down at his attire then back to his face.

She was sizing him up.

"Aragorn is friend to me," he hoped confiding a few truths would bring back her smile and sheath the daggers in her eyes. "He bade me travel far north to join him at the conclusion of my affairs in the south."

"It has been two months since Aragorn's return."

"And a year since we parted. I am eager to be reacquainted."

Finding his words sufficient, the woman relaxed her guard, and tossed a lock of shiny black hair back over her shoulder. "Unfortunately, you must wait a little longer, my lord. He has gone hunting westward. I am not certain of the day of his return and may be a couple more days yet."

A couple of days was of little concern to him.

"As friend to Aragorn, you will be welcomed at the main house, Carthal Manor. There you would be free to rest after your long journey and wait for Aragorn's return."

He held back a snort. She was not very subtle. If he meant Aragorn harm, where better to direct him but to their stronghold, filled with her legendary ranger brethren?

Yet, he bowed his head to her. "I am obliged. It is far?"

"Nay," she advised. "Half an hour's good gallop along this road and you will have arrived."

She was trying to rid of him.

Releasing his horse's reins, he kicked up a leg over his saddle front. "What is Aragorn hunting? Deer?"

His action didn't go unnoticed, and she fidgeted with the basket handle. "Nay, Orcs."

"Orcs?"

"They are prolific, migrating from the mountains to the east."

"The Mountains of Angmar?"

"And closer," she confirmed with a nod, "Every year they close in, and every year we drive them back."

"I see."

"I apologise; this is not a safe land." She paused with a question in her eyes, "Aragorn did not make mention of this?"

He shrugged, unless in large numbers, the presence of orcs was of little concern to him, "I have long known the dangers here. As you have said, my realm enjoys a lasting alliance with your people." However, he frowned at her, something did not make sense, "Yet, here you are? Alone. Your husband does not believe it too dangerous?"

Immediately he saw words struck the woman and she retreated a step back. "I am sure he would agree, if he existed."

Quickly, he held up a hand. "I meant no offense."

At once she relaxed at his words and a tint of red flooded her cheeks, "Of course. Forgive me?"

He studied her for a couple of heartbeats, "Not necessary." There was so much happening behind those bright eyes, clever, calculating, defensive.

However, he was not well versed in female minds. He fully admitted having no understanding of them at all.

The woman's countenance remained awkward. "It is not often a stranger ventures in these parts. May I offer a gift?"

"Of course," he agreed but with a raised eyebrow in suspicion. Not only was he not well versed in women, of any race, but also not the customs of north. What gift did she intend? The manners of mortal women towards him were oftentimes quite unwelcome, inappropriately suggestive.

He would go as far to say 'vulgar'.

Unaware to his thoughts, the woman simply took an apple from her basket she placed it in front of Aglarebon's nose.

"He is beautiful." She stroked his neck admiring as the horse took the apple enthusiastically, "I have never seen his match."

The elf laughed heartily; realising with embarrassment how completely he'd misunderstood. "Careful, you will feed not only Aglarebon's belly but also his vanity and then he will be beyond all persuasion."

Aglarebon continued munching on his apple and pressed his face into her hands. Stroking his head, she leaned closer into him and whispered, "(Is that true? Are you beautiful beyond sense)?"

Aglarebon pressed his head into her with affection at her words.

"(You speak Sindarin, lady?)"

The woman kept her attention on Aglarebon. "These are the lands of the Dúnedain, my lord. Sindarin is the tongue of our ancestors." Giving a final stroke, she took another apple, this time holding it up to him. "For your journey?"

Without hesitation he took the apple, his eyes not straying from hers, "(You are generous)." Then remembering his manners, he reached into in coin purse, "Your pardon, please take-"

Gracefully, she stepped back, "It is but a small gift. And no gift requires payment."

He dropped the coin back into the pouch in surprise. It was custom for mortals to demand payment and relieve him of coins wherever they could. "I am honoured by your generosity, my lady."

"It is a mere token." Again, her fingers fidgeted with her basket. "But please, I am no lady."

It was a moment before he responded. "Help me understand; do you truly believe title and fortune of birth alone bequeaths nobility?"

The woman was surprised. "Nay, I do not."

He did not smile and held firm their locked gaze. "Nor do I."

She caught his meaning, evident by the warmth coming to caress her cheeks. She hesitated, "May I ask your name?"

He sighed; bitterness rose within him, threatening to sour his fine mood.

"I am sorry, I did not mean-"

"I cannot give you my name," He stopped her, taking a settling breath before explaining. "I gladly left it far behind me. A weighted name which I no longer care to bare." His lip twitched, feeling his playfulness resurfacing. "If it pleases you, you may think of me as a wandering elf," he paused, once more staring deep into her bright eyes, "who stopped to admire the splendours of this fine day. Fair company included."

Her blush grew and head lowering, but then only to rise to his once more, filled with spirit, "Are all your kind gifted with silver tongues?"

The elf laughed easily, pleased his clumsy attempt to be charming had not been rebuked. "You are sporting to suggest so."

"Sporting?" She was trying not to laugh and not wholly succeeding. "Am I the one sporting, my lord?"

"You claim I am both silver-tongued and sporting?" He chuckled, "So sure I was to never to see the day. Indeed, what enchantments have I befallen?"

Her laugh thrilled him. "Best you eat that apple; folk believe them a good ward against enchantments."

With a wry quirk in his brow, he lifted the apple to his eye, making a great show of studying the fist-sized fruit. Fixing his eyes upon hers, he instead tucked it inside his tunic.

Need for words dissolved, and for a long moment he lived in those luminous eyes, as blue as the sky above them.

A tug of smile played upon her lips.

He felt the need to know her name-

A truth woke unwelcomed into his thoughts; she'd not be so bold to meet his gaze if she knew his name.

And with that truth, the spell was broken, and he took a in a lungful of air. "Alas, I feel I must continue."

"Of-of course."

Even though he didn't know women, he heard the lament in her voice.

He inclined his head to her. "(Farewell)."

The women returned his bow, "Good day, my lord."

As Aglarebon walked on, he watched the woman out of the corner of his eye.

She watched him too.

No longer able to wait, he pulled the apple from his tunic and greedily took a large bite, the crunch satisfying, and allowed the juicy sweetness to join his already fair mood.

After another bite, he turned to glance back at the farm but to his disappointment, the woman was nowhere in sight.

A strange conversation. Upon hearing her song, he supposed her to be cheerless, or broken. Glad to be wrong, he found her a welcome addition to his journey.

And what of himself? Surely the day's heat was to blame for his uncharacteristic behaviour. It made him light-headed.

Never mind, however, for he was surely never to meet her again. This day would live in his memory, long after her great-grand children's' bones turned to dust.

Aglarebon's rumble deep in his throat, caused his master to look down at the apple. After one final and large mouthful, all that remained was the core.

Reaching down he held it to his friend, and spoke around a mouthful of apple, "(We were given many gifts today)."

It truly was a fine day.