Míriel tapped lightly on the door of the guest apartment.

"Come in!" cried a voice.

The answer was in the Common Tongue but, since Legolas encouraged all the colonists to learn Westron, the elleth thought nothing of it. She opened the door and entered—head lowered, eyes fixed on the tray she was carrying—taking great care not to spill the jug of ale.

"Now that is a welcome sight!" The voice had a strange quality—more resonant than she had been expecting. Making sure that the tray was properly balanced, Míriel raised her eyes.

Oh!

She had never seen a Man before.

Sweet Eru! Such LIFE!

More powerful-looking than a elf, broad-shouldered, with a mane of rippling hair the colour of ripe wheat, and an eagle's dark, all-seeing eyes, he had stripped off his cloak and jerkin, and was standing before her in nothing more than his leather breeches, boots, and a loose white shirt. And… Míriel felt a most unfamiliar sensation, deep in her body, at a sudden, unexpected glimpse of dark hair on his chest!

"May I?" He took the tray and set it on the table.

Míriel blushed—another unfamiliar sensation—and hid her trembling hands behind her back.

His voice had been gentle, slightly teasing. He is used to having this effect on foolish ellith, she thought. "D-do you require anything more, your Majesty?" she stammered.

"Perhaps you would ask Prince Legolas if he would join me?" he asked.

"Y-yes, of course, your Majesty." She curtsied.

But forgot to leave.

"Today?" He smiled, broadly.

She nodded dumbly, turned, and stumbled from the chamber.

...

"Child, whatever is the matter?" asked Legolas, as Míriel collided with him on the walkway. "You are flushed."

"Eomer King asks you to join him, my Lord."

"Eomer? Oh, I see." He smiled. It must run in the family, he thought.