Part 24

Melannen knew no more than he had already told Thorkell bogsveigir but, when the time came for everyone to prepare for the wedding, Legolas drew Eowyn aside. “We must go back there, melmenya. Ourselves.”

Eowyn agreed. “Immediately after the ceremony.”

“Well,” said Legolas, with one of his most dazzling smiles, “perhaps not immediately after the ceremony. I think the Valar will grant us a wedding night.”

…

Two hours later

Legolas paused at the threshold of the Council Chamber.

Before him, through the open doors, amidst the delicate silken hangings and the garlands of fragrant flowers, his entire life awaited him—his beloved father; his dearest friends, Aragorn, Gimli, Haldir and Eomer, and his wonderful Hentmirë, with little Melannen; his worthy counsellors, Lord Fingolfin and Lord Caranthir; a hundred representatives of his people, including elves, humans, and dwarves; and, at the centre of all—making sense of all—Eowyn.

Eowyn!

As if feeling his presence, his beloved glanced over her shoulder, and they both smiled—the shared smile of two lovers, serenely happy, and destined to be together until the End of Days.

“Ready?” asked Faramir, softly.

“Yes,” said Legolas.

So his friend ushered him into the Chamber, and closed the doors behind them.

Then Lord Fingolfin, acting as his Guardian, welcomed him, hand on heart, with the traditional words, “Telo, ertho ven,”—repeating them in Westron for the human guests, “Come, join us,”—and led him before his Sovereign Lord and father.

Legolas smiled at Thranduil—and, on his face, saw mingled pride, and joy, and just a little sadness.

“Hîr e Hiril, Lord and Lady,” said the Elvenking, “we are gathered here today to solemnise your marriage by witnessing your exchange of vows. You must both understand that when you leave this place it will be as hervess e hervenn, wife and husband, indissolubly bound. Do you, Legolas Greenleaf, acknowledge this?”

“I do.”

“Do you, Eowyn, daughter of Eomund, acknowledge this?”

Eowyn smiled up at Legolas. “I do.”

Thranduil turned back to his son. “Then make your vow.”

Carefully sliding his ring onto Eowyn’s finger, Legolas repeated the words he had spoken, more than a year ago, behind the waterfall on the way home from Caras Arnen, “Mîl sui lotheg i edlothia an-uir—love is like a flower that blooms forever,” he said. “Im hervenn chîn; no hervess nín—I am your husband; be my wife.”

“Eowyn, iell nín,” said Thranduil, “make your vow.”

“I love you, Legolas—le annon veleth nín,” said Eowyn, slipping her ring onto Legolas’ finger. “I am your wife; be my husband—Im hervess chîn; no hervenn nín.”

There was a soft sigh from the assembled witnesses, followed by a gentle rustling as they rose to their feet, and then a moment of profound peace whilst, hands on heart and heads bowed, they prayed to their gods for the couple’s health and happiness.

At last, Legolas broke the silence, sweeping Eowyn up into his arms—a cue for the court musicians to play a joyful fanfare—and crying, “My wife and I invite you all to join us in the Banqueting Hall!”

…

Much later

When supper had been eaten, and the toasts had been drunk, and gifts had been received, and speeches given—and Master Halmir, Gondor’s foremost artist, had captured it all in his tiny sketchbook—Legolas and Eowyn bade their guests goodnight. “But please,” said Legolas, happily, “do not stop celebrating on our account…”

“Where are we going?” asked Eowyn, as the elf led her off the main walkway, to a little door—so well-concealed behind a carantaur trunk that she had never noticed it before—opened it, and bade her climb the stairs.

“It is a surprise.”

“Melannen—”

“Knows that his Gwanur Eowyn and Gwanur Legolas will be away for the night,” said Legolas, “and is quite happy to have his Gwanur Hentmirë put him to bed for once—she will be sleeping in our chambers, melmenya—”

Eowyn reached the top of the stairs—and gasped.

“Do you like it?”

Hand-in-hand, they stepped out onto the flet. The wooden platform was small, scarcely half the size of their garden, and on it stood the most exquisite building Eowyn had ever seen—a tiny palace of carved and gilded wood, neither elven nor human but a delightful union of both—with a wide, canopied porch, a bedchamber beyond, and a bathing room tucked behind that.

“This will be our secret place,” said Legolas, “where we can come when we need privacy.”

“But—how…?” She examined one of the prancing horses carved on the pillars.

“I designed it,” said the elf, proudly, “and Master Bawden and his men built it.”

“I meant,” said Eowyn, “how did you keep it secret from me?”

“By banishing it from my mind, once it was underway.”

“And does that mean,” she said, teasing him, “that I can no longer trust you?”

“Could you ever trust me?” asked Legolas, with a wicked grin. Then he added, more seriously, “You have not said whether you like it.”

“I adore it Lassui.”

…

He carried her over the threshold, and into the bedchamber; and, after he had closed the door behind them, and shut out the rest of the world, he knelt down before her and, raising her hand to his lips, he repeated once more the vow he had made earlier—but, this time, just for her. And she drew him up onto the bed, and kissed him; and, lying together in their little hideaway, they made love as though for the very first time.

…

Epilogue

“Legolas Greenleaf.”

Smiling, Legolas knelt down before the being of light. “My Lord.”

“I have a task for you, child,” said the being. “For you, and your wife.”

“Does it concern Melannen’s people, my Lord?”

“It does, Legolas; indeed it does.”