His kiss was gentle.

But his body possessed hers—even now, in the sweet aftermath of lovemaking when, still inside her, he lay unmoving save for the tender exploration of her mouth.

Eowyn ran her hands over the steely contours of his arms, and tangled her fingers in his silken hair (soft as swansdown)—revelling all the while in the delicious feeling of being filled by him.

The potion made her burn; his penis turned the pain into pleasure.

How could I be so lucky? she wondered. How—

Legolas raised his head, his slight frown only enhancing his flawless beauty. “What is wrong, melmenya?” he whispered.

“Wrong? What do you mean?”

“Your mood has—changed.” His eyes widened in alarm. “Do you regret—”

“NO!” Eowyn hugged him tightly “No. I have no regrets, Legolas. None at all.”

“Then what is it—do not say ‘nothing’, melmenya. You—you withdrew from me. You—”

“Is that how it felt?” She stroked his hair. “No, I was just... I was admiring your body,” she admitted, her cheeks suddenly flaming, “and your—er—”

Legolas raised his head. “You are blushing, melmenya!”

Eowyn looked away, smiling. “I have never admitted anything like this before...”

“My what?”

“Mmm?”

“You were admiring my body and my what?”

She chuckled. “You know.”

Nuzzling her cheek, Legolas moved his hips in a long, lazy thrust.

“Yes,” said Eowyn, softly, “oh, that... Oh gods, yes, that!” Shivering, she rode out the wave of pleasure he had sent flooding through her.

The elf waited for her spasm to subside, then withdrew slowly, and thrust again.

Eowyn clutched at the ground—her body arching of its own accord—until the pleasure had once more ebbed away. Then she muttered, “Why me, Legolas? You could have had any of those—those beautiful ellith—Arwen, even. Why me—?”

“Shhhhh.” He thrust, deep this time and, holding himself inside her, roughly ground his hips.

“I—oh—I am—oh—I am nothing...!”

“You are my Harvest Queen.” Closing his eyes in a frown of concentration, he made a series of long, slow, thorough thrusts. “You are the bravest—the strongest—the most beautiful woman—or elleth—I have ever known. I love you, melmenya—” His strokes hardened, and his rhythm quickened.

“But—the potions,” she gasped stubbornly, even as she met his movements, “how can we know—”

“Sh... Ssssssh!” He suddenly hunched over her, his soothing murmur ending in a ragged hiss, and she felt him spill his seed inside her, again and again.

Then he sank down upon her and whispered, against her cheek, “I have loved you from the moment I first saw you, Eowyn nín. Everything I have done—this colony—I have done to share with you. Everything I ever wanted has been given to me tonight.” He withdrew and, rolling onto his back, sighed contentedly.

“How could I be so lucky?” asked Eowyn.

There was a long moment’s silence, then Legolas answered, with a soft chuckle,“So lucky as to have a lover who thoroughly spends himself, leaving you unsatisfied?”

So lucky as to have won your love, she thought. But all she said was: “I am not worried. The night is nowhere near over yet, my Harvest King.”