They sat around the table in quiet contemplation, the Nine together again save for Boromir. His beloved brother sat in for him. They were sharing a bottle of wine sent from Mirkwood from King Thranduil himself, to celebrate their mutual success.

Merry sipped and sucked at his cheeks in thought. He lifted his eyes to Legolas, deciding that as much as he liked this quiet camaraderie, he had questions that needed answering. “Legolas?”

The elf looked up. “Yes?”

“The elf I saw in the House of healing, who was he?”

“That was Prince Imrahil,” Legolas replied.

“But I thought you were the prince.”

Legolas smiled. “A prince, not the prince,” he said.

“Your brother?” Merry wondered.

“No,” Legolas said, no one noticing the slight darkening of his eyes. “I am the second-born son and heir of Thranduil, King of Mirkwood.”

“Then,” Merry frowned. “Why did you bow to Imrahil, if he was just another prince?”

“He is a higher prince than I,” Legolas told him. “He is the son of Galadriel. He married my sister.”

“Oh,” Merry replied, falling back into silence again.

“Arwen is Galadriel’s granddaughter, ain’t she?” Sam suddenly inquired.

“Yes,” Aragorn said.

Samwise huffed softly through his nose. “And she’s marrying you?”

“I hope so,” Aragorn said. “I have yet to ask her officially,” he admitted.

“And Galadriel’s daughter married Elrond?”

“Yes. What is bothering you, my young friend?”

“Well, it occurred to me,” Sam began. “That if you do, Legolas will be your uncle-in-law, if it’s not too bold of me to say so.”

Legolas turned pink, but said nothing. He had hoped this would be the end of the discussion as everyone sank into silence again. He sipped at the delicate pink vintage and his mind drifted to the orchards where the grapes were grown, and to the days he had spent there under the big sky.

Gimli puffed on his pipe, not caring much for wine, he preferred a warrior’s drink. Malt beer was his tipple. He puffed on his pipe in deep thought. He drew it out to blow a huge blue smoke ring across the table that even had Gandalf impressed. “So, who was this Haldir fellow, then?” he queried. “Wasn’t he Galadriel’s son, too?”

Gandalf whipped the pipe from his lips and coughed gently, the breath caught in his throat as he suddenly wanted to laugh. He silenced the desire, keeping his expression neutral.

Aragorn turned to Gimli giving him a sideward glance. “After all the less than impressive names you called him in Lothlórien, and he replying by fighting along side you regardless, and dying, and you do not know who he was?” he asked gently.

Gimli looked up at him. “No,” he replied. “Should I?”

Legolas snarfed into his goblet and set it down, soberly apologising to everyone in the room, wiping his face quickly. He cleared his throat in an effort not to laugh. “Haldir was the eldest son of the Lady of Lúthien,” he said. “My mother’s sister,” he added.

“Lady of Lúthien?” Frodo sat up straight and looked at Aragorn in surprise. “You were singing about her in the Marshes a year ago.”

“You remember it well,” Aragorn replied.

“But it was not the epic of Tinúviel that you were singing,” Frodo added, as if he had not spoken. “You were singing about your mother.”

Aragorn nodded slowly. “My mother was the last Lady of Luthien, yes. She lost her first husband, Thrandolas . . .”

“My older brother,” Legolas put in.

“ . . .who was killed by orcs in the same attack that killed Arwen’s mother,” Aragorn continued without missing a beat. “Haldir was their son. My mother remarried Arathorn and bore me.”

“So . . .” Gimli frowned. “That makes Legolas your . . .”

“Uncle,” Legolas stepped in. “Yes, I know.”

“Haldir was my brother,” Aragorn confirmed, smirking slightly at Legolas’ discomfiture.

Pippin looked up, at last getting the point. “That also makes Legolas your cousin,” he realised with a grin.

Sam sighed softly. “And I thought the Baggin’s family tree was hard to read.”

El fin

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