He is strange for his kind. Not for his youthful impetuousness nor even for his interest in wandering the world, but rather because he remains unwed. I have not seen him take lovers either.

He must feel me staring at him as he turns to cast me an enigmatic smile that draws me to him like a bear to honey. Sitting next to him now, I place my hand on the small of his back, for he does not like to be touched by others but I am allowed this privilege. To drown out the ruckus of the common hall, I lean in to a delicate, leaf-shaped ear.

“Do the women of Rohan not please you, friend, that you'd rather sit chugging ale with the men? The women like you.” And I think some of the men do too.

His only reply is to laugh freely at this with a gladsome sound like the tinkle of golden bells, and I should know better than to expect a straight answer from a wood elf.

I can feel his smile against my ear as he leans in close to whisper to me, “Perhaps you will have your answer later tonight, Aragorn.”

I think I like the sound of that.

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