Legolas of Mirkwood stretched languorously as he emerged from his bower to look out over the private glade he shared with his beloved wife, Saryn. His keen gray eyes searched for her on the glorious rose-pink, pre-dawn horizon. He spotted her, a flash of white and gold in the distance, her lithe body bending low to pluck the fat red tomatoes from the rich earth. He could see that her reed basket was already overflowing with uncountable fruits and vegetables. He smiled as he relished the scene before him, the scent of nature's newness in his nostrils. At that moment, he could think of no place he would rather be.
        "Saryn," he called, smiling. Her head immediately popped up from the tall reeds that surrounded their garden. Her coral lips parted into a brilliant smile that warmed his heart.
        "Legolas," she cried, running toward him with the basket in her alabaster arms. Her nimble feet swished through the delicate green grass, fruit tumbling from the basket as she came. Her hair, spun gold as fragile as a spider's web, floated behind her on the morning breeze.
        "Good morning, dear wife," he laughed, catching her in his slender arms as she flew up the hewn rock steps. He pulled her close, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling the intoxicating scents of sun and earth and morning dew. He stepped back, pulling her face to his and tasting her soft lips. He plunged his hands into her hair, letting it pour through his fingers. As the morning sun cleared the lush Mirkwood horizon, he could no longer contain his desire. "Breakfast can wait until later, love; now there are more important hungers to be sated." He gently took the basket from her hands and led her into the cool darkness of their bower.
        Inside the bower, the dance of love began between them as it had since their joining two hundred years ago. The kissed and nuzzled, experienced and loving hands caressing and exploring exposed skin. They moved as one, arms and legs gently intertwined. Her teeth nipped at his neck as he moved within her, urging him on. Their act moved to its inevitable end, her sharp cries of pleasure echoing in his ears and blotting out all else. When it was over, he laid his body against hers and drifted to sleep to the soft murmur of her heart.
        An authoritative knock on his bower door awoke him sometime later. Who is that? he wondered groggily, groping for his green tunic and pants. He yawned and wiped the sleep from his eyes. "I'm coming," he called, stepping into his pants and ambling to the door. Upon opening it, he found a grim-faced sentry waiting for him.
        "Master Legolas, a word with you, please." The sentry held an official scroll in his hand.
        "Yes?" he asked, stepping outside and closing the door behind him.
        "Sir, special orders from your father," the sentry replied handing him the scroll.
        "Orders from my father? What's happened?"
        "I know nothing, sir. I was told only to deliver this to you."
        With that, the sentry scurried away, leaving him with the scroll. He turned it over in his hands, strangely worried. Whatever it was must be of great importance, or else his father would have told him personally. What could demand such secrecy? He tore open the official seal and read on.
 
        Dear Legolas,
 
        King Elrond has convened a meeting of representatives from all who dwell in Middle Earth to discuss a matter of grave import. I have chosen you as delegate from the elves of Mirkwood. You are to leave at once for Rivendell. Tell no one of your departure. I have faith that you will make the right decision in this matter. The fate of all depends upon it. Choose wisely.

        King Thranduil

        Legolas was wide-awake now, his head spinning with unanswered questions. What could be so important as to warrant a summons from his uncle, King Elrond? Most of the time, the two elven kingdoms were barely aware of one another's existence. He supposed he would find out when he got there. He turned on his heel and went back inside.
        He awakened Saryn as he entered. "Legolas, what is it?" she asked, sensing his urgency.
        "I have been summoned to a meeting in Rivendell," he said. He packed as he spoke, stuffing a barkskin pouch with elven bread and apples.
        "Rivendell? But why?" She left the bed and came to his side.
        "I don't know," he told her truthfully. He filled his flask with water.
        "Well, when will you be back?" Her hand pulled gently on his shoulder.
        He stopped rummaging for his quiver of arrows and turned to face her. Her blue eyes looked back at him, full of an unspoken terror. In their two hundred years together, they'd never spent more than a few nights apart.
        "I don't know," he said, understanding she wanted an answer he could not give. "But I promise you I won't be away from you any longer than I have to be." He stroked her face and gave her a parting kiss. "Now go back to sleep."
        But she did not go back to sleep. Her saw her standing in the doorway of their home, watching him go. She grew smaller with every stride of his swift white horse, Arod. And as she faded from a white-gold speck into nothingness, he could not shake the feeling that he would never see her again.