When I found out my son had taken up with a dwarf I was surprised. I thought Legolas stronger than I, his mother certainly was. When we married she got everything she wanted: riches, marriage to the king of Mirkwood, and status as my consort. I got nothing but broken dreams, a wife who despised me, and knowledge that I am a fool.

I am a fool, but not so much of one not to recognize that Legolas is the best product of my marriage. He is the only good thing to come from a thousand years of daily humiliation, and now he's given his heart to a dwarf. I thought him wiser than that, strong enough to resist the blandishments of any trying to use him. Gimli is using him, I know that, though I have not yet figured out what he hopes to gain. I grieve for the day Legolas discovers that, for even the illusion of love is sweet.

The dwarf--my nameless dwarf--was one of Thorin's company. I questioned all of them, but none would speak, not even he. Something about him drew me back, even as my anger at his stubbornness mounted. He was strong, not insolent like Thorin, not sullen or scared like some of the others. His eyes cast defiance even as his body smelled of desire.

I tried to resist him, truly I did, but his touch was as intoxicating as fine wine. Luanniel was long gone over the sea, and none had touched me with even the pretense of caring since the early days of our marriage, before I discovered that she loved the king of Mirkwood, not me.

I knew he was using me, that he wished to buy his freedom. I told myself he did not love me, that I could not love him, even as he kissed me, even as his mouth and hands sent me sailing to Valinor. But when he cried out in passion at my touch all thought fled.

I would have let him go. If he had given me one sign that he truly cared, one crumb of hope to fool myself with, I would have let them all go for his sake. He gave me nothing, not even his name. He escaped--they all escaped--with the contrivance of that hobbit instead.

I saw him again in Erebor after the Battle of Five Armies. I wanted to throw myself into his arms, but I knew he would not catch me, that he would laugh to see me lying in the dust at his feet. I turned away. When the new dwarven king--Dain, not that madman Thorin--introduced his councilors he was among them. I averted my eyes, scorning to learn the name he refused to give.

The hobbit offered me pearls in return for my involuntary hospitality. Even a burglar has his pride, he said. I wonder if he knows that he stole the dearest thing I ever owned?