For Lady Aranel's birthday over at HASA.
Legolas, turning a seashell over in long fingers, continued gazing rapt at the little group of musicians entertaining the company as they picknicked on the shores of Valinor. Gimli, exasperated, repeated his question with a dig to the ribs.
"Name?...Whose?..."
The Dwarf snorted. "That black-haired Teler harpist you've had your eyes fixed on all evening, of course." He suppressed a smile. Legolas had lost Aragorn, Arwen, would one day lose even Gimli; he deserved love and companionship that would endure.
"I know not." Legolas rose with sudden, graceful determination. "But I intend to find out."