Honeysuckle

“Physical desire is a perfectly manageable thing. There is no reason to perform such an act for the sake of the act itself, biologically speaking,” the elf speaks to him slowly, as one might when explaining something to a very stupid, albeit endearing, pet. “Unless one is engaged in the reproductive pursuit of conceiving a child, of course.”

A swig of the mulled wine manages to get unpleasantly lodged in Halbrand's windpipe. “Oh,” her eyes narrow at the thinly disguised laughter in the wet of his cough; other patrons around them turning to investigate the source of such a noise. “Oh—Galadriel.”



Or: Galadriel is a 5,000 year old virgin, and Halbrand decides to change that.