He smiled, then, because even with puffy, red eyes, pale complexion and bedraggled hair, she was still his beautiful young wife. "You do indeed," he said ambiguously, scooping her up into his arms. "Breakfast, or back to bed awhile?"
She considered a moment, fondly tracing his jawline with her fingertips. "Would it be too much to ask for a long, hot bath, followed by breakfast? And maybe a snuggle or two between?"
When they arrived downstairs, they found Palindor already up and about.
"Good morning," he said, smiling at Lily's habitual shy reserve. "There is a fresh loaf of bread, and some cheese and fruit waiting for you on the table."
"Not so fast, Master elf!" cried Grol from where he stood in front of the open kitchen cooking pit, both hands encased in oven mitts, holding an iron tray bearing something that steamed and smelled heavenly. "No breakfast is complete without dwarvish corn cakes! Where's the butter?"
"In the larder," laughed Palindor, "next to the preserves."
"Stand back and be seated, if you can manage both at the same time!" cried Grol. "There is a hungry dwarf in your midst, and he is trying to decide how he might best serve you, while eating himself at the same time!"
The four ate and drank merrily, chatting the morning away, while Palindor thoughtfully watched the birds and small animals that foraged in Belloc's fields. Such things reminded him poignantly of Julina, his sister, as a child, and he chided himself once again for not being with her. He thought too of fair Normandon, and of how it was fading. Soon, it would be gone forever.