His hand released, Legolas made sure it was free of slippery suds, then wiped both hands dry in a towel. He needed a steady, firm grip on the dagger, and it seemed like there would be no better moment than now to begin — Artemis was relaxed and distracted both —, so he picked up the knife and continued talking to keep up the distraction.

"I do not care for those people," he said, gently tipping Artemis's face to one side, with a simple touch to the temple, to have best access, "What they like or what offends them, it matters little to me."

He had to bite back his own fraying nerves, for reasons entirely different than Artemis's own. It was not something he had ever done before, for reasons obvious enough; elves did not shave, and never was he close enough with a Man or a Dwarf to get to do it for them. Artemis was first, like he was first in some other matters that Legolas had yet to voice. To his credit, at the very least, his hand did not shake, not a single tremble disturbed him, and the first swipe, while unpractised and not particularly successful in a clean shave, did not take off a chunk of skin with it. Legolas frowned, wiped the blade on a clean rag and tried again.

This sure was turning out to be more difficult than he initially thought it would be.