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Morning Mist and Silver Sun by StarSpray

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written for Tolkien_Weekly's Faces challenge series

A Smile to Die For

Grief and hardship and long travel shad worked hard to age him before his time, Lúthien thought. She watched him from the tree shadows, watched him watch the river and the flowers, and scan the trees for a glimpse of her. She remembered the desperate something in his voice when he called her Tin&uacuteviel.

Curiosity warred with caution. He was a stranger, and a Man. But how was it that he was so much younger than she, and yet seemed older?

Then she stepped into the sunshine. A brilliant smile transformed his face, stealing away the years, and her heart.


Across a Crowded Room

He stood across the room from her, speaking with Daeron and Finrod. Artanis sipped her wine and pretended to listen to her companions, but really she was watching Celeborn, Thingol's kinsman. His silver hair gleamed like Melian's pools in the lamplight, and his laughter echoed among the pillars.

THen he caught her gaze with eyes blue as the sea in high summer, and winked. Artanis immediately averted her gaze, blushing. Blushing! She, proud daughter of Finarfin, was blushing!

Lúthien laughed like a nightingale as Celeborn crossed the room. "Lady Galadriel," he said with a smile, "will you dance with me?


Child's Play
A Raised Eyebrow

She found him muddy and out of breath from laughter, beneath a pile of particularly rambunctious children. Idril raised an eyebrow as the children scattered and Tuor sat up. He grinned brightly up at her, red-faced and looking absolutely nothing like Ulmo's blessed messenger. 'Good afternoon, my lady," he said.

His stature belied his youth, Idril realized suddenly. How strange Men were!

She smiled down at him. "Good afternoon. It seems you have been defeated."

"Utterly," he agreed. "As it should be, since I was playing the Balrog." Idril bit her lip to stifle a giggle, and his smile widened.


He Meant Well
Pull a Face

Eärendil came running from the shore, flushed, salt-crusted, and dripping, but smiling triumphantly. "For you, Elwing!" he announced, holding out his hand. In his palm sat a pearl, round and white and gleaming in the sunshine.

Nimloth had worn pearls, ancient gifts from Cirdan's people, woven in her hair and strung with emeralds around her neck. Elwing could remember them glinging red in the torchlight the night Doriath had fallen.

She pulled a face to hide her sudden tears. "You reek of fish," she said, and fled over the grassy dunes, startling a flock of pale grey gulls into flight.


Race to Courtship

Dior kept his face uttelry deadpan as his mother, alughing in her nightingale way, gently pushed him forward. Nimloth felt her kinsman's hand on her back, urging her ahead as well. So this was why Celeborn had insisted she accompany him to Tol Galen.

When their elders retreated inside to share news, Nimloth glanced around and caught a glimpse of a sparkling lake through the trees. She looked at Dior. "Race to the lake!" And she ran. As they tripped into the cool shallows, she discovered Dior's laughter wasn't music-light like Lúthien's, but as deep and ardent as his father's.

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