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Morning Mist and Silver Sun by StarSpray

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Written for Tolkien_Weekly's Let There Be Light challenge series.


He saw her first by moonlight, all silver and ebony, gleaming with the light of stars in her eyes as flowers blossomed at her feet, their perfume mingling with the sweet scent of wild roses in her hair. And when she smiled he forgot everything else, all his long travels and cares and bloodstained grief.

"Tinúviel!" he cried, for her voice was sweet as a nightingale's, but she disappeared, away through the trees, and he was left alone in the darkness again. When she was gone even the sun seemed dimmed.

So he stumbled on, searching for his enchanting Tinúviel.



Nothing pleased him more than catching Lady Galadriel off her guard. Like giving her that name (which fit her far better than Artanis anyway), or presenting her with unexpected flowers.

Now they were alone in the garden, the only light coming from the stars and from a candle in a nearby window, turning the fountains to molten diamond and gold. Galadriel was speaking of Nargothrond, and how happy her brother was with its progress. It was all very interesting, but Celeborn had stopped listening.

When she turned to ask him something, he leaned forward and caught her off guard again.



The firelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, and a warm glow on Idril's hands as they rested atop her swollen belly. Tuor watched her doze, until the baby kicked, and her eyes opened. She blinked sleepily up at him. "He is restless," she said. "More than any Elven child."

"He wants to see the world as much as we wish tos ee him," Tuor laughed, sitting beside her. He imagined a child with Idril's eyes and a smile bright as the sun reflected on the fountains of Gondolin.

Idril leaned against his shoulder, smiling, and closed her eyes again.



"Promise you won't tell anyone?" Elwing asked, clutching the carefully wrapped package nervously. It was almost too large for her to hold.

"I have already promised a dozen times," Eärendil pointed out.

"Right, of course." Elwing gently unwrapped the package, and Earendil's breath caught in his throat. Dozens of vibrantly colored gemstones surrounded the Silmaril, bright as a star in Elwing's hands, outshining the lamp on the table. It illuminated her as well, making her hair shine and eyes sparkle.

But its light made him nervous, too. So much had been lost for this jewel. What would Elwing sacrifice someday?



If Lúthien was twilight and nightingales, Nimloth was sunshine and bluebirds. She ran where Tinúviel danced, and her weapon was a bow or spear instead of spellbinding song. Her silver hair flashed in the sunlight, and her sea-grey eyes sparkled when she laughed at Dior, which was often.

He didn't mind. He liked making her laught, and steadfastly ignored the knowing smiles his parents exchanged with Celeborn and Galathil. He had no intention of marrying her.

But then she kissed him beneath a blossoming apple tree, and ran away with laughter like silver bells while he stammered and turned red.

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