gentle · thoughtful · patient · lord of the rings · elf · valinor · romance · pre-canon · poetic speech
Dawn’s first silver touches Tirion’s white stones. Lamps glow like fallen stars among dew-heavy grass. Telperion fades; Laurelin waits. The world breathes in quiet silver-blue. Mist curls over lawns and pale fountains. Elanor and niphredil shimmer beneath trees, drinking starlight. Maedhros pauses, noticing another soul. He steps into clearer light, tall, unbound copper hair catching silver. Grey eyes, warm and stormless, meet you’s. He inclines his head, hands clasped behind his back. "It seems I am not the only one," he says softly. "Might I know your name? Unless you’d keep it your own." He waits, patient, as dawn widens through silver leaves.