#finrod fluff

𑁍 The strangled noise he made was priceless. It became a game after that. You, being utterly shameless, and Maedhros, being utterly unprepared for someone who flirted without actually meaning it.

𑁍 “Would you catch me if I fell?” you asked once, lounging across a bench like some ancient philosopher contemplating the meaning of life. And Maedhros, ever pragmatic, glanced at you and said, “You are sitting down.”

𑁍 “Hypothetically.”

𑁍 “...I suppose, yes.”

𑁍 “Would you cradle me in your arms and whisper soft reassurances?”

𑁍 “No.”

𑁍 “What if I cried a little?”

𑁍 He closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose like he was summoning every ounce of patience left in his soul. You were his worst nightmare.

𑁍 Once, after a particularly ridiculous exchange, Maglor (who found you endlessly entertaining) finally asked, “Are you actually trying to court my brother?”

𑁍 “Oh, absolutely not,” you replied without hesitation. “I just like to see if I can make him malfunction.” The absolute horror on Maedhros’ face was a thing of beauty.

𑁍 “You are malfunctioning,” Maglor pointed out.

𑁍 “I am not—”

𑁍 “Name one time you’ve reacted normally to them.”

𑁍 Maedhros opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Then just glared at you. “This is entirely your fault.”

𑁍 You gave him a dazzling smile and fluttered your lashes. “And yet, you keep me around. Hmm. Almost like you enjoy my presence.”

𑁍 “I do not,” he lied blatantly.

𑁍 Eventually, Maedhros stopped protesting, but the sighs of long-suffering continued. You were convinced that, despite his protests, he secretly enjoyed your antics. After all, he never once told you to stop.

Celegorm

𑁍 Celegorm first mistook you for a genuine suitor, which was honestly on him. You had flirted outrageously, batting your lashes and trailing your fingers along his arm while calling him ‘my mighty hunter.’ He had puffed up like a peacock, utterly convinced that you had fallen for his rugged charm.

𑁍 “I understand,” he had said gravely one evening, after you had draped yourself over the back of his chair and whispered something about strong hands and archery skill. “It is difficult to resist me.”

𑁍 You nearly choked on your wine. “Oh, you sweet summer child,” you laughed, patting his shoulder. “I just like watching you squirm.”

𑁍 Celegorm sat there, utterly frozen, like a man who had just been hit by a metaphorical wagon. He stared at you, at the sheer audacity, before narrowing his eyes. “You’re playing a dangerous game, human.”

𑁍 “Oh, but you’re so fun to mess with,” you grinned, winking.

𑁍 After that, Celegorm dedicated himself to turning the tables. He flirted back with wild intensity, cornering you in halls with smirks and murmured threats of “revenge.” It became a game, a constant back-and-forth of smouldering looks and ridiculous one-liners. The moment you actually backed off, he huffed in disappointment. “What, giving up already?”

𑁍 “Of course not,” you grinned, sauntering past. “I just like keeping you on edge.”

𑁍 One day, he finally called your bluff, leaning down so close his breath brushed your ear. “You talk big, but I don’t think you could handle me.”

𑁍 You burst into laughter so hard you had to clutch your ribs. “Oh, Tyelko, if I wanted to handle you, I’d have done it already.”

𑁍 He stared. You sauntered away, leaving the great hunter standing there, looking more hunted than ever.

Finrod

𑁍 Finrod had your number from the start. The very first time you tried to lean into him and sigh about how ‘utterly entrancing’ his eyes were, he simply raised a golden brow and smirked. “Oh, is that so?”

𑁍 You pouted. “Must you ruin my fun?”

𑁍 “I would never, but I am curious—do you say this to all elves, or am I special?” he purred, clearly amused.

𑁍 “Oh, you’re special, all right,” you grinned, tapping his chest. “Most elves just blush and stammer. You, however, are proving to be a challenge.”

𑁍 Finrod delighted in the game. He indulged you with little flourishes—offering his hand with an elegant bow, leaning in when you whispered something ridiculous, murmuring things in Quenya just to watch you shiver dramatically and sigh, “Oh, if only I knew what that meant!”

𑁍 “It means, ‘You’re absolutely shameless, and I adore it.’”

𑁍 You gasped, pressing a hand to your heart. “Finrod! And here I thought you were an honourable prince.”

𑁍 “Ah, but honour and amusement are not mutually exclusive,” he grinned.

𑁍 He was insufferable. Worse, he was better at this than you were. One night at a feast, he casually kissed the back of your hand and murmured, “My dear, if you keep looking at me like that, I may start to believe you.”

𑁍 “Oh, don’t do that,” you laughed, squeezing his hand. “I’d hate to break your heart.”

𑁍 “You overestimate your power, my dear,” he chuckled, though his eyes shone with a twinkle.

𑁍 “Oh, do I?” you purred, trailing a finger up his arm. “You wouldn’t be the first elf I’ve made weak in the knees.”

𑁍 “And yet, I am still standing,” he mused. “A mystery indeed.”

𑁍 “Well,” you smirked, “there’s still time.”

Glorfindel

𑁍 Glorfindel was used to admiration. Being a golden-haired, heroic Balrog-slayer tended to make one rather popular. He was not, however, used to your particular brand of shameless flirting.

𑁍 The first time you called him ‘the most devastatingly handsome warrior this side of the sea,’ he nearly choked on his drink. “I beg your pardon?”

𑁍 “Oh, don’t be shy,” you teased, elbowing him. “You know you’re devastatingly handsome. I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

𑁍 He recovered quickly. Too quickly. “Oh? And are you thinking about me often, then?”

𑁍 You grinned. “Only in my most sinful dreams.”

𑁍 Glorfindel coughed. You watched, delighted, as a flush rose high on his cheeks. “You are scandalous,” he muttered, shaking his head.

𑁍 “And you like it,” you sing-songed, linking your arm through his.

𑁍 From that moment on, he was both wary and intrigued. You kept him on his toes, throwing winks and suggestive remarks his way whenever the opportunity arose. One time, after he returned from a sparring match, you fanned yourself dramatically. “By the stars, is it hot in here, or is it just you?”

𑁍 He stared at you, sweat still glistening on his brow. “Do you ever stop?”

𑁍 “Why would I?” you asked, propping your chin on your hand. “You’re such an easy target.”

𑁍 “I am not an easy target,” he huffed, crossing his arms.

𑁍 “Oh, Glorfindel,” you sighed, shaking your head. “You poor, oblivious thing.”

𑁍 One day, he turned the tables on you, cornering you in a hallway and leaning in just close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin. “Tell me, my sweet tormentor,” he murmured, “what would you do if I took your teasing seriously?”

𑁍 You blinked up at him, your brain stalling for a moment before you grinned and placed a finger on his chest. “I’d be very flattered,” you said, trailing your hand down his tunic before giving him a light shove. “But I’d still be messing with you.”

𑁍 Glorfindel groaned, his face forming a grimace. “You are intolerable.”

𑁍 “And yet, you keep coming back,” you sing-songed, winking as you strolled away.

𑁍 He watched you go, muttering something about humans and their wicked ways. But later, when you caught him smiling to himself, you knew he secretly loved every second of it.

Elrond

𑁍 “Lord Elrond,” you greeted with a smile that was all teeth. “I just want to say that you have the most magnificent bone structure I have ever seen. Have you ever considered the impact of your jawline on the mortal population?”

𑁍 Elrond, to his credit, barely reacted. “No, I have not.”

𑁍 “Tragic. I fear you underestimate its power.” He did not dignify that with a response.

𑁍 It became a sport after that. You flirted. He ignored you. You got more ridiculous. He remained completely, frustratingly composed.

𑁍 “Do you ever get tired of being the most attractive person in the room?” you asked one day, chin in hand, watching him review some diplomatic scrolls.

𑁍 “No,” he replied absently, eyes still scanning the parchment. “It is a burden I have learned to bear.”

𑁍 You choked on your drink. “Oh—so you do have a sense of humour!”

𑁍 His lips twitched, and you swore, just for a second, you saw a glimmer of amusement in those grey eyes.

𑁍 He got his revenge once. You had leaned in far too close, examining his ever-stoic features like some fine work of art, when he turned his head abruptly and murmured, “You are staring, my friend. Do you wish to kiss me?”

𑁍 You jerked back so fast you nearly fell out of your chair. “No!”

𑁍 “Ah,” he said, entirely unbothered, turning back to his scrolls. “How unexpected.”

𑁍 Sometimes, the elves who served him gave you looks of sheer disbelief. You were speaking to Elrond Peredhel, leaning casually against his desk and saying things like, “What if I wrote you a love poem?”

𑁍 “Please do not.”

𑁍 “Too late, I’ve already started. ‘O Elrond, fairest of the fair, with hair like—’ ”

𑁍 “No.” You could almost see him regretting ever acknowledging your presence.

𑁍 Glorfindel, who had been watching the entire ordeal with great amusement, leaned over and whispered, “I have never seen him so consistently harassed before. You are a marvel.”

𑁍 “Thank you,” you said, preening.

𑁍 And yet, despite all his sighs and why must you do this looks, Elrond never once dismissed you. If anything, you sometimes caught him glancing at you with that small, knowing smile of his, like he found you far more entertaining than he’d ever admit.

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“...Valar save me,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face as though to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. His gaze flickered back to you, and despite his best efforts, it lingered. “What in Arda are you doing?”

You shrugged, stepping closer. “You’ve been working all day. I thought you could use a break.”

“A break?” Finarfin cleared his throat, struggling to maintain his usual composure. His ears flushed pink, a rare crack in his regal façade. “And you thought…this was the best way to get my attention?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

He fumbled, lashes fluttering and mouth fidgeting, though a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I am trying to focus on important matters.”

“Am I not important?” you teased, perching on the edge of his desk, completely unbothered by his flustered state.

Finarfin’s eyes flickered to the door as if half-expecting someone to burst in at any moment. “We have servants. What if—”

“The door is locked.”

“Oh.” He exhaled sharply, shoulders relaxing. Then his gaze softened, taking in your mischievous expression. “You’re being awfully scandalous.”

“And you love me for it.”

“I do not believe I have much of a choice,” he murmured, standing to wrap his arms around you. His hands rested lightly on your waist, his touch hesitant at first, as though unsure where propriety ended, and indulgence began. Then, with an accepting chuckle, he leaned down to kiss your temple. “Next time, perhaps warn me before you—”

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

Finrod

He was lounging in the sitting room, strumming absentmindedly on his harp, humming a tune you didn’t recognise and lost in his own world. His hair, still damp from his earlier swim, curled slightly at the ends, and he wore a loose tunic that had slipped off one shoulder. The sight of him—relaxed, content, utterly beautiful—sparked a mischievous idea. You slipped away to shed your clothes, returning with nothing but a confident smile.

He didn’t notice your approach until you were standing right in front of him, casting a shadow over his harp. It was then, when he glanced up, his fingers still on the strings.

“You’re blocking my light—” he said lightly, but his smile faltered when he took in your appearance. His eyes widened, and his fingers fumbled, producing a discordant twang.

“Did I interrupt?” you asked innocently, taking a step closer.

“Uh—” Finrod cleared his throat, dragging his gaze up to your face with visible effort. “Not…exactly?”

“Good.” You knelt on the cushion next to him, leaning in just enough to invade his space. His scent—salt and pine and something uniquely Finrod—was intoxicating.

Carefully, he set his harp aside, hands lingering on the instrument as though it might have grounded him. “Is there a reason you’ve decided to forgo clothing today?”

You shrugged, pretending to consider. “I thought you’d appreciate the view.”

“I do,” he admitted, strained. His gaze flickered down, then quickly back up, as though afraid he might get caught staring. “Very much.”

You grinned, delighting in his rare moment of awkwardness. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“Am not.”

“Finrod.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Perhaps a little.”

You took the opportunity to lean closer, brushing your lips against his cheek. “I think it’s sweet.”

He chuckled softly, finally relaxing into the moment. His arms looped around your waist, pulling you into his lap with a gentle ease. “You are far too good at distracting me.”

“That’s the idea.”

For a long moment, he simply held you, the world beyond the room fading into irrelevance. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your back, and his voice softened, a playful accent returning.

“You know,” he murmured, “there’s a song in this.”

“Oh?”

“‘The Tale of the Naked Muse.’”

You snorted, burying your face in his shoulder. “Please don’t.”

“No promises.”

Angrod

Angrod stood at the table in your shared room, thoroughly reviewing the latest maps sent from the borders of Dorthonion. His sharp eyes scanned each detail, brow furrowed as he considered potential weak points in the defences. The light from the window cast a golden glow on his hair, making him look like some warrior out of legend, which—let’s be honest—he was.

But he was also your husband, and if you had to sit through another day of him muttering strategies under his breath, you were going to lose your mind. So, after your bath, an idea struck you. Wrapping your robe around yourself, you peeked out of the bathroom, waiting for the perfect moment. When he turned his back to you, you silently discarded the robe and stepped into the room.

He didn’t notice at first. You bit back a laugh at how absorbed he was. Approaching quietly, you draped your arms over his shoulders from behind, pressing your bare chest against his back.

“Hmm?” He glanced at your hands, then froze as he realised you were entirely unclothed. “What are you—?”

“I was lonely,” you murmured, brushing your lips against his ear.

He stiffened for a heartbeat before turning to face you fully, his eyes widening as he took you in. His gaze flickered down, lingering on the curve of your body, then back up to your face, a slow smile spreading across his lips.

“Lonely?” His voice was soft and teasing. “Is that so?”

You nodded, biting your lip to keep from grinning. “Very.”

His hands found your waist, warm and firm. “And your solution was to...stroll in here without a stitch of clothing?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

He leaned in, brushing his lips over yours before pulling back just enough to speak. “It did. But you are aware that anyone could walk in? My brothers, perhaps?”

You gave him a knowing smile. “Then you had better hurry and lock the door.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He crossed the room in a few strides, locking the door with a satisfying click before returning to you. There was a rare gleam of amusement in his eyes now—one you didn’t see often, but it always made your heart race when you did.

“You are trouble,” he said, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you effortlessly off the floor.

“And you love me for it,” you teased, laughing as he carried you toward the bed.

He laid you down gently, hovering over you with a soft expression that made your chest ache. “Aye,” he whispered. “I do.”

Aegnor

Sitting by the fireplace in the main room, Aegnor was busy polishing his sword with a cloth. His long golden hair caught the firelight, glowing like molten metal, and his sharp, elegant features were focused in deep concentration.

You stood by the doorway, garmented in your nightwear, watching him for a moment. There was something endearing about how serious he looked—as if polishing a sword was the most important task in the world.

An idea popped into your head. Grinning to yourself, letting your nightwear slip from your shoulders, you stepped into the hall, bare feet making soft sounds against the stone floor.

Aegnor noticed you immediately, his keen eyes flicking up from his task. His hands froze, the cloth stilling against the blade as he took you in—standing there, completely naked, with a playful smirk on your lips.

For a long moment, he said nothing. His blue eyes burned as they swept over you, lingering on every curve, every detail. You saw his throat bob as he swallowed, and the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“Is there a reason you’re wandering about unclothed?” His voice was steady, but there was a teasing tone to it.

“I was hot,” you replied casually, stepping closer. “And bored.”

He set the sword and cloth aside, rising gracefully to his feet. “Ah, and you thought you might entertain yourself by...distracting me?”

“Is it working?”

Aegnor’s lips curved into a slow, hungry grin. “Oh, it is most certainly working.”

You closed the distance between you, placing a hand on his chest. His heart beat steadily beneath your palm, but you could see the way his pupils dilated, how his breathing deepened.

“Have I mentioned how much I enjoy distracting you?” you murmured.

“You’ve made it quite clear.” He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before letting his fingers trace down your neck and along your collarbone. His touch was light, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“You’re bold,” he said, voice soft and approving. “But what if someone were to see you?”

“I locked the doors.”

His brows lifted in mock surprise. “Did you? Thoughtful.”

“Always.”

Taking your hand and leading you toward the fire, he pulled you to sit on his lap. “Well, since you’ve gone through the trouble of ensuring our privacy, it would be rude of me not to appreciate the effort.”

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Once he was pacing the corridor, creating tracks and trenches in the deep, rich red carpet, now he was standing before the door with his men and the last visitor he would expect to appear at such a family moment, Celegorm. The silver-hair prince learnt of the guards' weak attempts at restraining his formidable cousin and decided to kindly lend his hands— anything to have a little moment to be rough with the King. The nurses had taken a step back to rub their hands after tediously restraining their King. While the guards stood on either side of the double doors, Celegorm stood behind Finrod with one hand interwoven in his sunflower gold robes and a grimace look on his face. The sounds of your groans were a bit unpleasant to his ear and gave him the impression you were not having an enjoyable delivery.

From Celegorm’s point of view, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the dreadful look on his cousin’s face. Any moment now, he swore Finrod would rip his way out of his grasp and break down those doors. Was he not accustomed to child delivery by now? His mother did give birth three times after him, he should be familiar to the process. Unfortunately, Finrod was far from familiar with the process since this was you and his first child. Busy in a meeting when you immediately went into labour, Finrod dropped his papers and raced out of the courtroom without a dismissal to his court. By the time he reached, you were already admitted, and he wasn’t permitted to enter during delivery.

Another cry went off from you and Finrod attempted to wiggle out of his cousin’s grasp but was stopped when it was followed by another. This one was softer despite its loud pitch. He could hear the quiet coos and the cheers from the midwives and no longer any of your groans. For a moment in time, Finrod’s struggling ceased and he stood still at the dawn of realisation. His eyes widened as he stared at the cream and gold coloured doors, straining his ears to listen for more coos from the tiny guest that entered the world. He knew what those sounds represented having heard them three times before, but his heart and mind weren’t functioning correctly to process the recognition. He simply kept staring at the door, attempting to rotate the cogs in his mind to comprehend the completion of the situation.

“Congratulations cousin,” a rough, yet softer voice resonated from behind. Finrod still made no movement to acknowledge the well-wishes his cousin gave to him for he was still waiting to hear the final say from the midwives.

The grip on his robe eased up, as did the tension between him and his guards when they noticed he was no longer attempting to tear through them. Sensing a presence to his left followed by a slap to his shoulder and a rough, friendly shake, he snapped out of his trance with the door and turned his head robotically to face his beaming cousin. “You’re an atya now. To what, boy or girl?” Celegorm quizzed.

Blinking and flapping his lips to find the right words to respond, he sputtered, “Um…uh…a boy? Maybe a girl? I don’t know, w-…we wanted to wait until b-birth.” His eyes were distant while he spoke to Celegorm, though the latter found his younger cousin’s reaction hilarious. Clapping him on his back once more, he tugged him to have a seat on the chair while they cleaned you and the baby. “Relax cousin, they’re probably cleaning her up so she can feel a little more comfortable. The midwives would come for you shortly.”

“How do you know all this?” Finrod questioned puzzled at the knowledge Celegorm displayed.

Casting the King a confounded look, he snorted his response, “Whenever ammë gave birth, we were all there outside waiting. Did this not occur with your ammë when she was…”

It was as if a light went off in Finrod’s head at the mention of this process occurring numerous times before.  Slowly nodding his head before breaking into a vigorous shake, he hummed, “Uh, yes, yes. I—uh, I forgot for a moment. Forgive me, it's all of this…” He waved his hand through the air and towards the door to explain the reason for his memory shortage. Celegorm couldn’t help but release another peal of laughter. This was the loopiest he had ever seen his cousin aside from his drunken state.

It wasn’t long before the King needed to wait before the sound of approaching footsteps was heard and the door swung open to reveal the midwife. After an hour of biting his nails and tugging at his hair, his patience wore off. “Your Majesty, your wife and your…little one request your presence at once,” she spoke with a bow off her head before stepping aside and allowing him to fly into the room.

Once the door was shut, he stood at the centre with his hands beside him stiffly as he peered into your arms. Craning his neck and slightly tipping on his toes, he watched as you cooed and held up the tiny finger to your lips before giving it a little kiss and nibble. A face filled with wonder and awe at the little bundle of creation you held in your arms, Finrod couldn’t believe his eyes. After twelve months of impatient waiting, she was here. Slowly, a smile crept onto his face the longer he observed and twisted his neck to have a better view. Had it not been for the midwife who gave him a gentle push towards the bed, Finrod would have remained standing at the centre all day.

Approaching you on the tip of his toes, he clasped his hands before him and peered into the swaddle of blankets at a round chubby face with his blue–green eyes and sunflower golden curls, staring at you. The breathless inhale he took at the reflection of himself prompted tears to sprout from the corners of his eyes. A choked sob fell from his lips as he knelt on the carpeted floor and cradled your body— face burying into your shoulder and thanking you for making his life complete. His golden curls fell around him majestically as he expressed his happiness at the new life you brought into this world.

“It would be wrong of me to not say thank you, wouldn’t it?” You paused to twist your neck to land a kiss on his head. “Why don’t you say hello to her, and you can thank me later with some food,” you giggled into his hair.

Peeking at you through his lashes, his face broke into a blinding smile before he cast his gaze upon his little one who was busy feeding away. Her little mouth formed an ‘o’ as she latched onto your breast and drowned herself in her first batch of food in the real world. The tiny coos she emitted while she drank away urged the newfound father to stretch his left hand out and allow her to wrap those tiny fingers around his giant finger. Not even sparing him a glance as she fed herself, she managed to apply her already famous Arafinwean grip that made him gleam with excellence. “She’s strong! My babygirl is strong!” he exclaimed.

His daughter was already showing signs of being mighty like her father which made his heart swell with pride. His gaze at her was filled with immense joy the longer he looked on. Cautiously, his right hand rose to brush the blanket off and cradled her head; it was then her gaze shifted from your breast to him. “Hello little one…w-wait, what are we going to call her? Have we a name decided?” Panic and excitement rose in his voice once he realised that all he could call his daughter was little one and no real name. At the shift in his aura, her grip on his finger tightened and she released a gurgle. “Hm, it seems that she’s eager to learn of her name as well darling. What shall we call her?”

Sitting quietly as your thoughts ran off to ponder at the question, the air was light and fresh, filled with the scent of primrose and lavender, along with other healing herbs and cleaning liquids. The intense iron was no longer staining the air with its pungent and nauseating odour; you were able to breathe the clean air once again. Filling your lungs with the sweet fragrance of relaxing herbs and basking in the melodious songs of the birds, joyously singing about new life entering the world and praising them, you glowed even brighter. Perhaps it was the after-effect of bringing life into the world or the revelation of being a mother after all these years of being without a child. Either way, you were brimming with sunshine— as though the literal sun was not sitting in your arms.

The longer you pondered, the deeper your mind travelled, and your foresight struck. “I was thinking about how she’s so bright like the sun, why not call her sun…sunshine…summer?” you whispered while you stroked her curls.

“Summer…summer…” he repeated while looking around to complete the name, it felt like it was missing something to make it perfect for his daughter. Casting a glance through the window, his eyes landed on the pink bloom causing a grin to appear. “Summer flower! Lairelótё for my little sunshine.” Her little hand that gripped his finger applied greater pressure in rejoicing at the selection of her name. She couldn’t help but slip a small smile at the corners of her mouth while she fed.

“It appears that she approves of her name.”

“So it seems, isn’t that right my little Lairelótё?”

Finding the voice of her father comforting and entertaining, she managed to pull away from your breast and cast her gaze upon him. Little gurgles and grunts slipped from her lips as she engaged in conversation with her father. Her eyes twinkled with the same glee that his eyes shone with the more they conversed. Sweet names flowed from his lips in her direction and all she responded with were toothless grins and her typical baby noises, but in Finrod’s heart, he knew she adored them. Every call from him was filled with the utmost love and affection a father’s love for his daughter could possibly contain.

“Why don’t you hold her, I’d like to have some rest. That way you two can continue your conversation,” you chimed in, cutting their discussion off.

“Sure.” He glowed. Carefully rising to his feet and planting a kiss on your forehead, Finrod reached down to pry the swaddled baby out of your arms and into his. She rested perfectly in the crook of his elbow like it was made to hold her from the start. “She’s so tiny! Thank you for bringing her into this world and giving me the opportunity to be a father,” he gushed as he looked down at her angelic features and rubbed his nose against her button one.

Through hooded eyes, you gazed at him wearily and drowning with sleep as you looked at their interaction, warmness crept into your bosom and filled you with mirth. It was a memory to cherish for a lifetime. “Hm, you are welcome, but if you’ll excuse me, I have some rest to catch up on. You two can continue to converse…I’ll be sleeping.”

Lifting his head from their mini interaction, Finrod nodded his head and bid you peaceful rest, “Sleep well, my love, and thank you.”

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