#sungsilver

Lothlorien was a beautiful place. When Beren's heart was heavy with the weight of history, he came here, to wander in the enchanted woods as he had done that fate eve long ago.

Usually, he was alone. The elves of Lothlorien knew him, and left him to his peace. This evening though, as he walked under the stars, he heard the sound of soft steps in the grass behind him.

"How beautiful I am?" he asked with a baffled smile, starlit eyes full of love. He obeyed and remained like that, nude form turned onto his side, head resting on his palm.

There was only one beauty here, and it was his wife, who illuminated their room now, during the twilight, from both outside and within. Equally undressed - Elrond had been very careful with her beautiful, sheer satin dress mere moments before - her skin caught the moonlight like a pale opal. He pitied anyone who had never seen this before, as they would never know true beauty.

Elrond then could not resist but to reach out and gently grasp her chin, shifting Celebrían's face just so, until the silver light above mingled with the gold of her eyes. Her skin was warm. She was a warm and welcoming fairness, not a cold, distant star.

She had bid him not to move, but he shifted onto his back and tenderly drew her on top of him, his thighs parted and welcoming, and watched how the moon formed a bright halo around her silver blonde hair, that now flowed down onto him like molten treasure.

Arwen smiled at the gentle kiss and curled her arms around her mother's neck. She rested her head against a warm throat with soft skin. Everything about her mother was pleasant. She was safety, the beauty of this world, and Arwen cherished her beyond words. She carried the soothing scent of wood and flowers. It put Arwen's mind and heart at ease.

She then leaned back and gazed into those golden eyes, reading all the joy and pain that they harbored, as well as the love for her. She was aware that Celebrían carried a heavy burden and was connected to the unseen threads of Arda in a way few were. "You look especially radiant today, nana."

Arwen reached up and tucked a few silver blonde hairs behind her mother's elegant ear. In Arwen's eyes, Celebrían was of a nobility and fairness unmatched.

his  arm  was  simply  there.  extending  without  ceremony,  as  a  quiet  gesture  through  the  calculation  of  courtly  chaos.  she  had  endured  as  she  does,  well  practiced  in  the  art  of  it  all,  but  weariness  clings  to  the  essence  of  silver.  the  gathering  storm  of  a  crowd  behind  her,  slow  to  overwhelm  but  there  nonetheless.  she  took  his  offering  without  a  second  thought. there  was  no  diplomatic  pressure  in  the  gesture.  no  words,  just  the  steady  line  of  his  arm,  the  slight  incline  of  his  head  toward  the  quieter  path  winding  away  from  the  crowd.  celebrían  glanced  sideways,  to  the  set  of  his  jaw,  the  way  his  gaze  tracked  the  edges  of  the  trees  rather  than  the  people.  as  though  he  understood  the  terrain  as  well  as  any  seasoned  warden. her  fingers  adjusted  slightly  against  his  sleeve.  perhaps,  to  ground  in  the  familiarity,  to  keep  her  fingers  from  stillness  and  wandering  thoughts.  she  did  not  carry  the  wonderment  of  why  he'd  noticed  her  discomfort,  only  that  he  had.  ❛ and  to  what  occasion  do  i  owe  this  perilous  rescue?  ❜

“You looked like you might want an escape route.”

Though Lothlórien was a sanctuary above all other sanctuaries, he always felt a need to watch his paths, as though danger might spring from any tree. A man who had spent so many formative years of his life hunted did not forget what it was like to see predators in every shadow.

But here, the only true danger was over-eager diplomats. He let himself relax beside her, smiling softly in the pale evening light.

The parlour was dark save for the amber tremble of the hearth, casting flickering light across walls where oil portraits and framed pictures presided. Men of valour and sorrow stared out from their painted eyes. In an antique frame, from within the confines of a time-bleached photograph, Boromir grinned in all the sunlight of boyhood, Faramir standing solemn in the shade beside him.

Rain whispered ceaselessly at the windows, a soft percussion like the tapping of a thousand ghostly fingertips, as though the world outside had thinned to a dream, and only this room – this moment – remained real.

Celebrían straddled his lap, her knees sinking into the studded sofa, her hair silken against his throat, her body warm and perilously light. Her dress, once modest as a veil of moonlight, had slipped from her shoulders, baring skin nacreous and pale, kissed now and again by the gold of the firelight. Faramir had been tentative at first – lips landing in wordless questions over her collarbone, her shoulder, the tundra of her décolletage, the soft peaks of her still-tethered breasts. Hunger had unspooled slowly, inexorably, a silken thread pulled by her hands. He kissed her until his breath grew ragged.

When her fingers curled in his copper hair – slender and decisive, all weightless command – he did not resist. His breath caught, his body obeyed. Celebrían drew his head upward, and he went with her.

Faramir looked at Celebrían then, his breath low and uneven, her taste still warm on his kiss-tender lips, and let her see his ruin in return. Cheeks were flushed, his grey eyes were wide and storm-dark. When he be spoke, his voice was roughened by desire and the unbearable delicacy with which he held her.

“Is it too much?” he asked, as one might ask the sea whether it meant to drown him.

By which he meant: Was he too much?

dark  brows  raise  but  a  fraction  at  the  blunt  ,  deeply  honest  nature  of  the  inquiry  posed.  their  intimacy  had  always  been  such  an  ardent  game  of  cat  and  mouse—  he  supposes  it  is  not  out  of  the  question  for  her  to  grow  frustrated.  a  thought  mordú  finds  he  quite  likes  ,  if  only  for  the  pensive  temptation  of  it.

gnarled  fingers  steeped  in  ritual  lift  the  mortuary  veil  shrouding  his  face  ,  placid  lips  lifting  into  a  smile  as  he  approaches  with  measured  steps.  hint  of  soot  and  scented  tallow  transfers  onto  the  column  of  her  throat  ,  the  gentle  arch  of  her  collarbones  as  he  touches  her—  silver  tresses  gliding  past  caressing  hands.  ❛  there  is  not  a  moment  in  which  i  do  not  desire  your  touch.  this  is  the  only  consummation  i  may  offer  you—  if  you  long  truly  ,  then  take  all  which  you  desire.  ❜

The majestic oak tree looked beautiful. The Summer Solstice was almost upon them, and it had become an inofficial competion, to see who managed to adorn the trees best. With Celebrían climbing them like she was born to do so, she had a clear advantage. Each year Elrond looked forward to seeing how each competitor helped transform the valley into a colourful paradise.

"Oh, Elbereth." Lights sparkled amidst the lush green leaves. They resembled little stars and reminded Elrond of Lothlórien. It was stunning how they caught and reflected the sunlight, transforming it into all kinds of colours. Elrond could not wait for the sun to set, so that they could gleam in the darkness of the night.

Elrond heard their faint chime, each crystal offering another tune. Celebrían's heavenly voice. She had enchanted these beautiful adornments and Elrond deemed them perfect.