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Title: Telperion and Laurelin
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance
Pairings: Arwen/Galadriel
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings and am making no profit from this story.
Summary: The light of the trees is caught in her grandmother's hair.
Author's Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
femslash100's Drabbletag Drabblethon for the prompt Lord of the Rings - Arwen/Galadriel - light.
The light of the trees was caught in her grandmother’s hair, long millennia ago in Valinor. It soaked into silky strands and transformed them into something precious; her grandmother is the last remnant of their beauty – a living Silmaril – and it is her honour to be trusted with the brushing and weaving of those tresses into elaborate braids.
She crowns her grandmother with mithril each morning, and each night she brushes those braids loose once more and buries her hands and her face deep within their softness. Her grandmother laughs each time; sometimes she does better. She turns to pull Arwen close, guides her hands to her breasts instead, and takes her to bed. There, they lie together, and the light of her grandmother’s hair forms a curtain about them.
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance
Pairings: Arwen/Galadriel
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings and am making no profit from this story.
Summary: The light of the trees is caught in her grandmother's hair.
Author's Notes: Written for
femslash100's Drabbletag Drabblethon for the prompt Lord of the Rings - Arwen/Galadriel - light.The light of the trees was caught in her grandmother’s hair, long millennia ago in Valinor. It soaked into silky strands and transformed them into something precious; her grandmother is the last remnant of their beauty – a living Silmaril – and it is her honour to be trusted with the brushing and weaving of those tresses into elaborate braids.
She crowns her grandmother with mithril each morning, and each night she brushes those braids loose once more and buries her hands and her face deep within their softness. Her grandmother laughs each time; sometimes she does better. She turns to pull Arwen close, guides her hands to her breasts instead, and takes her to bed. There, they lie together, and the light of her grandmother’s hair forms a curtain about them.
