Disclaimer: I own nothing.
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Summer had finally come to Imladris.
The sky was an azure canvas, waiting to be painted with white clouds; the trees were green and lush, lulling softly with the slight wind. Blooming, colorful flowers dappled the grassy ground, making a soft bed for all who would lie upon it.
After all the rain they had gotten the spring, a certain young elven-maiden was happy to get out and run around.
She had escaped the buildings that she was usually conformed in and instead was tottering on the edge of a small stream.
It was no more than a grown-man's arm across, and very shallow, but the young elf-maid still approached it warily. Above her towered the tall emerald trees, blocking the sun's light from this part of the land, making the top-soil cool to the touch. Still, little Arwen sat down in it, her crimson smock becoming muddy in an instant.
Tentatively she stuck her feet into the water. It was cold, and with a shriek, the young elf pulled her them out.
Her shriek, high-pitched and very loud, startled the birds that had settled down to watch this odd creature. With a dusty flapping of feather they flew away, leaving Arwen to what seemed to be alone.
But, alas, she was not. The little elf-maid had been followed by a fair-haired elven lord, who had seen her slip away when her mother was busy with her older twin brothers. Upon hearing her yell he ran forward, fearing the worst for the little elf-child.
"Arwen! Arwen, are you alright?" he asked sharply, coming up the hill she had climbed. The little elf turned to face the elven lord, her face a mixture of confusion and anger
"It's cold, Glorfindel; why is it cold?" she asked with innocence, and the elf lord smiled at her comment. He walked to her side, standing over her, and took her hand in his.
"There is no sun: the trees are blocking out the light, and therefore blocking out the heat." He answered, pointing toward the tree-tops.
"Oh," Arwen's gaze fell the ground for a moment, and then went to the elven lord's lovely face. "Can you tell me a story, Glorfindel?"
"What kind of story do you want?" the elf lord had sat down, his clothes, in turn, getting muddy too. Arwen followed suit, and crawled into his lap.
"A pretty story! I do not want to hear of fighting: Elladan and Elrohir always ask for that kind." She wrinkled her nose in disgust, showing how much she enjoyed her brothers' taste in tales.
"A pretty story, eh? Well, do you know of Luthien and Beren?"
"No, who were they?"
Glorfindel smiled, placing his hands behind him and leaning back, "Well, Luthien was a very beautiful elven-maid and Beren was an Edan. One night, when Luthien was dancing, Beren found her..."
And there the two sat for many an hour: the elven-maid and her fair-haired hero.
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A/N: Not the best, but I like it. Concrit/ego-boosting reviews welcome. Flames are not.