Author's Note: The inspiration for this one is owed to two sources: the song "Evening Falls" by Roma Ryan, and the picture "Finrod dreaming by the waters of Sirion" by Jenny Dolfen. Ingoldo is an older name for Finrod (the use of which I have shamelessly stolen from Perelleth), and Turukáno is of course dear cousin Turgon.
Dreaming
With his eyes closed, Ingoldo half-dared to dream that the placid water-sounds were not mere echoes of Lórien's dream-pools but the pools themselves; that the drowsy light bathing his supine form was not that of wistful Rána but that of the White Tree; that the light breathing close beside him came not from his cousin but from his Amarië.
It was all so clear, as he saw it with his dream-eyes: a golden-haired youth dreaming in Irmo's gardens, one hand tucked beneath his head, the other resting peacefully on his chest; a golden-haired maiden sitting beside him, weaving a garland of white dream-flowers. Entranced, he opened his real-eyes; she turned at once and smiled at him.
"Amarië." He whispered the one word, and all fell into reality. Scarcely daring to breathe for fear of waking again, he stretched a hand toward her, brushing her smooth fingers with his, trembling with the fear of touching her again.
"Heart, did you think I would not wait?" she murmured, her voice gentle and sweet as he thought he remembered, taking his hand softly.
He could not move, could not think, could think of no more words to say but - "Amarië."
"Your place is not here," she told him, sadly, quietly. "Not yet." Turning his palm up in her own, she closed his fingers around the blossoms, even as grey mist surrounded her. "Sleep now, and dream no more, and return to me when your journey is over." She released his hand.
"Amarië!" But she was gone, a shadow of a dream; the Moon shone down timidly; and Turukáno stirred beside him, caught in a restless dream; and the Sirion flowed, unrelenting; and the flowers caught in his fist soon wilted and died.