Written for the "Grass" challenge series on Tolkien_Weekly
Flowers Like Stars
Blade
The sweet-smelling blades of grass tickled her face as she rolled down the hill toward the banks of the Esgalduin. Petals of pale niphredil caught and clung to her hair like the stars twinkling in the sky overhead – great diamonds, her mother said, flung into the void by Varda Elbereth when the world was formed.
Lúthien's giggles turned to a delighted squeal when her father caught her at the bottom and swung her into the air. The nightingales in the boughs overhead scattered with musical chirps of protest, and Melian laughed, her hands busy weaving fine thread into a tapestry.
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Wild Child
Clump
"Lúthien child, what have you been doing?" Though Melian tugged a comb through matted clumps of dark hair as gently as possible, she could not help but pull at it, making Lúthien wince. "You look like a wild child of the forest, rather than a princess of the Eldar."
Lúthien giggled. "I was only dancing. Daeron is learning the flute."
"With the Onodrim?" Melian teased a leafy twig out of a gnarled strand, and a leaf out of another.
When she was done, Melian braided Lúthien's hair with wild roses. "There. Now you may dance as much as you like."
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Ancient Steps
Lawn
Blankets were spread across the lawn on the banks of Esgalduin for a feast beneath the stars, lit by many colored lamps and great bonfires. Minstrels played music with the birds, on elegantly carved flutes and harps.
Lúthien darted between the blankets and slipped around dancers, giggling as they spun in wild steps first danced on the shores of Cuiviénen. She ducked between flying skirts and braids, as the dancers shouted laughing warnings to her and each other.
Then strong arms scooped her up from behind, and Lúthien shrieked with laughter, kicking and squirming as Celeborn, grinning, tickled her mercilessly.
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Wild Horses
Pasture
They clung to the branches of a tree at the edge of the forest, gazing over the wide pasture land that stretched out before them, beneath a blanket of silver stars. "What are they doing?" Daeron whispered, face half-hidden by the shadowy leaves.
Lúthien watched Beleg approach a wild horse slowly, hands outstretched. They were too far away to hear it, but Lúthien knew he was singing a quiet song to calm the stomping animal. "Taming the horses," she said.
"But why?"
"To ride them, of course, like Araw. To the Falas and the Ered Luin with messages and trade."
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War is Coming
Field
Lúthien bent over her task, embroidering white stars onto a black field, as part of her father's device. Her mother had been quiet all afternoon, and there were creases in her brow that Lúthien had never before seen. This was Thingol's standard, to be carried into battle.
"What are they, Naneth – the creatures that come from the north?"
Melian paused in her sewing, and Lúthien saw anger behind her eyes. "You know the tales of those who vanished, before Oromë called the Eldar west."
"Yes…"
"These – orcs – are their descendents…"
Lúthien shuddered, then flinched when her needle stuck her finger.
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Terror in the North
Plain
It happened almost overnight: mists appeared to twist through the trees and confuse those unfamiliar with the forests of Doriath. No one could get through without the knowledge and permission of Queen Melian, and so Doriath was cut off from the plains to the south and east, the mountains to the north, and the rivers flowing west to the sea.
Lúthien wondered at first why such a Girdle was necessary, until something dark threatened the northern borders, and stories reached them of a dark, hungry terror in the mountains..
There would be no more peace in Beleriand beneath the stars.