Written for Drabble Tag 8 in the femslash100 LJ community, for the prompt: "The Silmarillion: Thuringwethil/Lúthien - shadow"
Dancing in the woods of Doriath, Lúthien looks up and sees a shadow pass across the moon. She turns, trying to see better, and catches a glimpse of wings outstretched in flight, a graceful body, a pale face framed by dark hair. Fascinated, Lúthien follows.
The winged one glides through the air, weaving elaborate patterns in her flight. Laughing, Lúthien tries to follow her motions, leaping and spinning until she is dizzy. To her delight, the other responds to her movements as well until they are joined in a single dance, one above and one below on earth.
Stretching her arms upward, Lúthien spins once more—and the last step takes her beyond the Girdle. The shadow swoops down, swift as a striking hawk. Lúthien is caught, wrapped in leathery wings. She gasps, more startled than afraid.
The woman's face is pale but very beautiful, her eyes like deep dark wells. She caresses Lúthien's cheek, runs an iron-tipped claw gently along her throat. The point is so sharp that it is a moment before Lúthien feels the sting, glances down to see a thin line of blood welling up.
And then the woman lowers her head, laps at the droplets of blood. Lúthien makes a soft noise at the feeling of a warm tongue moving against the skin of her neck, tasting her.
"I am called Thuringwethil," the woman murmurs against her throat, and Lúthien shivers. "Come and dance with me again some night." And Lúthien thinks perhaps she will.