Sprinkles of Snow by Tamatoa

Strength and Beauty

From Shadow.

Frantic, Edradhil searches the ragged group of survivors. “My lord?” he calls. “Lord Finrod!”

But Finrod is nowhere to be found. Every other face is a broad, bearded Man, dirty with the muck of battle, dark haired and unlovely. No blond heads are to be found; Edrahil’s own ash-colored hair falls in his eyes and he nearly rips it from his scalp as he pulls it away.

Then over the hill, up from the marshy fen of the battleground, a last Man comes with a body slung over his shoulder. The hanging golden head jerks as Finrod coughs, and Edrahil is sure that he has never seen anything more beautiful.