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Prelude to a cup of tea

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“You’re Galadriel.”

The girl fixed him with a piercing blue stare, and Celeborn felt himself sway back a little from the power of her glance.

“Yes, I know I am.”

“You – you were in the Vagina Monologues.”

“Also true.”

Celeborn shifted his bag to his other arm. She was so pretty it hurt, a little, to look at her. And his cousin hadn’t been kidding when he described her as ‘intimidating’. “Your piece was very powerful.”

Galadriel studied him, her eyes lingering on the feathered headband that held his pale hair out of his eyes, and the embroidered linen shirt he was wearing. “Thanks. I’m sorry, but who are you? And did you get lost on your way to the 70s?”

Celeborn smiled. “I’ve considered that.”

Galadriel didn’t blink much, he noticed. “What’s your name?”


“Celeborn.” Galadriel said his name carefully, like with it, she was memorizing everything about him. “Why did you approach me, Celeborn?” Her tone was oddly formal, and Celeborn realized she was uncertain, even though her back was very straight and her voice very even. A strand of bright hair had escaped from her braid and was falling across her face, and he wanted to reach out and tuck it behind her ear.

“Would you like to get a cup of coffee?”

“What?” Now she blinked, and Celeborn had another realization – startled was an unexpectedly endearing look on her.

“Or chai,” he amended. “I don’t actually drink coffee…but Cuiviénen serves a variety of teas. And kombuchas, actually. And if you get the right barista, you can get a rather tasty smoothie…”

“You’re asking me out?”

Celeborn tilted his head, considering. “Yes. That was the intent, anyway.”

“All right,” said Galadriel, and she looked surprised at herself. “I’ll get a cup of…something with you.” She said the words carefully, as if listening to hear that they were really coming out of her mouth.

“Tomorrow at 3pm?”

“That’s fine.”

“I’ll see you then!” Celeborn smiled, delighted, and was even more elated when Galadriel smiled back.

“See you then.”

He walked away, promising himself he’d play it cool and not look back over his shoulder, and failing after five paces. He glanced back. Galadriel was standing where he’d left her, and he could have sworn there was faint pink tinge to her cheeks.

“Celeborn,” he saw more than heard her whisper, turning the name over on her tongue. “Celeborn.”