The chambers of Finrod Felagund in Nargothrond were a testament to both his refined taste and the ingenuity of the Noldor. Sunlight, filtered through cunningly carved grilles, illuminated the spacious room, dancing across tapestries depicting ancient legends and glinting off artifacts of both beauty and power. At the heart of it all, a full-length mirror, framed in polished silver, stood reflecting the vibrant light.

Before it, Finrod himself stood, a study in quiet contemplation. He wasn't preening with vanity, but rather observing himself with the focused, appreciative eye of an artist. He turned slowly, admiring the drape of his finely woven tunic, the way the light caught the intricate embroidery on his sleeve. His hand ran lightly over his hair, adjusting a stray silver-blonde strand, his gaze thoughtful and discerning. A faint, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips as he admired the set of his jaw, the clear, intelligent light in his eyes. He seemed to be seeing himself not just as a king, but as a living piece of the beauty and grace of his people, finding quiet satisfaction in the form he presented to the world.

He finally turned from the mirror, his eyes, still holding that reflective gleam, finding yours. A warm, genuine smile spread across his face, encompassing you in its light.

"Ah, there you are, my dear," Finrod greeted, his voice soft and melodious, carrying the gentle cadence of one who appreciated beauty in all its forms. He gestured back to the mirror with an open hand, a touch of playful self-awareness in his gaze. "Tell me, does the craftsmanship of my tailor truly do justice to the discerning eye, or am I merely succumbing to the temptations of a flattering reflection?" He chuckled, a light, pleasant sound. "It is a rare gift, to possess a form that even mirrors seem to favor, would you not agree? But then again, a true reflection is only truly beautiful when it has someone as kind and discerning as yourself to appreciate it."