Simple Pleasures, And All That by Fernstrike

Suspended Glass

Celebrimbor and Narvi test a prototype. Prompts: hope, glass, special, fascinating

Read Suspended Glass

“I sincerely hope this is going to work,” Celebrimbor murmured, sanding the final bevel of the glass piece, this particular one coloured a deep ochre like sunset.  

He carefully blew and wiped the surface, then lifted it with specially designed prongs, softened by fine cloth at the edges. It settled precariously into the wire frame that Narvi held carefully suspended in his hands. His rough digits had been calloused through the creation of myriad fantastical projects, yet were still gentle and precise, a tattooed thumb and forefinger holding the model carefully from the top, the fingertips of his other hand buoying it from the bottom, keeping steady the springs built into the design. With an impossibly thin set of pliers, Celebrimbor adjusted the hold of the wires along all the glass pieces they had already inset, and when all was ready, nodded. Narvi carefully removed his hand on the bottom, and the design sprung into place - a broad, multifaceted, complex web of a thing that could be ornament, lamp, even chandelier.   

“Fascinating,” remarked Celebrimbor observing the scatteration of colour, the thrill and promise of a successful prototype rushing through him.  

Narvi gave a smile manifesting the same feeling. “Now let’s make a big one.” 

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Chapter End Notes

In the wise words of Raiyana: "Celebrimbor invented the Tiffany lampshade"

Simple Pleasures

Isildur and Thranduil discuss wine and attempt to discuss battle plans. 

inspired by the Last Alliance fic I’m working on (and will probably make its way into it!). Based on the idea of rum rations in WWI.

Prompts: Alcohol, groups, elimination, bond

Read Simple Pleasures

Isildur lifted the uncorked bottle close to his face, reading the inscription of origin and age, then lowered it and sniffed appreciatively. “I have to be very honest, I did not truly expect any of the elven leaders to bring anything more than their golden cordial here."

Thranduil paused in his placement of markers on the map of the eastern flank of the great army, where his and Isildur’s forces were stationed at a northerly tangent to the Tower. “In one thing your and my people agree,” he replied, rolling his shoulder that had been dislocated during that morning’s skirmish. “There’s enough disaster happening out here. Let’s not deny our troops a wine ration if it keeps them bonded to the mission and each other. Simple pleasures and all that.”

“But this isn’t, I assume, that favoured vintage you told me about?”

Thranduil threw him a sour look. “Come help me determine how we’ll eliminate the Easterlings dug into these southeastern pits or you’ll never get a chance to try it." 

Old Light

An old Narvi watches the fading light - and watches the gaze of his friend. Prompts: afternoon, old, midnight, temperature.

Read Old Light

 

Narvi watched the dust motes dance in the hot, golden wash of early summer sunshine. The afternoon light had an old quality, reminiscent of brighter, bolder, earlier days, nostalgic with their passing. A time before his bones had stiffened inside him and set a tremble in his once-clever hands, renewing a desire to return to his mountain home one last time before the end. Certainly, also, they called out to his burdened spirit of a time long before the Lord of Gifts had come to Eregion.  

They were all sat upon cushions in the Great Hall at the heart of Ost-in-Edhil, enjoying tea and sweetmeats after a long day of smithing, that would likely end up going well into the night for many of them. Seated beside him, Narvi turned to watch Celebrimbor watching Annatar, as he spoke of ideas and creations and new methods and models and equations. His friend’s attention was utterly stolen away. Though he still sat with comfort by Narvi’s side, replenishing his cup and adjusting the cushions supporting his back, his gaze never shifted.  

Narvi turned away, looking back to the light streaming through the north-facing windows. Though his back ached, he shifted to observe the eastern sky. Storm clouds were blowing their way from the mountains, dark and heavy as iron. Come midnight, it would be unlikely they could see the stars. 

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Chapter End Notes

My favourite comment from the live session, courtesy of Archon Bun: "also I'm crying, celebrimbor look at this poor dwarf"