January 2025 Instadrabbling writings: Olwë, Tuor, Illuvatar, Finrod, Dior, Gil-galad by Quente

Arc

Prompt: Even a wounded world holds us, giving us moments of wonder and joy.

Gil-galad stood with Círdan on the island of Amon Ereb, looking out over the new sea that lapped against the Ered Luin. There were several ships docked in the timber-strewn bay, as near to the island as they could reach.

Elves were working near the shore, lashing the plentiful wood into more rafts.

“I know you think this a fool’s errand,” Gil-galad said, watching as another group of workers corralled frightened deer on the slopes of the mountain into a makeshift pen.

A doe and two fauns hopped into the pen more willingly than Gil-galad thought they would, and he smiled.

“It is,” Círdan responded, his brows beetling as the first raft, full of cages containing squirrels, raccoons, and field mice, touched the edge of his ship. Sailors raised the cages in an assembly line, one of them shouting his displeasure as a small creature bit his hand.

Gil-galad laughed. “That fellow is cursing me, at least.”

“And so will I, when a mouse escapes and I can’t find it in my heart to get rid of her family in my hold.”

But Gil-galad knew that Círdan knew why they were doing it. All of that life needed somewhere to land; the small island would soon be stripped of all that could sustain them.

“At least you didn’t ask for the insects.”