Sprinkles of Snow by Tamatoa

"Rooftop"

From Elleth.

“Build first those structures needed for shelter,” Turgon had said.

Penlod snorts to himself as he inspects the progress that’s been made thus far on the tower of the king. They almost have a roof on the thing, now, though the bunkhouses of their builders have only just been completed. Well, technically there is a roof, but it’s more of an open upper floor with latticed rails and seven pillars around the circular edge to support a kind of trellis roof.

“Build what we need,” Turgon had said, but his lords are not blind to the incessantly tapping fingers and obviously crawling skin of their mad creature of a king, trapped down on the ground.

“Come, look,” Glorfindel says behind him, and Penlod turns. And there is the king himself, gazing upward with less awe than appreciation.

“I told you too—” he starts.

“Go ahead, you bird-brain, it’s stable enough,” Penlod says.

It takes Turgon all of four seconds to doff his boots and begin scrambling up the side of the tower. The stones are uneven on purpose, of course. Penlod has known the king’s father for more years than the sun has counted. A rooftop, first, for comfort.