Instadrabbling Sessions for April, May, and June
The first Saturday of each month, we will be hosting instadrabbling on our Discord server.
His gaze, inevitably, is drawn back to Finrod, the marred beauty of him. It has not been Curufin who ruined him so—had not been Curufin who had dragged him out of Nargothrond and into the wolf’s den, who had let Finrod protect him with his life. And yet.
And yet it feels oddly fitting, that such a ruined thing should be Curufin’s.
Through careful manoeuvring and a few lucky coincidences, Curufin saves Finrod's life without having to admit to anything so humiliating as having emotions. Contrary to what one would expect, this does not make things all that much easier.
Alternatively: Curufin lies, Finrod lives, and somehow they do still manage to figure it out, for better or for worse.
Berion, captain of Barad Eithel under King Fingon, laments Fingon's death and the loss of his home.
Makalaurë was sitting at the harp in his music room. He was holding a dark blindfold in his hands and was looking at it with much scepticism.
In which Legolas Greenleaf dreams he is in the First Age. Time is strangely haywire and there are a lot of Noldor royalty talking about ravens. More importantly nobody has offered him a drink.
Or: a medieval Welsh story adapted with Silmarillion characters (and Legolas)
This, them, is a caricature as well. Fingon unleashes another row of blows upon Maedhros and does not think about the way it feels like penance and revenge both. Does not think about how this is the only way he still knows to touch Maedhros without fear.
After Thangorodrim, Maedhros needs to re-learn how to fight. It goes about as well as can be expected.
In that time before he had taken himself and his brothers East, taking Fingon back to his bed had been the last thing on his mind. After, in his cold fortress and alone with his thoughts, he had almost been grateful for it, for never having asked. As if this was something Fingon would still want—the ruined body, the betrayals like landmarks etched into it.
A sweltering summer day during the Long Peace, a cool lake, and a revelation; it is enough to bring back together what Maedhros thought lost.
“Show me your hand,” Maedhros says, once he seems satisfied. At Fingon’s frown, he rolls his eyes. “Your finger; you cut yourself before I got here.”
It hits Fingon like a punch. He had forgotten, the pain fading into the background, and now here Maedhros sits, alcohol and gauze in his naked lap because Fingon had cut himself on what was once, long ago, meant to be a betrothal gift.
He is sure that somewhere, some Vala is laughing at him.
In the wake of Fingolfin's death, Fingon's first instinct is to run East. It has been long years since Maedhros' arms meant comfort, and yet, at the end of it all, it may have been one of his better impulses.
Maitimo had allowed it, his eyes dark and knowing, even as it was a gamble. There is only one person who is known to wear gold in their hair like this; there is only one thing that wearing someone’s token means.
Much the same way that a crown signifies allegiance, Findekáno thinks, as Maitimo kneels in front of their grandfather’s throne.
The copper circlet Maitimo is crowned with is a work of art. He finds that he likes it much better on another's brow.
Fingon and Hurin: I. A Common Root
A series of acrostics based on the letters provided in the Tengwar challenge, telling the story of one enterprising Telerin merchant.
Hithlum reckons with the departure of the future Gondolindrim.
“You,” Fingon pronounced, “are drunk. I am not going to give you anyone’s name just so you can make up a silly drunken ballad."
Fingon attacks Himring; Maedhros defends. A calligraphy piece done for the Hungarian Tolkien Society's Mailing Competition.
In which Elfwine goes to sea to find himself, but finds Beleriand instead, and then finds himself.
Or
Ulmo sends another human in a swan crest to Gondolin, with expected results.
Someone is planting bombs in Minas Tirith.
Early in the Forth Age, when King Elessar's life is threatened, it is up to the young prince and an unlikely ally to bring down the threat to the realms of Men.
But in the chaos of a city rocked by violence, Prince Eldarion Telcontar will discover the true meaning of his inheritance.
Minyelmë comes to Tirion to see Lalwen, arriving just in time to see things come to a head.
Climbing partners get very accustomed to saving each other's lives. The habit can prove hard to break, as Findekáno and Maitimo discover.
A Dwarf, a Man, and an Elf race across a grassy plain... Except that these three are original characters of the First Age racing across the plain of Ard-galen and their plight is rather different.
Fingon, Angrod, and Aegnor wish to be more alike.
Strands of hair fall red like blood upon black stone, and Fingon’s hands don’t shake the same way that Maedhros isn’t trembling. Which is to say that neither of them does, but it is a careful, arduous exercise of restraint and bitten tongues.
In the aftermath of Thangorodrim, not everything falls back into place easily. But Fingon is nothing if not patient, and if giving Maedhros what he needs means silencing his own demons, well—there is no one that Fingon would rather do it for.
In Valinor and homesick for Imladris, Celebrían decides to build a new one.
Thunderstorms never bring good news, Anairë has noted. And the one keeping her up this night is certainly no exception.
It begins as a game, in their Tree-lit, happy youth: Touch my mind, and draw what I am thinking. Is it an apple, or a pear?
Fingon and Maedhros, thinking for and of each other.
Argon sees the world with an artist's eyes. All the way to the end.