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Only in sleep did Maedhros shake and shiver.  He always stilled upon waking, arose as though no bitter terrors had befallen him in the night.  When asked, he gave his meanest grin, the one he’d adapted to scare little Half-elven twins into behaving, and shrugged, as though to scoff, “Nightmares?  Me?  Never.” 

What was there to fear, re-embodied in the Blessed Land?  Who could justify bad dreams of freezing winters, never-ending snow, great rivers of flame, and the captured Light, lost forever?  They were safe here, after all.

“Here, tuck your feet in.  I’ll throw another log on the fire.”

For the prompt set:

♥ bitter, winter, snow, lights ♥ I'll burn down every cobweb through the hallway to your heart darling, I'm not scared of spiders, or the stories in your scars ♥ Experience (Ludivico Einaldi)

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At what seemed the bitter end, when the Fen of Serech was all around ash and flame, a dream appeared to King Finrod Felagund and his small company.  They lay, half-hidden beneath islands of floating peat moss, awaiting their dooms, and a vision came to them then, of sweeter times, when joy was easier to find than sorrow, singing, dancing, the music of the harp echoing around the cave walls, heavy rain percussing overhead.  The clean thrill of winter in their blood, they could never be slain or taken. 

For the prompt set:

♥ rain, music, echo, joy ♥ while the war drifts away, forgotten at last ♥

This drabble is a riff on the poem "Break of Day" by Siegfried Sassoon.

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“Come, this way, it’ll be faster.”  His older brother had one hand on the dog’s high back, the other shading his eyes. 

“Isn’t that where he fell, before?”

“Who?  Ingoldo?  Serves him right, he deserved it.”

“Don’t say his name like that.” 

“Curvo, stop being such a baby and follow us.  Or are you too scared?”

Curufinwë’s pale face went pink with embarrassment.  The Tree-light shone upon him, full silver and gold, like a day that would never end.  “I’m not scared, and don’t call me a baby.  I’m going home and telling Ammë, and she’s going to be mad!”

For the prompt set: ♥ pale, fell, name, day ♥ Shey (Florian Bur)

Chapter Text

When I was small, my lady mother told me stories of the west, where all was fair and beautiful, the undying land.  But when I first saw your face, I knew the west would not call for me, not so long as you remained.  Not by my will did I leave you, my love, our hearts torn in two.  I sailed, but joylessly.  Now, I dwell here in the deathless land, where all is fair and beautiful, and look east, waiting for the dawn when I will see your face once more, day-break, morning hills, and sorrow all behind you.   

For the prompt set:

♥ first, hearts, fair, love ♥ in the grey summer garden I shall find you with day-break and the morning hills behind you (source) ♥ Wildflower Jigs (The Gothard Sisters) 

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“Their lives are like… stones?  Eh?”

Curufin looked up from his reading.  “Not your best.  And it doesn’t scan.”

“No, no, see,” said Finrod, enthusiasm for his own genius unfolding, “their lives are like stones, unlooked-for, heavy, weighed down among the reeds and the mosses of the….”  He paused, stumped.

“Told you it was a bad line.”

“Their lives are like the last-drawn breaths of a dying fire, all warmth and light gone, only the choking smoke remaining?”

Curufin cocked his head.  “I didn’t know we celebrated Pretentious Day in Nargothrond.  What luck for you!”

“We’ll be celebrating your last-drawn breaths if you aren’t careful.  You’re still my guest.”

Curufin tossed aside whatever-it-was he was reading and gave Finrod a look.  “Their lives are like the leaves scattered in flocks of ruin, tossed and blown,” he said, as easy as slipping into bed.

“Fuck, I hate you,” said the King.

For the prompt set: ♥ looked, among, stones, last ♥ their lives are like the leaves scattered in flocks of ruin, tossed and blown ♥ To Keep You From Breaking (Kelsey Woods)

As usual, when the Instadrabbling session begins to wrap up, my mind goes to a Curufinrod place.

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“Long have you called me friend,” said Idril.  “Of old, before we came to this place.  Why, now, do you turn away?  I risk your anger, but I would have you laughing in my arms, if you would allow me the nightly pleasure.”

Glorfindel could not return Idril’s gaze.  She looked instead upon the places where sea bore into black cliffs.  How could she put her foresight into words, that Idril’s fate would take her far away?  In a blink of a geological eye, all would turn to ruin. 

“I will allow it,” she replied, at last, taking Idril’s hand.  

Chapter Text

In the Land of the Willows, the remnant halted in their escape, and rested; their hearts were weary, but lifted by the sound of the river, the celandine set in the meads.  They made a great sad festival for Glorfindel, who they so loved. 

Idril, whose own heart could not much longer bear the burden of a hopeful future, took herself from the rest.  She strayed to the edges of the camp and beyond.

“My love?” called Tuor after her.

“A moment,” she called back.  She closed her eyes and saw not yellow locks but a great stone-cairn.  “A moment.”

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“Lady, the king has sent me—your mother’s family asks for you, now, to come home to Valmar.”

Idril did not respond.  Only a few years had passed since, by the grace of the Valar, she and her husband had been permitted to set foot upon the shores of the undying lands. 

Undying for those who created it, perhaps.

She looked upon the stone-cairn.  She had built it, pebble by pebble, with only her two hands, outside their little cottage, on the eastern slopes of the Pelóri.  When skies were clear, one could see all the way to the Sea. 

Chapter Text

Mablung learned the script of the Calaquendi quickly enough.  When he awoke, in new body, the sound of his own name strange in his mouth, he wasted no time. 

Surely these wise Eldar, in their cities, behind their mountains, with all their mighty teachers, knew how to find a houseless spirit.  He did not doubt it. 

You cannot force a spirit to make the journey if it is not what they choose, Námo had told him.

No, surely one of them knew how, and they must have written it down somewhere.  In a book.

He just had to find it.