In which I make it everyone's problem that I've started reading the Silmarillion and can't stop wondering just how exactly Viserys travelled to Aman, dyed his hair, convinced everyone there his name was actually Finwë and some how turned Rhaenyra into a guy with way too many hobbies and the first ever sword.
Obviously, none of the characters are mine. C'mon, do you really need me to say this?
Anyway, after an exceedingly unproductive year fic writing wise, I'm posting the only little scrap that won't leave me alone in the last few days.
(You know? Instead of posting whatever I have laying around unfinished for all of my other fics that are in desperate need of an update.)
Something was wrong. Between the horrible smell and the bright light in the middle of the sky, it would really not take the greatest of the Noldor to figure out that much. One may even dare suggest that Ñolofinwë would figure out that much.
Though, of course, Curufinwë Fëanáro would never admit this out loud.
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