Ficcish Things

[narya_flame]

Over the last few weeks I've accumulated a bunch of snippets that I'm not planning to post separately on Faerie, SWG or AO3 - either because they're just too small, or because at some point I plan to expand them, or work them into a longer fic. For now I'm popping them on here so I've got them all grouped together; I'll do something with them eventually!

Expect appearances from the usual suspects - mostly Noldor, plus various OCs (including the Paradox crew) and a few other guest stars. Content ranges from festive fluff to mild horror/gore. Nothing NSFW. Nothing more than 500 words, most significantly less.

Written in response to Tumblr prompts...

DON'T LET GO

“Finwë.” Her grip on his wrists was light yet firm. “Stop this. It is not what she would want; can you not see that? Think of your people – think of your son!”
 

“As she has chosen, may not I choose also?” He turned his face to the pale light of the Mingling. “I cannot understand it. She has left me…as he did, long ago.”
 

“Left us,” Indis corrected sharply. “And we cannot know what happened to Élernil*; it is useless to compare the two.” She hesitated, then loosened her grasp and traced circles on his forearms with her thumbs. “Finwë, I beg you, do not let go. If you love me at all – if you love Fëanáro – hold now. Hold, and endure."



*Many thanks to Spiced_Wine for allowing me to use her wonderful OC Élernil/Edenel in my fics.


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BE CAREFUL

“You cannot give me this.”

 

Elemmakil smiled, and he closed Voronwë’s fingers over the pendant.  “I will have no arguments.  It has always brought me luck; may it do the same for you.”

 

Voronwë looked into the pale green eyes, then smiled and looped the chain over his neck.  “May it do the same for all of us.”

 

“Ah, my friend.”  Elemmakil trailed his fingertips across the back of Voronwë’s hand, then pulled him into a tight embrace.  “Be careful.  The lands of Middle-earth are no longer safe – if, indeed, they ever were.”

 

The soft wool of Elemmakil’s cloak tickled Voronwë’s cheek.  He closed his eyes and inhaled the smell of grass and rain-fresh wind.  “It is not the land I fear.”

 

He felt Elemmakil’s lips press against his temple.  “Come home soon, my dear.  I will miss you.”

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Written for a selection of prompts themed 'The Great Outdoors' on the One Sentence Only community... 

GREEN:

 

Laiquë stroked the star-shaped leaf, marvelling, for how strange it was that this most beautiful of plants had proved to be so deadly.

 

RAINBOW:

 

Egalmoth posed in front of the mirror, his many-coloured cloak flung carelessly over his shoulder; Aredhel's eyes gleamed, and she teased, "My dear, if you do not yet have a name for your House, allow me to supply one."

 

BIRDS:

"The child is damaged; she doesn't speak," they whispered - yet Elwing smiled, and told her secrets to the birds.

ENDLESS:

 

The Void gaped ever onward, yawning beyond the bounds of time and space - yet he, Melkor, was endless too, and one day he would return.

  

TREE:

 

The boy laughed at his grandmother's warnings of tree-creatures called Huorns, and so he did not notice the dark, mossed shape watching his every step through the woods...

 

SILENCE:

 

Erellont felt Aerandir's arm around his waist and Falathar's hand on his shoulder, and he closed his eyes, glad of their comfort in the silent dark of the Straight Road.

 

MOONLIGHT:

 

The Orcs called them demons and fled before them, for their hair was starlight, their eyes white fire, and their sharpened teeth dripped blood.*

 

SUN:

 

Light danced through the gold in Fingon's braids, and despite the ache of his wounds and the memory of the dark, Maedhros felt himself smile.

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*This one refers to the Ithiledhil, a group of original characters from Spiced Wine's Magnificat of the Damned series.  They were once captives of Melkor, the result of his first attempts to create Orcs.  She has kindly given me permission to use them in my own fic.

Written for FFFC's November Maxi Bingo Card.

DREAM*:

Galadmîr snorted in his sleep. Narvi paused, watching smoke curl delicately from his nostrils, and sighed with relief as the little dragon wrapped his tail around his nose and settled back against the hearth.
 

"You were saying?" Celebrimbor asked, returning to the sheaves of sketched plans.
 

Narvi, though, was still eyeing Galadmîr, and shook her head. "I'd never have believed it, if I hadn't seen it for myself. An Elf adopting a dragon..."
 

"Galadmîr has been in my family for a long time."
 

"That sounds like a story worth hearing." She jumped as Galadmîr snored again. His clawed forearm twitched, as though grasping at unseen prey, and the firelight danced red as blood on his scales.
 

"It's alright." Celebrimbor smiled fondly as a log shifted in the grate, and sparks shot up the chimney. "He's just dreaming."

 

TOYS:

The lamplight burned golden in Fëanáro's workshop, warm against the cool silver gleam of Telperion in the streets. He stooped over his latest project, a furrow between his brows, craftsman's fingers delicately grasping the finest of brushes to paint ambling bears and graceful swans onto the box's glossed wooden surface.
 

Ñolofinwë waited for his brother to pause in his labours before speaking. "It's beautiful."
 

Fëanáro straightened, and smiled wearily. "How long have you been there?"
 

"A while. I did not wish to disturb you."
 

A nod of acknowledgement. "How is she?"
 

"Much the same."
 

Fëanáro turned back to his work. "She will not die, Ñolofinwë." His silver eyes blazed. "I will not allow it."
 

Such things are not in your gift, brother. Ñolofinwë did not voice the thought - but the flare of anger on his half-brother's features told him that Fëanáro had heard anyway. 
 

For once, though, the infamous temper did not rise. Instead, Fëanáro gestured to the little wooden box. "It plays her lullaby." He turned the little key set into its front. "Listen."
 

A tinkling, simple arrangement of the lilting tune Faniel loved drifted from its interior. Ñolofinwë smiled, and blinked against the prickling of his eyes.
 

Fëanáro gestured around the workshop. Instead of the usual scientific contraptions and intricate jewellery, the shelves were full of toys - brightly coloured building blocks, sweet-faced dolls, complex models made of slender gold rods and glass in ice-hued pastels, spinning tops, skipping ropes, a counting frame - and in one corner, a roughly hewn rocking horse, awaiting polish and paint. "It's all for her. When she wakes up."
 

If.

No. When.

Ñolofinwë slid an arm around his brother's waist. "Come home, my dear. It's late."
 

"When this is finished."
 

A careful pause. "It was not your fault, Fëanáro."
 

"Your mother thinks differently."
 

"Has she said so?"
 

"She does not need to." Fëanáro pulled away from the contact and returned to the workbench.
 

Ñolofinwë sighed. "Then I will wait with you. We will return together."
 

"I may be some time."
 

"I know." Ñolofinwë settled himself on the three-legged stool at his brother's side. Fëanáro never used it; its usual occupant lay in her bed in the palace, her precious head swathed in bandages. "I will stay."
 

 

YARN**:

"I got you all a proper present too."  Deep coral bloomed across Rosie's cheeks.  "These are just for fun."  
 

I dug my nails under the scrunched edges of the paper.  Mark turned his parcel over carefully in his hands, searching for an entry point, while Harrison attacked the sellotape with his teeth.  Theo made short work of his, and pulled an ugly blue knitted troll from the wrapping.  For a moment he gaped at it, and then he laughed.  "Rosie, this is brilliant...did you make it?"
 

Rosie's blush darkened prettily, and she nodded.
 

Harrison grinned.  "It's a dead ringer for you, bud."
 

Theo took a swipe at him in retaliation; Harrison ducked, and nearly sent the Christmas tree flying.
 

"Please be careful," I entreated as Mark steadied it (and Harrison), and straightened the lights.
 

"Sorry."  Harrison returned to unravelling his own gift.  "Oh!  Amazing!"  
 

His own toy was an orange dinosaur, shaped roughly like a T-rex but with a startlingly long neck. 
 

I smiled.  "OK, my turn."  My wrapping paper concealed something deep fuschia, with flapping ears and a knotted woollen tail - a pink elephant.
 

"I could make all sorts of comments here, but I'll refrain," smirked Theo.
 

I rolled my eyes.
 

"Theo!" Rosie yelped, and turned to me, her expression mortified.  "That isn't what I meant at all..."
 

"We know," Mark reassured her.
 

"I just thought it was sweet."
 

"It is."  I squeezed her hand, and gave Theo my best courtroom glare.  "It's adorable."
 

"Go on, Mark," said Harrison.  "What have you got?"
 

Mark's knitted toy resembled a green snake with fins and flippers.  Theo screwed his mouth up, clearly trying not to laugh again.
 

"It's the Loch Ness Monster," Rosie explained, her cheeks now nearing the colour of my elephant.
 

"It's wonderful."  Mark's grey eyes softened, and memory curled in the corner of his smile.  "Thank you." 
 

 

HEARTACHE***:

"She would want you to have it."
 

Egalmoth ran his fingers over the sword hilt, almost as familiar to him as his own blade.  "Should it not go to you?"
 

"No."  Maeglin gave a ragged smile.  "I am right handed.  Like my father."
 

The bitterness under the words was keen and cold.
 

"Besides," the youth continued, "it seems fitting.  You were her oldest friend."
 

Egalmoth looked up sharply.  "She spoke to you of me?"
 

"Many times."
 

There was a hard, yearning ache in the young voice now.  Egalmoth wondered how things might have been different, for him and for this damaged, grieving creature, if...
 

"Please."  Maeglin closed Egalmoth's fingers over the hilt.  The cool metal thrummed at his touch, like a cat purring at its owner's caress.  It was a little small, of course, but if he held his breath and listened, felt, he could almost hear her calling, laughing, ready with a kiss on the cheek or a lazy, gentle embrace...
 

"My lord?"
 

He sighed.  "Forgive me."
 

"I can adjust it for your reach and grip."
 

Egalmoth met his eyes curiously.  "You are a smith?"
 

"Yes."  And now there was ice behind the smile, and a flare of darkness.  "Again - like my father."

 

OWL:

Soft shadows skittered across the canvas.  Ingwion's slim, clear-lined features were edged in the gentle gold of the candles, eyes sharp, brow unfurrowed as he surveyed the maps spread across the great folding table.  Outside, the fluting call of an owl drifted through the thick night air.
 

"Well met, cousin."
 

Arafinwë smiled.  It was not the conventional greeting of a prince to a king - Ingwion had not even looked up to acknowledge his entrance - but his cousin had never been one for convention, and there was nobody else around to hear.  "Well met indeed."
 

Ingwion did look up then, and raised one golden eyebrow.  "You look dreadful."
 

"We are at war; whatever do you expect?"
 

A smile broke across the features of marble and ice.  "I am glad to see you - truly.  Please, sit."
 

Arafinwë sank gratefully into the chair his cousin indicated.  Ingwion made a note on his map, then poured two glasses of red wine and pressed one of them into Arafinwë's hands.
 

"Not a very good vintage, I'm afraid, but one does what one can."  He kissed Arafinwë's forehead, and slid into the chair opposite.  "Now, my dear - tell me everything."
 

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*Obviously there is nothing in canon to suggest Celebrimbor has a pet dragon.  This snippet is based on this adorable picture by the wonderful Lynndyre.
   

**This is Tolkien fanfic - just.  It's set in the same 'verse as my current WIP, The Ways of Paradox, about Maglor in modern times.
 

***In my 'verse, Aredhel is left-handed and carries a curved blade forged for her by Fëanor.  I had forgotten, when I made this decision, that Egalmoth also carries a "bent" sword; when I remembered, I had already started to imagine the two of them as childhood friends, and this final link sealed the deal for me. 

Comments

[spiced_wine]

Sometimes it happens like that!

[narya_flame]

I know. I have the same issue with Voronwë and Elemmakil...I'd never have thought of it without the SiS exchange, and even then I only intended it as a one shot, but now I think it's either a novella that spans several hundred years, or possibly a series of short stories. I don't know, I can't decide how it works best, and I want to finish Paradox before I start focussing on anything else big.

I've decided to post the ones that do work as one-shots, and that I'm not going to get around to expanding for a long, long time. I'm keeping my powder dry on the others as I think there's a chance of me doing something with in the next 12 months or so - and I'm not posting the one sentence ones until there are more of them, they're so tiny, it feels a bit pointless otherwise!