In A Different WorldIn a different world, Findekáno probably would have been happy. That thought haunted Nolofinwë was he stared out the window, watching as Finwë arrived and grabbed Írissë and held her close to him.Findekáno had always been odd, drawing red haired elves and minstrels with laughter that would lighten an entire room, elves with red cheeks and those with blonde hair, and one always in a forge. Those elves had been Fingon's only friends, a fact that always worried Fingolfin.And then Findekáno had wandered away one day, and Finwë had helped Nolofinwë sort through his belongings. And Finwë had come across the pictures Fingon had drawn of those elves, and looked at one of the forge elf as a baby. Finwë had dropped the paper, and then picked it up once more."How did he draw such a good picture of his Uncle?" And Nolofinwë wondered if Findekáno would have been happier if Fëanaró didn't die with his mother.
Broken Replicas“I am tired,” Orodreth said, turning from his brothers to look out the window.Finrod looked up from the chess board that he was currently staring at (and that Angrod was glaring at, angry to be losing once again) to smile at his brother. “You should go to sleep, if you are that tired. It has been a long day, and we have another long day ahead of us.”Orodreth paused, before turning around to stare at Finrod. “Not like that. I am tired of all the expectations, Finrod. Not that you would know what that was like, being Amil’s darling little perfect boy, the one who took after his father and acts nothing like the rest of his family.”Angrod and Aegnor exchanged worried glances, as Finrod’s smile momentarily slipped off his face, before he managed to plaster it back on. “Come now, that is merely the lack of sleep and the wine talking. You will feel better in the morning.”“It’s not the wine talking, brother
Pet Names“What is Atar doing?” Fingon laughed as he looked at his father, who was pacing the floor. “Really, you would think that he had just found out that Uncle was now King of the Noldor, and not that his third son was just born a few days ago.”Anairë looked at her son fondly. “Your Atar is just trying to think of a pet name for Argon, much as he did for the three of you.”As she finished saying that, Aredhel jumped up onto the couch, only to squeal as Fingon caught her and dangled her upside down. When she finally finished laughing, she said, “But Amil, I thought I was the only one Ata had a special name for.”Anairë shook her head, before laughing as Aredhel started to pout. “But I’m better than they are! They’re old and boys.”“They used to be little, just like you,” as she heard this, Aredhel shook her head. Fingon and Turgon had always been old in her mind.Fingon laughed,
Of Folly, Insanity, and Wine“Yes, Matimo?” Maedhros shook his head as he heard his brother’s mocking tone. Ignoring it, he opened the door and stepped in, throwing a glare at the bottles that dotted his brother’s floor. Laughing, Maglor threw his head back and spoke again, “Did you come here to once more lecture me on my habits brother? One would think that eventually, even such an…idealist… as you would realize that was folly.”Maedhros mentally filled in the blanks suggested by the pause before the word idealist – idiotic, naïve, amusing (because Maglor thought it was so amusing how Maedhros had kept his nobility, even after the rest of the family had cast themselves as the villains in this twisted play for the Valar’s amusement). Then he sighed and focused on the first problem. “Where did you even find all of this, Makalaurë?”“Come now, brother, surely you are not so old as to have fallen back on the ma
Letters to MaedhrosMy dear brother, I hope you are doing well. Following Atar’s death, I find myself in the position of having to watch over our younger brothers, and they aren’t behaving as well as they should. I have been silenced for so long that I have no idea when I shall be able to write again. I am sorry that I haven’t come for you yet. Perhaps I shall manage it in a few weeks. It could be a nice little trip. Love, MaglorMaedhros, Maglor has gone insane now that you’re gone. Or perhaps he has always been like this, but you kept us from becoming aware of it. He has hidden himself away in his room, not writing music, not singing, simply staring. He regrets letting you go alone. I miss you too, of course. But he’s hidden himself in the idea that one day you will be back, whole and safe. I have my doubts about that. Forgive me, brother. I’ve failed you. But I must stay here and keep Maglor from doing s