for his valour was as a fire

A double drabble written for SWG’s 8/1/2026 instadrabble session for the prompt ‘it gets so cold here / and the night can freeze before you set it fire.’ Also on AO3.

“Are you cold?” Tuor asked.

Voronwë looked at him with raised eyebrows. The smallest hint of a smile played on his lips. “No colder than usual.”

Tuor felt his cheeks colour. What a ridiculous question— snow packed beneath them, flakes falling heavily just beyond the shallow cavemouth, a chill wind howling ceaselessly. Tuor ignored a twinge of embarrassment to press on.

“It is only— well, my cloak is warmer than your blankets, and it is large enough to cover us both. You can come closer, if you wish.”

Voronwë laughed, though not unkindly. He said, “I do wish that, very much.”

He shuffled closer and watched with sparkling eyes as Tuor reached across him, spreading out the cloak to cover them both.

“Mm,” he hummed, “this is warmer now indeed. Though in truth, I find myself still cold. Are you cold, Tuor?”

Tuor was hopelessly distracted by the dimple at the corner of Voronwë’s mouth. “I’ve heard it said,” he found himself saying without thought, “that shared body heat is a better remedy for the cold than any.”

Voronwë’s grin widened. “Is that so? Perhaps we ought to give it a try.”

Does 400 words count as a drabble? Either way, here’s some Fingon and Turgon pre-Gondolin goodbye angst written for SWG’s 8/1/2026 instadrabble session for the prompt ‘these roads go on forever / and there'll always be a place for you in my heart.’ Also on AO3.

“Fingon… you know I love you, right?”

Fingon furrowed his brow. “I… love you too?”

“No,” Turgon shook his head and abruptly stopped walking. Caught off guard, Fingon stumbled to a halt half a pace later. Turgon tightened his jaw and glanced down the empty corridor.

“Turvo?” Fingon frowned, stepping closer. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“No,” his brother offered him a brief, tight-lipped smile. “All is well. It is only… I will miss you, you know.”

“If you miss me so much,” said Fingon, trying for levity, “then perhaps you should visit me more often. Dor-Lómin is not so far away from Nevrast, you needn’t wait another fifty years before coming again.”

“I know,” said Turgon quietly. He looked down, then took Fingon’s hands in his own. Something about the touch stirred to life a strange, uneasy feeling in the pit of Fingon’s stomach. “I’m… sorry I have not been here as often as I should.”

“Oh, Turvo, I was only teasing—” Fingon began hastily, but his brother interrupted.

“Let me speak,” Turgon said, a little sharply, before his lips twitched into the smallest smile. “For once.”

Fingon snorted. “Go on, then.”

It took his brother a moment to start again.

“I’m sorry I have not been here as often as I should,” Turgon repeated carefully. “And I am sorry, also, that our hearts have so often led us down diverging paths. Whatever comes, Finno, I want you to know that I have always admired you. Your bravery, your hope, your stubborn insistence on clinging to both even when everything seems lost. You are good, Findekáno. You’re probably the best of us.”

“Well, now you’re just frightening me,” said Fingon with an uneasy laugh.

“Don’t be frightened,” Turgon shook his head. And then, without warning, he drew Fingon into a crushing embrace. He seemed not even to register Fingon’s shocked Oh!, nor the awkward beat of uncertainty that passed before Fingon’s arms wound tightly about his waist in return. Turgon exhaled unsteadily into Fingon’s hair. “I just… wanted to be sure that you knew.”

“I do,” Fingon promised.

“Good.” Turgon kissed his brow, then drew back and cleared his throat. “Now, come and say goodbye to Itarillë and Írissë.”

“Oh, we’ve already said all our goodbyes.”

in approximately 3.5 days it is going to be WALL-TO-WALL MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE in here. i make no apologies.

more gunsex is in the works, this new one is going to be Much Much Worse

an excerpt for your reading pleasure:

Does 400 words count as a drabble? Either way, here’s some Fingon and Turgon pre-Gondolin goodbye angst written for SWG’s 8/1/2026 instadrabble session for the prompt ‘these roads go on forever / and there'll always be a place for you in my heart.’ Also on AO3.

“Fingon… you know I love you, right?”

Fingon furrowed his brow. “I… love you too?”

“No,” Turgon shook his head and abruptly stopped walking. Caught off guard, Fingon stumbled to a halt half a pace later. Turgon tightened his jaw and glanced down the empty corridor.

“Turvo?” Fingon frowned, stepping closer. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“No,” his brother offered him a brief, tight-lipped smile. “All is well. It is only… I will miss you, you know.”

“If you miss me so much,” said Fingon, trying for levity, “then perhaps you should visit me more often. Dor-Lómin is not so far away from Nevrast, you needn’t wait another fifty years before coming again.”

“I know,” said Turgon quietly. He looked down, then took Fingon’s hands in his own. Something about the touch stirred to life a strange, uneasy feeling in the pit of Fingon’s stomach. “I’m… sorry I have not been here as often as I should.”

“Oh, Turvo, I was only teasing—” Fingon began hastily, but his brother interrupted.

“Let me speak,” Turgon said, a little sharply, before his lips twitched into the smallest smile. “For once.”

Fingon snorted. “Go on, then.”

It took his brother a moment to start again.

“I’m sorry I have not been here as often as I should,” Turgon repeated carefully. “And I am sorry, also, that our hearts have so often led us down diverging paths. Whatever comes, Finno, I want you to know that I have always admired you. Your bravery, your hope, your stubborn insistence on clinging to both even when everything seems lost. You are good, Findekáno. You’re probably the best of us.”

“Well, now you’re just frightening me,” said Fingon with an uneasy laugh.

“Don’t be frightened,” Turgon shook his head. And then, without warning, he drew Fingon into a crushing embrace. He seemed not even to register Fingon’s shocked Oh!, nor the awkward beat of uncertainty that passed before Fingon’s arms wound tightly about his waist in return. Turgon exhaled unsteadily into Fingon’s hair. “I just… wanted to be sure that you knew.”

“I do,” Fingon promised.

“Good.” Turgon kissed his brow, then drew back and cleared his throat. “Now, come and say goodbye to Itarillë and Írissë.”

“Oh, we’ve already said all our goodbyes.”