New Challenge: Epic 80s
This month's challenge features hundreds of fresh prompts from the bodacious decade of the 1980s.

Fingon, Angrod, and Aegnor wish to be more alike.

Strands of hair fall red like blood upon black stone, and Fingon’s hands don’t shake the same way that Maedhros isn’t trembling. Which is to say that neither of them does, but it is a careful, arduous exercise of restraint and bitten tongues.
In the aftermath of Thangorodrim, not everything falls back into place easily. But Fingon is nothing if not patient, and if giving Maedhros what he needs means silencing his own demons, well—there is no one that Fingon would rather do it for.

In Valinor and homesick for Imladris, Celebrían decides to build a new one.

Thunderstorms never bring good news, Anairë has noted. And the one keeping her up this night is certainly no exception.

It begins as a game, in their Tree-lit, happy youth: Touch my mind, and draw what I am thinking. Is it an apple, or a pear?
Fingon and Maedhros, thinking for and of each other.

Argon sees the world with an artist's eyes. All the way to the end.

Drabbles Content:

Fingon attends a concert given by the Tirion Academic Symphony.

Maedhros and Fingon meet in the mists, again and again. Until they don't.

What bow, what arrows will serve against such a foe as Glaurung? A single drabble.

The competition cocktail party was a regular event, and Fingon gradually learned to appreciate, if not always enjoy it.
A triple drabble, with images and recipes for 9 cocktails.

There came a time of winter, when night was dark and without moon; and the wide plain of Ard-galen stretched dim beneath the cold stars, from the hill-forts of the Noldor to the feet of Thangorodrim. The watchfires burned low, and the guards were few;
The Silmarillion - JRR Tolkien

Fingon and Maedhros shape new lives after Mandos. One chapter from Fingon's point of view and one from Maedhros'.

“This is not the way of the Eldar.”
“It’s mine. Am I not one of the Eldar too?”

At the Mereth Aderthad, the Feast of Reunion, plenty is always going on: so many people, so many encounters and interactions, tensions and forging of friendships .
That night, in this moment, in this little corner of Mereth Aderthad, nothing happens. Almost nothing. But it fails to happen with some intensity.

There had been war-camps in Beleriand, purposeful and deadly serious, as well as full of song and camaraderie. There had been the Mereth Aderthad.
This tournament camp was, oddly — or perhaps not — most like that.

Once per year, on the night of a holiday only she still celebrates, Galadriel lights fourteen candles.

Tirion's masked ball offers decadent delights, mistaken identities, insatiable yearnings, and inescapable philanderings.

The first and last time Turgon sees Aredhel

Fingon comes to Nevrast and finds it empty.

“Well, Sam,” said Frodo one sunny afternoon as they sat together in the garden, “what do you think of Elves, now that you have seen Elvenhome?” He spoke with a smile, and both of them remembered the times before that he had asked the question—after first meeting Gildor and his party and spending the night with them at Woody End, and later at Rivendell, and later still as their sojourn in Lothlórien came to an end. It was practically tradition.

Findekáno’s coronation should have been a grand affair. Moringotto was dead, and the Ñoldor could begin to rebuild and slowly retake the lands the Enemy had destroyed in the battle that they had all thought was the beginning of the end.
But Findekáno’s father had fallen even as he slew the Black Foe. Over four hundred years he had ruled, and Findekáno knew this was quite possibly the worst time for a change in leadership.
He still didn’t know where Turukáno and Írissem were.
He still had not heard from Russandol.

Fingon rescues Maedhros from Thangorodrim.

The story of Ernis, wife of Fingon, and Erien, their daughter.