Title: Precipitation
Fandom: Silmarillion
Challenge: Rain
Other prompt:
Rating: G
Length: 200
Content notes: N/A
Author notes: Thanks go to Zhie & Runa for encouragement & sanity-checking.
Inspired by Advent Mayhem Chapter 11 by mynameisjessejk.
Summary: Fingon did not usually climb in the rain


Fingon did not usually climb in the rain. Up (and down) waterfalls, yes, which was certainly as wet, but different somehow. It wasn't the wind that often accompanied the rain; he understood wind, knew how to move, hold still within it, climb with it. It wasn't the visibility either -- he often climbed in the dark, occasionally in mist or fog. He always knew where he was, the shape of the rock around him, where the next hand-or-foothold would be. Rain didn't get in the way of that; he could climb perfectly well in the rain, but he didn't enjoy it.

If he was climbing in the rain (real rain, not a sprinkle or even a mountain squall, a brief downpour that could be waited out or climbed through) it was for a reason other than the climb itself. (It had rained on Thangorodrim, bitter, burning rain that ate through cloth and left welts on skin. No rain in Valinor was anything like that.) A rescue, an urgent message, something on that order. A bet or a dare would have been enough once, in Treelight; not now. This was a rescue, and a rock-face well within his compass, rain or no.