I asked BrookeOfLorien (thank you!) to prompt me and while the only prompt she could come up with at the time was a Halloween one, I decided to go with it and see what crack I could do about it.

The prompt, paraphrased by my non-exact memory: Fingon ending up covered in flour and the havoc it causes before he meets up with Maedhros.

Flour Ghost

It was around the time Celebrimbor was a young boy. It was the time he had learnt to climb the highest shelves, the time he used this new ability to satisfy his curiousity, and the time he had realised how fun it was pranking his family.

One particulary fine day, he had somehow rigged up a device that included a rope, climbing to the balcony above the frontdoor and a big bag of flour. Curufin would have been proud of this feat – the planning and the execution, that is, and only as a theory - but as the events unfold, he was not the one to try out the trap in its full might, as that honour would befall someone else, someone who happened to be walking down the street that lead to the grand mansion of Fëanor at the very moment Celebrimbor was called back to his homework of transcribing the Tale of the Destruction of the Lamps onto parchment under the supervision of his strict grand-father.

Fingon was on his way to visit his cousin Maedhros. He had, in fact, planned to come earlier, together with Aredhel, but as their father had at the last minute explained there was some urgent paperwork his first-born had to fill, Fingon's visit had been delayed while his sister had with some glee trotted away to meet her friends. Fingon hadn't been off to Maedhros' place until some hours later, as the day was already turning dimmer, and not after tedious paperwork, a piggyback ride for Idril and a "sweetheart, can you take this jar of strawberry jam to Nerdanel when you go; she loved it when she visited last week" from his mother.

So now, jar in hand, he was walking up the path to the main entrance of the Fëanorean estate, minding his own business. As he visited the place almost every day, he didn't even bother knocking the door, but simply opened it -

- only to get a horrendous bump on his head that caused him to drop anything he had been holding and have a coughing fit as his lungs were filled with flour. Blinking once, twice, he saw an empty and broken bag on the floor, a bash that no doubt had recently contained the white powder that now was covering the doormat and all of Fingon's clothes and hair and skin. Anything exposed, really. Scrutinising the doormat further, his heart made an uncomfortable jolt as he saw the strawberry. It had splattered onto the floor as well, causing a mess like a bloody murder, and was now slowly being sucked into the already-covered-by-flour rug. Great. First thing he does on his visit, Fingon thought, is basically ruining the whole place. Never mind his own clothes, but the normally tidy house of his uncle could only take so much before it's master would kick out whomever was guilty of the mess.

Think fast, he told himself, and after a moment of mild panic, he picked up the glass shards that used to form a jar, put them into the bag of flour, and carried the package to the kitchen where he knew there would be a rubbish bin, all the while trying not to make a noise as he feared his uncle might appear any second. (His uncle had once caught him "trespassing" in the corridor when he had - a long time ago - stayed overnight with Maedhros and gotten up to look for the bathroom. Annoyed Fëanor in the middle of the night had been something that had haunted his dreams long enough for Fingon to, for several years to come, never leave Maedhros' side while sleeping over. This until Fëanor once again had appeared before him during the night, loudly telling them to keep it down during nighttime. All parties decided the Fingolfinian estate would be a better setting for sleepovers anyway, as it was inhabited by people generally less obnoxious.)

Moving on in the story, just as Fingon had tiptoed to the kitchen, Amrod and Amras, on their way downstairs and outside, beheld the eerie sight.

There was dust on the ground. And then there was blood. Lots of it. Clearly, it had either been a vicious beast killing its dust-filled prey (this was Amras' theory) or a ghost that had escaped from Mandos (Amrod's theory). Or possibly both, as in a vicious ghost that had killed its prey, but been somewhat wounded himself, causing it to"bleed" some ghostly essence. Absurd theories, all of them, but that's what happens when you end up telling one too many horror stories to your darling nephew. And to be fair, in the dimly lit room, the shining white powder did look rather spooky.

"Sillies," Curufin sighed, leaning back in his seat in the sitting room. "Spirits stay in Mandos until they are reembodied. And what is ghostly essence anyway?"

"Yes, but how about spirits that never went to Mandos," Amras said. "Ghosts that died in Old Lands in the East, wild spirits that fear the Valar?"

"I agree with Curufin," Celegorm said, sitting in the nearby couch. "Legends like that are silly and told just to scare little kids."

"Most legends are based on facts," Amrod reminded his brother. "'Ainulindalë', how about that? And ' the 'Great Dark Rider', too, as far as horror stories go."

"Yeah, but nowadays the only Dark Rider are people who dress up as him to scare others or just for laughs."

"But if there's blood on the carpet..." Aredhel said slowly. She was sitting on the couch beside Celegorm. "Does that mean someone staged that, too? Why?"

"Celebrimbor again?" Celegorm sighed, but said boy's father shook his head. "Can't be. He's studying."

"You sure there was blood?" Aredhel questioned the twins.

"Didn't taste or smell it, but going by the looks of it, it sure looked like it. It was all splattered and messy."

"Really?" Curufin stood up, still sceptic, but walked to the frontdoor nonetheless. He returned soon. "There was no splattering there."

"There sure was," Amrod insisted and Amras nodded eagerly, "right there on the rug."

"There was no rug, either."

Now all Elves were quiet. This was seriously starting to get weird. A ghost was one thing, but splatters of blood? And why would the twins have purposefully lied about the rug that wasn't there?

It was one of Maglor's lazy days. Days when he would get a bottle of sparkling wine and sit back and relax as he would plan his next grand composing. On his way up to his own room, a glass in one hand and a bottle in the other, he suddenly stopped. Had he heard a noise? He was pretty sure he had, but now that he had stopped, he didn't, which was curious. He glanced behind him in the staircase. And heard it again. Heavy breathing. In, out, in, out, a raspy noise as if of someone being throttled. And then he caught a glimpse. Something white behind the corner, fleeting from sight. Aredhel? was the first thought that popped into Maglor's mind as he happened to know that said young lady was once again spending the day here and that she always wore white. He called out. But as there was no reply, it couldn't have been Aredhel, plus, she wouldn't have breathed heavily like that, anyway. Maglor was very puzzled as he quickly went to his room and unconsciously made sure the door to his room was properly closed.

The white shape, on the other hand, was left downstairs, thanking Eru for that his cover hadn't been blown by the unfortunate wheezing caused by flour in his lungs that had nearly resulted in a full-blown cough attack. As of now, he was safe, he thought as he put back the half-dry-but-finally-clean doormat to its rightful place.

The twins had left for outside, as that was where they had originally been heading to. Celegorm and Curufin were left in the sitting room to entertain their guest. I.e the three of them were talking about anything and anyone that was interesting enough. This until they heard a loud moan from the hallway.

Each of them stiffened where they sat, Curufin suspiciously staring in the direction of the moaning sound, Celegorm putting a protective hand on his cousin's shoulder and Aredhel worried enough to not even swat him away. Because the sound had sounded as if someone had been writhing in pain, but only for a moment, because now the hall was dead quiet again.

Caranthir was content with having his book and his peace. After loudly telling the twins that no, he did not care to come to the stables with them, he had positioned himself in the cosiest chair in his room, lounged in it with one leg stretched out onto one armrest, the other bent on the seat to support the book in his lap. Yes, Caranthir sometimes enjoyed reading. Only he needed his quiet to be able to concentrate. So far it had been good, but now some noise distracted him.

...swoosh...ouch...ah...swoosh...ow...swoosh...creak...ah...

Something heavy was being pulled, someone was whimpering in what sounded like pain, and that something was right outside Caranthir's door.
He frowned and closed his book, but did not get up. He refused to acknowledge the goosebumps on his skin. Who or what could it be?

...swoosh...creak...oh...

Whatever was making noises moved on and became fainter and fainter. Caranthir realized he had been holding his breath all this time and was happy the... thing in the corridor... hadn't come in. Whatever it was. He didn't really want to know.

Maglor didnt really feel like leaving his room, but the book he had been planning to read wasn't in his room. Someone (he suspected Caranthir) must have borrowed it from his bookcase without mentioning it. Maglor didn't mind it that much, but he did want to read something and so he came to think of a book in his mother's study he hadn't read yet. However, obtaining it would mean leaving his room. But Maglor was no scaredy cat, so he left his room despite whatever that white wheezing apparition had been.

Some metres into the hallway he could see it, though. A small splatter of something red. Unlike last time, Maglor thought, downstairs by the front door, this wasn't strawberry jam. (Maglor had been surprised at finding a bright red strawberry smash on the floor, but had suspected someone like Amras or Celegorm to be the culprit.) But this... Maglor kneeled down to give it a closer look... was definitely blood.

Maedhros hear a knock on his door and got up. Is it Fingon? he thought. He had been expecting his cousin to come earlier, but upon her arrival Aredhel had happily informed him of that Fingon had something to take care of but would come as soon as he could. "As soon as he could" wasn't soon at all: it was already late!

But as he opened the door, what stood in front of him didn't look like Fingon at all. White, red, and now collapsing forward. Maedhros' first reaction upon seeing this visitor was to take half-a-leap backwards, causing the white character to sink onto the floor instead.

"Nice reflexes, Maedhros."

Fingon got up grumbling wearily. He had at last decided that he needed help after all, and now his friend merely gets all jumpy. "You could have tried catching me, at least. My foot hurts."

Maedhros' heart regained it's normal speed when he heard the voice. Fingon! Only covered in what appeared to be... flour and jelly. Was this some kind of... he didn't even have a guess for what it could have been about.

"Your foot?" Maedhros asked. "What's going on?"

"I broke a jar and stepped on a glass shard while cleaning up the mess," Fingon sighed with a grimace as Maedhros bade him enter the room. "The mess is gone now, but I'm still rather... dusty. I'm a walking pile of flour, basically. You'll regret letting me into your room."

"Nonsense," the red haired elf said. "We'll wash your clothes, fix your wound and you'll be fine and I'll find the one who did this..."

"We can't wash my clothes like this," Fingon pointed out. "Brushing it off isn't effective enough, but water makes it too doughy. That's why I came here I'm hopes of... maybe borrowing your clothes." He looked embarrassed.

He had cleaned the mat and the flour downstairs best as he could (without being noticed, too), but then he had felt a horrible pain pricking the underside of his foot. A sharp shard he hadn't noticed earlier had set itself into his sock-clad foot. Walking up the stairs had been a nuisance and dragging his leg in the corridor hadn't been much easier. He sat down on a sofa in Maedhros' room and lift his right foot onto his left knee. Examining the bare sole, he gritted his teeth. Maedhros looked on with a worried expression.

"Do you want me to fetch something? For the wound. I'll go get bandage at least..."

The bandages were kept in a small storage room, Maedhros knew. Especially in the past he had often had to act the responsible big-brother who took care of his siblings and various cousins, so he knew the exact location of it as he hurried to fetch it. He had already been down to the kitchen and was now on his way back to Fingon, a tin of honey ointment in hand.
He struggeled with the storage key for a moment, wondering who had locked the door. Then it opened and he stepped inside -

- only to get a bag of flour in his head, followed by spiralling stars. It was not hard for him to empathise with Fingon now. The whole experience wasn't as funny as it looked. Maedhros reached out to feel whether he had gotten a bump on his head yet. He hadn't. Yet, dropping down heavy bags of flour on people isn't something to play with. And going by gut-feeling Maedhros had a pretty good idea of who was the quilty one.

The trio downstairs hadn't moved for a while. Three pairs of eyes were fixed on the entrance to the room. They all had agreed that whatever they had heard in the corridor was gone now, but if it by any chance came back... Celegorm and Aredhel would notice it right away, the way they were staring at the entrance. Curufin had said the fuss was quite unnecessary, but he kept on glancing towards the doorway as well.

Just as he was about to complain on nothing going to happen and that his brother and cousin were childish, they heard another sound. A loud bang. It came from upstairs and the chandelier in the ceiling seemed to swing a bit, causing its light to flutter eeriely. Curufin kept his words in his throat and said nothing.

Following the noise, for a while nothing was heard. Then the wall seemed to shake as something seemed to tumble in the room next door.

"The staircase," Celegorm whispered, his eyes darting towards the direction of the sound. Aredhel perched deeper into the corner of the sofa.

At that very moment, in the dimlit doorway a white shape appeared once again. Three pairs of eyes widened as it swept into the room.

A silence.

Then Celegorm laughed. "Maedhros, was that you? By the Valar..."

Maedhros was not amused by whatever his brother meant. Instead he looked at Curufin with an annoyed expression. "Where's your son?" he asked.

Curufin smirked at his white brother. Covered in flour, glowering at his surroundings, he didn't look like someone to be taken seriously. But Curufin knew better than that. "He's studying with father," he replied. "If you need him, go there, though if I may inquire the purpose-"

"This is the purpose," Maedhros snapped, gesturing at himself. "And you go get him – he's your son. I have other things to take care of," he added, remembering the honey in his hand.

Curufin sighed with a hidden smile, but got up. Meanwhile, Celegorm tried to stop laughing at his brother even as a grinning Aredhel sat beside him, healf-heartedly poking his ribs in attempts of getting him to behave.

Fëanor didn't know what to think. Just as Celebrimbor had been about to begin on the third page of his transcript, Curufin had knocked the door to the study and asked whether his son could be excused for a moment. As Curufin, avoiding specific explanations, had mentioned something about a public apology, Fëanor saw it only fit that he should come as well, especially since Celebrimbor had paled considerably when Curufin pulled him out by his hand.

And now, standing in the doorway to his eldest son's room, Fëanor felt like rubbing his temples. His son and his bastard-brother's unworthy offspring sitting on Maedhros' bed, one rubbing honey onto the feet of the of the other who was already covered in jelly anyway.

"Here he is," Curufin said, his hand on Celebrimbor's shoulders, the boy looking uncomfortable. "Now apologize to your uncles."

"Srr..." the the child mumbled, looking down at his feet rather than at Maedhros who has stood up. "I'm srr..."

"Properly, please."

"I'm sorry, Uncle Maedhros. I'm sorry, Fingon. I won't do it again. I won't put flour on doors."

"That's better," his father said. "Now I have a question for my brother and cousin: which of you was it who creeping around here like a ghost? We've had Amrod and Amras talking about blood on the doormat and Celegorm and Aredhel curled up in the sofa, looking terrified... all because of you two sneaking around like you both come from some of those beauty pavilions in Alqualondë?"

Maedhros raised his eyebrows. "Fools," he muttered. "You can't tell a ghost from your brother covered in flour. I suppose I'll have to start wearing this for every upcoming masquerade ball."

"No, you are going to wash that away at once," Fëanor said unamused. "And your cousin as well." He gave Fingon a suspicious glance as if accusing him of corrupting his heir. Annoyed Fëanor was terribly ominious even during daytime, the Fingolfinian decided. "Looking like from a beauty pavilion, indeed. Worse than your sister... be sure to take her with you when you go. I want Celegorm to be awake tomorrow morning." With those words he turned on his steps and left the room. Curufin took Celebrimbor's hand and followed his father. Celebrimbor threw his uncle one last half-apologetic (quarter-confused and quarter-amused) look before closing the door after them.

Maedhros sighed returning to Fingon's side. The dark haired elf was sitting kneading his foot with a wry smile on his face. "Well, that was embarrassing," Maedhros said at last.

"Your father is right, though. We should wash off," Fingon said, licking his fingertips. "Flour, jam and honey. Should I take a shower or should we bake me into honey cakes rightaway?"

"Honey cakes do sound good," Maedhros laughed.