Silmarillion Writers' Guild Heroes and Antiheroes

Excerpt from "Heart of the Wood"

by Kenaz

Túrin had been forgiven his audacity, repented it, even, and henceforth had proven his mettle by deed rather than word, fighting with indefatigable fervor. Two years now he had dwelt with Thingol's march-wardens, winning acclaim far beyond his years. Ever was Beleg the stalwart and fell-handed at his side, in rest as in battle, the only one who surpassed him yet in skill and valor. Though now, as Mablung and his men drove the horde north, Beleg had been engaged by a rogue, and the vicious collision of their blades sang a tocsin in Túrin's ears.

He fought his way toward them, hewing the foemen in his path, black blood marking his trail like a vile river. He heard a shout of pain--Beleg's-- and then his own joined it as a bolt pierced his thigh. Someone's hands were soon upon him, and he felt himself pulled out of the fray. He could not see what had become of Beleg.

Yet they were reunited soon enough when the fighting had finished, and Túrin saw that Beleg had taken a wound to his breast. He tried to sit up, but his leg burned fiercely straight down through to his toes.

"The sword is not your best weapon," he hissed, forcing his lips to grin over gritted teeth. "You should have left the blade-work to me."

Beleg smiled wanly. "Impudent pup. I taught you all you know of swords." He stopped speaking for a moment, beads of sweat rising across his ashen brow. "But you seem more in need of remedial lessons in archery, the first of which is to stay on the fletched end of the arrow!"

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"Young Túrin"

by Alassë

Young Turin by Alasse

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Excerpt from "Requiem"

by Rhapsody the Bard

Vána’s voice quivered when she beheld his sorrowful eyes and did not leave his side for months until he started to eat again. Whereas the flowers hearken to her voice, Huan could not be swayed to leave his place for her. How can I make amends to him after he once so joyously accepted his new master and followed him willingly to the other shores?

Ah, faithful friend, how can I take away those memories that haunt your thoughts? How can I convince you that I, as your old master, am more than willing to make you the chief of that pack of hounds who eagerly await your leadership again? Can you not see that you have been spared for a reason? Have you forsaken all recollection of our Creator’s thoughts and intent?

I lower myself beside him onto one knee and his eyes meet mine. My hand strokes his grey fur to offer him consolation, for I understand that Nerdanel’s plea to spare her son from the hands of revenge also felt like a hammer stroke to him, even though he was not to blame. How can I make him understand that his heroic deeds have reached the hearts and minds by means of Eärendil’s words?

I know that I do not need to speak the words of encouragement again. I also know I cannot bring myself to tell him that his role within the Ainulindalë has not ended yet. For now, I shall rejoice in his simple reacceptance of his old master. I watch how Huan, with trembling paws, raises his mighty body from the floor and his tail wags slightly. My heart rejoices to see his eyes glimmering again. Ah, such glory to see him delivered from his anguish and I know now for certain that the everlasting dark shall not be his lot.

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Excerpt from "A Light in the East"

by Spiced Wine

What dost thou want?

Glorfindel fell naturally into the antique mode of speech as he hurled the challenge out toward the east, to that powerful, familiar and furious mind.

What do I want? To flay the skin from thy back!

Glorfindel closed the door of his chambers behind him, and began to unbuckle his training gear. In all the years that had passed since the strange thrall of Sauron had ridden away from the bleak victory of the Alliance, Glorfindel had never tried to speak to him mind to mind.

Why? he demanded.

Since when didst thou become an orc, Lord Glorfindel?

What art thou talking about?

A superfluous question. He did not know how Vanimórë had discovered what had happened in the Greenwood, but the scathing accusation in his voice could have been roused by nothing else. This was impossible, he thought.

The young prince of Eryn Lasgalen. Thou didst not even care what became of him, didst thou? I will ask thee a question thou didst once ask me, Golden One: What art thou?

Glorfindel flung his sword-belt across the room. Thou wouldst dare to question me? How didst thou learn of this? And what business is it of thine, thrall?

Glorfindel wanted to reach across the leagues and backhand Vanimórë across his hard, beautiful face. He could almost see the disdain in those violet eyes, in the curl of his lips. How dare he, a thrall of Sauron, who had served the Dark all his life, condemn Glorfindel?

He was banished from his home, Vanimórë said relentlessly. And thou hast given him a wound his soul may never recover from.

Glorfindel pressed the heel of his hands over his eyes, cursing.

How didst thou find him?

I felt his soul.

"The End of the Story"

by Szilvi

The End of the Story by Szilvi

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Excerpt from "Riding the Fire"

by Raksha the Demon

Ten, nine,…the countdown boomed over the loudspeaker. The Edain who surrounded him tensed, screamed with excitement, or prayed. There it was! A brilliant light flared on the launching pad. The engines roared to life with over seven million pounds of thrust. The Elf in Man's clothes smiled with the happiness that naught could diminish, the joy of properly finished work warming the cool angles of his face. He tilted his head back to watch as Apollo 11 rose into the air, propelled by the engines he had helped devise, on its way to the Moon. Spirit rising, Fëanor's eyes followed the trail of flame that blazed upwards until he could see it no more. The huge engines would separate and fall from the rocket, their utility brief but infinitely valuable.

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Excerpt from "Stigmas"

by Robinka

Then Túrin set the hilts upon the ground, and cast himself upon the point of Gurthang, and the black blade took his life.


Forgive me, Beleg, Faelivrin, Gwindor, for I have sinned.

Kneeling, utterly broken by shame, I look back upon my life, the life of a sinner. The roar of water mutes everything, even my own dreadful thoughts. Can you hear me? My companion in crime, forever stained with the blood you have always drunk so greedily, listen to the words of a cursed soul.

I am no longer a man worthy of forgiveness. Those who could have granted me their compassion died at my hand or by my fateful deeds.

Hail, Gurthang! Will you slay me swiftly?

Aye, Túrin, I will.

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"Duty Calls"

by Ellie

For all of her might and wisdom, having fought in wars and learning things beyond imagining at the esteemed feet of the Valar, Haldir just could not believe SHE had summoned him here for this.

He glanced up to find the Lady of Light watching him with a look of expectation in her eyes...

Sighing in exasperation, he strode across the room drawing his sword as he went. With one swift motion, he raised the weapon and smashed the flat of the blade against the wall, effectively killing the spider.

Next duty rotation he was putting in for border patrol as far away from Caras Galadhon as possible. Working as the Lady's personal guard was one of the most annoying posts he had ever served...

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Excerpt from "Courage, Honesty and Strength"

by Esteliel

Glorfindel angrily recoiled when Celegorm relaxed beneath him, laughing at him with his lips twisted into an arrogant sneer.

"So it is like that, is it?" he drawled, and Glorfindel jumped back, hating how lately, his body seemed to continuously betray him. This was the very reason he had eschewed sparring with his own people, even braved the company of the over-proud and much disliked son of Fëanor, distant cousins though they were... Even his infamous arrogance had seemed easier to bear than the look on Forokal's face, whom he had thought his friend and beloved. Yet now Forokal thought him a brute and a monster.

Glorfindel scowled at the memory. It was not as if he had wanted to hurt him. He did not know what had come over him all of a sudden when they had tussled, laughing, kissing, that something had stirred inside him when Forokal for a moment lay helplessly beneath him. He had tightened his hands around his friend's wrists then - hard enough to leave bruises before the playful mood had vanished and Forokal had pushed him off with a look so cold it had destroyed what was left of the dark desires he had felt.

To feel that same kind of sick arousal when he had Celegorm beneath him, whom he loathed - he did not want him, he could not want him, and he did not know what had changed that his body suddenly shamed him with such horrifying lusts.

"It is not like anything," Glorfindel said coldly, and Celegorm sniggered.

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Excerpt from "Lords of the Light"

by Spiced Wine

~ He is dead.

How could I not know? How could I not feel when his light was extinguished?

How can Arda still exist without thee in it? How canst thou be gone, leaving a chasm in my world?

I cannot show my anguish, and there is not world enough to contain it, so it must burn in my soul alone. I have a duty to my people.

He abandoned me!

They will say that the Doom came swift upon him. They will say his death was a just punishment.

They will say many things about him. Some of them may even be true. But they did not know him as I did.

My people look to me, and they see a prince, a leader. They must not see the man who lies broken under a grief that can never be assuaged, forever seeking for his face, his eyes, and the smile in them that was for me alone, slipped past those who saw only enmity between us; the enmity we invented. It was a game, then, and at times we could not forbear to laugh silently across the Halls of Ilmarin, under the gaze of the Valar, of our people.

And he abandoned me.

They will say that his acts were evil. They will call him a madman and a murderer. He was both, but that does not – cannot – define him. No words truly can.

He was Fëanáro.

My half-brother.

My beloved betrayer. ~

Excerpt from "The Consort"

by Lady Roisin

The soft chirp of birds came from the branches of the fragrant trees that filled the gardens of the citadel. Isilmírë heard the gentle gurgle of fountains just before she saw Pharazôn standing inside a pergola canopied with a lush covering of flowing vines. The King's blonde hair flowed unbound past the middle of his back, his attire was every bit as relaxed. When Isilmírë drew closer she could see that Pharazôn's feet were bare. How strange, and oddly relieving, to see him such an uninhibited state. Isilmírë feared she might be underdressed. She had awoken later than she wished and the escort Pharazôn sent to fetch her arrived soon after Isilmírë had stepped from the warmth of her bathwater. Lôminzil chided Isilmírë the entire time she helped to hurriedly pin back Isilmírë's damp hair in an elegant style. Isilmírë had cursed the launders to find her last green gown had been removed from her chambers to be cleaned. Instead she opted for a silvery blue chiton that matched the shade of her eyes. Maybe being more subtle was for the better.

A plush couch stood at one side of the pergola, covered in cushions that were likely every bit as soft as they looked. Isilmírë guided Pharazôn to the settee and sat upon it, folding her legs up onto it and close to her chest in a relaxed and almost childish manner. "So how did you possibly manage to wrestle yourself free from your duties for the day?"

Pharazôn grinned wide after lowering himself onto the other side the couch. "Well, I can't be ruling with an iron fist and winning battles with my armament everyday now can I?" The witty tone of his voice caused Isilmírë to giggle in a way that widened Pharazôn's grin further.

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