New and Updated Fiction

What is it to be made for a kinder world?

An artisan can never forget what she has made, for a part of her soul goes into the making. (Nerdanel character study/ficlet in six parts.)

Fíriel spends one last night with her lady.

All things bright and beautiful,

All creatures great and small,

All things wise and wonderful,

Eru Ilúvatar made them all.

For an Age of the world, Valinorean readers have devoured Doctor Heriel's bestselling tales of animal leeching in the beautiful environs of the Elf-city of Alqualondë. This new translation into Westron will introduce a generation of readers in the Eastern Lands to the gentleness of spirit, warm humor, and love for the animal world that have secured Doctor Heriel's literary reputation across the Sea.

Drabbles from the life of Emlinn, Maglor's Sindarin student from Brithombar, who is the narrator of my story "The West Wind Quartet".

Insta-drabbles written on the SWG Discord back in December 2020 (which apparently I did not cross-post here?), with another one written in June 2025. 

Warnings for some canon-typical violence and angst, and a bit of internalized body dysphoria and bias.

Melkor was once the mightiest of the Ainur. Why then was he unable to mar the stars of Varda, whom he hated most? Eönwë explains. 

"You should tell me to stop," Fëanáro says softly, taking the last step and pressing himself flush against Ñolofinwë.

Ñolofinwë swallows with some difficulty, tilts his head back against the door to meet Fëanáro's eyes. "You are my brother," he says, voice wavering. "We should not."

Fëanáro smiles wryly. "That is not telling me to stop."

If Aredhel had to listen to one more person heap praise on her brother while she stood right beside him, completely disregarded, she might scream. The praises were well deserved, she must admit. But was it only Fingon who scouted ahead over the treacherous shifting ice of the Helcaraxë? Didn’t Aredhel also take her fair share of that hazardous duty?

In the early days at Lake Mithrim, Aredhel endures a restriction in her freedom after the comparative autonomy she had during the crossing of the Helcaraxë. Fingolfin seems set on weighing her down with safe and mundane duties. Aredhel is not enjoying this one bit. Her father may be able to keep her inside the encampment, but he cannot tame her. She longs to for greater freedom, but when it comes it is not be the victory she was hoping for. 

As the Sons of Fëanor set their feet on the path to the sack of Doriath, Caranthir reflects on the characters of himself and his brothers and contemplates where the responsibility lies for their predicament.

A series of contributions for Akallabêth in August 2009 in response to the following prompts: 1) Sauron fortifies Mordor; 2) Sauron begins to afflict Númenórean settlements to the south; 3) Sauron convinces Ar-Pharazôn to break the Ban of the Valar; 4) storms from the West strike Númenor; and 5) Sauron returns to Middle-earth.

MEFA 2010. Winner, First Place; Genres: Character Study: The Silmarillion.

“You said,” Fëanáro says quietly, taking a step forward, “that I shall lead, and you shall follow.”

Ñolofinwë bites down the urge to take a step back as Fëanáro takes another step forward. “I said those words and I meant them. You are my brother and now my king, why should I not follow where you go?”

Fëanáro is regarding him far more seriously than he had that night as they stood in front of Manwë and Ñolofinwë wishes to know what brought this on. “And if I were not your king?” Fëanáro asks. “If I were your half-brother only?”

Or: Fëanáro does not steal away with the ships in the middle of the night, leaving Fingolfin to brave the bitter cold. Whether what he does instead is any better depends on who you ask.

When the Istyari of Second Age Ost-in-Edhil deny her a place in an important new initiative to be taken up by the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, a young master smith struggles to make her mark in the man's realm of the forges.   An opportunity arrives when the smith is offered a commission that will present challenges of both mind and heart.

Pandë!verse-centric.

Rated Adult.  Specific advisories will be posted per chapter as needed.

Two — count 'em, two — new chapters posted!

Chapter 10, In the Bright Light of Morning

Summary:  The morning after arriving in Ost-in-Edhil, Elrond and Erestor each suffer from the aches and pains of the long road from Mithlond as well as from other sources.

Chapter 11, The Path's Heart

Summary: Elrond finds a nearly comatose Mélamírë in dire straits.  She resists his attempts to reach her through sanwe-latya, until, with her permission, he gives her a bitter medicine that allows them to share a dream, called the lugnolossê by an ancient shaman of the Unbegotten.

Fëanor spends more nights than he cares to admit to at Fingolfin’s these days. More time than he cares to admit to thinking about Fingolfin these days. Feels some days though as if Fingolfin is the only bit of this new age that is easy at this point.

Maeglin tries his hand at the Beginners' prompts of the Matryoshka Challenge (Total crack)

A dream that Elrond never mentioned to Maglor son of Fëanor.

The footsteps come to a stop in front of him and he does not have a moment to wonder at his brother’s intentions before fingers are sliding into his hair and tugging his head back. He glares up at Fëanáro, tears on his cheeks, heart racing like a plea. Fëanáro stares back, expression strangely blank as he studies Ñolofinwë’s face. And despite his thoughts, despite his belief, he still finds himself smiling mirthlessly and asking, “Well, have you come to kill me in truth? Make your exile worth it?”

Something flickers through Fëanáro’s eyes too fast for him to catch and the fingers in his hair tighten painfully. “I would have thought that upon successfully usurping the crown you would be far more pleased,” Fëanáro says darkly, lip curling in disgust.

Gil-galad, Hamilton lyrics and three poignant events in his life.

This is a history that has never been told. Those whom it concerns most deeply are dead now, even those who chose or otherwise received the lifespans of Elves. It is a story that has been kept hidden for more than six thousand years. Now, I believe it is past time it should be revealed.

Fëanáro was sitting on the floor, his back against the grave marker his father had had made for his mother when her spirit fully settled into Mandos’ Halls.

He was alone on Estë’s island, deep within Lórien’s gardens. Of course he was. When was he not?

Even his father didn’t bother coming anymore.

Nerdanel ran her fingers along one, and turned her thoughts to her son, hoping for a glimpse of more than a misty shore, or of the ragged hem of his cloak. She wished to see his face, wished to see that he was somewhere safe and warm and perhaps not still alone after so long. But even a glimpse of him lonely but whole upon the shore would be a relief, and enough to banish the dreams that had troubled her, knowing them for just dreams and nothing more.

Troubled by dark dreams, Nerdanel picks up a palantír to seek for Maglor. She finds him. 

After, Maedhros has returned to life and also seeks for his brother--and also finds him.

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the lantern light. He stared at Elrohir with a strange look—horror and helpless fear mixed with longing and perhaps…recognition? But Elrohir did not recognize him, he was sure. And there was something else in his eyes too—a Light that Elrohir had seen before only in a handful of people, dimmed by pain and fear, but not extinguished. “It’s all right,” Elrohir said. “We’re going to take you away from this place.” 

The Necromancer is driven from Mirkwood, and Elladan and Elrohir find someone altogether unexpected in the pits of Dol Guldur.

Embittered by Aldarion's departure on a long overseas journey against her will, Erendis dismisses the pair of wonderful Elven-birds that were given to her by visitors from Tol Eressea during her honeymoon. The birds briefly visit Erendis's parents on their flight back to Tol Eressea, but will not let themselves be touched and afterwards, it seems, they are not seen or heard again in Numenor.

 "Sweet fools, fly away!" Erendis said. "This is no place for such joy as yours."

I have written a fix-it for the loss of the Elven-birds, sort of.

Compared to Salgant and Bombur, and even compared to Fredegar Bolger, Forlong seems to have the least problems in the Legendarium with being duly respected despite his girth.

But maybe even he had a less good time of it when he was younger.

Set during Aragorn's time in Gondor as Thorongil.

A slightly different take on Maedhros' end in half a drabble. 
Plus half a drabble of Maglor's.

Years of the Lamps. Mairon has come home early from the celebrations to some alone time, but Melkor’s visit destroys both his plans and the peace of his mind.