New and Updated Writing

Extracts from the Annals of Beleriand, including the Old English version, that deal with the capture and rescue of Maedhros.

With a very brief discussion.

Elenwë dances, in Valinor and on the Ice. A prequel to Come Round Right.

It's a beautiful evening in Eregion, and Celebrimbor has an even lovelier sight before him.

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For Day 3 of Silvergifting Week 2023 (and a blatant misuse of the prompt...)

Celebrimbor's mother comes to visit him, bringing important news.

An alternate universe for the Under Strange Stars series, in which Elrohir goes with Glorfindel instead of running away from him after the events of Under Strange Stars. Together, they journey from Harad's Great Desert into the heart of the Umbarian Empire, to the coast where Galdor’s swan-ship awaits to carry them home.

But danger lurks even on the high seas …

Many thanks to Grundy for all of her excellent beta-reading and brainstorming.

Caranthir remembers Haleth.

Love. He must love enough, and Maedhros will be granted to him. Fingon can do that easily enough, he thinks to himself. He had returned Maedhros from the dead before, had he not?

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The world is aging, and Fingon entreats for Maedhros in the Halls of Mandos. It is simpler than he believed, but somehow it makes nothing easier.

After the Third Kinslaying, Maedhros and Maglor take Elwing's twin sons captive.

A drabble about the fate of Maglor.

Buffy wasn't the only one who thought something wasn't quite right when Dawn appeared.

The Havens of Sirion burn, and it is not the Sons of Fëanor’s doing.

Maedhros, Maglor and Fingon, in the years between the fall of the Havens and the arrival of the Host of the Valar.

Gil-galad's best friend weaves a banner for her. Part of my Woman King AU.

Tirion thinks Curufin is Fëanor's favorite son. Tirion is wrong.

Lúthien thinks she can trust her best friend- until she is proven wrong. 

Fingon, Caranthir, and the aftermath of Maedhros' capture by Morgoth.

Elrond picks up a hint of Maglor's whereabouts and follows it... (Set a long time after the end of the First Age, perhaps in the Third Age.)

Galadriel felt she had a well-matched friend in Princess Luthien, and she did not expect that ever to change.

Tar-Miriel, last queen of Numenor, reigns in name only. Isolated and hopeless, she seeks little more than survival. As the doom of Numenor draws near, she finds herself facing unexpected temptations and strange alliances.

Written for TRSB summer 2023 for art by elvencloud_a_plotting

A Dwarf tries to come to terms with the cataclysm that was the end of the First Age. A four-drabble sequence.

“And yet is it not the greater folly to imagine that such love could never grow between our kinds? Was it not folly for us to be made thus and yet driven to dwell together and take up arms together?” She cupped his face in her hand, beseeching him. “Would not the One, who your people say commands the Music of the world—though my people hear it not—have surely foreseen such a grief? And if he did foresee such grief and did nothing, allowing it to pass, what difference is there between his allowance and his will? And if he did will such a grief, then how can your people say that he is good?”

Andreth shares with Aegnor what the Wise say of Men's original nature, and of the wound dealt to them by Morgoth.

“I would honor the customs of thy people, Andreth, and marry thee in the manner of thy people,” he said at last.

“And if I did not want to?” she asked, so soft she barely heard her own voice. “If I wished to marry thee in the manner of thy people?” Her voice trembled, but she held his gaze.

Aegnor drew in an uneven breath, swift and sharp. His gaze roved her face, tracing her features. When he spoke, his voice was rough but tender. “I would take thee away, to the south or east, and marry thee under the light of the stars. And there none would speak against our union. And I would be thine and thou would be mine in every way that there is.”

A summer evening spent in a glade near the shores of the Aeluin.

The rise and fall of the House of Fëanor, told in 17 kisses. Each is a perfect drabble.