New Challenge: Epic 80s
This month's challenge features hundreds of fresh prompts from the bodacious decade of the 1980s.

"...for none of the Eldalië ever hated Melkor more than Fëanor son of Finwë, who first named him Morgoth; and snared though he was in the webs of Melkor's malice against the Valar he held no converse with him and took no counsel from him."
Fëanor meets a stranger. There aren't many strangers in Tirion.

Celegorm, Curufin, a balcony of Finwë's royal residence, oblique discussions of death before death became more than an abstraction. And a little bit of parkour.

Fëanáro needs Melkor's secret knowledge to create his Silmarils, but Fëanáro will also be an invaluable asset to Melkor in the Vala’s own game.

Fëanáro era Rey. Nolofinwë lo había aceptado mucho antes del asesinato de su padre.

11 Drabbles for the Experimental Challenge.

A new beginning cannot erase the past, but it can soften the blow.

It is the night of Tirion's masked ball. Fëanáro is after Artanis' hair, Artanis is after a distraction, Macalaurë is deploying all his wiles, and Findaráto is just trying to have a nice time.

Fëanor tolerates his brothers' children. Aredhel, however, he enjoys.

“Fëanáro, please, listen to me. She does not wish to return, not ever."
Fëanor refuses to let hatred consume him at Finwë's news. Written for the challenge 'Dip the Ladle'.

After Oromë sends a Hunting Party to investigate the reports of proliferation of fell beasts far in South Aman, the entire errand goes horrifically wrong. Celegorm was prepared to die a grisly death, yet he dares to beg the Great Void Spider to spare his life, which to his surprise, the request is heeded. Then comes the most unlikely partnership and friendship in all of Arda, and its unexpected consequences.

Indis tries to mend the rift within the House of Finwë. Fëanáro does not take kindly to it.

A short crime-story that is a direct continuation of a Drabble written for B2MEM (Match).
Detective Aredhel and her second-in-command Haleth find the burned corpse of a boy. They now have to investigate men they had thought firmly and safely relegated to the past.
Can they be guilty of a crime so heinous? Why won't anybody in that dark, foreboding house cooperate when the women clearly toil to save their reputations and lives?

Shortly after the unexpected release of Fëanor, Daeron — now loremaster of Alqualondë and chief minstrel of the Eldar — finally reaches out to Maglor. Maglor is perplexed about his motives, but agrees to meet.

My Maedhros & Fëanor portraits morphing with "Let the Havens Burn" illustration in motion.

My illustrations with a bit of life and music by DTH. English subtitles added for the lyrics in Polish. (More details in description.)

Young Feanor learns a lesson.

Tyelkormo is the beloved daughter of Nerdanel and Fëanor. But what if she doesn't want to be a daughter?

At the End of the World, reconciliation and renewal.

Nerdanel had hoped to beat Feanor to Formenos, but she came too late.

Nolofinwë did not want to be here.
If he could have been anywhere else in the world, he would have fled there at this moment.
~
Fingolfin and Feanor's complicated relationship in four scenes.

Nerdanel did Feanor a favor; now she has a demand.

Silver light poured through the windows, catching and refracting on the crystals hung about the room, twinkling like tiny stars. The court of Tirion was particularly splendid that evening, Indis thought as she sat upon the dais beside Finwë, watching the dancing. A rare event: all of their children and grandchildren were present, and even Fëanáro seemed to be in good spirits as he twirled about the floor with Ëarwen.
But still Indis felt uneasy.

Maitimo was crossing the courtyard, thinking of lunch, when his father burst out of his workshop, where he had been holed up for the last several days, neither eating nor, as far as anyone could tell, sleeping. “Maitimo!” he cried, eyes alight with the fire of success. “Come! Come and see!”

In which Maedhros dies and has some explaining to do to his family.

A repository of extremely silly poetry, about our favorite extremely silly elves. (And other beings, on occasion.)