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

They passed out of Lhûn and the wider coastline of Middle-earth opened up before his eyes. He had wandered those shores for centuries, and even now he felt the pull of that same wanderlust, and knew he would miss them for the rest of his life. Their wildness, the untamed waves, the rocky shores and the cliffs and the sandy beaches. The gulls, and the dunes, and the tide pools with their ever-changing denizens. Someone began to sing a song of farewell, and other voices took it up. He did not join them.
Maglor keeps a promise, and comes to Valinor, only to find the ghosts he thought he'd left behind are alive and waiting for him.

An Orc is writing to their loved one in the War of Wrath.

Five tents, he counts. Two dead guards. The fire within him burns so white, he wonders if it will leave anything of himself behind. Wonders if he can bring himself to care. Wonders, too, if this is what his father had felt like when he found the innards of their grandfather’s head spilt over his well-wrought front steps.
If so, perhaps Maedhros finally understands.
Maglor is taken. Maedhros handles it as well as can be expected, which is not at all.

They speak as if they have not been sending messengers to keep each other informed of what was necessary. As if this—war, strategy, cold facts—is not all they have exchanged ever since Maedhros had removed them East.
He wonders if Maglor has forgiven him yet—for giving away the crown, for not asking him first, for coming back someone other than himself. He wonders if he has forgiven Maglor yet—for leaving him to Morgoth, for looking at him returned only with horror and guilt. For not forgiving him yet.
They have not spoken in twenty years. Maedhros doubts that this is the kind of reuniting that their uncle had in mind.

He used to be able to read his brother better than his own mind. He used to think that he would do anything, would bear anything, to have him back.
Maglor’s worst crime to date, he thinks, is that in this, too, he has proven himself a liar.
Maedhros abdicates the throne. Maglor copes, more or less (it's definitely less).

Following Maglor as he suffers through captivity in Dol Guldur, and his journey to healing afterward.

The king's natural philosophers are an elite group of men of science in Armenelos. When one of them is discovered to be (apparently) a woman in disguise, he is expelled from their ranks. Unfortunately, his youth and beauty draw the interest of the king, and there is no one with the power to protect him, not even the High Priest himself, although to the philosopher's surprise, Tar-Mairon tries...
A possible origin story for the Mouth of Sauron.

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.

One wrong decision can make a world of difference. When one of the Fellowship makes the mistake, the consequences are so severe that only the Valar can repair it. But will they?
Glorfindel daughter's life is in Elrohir's hands and only she remembers th eir love for each other. The fate of Middle Earth depends on everyone walking their intended path.Torn between the past and the future, she is forbidden to warn them of any missteps.

There was, he thinks slowly, trudging through the grief mired thoughts, gold ribbons coated in blood, a cold bed, a gaping emptiness in his mind where a marriage bond used to hum. There were years and years with only his brothers and even those dwindled with time.
His ears catch on a voice raised high, panicked, and then with terrifying force, the marriage bond snaps back into place, filling an emptiness he’d only just begun to grasp the edges of, and everything goes very sharp and clear.
Fingon, he thinks, feels the answering burst of confusion, fear, hope. “Fingon.”

Celebrimbor comes to Galadriel with word of Annatar’s betrayal, and offers her a gift.

A Tale of Two Elessars: Fëanor's and Enerdhil's, and the story of how they became intertwined.

Maglor's wanderings take him up the Anduin, where orcs find him and take him to Dol Guldur--where the Necromancer dwells.

Nellas, long after the fall of Doriath, is again a witness to tragedy
This is a very geeky crossover between The Silmarillion and Njal’s Saga, the longest and arguably best of the early medieval Icelandic Sagas which Tolkien knew very well.

A Jewish Maglor escapes with twins.
Two double drabbles, set several decades apart.

After the attack on the Havens of Sirion, a figure from Maedhros' past comes face-to-face with him one last time.

Completed.
"At least we have learned that the sons of Fëanor can die too." Nine POVs, one matter - a story about the kinslaying in Doriath.

With Nargothrond’s might diminishing and the Elves’ borders hard-pressed, Finrod welcomes the first Men into his ranks, but when their chieftain, Bëor, becomes dearer to him than mere vassal, Finrod faces sending his lover or himself into deadly peril as the Enemy breaches the Elves’ leaguer.

In his own wanderings, Daeron comes to the shore--and finds Maglor.

Every morning, I leave you; every evening, you bring me back. An endless game—until the day it is not.

“Do you think,” Aredhel starts, her tone idle as she wraps the last strip of fabric around his shoulder and ties it tight, “that killing your husband weighs lighter or heavier than slaying your kin?”
Celegorm freezes, his throat going dry. She does not move away, her dark eyes unforgiving upon him.
“That depends,” he finally says, catching her wrist before she can snatch her hand away. “Did you love him?”
Aredhel had visited Himlad. Celegorm decides to find out why.

There is shame in it, scathing-hot and heavy. If Makalaurë is honest, that only makes it more of a delight.
Everything in Tirion is holy perfection, white-pure and immaculate. This is just the latest desire of breaking something open, of getting to watch how it bleeds over untainted marble.
Maitimo has been avoiding him. Makalaurë deduces why.

A young Orc on a spirit quest walks through the memories of her people.