New Challenge: Everyman
Create a fanwork about an ordinary character in the legendarium using a quote about an unnamed character as inspiration.

The Darkest Timeline AU for my Steampunk Númenor series.
In which the Mouth of Sauron is originally a Númenorean chemister rescued from Ar-Pharazôn's intimate attentions by Sauron himself.

In the wake of the fall of Númenor, the penal colony at Andrast is liberated by Sauron's forces. One of the Historians' College of Númenor bears witness.

In the wake of the Final Battle of the Last Alliance, Erestor struggles to keep moving and to reach out to friends and family.

Amid the devastation of Nírnaeth Arnoediad Fingon reaches out to Maedhros with one last command: 'you must not follow me', and Maedhros remembers the last sweet hours they spent together before the battle.
"Promise me something, beloved.”
This, the only time he allows fear to break through before the battle, catches my attention. I extend my neck to see creases of care in the corners of his mouth. “Mm? What is it?”
“Promise me you will find your place in the world to come, beyond tomorrow,” he lowers his voice to a whisper, “whether I am by your side or not.”
Written for Scribbles & Drabbles 2025 Art Prompt #51: And his banners they trod into the mire of his blood by Fiamma Galathon. You can find the artwork here.

Mairon reunites with Melkor at Lammoth.

His life in Valinor.

Idril was trying

Taking my boys out of Doriath and into a modern AU, so they can be sweethearts without me tearing the relationship between Elu and Melian apart.
On their last day of term, Elu comes home from uni sick. Mablung knows how to make him better.

A stranger and a stranger stranger talk and dream about their fears.

"Gather your strength, Daeron. I will get you to the Ford of Bruinen.”
“Will you swear it, kinslayer?” Daeron asked, voice heavy with irony and with something else Maglor couldn’t quite identify.
He paused for a moment. Then he said, “Yes.”

On the day of Tuor and Idril's wedding, Maeglin and Voronwë find some common, unstable ground.

I made a project out of this year’s Silmsmutweek, to accompany the line of the Peredhel through the Ages.
1) Spring; prompts: ritual sex, bathing and washing. Melian and Elu beget their daughters.
2) Summer; prompts: sport and competition. Finally allowed to live their love makes Arwen and Aragorn light-headed with bliss. That, and a little too much wine for the newly crowned King of Gondor. (Not explicit)
3) Autumn; prompts: canon ships, blanket; my first drabble. On a chill afternoon in autumn, Celebrían finds her husband dozing, and finds that something has to be done about it (Not explicit)
4)Fading; prompts: water sports. Elwing can’t have what she wants, and Eärendil has to suffer for it. (He loves every moment of it, though)
5) Winter; prompts: throne sex. Dior has doubts whether he will ever see himself as the King of Doriath. Nimloth finds that it is time for him to truly claim the throne.
6) Stirring; prompts: erotic dance and acrobatics. Ficlet. Beren watches Lúthien dance, and feels life stir in him again. And other things.
7) Dark; prompts borrowed from another day: rare-pair. This one is weird. No more needs to be said

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, Galadriel looked up to find Celeborn following. “What is it you seek?” he asked as she filled the silver ewer from the clear and cold waters of the stream.
“My cousin,” she said as she turned to the silver basin. “It is a new Age; if he lives still, I would find him and bring an end to his long exile.”

"Whatever the songs say, I am still only myself, and I miss my grandfather.”
Five times Eärendil asks for news of Turgon, and one time he does not have to.

Galadriel and Celeborn witness the end of the War of Wrath.

Aredhel runs from Nan Emloth just a few years earlier. This leads to a chain of events that might make the First Age just a bit lighter place.

Then Dírhavel sung of Túrin’s flight north after the Fall of Nargothrond, past the defiled waters of Ivrin as he sought for the Princess Finduilas Faelivrin, and Tuor rose suddenly from his seat, passing out of the hall without a word.

Celegorm and Aredhel ride towards the Aglon Pass through the rain.

The enchantments woven into the woods of Nan Emloth are nothing compared to maternal love.
And so, Aredhel grabs Lómion and runs.
The enchantments woven into the woods of Nan Emloth are nothing compared to the grief of knowing you could had saved your loved one.
And so, Celegorm waits.

“He is my brother,” Ñolofinwë says once more, willing her to understand. “He is half of me. What is a fëa worth if half of itself is gone?”
Ñolofinwë is scared that if he takes all that his brother is, and unravels the braid, takes out all of the love, winds what’s left back together — he is so terribly afraid that it will turn into a bitter hatred so dark and violent it may finally rival his brother’s.
He cannot risk that. He cannot. Better to die with love in his heart than live and become an angry, bitter version of himself.
Or: Ñolofinwë begins coughing up flowers and Fëanáro learns that hatred does not erase the duties of a brother.

After the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Glorfindel cares for a wounded Ecthelion and grapples with his fear.

“Come on.” Maedhros grabbed his hand and pulled him along down the path, both of them quickening their pace now, until the trees opened up into a wide meadow filled with flowers, bright yellow celandine and dandelions and sweet-scented pale chamomile mingling with cornflowers and irises. On the other side of it was a larger party than Maglor had ever seen in Lórien—five figures sitting in the grass. Huan barked again, and they all looked up. “It seems everyone has come to fetch us home,” Maedhros said, laughing, as all their brothers scrambled to their feet.
After years in Lórien, Maglor and Maedhros are ready to return to their family and to make something new with their lives--but to move forward, all of Fëanor's sons must decide how, or if, they can ever reconcile with their father.

Three intrepid stellar explorers witness a crack in the edge of the universe and are guided by an ancient spirit animating an automaton to a strange and unexpected place where they hope to rescue their kidnapped cat. A cat who may hold the future--or its inevitable end--in his far-too-ancient paws.

Tuor and Voronwë encounter Túrin at Ivrin. Hurt and not much comfort (but they try).

Hemmoril, Maglor's master of horses, has struck up a tenuous friendship with a new ex-thrall in Himring. He invites her to come to the tea gardens where he works to taste a new blend based on some flowers she harvested for him.