New Challenge: Scavenger Hunt
In this Matryoshka-with-a-twist, you will solve clues that point you to the challenge prompts.

She is one and many, the heroine and the victim, the courageous and the victim, the dead and the living, her feelings and sufferings are felt and shared together, and no justice, divine or earthly could mend her pain in the aftermath.

Two Dwarves mourn the loss of their lord after the Ninraeth Arnoediad.

In the darkness just before dawn, Haleth of the Haladin meets an Elf-lady with eyes as bright as a falcon's, and both their fates are changed.

Narvi adorns Celebrimbor with jewelry while telling him a story about the creation of mithril.

The thing about forgiveness, he thought, was that it was so much easier when the object of it was far away—or dead. It was so much easier to let it all go when those responsible were far away and unable to do any more harm.

These were simply flashes, a hint of a wider, greater world. A tantalizing glimpse of more, always at the edge of awareness, never within reach. Míriel would grasp it, if something as intangible as the concept of color could overflow in bounteous wonder over her hands.
But then fire was caught, tamed and kept and cherished, and their world was suddenly awash with light. The world expanded, a pageantry of blues and greens and browns. A cacophony of color, overwhelming in its saturation.
In which Míriel falls in love with the colors in the earliest days, and Indis too.

In his old age, Isildur's former esquire Ruinamacil, known to later histories only as Ohtar, writes his own account of his escape from the ambush at Gladden Fields and journey to Imladris, and the history of his friend whom Isildur ordered to flee with him.

Early in the history of Numenor, Elros's son Vardamir not only gathers much lore himself, but also assembles an early circle of loremasters around him. One of these is Tegilbor, who reflects about lore, Elvish and otherwise.

Trapped upon the bitter cliff, Maedhros dreams. Or hallucinates. Or endures the mental torments of the Dark Vala, Morgoth. Surely, one of those must be the case; for he cannot have been rescued from Thangorodrim's torturous peak. He cannot.
But then, why is Findekáno here?
Maedhros finds in many ways that those visions which do not end with his own blood and breaking are the worst of all: because they end instead in waking, and the inescapable knowledge that such things will never again be aught but dreams to him. That knowledge is a tighter shackle than the one that holds him to the cliff-face, and the pain of it around his heart is much sharper than that which throbs through his arm. An arm goes numb much faster than a heart, and there is a limit to how much pain a body can bear before the sensation of agony starts to crumble beneath the onslaught.
If there is a limit to how much pain a heart can hold, Maedhros has not yet found it.

Lalwen comes to tell Elemmírë that the Noldor have resolved to leave Valinor. Elemmírë is devastated that she can't persuade her beloved to stay.

Níniel regrets not knowing her past or her family, but at least she and Finduilas have each other.

Finrod is called to Mandos to speak with the spirit of a kinsman who is pardoned, yet refuses to rejoin the living.

The Eagles find a woman in the wilderness and bring her to Gondolin, and Maeglin's feelings are thrown into confusion.

Celebrimbor and Narvi have a good day where only nice things happen! No plot, just an Elf and a Dwarf being happy and making shiny things. Written for the All The Nice Things flash exchange.

The departure from Dorthonion, as seen through the eyes of the child Rían.

Even in blissful Aman, Celebrimbor makes swords. (Drabble.)

A woman of the Faithful is heartbroken to learn that her beloved Inzilbêth will be forced to marry the king Ar-Gimilzôr.

After Lalaith's death, Morwen refuses to weep.

On the morning of the day Fingon was to die, the sun rose bright over a shining sea of metal.

Passing headlights sweep across the wall, yellow and striped through the blinds. In the distance a siren wails, and in the dark, quiet hotel room they lie facing each other, each curled toward the other like parentheses, with thousands of years of history tucked between them.

Fëanor shrugged, studying the contents of his wine glass. “Something must be done about that house. It will fall down eventually.”
“It does not follow that it must be you that tears it down single-handedly. Are you sure you do not want help?”
“It’s not as though I have much else to do. I need to build something new there,” he said after a few moments. “To do that, I must first clear away the old and broken things.”
Decades out of Mandos, too many things in Fëanor's life remain broken. He can't do anything except wait for his sons to come to him, but he can do something about the old and crumbling house where they once lived.

Fëanáro dies, and the rest live, coated in his ashes.

Maglor without Maedhros, Daeron without Lúthien. Alone, they are nothing, but together, they can be something more.
Where do you turn, when you have no one else left?
Written for Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2023, featuring artwork by athlai.

It was only the second time Finwë had come out foraging with them, and of course this would happen—of course the Hunter would come, the Dark Rider on his steed with its terrible, heavy footfalls, and the deep-throated laughter that held no mirth, only malice.
In the dark woods near the Waters of Awakening, Finwë's brothers are taken.
In Valinor, when the Trees wither, Finwë is slain.
In the Fourth Age, things take place long thought impossible.