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A horrid cacophony of cries erupts ahead of them, as orcs appear—up the cliff on hidden ledges, on the path, with bows and swords. And behind them rises a figure of darkness and flame. The heat rolls down the path over them, bringing the smell of burning flesh and bitter fear with it. Someone screams.
Éomer Éadig is dead, and Aragorn meditates on losing his friends.
Ar-Pharazôn takes part in the first ceremony of the new Temple, and Zigûr is there to help him.
The dead have no mouths, and cannot scream. That does not stop Curufin from trying as he watches Vairë’s tapestries ravel before his eyes
Maedhros takes up his father's crown, and then gives it away
Interludes with Finwë, from before the Journey to after.
Thunderstorms never bring good news, Anairë has noted. And the one keeping her up this night is certainly no exception.
In his brother's final moments, Curufin must play an unexpected role.
Argon sees the world with an artist's eyes. All the way to the end.
Patrols upon the Ard-Galen are rarely events of great fanfare during times of peace.
The sons of Fëanor find their places. Or lose them.
And even after he and Lúthien settled in Tol Galen, where the air smelled of roses and pine and the nightingales sang merrily through the summertime, word of the outside word came in bits and pieces, often many years late.
Rather than killing him, Dior curses Celegorm with his dying breath. Someone that Celegorm once helped helps him a little in turn.
The first and last time Turgon sees Aredhel
Do wars start with the first fired arrow and end with the last? Or maybe they start already with the realization that they need to be fought? And never truly end, as long as the memory of them haunts those who took part? Arafinwë’s story of the War of Wrath. Previously posted on other sites.
‘None of the Valar, but the King rides upon Rochallor, his great steed. Yea, and wrathful he is, flying ahead as an arrow.’
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Ard-galen witnesses Fingolfin's final stand.
“Nana,” Legolas asks one day through a mouthful of stewed berries, “How come your eyes are so shiny?”
It’s an innocent question, and predictable in hindsight — neither of which help his parents in knowing how to answer it.
[Written for TRSB 2023, Art #77 - Exploring the Past. Posted for SWG Roaring Twenties Challenge - N1, Bright Young Things.]
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.
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.
In Numenor, Mairon contemplates a sacrifice.
Fingon records a selection of details about his life from the Fourth Age onwards.
The Grinding Ice proves a deadly trap for Elenwë and her daughter. Turukáno is willing to give his own life to save that of his wife and child, and almost succeeds.
‘And that is the device of the house of Bëor,’ Elwing adds. ‘My house.’
‘Mine too,’ Tuor says. ‘In part.’
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Tuor, a young Elwing, and the remnants of the Edain in the havens of Sirion.