Or, Three Attempts to Get Out of Archery Practice

Climbing partners get very accustomed to saving each other's lives. The habit can prove hard to break, as Findekáno and Maitimo discover.

We are told that Galadriel was “the only woman of the Noldor to stand ... tall and valiant among the contending princes” upon the summit of Túna, when Feanor made his Oath. But why? What about Aredhel: what was she up to?

In this story, I attempt to answer that question, while Írissë and Artanis discuss family matters.

Months have passed since the Nirnaeth, but Glorfindel and Ecthelion are not quite over it yet.

Contains dark themes, humour, and slash, mixed together pretty evenly, I hope.

The Silmarillion states that the entire Dwarven race is descended from the seven Dwarves Aule made: the Seven Fathers of the Dwarves.

...Seven Fathers? Really? And Zero Mothers?

I have attempted to explain this absurdity here. In a deeply scientific and scholarly way.

Set in Cuiviénen. The future kings of the Eldar discuss Oromë's invitation. There is cake, and tea.
Very canon-ish, sorry.

Fëanor is not always the easiest person to talk to, not even for a powerful Vala like Melkor. Luckily, one of the Fëanorions has better taste in conversation.

As a result, Melkor gets to indulge in two of his favourite pastimes: stirring up trouble, and discussing his creative process.

Running Yavanna’s errands in First Age Middle-earth is a tough job, but someone has to do it.

 (Written for the B2MeM prompt, “Write or create art in which a character plants something.” Not a light-hearted humour fic. At all. A little quirky, though.)

Some people are naturally good at romance. Others struggle with it, even when surrounded by flowers, love songs, and heart-shaped cakes. Guess which group is featured in this story?

(The usual caveat applies: these are my versions of these characters, and my version of Gondolin, and so might not be to everyone's taste.)

So, how did Glorfindel of Gondolin make his (posthumous) way to Middle-earth in order to become Glorfindel of Rivendell? The relevant canon is full of uncertainties and contradictions.

I like to think it might have happened as follows...

Wherever Túrin goes, emotional turmoil is sure to follow. The marches of Doriath are no exception.

Idril and Tuor have sailed into the West... but will they ever reach it?

One long, meandering conversation between Ecthelion and Glorfindel.

I could say it's about aesthetics.
I could say it's about the author having fun with implicit characterization.
I could also say it's about vases, and grapes, and Maedhros.

 

The usual caveat applies: these are my versions of these characters, and while this story does not contradict canon, it does not have much to do with it, either. It's pure (s)elf-indulgence...

A retelling of a very well-known story. Features Fëanor and Nerdanel as young geeks in love, a rather unsympathetic look at Indis, and a lot of very simple sentences.

Ulmo be thanked, the Noldorin refugees have finally found a leader. He has the most ridiculous name, though: Ereinion. "The Scion of Kings". And where did he come from, anyway?

Cirdan attempts to find out.

An Elvish take on this business we call show. Also, a Third-Age Sindarin take on First-Age Noldorin history.

As a bonus, features Lorien's three named Marchwardens.

A few weeks after the events of Flawed and Fair, Ecthelion writes a letter. Or, at least, attempts to.

I expect this story will appeal only to rare fans of my interpretation of this couple. Oh well. Sorry, rest of the world.

Gil-galad was the scion of kings, 
Of him the flighty Tehta sings.

Tolkien seems to have found figuring out Gil-Galad's paternity particularly difficult. Who was Gil-Galad's father, really? Was it Fingon? Finrod? Orodreth? (Which Orodreth?) Cirdan? It is an interesting question, and one this fic completely fails to answer. It does, however, answer the question of who his mother was. Anyway. Warning for, um, authorial self-insertion.

An attempt to make sense of the mystery surrounding Glorfindel's reappearance in Middle-earth, presented using a rarely-seen perspective.

A Glorfindel/Ecthelion PWP, full of dodgy humour, neurosis, and blasphemy.

This fic is a relatively plotless gap-filler set between my fics "Flawed and Fair" and "Strange Fortunes," and will probably make most sense to people familiar with these characters. Although, who knows? It probably makes as much sense as any PWP.