Well, Fëanor frightened him. Fëanor frightened them all, still, in one way or another. 

Fëanor's sons receive letters from him, and try to decide what to do.

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. 

Now a great crowd of spirits, both Elves and lingering Men, were gathered before the newest tapestry as it fell open down the wall, luminous, gold and silver threads glittering in the pale light of Mandos.

They found Elrond’s sons with Legolas and Gimli, and with Éomer King and Lady Éowyn, standing before an enormous fresco of a charging army of horsemen. “Why, isn’t that what just happened, the way it was told to us?” Sam exclaimed, looking up at it.

“No! This is a painting of the Battle of the Fields of Celebrant, long ago,” said Lady Éowyn, smiling at them

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.

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the lantern light. He stared at Elrohir with a strange look—horror and helpless fear mixed with longing and perhaps…recognition? But Elrohir did not recognize him, he was sure. And there was something else in his eyes too—a Light that Elrohir had seen before only in a handful of people, dimmed by pain and fear, but not extinguished. “It’s all right,” Elrohir said. “We’re going to take you away from this place.” 

The Necromancer is driven from Mirkwood, and Elladan and Elrohir find someone altogether unexpected in the pits of Dol Guldur.

Finarfin comes to Nargothrond during the War of Wrath

Frodo spent his last summer in the Shire much as he had the one before he’d gone on his journey.

The night was warm and the breeze balmy; night-blooming flowers covered the hillside, glowing in the light of hundreds, thousands of fireflies that flitted about and winked in mesmerizing patterns as Smith climbed to the top

On moonless nights when he could not sleep, Finrod wandered.

Grief awaits you outside these halls, Fëanáro, Nienna told him, her voice like the gentlest fall of rain upon spring leaves. 

Grief haunts me inside them, Fëanor replied.

Daeron is caught by orcs in the shadow of the Ephel Dúath, but is rescued by someone entirely unexpected.

Ficlets written for Feanorian Week 2025

In Valinor and homesick for Imladris, Celebrían decides to build a new one.

But at the very end of the letter she spoke of one more prisoner that Elladan and Elrohir had discovered in one of the deepest dungeons of Dol Guldur, locked away behind a door unopened in so long that the hinges had rusted. 

Maglor has been rescued from Dol Guldur, and now faces a long road of healing.

Eärendil comes to the Ring of Doom to plead before the Valar. 

Dear Elrond, It feels a little silly to be writing this to you while you are sleeping right next to me, but I cannot sleep.

A collection of non-Silm-based drabbles and ficlets.

A place to store drabbles and ficlets, mostly written for various prompts.

“Elrond!” Elros screamed, and Elrond had time to see him being held back by Bregolon before everything went topsy-turvy, and the underbrush closed around him, branches and leaves slapping at his face. His head bounced against hard metal, and through the confusion he realized—too slowly—that it had not been one of their party who had grabbed him, but one of the orcs.