Excerpt from "Reflections"

by Angelica

One day, riding across the forest, we were ambushed by a pack of Orcs hiding in the dark. We were badly outnumbered and could not withdraw. So we fought, with all our might but the end was inevitable. As we were being slowly cornered and slaughtered, we glimpsed movement beyond the trees and we thought – hoped, dreamt – we could perceive eyes in the forest. Elvish eyes.

Help us. Please. Please. Help.

With our voices and with our minds.

Please.

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Excerpt from "How to Love Him"

by Rhapsody the Bard

"We need to talk," Amarië suddenly said and the light touch of panic made Finrod frown.

"How so, my love? Have we not talked for so long the past years that we simply cannot enjoy our union?" Finrod asked her as he neared her. Why would she step away like that as if she wanted to shun his touch?Finrod wondered. Perhaps those ladies put fears in her head about duties and obligations. Maybe they warned her about the Noldor vigour by bringing up Míriel's fate.

"This union..."

"Yes?" Finrod gently said while he pulled her close, then firmly against his chest. "This union is our celebration of a long wait, Amarië. Do not deny yourself this victory." His bride trembled under his hands, yet she gave in, and he reached for her hand to place it against his chest. "My heart belongs to you now, Amarië, no longer shall I hold back."

"You will say that now, yet I cannot perceive what you truly feel for me," Amarië finally confessed once she looked up to him. Why do you scare me so she thought, I want you, for I do wish to love you.

Finrod smiled down on her, in a kind but firm manner once he lifted her head so he could look in her blue eyes. Still he said nothing, no words escaped his mouth and he dared not to open his mind in full to her just yet, and at the same time he knew it had to be done. You have nothing to be afraid of my Amarië, for I will gladly walk through the everlasting dark to protect you. I would suffer the most unbearable pains just for you. Only for you. Once he uttered those final thoughts, he lifted her chin and kissed her lightly on her lips.

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Excerpt from "Your Sins into Me"

by Oshun

Long before, in the bliss of Valinor, before Melkor was unchained, or lies came between them, Fingon had been close in friendship with Maedhros; and though he knew not yet that Maedhros had not forgotten him at the burning of the ships, the thought of their ancient friendship stung his heart. Therefore he dared a deed which is justly renowned among the feats of the princes of the Noldor: alone, and without the counsel of any, he set forth in search of Maedhros . . . . (The Silmarillion, "Of the Return of the Noldor")

Two days earlier, Findekáno had passed out of the forest that surrounded Lake Mithrim to finally reach a desiccated plain. Only the toughest grass could survive its cold drying winds. He knew if he kept walking through the night that the sun would rise upon the even more desolate landscape of bare mountains dotted with the occasional dreary cave, which preceded the sheer cliffs of Thangorodrim. He still had no idea how he would gain entrance into the depths of foul Angamando.

Overwhelmed with rage, he screamed. "Can you hear me, Manwë?

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Excerpt from "Breath of Arda"

by Fiondil

Námo entered the main throne room of Ilmarin and resisted a sigh. He was the last one to arrive. All the other Valar, even Vairë, were already assembled on the balcony that looked across the Pelóri towards Endórë. Of course, he had a legitimate reason for being late. Already Mandos was filling with the souls of Mortals dying in this war and he had been coordinating with Maranwë and his other Maiar as to where to put them until they could be dealt with. He took pride in the fact that he had been ready for this for some time, in fact, from the very moment the Halfling Bilbo Baggins took possession of the One Ring. War was inevitable though long in coming as Mortals accounted time. He and his People were quite prepared to handle the influx.

The Lord of Mandos stepped silently beside his spouse, giving her a faint smile, which she returned, slipping her hand into his.

*What has happened?* he asked her, bespeaking to her mind-to-mind.

*Nothing as yet,* she answered. *Melkor’s Lieutenant has thought to blanket all of Arda with a thick cloud through which no light can penetrate. The Children fight under despairing gloom.*

*And the Ringbearers?*

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Excerpt from "Memory of Faery"

by Ellie

She looked long at Erestor before replying. “For more than one hundred years, you have not played? You have not taken measures to ease your fëa? The world is always full of troubles and lies ever anxious in its sleep as in its waking. But you, who are counselor to the world-weary Lord of Imladris must take time to play, take time for joy. You must be a light and a haven to ease his care, his grief. Lord Glorfindel understands this.” She motioned to where the Captain of the Imladris Guard had drifted away, smiling and swishing the floating Elladan around in the water if he held a child of ten years instead of an ellon of many hundreds. “He is Reborn and knows the importance of play in maintaining the strength and resilience of the fëa.”

Erestor scowled. “Watching his sons in their vengeful madness is slowly destroying Elrond. Playtime is hardly going to be of benefit to any of them if the twins are dead.”

Gildor’s lady pierced Erestor with her bright gaze. “I realize that. And if they continue as they have, they will die. The twins’ mortal blood will not release them from their suffering. Care latches on to the grief and powerlessness they have felt since the sorrows befell their mother, thus driving their unquenchable madness. Anger is easy while healing requires patience and hope. Fortunately, Elrond’s sons also bear the blood of elves and the blood a Maia in their veins. Much healing, much strength for others, and much good can come of them, if they would only remember the rest of what they are. They are destined to be a source of strength for estel in more ways than one, but they must heal first.

“Now take Elrohir and go wander about the pool. It is the only way the mud will come off.” Then she playfully pushed Erestor, dove under the water, and swam a ways away before resurfacing near Glorfindel and calling back over her shoulder. “You are angry, too, Erestor. You need this as much as Elrohir does.”

This is heavily influenced and inspired by Yeat’s poem "Stolen Child," which is also a song by Loreena McKennitt.

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Excerpt from "Lullaby"

by Oshun

Ereinion had fought sleep that night with a tenacious valor reminiscent of that of his father. Tadiel looked down upon the young boy, his eyelids finally drooping shut over his jewel bright eyes, so like those of Fingon. His hair fanned out across the pillow, closer to the auburn of her own than his father's sable locks. The small face reflected only Fingon. Although perhaps not quite as pretty, there was no mistaking the strong jaw line and the incipient hawkish Finwëan nose. She tucked the quilt tighter around his chin and began a lullaby of her own device, more melancholy in tone than she would have chosen had she not believed he was already more asleep than awake.  
 
A chéneg A ionneg 
Pant galu pant glas 
A naenatha hún nín 
Ne chinn lín cenim: 
Le iôn adar lín 
û iôn naneth lín.1  
 
As she sang the last line, a soft snick of the latch opening and closing drew her eyes to the door. Fingon entered, saying, "Everything is prepared for tomorrow and . . . " before pausing to draw his eyebrows together into the pretense of a scowl. She guessed from the shadow that clouded Fingon's face for an instant that he had caught the wistful lyrics of her lullaby. 
 
"Ai, woman, don't be so tragic," he said, lowering his voice. "One of the reasons Maitimo and I chose you was that you did not have that mawkish my-best-years-are-behind me air that so many Noldorin women sport like it is their finest cloak. We needed someone who could make us laugh. Someone with a spine of steel."  
 
"Pshaw! You thought you needed a Sindarin woman and I was the one you knew best. Maybe you should have married one of his followers at Himring. They certainly do not affect that attitude. They are more the free-at-last-and-proud-of-it, I'll-run-you-through-if-you-cross-me types." She tried to hold onto her demeanor of perhaps insulted or offended... 

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