New and Updated Fiction

When all other lights... go out.

A suspicion realised among dusty tomes of days long past

A display of skills destined for war turned playful; sword and horse and rider as one.

“Congratulations, my love, you have made a plank. Yet again.”  Dry tones teased his ears softly, the silent footsteps of his beloved Ngilith giving him no warning of her approach.

Círdan smiled, running the pad of his thumb over the smooth surface of the wide board. “Not a plank, this, dearest,” he mused, leaning back against her chest for a moment when she drew near. Lifting the waiting pot, he watched a thin stream of oil catch the light of the torches someone had lit while he was busy smoothing the wood. “A board.” He spread the pool of oil with his fingers, feeling the smooth glide of skin against wood with a joyful satisfaction. “I wish to travel as the waves do, bare and unfettered as we rush towards shore.” He could see it so clearly, feel the rush and song of waves racing with him, Ossë’s laughter bright as noonlight on water.

She laughed, a sound he had missed more than he knew in her absence, pressing herself against his back, her chin resting lightly against his shoulder.

Ossë shows Círdan the passion at the heart of the storm.

Carnlóme finds some of his soldiers about to have their way with a prisoner and steps in to protect her. He soon comes to like her.

After his rebirth Nolofinwe knows he can't lie to Anaire any longer, even if the chance of Maedhros to ever be reborn is slim.

Fingon's new hröa did not cross the Ice.

Belladonna goes to the sea and understands something of importance.

Círdan is there for emotional support, even if he doesn't know it.

Thingol contemplates the carvings of Menegroth, remembering Lúthien. 

Celebrian asks Elrond about Maedhros and Maglor.

Elrond does not find it easy to talk to her about them, so he begins in a somewhat roundabout way...

Born on the Great Journey, I never knew Cuiviénen, but ever since we departed the shores of Rhûn I have missed the sensation of silky saltwater against my skin.

A Telerin Elf's first experience of the waters of Belegaer, at the end of the Great Journey.

After stepping into a chasm filled with fire, Maedhros finds himself in an eerily familiar house.

A young Adanel in two drabbles from the Holiday Party Instadrabbling event using the "Never have I ever" prompt.

Two journeys of the Blue Wizards in two drabbles from the Holiday Party Instadrabbling event using the "Never have I ever" prompt.

Fixed length-ficlets featuring Elendil the Tall, one set during this childhood in Numenor, the other after the Fall of Numenor.

It was not Melian’s wont to speak against her husband in public. When she did she tried to do so gently. She would not undermine his authority before his people—she was not one of Bauglir’s creatures to bend others by force to her will.

But in the privacy of their chambers it was a different matter.

All things in Arda are filled with Song, and each Song is a story - even for that which does not seem to have its own voice. This is the tale of one such thing; of a smith, a dwarf, and a bowman, and the fallen star that sang its way through their histories.

FA346: Estolad, East Beleriand, and circa FA150: near the Orocarni Mountains, Eastern Middle-earth

Zimrahin, wife of Malach and mother of Adanel & Magor, relates a tale of one of their ancestors to a young Adanel, wise-woman-in-training.

(Third in my Hildórien to Beleriand series, connecting Adanel with her earlier OC ancestors.)

FA125: West of the Orocarni Mountains, and FA0: on the shores of of Hildórien
A great great grandmother relates her memories of the first time she saw the moon rise.

A pair of young twins are lost in the wood.
In the tradition of folktales changing over time, I've written three endings, narrated in different voices. So this tale comes in three sizes: happy, medium, and sad. (And I'm not entirely sure myself which is which.)

Drabbles for the Words of Wit & Wisdom (or Whimsy) challenge.

A road trip in six drabbles.

In which Legolas has a bad dream.

Isildur contemplates what to to tell his wife as he writes home from the siege of Barad-dûr.