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Tar-Miriel, last queen of Numenor, reigns in name only. Isolated and hopeless, she seeks little more than survival. As the doom of Numenor draws near, she finds herself facing unexpected temptations and strange alliances.
Written for TRSB summer 2023 for art by elvencloud_a_plotting
In Numenor, Mairon contemplates a sacrifice.
In the aftermath of the Dagor Bragollach, a follower of Amras contemplates the future. Written for Tolkien Gen Week on Tumblr.
It is the time before the War of the Last Alliance, before the first fall of Isildur's recently built city of Minas Ithil to Sauron's attack.
One of its inhabitants is sensitive to the unseasonable weather; she does not quite realize she is also suffering from premonitions.
Drabbles about food:
I: Caraway (featuring Frodo and Rosie)
II: Cheese-wright of Gondor (featuring a woman of Lossarnach)
The usurper Tar-Anducal has closed the theatre in Armenelos that his deceased wife, Tar-Vanimelde, so loved.
The group of dancers that conspired with her against his usurpation have been touring everywhere except in the capital, hoping not to draw his notice.
Are their fortunes about to change?
A Noldorin academic may express her opinions quite forcefully, sometimes.
Tatiel already had a bit of a reputation, even before the Darkening, and she is not cowed.
As the bells began to ring alarms at another five black-sailed Corsair ships hoving into view, Ulloth’s mind and pen alighted upon the pelargoloth, her namesake, the common and beloved flower of the city’s balconies and courtyards, just opening its scarlet petals with the dawn of the the Second Siege of Pelargir.
One hungry year after the first fleet of Edain landed on Númenor's shores, still wet with seawater, ships arrive in Rómenna from the west.
Playing in Gondolin on the feast of Tarnin Austa (no, not that last Tarnin Austa), Salgant remembers a long-ago music lesson in Valinor.
Ar-Zimraphel and her companions discuss marriage
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For @aspecardaweek : aroace Tar-Míriel.
Follow the blue roads of Arda.
Embittered by Aldarion's departure on a long overseas journey against her will, Erendis dismisses the pair of wonderful Elven-birds that were given to her by visitors from Tol Eressea during her honeymoon. The birds briefly visit Erendis's parents on their flight back to Tol Eressea, but will not let themselves be touched and afterwards, it seems, they are not seen or heard again in Numenor.
"Sweet fools, fly away!" Erendis said. "This is no place for such joy as yours."
I have written a fix-it for the loss of the Elven-birds, sort of.
The Silmarillion says : "And it is told of Maglor that he could not endure the pain with which the Silmaril tormented him; and he cast it at last into the Sea, and thereafter he wandered ever upon the shores, singing in pain and regret beside the waves. For Maglor was mighty among the singers of old, named only after Daeron of Doriath; but he came never back among the people of the Elves."
So, what if Maglor had enough of the shores and just wandered the world?
Here is my take on Maglor living in France during the 1848 french revolution.
"It was often said (among other families) that long ago one of the Took ancestors must have taken a fairy wife. That was, of course, absurd, but..."
Faramund Took goes wandering through the South Downs, and comes back home with a rather unexpected bride.
That it was returned, he did not question. He could look back now and see everything arranged in its full image, he could trace the careful dance they both wound through this past year; every word, every silence, every touch ringing through with that steady truth. How had he been so blind?
Springtime has come to Estolad. Finrod is struck with a realization he has been avoiding and faces the decisions that lie in its wake.
As Elwing navigates uncertainties about identity, rulership, and her impending motherhood, a chance meeting with a reclusive woman of the Haladin leads to a relationship that will give her strength facing the challenges to come. [WiP. Rating based on chapter 1 but will change to Adult.]
Glingaereth meets the crown prince of the Noldor by chance, if chance you call it.
“All the same, sister, be careful.”
“Me?” Glingaereth said. “Careful of what?”
“Of that prince.”
“What, Fingon? If you are worried about the Noldor’s feuds, he is the one who brought them to an end.”
Limbeleth shook her head. “I can’t explain it. It isn’t that you need worry about him, but—I have an uneasy feeling about them all, and I feel also that you will be bound up in their fate somehow.”
“Let us not perish here in the long darkness,” Balan said softly, crossing back to take one of the waiting wreaths and set it upon his own brow, “these creatures you chose to form. Remember us, here in our frailty.”
It is Yuletide. The Atani and Finrod celebrate throughout the night as they stay awake to greet the dawn after the Longest Night. Balan's people settle into Estolad, Atani traditions abound, and Finrod faces some memories.
Ioreth has to endure some of the physical drawbacks of advanced age, but there are also people who accord her the kindness and respect she deserves. (Now with extra drabble.)
A triple drabble - and a brief history - of an old orc.
It was a custom done in scorn of death, Balan would tell Finrod later that night as they sat beside the fire in the hush of the midnight watch. He might come ever ravening among them, but they would scorn his maw. Even in their rotting they would lay claim to life.
Balan's people are on the road to Estolad. Finrod begins to suspect his own feelings, there is danger on the road, and we witness Atani burial rituals.
Arwen remembers a dream, Aragorn makes a prediction, and Minas Tirith flies.
Millenia later, Eärendil gets company on the Vingilot and remembers his childhood.
Oh, and there are hot air balloons.
Finrod felt the other’s panic strike his perception like a blow and was running even before Balan’s cry reached his ear. In a glance, his eyes took in the scene before him: the camp in sudden stillness, one of the Laiquendi staggering through the clearing, a limp body slung in his arms, Balan and Baran sprinting toward him.
It was Belen in his arms.
The Edain and the Laiquendi cross paths in the woods of Ossiriand and are faced with immediate conflict. Finrod and Estreth work to heal the damage, Balan (Bëor) tries to learn the communication of thought, and the Edain choose where their loyalty will abide.
It was danger only if the goal was avoidance, and Balan had no desire to escape. The urge to laugh returned and his heart dared Estreth’s cautions to be true so he might find himself ensnared forever, held motionless on this hilltop, a statue cradled within the other’s hands till the world’s ending. If his soul was consumed in the process, then let it be so. It was a fair price.
A few months after Finrod discovered the Edain near Thalos, he continues to dwell with them and form friendships. Balan (Bëor) attempts to learn multiple languages, some old folktales of the Edain come up in conversation, and Balan and Finrod discuss grief with a side of constellations. Balan has a crush.