Tolkien Meta Week Starts December 8!
Join us December 8-14, here and on Tumblr, as we share our thoughts, musings, rants, and headcanons about all aspects of Tolkien's world.
Three instadrabble prompts for the challenge
Voronwe drowns. And drowns. And drowns.
“Oh,” Elwing said faintly. She felt the need to sit down, but locked her knees against it. “Then—have they been released from Mandos, my lord? I had not heard that you came in person to deliver such news.”
“They have not, not yet,” said Námo, and to Elwing’s surprise his mouth softened into a small smile, there and gone again in the blink of an eye. “Your brothers are still very young; Mandos is not a place for children to grow. They are ready to return to the world, but unlike most others who pass through my halls they cannot make the journey across Valinor alone. Come to the gates of my halls with all swiftness, and you will find your brothers there.” He inclined his head, and was gone.
Pixel-style artwork of Tuor's journey.
The sea-longing returns to Tuor, and he hopes he might be allowed to sail West, for the miseries of Middle-earth only grow and no place feels safe enough.
Something out near the entrance to the bay caught his eye. It was a small, dark shape on the water, slowly growing larger. As it passed into Eldamar out of Belegaer, Eärendil felt his breath catch. “Elwing,” he said.
“I see it.” She leaned farther out of the window, as though those few inches might grant her a better look. She had one hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare. “It looks like—”
“Yes, but it can’t be.”
Voronwë leads Tuor across Beleriand and into Gondolin, and then faithfully serves and protects him and his family through all that follows. Which is just the natural order of things, isn’t it? All part of Ulmo’s grand plan, nothing much to see here, move along. Right? One day Tuor begins to suspect there might be more to it.
Glimpses of life in Aman, after the events of arriviste's void junk and Idrils_Scribe's Wings of White and Silver-grey.
The impossible happened – a Silmaril has been stolen from Morgoth’s crown. Maedhros decides to reunite the People of Beleriand against the Enemy and attack him while he is still unprepared (which is by no means less impossible). Meanwhile, in the hidden city of Gondolin, Lord Glorfindel of the Golden Flower pursues the meaning of his recurring nightmares, only to find himself in the centre of a secret ploy against the ever-growing power of Maeglin Lómion in the King’s Council.
The People of Beleriand are astir; and as the strings of our heroes’ fates tangle, a dark shadow creeps above the North – the Fifth Battle approaches. And to what end, no one could dream...
Stories of Gondolin. This series began as a response to the Fanfic100 challenge on Livejournal, but 100 stories remains quite an ambitious number! These are very short stories-- ficlets, if you will-- about Gondolin and its denizens. Content runs the gamut from All Ages-rated genfic to explicit slash. Content warnings will be provided for each story.
In Gondolin, Turgon is depressed...
The first of the great seafarers of Numenor is inspired by the tales of Elvish mariners of the First Age.
Update: another chapter / drabble added
"Then the waves hunted us like living things filled with malice, and the lightnings smote us; and when we were broken down to a helpless hull the seas leaped upon us in fury." (The Fall of Gondolin, pp. 118)
A midwinter dalliance grows into something neither Elemmakil nor Voronwë expect. Duty, family and the ghosts of their past lie between them, and beyond the Hidden City, the shadows lengthen and grow deep...
Personal pain doesn't need recording in history books.
Written for day six of Gondolin week
The tale of how four left the hidden city of Gondolin and only three returned.
Aredhel thinks she's got everything as she wants it, but Turgon has his reasons for allowing her to leave the city and he's not above using manipulation. Glorfindel and Ecthelion are caught in the middle of a political ploy and poor Egalmoth is dragged along for the ride. Throw in some giant spiders and everything was bound to go to hell.
A stolen moment for Voronwë and Elemmakil. Shameless smut, written for B2MeM 2019 in response to the prompt 'Haste, Haste.' The title is taken from the Rodgers and Hammerstein song of the same name.
A Yuletide Ball set in Vinyamar in the First age.
This work is for elemmire-of-aman for the Tolkien Secret Santa Exchange 2018.
It can be read as a standalone or as part of the Silver & Gold Verse (soon to be published)
Prompt: Glorfindel, Fingon, Maedhros, Russingon. No NSFW.
A collection of drabbles written for instadrabbling sessions on the SWG Discord.
It's the festive season in Gondolin, and Voronwë finds himself intrigued by the Captain of the Guard of the Secret Way.
It is dawn, early dawn, when Voronwë slips away from Sirion, letting the briny tang of salt and the soft murmur of distant waves guide him west along faint paths through the shivering reeds. After near on twenty years lived in the City of Refuge he knows full well the direction in which the Sea lies, and how to best reach it, but it is good to have his senses – and darkness take him, the world – confirm that he is going the right way.
And so Voronwë lets himself be guided, his bare and calloused feet nudged a certain way along the sandy trail, and it feels appropriate, somehow. For what has come and what has yet to come, all at once.
[cross-posted from Ao3]
Two vignettes featuring the parents of Voronwe of Gondolin.
Inspired by Oshun's bio of Voronwe's father Aranwe, which is here.
Tuor and Veronwë reach the old road, and find Orcs block the way.