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.
The hot, dry stones darken as rivulets of water fall down from her hair. Crouching beside the river, she twists and wrings it with strong hands, tossing it over the opposite shoulder and spreading her lips into a broad smile when she catches my eyes.
Fëanor and Nerdanel, by a river, when everything was still wonderful.
Beren falls down a ravine and breaks his leg, but that's just the start of his good fortune.
Osse and Nowe share some private time together. Nowe has a question about Osse's past. Osse does not want the Teleri to leave for Aman.
None came there–but the breath that filled the pipes wailing through the air was as real as his own, which he now inhaled in shallow gasps.
Lómion is drawn by a haunting music in the depths of Nan Elmoth.
“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.
This was why he hated riding; most of the time it was dull and soggy and messy. Though he did have a nice view of Glorfindel’s hair, the waves of Valinorean gold tumbling down his back. Glorfindel almost never wore it up - at most, Erestor had seen the front sections adorned and braided for special occasions. Erestor didn’t know how he coped; his own hair constantly got in his way.
Erestor’s mind drifted. Glorfindel’s hair was like silk over his skin, brushing against him when he leaned over Erestor, smooth and soft and…
For platinum_firebird for My Slashy Valentine 2022
“Now, my lord, you must keep still.”
Melkor was not entirely certain how he had gotten himself into this situation. No, that was not true. He knew what he had said; he had complained to Mairon of some inconsequential matter, and the Lieutenant had responded sharply that he needed to learn some patience. And of course, he had not been able to hold his tongue, and he had demanded that Mairon teach him.
(Tolkien Secret Santa Advent (NSFW) Calendar Day 19: Wax Play)
After the Dagor Bragollach, Fingolfin sees no other way but to challenge Morgoth. When he hears of his death, Maedhros is devastated.
After his release from Angband, Maeglin confides in Rog and events take a better turn.
Nolofinwe and Maedhros write each other letters while they live on opposite ends of Beleriand.
The Great Plague sweeps Middle-earth, devastating Gondor. As his kingdom crumbles around him, dying King Telemnar summons the best healer in Middle-earth to his stricken son's mansion. The disease is dreadful, but Elrond soon finds that an even greater danger threatens the Crown Prince.
An Edgar Allan Poe-inspired spooky season special. I'll post a chapter a day until Halloween.
The wolf that kills Finrod has not always been a wolf.
They would all suffer for this. But at least the elf was gone.
If only that had been true.
(Beleg and Andróg deal with feelings. Badly.)
The joy of that feast was long remembered in later days of sorrow; and it was called Mereth Aderthad, the Feast of Reuniting -- The Silmarillion
Fingolfin invites all the elves of Beleriand to a feast. It is a very good excuse to see Maedhros again.
Chroniclers will claim--above all else--that Maeglin left Nan Elmoth for desire of lordship alone. While we all know how the story ends, before that there was more: a mother and her son and a dark dark wood; three lives and three deaths, and the dazzling sunlight in between. This story is a portrait of the why behind the flight: family violence and a woman under siege, a child grown to adulthood in lonely darkness, learning to fight with only the tools provided him. It is a tale of childhood nightmares maturing into something more--manipulated by heart-darkened fathers and gently used by desperate mothers--until living becomes surviving and reality is a dream...
In the midst of the War of the Last Alliance of Elves and Men, ticking down to the end of the Second Age, there are frequently lulls between the action-packed moments. War is a lot of waiting, as one young Sindarin lieutenant - who happens to be Greenwood's crown prince - learns to his dismay.
Still, in such quiet moments are friendships fostered. Prince Elendur Isildurchil, the very first of Isildur's Heirs, has often invited Greenwood's prince to spend time in his tent and learn the wisdom of Men.
Sometimes Thranduil learns lessons the barely more than elfling is ill prepared for...and Elendur's not much more prepared for moments like these.
Let's hope Lord Elrond and their edair never find out...
Glorfindel gets a booty call from Ingwë.
for the "Kings and Kink" challenge. NSFW!
"“To the true votaries of these love orgies grossness of language is a stimulant to passion. Fuck-frig — bugger — cunt — prick — ballocks — bubbles — arsehole — are all sacred words only to be pronounced when in the exercise of love's mysteries. At all other times a guarded decency of word, act, and gesture is imperative, as enhancing the delight of an unbridled vocabulary in the voluptuary of raging lust. I shall from time to time inculcate sage precepts on this point — enough for the present. Let us now indulge in mutual embraces.”
~From The Romance of Lust, Vol. 3"
Legolas feels aimless, the sea-longing still tugging at his heart, after reaching Aman. Finrod, asked by Galadriel to keep him company, has an answer for him -- and more.
"After Zigûr had been in Númenor for twelve years, Ar-Pharazôn reckoned he was lousy company in bed, and sent him to sleep with me."
Tar-Míriel remembers her time as the Queen.
Celebrimbor and Narvi share their first morning together in bed.
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.
Maglor is a model for erotic art: a voyeuristic threesome with a wedded pair ensues, with the blasphemy of sex against the Laws of marriage and not without some humour.
Túrin has been pushing the king to give up on Nargothrond's policy of secrecy, and now Orodreth comes to a decision.
After a fall, Elros goes into labor too early. An unexpected visitor provides succour.