Fanworks Tagged with Podfic

It was written that Ulmo was alone, but delving deeper into the nature of the Valar and their adopted world reveals otherwise.

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Erestor and Pengolodh negotiate their respective truths, after sailing for Valinor.

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Breakfast with the Feanorians, late in the First Age featuring Himring's OC Narye, ex-housekeeper of Himring.

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Rúmil invents writing only half on purpose.

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Elwing weaves for her children.

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A brief interlude in the life of a fox with a job to do.

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A letter comes to the Lonely Mountain from Bag End, requesting a large number of birthday gifts for Bilbo's upcoming eleventy-first birthday. The Mountain gets to work immediately.

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Elanor sits down to make a copy of the Red Book.

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Goldberry has a song for each season.

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Lothíriel finds many things in Rohan unsettling, but none so much as her future sister-in-law.

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Nori's not really a protest sort of person. Dwalin, apparently, is.

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Dwalin has the mountains under her skin.

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The light enters the room before Éowyn does, a rolling dry heat with it; just enough warning for Faramir to close one book and open another. She enters hard on its heels. 'Hail, Steward, from the south fair tidings,' she says, pulling off her helm halfway through, so the words are muffled. 'I can’t stay long. I came to give you word of Harad and your brother.' (A Galadriel-accepts-the-ring AU.)

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“We can’t all be as pleasant as hobbits,” Dis said. The hobbit in question tossed her head back, black curls bouncing and glinting in the late afternoon light, and laughed.

“You’ve met few hobbits then,” she replied, still smiling. “I’ve often thought we’re the most contentious race in all the lands.”

“You’ve met few dwarves then." Dis was rewarded with more laughter, and then all of a sudden, the hobbit was plopping herself down on the bench beside Dis, fishing out her own pipe.

Dis meets an unexpected companion as she waits in Rivendell.

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Nerdanel crafts her first sculpture of strange but beautiful shape.

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When the Noldor return to Middle-earth to make war on Morgoth, only rumours reach Menegroth of their reasons for coming, but Doriath's minstrel experiences their loss and longing through his connection to Music and the gift of his Queen. Years later, he is sent to the Feast of Reuniting and meets the Elf whose grief he felt. A story about the Eldar returning home, their connection to the land and to each other, and their relationship to Music and fate, love and free will. 

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The White Lady of the Noldor, seen by some of those who loved her best.
(Podfic of a triple drabble by Melesta)

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The ship diminishes against the horizon, the sun rising to brighten the waves, the curve of Eärendil’s arm falling as his figure becomes smaller, turning away.

Uinen’s mercy, Elwing thinks, and bites her tongue rather than pray.

A podfic of a story by Simaetha. 

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They have no choice but to build a life together.

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Celebrimbor kisses Narvi. Narvi kisses Celebrimbor. Somehow, Celebrimbor is still perplexed.

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Eärwen as a young maiden of the Swan-haven, surrounded and supported by family, and the intersection of song and spinning thread.

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In Treelight, he and Artanis had walked the beaches of Elendë, the white sand soft beneath bare toes as she splashed in the shallows and demanded he name every sea star. Upon the ragged new shores of this eastern land, they wore stout boots, for they were all torn rock and silt, and the waters colder than the Bay of Eldamar. And Artanis was Galadriel now, and if her name was softer, it was all of her that was.

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Irissë looked pained. “I’ve bruised myself. On – oh Eru, a bust of Uncle Fëanáro. Talk about a mood killer…” 

“This isn’t working,” said Elenwë. “We need to go somewhere else or I’ll have nightmares for the rest of my life about your entire extended family watching us while we – ” 

“Agreed,” said Irissë, looking rather ill.

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They make mountains upon the beach from sand and pebbles, because all Eärendil’s memories are of cold and pale walls of stone and walking for ever and ever.

When Elwing thinks of home it is dark forests and damp loam beneath her feet and running and stopping and hiding and running again, like rabbits.

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From a few hundred feet up, the swan ships could be seen to hesitate.

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