“ It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way - in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. ”

Once upon a time in the city of Gondolin there lived a folk who could neither enter nor leave their City, all depended upon secrecy. But what happens when a folk have to stay in one place and one place alone?

Hopelessness? Melancholy? Do they turn to despair? Or do they surprise even themselves with how they can attempt to look outside the box? Do they start feeling sick of how the world turns never in their favour and do they become a revolutionary of a different ilk than all their predecessors? Because surely not just the Noldorin nobility were revolutionarily inclined?

A slice of life fic with Gondolindrim politics that happens when you combine multiple Back to Middle-earth prompts and then forget to post.

Finarfin enroute to the War of Wrath debates his family and their decisions but through darkened sky and darkened glass.

Around the coast, skirt the cliffs. Mind the hidden rocks in the dark surf. ....

When the last sword is drawn and then at last sheathed, I will welcome them home. May that day come soon, may all of our days come soon.

Ælfwine/Eriol on his way back to England after visiting Tol Eressea mourns.

A fic about hope unlooked for being found in the Fourth Age by one of Beleriands greatest minstrels. Perhaps a journeys end?

"A journey may start in any time or any place, but where that journey will end not even the Wise can say. Perhaps it never shall."

Last conversation of a Dreamer and a Minstrel at the end of the Third Age of Middle-earth.

"Yet neither bread nor rest would [Orodreth] grant to Celegorm and Curufin within his realm, and he swore that there would be little love between Nargothrond and the Sons of Fëanor thereafter.
‘Let it be so!' Said Celegorm, and there was a light of menace in his eyes; but Curufin smiled [...] In that time Celebrimbor the son of Curufin repudiated the deeds of his father, and remained in Nargothrond."

A study of a father and son, with a momentous decision.