Ficlets written for Feanorian Week 2025

They passed out of Lhûn and the wider coastline of Middle-earth opened up before his eyes. He had wandered those shores for centuries, and even now he felt the pull of that same wanderlust, and knew he would miss them for the rest of his life. Their wildness, the untamed waves, the rocky shores and the cliffs and the sandy beaches. The gulls, and the dunes, and the tide pools with their ever-changing denizens. Someone began to sing a song of farewell, and other voices took it up. He did not join them. 

Maglor keeps a promise, and comes to Valinor, only to find the ghosts he thought he'd left behind are alive and waiting for him. 

In Valinor and homesick for Imladris, Celebrían decides to build a new one.

Following Maglor as he suffers through captivity in Dol Guldur, and his journey to healing afterward. 

But at the very end of the letter she spoke of one more prisoner that Elladan and Elrohir had discovered in one of the deepest dungeons of Dol Guldur, locked away behind a door unopened in so long that the hinges had rusted. 

Maglor has been rescued from Dol Guldur, and now faces a long road of healing.

Eärendil comes to the Ring of Doom to plead before the Valar. 

Dear Elrond, It feels a little silly to be writing this to you while you are sleeping right next to me, but I cannot sleep.

Troubled by dark dreams, Nerdanel picks up a palantír to seek for Maglor. She finds him. 

After, Maedhros has returned to life and also seeks for his brother--and also finds him.

A collection of non-Silm-based drabbles and ficlets.

A place to store drabbles and ficlets, mostly written for various prompts.

“Elrond!” Elros screamed, and Elrond had time to see him being held back by Bregolon before everything went topsy-turvy, and the underbrush closed around him, branches and leaves slapping at his face. His head bounced against hard metal, and through the confusion he realized—too slowly—that it had not been one of their party who had grabbed him, but one of the orcs. 

Galadriel and the mallorn trees: three drabbles

Maglor's wanderings take him up the Anduin, where orcs find him and take him to Dol Guldur--where the Necromancer dwells. 

“You seemed so unhappy when you arrived yesterday, but today you are so much more relaxed. Did you quarrel with Nolofinwë? Or with Fëanáro?”

There was a gap between them that he did not know how to cross.

As Lúcellë entered the courtyard, which was missing the fountain that had been there previously, instead sporting a much less attractive hole in the ground—clearly awaiting a new creation, whenever Fëanáro or Nerdanel managed to finish it—a young voice called out to her from above. “Aunt Lúcellë!” She looked up to find Macalaurë hanging out of a window, waving, with his dark hair falling over his shoulders and into his eyes. 
 

Maglor, music, and the Sea.

After a few minutes, though, he heard an answering voice. He looked up, falling silent. That had sounded like—but no, it couldn’t be. Eärendil saw movement on the path again, just the top of someone’s dark head coming up the last slope toward the tower. As whoever it was drew farther up the hill, more became visible, and Eärendil abandoned his flower weaving and scrambled upright, bare feet slipping over the stones as the grass and daisies tumbled over the cliff side down into the water below. 

In his own wanderings, Daeron comes to the shore--and finds Maglor. 

It was winter, and the sunlight that came into the caves was cold and pale, but Rían still sought it out, bundled up in all of the furs and blankets that they could give her.