The first time Elrond saw Celebrían he forgot how to breathe.

Music was Maglor’s first love, but when he had decided to learn to make his own instruments, he had begun with wood—and had fallen in love with that, too.

On a walk down the beach in the early hours of the morning, Maglor stumbles upon a body. And then the body comes back to life. Things sort of spiral from there.

A crossover with The Old Guard (2020 film).

One such evening gathering, however, brought a new acquaintance to the Elliots’ attention. He was known to Lady Dalrymple, and had connections to the De Bourgh family, and to the Darcys of Pemberly, and happened to have come to Bath on business that week. “He is a most marvelous musician, however, “Lady Dalrymple told Miss Elliot. “Perfection at the pianoforte!"

He and Diamond were visiting, though Pippin had been disappearing every afternoon, and taking Frodo and Elanor and most other lads and lasses in the neighborhood with him—though why they couldn’t use Pippin’s own pony, Sam couldn’t imagine.

Galadriel sat at her loom and began to weave. As she passed the shuttle through the warp she cast her thoughts to the natural world, to the many varying hues of grey of the stones, of the myriad greens of the trees and the grass, of the uncountable shades of brown in between.

It is well known that Psamathos does not leave his cove. He does not like to get his feet wet, and prefers to spend his days dozing under the sun.

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

Inside the caves, though, few Men went, and the dwarves were busy as bees. Or perhaps ants. It was remarkable to watch them transform the place into a livable city while doing nothing to diminish the natural beauty.

The Master Cooks of Wootton-Major were of course best known for their cakes, but even as an apprentice Alf had made a name for himself with bread.

Brandy Hall was a veritable warren, and there were many workshops and smithies and outbuildings attached to it. Drogo was always happy to have the potters’ workshop to himself on a quiet afternoon.

Glingaereth meets the crown prince of the Noldor by chance, if chance you call it.

“All the same, sister, be careful.”
“Me?” Glingaereth said. “Careful of what?”
“Of that prince.”
“What, Fingon? If you are worried about the Noldor’s feuds, he is the one who brought them to an end.”
Limbeleth shook her head. “I can’t explain it. It isn’t that you need worry about him, but—I have an uneasy feeling about them all, and I feel also that you will be bound up in their fate somehow.”

On a starry moonlit evening, two unexpected visitors come to Psamathos' cove.

Roverandom set off at a trot over the road and into the fields beyond. He knew the meadows and fields surrounding his home quite well, of course, and had romped all over them with his boy and his brothers. But there was plenty of countryside beyond them, and, well, no time like the present for exploring!

A horrid cacophony of cries erupts ahead of them, as orcs appear—up the cliff on hidden ledges, on the path, with bows and swords. And behind them rises a figure of darkness and flame. The heat rolls down the path over them, bringing the smell of burning flesh and bitter fear with it. Someone screams.

“You,” Fingon pronounced, “are drunk. I am not going to give you anyone’s name just so you can make up a silly drunken ballad."

Minyelmë comes to Tirion to see Lalwen, arriving just in time to see things come to a head.

Ficlets written for Feanorian Week

Celegorm stalks through the halls of Menegroth.

Fëanáro came himself, fey, a blazing torch in the darkness. “No,” Nerdanel said. “I will not go with you.”