Scribbles on my idea for a telling of the Second Age

Traqué par des orques, Gil-Galad finira par ne plus savoir distinguer le réel du cauchemar.

"I would say that you can't know what it's like, but that's not true, is it? You know, and Maedhros; better than anyone." The War of Wrath has begun in earnest. Elrond, up north, wants to prove himself. Elros disagrees. Maglor is determined to keep the grand fates of the world away from his two young wards. Maedhros has plans of his own. Meanwhile, the oath grows stronger. Book 3/3

Weaver and Weaver... and Weaver... Weft and warp of light and unlight

Under the might of Morgoth, a group of elves attempts a horrific act to plunge the world into darkness forever. A small force of disparate people stand against them over three ages. It takes us from Valinor to the Wars of Beleriand to The War of Elves and Sauron and into the Third Age. A non canon tale inspired by some gaming books that I inherited from a relative.

Maedhros ne se souvenait pas de la première fois qu'il vit la mer. Il ne se rappelait pas de la dernière fois non plus.

The children of Huor were both given tasks by the Valar. What will the other's be, and what will it take to accomplish it? Silly little daydreams with my OC-avatar ;)

Un recueil de textes courts sur l'univers du Silmarillion nous plongeant dans un instant ou une pensée des protagonistes de l'histoire

My interpretation of Miriel in the final years...

After his exile from the watchtower on the isle of Sirion, Sauron decides to compile his own version of the events of the Tale of Beren and Lúthien.

Maedhros was doing one last sweep of Elwing's quarters when he found them. Two tiny elflings were huddled under the far corner of Elwing's bed. Maedhros choked. They were so small.

Leading up to Dagor Bragolach, the sons of Feanor are not nearly united as they should be. Will they be able to trust each other as the world crumbles around them or will their mistrust be their downfall? On hiatus for now.

Ereinion shivered as his bare feet touched the cold, stone floor. He clutched his blanket a bit tighter around his shoulders. The place in his fëa where he had always felt his father was quite suddenly empty.

Though the sun was shining, Maedhros' mood was black. He glared at the stump of his wrist, cursing whatever names came into his head. He was so caught up in his thoughts, he was unprepared for when someone came to stand in front of him.

Curufin was going to kill Celegorm and it was going to be soon. Their fortress in the of Aglon was looking far more like a menagerie than a garrison. Curufin had counted three times in the past week and the animal inhabitants outnumbered the elven inhabitants by five.

Elrond was terrifying. Maedhros could tolerate Elros. The elfling would sit there and stare at you with big, serious eyes or insist on interesting himself into your lap. As opposed to his quiet twin, Elrond would bite.

Maitimo was not always fond of his brother's propensity for noise. It is that very same characteristic he so dearly misses later on.

The twins have decided that they would like a pet. The first problem is which animal they should choose.

There were two things that one had to know about Maitimo's younger brother. One was that his voice was unmatched. It was rich and flowed with power. The other thing was that Makalaurë was blind.

There were two things that Caranthir hated in the world: drunks and his Arafinwëan cousins. The sorry mess in front of him managed to tick both boxes. Or, Aegnor thinks he's escaped from his fate and Caranthir is more than willing to lecture his cousin about Edian women.

Maedhros knew that he was trapped once more. Gorthaur had tried many tricks to break him. This farce would be no different than any others. At first it had been the pain of the torture rack, then it had been the despair of the cliff face, now it was the false hope of recovery.

Elrond is sick, though he would never once it it. Gil-Galad is worried that his herald might simply keel over before the day is over.

The War of Wrath takes a heavy toll on Arafinwë. When he returns, he is not the same elf that left.

Maglor had done many things in his life, shameful and heroic. His greatest sin to date was killing his own nephew. Will he ever forgive himself? Or perhaps the more pressing question, will his brothers ever forgive him?

Fëanor, unsurprisingly, was quick to run amuck upon his arrival in the Halls. Námo really should have excepted that. As it was, now he needed to figure out a way to keep the ever roaming Fëanor entertained enough to stay in one place. This was proving to be difficult. That is, until Vairë had a suggestion.