#silm fics

I was tagged by the brilliant @tobermoriansass to share a snippet of something that I am working on. This is from a new fic that I am working and am very excited about!

"

Maitimo had been brilliant, charming, skilled with word and blade. But that was not what he had been known for. No, in Blessed Aman, Maitimo, well-formed and copper crowned, had been known for his beauty. When Fingon had been young, only a child under the wing of his splendid older cousin, he had tasted Maitimo’s name on his tongue, like the rarest, fullest wine, and smiled.

Yes, of course Maitimo should be known for his beauty, for isn’t he flawless? He of the endless legs and marble skin? He of the hair of flame, falling like water down his back? He of those sharp, laughing grey eyes that forever promise that Nelyafinwe was ten steps ahead of you and would never let you know his secrets? 

Fingon had been fine with that. With Maitimo’s unknowableness, for Maitimo was beautiful, and beauty was ever held close with goodness. No one so perfect would turn around and stab his kin in the chest, perfect face splattered with blood and viscera. "

Rules: Post 1—10 first lines or favorite lines of your last 1—10 fics and tag as many as you feel comfortable.

Thank you for the tag, @yewfae, what a fun one! IDK who has already been tagged in this so @starspray @tobermoriansass @melestasflight @queerofthedagger @bad-writer @vefanyar @leucisticpuffin

[Narration] Apostle: “We have all built our lives around shame the way ancient cities built themselves around floodplains: not because we harbour an intrinsic desire for it, but because at some point in our history, human beings decided that the survival of a civilisation demanded proximity to destruction.”

[Maedhros] Prayers to Broken Stone: “These are the stories that could have been but weren’t, the ones we dreamed of telling before our dreams decayed.”

[Elrond] The Cradlesinger: “Little girls cannot die, not even if they're little-mothers, not even in this world of interminable strife.”

[Narration] The Dreamships: “Pain is not just inflicted; it can be stolen too. And so the Noldolantë, in tracing and immortalising that theft, becomes less a record of what was done than of what cannot be undone in the doers.”

I saw people list theirs, so I said to myself: "after all, why not?"

Deterministic chaos for @winds-of-zephyr416

2k, Gen, T, No Archive Warnings. Almaren era. Mairon comes into contact with the fallen Vala. But he will surely act reasonably about it, won't he?

The mood of the fic very much depends on how you see their later relationship: it can be casual/fun, it can be a psychological horror. But there's no violence. Just talking and a game.

Especially recommended for people who play chess. :)

Once again for @ravencollector

2k, Gen, G, No Archive Warnings. End of Third Age, the night before he Sails, Elrond seeks Maglor once again. But he overestimates his abilities, and Maglor knows a secret which he hadn't known when he raised the twins.

I like this secret I came up with, I'm surprised it's not a common fanon thing. It has fun consequences. For certain definitions of "fun". :D

Elrond's problem here also is something i haven't seen explored.

Athrabeth Finrod ah Finrod for @valacirya

a little below 2k, Gen, G, No Archive Warnings Apply (maybe it should have MCD, because the PoV character is dead?..). Late First Age, in the Halls of Mandos, Finrod is reflecting on his choices… in a rather unconventional way.

Technically I don't think he would do this in the canon, but it was fun to write, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Also it's a gift fic, so I wasn't focusing on Finrod's more... ✨peculiar✨ aspects. They are there, but he has to deal with other topics at the moment.

Anyway, Finrod. :)

It is a dark, dark night and something is creeping in the shadows for @isilme-among-the-stars

below 1k, Gen, G, No Archive Warnings Apply. Late First Age, kidnap fam, Maglor in an unnaturally dark forest. I don't know what to say more. The peredhel are there and they're somewhat eldritch.

...I just like kidnap fam. :)

The cost of inaction for @winds-of-zephyr416 again

a little below 2k, Gen, G, No Archive Warnings Apply. Second Age Eregion (book-based, not tRoP-based), Galadriel&Celebrimbor, she is trying to decide what to do with her half-cousin (once removed) in context of the whole Annatar situation, which she knows will end in a disaster. (No silvergifting assumed, but still: there is an Annatar situation going on)

Oh look, I managed to write something set in the Second Age that's not Númenor-centric! :)

Angwainel for @lanthanum12

short, Gen, G, No Archive Warnings Apply. First Age. Maeglin & the swords. He's a kid, they are his siblings, they talk.

I made a Sindarin name. :) (And a drawing of Maeglin that I like)

…in which even their horse is a villain for @infiniteriver

short, Gen, G, No Archive Warnings Apply. First Age. Celegorm and Curufin are being comically evil about Beren.

Short and not canon-compliant, but it was fun to write XDDD

I am glad that you arrived for @whatisleftofmybrainworms

a little below 2k, Gen, T, No Archive Warnings Apply, but a canon SA attempt is referenced and central to the fic. Second Age. Celegorm returns from the Halls and is confronted about his actions towards Lúthien. (A very different Celegorm than in "even their horse".)

I realized it can't exactly be called WIP Wednesday if it's posted on a Friday, but either way, I wanted to share a short snippet from the latest upcoming chapter (Chapter 15) of Courage of Stars!

     Celebrimbor looks so small in that chair, so lost. His demeanor takes Maedhros back to days in Valinor, time spent holding Celebrimbor to his chest after a nightmare or the numerous times when Celebrimbor, thumb in mouth and big eyes welled with tears, toddled over after losing his favorite stuffed bear. Maedhros’s expression softens as he opens his arms, willing to withstand the pain of his broken ribs if it means he can brighten Celebrimbor’s big, forlorn eyes. Tyelpë looks up in surprise and moves to sit beside Maedhros, hugging him back just as tightly.      When they part, tears hang in Celebrimbor’s lashes. “Thank you,” Celebrimbor mumbles, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “The fact that it happened is so…embarrassing. Shameful. My entire kingdom was utterly destroyed and for what? Hubris? Love? How many people died because I wanted to live? How many will continue to die because of my work?” He shakes his head, biting his quivering lip. “I didn’t give in to his demands. He found out I sent the rings away and he…”      “You don’t have to say anything,” Maedhros says. His heart hurts. “I know.”

Courage of Stars is part of a time travel eldritch alternate universe about family, hope, grief, healing, and redemption. This chapter is shaping up to be a doozy, and I can't wait until I can post the entire thing!

Maglor drifts ashore one mist-dark morning. 

Nerdanel finds him only by accident. Limestone had been her heart’s desire, not a son; she nearly trips on him, nearly goes around the narrow passage of tall rocks. 

The cove is full of little lives, mollusks and sand-ants and meaty sea-urchins; a peaceful place, and good. 

A seastar clings to the tangled tresses of his hair, pulsing gently Her son looks unnervingly well-made to it - a piece of castaway waste amidst the shallow tide-road of a deep pool, limbs rising and swaying with the movement of the water.

She reaches her hand to the glimmering green water and the trailing white foam to reach him, and touches only sun-warm sand.  

He blinks at her with pearlescent eyes, and she sees his hair too is seaweed, and the sea-star part of him - his eyes black and gleaming as worn black conch-shells.

His skin is the water, the sunlit water and the shifting shadows underneath the surface. Storm-tossed, he has made his way back to Western shores, but not to touch them - Nerdanel can see, too, glimpses of charred driftwood bark that were his hands. In this way the songs are true, as she has long suspected.

She thinks, for a moment, that this can be no good way to be, for the sea always bitter, and storms in Aman are fierce. His breathing swells and eases with the current.

His mouth opens, and a sound of the sea speaks - 

Water pushes against her knees, salt sprays the hem of her apron in distress. Small whirlwinds gather around the highest rocks - sargasso and char and shadow shift, fearful, displeased.

No violence at the last - what little satisfaction that is! - but a great strangeness in the mind that spills out, unbound, over the waters and the wind.

She cannot tell if he recognizes her. It does not, all in all, make a great difference. 

‘Never mind,’ Nerdanel says curtly.  ‘Stay as you are, you lost thing. I am on my way only, and you are not what I seek.’ 

Her voice in the wash of the waves is softener than she likes it to be, but she has always known how to quiet her fretting children, in their youth at least. This one, the last, is ancient; it makes little difference.

She touches a tangled curl of damp, purpling sargasso. Only once; briefly.

The narrow path grows narrower still in the gloam. Nerdanel’s feet remain steady, too wise to hurry and dare a fall. By true evening she is back in her tent, making notation of the ancient age of the rocks: their ingrained fossils and coral husks, their dead matter.

Tilion, her old friend, rises to his own work, alights upon her maps generously, sweeps the tide and all its wrecks away.

Perhaps he is there, still, the lost thing - a spirit in the water, or a pile of bones unearthed by the low tide.

I wasn't really tagged for this, but I am absolutely bored out of my mind right now because of The SicknessTM, so here we go. Only 9 of these are actually published, but since I don't even want to think about anything I have written outside of this fandom, I am not going to tag them either.

So you get one extra line from a wip.

Rules: Put the first sentence from whatever fic you want in the post. Can also be the first two, or three, if you'd like. Link the fic. It doesn't have to be 10 first lines, it's just a pretty number. You can do 11 too. That's an even prettier number.

The words are written in your blood (and it's gone, gone, gone) : There is a hand on his right arm when Maedhros pushes himself up from a place in the grass he is sure he has not been lying a few minutes ago.

Winter: The Man was sleeping.

You gave me water: The wind is cold as the sun disappears behind the waves, and Galadriel hugs herself tighter.

Starlight: It was not dark.

Let me take you home: Beleg kept his distance as he led Tyelpe back to his chamber.

Blood runs thicker than water (but both feel the same when your eyes are closed): Sometimes he wades out into the river and lets it flow around his chest.

Faint Music: Sam slowly crept around the corner, careful as he did so, and his heart seemed to thunder louder in his ears than the sounds the old Mister Bilbo had described the stone giants make in their battle, though hearing those tales lay a long time back, and the little boy that had clung to the old man's words (though he had never seemed old, not to Sam, at least) and the events Bilbo had spoken of laid even farther in the past.

Red paint: Findekáno is bleeding.

In Vain: The howl that echoed from outside the cave they had found, and Finrod could not tell whether it was a few paces from the entrance or halfway across the arena, was enough to jerk Beren from his sleep, and the only thing that worried Finrod more than the boy tearing open the haphazard stitches on his hip was that the howls seemed neither human nor beastlike.

And why it was Tomorrow came (and with his grey hand led us back): Elrond had never stood on the beach he woke up on, though he recognized it instantly.

Chapters: 1/?

Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien

Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Finarfin | Arafinwë & Ingwion, Finarfin | Arafinwë & Elulindo, Finarfin | Arafinwë & Elulindo & Ingwion Characters: Finarfin | Arafinwë, Ingwion (Tolkien), Elulindo (Tolkien), Original Characters

Finarfin is many things. Right now, Finarfin is a general, and his troops are starting to starve - and Beleriand is harsh and unforgiving. So when he gets a chance to replenish his supplies, he takes it - even though his mind screams at the recklessness of his decision. (Read Odyssey in school, kids. It makes you good at fanfic.)

Rules: You will be given a word. Share a snippet from a WIP for every letter in that word, then tag some friends and give them a new word. My word is Gold from @ulmondil - Thank you for the tag! <3

G:

“We can use this, Maedhros,” Aegnor says, leaning across the table, his yellow hair woven gold by the sunlight. “Tell us all you know so that we are prepared. From the perspective of a prisoner, of course, freedom looks impossible, but you are no longer in that cage. Show him your strength!”

Maedhros stares at Aegnor, apparently horrified. “My prison cell, my torture chamber, and my mountain chains? You think that will help in this foolish attack?”

O: Oh, he had been bold and brash and tempestuous in his emotions, and perhaps in the political turmoil of his family, that could be courage, but nothing of his temerity influenced his being once he emerged from the amphitheater of ice into the wide, wild world of Beleriand. No, that lively, hard-headed child could not have lasted in the steps of Thangorodrim had that been all he was. 

L:

The room is lit in violet and pink by Feanorian gems across the walls, illuminating the motif of soaring eagles painted on the hardwood, their silver feathers falling over the walnut surface. In the center of the room is a long table piled heavy with dark, red wine, thick yeasty bread, fresh butter, a bowl of hard fruit, red and white apples, and yellow pears. Light shines through the windows, and for a moment, Fingon might have believed them back in Valinore, during those scant years when Feanor did not wholly hate Fingolfin, when family gatherings such as these were not out of the ordinary. 

But Turgon is not here, and neither is Aredhel nor Idril, and Fingon has to swallow down the sadness, to keep the face of the crown prince. 

D:

But all of it he had done for love. The love of the land, of its people, of his family. Well, one part of his family in particular.

Ever has Fingon’s name been twined with bravery, but Fingon has always known that his true strength lay in his heart.