Maedhros: Son of FireHe was the fireMaedhros: Son of Fire4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Wine until bottom
And pain of fame
He was my father
His anger like flood
We sealed our Oath
In fire and blood
The flame extinguished
By Oath we're still bound
Through tears and pain
No rest to be found
The blood on my hands
And my hand in chains
What was it for
When nothing remains?
The Light we sought, burns
So close, yet so far
We are not worthy
To touch a star
Burning flame, take me
And clean the stain
Take the cursed Jewel
And end my pain!
In fire it started
In fire it ends
Just like my father
The fire in my veins
Royal Houses of GondolinName House of the KingRoyal Houses of Gondolin7 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Function Bodyguard of the King's family
Traits Wear red, white and gold
Leader Turgon the Wise
Trait King of Gondolin
Bravest warrior in Gondolin
Name House of th
The House of FeanorFEANORThe House of Feanor8 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Name in Quenya Feanaro Curufinwe Finwion
Meaning Spirit of Fire, Skillful Finwe, Son of Finwe
Name in Sindarin Feanor
Position Prince of the Noldor
Lord of Formenos
2nd High King of the Noldor
Famed for Greatest craftsman, speaker
At FaultAt Fault4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"They were just children!" Elwing shrieked, viciously pushing her cousin away.
"Elwing " Celeborn attempted to console his young relative, but she refused to be comforted.
"You left them! You left and now they're gone." The young elith collapsed on the ground, sobbing. She clutched her stomach, fighting the physical agony which assailed her. Agony and guilt. She should have been there. She should have made certain her brothers were following. She should not have left them.
The attack happened so fast she could barely separate the jumbled, nightmarish events, but it seemed like slow motion at the time. The elves of Doriath knew that a battle with the sons of Feanor was possible. Elwing's father, King Dior refused to relinquish the silmaril he had inherited from his parents. They were prepared to defend Doriath, but they were not prepared for the savage brutality of the Noldor. The Noldor killed without conscience.
She remembered being kissed by her mother. She remembered her f
The AvariBorn of the Quendi, were they,The Avari8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The result of their races First Sunder.
Chose, they did, to remain in the land of their birth,
When for the West, the others did hunger.
No desire have we for Treelight, said they.
The stars are all we need.
And so when the other Kindred set forth,
The summons of the Powers they did not heed.
No, was their reply to the Emissaries,
The land of our birth we will not forsake.
So remain behind they did, when the others crossed the Sea;
By the waters where their kind did awake.
New names were given to the sundered group-
The Firstborn of which this song is telling.
For while those who set forth became The People of the Stars,
Those who remained behind were called The Unwilling.
A tribal people were they, with neither cities nor kings,
Of them few tales and no fame;
But first were they to greet the Secondborn,
And their teachers they became.
The Mirror Cracked'A blazing wave devours white shore,'The Mirror Cracked3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The poets muse on Feanor,
While they should wish him nothing more
Than swiftly falling ash.
In reckless words we forged our fate,
In white-hot script for cracking slate,
Each syllable the world's weight -
But gladly were we crushed.
I saw blood in the soft sea wrack;
Each sea-elf dead a mirror's crack
In our own faces staring back
From all the noble slain.
In Dior's blessed and empty face
I searched for us but found no trace.
The mirror shattered. Only grace
We bear no more stared back.
The waves closed over Elwing's head,
Dissolved the Light that silver bled
Into a face that held no dread;
So different from ourselves.
Not princes now, nor kings, but thieves,
And reckless as the falling leaves,
We take the Jewels and my heart grieves:
For all the world is stained.
For this the final Doom we bear:
In blood spilt red as Nelyo's hair;
The golden Vanyar lying there
Dead, even as our hearts.
The living Light is agony;
A shining, sharp finality:
A leap i
AA - The Hardest ThingsThe havens are ransacked. The Silmarilli are lost. And we are left, here, with nothing but pain and regret.AA - The Hardest Things4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Dead corpses litter the ground. Everywhere I look, there is blood. Blood and bodies. Weapons and shields. Everyone is dead, Sindar and Noldor alike. The stench is unbearable.
I turn away from Maitimo, from my broken army, and begin walking back up the long, sloping hill. I do not stop when they call me. I do not want to see more. No more suffering. No more death.
All of this, for three jewels... those accursed, priceless jewels. I hate them; I despise them; and yet I will go to the ends of the earth for them.
I finally stop when I feel someone's hand on my shoulder.
"Kano," he says, quietly. It is Maitimo.
I ignore him.
He tries again. "Kano, there are children."
I shake my head. I do not want to know how many people lie died, or how many of them were women and children. I shake his hand off, and keep walking.
"They are alive." Maitimo raises his voice now, calling to me. "Elwing
Adoration - Tolkien Fanfiction~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~Adoration - Tolkien Fanfiction10 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
As the soft light of a balmy spring afternoon melted into the gentle golden glow of gloaming, the great gates of the Elvenking opened, loosing a flood of elves onto the narrow bridge spanning the forest river. Some were children; others, grown. Some carried baskets of food; others, weapons. All were laughing or singing or chatting merrily, and Brethilaes knew it for a sign that the eagerly awaited day had come at last.
The buds had blossomed prematurely this year, bringing with them rumors that the feast celebrating the new year's arrival would also come early -- but the exact day could not be guessed. Brethilaes had feared it would come too soon, before the gift was ready, but she had finished it just in time.
She stretched tall, eagerly scanning the crowd spilling off the bridge to disappear into the deepening forest shadows. She was yet too small
Did He Not Come HereFëanor asks it of all of them. Each new soul to walk within the Halls of Mandos is sought out and given his questions. He is brilliant and he is driven, and not knowing is a thing he cannot bear.Did He Not Come Here3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Even those who've had no cause to wish him well answer when they see the look in his eyes, the need to know the answer to his questions.
"Where is Macalaurë, also called Maglor? How fares my son?"
Always, they do not know. And always, always, they look to Maedhros as they ask, "Did he not come here with you?"
The Parentage of Gil-galadThe Parentage of Gil-galadThe Parentage of Gil-galad4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Warnings: Complete and utter crack. Rather OOC Maedhros, dense teenage Gil-galad, mentions of slash and mpreg (neither of which are taken seriously at all). Basically just complete silliness. Apologies for bad Star Wars reference.
Initially, the news that one of the sons of Fëanor was riding into the refugee settlement at the Mouths of Sirion caused something of a panic. Every few minutes, one of the terrified Falathrim or Sindar would come bursting through the door of Círdan the Shipwright, crying, "They have come for the Silmarils! We're all going to die!" and continuing to babble in that vein until Círdan calmly pointed out that it was highly unlikely, considering that no one there had any Silmarils in the first place. This continued for a good hour, until a messenger bearing the Fëanorian star arrived at the aforementioned door with a rather strange m
The House of FingolfinThe House of Fingolfin8 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Name in Quenya Aracano Nolofinwe Finwion
Meaning High Chieftain, Wise Finwe, Son of Finwe
Name in Sindarin Fingolfin the Steadfast
Position Prince of the Noldor
J. R. R. TolkienJust see who entersJ. R. R. Tolkien4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
the realm of dreams
that none have seen
legends of old
Molding them into
Reaping the fruits
that in his mind grow
to rivers of words
that from his pen flow
Travel through the lands,
follow the dream
He gives you his hand...
Enter with him!
AkallabethAkallabeth3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Yet such was the cunning of Sauron, and the strength of his hidden will, that ere three years had passed, he bacame close to the councils of the king...And Sauron spoke to the king, saying that his strength was so great, he need not be subject to the ban of the Valar. Then the king harkened to Sauron...and in those days the fleets of the Numenoreans blackened the waters west of the land...and Sauron withdrew to the inmost circles of his dark temple. (Akallabêth, The Silmarillion)
Once he laughed,
In his dark hall-
The lord of all.
Twice he laughed,
For weak-willed men
Who fell, became
His servants then.
Thrice he laughed,
The shadows rang-
Though Doom upon
a thread should hang.
A final time
Would he have laughed?
But then Doom fell-
An iron shaft.
Seemed to frown
On Sauron Gorthaur,
He guessed not
The Valar's wrath,
Though long we walked
His Master's path...
Until the Void
Of Morgoth's crown
Claimed Sauron G
BustedBusted4 years ago in Drama More Like This
It was a warm afternoon, and the dust in the air swirled about Fëanáro Curufinwë's feet as he walked in the halls of his father. He was coming from the forge where he had been working on some gems. He was particularly proud of today's result -- he had made a small diamond shaped like a star.
Nothing could dampen the spirits of the young prince -- until he turned into another corridor and saw what he would have to walk past if he was to get to his room. There stood one of Fëanáro's least favourite persons -- second only to his step-mother. His young half-brother Nolofinwë stood in the corridor. For some reason he was clutching a quill in his hand and blushed when he saw his elder brother strutting in and raising his eyebrow suspiciously.
"What are you doing here?" Fëanáro asked his brother who he had successfully avoided meeting for the past few days. Nolofinwë said nothing, but looked at his toes. For some reason he was standing in a puddle
AtarIn later days, when Maglor lingered on the sea shore by himself, as the winter winds nipped at his fingers and made it even harder for him to play than it normally was, and thoughts entered his mind about hating winter, he would sometimes remember winters in the past. Before his brothers and father died, before the kinslayings, before the Silmarils had even been forged, and for a brief moment, the years would melt away and he would feel warm again. On those days, he did not remember the look on his brothers’ faces as they died, or the way his father had turned to ashes before their eyes. Instead, he remembered how when they were children they had believed in such silly stories as Atar Hrive and how indulgent his parents had been of their behavior on those days. It couldn’t have been easy, even after Maedhros and he had grown old enough to know better, and had started to help their father lay out the gifts that night, there had still been five of them to listen to.Atar4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Like Moth to a FlameMelkor beholds the eldest son of Finwë in the white city of Tirion. He sees him approachhead held high, intricate robes billowing, hair braided with weaving gold and red. He sees him pass and feels the resonating power, the elegance and the confidence, and the wrath. He sees him leave, and hides a vicious smile seen by none.Like Moth to a Flame4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Melkor beholds the greatest creations of Curufinwë Fëanáro at a great feast before the Valar. He sees their dazzling, shining light of the Two Trees, and their perfect, rounded shape. He sees the dreams of the Valar and the hopes of the Elves, and the accursed Music of Eru resounds in his ears. But more than that, his eyes are drawn to that fair face with its fiery eyes and that zealous, prideful soul.
Melkor beholds the burning spirit of Fëanor as he watches him work in his forge. He sees the unquenchable pride and voracious determination, and the will and ability to succeed magnificently. He sees the burning wrath and the cold cruel
The NoldorMighty are the Second Kindred,The Noldor8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Strong and brave and fair;
Fierce they are and proud,
Tall and dark of hair;
Filled with passion and iron of will,
A two edged sword this can be.
Never do they turn aside from their propose,
From no enemy do they flee.
Ache their hands do to craft and create,
Beloved of the Smith are they.
Burn their minds do for knowledge,
But into folly they sometimes stray.
Lovers of hills and open lands,
The Watchtower their first home.
Many other glorious kingdoms did they build,
Seven High Kings they have known.
Of Names and DecisionsFair child without sorrowOf Names and Decisions3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Is your life hollow,
Dreams are just small seeds
Adventures, great deeds
Ripen long since…
A burning fire
That’s your desire:
Onwards without wince
In the light of Two Trees
Noon of Valinor's bliss
Over the wide sea, though
Lie the lands you don't know
Distant and wild
Oh, eager child...
Faithful and steady
Is you oath ready,
Reaping the visions
Of your decisions
Darkness will sink
For the oath spoken
A new hope is born
Grief of those who mourn
Up to sky flew
New day is coming
Dawning in blue
Behind the Scenes"You seemed quite preoccupied last evening," Celeborn commented, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Was it something to do with the tavern? Anything you suggest to change?"Behind the Scenes3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"No, no, the tavern is fine They did a good job. It's just " Galadriel paused, joining him on the bed, leaning against his chest. "It's just that not much time is left, and I began to get a bit anxious," she admitted.
"Don't laugh at me. It's highly serious," she frowned.
"I know, dear, I know. I'm not laughing at you, just marveling. After so many years, after being a ruler for quite a while, you are still blushing when only I can see you. Why?" he asked, circling her with his arms, caressing her large belly.
She relaxed again, and smiling, put her hands over his. "It's simple. For everybody else I'm the perfect, invulnerable lady, princess of the house of Finwë You're the only one who sees my insecurities, with whom I don't have to wear a mask."
"But it's hard to l
A Letter to AmarieNargothrond, FA 465A Letter to Amarie4 years ago in Romance More Like This
My dearest Amarië!
I do not know if I still have the right to call you that - not "dearest", for you will ever remain the dearest one in this world to me, but "my"...
I still remember your face when we parted. That memory will be forever carved deeply into my mind. The pain in your eyes haunted me across the cruel ice of Helcaraxë, freezing my heart more than the wailing wind.
You did not weep. You knew I wouldn't be able to look at your tears. You knew I had to leave, and didn't want to make it harder to me. But the unshed tears fell like heavy stones into my soul.
You let me go.
I had to.
The new lands called to me with a voice of freedom and adventure. I could not stay behind. Both restlessness and responsibility to my people drew me forwards, into exile.
I don't regret my decision. It made me who I am now. Through hardship, I found purpose. I knew joy and pain, the thrill of battle, the headiness of vi
Sand and MusicSand and MusicSand and Music4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He feels he cannot walk another step, until he does. The next step is the same, and the next, and he has stopped counting the sunsets and sunrises because measuring eternity has no purpose. He has wandered an eternity already, carrying his small harp for some indeterminable, compulsive reason, because it will be years before he can play again, if ever, and the sand blows into his eyes and into his throat as he sings. His hands are burnt and scarred and his voice is hoarse, and he wants to rip the strings from the taunting harp and scream, but he is unable to do either because it hurts too much.
Every muscle that has been on fire begins to numb from sheer fatigue, and he feels that he will die without food but is too weak from walking to fish or hunt- but then, Maitimo survived thirty-some years without food, didn't he- and now he is thinking of Maitimo again and he swore to himself that he would not think of them right now.&
Maedhros has a what?"My Lords," was accompanied with a respectful bow. "Three children were found in one of the guards' encampments early this month. Lord Celeborn has identified two of the elves as the sons of Earendil, however the third refuses to give his parentage. Shall I have them escorted to you study, Sire?"Maedhros has a what?4 years ago in Humor More Like This
"Yes, that will be well, Athrad," after Athrad left the room, Gil-galad looked at Celebrimbor. "Do you have any idea who this mysterious third child could be, Telpe? The other two were raised by your Uncle."
"I wish I could tell you, however, no whispers have reached my ears of any other child either of my Uncles would have taken in, nor do I know any reason why they would," was the puzzled reply.
"Well, I suppose we will just have to wait. See if you can spy them out the window, cousin, and gather any clue. They should be coming this way shortly."
"Very well then, I see you still have not grown out of your mischievous stage," came the stinging reply, though lessened by the grin on Celebrimbor
The Passing of ArwenThe water rippled silverThe Passing of Arwen5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
The trees all shone with gold.
White elanor was blooming
In Lothlórien of old.
Elvish voices laughing
Silver music in the air.
But I hear now only silence
In Lothlórien the fair.
The mallorn leaves have fallen
Where once the flowers grew.
Time has touched the forest
Gone Lothlórien I knew.
Tear-stained face and empty fingers
As cold as stars above.
Memories, only memories
In Lothlórien, I loved.
No singing; naught but echoes
In the groves where phantoms tread.
Like the trees, the Elfstone faded
My Lothlórien is dead.
But they say beyond this world
Grief and darkness, light dispels.
With the spring, I pass forever
LossTurgonLoss4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
My brother is gone.
The deafening clashes and shrieks of battle dim and blur together in my ears as I stand, rooted, in the frenzy, staring at the swirling clouds of flame and dust where his banner fell. Through the haze of my sorrow, it hits me like a kick to the stomach that with his passing, and no heir to his line, I have in the space of a few seconds become the High King of our people. I am the last of Nolofinwë's children, and I am alone, as is my beloved Gondolin; and we both will be discovered and destroyed as surely as will all the realms of the Eldar in Middle Earth.
I am pulled from my stupor by the captains of Men, and must abandon my fatalistic thoughts for action, though the overwhelming grief for my father's house refuses to loosen its clutches so easily. I fight on because I can do nothing else, and my eyes sting, though from dust or tears I do not know.
As I order a full retreat, my voice breaks and I curse the F