#lotr fic rec

[spasmsofthought]

starlight (legolas x reader)

A bit (or a lot) philosophical. Indirect allusions to depression/melancholy. Please take care reading and take care of yourself.

IDK word count LOL but not super long, I think.

This idea has been in my drafts for a while, but inspiration came this evening. I hope it's executed well for you. I haven't felt so creative in such a long time and this piece was such a treat to write.

Enjoy and please let me know what you think! Please like, comment, and reblog xo

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“My friend, what ails you?” Legolas has not been sure of you, try as he might.

Even though it is just the beginning of the Fellowship’s journey, you walk already battle-weary. You are heavy, it seems, in comparison to your fellow human companions. Aragorn nor Boromir carry themselves this way. Even Frodo, despite the responsibility he carries, retains some of the Hobbit carefree way. It had caused Legolas to wonder, apprehensively in the beginning, if it was the Ring. The more he watched and waited, the more clear it became that it wasn’t. Relief then became mixed with confusion, for if it wasn’t the Ring, what could cause such weight for you to carry? The brief conversations he has shared with you so far have not provided him further insight.

You turn towards him from where you sit. Your face is not unhealthy in anyway, but your eyes are not bright. There is something deep in them for which Legolas does not have the words to explain. You are close enough to be seen from camp, but far enough away that no one has had the heart to disturb you. It is a quiet evening, but even as he approaches, there is something that mixes in with the stillness that is foreign to him.

“Hello, Legolas,” He stands for a moment, unsure. “Please, you are welcome to join.”

You pat the stone next to you as if it is an inviting cushion. It is not.

“Thank you for your inquiry. I am only sad, Legolas.” Your hands settle in your lap. Legolas grows even more confused. Often human weep to express their grief, in his understanding. He has not seen, or heard, you cry once.

You clarify after a moment, sighing and then glancing at him. “There is no cause for it, unfortunately. Otherwise I would ask aid of our Fellowship. It is simply a—” You pause for a moment, trying to find the right words. It takes your brain a short time to unscramble to find something suitable, “condition I endure.”

“The understanding of the complexity of human nature escapes me at this time.”

You laugh is small, “It confounds me often.”

There is a moment, halfway between awkward and friendly, in which you sit together. Trying to explain your feelings to an Elf has not been something anyone ever thought to prepare you for.

Legolas has been an intimidating individual to try and engage for yourself. It has been your own inexperience and reluctance that has caused some of your avoidance of him. Elves had been figures of myths and folklore in the small village where you had been raised. To confront your youth’s inadequate tales against a far different reality has already been mentally exhausting. You always thought Elves would be the kind of stern and serious beings that immortality seemed to produce. Instead, Legolas was often cheery, reveling in merriment.

“There is a type of sadness for humans,” You try to explain. Legolas pays attention, “that can come for us regardless of circumstance or atmosphere. It is different than missing one’s family or saying goodbye, and it is hard to explain and justify even amongst my own kin. What I am feeling now is not something that carries a name for my people; there are a lot who do not try to understand. Some types of human sadness come and go. This type of sadness can be long-lasting. I carry mine with me, it seems, no matter what I go. It stays, though I do not ask it to.”

There is a little bit of shame to your countenance it seems to Legolas, as you glance down at your hands. You are meek in the fading light of the evening.

Legolas is not sure he has seen someone who looks as human as you do, against the backdrop of the trees and earth.

“Your mind seems fragile,” He says.

His words come as a frank observation, although gentled in tone. It is a paradox for something so piercing to be soft. Legolas takes great care to not offend you, even now. You would be offended if another of your race said the same, but there’s something about the way the words come from his mouth that do not make them a personal affront. These words do not seem to change whatever opinion he has of you. (An opinion that seems more positive than one you would give of yourself to him.)

“I suppose you could say that,” Your eyes drift up again to look at the dark sky, small glinting stars beginning to appear through the cracks of the trees. “Most human minds are fragile in some way, I think. We are not made to endure the long passing of time the same as you and your race. We are more effected… more vulnerable, I think. Or rather, vulnerable in different ways.”

Your words are met with Legolas’s silence. The light-hearted elf has turned contemplative. “The burden of human life is not what I have thought it was.”

“I don’t think I quite fully understand it either, thought I bear it,” You respond, lips quirking to the side for a moment. As they meet yours for a short time, Legolas’s eyes shine in the dark. “Although I fear comparison will still leave us lacking. I know little of what it is to be an elf, but I know you and your kind carry grief of your own. It is hard for me to conceive of what it must like to see so much, for so long, and still remain so physically unchanged.”

Legolas hums but then chooses to say nothing about the subject.

“I love the stars,” You say after a brief pause. Legolas does not object, so you continue to talk. “Even in the darkness, when I have had no one else with me, they have comforted me. Sometimes, like tonight, when my heart pulls me inward, they seem to whisper to me and cause my gaze upward.”

There is a companionable silence that follows. You sit next to Legolas, he next to you, as you stare up at the stars glittering across the black expanse of the night.

There is scant touch that comes across your cheek, like a breeze against your skin. A brief warmth follows, fading as quickly as it comes. As you turn your face, Legolas’s hand comes to rest against his side. Your eyes meet and he nods towards the forest path that leads to the camp where the others rest. His gaze is soft on your face.

You don’t think anyone has looked at you as he is now.

“Sleep, ithildin nîn.” You do not know what the words mean but they feel as a balm does, only for your heart and not for your body. “I will keep watch.”

For a little while, you hold his eyes. Legolas does not shy away even though he does not know what the immediate future holds; though he does not know what will become of you, or of him. You nod at his words, gathering your things and standing. You feel his gaze, even through the path you take to camp, on you until you fall asleep.

~~~~

Translation: Ithildin nîn — my starlight.

[inkedmoth]

InkedMoth's Favourite Fics!

A (currently) short list of my favourite fics, this is still a big WIP so will hopefully grow and be added to as time goes on!

Top Recommendations:

In Search of a Queen (ff.net) by @Arkanfire / DoodleWolf Hobbit - Thorin (and Kili & Fili) Lives - Thorin x OC

I have So Many Thoughts about this fic that at this point it lives in my brain rent-free, and is a comfort fic I re-read whenever I'm feeling down. Before I truly got into fanfic, this was the only fic I read, as my old friend Arkanfire was the one who wrote it. But MY GOD it's such a wonderful fic, the main character Rúin and her family are all wonderfully developed and full of their own quirks and personalities, there's interesting and unique side characters (Old Lavri my darling ❤️), tension and angst and romance, and not to mention a delightfully slow slow-burn between Rúin and Thorin which feels so organic and natural, even if she did hit him in the face with a book 😂

10/10 will recommend everyone reads this, and while it's not completed, every chapter is a delight!!

Burn Like Cold Iron by @scyllas-revenge Boromir Lives - Boromir x OC

It's one thing to read a Modern Girl in Middle Earth, it's another thing to have that modern girl piloting a helicopter to escape Isengard and crash landing it out in the wilderness. And if THAT doesn't make you want to read it I genuinely don't know what's wrong with you (affectionate) This is the fic that made me go "you can DO THAT???" and motivated me to try my hand at fic writing, so you can thank Scylla for the 100s of K I've written since reading this delight!

Catch the Wind by @esta-elavaris / eriathiel Pirates of the Caribbean - Norrington Lives - Norrington x OC 🔞

I think I stumbled across this fic by a recommendation post from Scylla, but it was The Best accidental find of the year! This fic made me see Norrington's character in a whole new light, it goes into such wonderful detail as to the world of PotC, and develops characters while staying true to form! It's a long one at 400+K but GOOD LORD it's a worthy binge read! Esta has such brilliant writing style, it's well worth checking out ALL of her fics!

Pints, Profanities and Serious Predicaments Saga by @Erathene LotR - Aragorn x Reader/OC

I love this cursing barmaid so much you don't even know, I want to be her co-worker SO BAD purely to have gossip sessions and shit talk the patrons and check out the lanky and grimy Ranger that keeps dropping by. I'm not normally big on Reader pov's but good lord I'd read the entire trilogy narrated by this girl, it would be hilarious.

Veiled Hearts by @Konartiste LotR - Éomer x Lothíriel

My first foray into Éomer/Lothíriel fics and oh boy was it a good one to start off with! There's emotional conflict, a slow burn, building up of friendships and trusts, and is a delightful read every step of the way. I can't wait to see how their betrothal plays out in the second part, but if you (like me) can't wait that long, I also highly recommend reading Konartiste's The Marriage Bed of the Brute and the Bookworm(🔞) to tide you over in the meantime!

Pride of Greenwood by @Fishing4stars Hobbit - Thranduil x OC

The sheer level of lore and world-building that's gone into this fic is mind-boggling, I especially love the use of welsh, the bards acting as advisors to the leaders, and the plight that brought Thranduil to the greenwood. I've already gotten unreasonably attached to the side character of Braignir! Updates regularly and is well worth subscribing to!

The Unravelling of Hard Words by @Eternal-Vambraces Boromir Lives - Boromir x OC

Do you like Boromir? Do you like the peaceful yet raucous life in the Shire? Do you like flower symbolism? Do you want Boromir to have a Good Time at his friend's wedding? Then this is absolutely the fic for you!! It's delightful and soft and with just a little bit of angst to sober you up, and a very satisfying ending. AND it comes with art!!! I cannot recommend this fic enough!

Fics I adore

E v e r y t h i n g by @esta-elavaris

Don't Fret Dear by @celeluwhenfics (Gen)

The Poison Room by Vintage_Jewel (Faramir/OC)

Scales, Gleaming in the Dark by Seeing_Blue (Hobbit)

Sowing Seeds by @erathene (Aragorn/Reader)

Worlds Apart by @erathene (Aragorn/Mer!Arwen)

there's gotta be more than this I need to do some digging

(If you know any of these folks tumblrs, please let me know so I can tag properly)

🔞 Spice it Up 🔞

All of these fics are going to be varying levels of NSFW, some are just spicy, some are straight up smut, you have been warned!

A Tight Space by AnnaFan (Faramir/Éowyn)

A Week Is A Long Time In Politics by AnnaFan (Faramir/Éowyn)

Sword Master by @scyllas-revenge (Boromir/Reader)

Speaking Tongues by @ass-deep-in-demons (Boromir/OC)

Nights in Rohan Series By NeumeIndil (Gamling/OC)

[ticcitavvi]

I beg you to go read this fic if you are a fan of Gimli x Legolas, or even if you view them as purely platonic. It’s genuinely one of the best, most poetic, heartfelt stories I’ve read in a long time.

There’s one more chapter yet to be posted from the looks of it, and I can’t wait to read more

description:

Long has the Sea Longing tormented Legolas. Now all his mortal friends save Gimli are dead and gone on to their mortal fates, and there is little left to hold him to the shores of Middle-earth—but there is enough, for Legolas vowed long ago that while Gimli lived, he would not leave him.

But Legolas no longer knows who Gimli is.

The weight of the Sea Longing has pressed too long upon his mind, and his memories have eroded beneath it. He no longer knows why the Sea calls him, nor where it is that his soul so yearns to go. He is trapped between an oath he no longer remembers and an urge to depart that he forever forgets, lost like driftwood in the circling currents of his own mind.

If he is to ever find his way across the Sundering Sea to the white shores that await him, someone else will have to steer him to the Straight Road. Someone who will guide his faltering feet to the harbors of the Undying Lands, where living mortals may not go, even should such a journey mean the end of their own mortal life.

Who else, but Gimli Lockbearer?

[sonofarathorns]

my other fandom (which i love!) is depressing me right now. need lotr fic recs, please and thank you!

[spasmsofthought]

so sweet!! loved this one!

Turning Points

Pairing: Éomer x reader (who doesn’t want to imagine themselves hanging out with Éomer??). Plus an Elfhelm cameo because I love that dude.

Summary: Éomer’s lifelong best friend reckons with how much and how quickly his life has changed as a result of the war and wonders what that means for the life she had hoped to have with him.

************

The clear, deep sound of horns rang out in the distance and alerted all of Edoras to the imminent arrival of the army, home for the first time since that urgent, panicked ride to Helm’s Deep more than two months ago. Although word of their subsequent deeds and victories in Gondor had already reached the city, many details were yet unknown, and the mood of those who gathered in the streets was celebratory but tinged with anxiety as hopeful eyes prepared to scan the returning éoreds for a first glimpse of deeply missed loved ones.

The terrace in front of Meduseld quickly filled with people, and you slipped easily into the crowd as the first few companies of horsemen began to climb the hill. The riders smiled broadly at the cheers and flowers that rained down on them, though some still bore clear evidence of painful wounds and fractures. Others led behind them riderless horses, the mounts of those soldiers who would never return. You whispered a quiet prayer of gratitude, knowing from the messengers who had gone back and forth from Minas Tirith that both of those most precious to you were safely in the host.

No sooner had you finished your prayer than a cry went up from the crowd–“Hail, Elfhelm, Marshal of Edoras!”—and your father came into view. As gregarious as he was popular, he played shamelessly to the crowd, doffing his stallion-crested helmet and waving a shield that had clearly been confiscated from some defeated Haradrim commander. When his eyes finally landed on you, he gave a joyful whoop and sprang from the saddle. Throwing the helmet and shield aside, he ran to you with the speed of a much younger man, and the strength of his embrace forced the breath from your lungs. He spun you around several times as you kissed his sunburned cheeks, and when he placed you on your feet again he grasped your shoulders and gazed for a long moment at your face.

“Many nights have I dreamed of just this view,” he said. “There is no finer one in all of Middle Earth.”

You gave his hands a squeeze. “I have not known a moment’s peace since you left. Now that you are back, I may never let you leave again.”

“I am at your command, my lady,” he said with a smile and an exaggerated bow. “But I do not flatter myself so much as to think that I am the only one you have been missing. The royal household will be arriving soon, and I am certain you are as eager to see the new king as he must be to see you.”

Your heart leaped in your chest at the mention of Éomer, but this was not the time or the place to open the gate that held back those feelings. “For my part, I shall certainly be glad to see him home and safe. But a man such as Éomer has many friends, and no doubt he desires to see them all.”

He burst into laughter. “Do you speak such nonsense on purpose, or have I really raised you to be so naive? I know that you do not admit it to others, and perhaps not even between yourselves, but I have watched the two of you for many years now and I know love when I see it. Let us not pretend you are just one friend among many, a single star in a crowded sky. You are his sun, just as he is yours. I may be old, but I am certainly not blind.”

Your face flushed in pain and embarrassment. If your father had perceived all of this, likely others had, too. It was true that you loved Éomer, and you had always believed he loved you back. You felt his devotion in the way he trusted you and watched out for you, in the look on his face when you walked into a room. But neither of you had ever stated it outright. Perhaps you had been wrong all along, reading a great deal too much into a cherished friendship. Or perhaps what he felt was no longer relevant given his new responsibilities and duties. Either way, when Éomer married another in a few months' time, your crushed hopes would be on display for the whole city to see and discuss.

“Things have changed, father. You know that. The Éomer that I have known all my life was Éomund’s son. He was not heir to the throne of Rohan and certainly not its king. His life is very different now from the one we might have expected just months ago when Théodred was still alive.”

He sighed. “Much has happened, I concede. He has gone from nephew to heir to king. He nearly lost his sister. He comes home with much to reflect on. But his heart itself has not changed.”

“Has it not?” Despite your best efforts, your voice broke and tears began to slide down your cheeks. “Then what of the news that has already made its way back here in advance of your return? Amongst word of your victories and the death of poor Théoden, it also said that Éomer is to marry the princess of Dol Amroth. They say she is considered a proper match for a king of the Mark, and that none less than the new king of Gondor himself proposed it. If I have heard this, surely you have, too.”

Your father reached up to gently brush a tear aside. “Anyone who would claim that you–the finest woman in all of Rohan–are not a proper match for our own king does not have sense enough to offer an opinion on the subject. I have heard this talk of Dol Amroth, it is true, but I have not heard any of it from Éomer’s own lips. And I will not believe it unless I do. His choice was made long ago. You will see.” He put a finger under your chin and tipped your face up to him. “Now, I would stay here and debate this with you all day if your mother were not surely waiting for me at home. And if she thinks I have not hurried there with sufficient speed, she will soon accomplish what all the swordsmen of Harad could not!”

You smiled in spite of yourself and kissed him one last time before he remounted his horse. He gave you a wink as he rode on, and you dried your eyes before turning back to the procession of riders making their way forward.

Before long, the king’s banner appeared at the bottom of the hill. Even at that distance, it was easy to identify Éomer among the many men of his household–you would always recognize his frame and the way he carried himself even if he were not wearing his distinctive horse-tailed helmet and sitting astride Firefoot, who had now been arrayed with a saddle and bridle that sparkled with the gold of a monarch.

As he came into closer view, you could begin to discern the new trappings of royalty–the beautiful green cloak trimmed with shining gold embroidery, the neatly braided hair, the fur-lined boots. But underneath these superficial changes, he still looked like your Éomer. The same man who shared with you a lifetime of confidences and mischief and private jokes. The one who cried in your arms when he missed his parents. Who doted on you whenever you were sick and angrily confronted anyone he thought had hurt your feelings. Who stole your breath every time he turned his hazel eyes and dimpled smile in your direction.

His company dismounted near the bottom of the terrace, and he moved toward the stairs, trailed by attendants, guards and throngs of well-wishers eager to greet their new king. The clamor presented a perfect opportunity to slip away now that you had confirmed with your own eyes that he was safe and unharmed. It was the coward’s way out, but even one more day before you had to directly confront your new reality would be a gift. Just as you began to turn away, however, the sound of his voice carried over the tumult, calling your name.

You froze in place as he approached, feeling immediately uncertain of everything–how to stand, where to look, what to do. A lifetime of affectionate greetings and easy companionship had not prepared you to meet under these circumstances, not as intimate friends but as ruler and subject. Beloved and left behind. Hearing nothing but the sound of your own blood pulsing in your veins, you bowed and looked down.

“Hail, Éomer King.” When you finally raised your eyes, you could see uncertainty written on his face as well. He took another step toward you but stopped, and tentatively reached out a hand before dropping it back to his side. He looked in both directions, where dozens of attentive faces observed his every move.

“I am glad to see you,” he said quietly. His eyes sought yours, and when you allowed them to meet he gave you a soft smile. “I have missed you.”

“I…I am much relieved to see you home. These have been long and anxious months.”

Before either of you could speak again, an armored man at Éomer’s side cleared his throat and nodded in the direction of Meduseld. “You are expected in the hall, my lord. There is much business awaiting your attention, including messages due both to Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth.”

The mention of Dol Amroth sent an icy stab of pain into your chest, and you shrank back several steps, seeking a swift retreat. “Go ahead, my lord,” you managed to say. “A king’s duties must come first.”

His thick brows drew together and he frowned slightly, but eventually he nodded his assent. Your feet carried you away and down a maze of small streets and back alleys, picking up speed as you got further from the crowd, until at last you reached the edge of the city and disappeared into the surrounding fields and paddocks. You cast yourself down in the tall, sweet-smelling grass, shedding tears until you had none left and then staring up dolefully at the flat, blank sky. No matter how you considered and reconsidered your position, only two excruciating choices seemed to lay before you–either to find a new way to love Éomer, shorn of all romantic possibility and content to exist on the terms available to you, or to lose him entirely from your life. The first option felt beyond your strength, but the second was utterly unthinkable.

Uncounted hours passed until it began to darken and torches and candles sparked to life in the distance. Miserable and cold but not yet ready to join the revelry of your family, you wandered back to the city and found yourself headed to the old tack room at the marshal’s stables. Ever since childhood, the abandoned little storage space had served as a private spot to meet your friends, talk or simply to think, and during the war you had spent many hours there alone ruthlessly poring over your fears and concerns.

Throwing open the door and expecting to find it empty as always, you instead walked straight into Éomer, practically bouncing off his chest as he stood just past the threshold. Gone were the outward adornments of royalty, and he looked as you were accustomed to seeing him—simple clothing, well-used boots, hair in loose waves on his shoulders. “Éomer! I mean….I’m sorry. Excuse me, my lord.”

He grimaced a little. “Please, that is not necessary here. Not when it is us. I would like one piece of my old life that is familiar, someone who will still treat me not as king but as myself. I thought you might be here and hoped we could talk as we always have.”

He sat on an old saddle trunk and looked up at you expectantly. Here now was the first opportunity to test your strength—to be there for him simply as a friend and see if you could endure it—and so you nodded and sat next to him.

He was quiet at first, looking around the room and seeming lost in thought. The issue of his pending marriage felt to you like a heavy, palpable presence in the room, but you did not have the heart to raise the subject yet. Instead, you clasped your arms around yourself and waited for him to speak, to give some indication of what he was thinking.

“Do you remember my fifteenth birthday?” he asked suddenly.

“Your…fifteenth birthday? Yes, I think so.” Fragments of distant memories quickly reassembled in your mind. “That was the night you dragged a stolen cask of ale in here, wasn’t it? And then you drank more than half of it all on your own.”

“Which meant you had to spend the rest of the night holding back my hair while I experienced the consequences.”

You smiled. “Yes. Though I experienced some of your consequences, too, if I recall. Those shoes were never the same again.”

He snorted a laugh, and for just a moment things felt almost normal again. Easy and light, as they had been when you were just those two coltish teenagers, having fun and testing the limits of your adolescent independence. But as the laughter faded, the awkwardness returned and his face turned serious.

“I am sorry about this morning.” He shook his head slowly. “That was not how I imagined our reunion, but everything has become so difficult and formal now. I have few moments to myself or chances to do as I once would.”

You could hear in his voice the strain of this adjustment to always being the focus of attention, to being one who is honored and deferred to instead of one who is engaged with. No wonder he was thinking of earlier, simpler days. You longed to comfort him, to take his hand or sit with your head against his shoulder. “Do not apologize,” you said instead. “I understand that you have new demands on you. I regret only that I was not able to tell you how sorry I am about your uncle. I will miss his kind heart.”

He nodded. “Thank you. I take comfort in knowing that he would be proud of what his death achieved.”

Another small silence ensued before he looked up and smiled at you. “But now I must apologize again,” he said, “for I have not yet asked after you. Please, tell me how you have been since we last saw each other.”

You gave a dismissive wave of your hand. “There is not much to tell, at least nothing to stand alongside the great tales we have already heard of your heroic deeds.”

“I do not ask for great tales,” he insisted. “I want only to hear about you and what I have missed, great or small.”

“Well, what you missed were endless hours of inventories and supplies and checklists and stockpiles. Many of the men who typically see to those basic concerns were injured or killed at Helm’s Deep, or they were called away to your muster. So I filled my days with work that they would have done…tracking stores of food and medicine and equipment, ensuring they were sent where they were most needed, planning for replenishments when stocks ran low. It was nothing I have ever done before, obviously, but I am careful with numbers and can keep good records, which is most of what was required.”

He chuckled. “Old Elfhelm has always been so proud that his daughter is one of the few in Rohan to read and write. I heard him bragging as much to one of Lord Elrond’s sons back in Gondor.”

You smiled and shrugged. “That certainly sounds like him. He has never lacked paternal enthusiasm. Or the confidence to share his enthusiasm with literally anyone.”

“That is true, but he is right to be proud. You should be proud as well. Hunger and disease often follow in war’s footsteps, even for the victors, and that has not been allowed to happen here despite the destruction of so many villages and farms and the absence of so many of the normal laborers. That is a service any king would value.”

Your cheeks bloomed a bright red, and he smiled at your discomfort with praise. In truth, though, you were quite proud of what you had accomplished, and it was only hearing the praise from his lips that sent waves of warm color to your face. “Thank you,” you mumbled at last.

He seemed on the verge of speaking again, but instead he leaned back against the wall and contemplated the floor for several long moments. His knee jogged quickly up and down, a nervous tic he’d had ever since boyhood. Before you could ask what was troubling him, however, he looked up with an unsettling intensity.

“May I ask you something? And you will respond to me honestly, no matter what?”

His earnest tone sparked a flare of anxiety in your chest. Was this the moment when he intended to tell you of his engagement? When you would have to somehow react to this news with the graciousness and dignity you knew were required? “I will certainly try.”

He took a deep breath and winced slightly in anticipation of speaking. “I have spent many hours now reflecting on things that Éowyn related to me before I left Gondor. How she did not feel that she was able to live the life she wanted when she was here. That she could not be who she was meant to be simply because she was born a woman. I am ashamed that I was blind to the causes of her unhappiness and that she did not feel that she could confide her true feelings to me earlier. But having failed her then, I worry now that I may have failed others in my life as well. Others who are equally important to me.”

He suddenly turned and grasped your forearms, repositioning you both so that you now sat face to face rather than side by side.

“If you have ever felt that same unhappiness or believed that I was not willing or able to understand your feelings, will you now forgive me? I would not want anyone else to suffer as Éowyn did, and least of all you.”

Your heart broke a little at his words. It broke for Éomer, who would sooner give his life than intentionally hurt someone he cared for, and it broke for Éowyn, whose full feelings had never before been revealed to you. But, hearing now how she had felt, something in her words resonated with a deep part of you, reverberating off a chord you had not always been consciously aware of. You thought carefully for several moments before responding.

“If you ask me whether I ever resented you or the life that I led, the answer is no. I have always trusted in you above all others, and my life never felt anything but normal to me. But I, too, have reflected on these last months, and perhaps I can now better understand Éowyn’s mind.”

He nodded, encouraging you to continue.

“Amid the tragedy of these days, I found some purpose and meaning in the work I did. It was gratifying to feel truly useful for the first time. I did not know it before, as you do not know to miss something you never had, but once that instinct is awakened it is difficult to ignore. It seems it was awakened in Éowyn long ago. But, for myself, I cannot deny that I will now be deeply saddened to lose my sense of purpose once the men are all returned to their old duties and the help of a woman is no longer accepted.”

“Maybe that is not what has to happen,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I would not come to a new understanding of the world, to learn a necessary lesson at a steep cost, only to ignore that lesson and rule my kingdom as though I do not know any better. This will not be a land that I want to rule if half the people must always limit their talents and hopes to fit within the meager bounds afforded to them by the other half.”

His words hung in the air as you struggled to make sense of what you had heard. A chance to share in the great works and deeds of the kingdom, just as the elven women had always done in their own lands? To learn and achieve and stretch yourself in ways that had never before been possible, and not just when dictated by the necessity of war but as a part of everyday life? You had scarcely the courage to even dream of such a thing, but now it was being offered to you. And you knew you wanted it. “I will be the first to stand behind you in any such effort,” you say at last. “But what you suggest is a radical departure from the way that things have been for all the years of our history, indeed from the way that they have always been in all the lands of men. There may be strong opposition to change.”

“I do not fear a difficult task if I know it to be necessary. I will see it done.” He paused and gently picked up your hand to hold it between both of his. “Though I would be aided by the help of a capable queen. One who will rule with me, not as a token or a symbol, but as a true partner.”

His touch sent a jolt of lightning through your arm, and you looked down at your hand to watch his thumb run lightly back and forth over your wrist. It left a trail of fire on your skin. “I…Well, I do not think I understand. Surely you mean Prince Imrahil’s daughter?”

“Imrahil’s daughter?” He looked startled. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Because news of a royal engagement travels quickly, perhaps faster than you realize. Half of Edoras has already heard about you and the princess of Dol Amroth.”

“Then half of Edoras has heard wrong.”

A small gasp escaped your lips before you could act to hold it back. You looked up into his eyes and drew a shallow breath. “Then…then you have changed your mind?”

“I have not, but only because it never needed changing. I am certain that any daughter of Imrahil is a good and worthy woman, but I declined that match when it was suggested. Any report to the contrary is the result of confusion or rumor. It is true that I am ready for marriage, but I do not wish to bind myself forever to someone I barely know. To someone whose heart and mind I do not yet fully understand. Not when my own heart has long been reserved for one who I already know to be the best of women.” He drew your hand up and pressed it tightly to his chest, where you could feel the steady, strong beat of that heart against your fingertips. “If she will have me.”

All the world seemed suddenly still, as though you were balanced precariously on the crest of a hill, waiting for the last tip forward that would send you rushing headlong down into a new and joyous life. You opened your mouth to respond but found that no words would come. Instead, you raised a hand to his face, lightly tracing your fingers along his jaw before sinking them into his dark golden hair and pulling him toward you for a kiss that had been decades in the making.

It was worth the wait.

[citrusbunnies]

currently at the stage in a hyperfixation cycle where im shaking old hyperfixations trying to make dopamine fall out, does anyone have any fic recs for skyrim, world of warcraft, star wars esp the tcw era, dc, danny phantom, avengers, spiderman, overwatch, lotr and the hobbit, bg3 or ghost bc TvT

[frodosrings]

can you guys tell i’ve been on a faramir x éowyn kick lately

[legolascontacts]

bagginshield fic recs!!

to change the course of the future ~ authoressjean

bilbo going to mordor to destroy the one ring, oh the pining!! oh so much pining!! 180k words and about 30 continued works in the same universe!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/700097/chapters/1289763

a very respectable hobbit ~ thethirdstar

you’re gonna suffer, but you’re gonna be happy about it. tissues recommended. 250k words

https://archiveofourown.org/works/638713/chapters/1157662

a long list of happy endings ~ vicious_summer

o miscommunication trope how i adore you so, BUT it does live up to the title i assure you. 160k words

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34087543/chapters/84801094

chosen horizons ~ wolfsbane_and_nettles

soulmates and cultural differences and emotional tension and all of the best stuff. chefs kiss truly no notes. WIP at 280k words so far

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45993712/chapters/115772953

as my friend has stood by me, so shall i ~ obsidiancreates

bilbo falling to the one ring and the company trying to save him. found family at its finest. WIP at 49k words so far

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36609448/chapters/91313296

the veiled king ~ miraherondale

miscommunications about death AGAIN i really do have a type. and more pining. oh so much pining. can’t forget our fave amnesia trope either. WIP at 56k words so far

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55318627/chapters/140338987

[spxllcxstxr]

This was literally so cute omgomgomg

I love how you write Boromir!!!

[Boromir] - All I Ever Wanted

♫ - Perfect - Ed Sheeran

A/N: It's 2024 and I still adore this man, hopefully now this has been written the  brain worm leaves and I can move on with my life (i am lying to myself i have not moved on since 2007).

Thank you for reading, enjoy! <3

It was a joy to live in Gondor, the kingdom and its people were, in truth, simply beautiful. For you, there was everything here you could ever want. Kind people, a community, and most of all the man you loved.

Boromir and yourself had grown up together, as your father was a nobleman and therefore held position on King Denethor's council. With Boromir's father being that king, he was always looking for something to do or someone to talk to, which was when you stumbled into each other's lives as children. 

You often saw each other in the castle courtyard. At first, you barely spoke, nods of acknowledgement here and there and sometimes a greeting. You could not have been more different as people. 

Boromir was a boy who loved fighting, loved running around and learning how to wield weapons. You preferred your books, to write and study history and nature. The pair of you could often be found together outside the older you grew; you with your nose stuck in some ancient literature while you  sat under the tree as Boromir practiced sparring techniques in front of you. 

One was never really seen without the other. You were both like shadows, and never tired of being around each other. Your father was not upset by this, hoping one day perhaps you may marry the young prince. King Denethor, however, hoped quite the opposite. Nevertheless, that would not stop you from spending your free time together.

Boromir was there for you through every bad time you had, always offering a shoulder to cry on and a gentle hand when you would walk through the gardens. You were there for him whenever his father had been harsh on him. As the eldest son, Boromir was looked upon to be a leader, to have an heir to the throne one day and keep the family line in tact. 

He wanted none of that, not until he was older, maybe. He told you all the time of adventures he wanted, how he wanted to live first before thinking of that sort of thing. You grew to adults together, but your hobbies and interest had not changed.

Here you were, a bright morning in Gondor, sat in the gardens on your favourite bench reading a book. The area was secluded, barely anybody walked here, but it was filled with flowers and a lake with a fountain front and center. Before you, Boromir was practicing movements with his sword and a young guard. He had become a master swordsman, and had been trusted to train up new soldiers for Gondor's army should the need arise.

Setting your book down, you watched them spar. Boromir was quick on his feet, but so tentative in helping the young man with his own technique, and you couldn't help but stare. Something in your heart soared to see him smile, to watch him doing the thing he loved. For a brief second Boromir looked to you, catching your eye and winking.

"Back to your books, you."

Boromir had not dealt with his own feelings for you, yet. Each day you met, his heart grew fonder of you and it was at a point in which it became hard to contain. When you sat there and lost yourself in writing, he would look on at you in wonder. Often, his thoughts would drift, and he would ask himself what was stopping him from pushing you against a wall and kissing you. The fear of rejection, of you not feeling the same, was what pushed those thoughts away.

You had picked your book back up, though you were no longer reading it. You held it as though you were, but your eyes peeked over the brim, eager to watch him instead. His face lit up differently when he was training, his features became more beautiful than they already were. He had a love for swordsmanship, and it showed. 

"Agh!" 

You were snapped out of your daydream by Boromir's exclamation. Dropping your book, you noticed the young guard's sword on the floor and a look of horror on his face. Your eyes flicked over to Boromir, who was holding his arm. It appeared the man had caught the prince's arm with the sword, though it didn't look too bad. 

"My prince, I am sorry, I did not-"

"It's okay, lad. You run back to the castle and have a break, we'll keep you on the wooden weapons for now," Boromir said with a chuckle, and the guard nodded and ran off. 

How he could joke in this situation was amazing, but you knew it was to calm the other boys nerves, which were presumably sky high. Boromir caught your gaze and you beckoned him over.

"Are you okay? Seems like that's quite the gash." You gestured to the blood on his tunic, and reached into your bag for the first aid essentials you always carried. It wasn't the first time he had been injured in your company, so now you always carried them just to be sure. 

"I'm alright, got you to patch me up, haven't I?" Boromir winked at you, and you felt butterflies in your stomach. 

"Sometimes," you replied, swatting his nose with your finger. "I think you do it on purpose."

He feigned shock, but said nothing as he let you work on his arm. Your concentration face had him in a trance as he watched you work, eyes darting from your face to your gentle hands. There was no wound he had ever gotten that you could not fix with a bandage and some herb or salve, so the books were paying off. 

"You know," you started, working carefully to stitch the cut in his arm, eyes not moving from it as you spoke. "You are wonderful with those guards. You have always had a gift for combat, but it shows more and more each day. You look happiest when you're training."

Boromir could not help the smile creeping up on his face.

"It does make me happy, I love the art of swords, the craft of it all. The beauty of wielding a weapon is quite a thing. Though, I have to admit, I am my happiest whenever I am with you."

Pausing for a second, you look up at him, and he has a cheeky smile on his face as his eyes looked at you through his brow. He was so handsome, rugged yet boyish all at once. You could not have fallen harder if you tried. Realising you were staring, you turned back to your work with a blush rising on your cheeks. 

"There," you knotted the last stitch and wrapped a bandage around his wound. "You're all fixed up."

"Oh," he sounded disappointed. "Does that mean I don't get your special treatment and attention anymore?" His smile could light up a room.

"Boromir!" You playfully tapped his non injured arm and laughed along. "I'll give you special treatment if you carry on like that." He scoffed jokingly at your sarcastic mocking tone.

Your threat was hollow, knowing that you couldn't best him in a play fight, let alone a real one. The master swordsman stared at you, seemingly taking your comment to heart. 

"Or," he spoke lowly, moving towards on the bench and taking your chin lightly in his hand. "I'll give you special treatment."

Boromir leaned in and your heart raced. He never connected your lips, waiting for you to respond. He was respectful enough to wait for you to kiss him, to make sure this was what you wanted. You closed the gap, and he pulled you into him and deepened the kiss.

This moment was what you had dreamed of. Boromir's arm wrapped around your waist and his other hand held the side of your face as his lips made their way from your own to your jawline, pressing little kisses down towards your collarbone. Your hands lay on his chest, keeping yourself as close as you could be as quiet hums of content came from you.

Boromir brought his head back up to look at you, and he could not believed how stunning you looked before him. The sun lit your face up, eyes twinkling as they looked back into his own. The red tint on your cheeks gave you an almost ethereal aura. Your hands came to cup his face.

"I have wanted this for so long, Boromir. I never thought you would feel the same way. I was scared you saw me only as a friend."

He chuckled, pressing his forehead to your own.

"You silly thing, I would be a fool to not have fallen in love with you. You are incredible. I have loved you for so long now, I have lost count. I never thought you, with your books and your writing would ever want a swordsman who just loves fighting."

"Apparently you're a poet now, too." You giggled and his brow furrowed, but hearing his words back in his head, Boromir realised the rhyme he had made. 

"Then in that case, I'm perfect for you," he boasted, nodding in agreement with himself and making you throw your head back with laughter. 

Pulling you onto his lap, you sat with your arms around his neck and just took in the moment. You had hugged him before, but never like this. You had spent hours in his arms, but never under any circumstance other than comfort. Now, it felt different. 

"Hey, look at me, " Boromir whispered, and you lifted your head from his chest to look at him. "If you wish to court me, and I most certainly would like you to, I want you to know that being with me probably will not be easy. But, if you do wish to be mine, I will promise you now that I will do all I can to protect you and keep you safe, and I will always show you nothing but love and care for the rest of our lives."

Your eyes teared up a little at his words, and you smiled down at him. 

"You are all I have ever wanted, of course I will court you. It would be an honour to be yours, Boromir. I know it won't be easy, I know there are threats out there in Middle Earth that you will one day have to deal with. I am not afraid of that, I would welcome a future with you. I have spent my youth with you, so what's the rest of our lives in comparison?"

"You beautiful thing..." he spoke, voice quiet and full of love. "My beautiful thing."

With one more kiss, a kiss filled with hope for the future, Boromir brought you off him and offered his hand to you. You accepted, and with a kiss to your knuckles, you set off on your first walk as a couple and the first walk of the rest of your days as one.

[rachelillustrates]

Double plus post day because @conkers-thecosy 's "Backs to the Wall" returns today!!!!

SO EXCITED. Everybody go read this fic, it is SO good.

The summary:

"The Company of Thorin Oakenshield could no longer be described as a ‘merry gathering’.

Bilbo Baggins sat at the edge of the campfire, hugging his knees to his chest, and looked just as dejected as the others surrounding the warm, flickering flames. The woodland river was a little way behind where they had set up camp, not close enough to see, but close enough for hobbit ears at least to pick out the rushing and burbling of water. They were on the edge of Mirkwood now, the Elvenking’s Halls a full day of travel behind them, and were about to start crossing the Long Marshes.

At least, that had been the plan. Bilbo was no longer certain what was going to happen.

***

Or: Bilbo and the company don't make it to Erebor in time for Durin's Day, and decide to wait a year for a second chance to enter the mountain."

~

SERIOUSLY SERIOUSLY.

(And btw Conkers is THE sweetest ever and writes the BEST stuff and it was an absolute joy to draw our beloved idiots in this setting.)

(AND happy birthday Tolkien 🍃💚🍃)

~

Bonus art and stories ~ Prints, comics and more!

[spasmsofthought]

let there be light (let me be right) [legolas x reader]

New to writing for this space and I have no idea what I'm doing or what this is, really. this was all written at once, so please excuse any mistakes. I really didn't research much - this all comes from memories or things I found on tumblr. I couldn't find the right Elvish to copy, and it would have stolen my mojo if I searched for too long, so I gave up. Sorry!

IDK word count, but it's not very long.

A bittersweet parting. Inspired by Sun by Sleeping At Last.

Enjoy and please let me know what you think! Please like, comment, and reblog xo

+++

It was his last night here, for the darkness had now even reached Imladris and in the morning he would depart with the Fellowship and begin a long, arduous journey to finally destroy the One Ring.

Even the shadows the barest sliver of moon brought as it rose above the background of the inky sky could not dim the brightness of his gaze as it rested on you.

There were no words to be spoken. There would never be enough to bridge the void between where he must go and where you had to stay.

In all your years alive you could depend on the constancy of life in the valley. The seasons came and went, the sun and moon did their eternal dance across the sky; the stars continued to shine, glimmering even in the darkest of nights. But home was more than the rushing waters and fog rolling over the Misty Mountains early in the morning.

His very smile seemed to eclipse the sun, especially when he was smiling at you. Glorious and noble and magnificent, Legolas was the safest, sturdiest home your heart had ever known. And, you were sure, the only one it would ever know; the only one that really mattered.

Separation could be painful, but you had endured that before. It was the reason for this particular leaving that produced a new kind of ache. You had given him up before, for period of time which passed by with little consequence, but you had never been confronted with the possibility that you might have to give him up forever.

"My love," A gentle touch to your chin turns your eyes away from the scenery. "Put the worry in your heart away. I will return to you."

Your hand lightly sweeps over his before it rests on his forearm.

"Yes, I know," You say. You take in his eyes and his hair. "I know you will."

You, again, look over the shape of his face, "But even you cannot predict the future or guarantee an outcome."

The shine in his eyes softens and he breathes out a long sigh. You breathe in as his forehead tenderly rests against yours. The burden is heavy but there is a little relief that the weight is shared.

"I love you," You whisper gingerly to him. The gap lessens as you move to him, bridging the distance you can before you are unable to at all. The sound of your voice fades, but your lips continue to move.

You know time is running out. The sun will rise very soon and then -- then this will be all you have of him.

I love you your lips say against his skin. With your whole heart, as full and melancholic as it is, you mean it. Legolas must know it for his mouth steals your words and your love before the dawn can take them.

[likesdoodling]

So. I read a really cool fic recently called The Harrowing by Chthonion which I would highly highly recommend-

I absolutely love it so much-

:D:D

I'm gonna go with how my sister recommended it to me, since that was what got me excited about it-

Imagine~ Sauron trying to be a good person. And having a very hard time of it because he has these things... I've heard they're called 'feelings'... Anyway. He's finding it a bit hard to deal with, but long story short, think Sauron getting a second chance and go from there.

And if you have read it-

Then you probably know exactly which moments I'm referencing here, but just in case,

No. 1 is Finrod, just before Annatar is about to have his first full on emotional breakdown, and the No.2 is Maedhros saying thank you. Which is fairly obvious. But still.

I love this fic so much!!!

(this is definitely not the last fanart I'm gonna do from this. Chapter 39 has some amazing moments that I am so gonna draw when I next have time~)

[marta-bee]

This was delightful. Such interesting characterizations throughout, and that last line was just plain artful.

Threads of Song

Eärwen, Galadriel, Celebrían, and Arwen | G | 1.1k | @arafinwean-week day 5: heritage | AO3

Galadriel learns her first enchantments at her mother’s knee, watching as her mother weaves sailcloth at her loom and works enchantments into the weave. Her mother places her small hands upon the loom, guiding her fingers over frame and beams and teaching her shuttle, warp, and weft.

Galadriel’s fingers follow quickly after Eärwen’s, following the threads as they dance through the loom and spill out into sailcloth. Eärwen sings as she weaves, and Galadriel joins her, leaping and skipping through her mother’s melody and weaving in words of her own, words to strengthen and sustain, to brace and to billow.

The sailcloth twines around the roller, lightweight and yet stronger than anchor rope. Eärwen removes the cloth from the loom and presses it into Galadriel’s hands, bidding her to examine their work. Galadriel’s fingers rove the cloth, plucking at the veins of song woven into the sailcloth—here a thread of strength, there a thread of unerring course.

“The work we do,” Eärwen says, “should not only be beautiful; it should be strong and mighty, too, for by our hands do our ships sail or sink.”

“Do not the ship-builders also do so when they shape the planks of the ships?” Galadriel asks.

Eärwen smiles. “It is not merely the weaving of the sails that makes them strong, but the enchantments we weave within them—to take wind, but not too much wind; to guide the ship always towards calm waters; to hasten the ship out of a storm. That is the difference of our craft.”

Eärwen stands so that Galadriel sits by herself before the loom and bids her to try weaving alone. Galadriel takes the shuttle in hand and weaves, weaving song and thread together as the shuttle dances back and forth in her hand across the loom. Strength, she weaves into the cloth, and steady course . Fulls sails and full nets.

When she finishes, Eärwen takes the cloth in her hands and smiles with pride. “Just so, Nerwen,” she says. 

Finrod affixes the sail to the skiff he, Angrod, and Aegnor take out into the bay, and Galadriel sets upon her next sail, intent on improving.

Later, her brothers blow through the chamber doors like a summer squall, their hands and arms flashing silver with the glint of scales stuck to their skin. Great nets of fish bulge in their hands, and Eärwen drives her sons from the room with a cry.

Finrod slips past Eärwen’s shooing hands and presses a salty kiss to Galadriel’s brow. “You have helped us catch a mighty haul today, sister.”

Galadriel glows with pride.

— — —

By the shores of Nenuial, Galadriel sets her daughter upon her knee and shows her shuttle, warp, and weft. Celebrían does not attend at first, loving rather the forests and their birds and foxes than sitting still and weaving. But as she grows, she stills and listens to her mother’s instructions, and she sets her hands upon the loom and snakes the shuttle back and forth and sings, and together with her mother, she crafts sails for the boats the Elves of their settlement sail across the wide expanse of the lake and cloaks of grey for the guards and scouts that will shield them from unfriendly eyes.

She does not weave for mastery, as her mother does, but out of love. 

Out of love does she weave for Celebrimbor, her friend, a mantle richly threaded that will draw the gaze of all and mark him as lord of Eregion and chief of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain.

Out of love does she weave for her father plain robes that will make him seem unobtrusive and beneath noticing, to turn Annatar’s sharp eye from him as she and her mother flee to Khazad-dûm.

(Out of love does she weave for Celebrimbor a burial shroud that will never be used, and she buries it beneath the trees in Lórinand and weeps.)

Out of love does she weave blankets of softest comfort for the survivors of Eregion who lay injured in Imladris, having taken the arrows and blades that might have felled her father, when she and her mother at last arrive and find Celeborn safe and whole.

Out of thanks does she weave for the new lord of Imladris, whose eyes are kind and warm—too kind for the horrors he has seen—a robe woven of the colors of the sun and nearly as warm to keep him warm during the coming winter, for Imladris is still only partially built, and its lord, she notes, often goes without when others are in need.

Later, when news of war again rises, she thinks of the kind eyes of the lord of Imladris, who shall soon have to look again upon the wreckage of war, and weaves for him a cloak that shall turn away all wayward arrows and stay the arcs of glancing blades.

— — —

Arwen’s eyes are large and dark as Celebrían guides her small hands upon the loom. She is a serious child, and she watches silently as Celebrían demonstrates how to draw the shuttle across the loom and to sing enchantments into the cloth.

When Celebrían places the shuttle in Arwen’s hands, Arwen weaves silently. Celebrían sings for her, threading into the cloth small enchantments. 

Arwen shakes her head and Celebrían falls silent, wondering. Arwen finishes, and Celebrían removes the cloth for her daughter to inspect. Arwen’s fingers trace the threads of enchantment woven into the cloth.

“Do you wish to learn that?” Celebrían asks.

Arwen shakes her head again.

Celebrían does not press the matter, not even as years pass and Arwen continues to weave without singing. It is not a lack of desire that compels Arwen to do so, Celebrían thinks, but of ability, for the strength of the Noldor dwindles. Even the greatest of her own enchantments could not compare to her mother’s.

But though they hold no enchantments, Arwen’s works are things of surpassing beauty, often inlaid with threads of gold or silver, and that catch the eye as surely as if they were threaded with enchantment.

When Celebrían sails, Arwen continues to weave, and at last she sings. There is no enchantment in her voice, but it fills the silence of the weaving room and the emptiness of Celebrían’s chair. She weaves and weaves, and her skill surpasses that of any other in Imladris.

And when the heir of Isildur leaves Imladris in the midst of winter, she embarks upon her greatest work, for though she does not have her mother’s skill in enchantments, she has a little of her father’s foresight, and she sees in her mind a city laid to waste and dark sails on a river of red, and a banner of sable and mithril heralding the coming of the king.

[deadlymistletoe]

So I haven’t really read any hobbit/LOTR fics in quite a while (aka most of this year)

I’m desperate to get back into the fandom as I really have missed it.

So if you have any from this year (or any other years) that you’d like to rec please please send me the links or tag the authors.

Tagging a few of my Tolkien mutual to help out as well (you guys are lifesavers, really):

@bookworm-with-coffee @fizzyxcustard @evenstaredits @wordbunch @horsewithaface @lathalea @lady-of-imladris @emrfangirl @coopsgirl @trishfullertonwriting75 @sotwk @runesandramblings @emmyspov

If you’ve had a look at my Tolkien masterlist you can probably guess what characters I’m after ( @bookworm-with-coffee I know you know)

[potterheadedhel]

Any good bagginshield everyone lives fics please? I need to forget about the ending of BOTFA. My boys are fine and happy!

[general-illyrin]

Plz,give me the list of ur favourite Tolkien fic.

Thank you so much for the ask; I'm happy to do so! I'll start with a disclaimer that I read almost exclusively Silmarillion fic. However, I have thoroughly enjoyed everything I've read from ceterisparibus on Ao3 as well as this Gimli and Legolas fic by @griseldabanks and the poem "To the Bitter End" by megSUPERFAN that I love.

For Silm-centered fics, here are some that I love:

"The Harrowing" by chthonion

"What the Hell is Happening" by Leader_in_Red

"When Alliances Fell" also by Leader_In_Red

"What Mercy Means" by @hirazuki (Ao3 link)

"An Evil Cradling" by theeventualwinter

"On Elrond Peredhel" collection of fics by leodesic

"Reunions" collection by JazTheBard (especially parts 3 and 4)

"Feanorian Week 2023" (day 6 here) collection by @dreamingthroughthenoise. (Ao3 link)

the Maglor acting as Celeborn AU also by @dreamingthroughthenoise

"ave atque vale" by @dialux (Ao3 link)

"The Night the Wolves Were Silent" by Lingwiloke

"and all his towers cast down" by oswinry

this Finrod fic by @that-angry-noldo

"Who Killed King Finwe?" by Lingwiloke

this Finarfin and post re-embodiment Finrod fic by @actual-bill-potts

this Finarfin in Angband AU by @that-angry-noldo

and "Never Sure of Who I Am" by @erdariel