Alice

Posted by Grundy

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After the Fall of Gondolin, Maeglin's more than a little broken. Is there any hope for him?

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Posted by AdmirableMonster

https://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/node/8770

Living in Menegroth, Maeglin is summoned home by his father's wife to visit him. Eöl has never been the same since Aredhel's death in childbirth many years ago, and his mental state may be poisoning the very forest around him.
But for the first time, Maeglin does not have to go alone. 

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Posted by Anérea

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painting of the Tower of Pearl in the Western Isles

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Posted by Isilme_among_the_stars

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The land of Dor-Lómin welcomes a displaced Easterling woman after Nírnaeth Arnoediad. Theirs is a short-lived yet reverent kinship.
 
Written for the SWG Jumble Sale Challenge September 2025. Sold! One Headstrong rake!
The challenge was to have a character with an identity from Middle Earth is Multitudes interact with the setting-as-character as in Living Lands, in a way that explores nature vs civilization. 

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Posted by LadySternchen

https://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/node/8762

I made a project out of this year’s Silmsmutweek, to accompany the line of the Peredhel through the Ages.
1) Spring; prompts: ritual sex, bathing and washing. Melian and Elu beget their daughters.
2) Summer; prompts: sport and competition. Finally allowed to live their love makes Arwen and Aragorn light-headed with bliss. That, and a little too much wine for the newly crowned King of Gondor. (Not explicit)
3) Autumn; prompts: canon ships, blanket; my first drabble. On a chill afternoon in autumn, Celebrían finds her husband dozing, and finds that something has to be done about it (Not explicit)
4)Fading; prompts: water sports. Elwing can’t have what she wants, and Eärendil has to suffer for it. (He loves every moment of it, though)
5) Winter; prompts: throne sex. Dior has doubts whether he will ever see himself as the King of Doriath. Nimloth finds that it is time for him to truly claim the throne.
6) Stirring; prompts: erotic dance and acrobatics. Ficlet. Beren watches Lúthien dance, and feels life stir in him again. And other things.
7) Dark; prompts borrowed from another day: rare-pair. This one is weird. No more needs to be said

 

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Posted by atlantablack

https://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/node/8759

“We are going to get caught,” Fingolfin hisses, though he makes no move to actually push Fëanor away from where he’s sucking a bruise onto Fingolfin’s collarbone. Fëanor hums, shoving a knee between Fingolfin’s legs and smirking against his skin when he’s forced to bite back a moan, hips jerking up.
“Do you want me to stop then?” he asks, voice rich with amusement as he kisses his way up Fingolfin’s neck. “Tell me,” he whispers, mouth hovering over Fingolfin’s. “Tell me you want me to stop.”
Fingolfin is genuinely worried they are going to get caught. It does not stop him from cursing quietly and kissing Fëanor to shut him up.

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Posted by Elrond's Library

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Haleth is hungry

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Posted by Isilme_among_the_stars

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Maedhros finds that regret and pain do not end with death. But it does at last bring release from the oath and he can at last embark upon the long, hard road toward redemption. 

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Posted by atlantablack

https://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/node/8753

Fingolfin wants Fëanor absolutely shattered in his bed, his name the only thing in Fëanor's mouth, in his thoughts. He wants to break Fëanor down to his most basic essence, a flame hiding in the body of an elf, and then slowly build him back up again as if feeding a fire on a windy night. Wants to make himself an integral part of the rebuilding so that he can never be erased, never be shoved out. He wants to be fully given what he was always denied—
—Fëanor’s trust. 

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Posted by atlantablack

https://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/node/8751

“You do not have to do this,” Fëanáro murmurs, voice strangely gentle.
Ñolofinwë shrugs, feeling tired to his bones, and completely unwilling to leave Fëanáro's side. He slides the sponge over Fëanáro's shoulders, shifting Fëanáro's hair out of the way so he may run the sponge across the back of his brother's neck. "It is customary, is it not. For one to be prepared for their coronation by their family."
Fëanáro makes a strange noise, half-laughter, half-scoff. “I do not feel this is quite the manner my sons would have helped me prepare,” Fëanáro says dryly.

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