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Out of the Woods by lotrfan General Audiences
Summary: Oropher receives word regarding the mustering of the armies of the Last Alliance and Thranduil confronts his doubts...
Don't wanna fight this War by mangacrack Mature
The last Elves of Middle Earth sail to Valinor. With them is one of the few people Fëanor claimed to be his friend.
The Ways of Paradox by Narya Teen
How do you pass the time when you know you're facing eternity? Maglor agrees to appear in a student production of The...
Bedtime by Narya General Audiences
Maglor is away on a trip and Maedhros has been left with the children. He isn't sure he's up to the task.
A Nameless Fear by Gabriel Teen
The King of the Woodland Realm has a secret, something he both fears and despises. When a more fouler evil is discovered...
I'll be Yours if You'll be Mine by NelyafinweFeanorion Teen
Modern setting AU. Maedhros/Fingon. Maedhros owns a bookstore. Fingon is in grad school. Expect appearances from varied members...
Comfort and Joy by Narya Mature
It's the festive season in Gondolin, and Voronwë finds himself intrigued by the Captain of the Guard of the Secret Way.

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Shoutbox

Spiced Wine
09/24/18 10:14 am
I would just choose whichever you want then, Gabriel. It’s what I tend to do when there is no clear answer
Gabriel
09/24/18 06:31 am
I have tried to look for it on other sites, but they have given two time frames which is a little confusing. One in the S.A. the other in the T.A.
Gabriel
09/24/18 06:24 am
I have a little question to ask. totally off the subject. Does anyone know when Bree was built? Was it up and running when Gil galad was king of the Noldor and Celebrimbor was in Eregion?
Gabriel
09/24/18 02:45 am
Okay. If its not too much trouble. Thank you Spiced. :)
Spiced Wine
09/23/18 11:53 am
It’s not a problem, I shall just go in and edit the announcement
Gabriel
09/23/18 07:31 am
Besides, I don't want you having to go out of your way just to add me to the list. But thank you for offering. :)
Gabriel
09/23/18 07:27 am
I don't want to be a bother, Spiced. I think I'll just wait till my other fic has done its dash in the recents list and post the SinS after it. Its no problem.
Spiced Wine
09/22/18 02:44 pm
But I can definitely add it for you
Spiced Wine
09/22/18 02:44 pm
I can add it, Gabriel, but only using a keyboard and iPad I cannot hotlink it I have no mouse, and everything is a pain in the neck
Gabriel
09/22/18 01:00 pm
Not to worry Spiced! It was my fault for not submitting it in time. That's the consequences I guess. :)
Shout Archive


A Dawn Of Many Colors by Pink Siamese

Story notes:

A note on languages: All of the languages you see in this story are either based on Tolkien's constructed languages or are based upon languages of my own creation. Any resemblance to real languages is completely and totally coincidental.

This story has long outgrown the Tolkienverse and now contains references to Tolkien himself, C.S. Lewis and the Chronicles of Narnia, Stephen King's Dark Tower series, H. P. Lovecraft and his Cthulhu Mythos, and Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poem Kubla Khan, among others. While it's not strictly a crossover, the story depends on these elements to function, so it only seems right that I acknowledge them here.

UPDATE - As of 26 June 2018, I am retiring from fandom. I'd like to thank everyone for your unflagging support over the years.




I could start at the beginning: I got up that morning, ate a homely breakfast of oatmeal and fruit, went to school, daydreamed about my Archaeology professor, ate lunch while giggling with some women from my Archaeology class, went out onto the grounds to do my homework and take advantage of the gorgeousness of the day—it was autumn and crisp, the sky a perfect blue backdrop to the riotous red change of leaves, and the air smelled fresh and dark, like well-turned earth—but the beginning is boring, as beginnings often are. You yourself have lived a hundred such beginnings.

I will give a brief description and history of the grounds. Given what has happened to me, the history has made the leap from quaint to sinister: the grounds are rolling and green, thick with trees and populated with secret trails. There’s a stream that sprouts up somewhere in the middle of all that verdure and flows out through a cleft in the low hills until it reaches a giant culvert. The culvert directs the busy waters to a muddy eddy in the local river. In the early 1980s the administration put a huge screen over the culvert to prevent drunk Uni students from using it as a waterslide. The groundskeepers are always cleaning clots of string bikinis and rejected boxer shorts out of that same grate; the stream cascades in a waterfall and fills up a deep clear pool before continuing its roar to the culvert. The land came as part of a bequest, the legacy of an old man in an oil painting that hangs in the building named after him. I think often now of that portrait and wonder at the tilt in the old man’s smile. He knew something about all of this, the crafty bastard.

I’d heard the stories. Everyone heard the stories. They were as part of the initiation into college life as keg parties and cram sessions. The student folklorists picked them apart with an avidity reserved for teenage fangirls. Those who followed the course of the stream up to the pool and had their drunken bonfire parties told their silly stories, but with a tinge of uncertainty: the one girl who was sure there were long-robed ghosts watching her in the woods, the guy who heard a bunch of men muttering in a guttural language, the unexplained lights flickering through distant trees. Archaeology students and Criminal Justice majors made forays into the woods by day, attempting to investigate the sources of nighttime disturbances. Linguistics students did their best to unravel approximations of the overheard languages. All of them looked for traces of fires, disturbed earth, fibers and fallen buttons that might’ve been left behind. Parapsychology majors left tape recorders and video cameras rigged up in the branches overnight. Most of the stories got laughed off and blamed on the interference of alcohol and psychedelic drugs. I laughed them off.

I’m not laughing now.

I’ll begin with the action. That’s the part you want to read. How I, a nice girl, ended up in a place like this—Middle-fuckin-earth.

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