#hewerofcaves

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

We Shall Be Monsters

She mixed her paints, experimented with them again and again until she achieved the precise hues of Fëanáro’s skin and hair. She made new paintbrushes from the finest sable fur, from the coarse hog bristle, and from the softest goat hair. She painted Fëanáro with the utmost care, bringing him to life with her brushstrokes so faithfully that at times even she was deceived, even she had a passing thought that the statue’s chest rose and fell.

---

“Do you fault me,” Maedhros asked, “for doing this?”

“You gave me life again,” Fingon said.

“Did you desire it?”

“What use is it to ruminate over what is already done? Did I ask you if you desired to live? No, you told me you did not, yet I did not heed your wish. I refused to allow you to die. How can I reproach you for doing the same?”

---

They said Finwë did not wish to walk among the living again. They said he could not even if he did wish it. But Thingol had been wedded to Melian the Maia. During the nights spent under the shade of beech trees, during their leisurely walks along the Esgalduin, during the hours they spent closed in one or another hall of Menegroth, Melian had revealed to him the mysteries of Eä, secrets no other Elda had been privy to or would ever be.

Three stories about three elves who are determined to bring their loved ones back from the dead.

Written for @tolkienrsb

Art and banner: @i-did-not-mean-to / i_did_not_mean_to

Please click HERE to see the original artwork and the additional ones.

Fic: @zealouswerewolfcollector / HewerOfCaves

Rating: E

Warnings: Major character death, horror, body horror, gore, dubious consent, suicide, sex with a body without a fëa

Relationships: Fëanor/Nerdanel, Maedhros/Fingon, Finwë/Thingol

Characters: Nerdanel, Maedhros, Fingon, Thingol, Finwë

Word count: 11115

[i-did-not-mean-to]

One more time

This is my second art for TRSB 2025. @tolkienrsb

For this potentially dark and angsty necromancy prompt, @zealouswerewolfcollector has written a story. And I'm very much looking forward to it.

-> We Shall Be Monsters

Please, be excited along with me. As always, the link shall go live as soon as the collection is revealed.

And...if you want a peek at the additional arts, they're under the break (but for explanations, you'll have to read the fic :p)

[caffeineheroes]

“Once a word leaves your mouth, it is no longer yours. It may fall on barren earth; it may grow into a weed or into a fruit tree."

--Maedhros to Fingon in Peculiar Spiritual Connection by HewerofCaves

[melestasflight]

Fire

a New Year's gift for @zealouswerewolfcollector

‘You sound quite like my father,’ Curufin tells him. Fingon shoots back a dark look, but his cousin smiles pleasantly, ‘It is a compliment. There is power in your voice, the people will heed your words.’

On love, Balrogs, and two Kings of the Noldor.

Read on AO3

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

First Light

Written for @naarisz's incredible artwork

382 words, T

On Ao3

From the highest balcony of his tower, the entire city spreads before Turgon, hidden in the giant palm of the Echoriad. Turgon watches, still under the enchantment of his dreams - disquieting yet comforting at the same time. It is still dark outside. The twilight before the sunrise has scarcely begun, yet Gondolin is awake, alive, her streets full of movement. Dozens of torches flow to the walls like distant reflections of twinkling stars in a river.

In his dream, Turgon walked along the white streets of Gondolin with Finwë his grandfather. In his dream, Finwë picked up Eärendil Turgon’s grandson and carried him to the Mindon Eldaliéva to show him the Blessed Lands. In his dream, Eärendil wept over the ruins of Tirion the Fair.

Eärendil must be sleeping still, having taken after the Mannish ways of his father. But Idril will rouse him with the first rays of the sun and take him to the walls where all of Gondolin will already be gathered for the festival. Turgon shall join his family – all that remains of it. His daughter, his law-son, his grandson and his sister-son.

In his dream, he welcomed Anairë his mother to his tower. In his dream, Indis his grandmother wove Idril's golden hair into regal plaits for the festival. In his dream, Elenwë fell from the walls of Gondolin to her death.

His father's cairn is hidden behind dark clouds, but Turgon knows exactly where it is and turns his gaze to it. After the sunrise, he and his daughter will pay a visit to him and Aredhel, while the rest of the city celebrates. It has been their tradition for over a hundred years.

In his dream, Aredhel his sister rode in green fields, her white steed disappearing amid high grass. In his dream, Maeglin stood on the walls of Tirion and reached for his mother. In his dream, he buried his grandfather Finwë at the top of a mountain, next to Fingolfin his son.

The first light flickers but not in the east. Turgon grips the railing and closes his eyes for a moment. But when he opens them again, nothing has changed. The northern lights swiftly approach as in the east the sun rises for the last time over the hidden city of Gondolin.

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

Dawn

Insipred by this gorgeous Fingon collage by @sallysavestheday

409 words, G

On Ao3

The creaking ice makes no sound as Fingon slips away from the camp, quiet as a shadow. Most people are sleeping outside, silver-painted, unwilling to part from light. They are gathering strength for the last stretch of the journey, so Fingon passes amid them unnoticed even under the soft light.

He walks to a small frozen pool, the ice cover winking at him. He puts down his pack, sits on the edge and stares into the wide expanse of the Helcaraxë they will soon leave behind. He uncovers his head and lets his tightly bound hair loose. Then with the patience the Ice has taught him, he puts them in many braids. In his pack, he has all the ribbons and ornaments he has been able to save to this day. One by one, he winds the ribbons around his plaits, adornes them with the few pieces of golden jewelry he has. 

When his braids are done, he takes his sword, taps the hilt against the ice over the pool and finds the weakest place. Unsheathing his sword, he plunges it into the ice, and it cracks and breaks. Fingon brings the sword down a few more times until the pool is covered in many fragmented ice pieces. He puts the sword away and begins to undress. 

Slowly, keeping his breathing even, trying to soak up warmth from the moon rolling above him, from the inner fire of his fëa, from Middle-earth behind him, he removes layer after layer until he stands stark naked among ice and snow.

He takes a step to the pool, then another, gasps when he touches the water but does not stop, keeps walking forward. Soon the water is up to his knees, then to his waist, then to his neck. He takes a deep breath and sinks beneath the freezing water.

He closes his eyes, allows himself to simply exist for a moment in the dark - weightless, unburdened. He floats underwater, untwists his thoughts, leaves his ice to the Ice. 

Then he emerges, renewed, hair dripping, the gold glistening in his locks. The jewelry clinks and sings an old song he has almost forgotten. He smiles, no longer cold. Content, he turns his back to the Helcaraxë. Ahead, three peaks shoot up to the stars.

There is still time until he must go back. Unhurriedly, he drifts along the broken shards of ice and gazes at Middle-earth. Behind him, the first sun flowers.

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

Now a Quill, Now a Sword

Findekáno could see him writing this letter as clearly as if Maitimo were before him. Sitting with his back straight, head tilted a little, the fingers of his left hand drumming on the table as he pondered over the words. Findekáno could see him opening one of Elemmírë’s poetry books that he always kept on his desk to make sure he had not quoted her poem erroneously, even though he knew all of her works by heart. Findekáno could see Maitimo’s meticulously and richly embroidered sleeve smearing the ink on the sheet. Maitimo would huff in annoyance and roll his sleeves back, then start writing the letter anew. His letters had to be perfect without mistakes or marks.

Maedhros and Fingon's relationship from Valinor to Beleriand told through a series of letters

Link to the fic

Written for @tolkienrsb

Art: @melestasflight/ Melesta

See additional art made by melesta HERE

Story: HewerOfCaves / @zealouswerewolfcollector​

Rating: T

Warnings: Major character death

Relationships: Maedhros/Fingon

Characters: Maedhros, Fingon

Word Count: 11817

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

Lady Makalaurë Fëanáriel Dying of Poison, Late Second Age, Artist Unknown

Maglor began searching for nearby uninhabited planets – somewhere she could go after she had taken care of the wound. Preferably one she hadn’t been to yet. That was her system – fly through the stars until she was almost out of fuel, then disappear on an inhabited planet. Fuel could usually be found at her temporary homes. She went back to civilization only if Bathor needed spare parts, trying to keep to black markets on far away systems where her face wasn’t recognized and her name was only a distant legend.

The radar showed two habitable unpopulated planets that were new to Maglor, farther than she had ever gone. Usually, she chose the one with the more extreme conditions, betting against herself on her chances of survival.

The last time she had done it, she had stumbled upon the very thing that had almost gotten her killed.

Alone in her starship, Maglor wanders the stars away from the Middle-earth system until circumstances force her to return.

Link to the fic

Written for @tolkienrsb

Art: @independence1776 / Independence1776

See the full artwork on Ao3 / on SWG

Story: HewerOfCaves / @zealouswerewolfcollector​

Rating: T

Warnings: Referenced suicide and character death

Relationships: past Maglor/Maglor's wife

Characters: Maglor, Maglor's wife, OFC, Elrond

Word Count: 8671