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    Summary

    Findecáno finds him chained. Worse, he finds him torn by darkness - the Foe's roots drinking deeply inside.

    So Findecáno Sings. He battles, grabs victory from the jaws of grief. He moves in and fills the emptied gaps.

    This is not a good thing.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    1,834
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Collections:
    1
    Comments:
    51
    Kudos:
    113
    Bookmarks:
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  2. 18 Aug 2026

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    Bookmark Notes:

    Gorgeously written fucked up horror

  3. 28 Jul 2026

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  4. 12 Feb 2026

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  5. 14 Dec 2025

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  6. 27 Nov 2025

    Rec

    Bookmark Notes:

    Reclamation by LeetheVix
    Findecáno finds him chained. Worse, he finds him torn by darkness - the Foe's roots drinking deeply inside.

    So Findecáno Sings. He battles, grabs victory from the jaws of grief. He moves in and fills the emptied gaps.

    This is not a good thing.

    ///
    Without stitches of valour to pull the wound a little closed, without a deed to teach them shame again, they would spill kinsblood long afore the Dark Foe cleave them.
    ///
    Shaking and pale, the Fëanárion bled his personhood across the Music.
    ///
    But Findecáno had lost too much already, and rage seared off his wisdom.
    ///
    So then— blessed be the distance, and holy be the war.
    ///
    What use letters of friendship and stern demand? More eloquent yet croon the blades.

  7. 21 Nov 2025

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  8. 07 Nov 2025

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  9. 03 Nov 2025

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    Fingon takes control of Maedhros with song accidentally ghoul he kills elros and elrond The Eldar are careful, these days, when they Sing.

    And Celebrimbor, Lord of Imladris, would not his offspring wander too far off into the yonder wilds. He knows what crawls therein. If Macalaurë might have drowned himself in protest and in guilt, and effaced himself into the arms of Ulmo, Nelyafinwë knows no guilt, and is a man effaced a'ready. The fiend trawls the peaks and slays the Orcish raiders, would butcher no less gladly all else it might encounter, and no recognition would flash behind its white-void glare. It bumbles on, knowing only that the Light chars its twisted hand, and, mayhap, that it seeks a half-forgotten Song, and calls, and calls, and calls.

    And never gets an answer.

  10. 03 Nov 2025

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  11. 03 Nov 2025

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  12. 03 Nov 2025

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  13. 02 Nov 2025

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  14. 02 Nov 2025

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