New and Updated Fiction

Hope is a weapon. Hope is a skill.

or, the art of not giving up in the face of the impossible, as seen through the eyes of fifteen people living in First Age Beleriand.

16 perfect 100 words drabbles, exploring this concept.

Fingolfin is confused by the rumors that spread through the elven settlements of Beleriand like a wildfire. So is his daughter found and alive, or not? And what is this utter poppycock about Celegorm getting pregnant?

The birth of Tylekormo Turkafinwë had been a joyous occasion.

But a memorable one.

The enchantments woven into the woods of Nan Emloth are nothing compared to maternal love.

And so, Aredhel grabs Lómion and runs.

The enchantments woven into the woods of Nan Emloth are nothing compared to the grief of knowing you could had saved your loved one.

And so, Celegorm waits.

Ecthelion had not shared Glorfindel's uncertainty, then—but it does not seem unreasonable now, nor so difficult to understand.

Ecthelion, Glorfindel, and post-Nirnaeth doubt.

If she's being honest, she's not yet quite sure why she's still a bit surprised that Caranthir has agreed to be here with her, just this once.

Caranthir, Haleth, and an early summer celebration.

It happens - as always - with no semblance of warning. The ice groans, then shifts, and a channel of dark, swiftly-churning water cleaves open beneath their feet.

Elu Thingol trips over Melian while trying to avoid her dancing, and ends up visiting Greenwood the Great for a short enough time that he does no harm (except to spiders and Thranduil's wine cellar).

“He is my brother,” Ñolofinwë says once more, willing her to understand. “He is half of me. What is a fëa worth if half of itself is gone?”

Ñolofinwë is scared that if he takes all that his brother is, and unravels the braid, takes out all of the love, winds what’s left back together — he is so terribly afraid that it will turn into a bitter hatred so dark and violent it may finally rival his brother’s.

He cannot risk that. He cannot. Better to die with love in his heart than live and become an angry, bitter version of himself.

Or: Ñolofinwë begins coughing up flowers and Fëanáro learns that hatred does not erase the duties of a brother.

Maedhros has received an invitation to one of Elu Thingol's exclusive charity galas. She opts to take her sister as a plus-one. She'll probably regret that.

Tuor finds moving through the snow more difficult than Voronwë does

For September 2025 instadrabbling

A collection of drabbles primarily featuring male characters from the Legendarium

“If I did not know better,” he says in a low voice, patience frayed thin, “so close do you insist on being to me, that were you anyone else, I would think you are trying to seduce me.” 

Ñolofinwë blinks up at him, eyes hazy and unfocused and so very, very blue. “Would it work if I were?” Ñolofinwë asks in the tone of one who is trying very hard to focus.  

Fëanáro stares. Locks his jaw and does not allow his mouth to drop open in shock. "I know you are drunk, but do be serious, Ñolofinwë," he snaps after a tense moment of indecision on how to respond to such an absurd statement. "You cannot seduce those you share blood with, no matter how little it may be."

“Should not,” Ñolofinwë says promptly, one hand coming up to clutch at Fëanáro’s shirt. “You should not seduce kin. But it is possible if one wishes to.” 

“Melian had but a moment’s warning ere her entire world was violently turned upside down. Maintaining the Girdle came naturally to her these days, without needing her conscious thought or effort. She kept away whoever had no business being in Doriath, shut out the voices and mental attacks that Mairon would hurl at her, hardly noticing that she was doing it at all.

This, however, was different. Very, very different.”

Or: how things might have gone had Morgoth run out of patience waiting for Doriath’s fall. 

Long afterwards, Elemmire speaks to a stranger about his most well-known work, the lament for the Two Trees.

Finarfin makes it a rule for his life to stay as far from Tirion and the mess that is his brothers, but during an important festival the house of Finwë gathers to celebrate together.  As he tries to cope with the resulting headache, he helps Finrod make a new friend.

"In the days of the peace before Melkor broke the Siege of Angband, Finrod would often visit Andreth, whom he loved in great friendship." -- Athrabeth Finrod Ah Andreth

A slice of life chance (?) meeting of Finrod and Andreth on the dance floor of a nightclub in a WW2 AU. Written for the Swinging 40's stamp challenge on the song prompt of "Why Don't You Do Right?" 

A soldier in Elendil's army and the last High King of the Elves strike up an unusual friendship under the light of the stars.

Three intrepid stellar explorers witness a crack in the edge of the universe and are guided by an ancient spirit animating an automaton to a strange and unexpected place where they hope to rescue their kidnapped cat. A cat who may hold the future--or its inevitable end--in his far-too-ancient paws.

This was originally written for a Teitho-contest some time ago, and now it’s time for this to go on the SWG as well. (Currently in the process of transferring my works from AO3 to SWG)

Some time after Beren and Lúthien return to life and leave Doriath for good, Elmo manages to convince his brother to accompany him to a little lake that had, in the starlit years, been *their* place.

Celebrimbor can't abandon the project on the Three.

THEY ARE NOT IN LOVE!

Tuor and Voronwë encounter Túrin at Ivrin. Hurt and not much comfort (but they try).

Argon, my sweet, foolish, impetuous youngest brother, ran ahead. I found him, you know, before he died. 
Fingon remembers the first rising of the Moon and Sun, mourns his youngest brother and resolves that his cousin will not share Argon's fate.

Two drabbles about re-embodied Elves in Valinor. Chapter 1: Maeglin. Chapter 2: Celebrimbor.