New and Updated Writing

Maedhros had not intended any of this.

The thought came to him as he watched the sleeping children snuggled under their blankets with the red light of the hearth fire against the softness of their cheeks, their dark heads just over the top of the blankets.

The smaller one snuffled and rubbed his nose in his sleep and Maedhros automatically smoothed his hand over the warm dark head and hummed the lullaby he had hummed over countless ages to other small boys. All dead now but one.

And this was not life. 

No. He had not intended this.

His stump itched and he scratched it carelessly; it did that when he remembered.

Companion piece to Erinyator. Elrond, son and father.

But if he did not speak, then who would remember? If he did not tell them, his children would not know how much HE owed to Maglor, Maedhros. And he could not have his children think so badly of them.

So he nestled Elrohir’s head against his shoulder and began. ‘Once, long long ago, there were two small boys, twins…’

‘Like Elladan and me.’

Celebrimbor and Narvi have a good day where only nice things happen! No plot, just an Elf and a Dwarf being happy and making shiny things. Written for the All The Nice Things flash exchange.

The departure from Dorthonion, as seen through the eyes of the child Rían.

Even in blissful Aman, Celebrimbor makes swords. (Drabble.)

Níniel's hands remember, when her mind does not.

A woman of the Faithful is heartbroken to learn that her beloved Inzilbêth will be forced to marry the king Ar-Gimilzôr.

After Lalaith's death, Morwen refuses to weep.

Passing headlights sweep across the wall, yellow and striped through the blinds. In the distance a siren wails, and in the dark, quiet hotel room they lie facing each other, each curled toward the other like parentheses, with thousands of years of history tucked between them.

One drabble per Finwëan. Currently on first and second generations.

Fëanáro dies, and the rest live, coated in his ashes.

It was only the second time Finwë had come out foraging with them, and of course this would happen—of course the Hunter would come, the Dark Rider on his steed with its terrible, heavy footfalls, and the deep-throated laughter that held no mirth, only malice. 

In the dark woods near the Waters of Awakening, Finwë's brothers are taken.

In Valinor, when the Trees wither, Finwë is slain.

In the Fourth Age, things take place long thought impossible.

Gelmir (the brother of Gwindor) arrives in Mandos, hurting and bewildered and still blind. But there is help and comfort to be found - and to give.

a collection of drabbles and mini ficlets in the meanwhile the world goes on 'verse that aren't long enough to stand on their own

“Come on.” Maedhros grabbed his hand and pulled him along down the path, both of them quickening their pace now, until the trees opened up into a wide meadow filled with flowers, bright yellow celandine and dandelions and sweet-scented pale chamomile mingling with cornflowers and irises. On the other side of it was a larger party than Maglor had ever seen in Lórien—five figures sitting in the grass. Huan barked again, and they all looked up. “It seems everyone has come to fetch us home,” Maedhros said, laughing, as all their brothers scrambled to their feet.

After years in Lórien, Maglor and Maedhros are ready to return to their family and to make something new with their lives--but to move forward, all of Fëanor's sons must decide how, or if, they can ever reconcile with their father.

Elwing reckons with the passage of time.

Everyone, including the Valar, are convinced that Fingon and Maedhros are romantically involved no matter how many times they explain that they very much are not. When will they get it through their thick skulls that there are other ways to love? Apparently not soon enough. When the Valar decide to involve Maedhros and Fingon in their meddling, it leads to some interesting circumstances.

A queerplatonic take on Maedhros and Fingon's relationship for Russingon Week, with some Gil-Galad parentage exploration for fun.

Finrod and Bëor stop for a while on the road to Nargothrond to rest. The bodies of the Secondborn often grow weary, and Finrod laments, massaging Bëor's back and renewing his beloved's vigor with the work of his hands. But Finrod has other burdens of his own, Bëor soon discovers, returning Finrod's favor in the best way he knows how.

Maglor without Maedhros, Daeron without Lúthien. Alone, they are nothing, but together, they can be something more.
Where do you turn, when you have no one else left?

Written for Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2023, featuring artwork by athlai.

Brief scenes of the love between a Sindarin Elf of Nevrast and a Noldo follower of Turgon: meeting and parting in the midst of loss, betrayal, and war. (A double drabble poem, a prose-poem, and four ficlets.)

Turgon cannot be above the law. 

Haleth leaves to find her brother, even though her father does not permit her to.

King Finwë of the Noldor was not the only one who died that day.

Celegorm is on his way to do something that only his closest and trusted has knowledge of.