New and Updated Writing

In which Celebrían encounters a satsuma plum, the piercing insight of Finrod Felagund, and the two decide to paint each other’s skin. Or, Celebrían and Finrod do trauma recovery in their own unique way.

Old age creeps upon Tuor, insistent and unsettling, and as sea-longing grows in his heart, Annael guides him on his way.

Curufin lets Finrod say goodbye.

How high a price, not only for words but for blood on holy shores? For smoke on the horizon? For trust and love unyielding, tossed aside in the hours of one dark night? And what, then, the price for unearned forgiveness? For offering the other cheek, for offering to slay kin all over, again, again, again in his name?

“Would you have come with me, if I had asked?” The truth is, Fingon is not sure of the answer. The truth is, he had asked himself, nights on end, what the answer to that question would be. Had asked himself where they had gone so wrong, that he no longer knew.

“Would you have asked, if you were sure of the answer?”

Fingon rescues Maedhros. He and Finrod grapple with the aftermath.

Maedhros watches him for long moments, his eyes cold in the dim light of morning. “If I wanted to talk to you, I would ask, not use my brother to trick you.”

The implication lands like a blow, precise and devastating. Finrod takes another step closer, then stops himself, fists clenching at his sides. Maedhros has ever been like this, to him—every single word eliciting a reaction; making him fly, bringing him low, tearing him open. What a terrible thing to still find it true, so many years and betrayals later.

Once, Fingon and Maedhros had been Finrod's lovers, the past participle of it carrying the sentence. As it turns out, not everything agrees to be relegated so neatly.

“Can I not what?” he asks, at last. “What do you want me to say, Nolvo—oh no, brother, please do not wed, so that we may continue our ill-advised perversion behind closed doors? Do you want me to fuck you slow and gentle, tell you that it has always been you? That I will ruin your wedding and leave my wife, so we may run away to live life—“

Nolofinwë reverses their positions with such force that Fëanáro is slammed into the wood panelling, all air punched out of his lungs. This is more like it; this is how they began, what they know; what is, in the end, all they ever ought to be to each other—Nolofinwë’s features contorted in fury and hurt, Fëanáro baring his teeth like he is just waiting to cause more of the same.

They stay there for a moment, both breathing harshly, a precipice that is only waiting for them to fall.

Fëanor, Fingolfin, and their last night before Fingolfin is to be wed.

His brother has returned for the first time in four hundred years, and Fingon does not want to start a fight. He is glad; he is. It has been so long since there was anyone he called family to lean on. It has been so long since he heard Turgon’s booming laughter, his haughty commentary from beneath his breath that he would deny uttering to anyone but his siblings. Since Fingon thought of his younger brother and felt anything that was simple and fond, rather than complicated, threaded through with resentment, and guilt, and anger that tastes a little too much like regret.

“Findekáno,” Turgon says, and this is the lesson his father never finished teaching—how to swallow the words, and how to keep them off his face, too.

Fingon and Turgon, and their long-awaited reunion at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

From one panting breath to the next, the forest goes silent and empty, its absence like a blow. The shadows lengthen, thicken, turning into a tangible, weighty thing that shivers across Celegorm’s skin. It is silent, and he is alone. The hair on his body stands with dread and shivering anticipation.

He turns still. Against the back of his neck, he can feel hot breath; can feel the presence, wrapping itself around him, both home and threat.

“Do you think you can outrun me?”
 

---

Celegorm refuses to return. Oromë gets inventive about it.

In the war camps of Beleriand, Finarfin assembles the missing pieces of his family’s history; assembles the bits and pieces that make not-regret calcify into something jagged and uncomfortable, where it makes a home beneath his breastbone.

He meets men whose ancestors used to march beneath his son’s banner. Most of their house, too, is decimated now, a strange, hollow kinship that Finarfin wants to flinch from, and that they weather as they bend their knees to him, seeing someone other than Finarfin. He meets victims of his nephews’ terror; meets those who are left of Fingolfin’s people, of Fingon’s, of Turgon’s. Learns how they passed, each of them falling to blazing heroics and bristling despair, and wonders how any of them are ever meant to return from this. How these serrated, brittle remains of a devastated land are meant to be spit out into Aman’s idle serenity, and not break the world all over.

---

Finarfin, the War of Wrath, and the price it demands.

Luthien helps unlock Galadriel's Sight

All written for SWG instadrabbling sessions. Updated in January 2026 with Aredhel.

A little fluffy snowy ficlet.

Maedhros stands at the battlements of Himring and faces Thangorodrim.

As a very young elfling, Mablung's heart chooses its companion, and Mablung stays true to this love until the end of his life in Middle-Earth.

Ingwë, Finwë, Elwë and Olwë each make decisions that change their lives -and Elvish history- forever.
 

(Written for the Teitho-challenge ‘crossroads’ an eternity ago) 

It is a night of joy and anticipation for the royal family of Eglador, for Galadhon and his wife are about to welcome their second child. So while all the family is busy preparing for the new baby's arrival, it falls upon the king himself to put his daughter to bed- his daughter who is adamant that she is not tired at all.
(A friendly nod here to all my German-speaking readers: this story was heavily inspired by one of my favourite children's books "Valerie und die Gute-Nacht-Schaukel" by Mira Lobe. If you know, you know. If not, it is really worth checking out)

Stories about Maedhros and the tribe of Bor:

I Maedhros remembers his encounter with Bor's tribe and the early days of their alliance.

IIa, IIb: After the loss of the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, Bor's granddaughter leads the survivors of her people back into the East.

There is a creaking in his ear, a rumble born low to rise above and beyond and the sound of glass shattering. There is blood on his lips - and shards in his eyes.

His heart 𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠 .

“I 𝑎𝑚 sorry, Atya.”

Maglor still doesn’t know - and it’s 𝑘𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 him.

“I am 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦."

...or another world slowly falling apart as Maglor struggles to Forget-Me-N̶o̶t̶s̶.

Fingon dances in the new year. Maedhros watches, and yearns.

On the day I became a god the darkness of the night sky shone as bright as the future ahead of me - swallowing whole what shan't have been for alms were a currency owned by the rich...

...or a gift too many during the crossing of the Helcaraxë.

On the day of Tuor and Idril's wedding, Maeglin and Voronwë find some common, unstable ground.

Mairon gets a mysterious gift from his best friend's boyfriend during Utumno's celebration of the winter solstice. Chaos ensues. 

Celegorm issues an invitation. Finrod takes him up on it--and proves himself the king that neither of them knew he could be.

A young child of Men befriends Sámaril, the troubled master smith of Imladris. The Noldorin craftsman experiences the joy and pain born of friendships between the Eldar and mortal Men and comes to question his people’s values as his life becomes entwined with Isildur’s youngest son and two powerful women of the Dúnedain. A sequel to The Apprentice.

Chapter 38 - The Crow's Nest:  While Elerina establishes her informal seat of power in Gaillond, thus revealing to Sámaril her former role as Isildur's queen,  the elven-smith quickly becomes bored with trade negotiations and resolution of disputes among the local nobility.  The reminders of Isildur continue to exert a negative effect on Sámaril, causing frustration between the couple.  But Sámaril also begins to dream of the Sea, which sparks a desire to take ship out on to the open waters, ostensibly to learn more about the working men of the Númenórean exiles.   He finds the ship on which he wishes to sail and meets its captain.  

Fëanor watches from the Halls.