That's a wrap for Arafinwëan Week 2026! Thank you so much to everyone who participated! We had so many fantastic creations this year. Please take a look through the blog and the AO3 collection if you haven't had a chance to yet!
I've added all of the tagged posts to the queue. There are still 14 posts left in the queue (from Friday onwards), so if you've posted something since then, it'll be reblogged in the next couple days. If you posted something before that and haven't seen it reblogged yet, please let me know.
If you still have something you'd like to share (I still have a few pieces to post myself), I'll be checking the event tags for the next few weeks. After that, please tag this blog in the body of your post. The AO3 collection will remain open.
And as always, feel free to tag this blog in any Arafinwëan works throughout the year. I'm happy to boost them!
That's right, Esoteric Tolkien Week, your center for all things strange, mystical, inexplicable, and unfathomed in Arda and beyond, is back for round two! We are open to all types and ratings of fanwork, and are eager to welcome returners and new faces alike. A few bits of useful tattle for the moment:
Further information and event guidelines can be found here
Prompts will be released by the end of the month (March 31st, 2026)
Event planned to run July 13th - 19th, 2026
An ao3 collection will open closer to the run date—if you have any work hanging around that you'd like to submit now, or just want to get inspired, you can find the small but mighty 2025 collection here
And that's about it for now! Feel free to jump in the askbox with any burning questions you come up with in the meantime, or any other words that need sharing.
Looking forward to creating with you again in this second lap of ours 💫 Welcome, or welcome back.
Hello everyone! The poll results are out. Celedriel Week 2026 will run from July 14-20! Prompts to follow. I look forward to seeing everyone's submissions!
Okay, this is a straggler from Arafinwëan Week—I (correctly) assumed that I would not be able to get it completed in time, but this is what I originally had planned for Celebrían’s entry! 😊
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Title: Your Insides Are Wild
Characters: Celebrían, Elwing
Tags: Aftermath of Torture/Implied Torture, Angst, Captivity, Grief/Mourning
Word Count: 1.3k
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Summary:
"The bird tilts its head and watches her with a terrible steadiness, and a thought takes root in her.
Death has found me.
And in that terrible moment she is certain that she will fade.
Not die—dying is simple and fading is different, she has been told. It is to be so diminished by grief and terror and the slow, meticulous ruin of pain that you slip loose of yourself and cannot find your way back."
...
Celebrían is comforted during her ordeal.
Summary: Galadriel learns to break and to lay bare (written for @arafinwean-week day 4: Galadriel + preserving and protecting and @tolkienwomensweek day 2: spells).
Rating: G
Word Count: 1.1k
“To build,” Melian says, “we must begin by breaking.” She speaks softly, but her voice seems to echo upon the walls of the cavern in a deep hum that tingles upon Galadriel’s skin and stirs within her bones.
They stand in the heart of Menegroth, in its deepest cavern delved deep beneath the roots of the throne, where none come but those chosen by the queen, for it is here where Melian first wove the Girdle into being, here in the heart of the kingdom.
Great pillars gird the Queen’s Pool, delved in the center of the cavern. It is a deep pool, fed from an aquifer far below, but its surface is still and dark. Strange, pale fish flash beneath its surface, only glimpsed out of the corner of Galadriel’s eye.
Melian points to the nearest of the pillars, carved in the likeness of a beech. Its branches arch overhead, lost in the dark pools that gather above the hanging lamps. Even here, far beneath the world of sunlight above, nightingales sing in their stone bowers high above. “Find the roots of this pillar and wrest them from their foundations,” she says.
Galadriel extends her thought, seeking. But her mind skitters, as if striking glass. Again and again she casts her thought, delving. But her mind strikes stone.
"Celebrían often steels herself to recount the caves, the gaping holes in her head that keep her awake and uneasy, taking care to make them traversable for the listener, and they still look back at her as though she's just described the weather, as though she’d said nothing at all. The light stories reveal themselves as heavy. The heavy ones evaporate into meaninglessness. Why speak at all? Perhaps this is the reason for all the sexual dysfunction in Valinor: nobody knows how to carry their history. This, of course, is common when one has inherited too much: one rushes through the telling, or apologises before reaching the point, conscious that everything they have survived sounds implausible or excessive. It is unbearable to be listened to with carefully deferential attention, translated into something the world can stand to hear. Yet more unbearable is to not be heard at all."
Okay, back to the fun and sprightly illustration style for a combined @arafinwean-week + @tolkienwomensweek entry of the ever-cheeky Celebrían my forever beloved who cannot shut the fuck up, with the short hairstyle I always draw her sporting in Valinor. Featuring a quote from my stocking fic, in which Cel also muses as to whether, as a daughter of Galadriel, her pubes count as 'treelit-by-inheritance'. Speedpaint here.
(also, i made a little website for my art+commissions, where you can also see my current commissions queue and where you would be on it... mostly for the realistic 'oil' portraits, but there's a few of these illustrations as well, eg. the Valinor!Elrond pair to the Cel here - do have a look!)
Tags: Minas Tirith, Tol-in-Gaurhoth, Angst, Character Study, POV Multiple (Finrod, Galadriel, Finduilas, Fingon, Celegorm, Thuringwethil, and Lúthien), No Beta (please be kind about my many mistakes)
Word Count: 7.6k
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Summary:
“Oh,” Fingon says instantly, “If you truly think I am huge, I must tell you about my friend.”
Finduilas pauses, suspicious. “You have a friend?”
“Cruel. I have many friends.”
“Name them then,” she demands.
“You know,” Fingon ignores her words, “my friend is even taller than I am.”
Slowly, she draws back to stare at his face with pure disbelief, as if he has announced that the moon has moved.
“No,” she says, flat as a door shutting.
...
Minas Tirith has seen countless visitors.
Former Contents of the Jewelry Box of Finrod, King of Nargothrond
Compiled by Celebrimbor, his cousin, in the years after the Fall of Nargothrond and before the sack of Ost-in-Edhil, and Galadriel, his sister, in the Second and Third Ages.
(For @arafinwean-week day 2: Finrod and a little bit of day 6: crafting and creating.)
A pair of earrings in the shapes of twining snakes, wrought of hammered gold and set with emeralds, given to him by Findis, his aunt, and brought across the Ice. Lost in the Fall of Nargothrond.
A collection of pearls fished by himself from the Bay of Eldamar and brought across the Ice, gifted in part to Celebrimbor to be used in smithwork. (Note: I set some of the pearls in rings and necklaces that I gifted to Finrod, who then, as was his wont with all of his possessions, gifted them freely to allies and vassals in thanks for their friendship. I presume many were lost during the Fall of Nargothrond or the many other disasters that befell the Eldar and Edain in the First Age, and if not then, then during the sinking of Beleriand. — Celebrimbor, S. A. 12)
A ring set with pearls and lacework of silver, wrought and crafted by his own hands, intended for Amarië, that he brought across the Ice in memory of her. Given to Aegnor, in hope that he might make use of it, and returned in the years before the Bragollach. Presumed lost, either in the dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth or during the Fall of Nargothrond.
The Nauglamír, crafted by the Dwarves of Nogrod and Belegost and set with many gems that Finrod brought over the Ice, of which came surpassing woe. It was last in the possession of Elwing, but its fate is unknown.
A necklace of pearls once given to him by Olwë, brought across the Ice and given to Thingol, in gratitude for receiving him and his brothers and sister and for counting them blameless in the misdeeds of the Noldor. Presumed lost during the Fall of Doriath.
Sunlight in a Jar of Tea, a @silmarillionstockings gift for @that-angry-noldo and just in time for @arafinwean-week
After more than three hundred years of living where the Sun's rising announces each new day, Finrod finds he is still unused to her light. To that sharp, merciless shine, so unlike Laurelin’s gold. He cannot stand to be exposed to it too long, to feel how those rays put on display every little scar and notch earned upon the Ice, the dullness of his hair and skin, the beauty he shall never regain again.
He finds himself fleeing the light, over and over again, until that evening he stumbles upon Balan’s people and falls under some enchantment unknown to him.
Beings of marvel these scions of the Sun are, Finrod discovers; how they rejoice when Arien’s flame roars stronger, beckoning them to leave their huts, to move about faster, freer, like a colony of reawakened bees ready to taste the juices of early flowers. And Balan, at the center of that colony like a queen bee, brightest of them all, and closest to Finrod’s heart.
He stays by them longer than he had planned, spending his days observing their peculiarities, their curious customs, like Balan’s jars full of dark dandelion tea, steeping in the Sun.
“I could conjure a Song of Fire, dear friend,” Finrod tells him while they still linger on the borders of Ossiriand. “And so we do not offend our hosts, but your tea might brew stronger.”
“Why would I use fire? The Sun does this work just as well and does not ask for a price in return.” There’s laughter in Balan's voice as he says so. Then, mischief begins creeping in the corner of his eyes. “In truth, I’m rather lazy to light a fire when it is so warm outside. Oh, do not look so stunned, Nóm, my kind values the joy of doing nothing at all!”
For all that Balan’s people call him Wise, it is he who steals wisdom from them. Balan is right, Arien’s light is a blessing undeserved. She had come for them, for the younger children, not for him, an exile, a son of ancient doom.
And yet, and yet. Beside these strange people, Finrod learns to let himself steep in the warmth like Balan’s dandelions, his limbs slackening, his skin heating up delightfully. For the first time, he is loath to return to Nargothrond and its deep twilight beneath the mountain.
---
A fragment of memory. A moment that survives the destruction and the remaking of the body, and the long trials of Námo’s Halls.
As he re-enters the world of the living, Finrod remembers. The green woods of Ossiriand. A wooden harp. Dandelions in jars. Balan’s smile. Those same grey eyes shining at him with Beren’s face. A life well lived.
Finrod steps into Arien’s light and lifts his face to her warmth.
@arafinweanweek day seven | later generations | elladan and elrohir
‘And have you marked the brethren Elladan and Elrohir? Less sombre is their gear than the others’, and they are fair and gallant as Elven-lords; and that is not to be wondered at in the sons of Elrond of Rivendell.’
—The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, “The Passing of the Grey Company”
@arafinwean-week day seven | later generations | daughters of finduilas
To Finduilas and Gwindor, once of Nargothrond, were born two daughters in Valinor, mending their griefs of old: Alwedeth and Calemir, fair princesses of Arafinwë’s line, and they were kind and clever and brought their parents much joy.
@arafinwean-week day seven | later generations | arwen
But the Queen Arwen said: ‘A gift I will give you. For I am the daughter of Elrond. I shall not go with him now when he departs to the Havens; for mine is the choice of Lúthien, and as she so have I chosen, both the sweet and the bitter. But in my stead you shall go, Ring-bearer, when the time comes, and if you then desire it. If your hurts grieve you still and the memory of your burden is heavy, then you may pass into the West, until all your wounds and weariness are healed. But wear this now in memory of Elfstone and Evenstar with whom your life has been woven!’
And she took a white gem like a star that lay upon her breast hanging upon a silver chain, and she set the chain about Frodo’s neck. ‘When the memory of the fear and the darkness troubles you,’ she said, ‘this will bring you aid.’
—The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, “Many Partings”
I'm moving today so I don't have the bandwidth to remember to post anything on ao3, but I can schedule a post to offer you my finrod playlist to cap off @arafinwean-week. best listened to in order. okay bye
Summary: Learning she's going to be an older sister would hard enough to process. The political implications behind it make it worse
Author's note: Another Finduilas piece! This one isn't even sad (there's some frustration but no tragedy)! And with this I wrap up my works for @arafinwean-week, it's been so fun! Inspired by this ask sent by @hobbitwrangler (I do have something about her and her mother interacting but I couldn't finish it in time)
AO3 Link
“Are you sure you should be hiding out here?” Of course he was the one to find her. She had been running to this hiding spot since they were kids.
“I’m the Steward’s daughter, I think that gives me leave to hide out wherever I please in my father’s citadel.” Was it childish of her to pull rank like that? Yes, of course it was, especially when he had probably been sent out to look for her by her father.
Gwindor took a seat on the ground next to her. “I never said you couldn’t, I just mean that this might not be the most structurally sound hiding spot to have ever existed.” He chuckles, “I’m pretty sure that section of wall above us is just one bad storm away from collapsing on us.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t sit here with me. It would be embarrassing for you to be bested by some falling stone.” Him leaving would be easier than deciding if she wanted him to stay. “And my father would miss your presence in his council.” Because Gwindor was useful, and he was important, and he would be missed if he were gone.
He sighed, “If you say he’d miss my counsel then you must know he would miss yours as well. You’re his daughter, his clever and stubborn daughter. He loves you.”
“It’s not enough. Not for him and not for anyone else.” She knew it was selfish. Of course she knew, she wasn’t a child anymore. And maybe that was part of the problem. “If it were then we wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t have been brought to live here, and I wouldn’t be hiding out here.” She pressed her fingernails into the palms of her hands. “I’ve decided I’m going to hate it when it gets here, they can’t make me love it.”
“No one would dream of trying to make you do anything, you know-”
“Yes they will!” She didn’t like to raise her voice, it always made it so much harder to try and make her point, always at risk of being dismissed as hysterical. “They want me to smile and love this thing that’s honestly just an insult at this point. My parents were perfectly happy with just me for this long. So why would they need someone else all of a sudden? They’ve realized something, or all the pressure has finally gotten to them, or they’ve gotten tired of waiting for me to grow up and do the one thing everyone was expecting of me to fix the mess they made in the first place!”
It was unfair and petty. She didn’t particularly care. Not when she was standing on the edge of being cast aside.
She expected Gwindor to try and argue with her, to tell her that it wasn’t true, even when it felt like it was. Or even to reassure her again, to repeat some empty platitude about her parents love being enough to outweigh everything else. He did none of that, instead-
“Did you know Gelmir left me in the chicken coop when I was an infant? I don’t remember any of it, but my father has never stopped telling the story.” She blinked at him and he laughed. “Apparently he was so upset at having a younger brother all of a sudden, he tried to leave me for the chickens to eat. And he was more than a little angry when it turned out the chickens had actually behaved for once and I’d just taken a nice long nap. Perfectly unscathed, though our nursemaid had to spend our plucking feathers out of my hair. Though Gelmir still threatens to feed me to the chickens now and again, he says I’m way less cute now and they’ll eat me for sure.”
Finduilas had promised herself she was going to be angry and sullen for the rest of the day at the very least. And then her idiot best-friend of a betrothed had to go and make her laugh. She clutched at her stomach, doubled over herself as she tried to breathe through her laughter.
“Are you trying to give me ideas on what to do with the baby? Because I just might take you up on it.” She leaned back against the mossy stone. “How are you not more upset about this? You’ve seen the letters and the envoys that have arrived since the announcement. A lifetime of study and practice, and one little baby could wreck all that. They just spend nearly two centuries lecturing us about duty and responsibility only to then pull the rug out from under us.”
“I wasn’t aware you were that attached to all that future duty and responsibility. Last time we spoke on the subject you said they were rushing us.”
“That’s because they were rushing us. I don’t want them to push us to get married before we’re ready, or to send letter after letter asking when we’ll be having children.” It had been a constant refrain, every time her parents had been too stubborn to bend under pressure, all eyes had turned to them. The pair next in line, the reckless gamble that had paid off. “But that doesn’t mean I ever wanted to be sidelined and powerless. If the baby is a boy, they’ll have the heir the court had asked for all those years ago and we’ll-”
“We’ll be his regents.”
“What?”
“Your parents are sick of all this, they have been for years, and I doubt they’re excited at the thought of having to wait another century or so until the new heir is old enough to take the reins. They wouldn’t take much convincing to leave it to us.”
It wasn’t a terrible idea, that she had to admit. Even if it was still a little half-baked. But it could work. “Maybe they can stay for a decade or so, it’d be too cruel if not. But they could retire like they’ve always talked about, and if we were to raise my sibling. Be regents for the future steward...” It’d make the change easier, she could keep the ambitious courtiers at bay and make sure she was still listened to. No matter what. “He would trust us, rely on us, we would get to be free without losing influence.”
“And if he doesn’t you can always put him out with the chickens. It might even work out better for you than it did my brother.”
Giggles bubbled up past her lips again. “Yes, that works.” It would, she’d talk to her parents and they’d see her side of things, they would agree with her. And then she’d be able to love her new sibling, properly, like everyone said she should.
