"...and it was then that Elrond first saw Celebrían, and loved her, though he said nothing of it."
Announcing Celrond Week, a Tolkien fandom event celebrating the relationship between Celebrían of Lothlorien and her husband Elrond Peredhel, Lord of Imladris and Middle Earth’s favourite wifewise-guy. This event will run from DECEMBER 8 — 14 2025, and will feature three elements from which participants can pick and choose if and as they wish, or just go rogue!
A traditional “prompt list” — as seen in most fandom events, seven overarching themes and several literary/visual prompts within each one, to provide a spark of optional inspiration.
Bingo Challenges — a set of “bingo boards” that cater to those preferring to write sentence-fics, drabbles or shorter ficlets. These will be thematic, and feature short, or single-word, prompts that you collectively 'tick off' to reveal a 'prize' image underneath. Inspired by the @silmarillionwritersguild Potluck Bingo challenge.
Visual Prompts: for the artistically minded among us! These will include photo prompts, colour/mood boards, and even meme templates (Eg: “I bet Elrond is thinking about other elves…” Elrond: *thinking about taxation*) that you can take in whatever direction you see fit.
Prompts and boards will be shared on this blog across the next few weeks and in the run up to the event so do follow to keep updated, and the AO3 Collection will be linked here when live.
Click here for a detailed guide to the event, including content guidelines and an FAQ.
I didn't manage to write anything for @celrondweek, sadly.
But here's a SSP post with my Celebrian ficlets (in in-universe chronological order, not order of writing).
Silver Girl
While Celeborn is away, young Celebrian makes a friend. (He's Maglor.)
Green Leaves
A snatch of conversation between a young Celebrian and her mother.
And, much later, a glimpse of Galadriel with Celebrian, as Celebrian is forced to leave Middle-earth after what befell her.
Light in a Ruined House
Celebrian asks Elrond about Maedhros and Maglor.
Elrond does not find it easy to talk to her about them, so he begins in a somewhat roundabout way...
"And play at books that I have read"
An evening sees the family of Rivendell peacefully assembled around the fire. Arwen as a child. (Glimpse of C. in an ensemble scene).
Taking the Bruise
Celebrian makes up her mind to sail; her arrival in Valinor. (Features Finrod, who also appears in the following three ficlets.)
But there was Tea
Celebrian's first encounter with Este in Lorien.
Yes, Please Do
A moment in the recovery of Celebrian in Valinor.
Latest Edition
There may be an afterlife, but there is no final version of the Silmarillion.
Neither its in-universe author nor its IRL author are the kind of writers that just finish a work and then move on...
(Celebrian meets Pengolodh)
Forward and Back
Sometimes to heal you need to forget, sometimes to heal you need to remember. A brief conversation between Celebrian and Elrond in Tol Eressea.
Elrond has just arrived from Middle-earth; he has found Celebrian recovered, but also learned that her recovery was slow.
…and passing again through Moria with Celebrían she came to Imladris, seeking Celeborn. There (it seems) she found him, and there they dwelt together for a long time; and it was then that Elrond first saw Celebrían, and loved her, though he said nothing of it.
—Unfinished Tales, “The History of Galadriel and Celeborn”
Balls created a beautiful NSFW bingo board for @celrondweek, and it inspired me, so even if this may just be a single entry that arrives under the wire (in my time zone), let’s play!
This is from my modern au celrond, so please forgive my slightly liberal interpretation of the term 'relic.' Below the cut, please accept this little nugget of filth.
They normally would head to their ski place, explained Cel (a little self-consciously), but since this is a campaign year and her mother needs to put in appearances throughout the city, they’ll be at their place in the Hamptons instead. Would you maybe like to join us?, she asks him a little shyly. I know it's probably not how you pictured spending your time off... Elrond stops her with a hug and a kiss that says yes, for you I will brave whatever the Lothloriens have planned.
The years he’s not headed out West between Christmas and New Years to see Elros and Rune, Elrond usually volunteers for trauma call. He’s used to a very quiet week (outside of work), and now he’s being shuttled around with the family to public appearances. He's had his picture taken by professionals more times in three days than in his entire life. These official photo ops are, according to the Galadriel's chief of staff Haldir, a way to ‘soft launch’ Elrond's relationship with Cel while also emphasizing the importance of family (every event this week, Elrond is learning, must fulfil multiple purposes). There are also unofficial photos: he and Cel snuck away for dinner nearby with a cousin and Finn called the next day to congratulate him for making Page Six (whatever that was). He’d not even seen the photographer.
Erestor noted drily that every time Elrond joins the family it also increases the number of nonwhite people by 100%. Elrond had called him in a panic the weekend before they were scheduled to leave because he didn’t know what to pack, and Erestor is the son of a diplomat and what his foster mom would have called ‘a real snappy dresser.’ Erestor came over, immediately nixed the majority of his choices, and called Finn to tell him he’d not be home for dinner as it’s grim here darling. I’m going to have to take him shopping. (Elrond, you really have only one cashmere scarf?? You’re going to have at least one black tie event, so pack your tux. No you cannot rent a tuxedo! You need to own one. My god are those DOCKERS? No. Absolutely not. They’ll turn you away at the gate.)
They’ve just returned from another food bank photo op (demonstrating (1) a commitment to ending hunger in (2) a key neighborhood far uptown at an event organized by (3) a community activist who has been an ally in the past), when Cel’s nephews announce that they want to play hide and seek. Cel agrees immediately and Elrond curses inwardly as they start counting and he says goodbye to his plan for a lie down. They’ve got the entire family playing, and like all activities in the Lothlorien clan, they seem extremely serious and brutally competitive about it. They all dash off immediately, leaving Elrond to walk slowly in the direction of the solarium (or is it the living room? He’s gotten lost twice since he’s been here). He's just made a turn onto a long hallway when the door he passed opens and Cel pulls him in. It’s unexpected. He yelps.
“Hi,” she says and gives him a rather enthusiastic kiss.
“Hi,” he says once he’s come up for air. “Wait, this isn’t going to be one of those things where you tell me I’m being hunted for sport by your family because you need to fulfill a pact you made with the devil?”
“Elrond, I have no idea what you just said,” says Cel, sitting down on the large piece of furniture before them in the dimly lit room, “but if this is about that movie you watched last month, I’m just not into horror. It gives me nightmares. I am, however, into getting you alone. It’s been forever and I am just really, really in need.” She grabs his hips and pulls him into him.
Elrond sighs as he kisses her again and her tongue slips in to greet his. The room they’re staying in is unfortunately (or purposefully, Elrond suspects) situated between Cel’s uncles’ and the walls are paper thin. He’s tried to make her understand. They can have as much fun as loudly as they want at home; it’s just one week (4.25 days, but who’s counting).
“Where are we?” his eyes have adjusted enough to find a lamp and he switches it on to reveal a shabby chic version of The Explorers Club circa 1980.
“My father’s office.” He can now see that she's sitting on the edge of an enormous desk.
“I don’t know that your father would be happy to find us in here… Maybe we’d better go.”
“Shhhh, we’re hiiiiding.” Cel gives him a devlish smile.
“Is that what we’re doing?”
“Come on now. You’re not afraid of my father are you?” Another smile, this one sympathetic. She knows he is, though Elrond is far more afraid of what her father might say to the matriarch of the family, of whom he is rightly terrified. Cel reaches over to grab his butt, pinning him between her legs, and while Elrond would normally be thrilled at this development (part of him demonstrably is already), he doesn’t like having his back to the door. He’s starting to sweat now, just a tiny bit.
Cel leans in and gives him another long taste of what he’s been missing the past week. “They’ll be playing for a while. Last time Haldir went up a tree and it took us well over an hour to find him. So...” As Cel rubs herself against his erection (growing inverse to his sense of self-preservation), Elrond notes that she’s not wearing any tights under her long pleated wool skirt. This is one of the many things he’s learned about rich people. You don’t have to dress for the weather when you’re being ferried about in a private car that arrives preheated at the door. Normally he’d appreciate this greatly, but right now he rather wishes she were wearing pants; at least that would slow her down.
He wrenches his hips sideways and slips over to the door to investigate whether there’s a lock. When he turns back, having secured the door, Cel's still sitting on the desk, but now she’s holding a lacy thong. Her thong, Elrond’s brain registers dimly. She’s holding her underwear. Meaning…
“Cel we can’t. Not here. If someone comes looking… We don’t have time…”
“I don’t need much time, El,” says Cel. She scoots back so she’s sitting atop the leather blotter (which will stain thinks Elrond) and crooks a finger. “I’m halfway there already.”
“I love your spirit sweetheart, but we just can’t risk it. You understand…”
Cel sighs, falls back, and looks to the ceiling as if to ask for the strength to deal with him. She stretches out an arm and bumps into a foot tall abstract glass sculpture sitting on the desk. Elrond rushes forward to the rescue but the thing barely budges.
She looks over and laughs. “He loves these hideous things. I think this one was Grandpa’s. He’s had it forever.”
Elrond sees now that several niches in the built-in bookshelves are occupied by colorful glass sculptures, most of them nautical. It seems that rich people can’t resist the urge to decorate their vacation homes with an ocean theme, they just spend more on the décor. Speaking of which…
“Better be careful,” he says, leaning over to give her a kiss. “That thing is probably worth a month's rent.”
“Well, a couple thousand dollars anyway,” says Cel as she turns her head to consider it. "You know it looks a bit like…” She sits up and leans over and oh god she swirls her tongue around the larger of two… protrusions… on the thing.
“Cel,” he rasps as he backs away from her. “That’s probably dirty.”
“I’m sure it gets dusted weekly, El,” she says with a wink and then, without breaking eye contact, she lowers her head and takes the thing deep into her mouth. Elrond gets rock hard immediately but he stays strong, even when she bobs up and down a couple of times. He stays several feet away even when Cel looks over at him again, mouth snug around where the first… bulb… meets the second, and raises her eyebrows. He can’t help but be impressed, even as he shakes his head.
“That’s fine,” she says. “If you’re not going to help me out then I’ll just have to take care of things on my own. And she rises up on her knees and throws a leg over the sculpture.
“Cel. That could hurt you. At least let me see how sturdy…”
“This,” says Cel as she arranges her skirts so he can’t see her legs let alone the sculpture between them, “is Murano glass handmade in the traditional Venetian style. Very sturdy. Unbreakable by even the tightest of...”
“Cel.” Elrond’s not actually sure what he’s begging her to do (or not do). “Let me see.” He means to ensure that she’s safe, that the glass is as thick as it appears, but instead Cel lifts her skirt and sinks down onto the thing, and he gets a view he’ll not soon forget. “Oh, god. Please be careful. That’s not... I can buy you a glass…”
“Fuuuuck.” Cel interrupts his offer to choose from the online offerings of a particular woman-owned sex shop by clutching his shoulder. “El it’s. Oh my god that’s the spot. And the other spot. Oh! Shit.”
“Oh god, Cel,” says Elrond as he climbs onto the desk, qualms forgotten in a haze of lust. “Is it really?”
“Mmm hmm,” she says. She’s rising and lowering herself slowly. “Oh god, oh god. Kiss me.”
Elrond does as he’s told, and soon he’s groaning into Cel’s mouth at the soft little moans she’s making in his ear. “Sweetheart please be careful.”
“Fuck. El, It’s so good. I’m going to cooooome,” she hisses in his ear, and Elrond. Well, even the most terrified houseguest has limits when Cel is involved. He practically pops the top button off his not-Dockers in his hurry to get a hand on himself. When Cel whispers a litany that takes the lord's name in vain MANY times, he soaks his stomach with a half sob (and nearly ruins his new sweater in the process).
He pulls Cel up and off the sculpture and into his arms, ignoring the shirt now plastered to his middle. “You are insane,” he says with a groan as he climbs down off the desk. “We have to get out of here.”
“You’re right,” concedes Cel. She looks over at the world’s most expensive paperweight and turns pink. “Oh. Well, that explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“Why I’m so horny. I um. Looks like… well, we're going to need some wet wipes or something.” Elrond starts a frantic search for cleaning supplies. When they find none, he makes an alternate plan. The trip from his future father-in-law’s office to the half bath across the hall, made carrying a museum tote bag with one extremely heavy and slightly soiled object within, has one of the largest terror to distance ratios of Elrond’s life. If the running feet and bang of a door they hear from the bathroom are any indication, they’ve been blessed by good timing. When they said Christmas is a time for miracles, this was probably not what they had in mind, but Elrond will take it.
Notes:
Page Six is the society and gossip page of tabloid The New York Post
The horror movie Elrond's describing is Ready or Not
Important visual reference: https://www.muranonet.com/en-us/products/calcedonio-mother-and-child
All good things must come to an end, and so I present to you the last instalment of this series of drabbles for @celrondweek on Day 7's theme Reunion. As promised, find the whole collection on A03 as Broken Monuments.
Elrond
Westerly winds bring rumour of Valinor long before I dock, stirring old fears in my beleaguered heart. To find my wife now recast, rude in health, is more than I had dared to hope.
My Celu is not silver-bright, but golden in this land’s warm light. She, radiant, and I a pale thing beside. The years have been both cruel and kind it seems, for it is she who stands tall and I the broken monument to fortitude, crumbling in her arms.
Here we stand, two scarred, imperfect things on an unmarred shore; testament both to souls’ fragility and strength.
Celebrian
Every Middle-Earthen ship gracing these shores this past age has borne me a letter. My assiduous husband, defeating distance with ink and quill! And I treasured each word, as glimmers of his soul. When silver sails finally bear him to me there are no words. With each passing year he gave of himself until only a wraith remained, and I am afraid. There should not be so little of him in my arms.
“Oh, Celu,” he says, and breathes of me like I were a fresh wind at spring’s first stirring.
This is written for @celrondweek I'm getting is early today, again. It's the 14th here, so technically day 7. Again, I'm not sure if I've have time to get on my computer again.
This is written in 2 parts. She had to leave for them to be reunited.
Part 1: Third Age 2510 Celebrían sails to Valinor
Part 2: Fourth Age 1 Elrond and Galadriel sail into the west.
Depression tag and PTSD (implied) belongs in this one as well.
Celebrían and Elrond are finally reunited in Valinor.
Once again, references to Rings of power in this one, particularly with Galadriel. I've also mixed book Galadriel in.
Note: The Moon Room I am describing is from The Hobbit movies. If you haven’t seen it, go look it up. It is stunning. I guess I've cherry picked all the Tolkien I've absorbed to make part 1. It's fun mixing them.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Written for Day 6 of @celrondweek on the themes of Myth and Storytelling.
Elrond
War ends, Arwen weds and Ennor brims with story. Much is grim, gilded with heroism in firelit halls, or whispered with horror in the dark. Such is war’s legacy: we must sweeten it and swallow, or vomit bitterness, lest we choke.
Arwen’s tale, a bright and joyful gem amid sorrow, is told often. Oh, but they flatten her into the words Elven princess, buff my rough edges away, and say nothing of you at all, Celu. Not one captures us aright.
Arwen laughs. “They dress truths in fancy. Trouble not.”
I am uneasy. Who knows better the power of words?
Celebrian
A princess, of golden forests born, once wed a river valley Lord, and his tale flowed smoothly ‘round her, like oil over marble. Princesses, you see, must be timeless statuario. And when foul torment corrupted that porcelain charm, and gaping wound proved her mutable flesh, she became a mere footnote, bloodied and forlorn. Story could flow smoothly no longer, catching on roughened, scarred skin.
Your trials, Elrond, could be made palatable, inspiring. Mine were too uncomfortable, an unaffordable bitter reminder. We were both reduced, and it served no one.
I never liked that damned tale. Let us write our own.
This is written for @celrondweek I'm getting is early today. It's the 13th here, so technically day 6. But I have a lot to do and may not get back to my computer today.
Third age 136: Elladan and Elrohir were born in 130
This is pure happy, fluff. Elrond deserves some happy moments, don't you think?
A family moment where Elflings try and get out of bedtime, by asking for stories.
These are being posted in Prompt order, not Chronological order.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“Thought it’d be a nice surprise.” Celebhîr shifts in his seat at the tiller, blood pooling, balls tightening. “It certainly was for me.”
That darling familiar furrow creases Elrond’s brow; Celebhîr feels his mind cloud with sudden medical ethics inquiries. “You mean to say that the Maiar of Lórien—”
“I was asleep for a hundred years.” Celebhîr heads him off. “I couldn’t tell you how it happened, elig. All I know is I like it. I like it very much.”
For the moment Elrond the physician acquiesces, with bitten lip. “It’s certainly. Very.”
“It gets bigger,” says Celebhîr.
Elrond whimpers. Celebhîr widens his knees.
“Wouldn’t you like to see?”
~
boatsex blowjob reunion for celrond and @celrondweek and most of all for @balrogballs <333333 a missing scene of elrond's first encounter with cleb's new dick 😌 at sea 🌊 🤔
Written for Day 5 of @celrondweek on the themes of Inheritance and Legacy.
Elrond
Our sons, Celu, haunt the mountain passes like hungry ghosts, cleaving monsters that lurk, hidden in their festering gloom. I fear the lust awoken in them is no less dark. For all my tempering they have only become harder, and of all you gave, they cleave most to the whetstone of your pain. Yet, still their swords swing for love, and this hope I cling to: that this devotion of theirs is no twisted thing. That our sons remain tractable to mercy; their swords ever protectors of life, not harbingers of death.
You would be horrified.
You would be proud.
Celebrian
When did fury become a thing of pride? And peaceable acceptance bile in my mouth? Rage is the better, for to spark with anger is to be brilliantly, horridly alive.
I am an angry woman. Furious. Livid. And I am far from alone. Too long our wrath, our wisdom, our very personhoods, have been subverted; driven under in service of narratives not our own. Our sacred bodies made messengers, like tablets hideously graven.
Who better to tear down rotten walls of blind comfort ‘til light, filthy as it is real, streams in?
This one is nothing like the others. It is written for @celrondweek
Day 4, the long defeat? How could I not explore Celebrían's plight in that.
These are being posted in Prompt order, not Chronological order.
Third Age 2509: Celebrían is captured and tortured by orcs
Celebrían is the true cost of war.
Quote from Beta reader: Fuck!
Pay attention to the warnings. This one is the whole reason for all of them.
Implied/Referenced Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Depression, PTSD
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
For Day 4 of @celrondweek, on the theme of The Long Defeat.
Elrond
[a letter is drafted...]
I flounder in this sinking world, Celu.
Immortality’s bitter gift, a cleared-eyed view of the long, inevitable defeat, weighs heavily. And though we dredge fertile soil from the murk, naming it victory, dearly is it bought, and transient; each stretch of peace a rapidly shrinking island consumed by the dark, lapping tide.
I fear this blackness irking me has followed you over the sea. We cannot let it drown us, you and I. Imladris was ever a bastion of life, raised in defiance. So it remains. So too we.
Dearest Celebrían,
All is well. Rivendell’s gardens spill over with song…
Celebrian
I am shadow in a land never meant for dark; opaque and skewed with despair. Every breath is a failure, every scar a blight. What am I but incurable disease, imparting malady to all I touch?
I drift.
Out of hiding other shadows creep; victims of the long defeat, all. Would that you were here, Elrond! A magnet you would be, and a balm beside. Without you it takes years to find each other, for most do not bear their scars outwardly, but deep and insidious.
I expect we will fester together, Morgoth’s unwitting tools of transmission. Instead, we clarify.
@celrondweek -> departures + arrivals / the long defeat
If They Return
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Elrond/Celebrian
PLEASE MIND THE TAGS!!!!
excerpt:
And so, the bliss of their long-awaited encounter had soon faded into a monotonous, quiet coexistence, where they tried to give sense to their shared mourning. Of their daughter, first and foremost, but also of what had once forced her to flee from the shores of the Middle-earth, leaving behind all the ones she loved. For even after all those long centuries, for all the skills of the Valar and the soothing, lulling peace of Aman, a cruel seed of illness still laid deep within her, a clump of ice between her ribs, that never fully went away, forgotten in her happiest moments, but still lying under, ready to resurface.
