Welcome to Tolkien Secret Santa 2022! TSS is a digital gift exchange, where Tolkien fans sign up to make and receive small winter-themed gifts.
Sign up instructions can be accessed here and our FAQs can be accessed here.
We know anumber of you have been asking--via anon, or messaging the mods directly, or in other fandom spaces--whether the 2023 edition of TSS is going ahead. We sincerely apologise for not having an update to you well before the usual period of signups and causing any concern.
Due to an array of personal factors, none of the exchange mods have the capacity to help run a full-fledged event this year. The traditional exchange format will therefore not be going ahead in 2023. We know this news will be disappointing. The TSS has been a mainstay of the Tolkien space here on Tumblr for years, and is a highlight of the fandom year for many of you. It's always been a meaningful experience for us mods, too, to facilitate the joy and the fun and the community that the exchange provides.
However, all is not lost. We will instead be running a reduced celebratory event for the holiday season, based on our Advent Calendar side-event that has been running concurrently alongside the main exchange for the past couple of years. It won't be the classic experience of unique Santas and giftees and a big reveal, but it will still be an opportunity to share your thoughtful creativity with one another.
Please watch this space as we will have further instructions up within the next few days. Thank you for being here, whether you're new to the exchange or if you're a veteran since its very first edition. It's an honour to have you in the TSS community. We'll chat to you soon.
Hi wonderful TSS mods! Would you be interested in sending out any kind of reminder to participants about commenting or otherwise giving feedback on their gifts as a courtesy? I know it hasn't been long since the exchange so people may not have had time to read fic, for example, but it'd be great to know that everyone's gifts have been received and appreciated!
Hello there!
If approached off anon via ask or DM we can contact the giftees in question and send them a reminder to interact with their gift and show the creator a little love. We know some participants had either issues due to the snowstorm in the US and/or Covid so that might be a reason why they haven't interacted.
We'll also add this section to our event policy for future exchanges (but, as stated before, saying thank you really should not require a statement in the first place)
What we cannot do, however, is to check every contribution submitted for the exchange if the giftee has interacted on tumblr and/or ao3 with their gift. It's simply too many for that.
Thanks everyone for the contributions and excitement about this event. Thanks to our last minute pinch hitters and all the advent treats that were created this year By now, everyone should have received their gift. If you haven't found your gift yet, please reach out to us. Same goes for everything else in regards to this exchange. We'll still monitor this blog.
Please remember (although that should go without saying, really): thank your Secret Santa for the gift they created specifically for you. Reblog and like the creation. Leave a comment and a kudo on their fic. Rec it to friends. Be excited about it. It takes so little and means so much.
And with that said: TSS 2022 is officially closed. Hope to see you all next season.
Thanks again for participating, the mods of TSS2022
“Do you remember,” Maglor wanted to say when the night was quiet and black—when the smoke of Thangorodrim-that-was had risen up above the wastes to block out the sky and every memory carved into stone had fallen beneath the waves of an unfamiliar shoreline.
“Do you remember,” Maglor wanted to say. “Do you remember when—”
But there were no more words in his mouth. His chest was empty. And Maedhros was as quiet as the unnumbered dead.
I am so, so sorry for the long wait. Thanks for being so patient and understanding while I scrambled to get things together after the problems with the snowstorm <3
As the year draws to a close, I’d like to take a moment to give a massive shoutout to @officialtolkiensecretsanta for everything you do for the fandom every winter! I don’t have nearly as much time for art as I wish I did, but thanks to you I kick my ass into shape once a year and really get into it, and receive a lovely gift in return. And this year I even did it twice! I know organising an event like this is a huge challenge on top of everything else during the holidays, so it’s really appreciated. Happy new year to you!
Thank you so much for this shoutout. We won't deny that it's a lot on top of everything else (work, holidays, family, uni, whatever it is for the individual mod), but TSS has become an institution over the years and we absolutely love to run this winter-themed event.
All the gifts, the tags, the secret messages we see throughout the exchange period is absolutely worth the additional challenge :) Many thanks to everyone who participated to make this event the thing it has become.
A Happy New Year to you, too, and... see you next time, when "It's this time of the year again."
Summary/Tags: Nerdanel & Eärwen have tea, talk, and find tentative peace in each other's company.
My @officialtolkiensecretsanta gift for @tol-himling
[Read on Ao3]
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Eärwen had shown up on the doorstep of her little cottage not thirty minutes ago, looking worn and tired. She offered Nerdanel a small bundle of jam with a bright little smile that didn’t quite seem right. Nerdanel had taken it anyway - had led her into her home, to the low tea table in her small sitting room, and had offered her tea. And she did not ask why Eärwen made the long, steep trek to her home, nested deep in the pinewood forest on her father’s estate.
Nerdanel's hands curl around her mug of tea. She watches, intently, as Eärwen’s delicate fingers flex against the smooth porcelain of her teacup.
"He was there and he didn't try to stop them. " Eärwen breathes, and Nerdanel can hear the pain, the betrayal in her voice. It isn’t clear if she's referring to Arafinwë stopping her children from following Fëanáro East, or stopping the slaughter of Eärwen's kin at Alqualondë.
But it doesn't matter - Nerdanel knows. She understands - knows how even the smallest details can twist and turn and hook themselves deep into one's mind, until all you can do is play each interaction over and over and wonder what exactly you could have done to change it .
But that's not how it works is it? The fates are as the fates will.
Nerdanel sighs, her brow furrowing in concern as Eärwen twists her cup in her hands. She's biting hard at her bottom lip, eyes lowered and staring intently into the agitated surface of her tea.
She says nothing, but calmly sips her tea and listens as Eärwen pours everything out to her, unyielding as the warm winds of the coast. Eärwen has likely heard all manner of platitudes at this point. That's not why she's here. She has not made the trip out to Nerdanel’s home to have her breathe saccharine words into the air around her, to offer empty promises and unbidden words of pity.
No, no, that is not why she is here.
Nerdanel watches her fingers begin to shake, she can hear the barely-kept ire in her voice, cloaked within words that hedge her meanings and feelings so heavily it sounds as if she’s speaking in solely theoretical terms. And Nerdanel wonders in that moment, just how many have told her over the years that her anger is undesirable.
Nerdanel reaches out, fingers curling over Eärwen's own. Her gaze is intense as they lock eyes - staring into each other in silence for a long moment.
Nerdanel moves first - shuffling around the corner of the table and kneeling beside her. She takes Eärwen's hands fully in her own - noting only briefly just how soft the delicate lines of her fingers are - and she holds her. Eärwen's voice breaks in her throat - soft and unbidden - and she shifts closer to Nerdanel, leaning in to her until her head rests heavy on Nerdanel's shoulder. She's warm, pressed against her like this.
Nerdanel curls her other arm around Eärwen's shoulders, cradling her in her arms as Eärwen's breath beats quick and heavy through the thin linen of her robes. Nerdanel holds her how she would have liked to be held, all those years ago. In the wake of Fëanor’s sentencing, the first loss of her sons, of her family - to the exile in Formenos.
Her mother had been there for her then - had made her tea and spoken with her - but what Nerdanel had missed most was this closeness - this tangible, physical connection that she had come to know for so long - and it had just been gone. That trust, that bond built upon years and years of patience and understanding and love , forgone in a matter of moments.
Nerdanel weaves her fingers into Eärwen's hair and marvels at how it falls effortlessly through her fingers, like flowing water.
"He's returned , and the way he looks at me is almost as if nothing has happened. As if our children are not--" She breaks off, fingers tightening around Nerdanel's, "I almost wish he hadn't come back at all." Her voice is a soft venom, then. Tired and frustrated, and after it crosses her lips, Nerdanel can feel the built-up tension bleed from her muscles. She leans more heavily into Nerdanel’s embrace.
She tenses a moment later, lifting her head to just barely meet Nerdanel’s eye. Her face is flushed, eyes wet with clinging tears, red-rimmed and angry .
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't, I know that's likely not true, it's just--"
Nerdanel cuts her off, "You do not need to mince words with me, Eärwen." She places a soft, lingering kiss to Eärwen's brow, "I do not begrudge you your feelings, nor do I think you need apologize for voicing them."
Eärwen's jaw sets, her teeth biting down hard on the plush of her bottom lip.
"Thank you," She says, and she buries herself back in Nerdanel's neck.
"My home is open to you, you know this" Nerdanel kisses Eärwen's forehead one more time, "Have you tried speaking with him?"
"No."
"Arafinwë has never struck me as being particularly cruel. He will listen to you."
Eärwen is silent for a long while, still against Nerdanel's breast. It's long enough that Nerdanel begins to worry she's overstepped - until she hears a soft, forlorn sigh.
"I am not quite sure that will be enough."
No, Nerdanel thinks, as she continues smoothing her fingers through Eärwen's silk-soft hair, I imagine it wouldn't be.
Nerdanel hums, a gentle murmur of acknowledgment. And she holds her, until the shaking stops and her tears have dried, until the wind blowing through the open window has gone cold and the sun sets in the west.
A slightly belated ho ho ho to @elwenn-dreaming (christmas has 12 days so I hope you've saved some of your cheer)! I'm your @officialtolkiensecretsanta this year!
I snooped around your blog a little and saw that you've been enjoying Les Mis, and I've always thought there were some parallels between Valjean, Marius & Cosette and Elrond, Aragorn & Arwen, with the fathers being a little concerned but ultimately supportive, wanting to whisk their daughters away to safety, and love prevailing in the bittersweet end.
Hi @eveningalchemist I am your pinch-hitter for @officialtolkiensecretsanta !! I was very excited to see Thuringwethil on your list because there's so little art of her! I hope you like it, and happy holidays!
@laurfilijames and I have concocted this one for you so you would get a TSS gift after all. Thank you @officialtolkiensecretsanta for reaching out to me; I hope I have executed this in a timely and satisfactory manner.
The title is wishful thinking; I hope indeed that this small pinch hit will make you smile, dearest.
Bonus: @laurfilijames has chosen some prompts from the @deanobingo
You were just wiping off the dark, stinking blood off your blade when your prince’s breathless voice echoed through the small wood.
It had been particularly bad luck to have run into a group of scouting orcs at the end of the patrol when most of the members of your party had already been with their spouses and their ale in thought; no doubt, Fíli would have some things to say about the lapse in watchfulness and common sense.
A twinge in your right arm made you look down only to discover a shallow cut; evidently, you had not been exempt from the generalised carelessness.
With an impatient shrug, you decided that you would tend to the minor injury once you were back in your own rooms and out of the befouled clothes clinging wetly to your skin.
Again, your name resounded, and you turned around just in time to see Fíli break through the tree line like a war goat, eyes wild and hair dishevelled on account of his frantic run.
Before you could assure him that you were quite all right, he started patting you down insistently.
“Fíli,” you groaned fondly, pushing away his groping hands, “stop it! I am fine!”
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he huffed in wide-eyed vexation; now that he saw you standing there – smirking at his evident distress – he seemed to realise just how much of a fool he had just made of himself.
His eyes were still roving over your frame – taking in the torn clothes and the caked blood splattered all over your strong body – as if in search of proof that you were callously lying to him.
Finally, as you had dreaded, his gaze zeroed in on the still bleeding cut on your arm.
You turned aside, effectively hiding the injury from him, and waved a purposefully lazy, indolent hand lazily. “It’s nothing, Fí,” you swore. “Let’s just get back home; we’re almost there. I’ll wash it out and that’s all.”
As you tried to stride past him though, his hand shot forward and curled around your waist in a gesture much too familiar for the context; you had met in private and in secret many times before to celebrate a victory or dispel the lingering dread, but you had never let anyone know that you might be more than just comrades and co-fighters.
“Let me see this,” he demanded adamantly, all but lifting you from your feet and carrying you to the small river that was invisible to anyone who was not already aware of its course through the small ravine cutting through the forest.
“Don’t be foolish,” you chided softly. “We’re in sight of Erebor now. Let’s just go in and take care of it there.”
“It might be poisoned,” Fíli objected astutely. “Moreover, if you are to disappear into your quarters, there is no way for me to take care of you!”
The earnest yearning in his voice gave you pause; thus far, Fíli and you had had fun together, but he had never given you any indication that he was ready and willing to be around you in other situations than battle or an occasional, casual romp in the hay.
You were so astonished and dumbfounded that you didn’t stop him when he started to gently unlace your tunic and pull it over your head before taking off his own coat and shirt as well.
“Sit on that stone over there, if you please,” he bade you courteously and went to wet his garment – elegant and of superior quality – in the river as if it was of no more value than a common rag.
A moment later, he was back at your side to lave your wound with the clear, clean water of the hallowed river.
You shivered in the cool air of the failing day but his warm hands on your bare skin were enough to keep you in place. Truth be told, you were curious as to what he’d do next.
“Oh my sweet one,” he sighed as he brought his lips to your arm and pressed a devoted kiss into the crook of your elbow. “You should not have pursued this scum on your own. You might have been grievously wounded!”
“Don’t insult me and my intelligence,” you hissed weakly. “You know as well as I do that we cannot let a scout escape; also, I’m just as good a fighter as anyone else in this company. I can take out a few stray orcs on my own. It’s but a cut!”
Fíli nodded gravely.
“You are more precious to me than you think,” he then mumbled, sitting between your open thighs and lavishing small, frantic kisses onto the inside of your injured arm. “I should not be saying this, but the idea of losing you is unbearable to me.”
“I am fine, Fí,” you asseverated again, caressing his golden hair soothingly.
Night had fallen fast around you and – in the ambient chiaroscuro – you dared express your own affection and desire more openly than was recommended if you wanted to keep your tryst with the prince a secret for much longer.
“Let me prove it to you.” You slid down from the stone and cradled his face in your hands for a second before dipping forward to catch his reverential lips in a passionate kiss.
The excitement of the battle was still roaring in his veins, you knew, and so it was almost laughably easy to stoke the embers of his own unbridled desire into blazing flames by pressing an adventurous hand between his spread legs.
“We’re both very much alive,” you asserted smoothly as he bucked against your teasing touch instinctively, a small groan escaping his stern mouth.
That gloriously strong, gilded body of your prince seemed to melt under your assertive fingers as you let them brush through the dense curls covering his broad chest before clawing them into the waistband of his leggings demandingly.
Finally, Fíli seemed to snap out of his trance and lifted you back onto the stone as if you didn’t weigh more than a dry log of wood.
“Your clothes are ruined,” he grinned wickedly and peeled your own leggings off your body slowly and carefully. “We should burn them.”
You both knew that any fire other than the one raging in your blood would be a potentially fatal misstep, but you nodded dazedly. By now, you were sitting – undressed to your worn undergarments – on the cold, unyielding stone, surrounded by luscious greenery and tall tree sentinels; unbothered by the chill, you were shivering with anticipation and lust.
When his wandering, hot lips travelled up your clammy thigh from the knee to the ridge of your hip, you sighed in deep longing and tilted your pelvis invitingly towards his questing mouth.
“What are you doing?” you ground out in frustration when he simply continued caressing your skin with his hands and lips patiently as if time was of no consequence. Surely, the rest of your party had made it back to the Lonely Mountain and the king would be most worried to find his heir and one of the guards missing from the foray.
“I am ascertaining beyond a doubt that you are indeed as well as you claim to be,” he explained suavely.
As your moaning and whimpering redoubled in intensity though, he took mercy upon you and – at long last – pushed aside your small clothes to dip his firm tongue into the gathering wetness at the apex of your thighs.
You knew each other well enough for him to know exactly where to suck and where to place broad, wet stripes with the flat of his tongue to reduce you to a pile of stardust within very little time.
Your thighs quivered around his golden braids as he shoved his hands under your ass to lift you up slightly, pushing one broad thumb into you and pulling slightly at the very moment his tongue picked up its speed in its targeted assault on your swollen clit.
“We are alone,” he groaned into your slick flesh, “let me hear you. Prove that you’re all right!”
And so, you did; as your bones turned into water themselves and your flesh seemed to burst under the onslaught of his skilled blandishments, you screamed his name into the impassive darkness smothering and protecting you.
“I need…” you babbled, your trembling fingers falling from his hair to his shoulders and tugging vainly. “Please, Fíli, my prince, my liege, please!”
As he sat up on his knees, you could see the outline of his swollen cock, pressing against the soft leather of his leggings, the laces half undone by your previous ministrations and the pressure from within.
Tearing down the garment without taking the time to discard it properly, Fíli half-plunged, half-fell into your welcoming heat. His thighs slammed against the rock beneath you and his face smashed into your bare chest as he surged into you as a diver would break the surface of a lake for a breath of fresh air.
“Oh yes,” you moaned as the delicious stretch of his member filling you to the brim made your toes curl.
Sucking on your right nipple while holding you steady by an iron grip around your twitching hips, Fíli pounded into you with all the desperate urgency your disappearance had left him with.
Suddenly, time itself seemed to melt around you. His body, his heart, his hips moved in the wild staccato of a frantic run in hopes to get to you – to hold you, to kiss you, to be with you – before it was too late.
“My love,” he bellowed as his head fell away from your breast to face the ominous night sky.
“I am here,” you promised, shimmying on the smooth, awkwardly irregular piece of rock to meet him mid-stride and force him deeper into you yet. “Let go of your fear and trust me.”
Flinging his arms around you and pulling you towards him without slipping out of you, Fíli fell onto his back in the soft grass.
“Look at me,” you ordered as you pushed yourself to your knees, caging his head between your outstretched arms and pumping your hips rapidly.
Stars danced in his eyes, a swirling galaxy of uninhibited lust, as you rode him – hard and mercilessly – to his climax; there was nothing more awe-inspiring and humbling to you than to see those bright eyes cloud over with temporary blindness as his back arched and he pressed up into you in a last, overwhelming stroke.
Smiling, you collapsed on his chest, happy and sated by this unexpected intermezzo that had almost made you forget that puny scratch on your arm.
To your utter astonishment though, Fíli scrambled up and – bundling you into his coat – used his damp tunic to wipe his warm seed trickling down your thighs gently.
His tender touch made your skin tingle and the torturous, compounded stimulation that had you tottering on the verge of another bone-shattering orgasm made you whine under your breath.
A private, self-satisfied smile spread out on his handsome face and made his moustache twitch in a chime of clacking beads as he kept cleaning you ever so carefully.
“Oh, Mahal’s stony balls,” you pleaded, “please touch me!”
Only when he was satisfied that he had not overlooked any trace of what had just happened between you, he sat up and lifted you onto his lap; his chest radiated welcome, pulsating warmth through his coat into your back as his hands circled around your body as if to merely hold you in place.
“Are you okay?” he asked, pressing a loving kiss onto the nape of your neck.
“Thanks to you, I am wonderful,” you whined, “and yet, I want more. I need more!”
“Let me take care of you then,” he replied in an intimate whisper as his fingers found the oasis of desire between your spread thighs once more.
So, this is my quick, desperate bid to write something for a friend.
Lots of love and special thanks to @laurfilijames for being such a great friend and tremendous inspiration!
save a handful, the gifts are in. We have contacted those without a gift via DM and the requests have been sent out to pinch-hitters. Until year's end, everybody should receive a little something.
In case you have not received your gift yet and weren't contacted by the mods, please send us a DM. We are more than happy to point you towards your gift.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Erestor/Glorfindel (Tolkien)
Characters: Erestor (Tolkien), Glorfindel (Tolkien), Elrond Peredhel, Ereinion Gil-galad, Elros Tar-Minyatur
Additional Tags: Getting Together, Slow Burn, Memory Loss, Erestor is tired of this, Canonical Character Death, golden retriever!glorfindel, time skip fic, Hair Braiding, Flashbacks, that one where Erestor’s the oldest elf in Middle-earth
Summary:
Forgetting Glorfindel is unthinkable. If, to avoid forgetting him, Erestor must not think of him, that is exactly what he will do.
Or the one where Erestor, the oldest elf in Middle-earth, finds that even an immortal mind cannot bear the strain of thousands of years alone.
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For @officialtolkiensecretsanta! Giftee will be revealed on 12/24!
It’s officially the 24th in my time zone, so – happy holidays to @nocompromise-noregrets! Your prompt gave me the chance to get to know two new characters, and I hope I did it justice!
Waiting for him
All the best and happy holidays to @azaisya!
As is at this point a tradition for me, I took part in the @tolkiensecretsanta exchange!
This year the prompts given to me inspired me to grab my watercolour pencils and create this art of Celebrian and Gil-galad sharing a quiet moment of yearning and contemplation. While I absolutely do think they are both in love with Elrond and have bonded over missing their shared husband, I’m always curious to hear other takes on this as well.
my @officialtolkiensecretsanta gift for @art-of-firefly. sorry it’s a bit delayed, it’s been a very hectic few weeks for me! i hope you enjoy!
read on ao3
By the time the two of them were left sitting on the dewy grass outside of the Halls of Mandos, they had already said everything there was to say. Every permutation of every argument, every accusation, every misstep they had ever taken had been battled over in the silvery silence of the unlife they had left behind, and now they sat silent before the rising sun. This was the first sunrise of Fëanor’s life, and the strangeness of his brother squinting curiously into the light struck an odd chord with Fingolfin. He was not used to being the one who knew more of the matters of the world.
It was the ruling that Fingolfin knew better, diplomacy and debate, the maintenance of a world at war. The careful wording of letters, the management of patrols, the upkeep of morale beyond that first bloom of rage, that was where Fingolfin’s excellence lay, and Fëanor had long since conceded it.
None of that mattered anymore. Beleriand was long lost beneath the sea, and the Beleriand he had ruled lost longer still. Here, in the crystallised splendour of Valinor, there was no need for his kind of ruling. They were, both of them, out of reach of their own abilities. But the anonymity of the dawn, and the silence that stretched between them, provided cover from that kind of introspection, at least for a time. Instead they sat side by side, shoulders brushing with each intake and exhale of breath, and they revelled in being alive again.
It was Finarfin that they saw riding out of the sunlight first, his head unadorned but for his golden hair, for all that he was king. On either side of him came their sisters. Lalwen and Findis were dressed as simply as their younger brother. It seemed that this was a mission of some secrecy, that they had deemed it too delicate a matter to let the news run wild in Tirion. Instead they had come as if for a morning ride, light on supplies, even lacking extra horses, to keep the peace a while longer.
Fingolfin rose to his feet as they approached and raised his hand in greeting.
“Brother! Sisters! How glad I am to see you so soon,” he called out to them, and Lalwen threw her head back and laughed, and the joy of hearing her brought laughter bubbling up in him too. Finarfin spurred his horse forwards, and Fingolfin nearly dragged him off its back as they slowed and pressed their foreheads together. And then there were Lalwen’s arms around his waist, and Findis stroking his hair, and he was struck suddenly with how badly he had missed them all that he nearly broke then and there.
“Ai Nolo don’t cry. We’re here now. We’re so proud of you. You did so well. We’re all so proud,” whispered Findis and a keening noise came up from the back of his throat and Lalwen tightened her grip on him.
Behind Finarfin, he could see Fëanor. Their eldest brother had always been something of a stranger to them and yet he had never seemed truly lonely to Fingolfin until now. Fëanor had held himself apart from them in every instance, but they had agreed before their release that there must be room for change. There must be a way out of this endless fighting and factionalism. They caught each other’s gaze, and Fingolfin knew that Fëanor was just as clueless as to how they were to achieve it as he was. No matter. If they could not do it themselves, they had three siblings who all viewed the world in different ways. They had wives and children and grandchildren, and surely between the lot of them, they would be able to make peace.
Finarfin turned to regard Fëanor for one very long moment, before he smiled brightly and snatched Fëanor’s wrist to pull him into an embrace.
“It is so good to see both my much-missed brothers,” he murmured, and over his shoulder Fingolfin could see Fëanor begin to smile.
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