#silm fic

[sandmoer]

The Funeral

For Maedhros

[erumelde]

Thranduil and his wife Nelisteth by @mandhos

Can you see this? This art is so incredible, please check out the artist's other work! The lights in their hair, the clothing... and the colours are all so beautiful and magical. It's giving 🍃🌙✨️Enchanted Woodland Realm ✨️🌙🍃 and I love it so, so much 💕

This was made for my fanfic The Flowers of Spring which you can read here.

[aylen-san]

Maglor Fëanorian.

Fan art created with AI for non-commercial purposes.

[antlered-vixen]

Light Splintered and Sewn, Epilogue.

It is out. I have at long last slain my white whale.

Chapter 33: After life - death, after death - life again

The Timeless Halls were nowhere located. Rather than a site, they were an outsideness. When Fëanáro, then, thither found himself, and for how the Eldarin soul was so vitally connected to Arda, he might have not known where he was but he knew with keen, irradicable precision where he was not: anywhere in creation.

Ñolofinwë and Fëanáro are dead.

In Beleriand, the world rearranges itself around their absence. Their kin, their realms, their ventures - all must go on. In Aman, tidings of both victory and death bring further tension to balances already frail.

And in the dread Halls of Mandos, where awaits durance and judgment, Fëanáro's soul argues a case not for himself, but something far larger. Who owns death? Who divinity? Who decrees the rules of healing? How is kindled the cruel miracle of life? And, ultimately, is it even worth it at all?

Credits to the keenly talented @angamaite-der-ritter for the art.

[whovianofmidgard]

Fated Ends

For Day 3 of @maedhrosmaglorweek

I was inspired to try this kind of poetry by @two-bees-poetry 's work, specifically this and this. And man oh man is it a lot harder than it looks.

Poem is also available on Ao3

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

A ficlet I kept thinking about while on vacation

566 words, T

On Ao3

“A woman seeks audience with you, lord,” says Maedhros’s new valet, bowing his head.

Maedhros has forgotten his name (it’s one of the new things he does—forgetting), but he likes his brusque, practical attitude and the awe in his eyes when he looks at Maedhros—just enough to be flattering instead of grating.

“For what reason?” Maglor asks—an echo of an unheard voice.

“She wishes to inquire about her son,” the valet says to Maedhros. “She has come from the mountains.”

“Invite her in,” Maedhros says before Maglor can speak.

His brother is standing behind his chair—a silent, disapproving presence. Ever since the word of Maedhros’s return spread across Beleriand, many have come to him, seeking news about loved ones captured by Morgoth. It has not become easier telling them that he knows nothing because he spent most of his time trying to gnaw his arm off. Yet, despite his brothers’ objections, Maedhros never turns anyone away.

The woman who enters looks old in a way no Quendi should, yet Maedhros now knows many who do. She greets them and declines Maedhros’s invitation to sit, standing before him, her hands together on her chest.

“I only wish to ask if you knew my son,” she says. “He had been taken by the Enemy just before your people returned to this land. Edolríon is his name.”

Maedhros met few other captives in Angband, yet this name he recognizes.

“Have you come to deliver me, lord?”

Maedhros remembers telling him that there would be no deliverance for either of them. Remembers looking at his reconstructed, misshapen body, closer now to the creatures of Morgoth than to an elf, and wondering if the same thing was going to happen to him. Remembers how Edolríon whispered there is still a way.

“I knew him,” Maedhros tells Edolríon’s mother. “He is dead.”

The woman sways, clenches her fists around the folds of her mantle.

“How?” she asks.

His hands around the boy’s neck. The mad, fearful beating of his pulse under Maedhros’s fingertips. His pleading eyes—the only elvish trait still left in him.

“I killed him,” Maedhros says, “with my own hands of which I still had two then. He did not suffer.”

He hears Maglor take a breath and grip the back of his chair. The woman only looks at him, her arms falling by her sides.

“Kinslayer,” she says then with no inflection. “May his blood forever stain your hands.”

She turns and walks away, her shoulders bending a little more with each step. Maedhros remains sitting with Maglor behind him. He cannot see his brother, but he knows his lips have lost color pressed against each other, knows the joints of his fingers must be aching, gripping the back of his chair so tightly.

“Say it,” he commands.

Maglor breathes out.

“You did not have to be so cruel.”

“Was I?” Maedhros asks. “What else would you have me do? I cannot spin a vile story into a tale to be admired as you do.”

Maglor does not rise to the bait.

“You could have lied,” he says, no accusing note slipping into his carefully curated tone.

His hands around the boy’s neck, shaking, drawing back. The despair in his eyes. The same eyes gazing at Maedhros later with no recognition from the face of an orc.

“I did,” he says and speaks of it no more.

[istaricelebelasse]

Anaire knew when her children died, one after the other, separated by century or decade. She knew when he husband died, the despair that came from him finally replaced by nothingness.

She did not know of her granddaughter, of her nephews and niece. Their fates were lost to her.

Only Arafinwë and Earwen, ever paler in sorrow and despair, told her of their fates. Only Nerdanel, quieter than ever she had been, was able to piece together when their lost family had faced some new horror.

Not an echo of their lamentations. Not a whisper of news for their families.

Not until a boy with Turukano’s nose and Elenwë’s eyes. Not until a girl with Olwë’s bearing. Not until two children cross the Sea bearing news and light.

Their tale hurts. It is cruel, difficult to hear, harder still for them to tell.

Anaire offers what kindness she can to her grandson. He is so young, barely more than a babe, yet speaks of having children of his own.

He left them behind. His Elwing left them behind. Anaire offers what hope she can, Maitimo ever was their first choice of babysitter. If he found the children then they will be safe.

She knows that it is bitter comfort. That were it not for her nephews, the grandchildren of her granddaughter would not have been left at all.

Arafinwë announces, to the relief of many of the Noldor left in Tirion, that they will be marching to Beleriand with the backing of the Valar and Vanyar. Earendil’s Silmaril has bought the Exiles an army.

Too late for most.

Too late for Anaire’s family.

Earwen will not go. She has been left to rule Tirion, to care for Findarato newly released from the Halls and so terribly fragile.

Nerdanel will not go. She fears to see what her sons have become. She fears that her face, so similar to that of her children, will spark distrust among those hurt by her sons.

Anaire does not speak of her choice at first. She returns to the home she has barely entered in centuries. Enters the chamber she had shared with her husband, and looks in the chest at the foot of their bed.

A sword lay within. Wrapped in linen, embellished with a star.

How she had hated it when Nolofinwe had brought it home! How she had despised the very thing! It had been pressed against his throat, been used to threaten his very life, and he had brought it into their bedchamber.

The last sword on the shores of Valinor forged by Fëanaro.

Anaire took it up, admired the gleam of the blade in the pale moonlight, and made her choice.

She would sail to Beleriand with the army. She would avenge her children and husband.

Findarato and Earendil had both spoken of Nolofinwe injuring Morgoth. Seven blows they said the songs spoke of.

With that hated sword in hand, she was sure she could do eight.

[tolkienseaweek]

welcome to tolkien sea week 2026 🦢

have you ever noticed how many of tolkiens characters are connected to the sea? or that quite a few water-related events take place throughout the ages? have you ever wanted to explore elven sea-longing or the vast mystery of what goes on underneath the waves in your work? do you love characters like ulmo, elwing, maglor and tuor? then come join tolkien sea week! a week for celebrating the repeated water and sea motifs in tolkiens work 🌊

written prompts, rules, and faq below ༄.°

prompts ⋆˙⟡

➛ day one: yearning, unrest, wandering

➛ day two: sailing, new beginnings, love

➛ day three: lurking, danger, fear

➛ day four: melancholy, nolstalgia, past life

➛ day five: tranquility, comfort, family

➛ day six: insanity, mortality, endings

➛ day seven: escape, avoidance, freedom

rules ⋆˙⟡

𖥔 you can use any of the three words listed in the prompts for each day to inspire you to create something related to the sea within tolkien’s legendarium.

𖥔 when posting, tag @tolkienseaweek and use the hashtag #tolkienseaweek so we don’t miss your work! if you don’t do this, there is a pretty slim chance that your work will be seen by the moderators.

𖥔 you can create any kind of work you like! fanfic, art, moodboard, headcanons, gifsets, poems, anything you want.

𖥔 if you are posting your work on ao3, please add it to the collection that is linked HERE and in the bio.

𖥔 please give your work a title so we are able to list all the works at the end of the event in a masterlist. if you don’t, it will be called something like “day four” or “day seven”.

𖥔 you may post nsfw works, but please tag them accordingly. the same goes for extremely triggering topics, since this event can have heavier/angstier elements.

𖥔 absolutely no works using generative AI. if it is evident that gen AI was used in the creation of your work, it will not be reblogged onto the event account or endorsed by event runners.

𖥔 late submissions are accepted, both during the event and after the event ends! we will check the event tag for about a week after the event ends once a day, and past that you must tag either @tolkienseaweek or @silme-lorien if you want your work reblogged and added to the masterlist.

questions? check here ⋆˙⟡

what constitutes a character or event being connected to water?

if the character or event you are creating a work around has a main plot point that involves the sea, a river, a lake, or any body of water of that nature, it counts. we do ask that your work actually depicts the characters connection to the water (ie, because niënor throws herself into the sea, she counts. but writing a fic about her searching for túrin would not count unless you can incorporate the sea into that). if you have more specific questions, send an ask!

do my works have to be in-universe?

not at all! i don’t want to limit your creativity. but please, if you are going to create a work in an alternate universe, ensure that the character or event you are depicting maintains it’s connection to the water. it must be involved in your work in some way.

are original characters allowed?

sure! as long as you can connect them to tolkiens works and the sea, go ahead.

is it okay if i can’t do all the days?

of course! you can participate in one or all the days. whatever inspires you!

⋆ if you have a question and it was not answered here or you need more clarification, you can send an ask to the event blog’s inbox or @silme-lorien

we look forward to seeing your contributions ! see you in february, and keep an eye out for updates… 🌊 🦢