a library of oddities

Biomechanical elves, feat. Maglor and Galadriel! Because you don’t live for ~5000 years on one hröa without needing some maintenance.

Additional thoughts below the cut!

a double drabble written for the 6/6/2026 SWG Instadrabble session for the prompt: Green, Gems, Sunlight, Idle

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Celebrían had never been content to be idle—even the much needed rest of Lórien had chafed at her after a time, as she missed Elrond, missed her children, missed her home. It would be easier to bear, this long separation, if she could just be doing something.

Now she sat on a beach outside of Avallónë with her uncle, watching the sunlight play on the waves. Across the bay the gem-strewn beaches of Alqualondë glimmered like rainbows, red and green and blue and gold. “Well, what do you want to do?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” She stretched out her feet so her toes just brushed the waves as they whispered up over the soft sand. “Well, I want to go home.”

Finrod hummed quiet acknowledgment. That was why Celebrían loved him most—she could say things like that, and know herself understood, know that he would not try to convince her that it was better there, that she should try her best to put Middle-earth behind her.

“There are many here who remember Imladris,” Finrod said finally, “who miss it.”

“You think I should build it anew, here?”

Textile painting on linen about the slaying of the cold-drake Scatha by Fram, the fourth Lord of the Éothéod, inspired by the depiction of Sigurð slaying Fáfnir from the Hylestad Stave Church.

My roses have begun to bloom! I wish I could share the scent with all my mutuals, it is wonderful on my balcony 🥰

@silmarillionepistolary

It would be overstating matters a bit to say this letter relates to exploration and new lands (as per the prompts for Day 2), but the author of the letter has just taken up a new post in a new location. She is Edhellos, the widow of Prince Angrod, recently a refugee from Dorthonion.

Edhellos, now Warden of White Horn Tower, to Cirdan, Lord of Eglarest and Brithombar.

Thank you again for all the gracious assistance you have lent us! I am happy to report that all is going well so far in this our new venture. Although the previous warden you had installed was evidently very glad to be away—I gather Carallim had greatly missed serving you on a ship, which is his true vocation, and being stuck in a tower staring out over the sea was a poor substitute for him—we found everything in Barad Nimras in extremely good working order and I trust we will succeed in keeping it so.

I have put up the naltalma apparatus in the pavilion on the viewing platform and turned the largest room on the floor below into my room of records. Your people are viewing these manifestations of Noldorin newfangledness with some scepticism.  Captain Feinnen, in particular, may have something to say you about this, when you next meet. As the plan is for him to be stationed here regularly with me, when he is not patrolling the coast, I hope I can convince him that I am not more eccentric than he can tolerate!

I will write again soon, when we have settled in a little more. I wish to be useful to you, my friend, and not only by freeing up Carallim for other duties closer to his heart.

Edhellos

x x x  x x x  x x x

Thank you for the prompt! <33 This turned into a bit from the meanwhile the world goes on 'verse, not long after Go On Aching Still. Also it got a bit longer than the other ficlets so it's going under a cut.

30. What I want to say is that the past is the past, and the present is what your life is, and you are capable of choosing what that will be.

Thanks for the prompt!! 💖

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For a long time the despair seemed inescapable, the grief impenetrable, the weight of it all so heavy that he couldn’t do anything but lie on the ground and weep under the stars.

Eventually, though, his tears ran dry and his hand started to heal, and clear thought returned to him. With it came questions.

He had never been alone before. Always there had been something for him to do, some duty, some task or responsibility. He had been a prince, and a performer, and a warrior. He had been a son and a brother, a cousin, a guardian. Maglor realized he did not know who he was without any of those things, or if he could be anyone without them—who was he now, alone and almost nameless—for there was no one there to call him by any name, good or bad.

For a long time he sat on the stony shore and watched the waves roll in and out, glinting in the sunshine and the starlight, the tides ebbing and flowing, leaving behind the detritus of Beleriand, alongside the crabs and shellfish and things. “What do I do now?” he asked a seagull. It did not answer, too busy prying open a mollusk.

The wind picked up, whistling through the jagged rocks and kicking up spray and foam, and he felt it call to him. Always he had desired to follow the winds, to seek wide open spaces, or new places that no one else had yet seen. For so long he had been constrained—by duty, by the Oath, by fear—but now…what was there left to hold him back?

It would have been better with a companion. In all his youthful daydreams of exploration, Maedhros at least had been by his side. Still, Maglor got to his feet. The seagull took flight, its meal clutched in its beak. “What do I do now?” he asked the wind, and answered himself, “Well, I suppose I will wander where you lead me.”

For a long time he had thought he would never make music again—he had neither words nor melodies left. But as he walked his feet kept time with the waves, and he listened to their songs, and started to think—maybe. Someday.

This is the first piece written for Silmarillion Epistolary Week 2026, @silmarillionepistolary Day 1: Daily Life, Customs, Recipes

I have to admit, I wondered into the Hobbit, not the Silmarillion for day one. It was too much to resist. (Day two is into The Silm, I promise)

Hobbiton town Complaint Records (254 words) All writing for this week will be found in the AO3 link above.

The following is an excerpt of Hobbiton town records of various complaints brought by residents.

Complainant: Bilbo Baggins Complainee: Lobelia Sackville-Baggins Complaint: Stole silver spoons when invited to tea Resolved Y/N No Resolution/explanation: Complainee insisted she bought them in an estate sale and the spoons are rightfully hers. Complaint on going.

Complainant: Farmer Maggot Complainee: Peregrin "Pippin" Took Complaint: Took more mushrooms than is good for a hungry young hobbit to steal Resolved Y/N Y Resolution/explanation Complainee apologised and returned the excessive amount of mushrooms. *Note on this. Pippin also assisted Farmer Maggot in the restoration of his farm after the Scouring. Pippin’s response to this complaint is the reason Farmer Maggot has now nominated Pippin as Thain.

Complainant: Pimpernel Took Complainee: Samwise Gamgee Complaint: Complainee was lurking in the bushes and standing in an unnatural way. Resolved Y/N Y Resolution/explanation Complainee was pruning the bushes as part of his job as gardener

Complainant: Lobelia Sackville-Baggins Complainee: Bilbo Baggins Complaint: Refuses to let me in, despite offering help with his party. Resolved Y/N N Resolution/explanation: Bilbo still refuses and he placed a “No admittance” sign up in response. *Note on this. Despite Bilbo's disappearance at siad party, complaint remains unresolved. Complainant has now taken up stated issue with Bilbo's heir, Frodo Baggins.

for Turgon and Maeglin?

Thank you very much! I love your writing!

Thank you for the prompt! <3

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The day after Aredhel was laid to rest, Maeglin came to Turgon. His eyes were reddened but dry, and he bowed low even though they were alone, in private. The reason became clear in a moment, when he asked permission to descend to the bottom of Caragdûr to build a cairn for Eöl. “Only a simple one,” he said, voice quiet, gaze somewhere around Turgon’s knees.

“Why?” Turgon asked, aghast at the thought of giving even that much honor to Aredhel’s murderer, before his mind caught up to his tongue and he remembered—

“He was my father,” Maeglin said, still quiet, expression now shuttered. He clasped his hands behind his back, posture stiff. “And—my mother loved him, once.”

“What do you need for it?” Turgon asked after a moment.