#deamags

Hiii thank you for sending this! I have been thinking about how to answer it all week because I have *checks both ao3 accounts* 129 fics. I posted my first fic to ao3 in January 2022, which puts me in the fifth year of writing fic. 2026 is yet young, so I've picked one per year and 2 for my most prolific year.

2022 38 works

HEARKEN STILL UNSATED (Daeron/Maglor, M)

The harp’s clear music resounds against the ceiling. Daeron is afraid to open his eyes, for the warmth that pools inside him with each spill of sound presages what he might see there. So his memory would betray him even here, in the very heart of this fenced and guarded realm, in the presence of that holy instrument. His eyes are open. There, upon the stool of the Queen, Maglor sits. His fingers, as solid and real as those that once deftly braided Daeron’s hair with vines, dance across the strings. The golden light still shines, even brighter than before. Daeron burns. He shrouds himself in the blackness of his anger. “No,” he says. “It is not you. No Child of Eru can play upon that instrument, you least of all.”

This was the work of my heart. It's a love letter to Daeron, Maglor, and Tolkien. I would say, "I'd write it differently now," but, truthfully, I wouldn't write it at all now. And that would be a shame, because it's a special fic. Ambitious as hell and unapologetically romantic. A major turning point in my writing journey, when I really started to think about craft and find my voice.

2023 40 works

1. EVERLASTING DARKNESS (Earendil/Maedhros, Elwing/Maglor, E)

“Are you sure– are you absolutely sure we have been released? Not just pardoned – released? Even though we swore by the One beyond the Circles of the World?” “I am pretty sure,” Eärendil said, sounding unsure. “That is what Manwë said, in any case, and he talks to Ilúvatar, doesn’t he?” Maedhros’ gut lurched. “Wait – he does?” “Yes, or that’s what I’ve heard anyway.” “You realise,” Maedhros said, head spinning, “that if I have indeed been released, if it was possible for us to be released, that everything I did was for nothing?” “Hm,” said Eärendil, pausing to think for once. “I had not considered that.” He brought a finger to his lips. “Although – if you had not sacked Sirion, Elwing would not have ended up in the Sea with the Silmaril, and she would not have come to me, and I would not have come to the Enchanted Isles and escaped their enchantment, or come to the Shadowy Seas and passed their shadows, or landed, first of living Men, on immortal shores*– and so really, what you did was terrible and bad but not for nothing. You see?” “Hrmph,” Maedhros answered, and rubbed his temples.

I launched 2023 with this unhinged sex comedy/meta on the oath of Feanor. Another turning point in my writing journey: when I realised writing could be a horny hoot.

2. IF YOU ARE THE HEALER (Maedhros/Maglor, E)

Maglor speaks, and his breath slowly fills the shell of Maedhros’ ear. He says, "You have chosen to make Ñolofinwë king, and I will not speak against you. But I cannot ever imagine anyone but you as my king. Not before, and not now. I will bow to our uncle, I will perform whatever is expected of me, but in my heart I will only ever call you king. Forgive me, my liege, for I can do no other.” The profession of devotion pours into a hollow space that Maedhros did not even know was there. It rises up into his chest, stops his throat, and builds behind his eyes. Maglor’s body beside him is a bed of coals grown too hot, and when Maglor rubs a thumb over his palm, Maedhros’ thoughts thicken and stop.

I spent several months poking at this one-shot. I wanted to see if I could convince myself of this ship. I sure did.

2024 17 works

TWO HALF-KINGS AND FULL LAKE BETWEEN (Fingolfin & Maglor, M) co-authored with @melestasflight

‘Do you mean to kill me?’ Celegorm asks, slamming Maglor’s face to the ground. Maglor’s mouth fills with the dry, bitter taste of dirt. ‘If I must,’ Maglor grits between his teeth. He spits dirt and finds it thickened with blood. Celegorm hisses with laughter. He has him pinned, straddling his back. Maglor cannot move. ‘You could never,’ Celegorm taunts, his breath hot in Maglor’s ear. ‘You are a poet, brother, not a warrior. Keep to your place, a lord of the dark elves who love you for your songs, and I will keep to mine. Do you know why these soldiers follow me? They love me for my strength. As our father did. And he made me commander, Canafinwë, not you. Not Maitimo. Do not forget that.’

Some magic happened when Melesta and I decided to write this for Epistolary Week. A few letters between kings exploded into Finwean drama of the highest order. We both still occasionally gape at what we pulled off.

2025 13 works

AND LOVE GREW (Elrond & Elros & Maglor, M)

Elrond pulled his knees up, folding his body into a ball, and shook. His tears were hot and uncomfortable and his stomach clenched with every sob. Why couldn’t he be brave! Mama was brave, Papa was brave. Beren and Lúthien had been the bravest of all, and they were his forebears. Even Gwereth was brave, wasn’t she? At that thought, a memory lit up of Gwereth holding a rod of metal, fending off an enemy. Who was it? Where had they been? He sifted through his tattered memories, looking for the face of the enemy, some clue about where they were, but it was just Gwereth, bravely defending them. While he still had his head buried between his knees, an arm wrapped around him. Maglor scooped him up; instinctively, Elrond clung to his shoulder. Almost at once his head nodded, he drifted to sleep with a blur of questions floating around in his mind: Why had Maglor taken them into his care? Why was he so kind to them? What business did an elf-warrior have with him and Elros? Mama was gone, and Papa was away at sea. They needed someone, but Maglor was a stranger. He need not have burdened himself with them. They would bring danger to those who harboured them, Maglor had said. Maybe no one wanted them. Why would Maglor want them? What would he do when danger came?