New Challenge: Everyman
Create a fanwork about an ordinary character in the legendarium using a quote about an unnamed character as inspiration.
SWG News
Cultus Dispatches: Fanworks, AI, and Resistance by Dawn and Grundy
The fan studies column Cultus Dispatches returns with a history of how Tolkien fanworks fandom has reacted and resisted generative AI by drawing strong boundaries in a way that is not typical for the fandom.
Instadrabbling Sessions for April, May, and June
Instadrabbling continues on the first Saturday of each month on our Discord server.
New Challenge: Famous Last Words
For our March challenge, our moderators will assign you a famous last line to use as a prompt.
New & Updated Fanworks
[Writing] a life freely given, a favor returned by skywardstruck
Finrod and Bëor stop for a while on the road to Nargothrond to rest. The bodies of the Secondborn often grow weary, and Finrod laments, massaging Bëor's back and renewing his beloved's vigor with the work of his hands. But Finrod has other burdens of his own, Bëor soon discovers, returning…
[Writing] dye me, nocturne by skywardstruck
Maglor without Maedhros, Daeron without Lúthien. Alone, they are nothing, but together, they can be something more.
Where do you turn, when you have no one else left?
Written for Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2023, featuring artwork by athlai.
[Writing] Til We're on the Other Side by StarSpray
It was only the second time Finwë had come out foraging with them, and of course this would happen—of course the Hunter would come, the Dark Rider on his steed with its terrible, heavy footfalls, and the deep-throated laughter that held no mirth, only malice.
In the dark…
[Writing] A Hundred Miles Through the Desert by StarSpray
“Come on.” Maedhros grabbed his hand and pulled him along down the path, both of them quickening their pace now, until the trees opened up into a wide meadow filled with flowers, bright yellow celandine and dandelions and sweet-scented pale chamomile mingling with cornflowers and irises. On…
[Writing] Hill and Water Under Sky by StarSpray
a collection of drabbles and mini ficlets in the meanwhile the world goes on 'verse that aren't long enough to stand on their own
[Writing] The Long Arm of the Law by Elrond's Library
Turgon cannot be above the law.
[Writing] Despair and Shadows by octopus_fool
Haleth leaves to find her brother, even though her father does not permit her to.
Current Challenge
Everyman
Create a fanwork about an ordinary character in the legendarium using a quote about an unnamed character as inspiration. Read more ...
Random Challenge
Heroes
Create a fanwork about a hero, whether the typical saves-the-world type or the unlikely, unsung, and accidental, those who have been forgotten or perhaps were never noticed at all, who made their worlds a better place. Read more ...
New in References
Fandom Draws the Line: Fanworks, AI, and Resistance by Dawn Felagund, Grundy
By definition, fanworks fandom does not draw a lot of boundaries, but community archives and events have taken a strong stance against AI-generated fanworks due to ethical considerations and member input.
Grief, Grieving, and Permission to Mourn in the "Quenta Silmarillion" by Dawn Walls-Thumma
In a book as full of death as the Quenta Silmarillion, grief and mourning are surprisingly absent. The characters who receive grief and mourning—and those who don't—appear to do so due to narrative bias. Grief and mourning (or a lack of them) serve to draw attention toward and away from objectionable actions committed by characters.
Tolkien, Lunatic Physicists, and Abnegation by Cynthia (Cindy) Gates
This presentation for Mereth Aderthad 2025 discusses the parallels between the concept of abnegation in the scientific work surrounding the atomic bomb and in The Silmarillion. The relinquishment of self-interest in favor of the interests of others, abnegation was identified by Tolkien as a powerful act of spirit and reason. The legendarium has many examples of the complexities of abnegation, which parallel similar discussions held by physicists during and after World War II.
Featured Themed Collection
Beyond the Silmarillion
[Artwork] The Mirror of Galadriel by skywardstruck
Smoke rises from the Mirror, where the Lady of Lothlórien awaits to share its visions.
[Writing] Bar-en-Eladar by Gabriel
Out of the shadow, light is born anew.
A Chieftain is dead. And whilst the events surrounding his death are unclear, a son tries to come to terms with his loss.
[Writing] Why did Éowyn ask Faramir if he'd rather have a "woman of the race of Númenor"? by Quente
For most of my life, when reading Lord of the Rings, I read it through the perspective of Gandalf's words about Éowyn, that she'd spent years trapped as a caregiver, watching the realm she love fall from honor into disgrace.
But what if Éowyn was also a student of history?
…
Around the World and Web
Angbang Week 2026
Angbang Week is a tumblr event focusing on the relationship between Morgoth and Sauron, running from May 5-11, 2026
Gondor Week 2026
A Tumblr week event focusing on the history of the realm of Gondor.
Crablor Day
A day dedicated to everyone's favourite warcriminal crustacean - April 26, 2026
April/May Teitho Challenge
Teithio is running a prompt challenge around the theme of "heartbreak."
April Challenge Tolkien Short Fanworks
Tolkien Short Fanworks is running a challenge around the theme of "fools," "foolishness," or "being fooled."
Song of Lake Linaewen by Zdenka
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Night of Flame
The Sons of Fëanor attack the Havens. Aewelir makes a choice.
Oops, I was wrong about the chapter count. There is one more chapter after this one. CW for this chapter: blood, minor OC death, canon-typical violence.
Written for the femslashficlets Language of Flowers prompt table challenge: iris, meaning "hope" and "valor". And the following prompts from B2MeM 2019 Bingo:
Color Burst 3 – Yellow: Halo (G55)
F/F Potpourri: "Stars are falling, are we falling too? Dawn is coming, what's this coming to?" (LP, Night Like This) (O66)
Of The Sea: Vessels (ship, boat, etc) (G51)
The Late, Great Mary Oliver: "We should take small, thoughtful steps. But bless us, we didn't." (O66)
Aewelir could not avoid the sight of Maicáne altogether, in a place as crowded as the Havens. Sometimes in the marketplace, Aewelir would turn despite herself—and Maicáne was there at a distance, a tall, straight figure among the crowds. Sometimes she was alone, sometimes with a few Noldor companions. If Aewelir didn’t hurry away, Maicáne would turn towards her unerringly, like a leaf in the river-current. Aewelir always felt a jolt if their eyes met; she turned away quickly, her heart beating faster. Maicáne never approached or attempted to speak with her, but Aewelir dared not look too long. And so time passed, until the night when Aewelir awoke to fire and screams.
Aewelir had fallen asleep on the roof, as she often did. The noise woke her; still dazed, she scrambled to her feet and scanned the horizon. From different directions, the wind carried shouts, screams, the clash of weapons. A sinister red glow lit the northern part of the Havens, and the air above was thick with smoke. Her heart froze with horror. Had the Orcs come for them, even here?
She did not know where she was going or why; terrified, she climbed down to the ground and dashed away, helpless as a bird whose nest is overturned. Suddenly, Aewelir heard unfamiliar voices. She flattened herself to the wall of the nearest house, pressing into its shadow. Commands in Quenya, a rayed star flashing on shield and armor—these were no Orcs. The Sons of Fëanor had come for the Silmaril.
They went past without seeing her, and Aewelir ran again, wanting only to get away. But she found her pace slowing, until her feet came to a stop. Maicáne was out there somewhere in the darkness. Maicáne would be fighting, with her silver sword and her scorched armor; loyal as she was, she would stand and fight to the death. Aewelir turned on her heels and ran the other way, swift as the wind; this time, she knew what she was seeking. She would know if Maicáne was no longer here in Middle-earth, she was certain; there would be a cold, dark absence in her heart. And as long as Maicáne was still alive, Aewelir could find her.
Her heart beating fast, Aewelir darted from shadow to shadow. She saw the battle in quick glimpses, while the Havens burned and sparks rained down from the rooftops like falling stars.
When Aewelir found Maicáne, she was fighting a desperate battle against a group of the Fëanorians. Her long silver sword flashed in the torchlight, and the flames behind her haloed her head. Two comrades lay on the ground by her feet, and another Noldo with the Silver Fountain badge was beside her, fighting with equal fierceness.
As Aewelir crept closer, Maicáne’s last comrade staggered back from a sword-blow and collapsed to the ground. He tried to move, but one of the Fëanorians stabbed him through the throat. When the blade drew back, a gout of blood followed like a horrible flower. He fell back and lay still.
The commander of the Fëanorians gave a satisfied nod. She gestured to the others to hold their position and advanced on Maicáne with drawn sword.
As if in a dream, Aewelir saw Maicáne sway on her feet and catch herself against the wall with her left hand. The Fëanorian drew back her sword to strike, and Aewelir dashed out of hiding and threw herself in front of Maicáne with a shriek.
The Fëanorian soldier stared at her, blade paused mid-air. Aewelir groped for half-remembered words of Quenya. “Stop!” she managed. “Stop, not—don’t hurts her. She is mine.” She stood in front of Maicáne protectively, her arms outstretched.
“Aewelir.” Maicáne’s voice was hoarse and anguished. “Aewelir, don’t. If you run, they’ll let you go.”
The Fëanorian tilted the point of her sword to aim at Aewelir. “Out of the way.”
Aewelir only half-understood the words, but the meaning was clear. She shook her head frantically.
“Aewelir!” Maicáne pushed herself away from the wall and stepped forward, beginning to raise her sword. Then she crumpled to the ground, her sword falling from her hand with a clang.
Aewelir gave a quiet sob of anguish. The Fëanorian glanced past her at Maicáne, then back at Aewelir. Her gaze was sharp and cruel as a hawk’s; Aewelir felt like a little mouse or a fledgling bird before her. The moment seemed to stretch forever, but she dared not look away.
At last, the Fëanorian seemed to shrug. She inclined her head to Aewelir in a brusque ironic salute, and gathered her troops with a gesture and a brief command. They moved away through the fire-shadowed streets, leaving a pile of still bodies behind them; and Aewelir in the midst of the carnage, unharmed but shaking.
Aewelir flung herself down beside Maicáne, seeking the pulse in her throat. Still beating, and Aewelir breathed again. She reluctantly left Maicáne long enough to check the others, but none were living.
With shaking hands, Aewelir tried the door of the nearest house. It opened, but no one was inside. With a silent apology, Aewelir dragged Maicáne inside and made her a nest of blankets on the floor. She cleaned and bandaged Maicáne’s wounds as well as she could with torn-off strips of cloth. And then there was nothing to do but wait.
Aewelir lay down beside Maicáne and curled up around her to keep her warm. She kept her hand over Maicáne’s heart, so she would know if it faltered, and sang softly into her ear, all the old songs of Lake Linaewen, weaving in the little power she had. And when the long night drew near its end and the sails of Círdan’s ships came in sight, Maicáne’s heart was still beating strong and steadily.
