New Challenge: Title Track
Tolkien's titles range from epic to lyrical to metaphorical. This month's challenge selected 125 of them as prompts for fanworks.
SWG News
Our Annual Amnesty Challenge: New Year's Resolution
Start 2026 off with creativity! If you missed a challenge or didn't get to finish or post a challenge fanwork, complete any 2025 challenge before 15 February to receive the stamp.
"The Fëanorian Zine" Available to Read and Download
We are pleased to be able to offer "The Fëanorian Zine" to read and download on the SWG for free.
Call for Artists for the 2026 Challenge Stamps
We are soliciting help from artists who want to help create the stamps we award to challenge participants.
New & Updated Fanworks
[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] Who Will Hear Me? by XirinOfArvada
A lonely elf finds a flute half buried beneath the sand and wonders if its owner will hear him when he calls.
[Writing] Loyal, Faithful by Himring
Late in the Second Age, one of the Faithful reflects critically on past developments. (Free verse.)
[Writing] East Away! by Flora-lass
Aldarion storms off towards Middle-earth. For the Title Track challenge.
[Writing] Don't You Ever Look Away by Elrond's Library
“They can’t just assume we’ll let them leave us behind.”
“But they are, and they will. Our fathers are the Heads of their Houses. Fëanáro is king. Defiance would be treason, beloved.”
“I am his firstborn.”
“You are his only daughter.”
“I have…
[Writing] Break Me by Elrond's Library
“You’re not going to break me,” Russo huffed, finally cracking open his eyes, which were bright with amusement. “They could not, what makes you think you could?”
For Scribbles and Drabbles 2025 SFW Slide 33
[Writing] Three Black Islands by Idrils Scribe
When Celebrimbor's attempts at forging the Rings of Power fail yet again, Annatar knows where to find the missing know-how.
For all the wrong reasons, Celebrimbor agrees to an expedition to the ruins of Angband to search Morgoth's own laboratory, deep in the icy Northern Wastes.
What…
Current Challenge
Title Track
Create a fanwork using our collection of 125 titles from Tolkien's books, chapters, essays, poems, and fragments as inspiration. Read more ...
Random Challenge
Love Conquers All
Show how one character helps another to overcome a difficulty in his or her life through love. Read more ...
New in References
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.
Twilight, Child Of: Comparisons Between Tinúviel, Lómion, and Undómiel by JazTheBard
This presentation for Mereth Aderthad 2025 discusses the many similarities between Tolkien's three "twilight children," Tinúviel, Lómion, and Undómiel (Luthien, Maeglin, and Arwen) in terms of appearance, plot, and cultural background. Yet these three characters play very different roles in the text.
The Aromantic in Tolkien by daughterofshadows
Presented at Mereth Aderthad 2025, this paper makes the case thata, although the term "aromantic" had not yet been coined in Tolkien's day, many of his characters can be read as aromantic. The paper takes a closer look at Aredhel, Bilbo, and Boromir as three examples of characters who can be read as aromantic.
Featured Themed Collection
Beyond the Silmarillion
[Writing] here you will dwell, bound to your grief by Elrond's Library
Arwen grieves, and loves.
[Writing] Faramir's Verse by losselen
“Come, Faramir. Let us not stand in ceremony. I think words are due between you and I, and not only those between a King and his Steward.”
Faramir has speech with Gandalf and his King.
[Writing] In a Hole in the Ground... by StarSpray
“There’s a goblin hiding in the taters, Dad!” Pippin hefted the pan, which was much too big for him to carry, let alone wield.
Around the World and Web
March Challenge - Tolkien Short Fanworks
Tolkien Short Fanworks is running a challenge for the month of March to create a Back to Middle-earth Month themed challenge.
Tolkien Fashion Week 2026
This two-week-long Tumblr event is dedicated to honoring the world of fashion and textiles Tolkien wrote about in his books.
Celegorm and Curufin Week 2026
Celegorm and Curufin Week is a Tumblr week celebrating the relationship between Celegorm and Curufin Feanorion
Back to Middle-earth Month 2026
Back to Middle-earth Month is returning for it's 20th year with many prompts and archival efforts.
The Court of Ardor by AliceNWonder000137
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The Assault on Hithlum - Part 2
The battle from Morelen's POV. I'll show both sides as the two are interconnected as siblings.
12) The Assault on Hithlum Part 2 – Year of the Sun 155 Quellë (Fading)
Morelen
She had heard this a thousand times since she learned to ride. It was at the point where she had lost patience for her father, Fëatur. “Enough, father! If you say this one more time…” she said with a hint of a veiled threat, shaking her hands in exasperation. She then put her hands on her hips over a rough linen tunic and leather pants, which were entirely too big for her thin frame. The dark color of her clothes contrasted with her pale skin.
“I mean it, Morelen. You cannot risk yourself. What do you think you’re doing? Come back here,” Fëatur said, his voice rising and full of impatience. He made a grunt of frustration as he walked quickly after her, their boots clacking on the stone floor of the keep where they were staying. “Morelen, I’m talking to you.”
She turned sharply, her shoulder length raven-black hair swirling about her face. She looked down into his eyes, practically glaring at him and pursed her full lips in irritation. “Why did we come all the way north as guests of Fingon? Wasn’t it to serve the cause of good? Who would I be if I do not fight for our people? You fought in the last battle. You served our people. Father, it was you who taught me about sacrifice, taught me about loyalty, about honor. If I cannot live up to those principles, then why did you teach me that?” She leaned against the wall of the keep and crossed her arms, her eyes daring him to answer.
It looked like Fëatur was about to launch into another tirade when he stopped, his mouth agape. Then he let out a long, frustrated sigh and shook his head. “Morelen, you are too smart for your own good. But you’re too young. You’re barely older than a girl. You can’t risk it yet.”
Morelen splayed her hands and then pointed to her sword at her hip and the bow on her back. “I spent the last fifty years training under Lyaan and Lysa. I’m already better than you with both. Here, shall we test it?” she said with another veiled threat as she put her hand on her weapon. “I’ve already won our last ten bouts.”
Fëatur put his hands up in mock surrender. “No, that’s not necessary. You are truly a better sword than I. If anything, you learn too quickly. It would be easy to become overconfident. The enemy is powerful and there are things in his army that you cannot hope to defeat.”
“Every elf in the army of Fingolfin faces the same challenge and yet, they all serve. Each one of them would die for the High King. What makes me so special?” She knew that she was gaining the edge. In spite of his great intellect, she found herself outpacing her father as of late.
Fëatur started to speak, but then stopped and shook his head again. He took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Fine. Fine. We will join the ranks of Fingon’s force, but you will not stray far from me. Am I understood? Do not test me on this, Morelen.”
A huge smile spread over her lips, and she nodded emphatically. “Of course, father. Thank you.” Then, in a near blur, she drew her blue recurve bow and put an arrow in the forehead of an armor manikin. “I’m nearly a better archer than Lyrin already and I’ve learned the illusions that you taught me. I’m ready to help and to serve.”
Fëatur bit his lip and then put his hand on her cheek. “You have grown so much in such a short time. I remember carrying you to Ty-Ar-Rana when you were an infant. I feel like I’ve blinked twice, and you’ve grown so strong, fast, smart and beautiful. I could not ask for a better daughter. It’s as if you embody Vána and Nessa in one person.”
Morelen snorted, flaring the nostrils of her slightly upturned nose. “Oh, don’t compare me to the Valar. I have nothing in common with their greatness.” Though she rejected the compliment it made her feel good.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” he said and then nodded, pointing towards the door. “Best you put on your armor if we’re going to fight a battle.”
They walked a short distance to the armory and Fëatur went to the stand that held her armor. He held up silver tassets and a fauld for the upper thighs and hips. “Raise your arms,” he said, and she held her arms up as he wrapped the fauld around her narrow waist and fastened it. He then strapped the tassets to her thighs. “Fingon was kind to have this armor crafted for you. They didn’t need a lot of metal for as skinny as you are,” he joked. “But it’s made from the strongest metal by the best armorers.”
Morelen felt that the pieces were light and well crafted, fitting her perfectly. She scrunched her face up. “Then why all of the fuss?” she asked and banged her fist on the silver metal. “See, it’s tough.”
He poked his finger onto her forehead, causing her to wince. “Because an orc arrow could wind up right here. Or you could get stepped on by a troll. This fine armor won’t stop that. So, I worry.”
Morelen’s earlier irritation faded away and a smile spread across her face. It felt good to know that he cared. “I know father. I know. I will be as safe as I can be with you and Fingon’s scouts. There are reports of orcs coming down the coast and we will confirm this and shadow their army. I know you worry about me, but I also have to follow my heart.”
He nodded. “I know you do. It’s what I taught you. Come, let’s get you ready,” he said as he picked up the greaves for her shins. Piece by piece he strapped on her armor ending in her gorget, the armor around her throat. He handed her gauntlets and a silver helmet and then attached the blue and silver tabard to her breastplate that bore the sigil of Fingon’s house, the Sun with rays extending from it contained in a diamond.
Her heart swelled with pride at wearing the colors of the prince. It was all that she ever wanted to do, serve her people and fight against Morgoth, the hated enemy. Then, something gnawed at her thoughts, something that had been sitting with her for a while now. “Father,” Morelen said with all seriousness. “I’ve been meaning to ask you…who is my mother?” She cocked her head as she awaited his answer. “I know Lysa helped to raise me for which I am grateful, but I want to know who my real mother is? Did she pass away? Why is she not with us?”
“No dear,” he answered slowly as he bit his lip. “Your mother…is in Angband.”
“What? I…is she…is she a prisoner there? Tell me about her. What is her name?”
Fëatur winced as if struck and Morelen could tell he was going through some turmoil. “No. Her name is…Yavëkamba, and she remained in Angband to fight from the inside.”
“I see. Why did you not tell me before?” she asked as a million questions formed in her mind. Remained in Angband? Why was she in Angband to begin with? She thought to ask those questions, but something else gnawed at her. “Does she have black hair? Because I know I did not get my hair color through you.”
“Perceptive as always Morelen. She has very dark brown hair. And yes, you get that and your looks from her,” he said, gesturing to her face. He seemed lost in thought for a moment. “Yes, the same heart-shaped face, round eyes…gray, almost silver in color. I see so much of you in her.” His eyes misted up and he wiped them with the back of his sleeve.
She glanced at him sideways as she knew he was holding something back. She could tell that he was worried about this Yavëkamba, her supposed mother. Though wanting more answers, she decided against making an issue of it now. “Thank you for sharing that father. Shall we get back to the business of arming?”
She felt a surge of excitement as she examined her armor, the silver plates reflecting the sun through the window. She had trained for decades to be part of something greater than herself. To take her place to help the world. Fëatur donned his lighter, leather armor along with a hard leather mask that covered his face and they walked to the courtyard where their mounts were waiting. Grooms handed them the reins and they swung up into the saddles of their white horses. Morelen admired the tall, powerful horse, its muscles rippling and its posture confident. She had named the mare, Lindarion, the son of song for his graceful and rhythmic gait.
Up ahead, the scouts were gathering and forming up in a column to ride out. Morelen took her place in the formation among the horse archers and awaited the command. One tall elf took the lead at the head of the column, and she could see his black hair glistening in the sunlight.
“Look father! It’s Fingon! He’s come to lead us. How can we fail now?” She practically squealed in glee. Though on the cusp of adulthood, it was easy for her to fall back to being a child. Her childhood had been nearly idyllic, with the love of her father and the care of The Three. She cherished the days where her father told stories of Valinor to her and taught her simple spells, conjuring illusory pets for her to play with. It was difficult for her to imagine any adversity that would be too much to overcome. Her training with the sword and bow as well as magic had been long and hard, but she had never faced anything beyond a sparring partner and a paper target.
Another elf raised a spear and pointed forward. She recognized him as Tintallo, captain of the lancers. “Company! Ride forth!” he called, and the beat of hoofs echoed in the courtyard.
One mounted elf next to her waved. Like her, he was clad in the silver armor of the riders with a sky blue surcoat. “We’ve been through this before,” he said warmly with a smile. “Stay with the company and you’ll be fine. We’re the Telepta Company, the Silvers. I’m Notaldo and this is Líreno and that is Hurinon,” he continued, pointing to two other Noldor who waved to her.
With the visor of her helmet up, she smiled at them and waved back. “I’m Morelen and this is my father, Fëatur.” She was glad that someone introduced themselves as she had not yet met anyone. Technically, they were just guests of Fingon and not actually part of his force.
“Ah, brought your father, huh?” Notaldo asked and winked at her. “Well, welcome to you both.”
The line of riders had moved up enough to where they could now follow. She liked the leather saddle that she was given. It was comfortable and stable with solid iron stirrups. Her excitement peaking, Morelen touched the spurs on her boots to the horse’s flank and they rode forth to battle.
Chapter End Notes
Introducing the Riders of Fingon and their troop.
