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.
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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
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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
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 Dark Mage of Rhudaur by AliceNWonder000137
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Snow in Summer
Dagar weighs his options after the destruction of Maig Tuira and Mercatur reveals part of his past. Conflict rises among the Dunnish tribes over the spoils of war while snow falls in the summer.
The Dunnish Track, Cerveth 6th, 1407
The waenhosh spent a day in Maig Tuira, searching for survivors before deciding to continue on. Baga Montúri rolled around in the back of a wagon, semi-conscious and often delusional with fever as Old Pad did his best to attend to the boy’s wounds. It seemed to be a losing battle. Night was falling again and Nasen declared a halt, ordering Nig and Cisgid to make camp. The mercenaries hopped off of the wagons with grunts and started to pitch their tents and build a fire. The snow began just as the sun set, dusting the ground with white flakes.
In the morning, the ground was dusted with a fine coat of snow. Nig and Cisgid covered the fires and threw the supplies back into the wagons to prepare to move. Dagar drank a hot cup of coffee and fidgeted while discussing the plan with Nasen and Penda Oxkiller. The young man was torn between turning around to get Baga to a healer and pressing forward to the Tirthon. This was his test by his father, and he was terrified of the idea of letting him down. “I…need to think. I need to think,” he said, more to himself than anyone. The pressure was immense and his head pounded under the strain.
Nasen crossed his arms and pursed his thick lips. “There’s nothing to think about, Master Dagar. We have to press on. The Tirthon needs our supplies if they are to survive the winter. House Rhudainor will reward you and your father richly, this I can assure you.” He looked at Penda, a big Northron with arms and legs like tree trunks, clad in hardened leather and chainmail armor with a hand axe at his belt. Blond, braided hair flowed down his back and around a long beard. Penda nodded but remained silent. That man scared Dagar half to death.
“Yes…yes, you’re right, good Nasen. What was I thinking?” Though still unsure, Dagar wanted to project confidence, something that he was sorely lacking. This was becoming increasingly difficult. He was an accountant and a mediocre bard, not an adventurer. He had done his utmost to prepare and tried to think of every detail, but he was out of his element. He thought for a moment about the luxurious drawing room of the House of the Nightsingers, paneled in crimson where Haedorial would compose music and rehearse his singing. He would listen as he sipped on brandy from a crystal glass, blown by Meneldir Calimiri, the finest glassblower in the North. Calimiri’s crystal was prized in the civilized world and decorated tables as far off as Minas Anor and Minas Ithil. Such comfort and finery were all that he wanted from life, but reality placed him on this dusty road in the middle of nowhere with rough men that he had no common ground with. “Yes, we’ll continue on,” he said in resignation. “Old Pad will do his best for poor Baga. It’ll be fine.”
Nasen smiled. “I knew we would see eye to eye. Your father will be proud of you, this I know.” He motioned back to the wagons. “I know that there is a healer in the Tirthon…Lady Éanfled. You know…she was a lady to the Princess of Cardolan, so I hear. I think you would enjoy speaking with her.”
Dagar’s heart skipped a beat and his eyes widened. “The Princess Nirnadel? She knows her? By the Valar, I wish to speak to her. Oh, I do so miss Cardolan.”
Nasen began walking back to his wagon as Penda went back to his. “Excellent. It’s settled then. Maig Tuira was a terrible tragedy, and we will honor them when we get home. Besides, the Tirthon should be made aware of this.”
Dagar climbed atop his wagon and looked back into the covered bed. Baga slept soundly, his face and arms wrapped in linen bandages that showed some bloodstain. “How’s he doing, Old Pad?”
The old servant shifted his thinning white hair from his eyes and nodded. “Poor boy…he gets better slowly, but still a while take. I do my best, young Dagar.” Old Pad was never the sharpest knife in the drawer, but his loyalty was never in doubt. He would do his best for Culberth and Dagar even if it killed him. “I change bandage soon too.”
Mercatur was reclined on the seat next to him with his leather hat over his face. “All the talking done? We ready to go?”
“Yes, we are, good Mercatur. We will be pressing on to the Tirthon.”
He pulled the hat off of his face and sat up as the wagon began moving. “Good. I have some other business there.”
Genuinely curious, Dagar asked, “And what would that be?”
“Family. You might not understand,” the mercenary grunted sourly.
Dagar wanted to find some common ground with these men. After all, when he inherited his father’s business, he would need to learn how to deal with them. “I might surprise you, good Mercatur. Just a few months ago I was a pariah in my house, plying my trade, tending to accounts in a house of bards in Tharbad.”
“Hmmm, fine…The Lord of the Tirthon…Marendil Rhudainor…he’s my cousin,” he said slowly as if thinking on every word. “He owes me some money and I’m going to collect. I’d have better odds collecting from his sister, Silmarien, but she’s studying magic in Tharbad.” He pinched his nose. “Hrmph…magic,” he said derisively.
“Cousin to Lord Rhudainor? I’m impressed. Would you share how you ended up here?”
Mercatur waved his hand dismissively. “Eh, enough for now. I’ll talk more once I’ve had another ale in me.”
“Of course. Of course. On your own good time.” Dagar looked up at the lightly falling snow that was beginning to coat the ground. “And this snow? What is going on? This is the middle of summer.”
The mercenary caught a couple of flakes in his hand, which melted immediately. “I don’t know, but I don’t like it. This ain’t natural, I can tell you that.” He pointed back at Gamrid and Jaabran. “Us three have been working this track off and on for ten years and I ain’t never seen anything like this. Best you keep your eyes open, you hear?”
“I hear you, good Mercatur.”
“And next stop, I’m going to show you how to use that crossbow.”
The Dunnish Camp, Cerveth 7th, 1407
A rowdy ruckus sounded from the huts of the Macha Mur tribe. Warriors herded shrieking captives into a stockade with spears and then slammed a spiked wooden door closed on them. The Macha Mur warriors cheered as their chief, Lumban, pinned more bloody ears on his brown cloak. His face was leathery from years in the sun and he wore his brown hair in a messy bowl cut. He pointed into the stockade. “Another great victory, lads!” he called out to more cheers. “Bring me three more ears and one of the women!”
“Stop! Enough!” someone yelled. Cagh Monȗnaw, stomped up to Lumban, towering over the shorter man. His hardened leather breastplate bore the symbol of a crow in flight. His face was twisted into a scowl beneath wavy brown hair down to his neck. He was the son of the chief of the Siol Nȗnaw and was the leader of his tribe’s expedition as Garon Monȗnaw was now too old. His two lieutenants stood behind him, hands on hips, glowering in displeasure. Cagh waved his hands in anger. “We are not savages, Lumban. You will not harm any of the prisoners.”
Lumban poked his finger in Cagh’s armored chest. “You were late. You didn’t show up for the battle. You have no say in how we treat our slaves.”
“Battle? Against villagers? Hrmph. I have the larger army, Lumban. You need me for the coming battle. The real battle.”
Lumban thought for a moment. He was savage, but he was no fool. “Fine. Just stay out of my way when we attack the Tirthon. Watch the real warriors fight. And I will do what I want when we sack it. Gold, treasure, women. I say how they get used.”
Cagh snorted and turned away, swinging his green cloak behind his gilded leather armor. For a moment, he feared that Lumban would attack him from behind, but he realized that such a dishonorable move would incite a war between the tribes. If he had to fight, he would do it on his terms, with honor and abiding by the rules of war. Anyone surrendering would be treated with respect and no prisoners would be abused. He looked into the stockade and saw the prisoners huddled together, sobbing and pleading. Eight villagers lay wounded, cared for by the rest. He looked at his two lieutenants. “Colt, Dennan, get the healers to the stockade and give them some treatment. Things have gone well so far. We have sustained no losses. Remember what my father said. We slow walk this and fight only when necessary and we fight with honor. Our tribe will survive.” These two young men were like brothers to him. They were raised in his house, and they became men together. Each man would die for the others.
Colt, a lean Dunnish man with short brown hair, nodded. “I’ll take care of it, Cagh. And we understand.”
Dennan pointed to the huts of the Macha Mur. “They won’t admit it, but they took more losses than they let on. And against villagers, no less.”
Cagh snorted a laugh. “They’re not quite the warriors they’d like us to think they are. If they spend themselves attacking the Tirthon, so much the better.”
“What about the waenhosh coming up the road?” asked Colt. “Scouts report that they’ll pass here along the Dunnish Track in a few days. You know that they will have supplies for the tower.”
“Our orders from the Cultirith are to harass only,” Cagh answered with a sigh. “We’re to put on a good show, but not stop them. When we do this, no losses, am I understood? I don’t want anyone dying for this farce.” He looked back as another cheer came up from the Macha Mur camp and shook his head in disgust.
Dennan, a short, stocky man, put his hand on Cagh’s shoulder. “Understood, Cagh. I know your father would want to be here, but we’re glad you’re in charge. But why don’t we just take the waenhosh? It doesn’t make any sense.”
Cagh shrugged. “I don’t pretend to understand the Witch-King or his servant, Hirgrim. I hear that he has an agent in the waenhosh along with some secret weapons from a bygone era that the mage dug up. So, we just do our duty and not lose anyone. The tribe will come out of this, I promise you that.” He looked up as snow began to fall and coat the ground. “This is unnatural. I don’t trust all of this sorcery. No good can come of it.”
Chapter End Notes
Mercatur reveals that his is part of a noble house. Dagar tries to find his way in leading the waenhosh. We see that the Dunnish tribes are not so united in their cause. And what sorcery is causing snow to fall in summer?
