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Our May challenge will be a Matryoshka built around a scavenger hunt. If you'd like to hand out prompts (and receive comments on your work for doing so!), you can sign up to do so.
SWG News
New Challenge: Everyman
Create a fanwork about an ordinary character in the legendarium using a quote about an unnamed character as inspiration.
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 & Updated Fanworks
[Writing] A Very Fire by Deborah Judge
Feanor and Fingolfin, from their youth to their fall.
"I will do this gladly," Fingolfin said, whispering into Feanor's mouth, grasping for reasons and sense. "Gladly, if it will bring peace between us. If it will end the madness."
"The madness will not end," Feanor…
[Writing] After the Kinslaying by Deborah Judge
A Teleri fishing boat captain turns to farming on abandoned Noldor lands after her ship is stolen. A Noldor farmer returns with Finarfin to find that his land belongs to the Teleri now.
[Writing] Add Another Stone by StarSpray
The thing about forgiveness, he thought, was that it was so much easier when the object of it was far away—or dead. It was so much easier to let it all go when those responsible were far away and unable to do any more harm.
[Writing] How Tolkien Presents Ordinary People in "The Silmarillion" by Dawn Felagund
Inspired by collecting the prompts for the Everyman challenge, this essay considers how ordinary people are subsumed and silenced in The Silmarillion, which begins a three-book arc that ends with the rise of the humble and ordinary.
[Writing] Blessed are the Leave-takers by Isilme_among_the_stars
As prince Curufinwë Fëanáro makes an historical speech from the high court of the King upon Túna, those at the back of the crowd strain to hear.
A silly little scene inspired by Monty Python's "Blessed are the Cheesemakers" scene from The Life of Brian, written for …
[Writing] I Sit and Think of Times There Were Before by Erdariel
In his old age, Isildur's former esquire Ruinamacil, known to later histories only as Ohtar, writes his own account of his escape from the ambush at Gladden Fields and journey to Imladris, and the history of his friend whom Isildur ordered to flee with him.
[Writing] Until the Stars are All Alight by Dagstjarna
Reembodied in Aman, Celebrimbor decides to return to Middle earth to help heal the darkness and hurt wrought by the ring.
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
Queens of the Quill
In the spirit of poetry month and Legendarium Ladies April, create a fanwork using a poem by a woman poet as your inspiration. 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
[Writing] Down the Long Years by Isilme_among_the_stars
Bilbo, the strange old hobbit with the wandering feet, senses something special in young Frodo the first time he sees the lad; as they become close, they find in each other a cameraderie not well understood by other hobbits. Five poignant moments between Bilbo and Frodo Baggins over the course…
[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.
Around the World and Web
Week of Kiliel
A Tumblr event dedicated to the relationship between Kili and Tauriel.
Aspec Arda Week 2026
This week-long event celebrates asexual and aromantic spectrum interpretations and headcanons of Tolkien’s Legendarium.
April/May Teitho Challenge
Teithio is running a prompt challenge around the theme of "heartbreak."
Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2026
The Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang is back for another summer of collaboration between artists and writers!
A Very Fire by Deborah Judge
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The Seeing-stone
Feanor shows Fingon a vision.
Fingon knew he shouldn't be at Feanor's home by himself. His father had told him not to go there, that while he cared for his brother he worried about what he might do. He had a strange look whenever Feanor was mentioned and sometimes went by himself to Feanor's home and would't let his children come with him. But Fingon was fully grown in body, though a few years below his maturity, and for more than a decade he and Maedhros had been close friends. Surely by now he must be old enough. Fingon had been curious to finally meet his friend's father, so he had come to his house and let Feanor lead him to this room filled with gemstones and crystals
They sat across a white table with one clear round jewel between them. Feanor cupped his hand around it. "What do you seek, Son of Indis?" he asked again. His eyes were dark, burning and taunting. Almost against his will, Fingon followed his uncle's gaze to the centre of the stone.
He saw white cliffs, crashing waves, burning heat. He saw a male lion pouncing, towering in its masculinity, with eyes that seemed like his own. He saw two figures, limbs entwined in a passionate embrace, and knew with certainty that one was himself. He felt the intensity of their pleasure, and their heat…
"Stop that," Fingon said. He could see why his father didn't like him. "And stop calling me 'Son of Indis.'"
"I name you after your father," Feanor responded. "But as for the stone, it is your own desires that it reveals."
Fingon closed his eyes and willed his mind blank. When he opened them again the stone was flat and colourless.
"You have strength, though you are young," Feanor said, almost mocking, "and the stone is not your master. But will you not learn from it? For it has much to teach. I ask again, Fingon son of Fingolfin, what is it that you desire?"
The colors of the stone shifted then from white to green, not the green of the stone Fingon's father always wore, not quite, but the green of hills, of a landscape not of Valinor. The colors resolved into the picture of a vast expanse streaked with rivers, the dark and gold and red of trees, the white stone of tall mountains. Fingon saw great cities built, brick by brick, and beyond each city yet another dark wild to explore. In a high city there was a king, and a throne, and a crown. And whose face was that beneath the royal circlet? Was it his? Or his father's?
"What are you, Son of Indis?"
The picture dissolved into a single white-gold flame, burning, soothing, touching, seeing.
"Can I go now?" Fingon asked, jerking his eyes from the stone.
"You came willingly, and I do not hold you," Feanor answered. "Go, and think on what you have seen. Return when you will, for I have much to teach you."
When Fingon left Feanor's house he went instinctively to the rock by the lake where he liked to sit with Maedhros. It seemed like the safest place, and he wanted to avoid his father for the moment. Father on a throne, with a crown, ruling over lands vast beyond imagining…or was it me? Was it this that Fingolfin had been seeking, when he went alone to his brother? And what do I seek?
Fingon thought of his other teacher, Arosanwe of the Vanyar, who had been his mother's teacher before him. Arosanwe taught that all was based on love: the love of the All-Father, from which emanated the music and the Valar. The love of the Valar, each for the other and for the one, that lay at the root of creation. The love blessed on us by our creators, which leads us back to union with the primordial music. Love, said Arosanwe, is the only guide that we are given. "Love," he said, "and do as ye will." Was this like Feanor's teaching, to know one's desire? Are the longings of the heart also emissaries of the Valar, sent to teach their truths? Or are they from somewhere else, somewhere that Fingon could not even imagine?
And what is it that I desire?
It was in these thoughts, uncharacteristically quiet, that Maedhros found him. He shivered, unexpectedly, at the familiar touch of his friend's hand on his back.
"What did my father do to you?" Maedhros asked. His eyes narrowed, and he looked as angry as Fingon had ever seen him. He wondered what his face revealed to inspire such a response, and touched his cousin's hand in reassurance.
"When you look into the stone, Maedhros, what do you see?"
"He gave you the seeing stone?" Maedhros scowled. "How could he force you, underage…"
At that moment, Fingon felt far from underage. "I'm old enough to be your friend, aren't I? Tell me what you saw."
Maedhros let out a sigh and sat down next to his cousin. "I saw myself fighting."
Against your father? Fingon thought but did not say. "You mean, hitting someone? With your fists?"
"No, with a long metal stick, a sword…aren't you going to tell me what you saw?"
"Yes," …two bodies entwined … "Just not now."
They sat quietly, their feet dangling just above the shallow waves. Fingon picked up a flat stone and threw it with one long motion, watching as it skipped across the water. His cousin's mute presence made him feel stronger, and he began to relax muscles he had not known he had tensed. "What's a sword?" he asked after a time.
"It's something dark-Elves use in Middle-earth, when they have enemies to fight against. Like a knife, made of metal, but longer, and sharp on both sides. Here, let me show you." Maedhros took two stones and knocked them together to form an edge. Then he picked up a branch from the forest, and used the stone to scrape away its sides until it was sharp-edged and pointed.
"What do you do with it?"
Maedhros jumped to his feet, mock-sword in hand, and strode a short distance into the forest. Over the years he had become far more comfortable in his motions than he had been when he first came to Fingolfin's home, but here with a wooden sword in his hand he moved with a violent joy, as if with music in his limbs. He faced a tree as if it were an opponent, thrusting, turning, dancing around it. The light of Laurelin lit his copper hair, and his eyes were brighter than all the gemstones of Feanor. Fingon watched, amazed, his friend, always so quiet, now transformed. Or perhaps it is my eyes that have changed, and I only see what was always true.
"Would you make one for me?" he asked.
Maedhros bent to pick up another branch.
"No, a real one, from the forge. You've made one for yourself, haven't you?"
The sudden grace in Maedhros's limbs shifted back to his more usual hesitation. "Why?"
Because it means something to you. "So I can practice with you." So I can dance your dance with you, and be with you in what makes you alive.
Maedhros dropped the wooden sword and climbed back on the rock to sit next to his friend. "It doesn't make sense, I know. There isn't anyone to fight in Valinor, and the Valar take care of everything we need. But in Middle-earth our kinsmen the Sindar battle Orcs, and wolves, and other evil creatures. The Powers called us here and I do not want to go against their word, or against grandfather's wisdom. But this does seem to be what I am made for."
"Middle-earth," Fingon breathed. "That is what I saw. Middle-earth." Green endless hills and dark places. Rivers. Mountains. Space. Freedom. He imagined himself at his cousin's side in the wild lands across the sea, and smiled at the thought.
Maedhros looked up with a sudden curiosity and hope. "Then I will forge you a sword."
They remained by the lake for a long time that day. When Fingon finally did return home, after the light of Laurelin had faded into the silver light of Telperion, he was quiet, and avoided conversation with his family. His mind was on distant lands, and swords, and all that he had seen that day in the stone of Feanor.
Chapter End Notes
Arosanwe of the Vanyar is based on Augustine of Hippo. I think he would have liked it in Valinor. Fingon also quotes him in my fic Across the Ice. Fun fact: I have references to religious texts all over my fics but Fingon is the only character I've ever had quote St. Augustine. I'm sure there's a reason for that. None of this is to imply that he would have approved of anything Fingon does, either in this fic or in canon.
