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.

“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 done everything to be the son he wished me to be.”
“And yet, you are not.”
Findekánë and Maitindë do not go to Beleriand with their fathers. This changes very little, and yet so much.
For Scribbles and Drabbles 2025 SFW Slide 213 Two Queens

The falcon joined her on the second day of watching. And stayed with her, watching her … Galadriel would say surreptitiously, if birds could do more than blankly stare. It was unnerving. The falcon preened its dark feathers occasionally, but otherwise watched the disembarking Elves with the same keen gaze as Galadriel.
Under the moonlight of the third night the falcon shivered, stretched, and shifted to become one who had been thought lost.
Elwing reunites with Galadriel before the War of Wrath.

Finarfin in a thoughtful moment on the way to the War of Wrath.

In which Celebrían encounters a satsuma plum, the piercing insight of Finrod Felagund, and the two decide to paint each other’s skin. Or, Celebrían and Finrod do trauma recovery in their own unique way.

When Maedhros returns from Mandos, re-connecting does not prove easy. Nerdanel is determined to care for her son and finds that she must confront grief along the way.
In my dreams my sons wander at length, lost in pathless woods, ancient, sunless and foreboding. In the waking world, Maedhros breathes and moves before me, but is rarely truly there. I see the dream-wraith Maedhros superimposed over my living son, and am sure he never found a path out of that desolate place. The whispers in my dreams insist he never will.
Written for Scribbles and Drabbles 2025 Prompt #53: Night Watch by Zhie, to whom credit belongs for the artwork below (which can also found here).
Many thanks to Elronds_Library and timelessutterances for beta reading, and Double_Sharp for the conversations on equatorial climate.

Finarfin makes it a rule for his life to stay as far from Tirion and the mess that is his brothers, but during an important festival the house of Finwë gathers to celebrate together. As he tries to cope with the resulting headache, he helps Finrod make a new friend.

A collection of drabbles about women in Tolkien's Legendarium.

Galadriel sees something that yet may be.

The tale of how the sons of Fëanor were conceived and named, and how the daughters came into being in the other two houses.

“You seemed so unhappy when you arrived yesterday, but today you are so much more relaxed. Did you quarrel with Nolofinwë? Or with Fëanáro?”

A collection of NSFW ficlets for the "Keep It Clean" bingo card of the 2024 Potluck Bingo.

This is a collection of true drabbles completed for the 'Four Words' drabble bingo card.

A chance find while tidying up Indis' rooms leads to revelations no one was expecting.

After hearing the Doom of Mandos, Arafinwë returns to Valinor where the remaining Noldor need a new ruler. It appears that the Valar have already made their choice.

A poem Finarfin writes about Eärwen after a walk on the beach together.

In Tol Eressëa, Celebrían and Galadriel talk about Arwen. Written for the "It Comes in Threes" challenge, inspired by Maiden, Mother and Crone.

Anaire stayed behind.

A collection of my portraits of various elves and the headcanons that lead to their depictions

A portrait of Eärwen, created for Middle-earth is Multitudes

Do wars start with the first fired arrow and end with the last? Or maybe they start already with the realization that they need to be fought? And never truly end, as long as the memory of them haunts those who took part? Arafinwë’s story of the War of Wrath. Previously posted on other sites.

Upon his return from Númenor, Eönwë has memories to face, conversations to have, and old companions to meet.

The tide played around the horizon, only beginning to consider its daily sweep up the beach to the toes of Alqualondë. Eärwen waved to the far-off breakers and slid down to the wet sand, then turned and lifted Anaïre down. Anaïre pecked her on the cheek in thanks, and they started up the beach to the strand and the woman lying there sobbing for breath.
She did look young, close-up. That is, she looked like an Elf who had just reached full maturity, except where she did not. Around the eyes she bore little crinkles like the seafarers did, on her heaving belly the lightning-marks of pregnancy, and two fascinating rivers of silver ran into the light-gulping blackness of her hair from the temples. And, of course, there were the feathers

That it was returned, he did not question. He could look back now and see everything arranged in its full image, he could trace the careful dance they both wound through this past year; every word, every silence, every touch ringing through with that steady truth. How had he been so blind?
Springtime has come to Estolad. Finrod is struck with a realization he has been avoiding and faces the decisions that lie in its wake.

“Let us not perish here in the long darkness,” Balan said softly, crossing back to take one of the waiting wreaths and set it upon his own brow, “these creatures you chose to form. Remember us, here in our frailty.”
It is Yuletide. The Atani and Finrod celebrate throughout the night as they stay awake to greet the dawn after the Longest Night. Balan's people settle into Estolad, Atani traditions abound, and Finrod faces some memories.

Nerdanel & Eärwen have tea, talk, and find peace in each other's company.