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.

Just a few of my favourite podfics that I've found soothing for bedtime (or middle of the night, or any time really) listening.

Four true drabbles from the perspectives of Maglor, Eärendil, Elwing and Elrond, vaguely connected by the state of being six (years old).

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

Eärendil found not Tuor nor Idril, nor came he ever on that journey to the shores of Valinor, defeated by shadows and enchantment, driven by repelling winds, until in longing for Elwing he turned homeward toward the coast of Beleriand. And his heart bade him haste, for a sudden fear had fallen on him out of dreams; and the winds that before had striven with might not now bear him back as swift as his desire.
The Silmarillion

Dior did not see the arrow until it pierced his own flesh, a hard thrust of a point entering his back and blossoming out of his heart. The pain of the wound, and the feeling of his body in uncertain panic around it, was almost secondary to his curiosity.
Now what?
Dior felt strangely detached, as if he had stepped out of his body. He watched himself fall over the body of the Golodh he’d slain. Dior had worn no helm nor armor that day – and he saw his hair fan out to cover them both. They died together in the dark cloak of it.
Dior’s eyes closed, and all was dark.
~
And then Dior opened his eyes.

The third kinslaying, as a musical.
Please do not take this too seriously. The writer certainly doesn't.

Elrond and Celebrían celebrate their anniversary with their family.

The majority of the Silmarillion was penned by a single Elf--an Elf who was so thoroughly written out as to appear only through the ways in which their perspective shaped the stories we see. This is their story, the historian's history, the Pennas Pengolodh.

Elwing carries the Silmaril to Vingilot.

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

For the Tengwar prompt challenge.
All 36 prompts plus bonus chapter

Idril and Meleth (my OC) welcome Finduilas, Niënor, and other refugees into Havens after the Fall of Doriath, hoping they can start anew there. Finduilas's daughter is distraught about the situation. Also, how did Finduilas and Niënor make it to the Havens after the Fall of Doriath?

In Valinor and homesick for Imladris, Celebrían decides to build a new one.

Elwing weeps. Until there is no more weeping to be done.

Earendil and Elwing's story has captivated Middle-earth for centuries. An examination of various pop culture adaptations of the story.
KEY WORDS: Earendil, Elwing, Pop culture, Third Kinslaying, Sirion, Theater, Art, War of Wrath

Elrond asks about his mother, in 100-word drabbles.

Eärendil returns to Sirion after his latest sea voyage, and Elwing's anxieties about her pregnancy are soothed in the loving arms of her husband.

Elwing arrives on Vingilot, bearing news of the Third Kinslaying. Earendil and his sailors must make a choice.

Elwing must pass through the abandoned forest of Doriath to reach her aunt's house. As long as she stays on the path and keeps her magic jewel close, she should be safe...

‘And that is the device of the house of Bëor,’ Elwing adds. ‘My house.’
‘Mine too,’ Tuor says. ‘In part.’
-
Tuor, a young Elwing, and the remnants of the Edain in the havens of Sirion.

Elrond loved most the scene painted behind their mother’s seat, a green forest glade decked with hemlock umbels and delicate niphredil, and Lúthien dancing in the center, her skirts blue as the morning sky and her hair like a dark shadow swirling around her as she spun, hands uplifted.

Elwing weaves for her children.

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

On shores separated by more than mere distance, Maglor and Elwing do not encounter each other, but...
Third Age at the earliest, but probably later.