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.

Written, on the last 100 meters, for the Tolkien Gen Week 2020 - Day 7.
Aredhel remembers the Ice, while alone in Nan Dungortheb.

As they watch the destruction of Beleriand, a Noldorin elf and a Man of the Edain have to tackle hard questions: Was the victory over Morgoth truly a victory for Men? What is the point of mortality and the price that the mortals have to pay for the mistakes of the Valar?o

Elrond is a few weeks away from sailing to Valinor, and he's had a tough time of it lately.
Luckily, his dads are willing to put aside their differences to help him.

An alternate version of my fic "Give the Children Closure"
Maedhros is unsurprised by Elrond coming to let him out of the Halls, though he knows he won't actually be leaving. This is a kinder hallucination than most.

Nienor meets her cousin.

Poèmes et chansons elfiques sur le passage du temps.

Elrond is pretty sure that visiting the Halls to pick up his foster father shouldn't be this difficult.
Maedhros is pretty sure he's about to be thrown into the Void, and he's okay with that.

In which some Elves of Dorthonion learn a thing or two about cheese-making, and about Eldalótë.

The tale of a perfectly ordinary day in the life of Elrond Peredhel. A day without grand councils, dark lords or epic battles. Nothing about today will be remembered in song and story, but the Lord of Rivendell still has his hands full: he is a husband, father, ruler, teacher ... and healer.
Accidents happen, even on ordinary days.
A giftfic for Anoriath. Many thanks to Firstamazon for the beta read!

Cirdan and his people return from the War of the Last Alliance to Mithlond.
It is not an easy home-coming, after what they have been through.

Elrond took his library with him to Valinor. In that archive are many things, and the librarians and archivists of Cîr Imladris (New Rivendell) are kept delightfully busy.

Sequel to "Lunatic Idea". Six years after reading about Erwin Schrödinger's hypothesis of parallel universes, which Maglor of all people on Earth knows to be true, he finds himself in the unique opportunity to meet the old physicist.

Tindómiel is a pretty girl who has vague dreams and not many certainties... until she meets her teacher.

Erendis walks under the stars with her child and tells her a tale.

A collection of ficlets (not true drabbles) written for Lockdown Instadrabbling on Discord.

Companion piece to Erinyator. Elrond, son and father.
But if he did not speak, then who would remember? If he did not tell them, his children would not know how much HE owed to Maglor, Maedhros. And he could not have his children think so badly of them.
So he nestled Elrohir’s head against his shoulder and began. ‘Once, long long ago, there were two small boys, twins…’
‘Like Elladan and me.’

Ailinel has to make a decision.

Tar-Vanimeldë tries to mend a rift.

Lindissë writes a letter to her cousin Isilmë to tell her some news. (Implied past relationship between Lindissë and Silmariën.)

Just a short thing I needed to write, about post-Nargothrond Curufin and his painful hesitations regarding celebrimbor's decision.

In 1952, one astrophysicist brings forth a revolutionary idea about the universe. It sounds lunatic – by the words of the astrophysicst himself – but Maglor Feanorion knows it to be true.

Eärendil
(Embracing the SILMARIL OF AIR)
Let followers of the patroneʃs of stars
Wear the mantles of their mighty host
Whilʃt I, a sailor of beaches and bars,
Tremble before beauty that makes all else toaʃt
Princes of elves have slavered o'er light
And jealous women caʃt away their frame
But it’s I, a man of little might
Who sits in jewellight, triumphs over flame
“Yikes,” said Gil-Galad, High King of the Noldor.

Maedhros had not intended any of this.
The thought came to him as he watched the sleeping children snuggled under their blankets with the red light of the hearth fire against the softness of their cheeks, their dark heads just over the top of the blankets.
The smaller one snuffled and rubbed his nose in his sleep and Maedhros automatically smoothed his hand over the warm dark head and hummed the lullaby he had hummed over countless ages to other small boys. All dead now but one.
And this was not life.
No. He had not intended this.
His stump itched and he scratched it carelessly; it did that when he remembered.

Nerdanel works in expressive forms of fabric and water, under very different circumstances.

It is Elros and Elrond's tenth birthday, and Middle-earth receives an unexpected gift.