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.

Once, on one of Findekáno’s visits to Nargothrond during which Celebrimbor had had more wine than advisable, he had leaned into Findekáno’s side. Had ignored his father’s sharp eyes, and asked if he believed that there was yet any hope left for them.

“Are they fighting again?” Idril asks, wandering over to the fireplace the moment Fingolfin lets her down.
“It is what you do with siblings,” Fingolfin says, and succeeds at not laughing at the irony.
Oh, how much would be different if it were not so true. She treats him to a look full of sceptical disbelief and sets to restacking the fire.
An exploration of the Nolofinwëans in early Beleriand, and the effect that Maedhros' rescue and abdication would have had on the relationships between them, in the wake of the Ice and all its horrors.

It is nice, the sunlight and the warmth of a solid body against his. It is nice to be able to think, at least for a little while, that perhaps Curufin had been speaking true when he said he was trying. Nice in a way that means Finrod will miss it terribly when it is gone again.
“You are thinking too loudly,” Curufin mumbles against his shoulder. “Go back to sleep, Ingo.”

The furs slip to Itarillë’s hips as she sits up. Laurefindil cannot help but admire the fall of her pale golden hair, the curve of her spine, how the oil lamp lights her skin as if from within. Underneath it all, there is a heart Laurefindil will do anything to protect.
After the pronouncement of the Doom of the Noldor, Idril has a question for Glorfindel.

On the day of Tuor and Idril's wedding, Maeglin and Voronwë find some common, unstable ground.

“You cannot mean to go after him!” Celegorm exclaims, laughing wildly. “After what we did? You cannot truly mean to go after him.”
"If you would move, then I suppose we would find out."
“What is wrong with you? What about the oath, Curvo?" Celegorm asks, voice low and furious, eyes blazing so much like their father's. "You cannot go after him."
And Curufin — who has seen the endpoint of what that oath cost them, who has reunited with their father, who has listened to their father curse himself for what the oath brought upon them all — finds it the easiest thing in the world to bare his teeth and snarl, "Fuck that god forsaken oath.”

Argon falls.

"Dior shall he be called, and you shall be a comfort to each other: that though he be fatherless and motherless, and you childless, you shall not be bereft of kin."
On the lives and deaths of two kings of Doriath: Elwë of Cuiviénen, wisest and noblest of Elves, who ruled in peace ere ever the Sun rose; and Dior Eluchíl, at whose feet the realm crumbled.

"But you will not persuade me to love the Elves, Felakgundu; not though you had all the years of the world to try."
"If you will let me try a little longer," answers Finrod, "that is all I ask.”
On the deeply unlikely friendship of Mîm, Petty-dwarf of Nulukkhizdîn, and the wandering Elf-king who set up camp on his doorstep.
For TRSB Slide #21 by Huorinde.

In the Third Age, a stranger arrives in the area between the Long Lake and the Lonely Mountain. He is not quite what he seems...

Voronwe haunted by the Sea after meeting Tuor in Nevrast: two drabbles.

Hurin at the shore of the Western Sea.

She had learned the way Elves married, she did not wish to be tied to him, or him to her. She knew she was a fleeting thing in his long life, and she had her pride.
Haleth brings her son to Thargelion, seeking answers.

A long time later in Valinor, Maedhros is gathering confidence in his new life with Fingon. He remembers one particular morning during their past lives in Middle-earth.

After his release from the Halls of Mandos, Melkor seduces many of the Noldor with honeyed words and accusations against the Valar. The Two Trees are ruined and the Sun and Moon arise. One of these elves, Ardana the Astrologer, leads her people to return the skies to their original form, nothing but stars. But she must destroy the Sun and Moon to accomplish that from her holds in the south of Middle Earth.
This is a non-canon story that is inspired by an MERP RPG series that was a gift from my aunt. Most of the characters and settings were from the series and some quotes and songs are taken from Tolkien's writing. It also ties in with the Wars in Beleriand and two my other two stories, The Dark Mage of Rhudaur and The Thieves of Tharbad. The story is designed to span three ages.


War is upon the northern kingdoms as the Witch-King of Angmar unleashes his fury against Arthedain and Cardolan in the year 1409 of the Third Age. Annuminas, Amon Sul and the Barrow Downs are destroyed by the armies of Angmar and the Royal Family of Cardolan is slain, except for one young lady. A group of adventurers attempts so survive and to help rebuild the kingdom with a spoiled princess as refugees and hostile agents stream into the capitol of Tharbad.
This is a non-canon story, inspired by an MERP RPG series. Arthedain and Cardolan stand against Angmar and the puppet kingdom of Rhudaur. This is a sequel to The Dark Mage of Rhudaur and contains a number of the same characters. It will also tie into The Court of Ardor. There will be occasional quotes from Tolkien's writing to flesh out the story.

Hador has been granted the lordship of Dor-lomin. Persuading his father to relocate there from the southern slopes of Ered Wethrin will not be easy, though.

In Dor-lómin, Tuor and Lady Aerin both dream of a golden-haired child. (Lalaith is doing her best, considering that she's a young child and also dead.)

Hope is a weapon. Hope is a skill.
or, the art of not giving up in the face of the impossible, as seen through the eyes of fifteen people living in First Age Beleriand.
16 perfect 100 words drabbles, exploring this concept.

Fingolfin is confused by the rumors that spread through the elven settlements of Beleriand like a wildfire. So is his daughter found and alive, or not? And what is this utter poppycock about Celegorm getting pregnant?

Celegorm and Aredhel ride towards the Aglon Pass through the rain.

The enchantments woven into the woods of Nan Emloth are nothing compared to maternal love.
And so, Aredhel grabs Lómion and runs.
The enchantments woven into the woods of Nan Emloth are nothing compared to the grief of knowing you could had saved your loved one.
And so, Celegorm waits.

“He is my brother,” Ñolofinwë says once more, willing her to understand. “He is half of me. What is a fëa worth if half of itself is gone?”
Ñolofinwë is scared that if he takes all that his brother is, and unravels the braid, takes out all of the love, winds what’s left back together — he is so terribly afraid that it will turn into a bitter hatred so dark and violent it may finally rival his brother’s.
He cannot risk that. He cannot. Better to die with love in his heart than live and become an angry, bitter version of himself.
Or: Ñolofinwë begins coughing up flowers and Fëanáro learns that hatred does not erase the duties of a brother.

After the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Glorfindel cares for a wounded Ecthelion and grapples with his fear.

Elladan and Elrohir demand the tale of how their favorite doll came to Imladris many centuries ago. Glorfindel the Doll obliges.