War is never quiet. Not like this. Tonight, there is a hush in which the grass whispers, birds sing undisturbed and brooks murmur gaily, wending their way between the trees, heeding no danger, anticipating no pain. This apparently, is peace. I find it unsettling.

Elrond has never known anything but conflict. As peace settles over the land he must reckon with the unknowns it brings and his place within the future, all while facing the biggest decision of his life.

Written for Scribbles and Drabbles 2025 Prompt #170: Small Birds, Dry Grass by Vinyatar. Their beautiful artwork can be found here.

A death and a rebirth. Proud Nōwē sunk to the depths as the Shipwright rose, foresighted and wise beyond all else on these shores. And his name was refuge, steadfast friendship and succour in time of need. A cry died unvoiced in his throat, the death knell of the brave and daring young Nōwē. Círdan would have to be so much more.

Written for Scribbles & Drabbles 2025 Art Prompt #85: There is No Ship by Shadow, which can be found here.

The title is taken from lyrics of There Is No Ship by Rose Betts.

Listen to an audio recording of this work here.

Maedhros finds that regret and pain do not end with death. But it does at last bring release from the oath and he can at last embark upon the long, hard road toward redemption. 

Little moments of connection with Maedhros. A collection of drabbles and other short writings to accompany One in the Fires of the Heart of the World.

Bad dreams?” I ask, and Elrond nods. When I brush against his mind it laps like the tide against some desolate shore, and he stands alone in the washed out landscape. Young eyes rove over a heartless sea where the horizon is empty of all but tossing waves. White cliffs are at his back, reeds peek over sandy dunes southward along the shore, and Elrond’s heart fills with the hollow echo: no longer my home, no longer my home.

There is a new star in the sky and and old fears surface. Maedhros supports through Elrond and Elros through their ensuing emotional turmoil as he battles his own.

Written for the SWG October Challenge 2025: The Only Thing to Fear using the prompt: fear of being alone.

The land of Dor-Lómin welcomes a displaced Easterling woman after Nírnaeth Arnoediad. Theirs is a short-lived yet reverent kinship.

Written for the SWG Jumble Sale Challenge September 2025. Sold! One Headstrong rake!

The challenge was to have a character with an identity from Middle Earth is Multitudes interact with the setting-as-character as in Living Lands, in a way that explores nature vs civilization. 

"The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.”

-The Fellowship of the Ring, Book 2, Chapter 6 "Lothlórien"

A collection of drabbles exploring the beauty of mingled joy, hope and sorrow in Tolkien's world. 

A repository of little songs for elflings, as compiled by Maglor Fëanorion in the late first age.

Argon, my sweet, foolish, impetuous youngest brother, ran ahead. I found him, you know, before he died. 
Fingon remembers the first rising of the Moon and Sun, mourns his youngest brother and resolves that his cousin will not share Argon's fate.

By the time the Silmarils find their long homes, their tale has passed from the high and beautiful to darkness and ruin. But the story does not end there, for even ruined things crave the light. The bearers of the gems turn their faces from the darkness and embark upon the long road to redemption.

If Aredhel had to listen to one more person heap praise on her brother while she stood right beside him, completely disregarded, she might scream. The praises were well deserved, she must admit. But was it only Fingon who scouted ahead over the treacherous shifting ice of the Helcaraxë? Didn’t Aredhel also take her fair share of that hazardous duty?

In the early days at Lake Mithrim, Aredhel endures a restriction in her freedom after the comparative autonomy she had during the crossing of the Helcaraxë. Fingolfin seems set on weighing her down with safe and mundane duties. Aredhel is not enjoying this one bit. Her father may be able to keep her inside the encampment, but he cannot tame her. She longs to for greater freedom, but when it comes it is not be the victory she was hoping for. 

As the Sons of Fëanor set their feet on the path to the sack of Doriath, Caranthir reflects on the characters of himself and his brothers and contemplates where the responsibility lies for their predicament.

A poem inspired by the story of Maglor