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Mereth Aderthad an artwork for this year's @tolkienrsb, in collaboration with @sweetteaanddragons !

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Green-veined satin geometer moth, Doratoptera nicevillei, Geometridae

Found sporadically throughout mainland Asia

Photos by benoit_segerer

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Reach

Maglor receives a letter from a recently departed Elros and has thoughts.

On the sanguine day we first locked eyes you shook, infantile rage curtaining over billows of fear. It was my hands that held you, reaching through the howling storm, steadier than they had any right to be. I was reflex-sure. I knew children and could see through your thin hubris. How long it took for you to grasp back!

Your words, reams of ink spilled across the wide, sundering sea, are just the same; your softness grown fingers, clutching. I thought myself outgrown, but ever has your grip been more insistent than mine. What can I do but reach back?

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“Why have you brought him here?” Turgon finds breath to speak at last, slumping towards his father’s body. But the bare rocks cannot answer, and Thorondor has long departed. There is no one to speak on behalf of the King of Arda, if this deed was even at Manwë’s behest. The servants of the Valar work in strange ways, even as their lords.

Maedhros was brought back maimed, but alive.

To Turgon Thorondor has brought Fingolfin’s mangled corpse.

“Wherefore?” Turgon’s hands shake as he gropes at the humid warmth of his father’s gambeson, fingers brushing the raised threads of embroidered flames. Once bright bursts of yellow, they are stained damp and dark with blood. Turgon chokes on his grief. A cloud of guilt bloats his chest.

It is well that he can say no more, for the questions that weigh upon his thoughts would blaspheme the Powers.

What was he to do? The Lord of Waters himself had commanded it. Build a city; take refuge. None shall see thy going. So he left them: father, brother, all. And now here is Fingolfin, face bloodied, jaw askew, to torment him. Could he have chosen otherwise?

How many more? How many more have fallen, whose bodies will find no lofty cairn in the Echoriath?

Does his brother live, and reign now alone?

Never again, Turgon swears. Morgoth has been cowed; his father has seen to it. But he will rise again, and when the assault comes — from the North or South — whether the Valar will it or no, Turgon will open the leaguer, and he will march forth to fight beside kin and people.

AO3

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Ainur Week, here we go! I've decided I want to do a slightly unhinged amount of Tolkien fandom weeks over the span of the next few months.

I went back and forth about how to pick who to draw for Ainur Week, and I decided to narrow things down by going only with the Maiar (I want to redo my Valar series sometime soon). Some of these match up the correct day. Some don't. I did my best.

@ainurweek Day One: Eönwë

I like the idea that the Maiar go a little crazy with how they look. I think the Valar stick mostly to looking live Elves or Men, at least when they're dealing directly with them. I think the Maiar just do whatever they want. Eagle felt like an obvious design direction for the Herald of Manwë, and multiple wings for a sense of divinity. I spent way to long looking at types of eagles. I finally settled on Steller's Sea Eagle. Please look them up, the proportions of their beaks compared to their heads is wild. For colors, I matched the colors I used in my Manwë piece years ago.

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we will make this place our home - Chapter 100: Spilled Ink

On Tuesday morning I went back to school with a plan. It was swimming day, a perfect mirror of the day this whole mess started: clear and cold, damp clinging to cobwebs outside the kitchen window. Pale crocus-buds unfolded with the dawn, spotting the lawn silvery-purple. I slipped Laerher’s notebook in with my swimming kit while Elros was in the bathroom, repeating the plan over and over in my head so I wouldn’t forget it. I had to catch Mrs. Maeriel after swimming, tell her I’d found the notebook on the floor (which was, technically, true), and leave it open on her desk. Then she’d see the list of names betting money on who’d swim slowest and who’d just sink, and if Laerher got into trouble – well, it was his own fault. I couldn’t even be accused of telling tales: all I’d done was hand in a bit of lost property.  Worry still writhed in my stomach. It felt like lying. 

In which Elrond tries to fix things, with a little bit of help. Read the full chapter here on AO3.

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No crown you wore in the night of chains,

Yet brighter than jewels your spirit blazed.

In Sauron’s halls your last breath waned,

Yet undying you rise, while we mourn always.

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Over 10 years ago I drew this mother naga with her kid and a bowl of gulab jamun, and I was blown away to see people still reblogging it and saying kind things here. I decided to draw a sequel, the PTA (People That are Anacondas) meeting is over, and she finally gets to have some gulab jamun. c: I really hope this cheers you up some.

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like mother, like daughter | TRSB 2025 collaboration with @lendmyboyfriendahand!

Fic link to be added soon!

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"The Seven gathered again" for TRSB 2025

Inspired by the passage: [...] but now hearing of the renewal of Doriath and of Dior's pride the seven gathered again from wandering, and they sent to him to claim their own. – The Silmarillion, Chapter 22, Of the Ruin of Doriath This moment always hits me hard. It's the last time they meet, and it just gives me feels! All of that and more is captured in the story to all things housed in silence by queerofthedagger! The depth of the story was so inspiring for me! Go read it!

To the process:

For this one, I mainly focused on color palette, design, and most importantly, the composition.

They're one family, so I imagine they all come in their family colors. However, a sea of red would look boring. Luckily, the family also wears a lot of gold! Mixing some green into it, we now have at least three colors we can use.

For the design, I wanted to play into their personalities: Maedhros always prepared for battle, Caranthir with extra jewels since he's rich, and the twins being hunters, wearing more simple and practical clothing.

And then there's composition. I wanted to make sure there's still a lot going on and the tension is high, with just them sitting around a table, talking.

Once all of this was decided, it's just painstakingly rendering all of it. :)

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King of circumstance

Finarfin

The son with the least ambition became king at the cost of his family.

Another one for the @fall-for-tolkien event <3

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Medicinal Plants in Middle Earth Part Three

Part two which focuses on medicinal plants in Eregion Part one There are also lots of mentions of medicinal plants in my spring flower game and other Beleriand environment posts!

See the first post for disclaimers regarding ethnobotanical research and some of my general thoughts on elves and medicine! Let me know if you want a specific plant or the flora or a location written about for the next entry!

Lingonberries which are found in northern Dorthonion and the March of Maedhros are used in teas and juices to treat minor respiratory symptoms, especially those caused by the cold.

Wood sanicle is found throughout Beleriand with its highest numbers in central Beleriand especially Doriath and Brethil. It has a long history of use as treatment to clean wounds. Both the elves of Doriath especially the marchwardens and the Haladin use a sanicle tincture to wash injuries

Buckthorn is found in open spaces, especially on disturbed land. It's most common in Western Beleriand and can be found around Nargothrond. The residents of Nargothrond use mixtures of fresh leaves to treat insect bites on themselves and on animals.

Masterwort is found in the mountains of Dorthonion and some of the Ered Wethrin. It is used in tinctures and teas in traditional medicine by the Sindar and Noldor there, primarily to treat internal ailments.

Buterbur is found near streams in southern Beleriand, especially Ossiriand. It is used to treat pressure and weather related headaches by the green elves there. It was occasionally used by the Edain during their journey through Ossiriand though in humans the risk of toxicity is greater.

Eyewort is found in Hithlum, especially in the montane areas. As its name suggests, it's used in hand sewn compresses alongside warm rocks to treat eye related injuries, especially caused from irritation or exposure. Due to its use as an internal remedy, it was also used by the Hadorins, including being collected and dried to use as teas by Aerin and others during the occupation of Hithlum, often alongside yarrow and others. The effects were not strong enough to cure or fully treat but they could occasionally provide some relief

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The Cradlesinger

i am 80% going to be cutting this part out of a longer piece but it reads perfectly fine standalone and ngl i like it way too much to not share, so enjoy a little snippet of Elrond (canonverse, this time!) continuing to win the gold medal in anxious parenting.

It is only after singing the same secondhand song to three of his own children and one of another that Elrond realises that lullabies are as repetitive and physical as the rest of childcare, mundane as changing their soiled linens or washing their little faces. And from experience, he knows that the voices of those who raised you are the first things to vanish from the memory, long before the face or the scent. Still, the tune endures, and the words, so he sings it for what he tells himself is convenience.

Lullabies do not make kinslayers. This too he knows. And yet, it doesn’t stop the fear from curdling in his chest, the only constant in all the cradles he has sung beside. For the tune endures after all, and nothing empty endures: every vacant hroä holds a fragment of the fëa that forsook it. Can a song be washed of meaning? Is tenderness immune to ideology? Casting about blindly in the face of their infantile distress, Elrond worries that he is not planting seeds for his children to harvest, but salting the earth in the dark of their dreams.

“You worry too much, beloved,” Cel had tried to soothe him, a long time ago when he told her of his fears. “Look how peacefully they sleep through it.”

“Do you think children behind siege walls do not play knucklebones with their brothers?” he’d replied, low and terrible. “Children have slept beneath rubble.”

Now, he tells himself for the hundredth time that he is overthinking it. A cradle song is no Noldolantë. And the inherited nature of lullabies makes it very unlikely that Maglor had written this one specifically for he and Elros, unlikely that he’d written it at all. By the balance of probabilities, one of Maglor’s parents must have sung him the very same tune when he was very young. One of his parents must have repeated it into his ear so often it became almost muscle memory, cycling over and over again.

Which parent? he wonders idly, rocking the half-asleep Estel in his arms, patting his feverish back. He stops short in the hallway, and the tune dies in his throat. Oh god—which one?

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Copper-hand and Silver-foot

Art participation to @tolkienrsb 2025

Fic written by the amazing @istaricelebelasse 💙 release soon on September 6th !

Maitimo has been rescued, saved on the back of an eagle by one he thought still in Valinor. There is a long way to go before he is healed though, and he is not the only one who has to learn how to live changed…

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Idril for @thelien-art’s DTIYS

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Scout of the Third House

@tolkienocweek For the theme of "Relationships" I wrote a frame story for an older poem of mine that features an original character of the House of Hador. The frame story features this character interacting with Hador Lorindol. (Other canon characters are referenced.)

Imrach was very old, his hair like ivory, but you could still see he had been strong once. His family loved him well and took care of his needs, but did not listen to the tales he had to tell. They set him to mind the small children, instead, who were too young to hear about the past. Imrach did not seem to object, but Hador could not understand—such a wealth of experience, but nobody else seemed to be as fascinated as he was.

Hador’s father would have preferred it if Hador had not been interested either. And, certainly, the disapproval of Hador’s father and his friends had something to do with the opinions of the rest of their people. Hador’s grandfather and his great-grandfather had not seen eye-to-eye about Elves, the War, and probably a number of other things. Imrach remembered the time when Great-grandfather Malach had served at the court of the High-King of the Elves, the last one alive among them to do so.

Hador went through his routine daily tasks quickly. Here, this wooden bucket needed repairing. That could be taken along so that Father would have no reason to reproach him with idleness. And he could help Imrach keep an eye on the toddlers, too. Although Imrach loved the children, Hador thought that the duty of watching over them was beginning to tire him.

‘Have you come to listen to more stories, Hador?’ Imrach asked with a smile.

‘You were beginning to tell me about your adventures as a scout,’ said Hador, settling on a stool at his feet.

‘Ah yes,’ said Imrach.

But for a while he said nothing, his eyes dreamy and far away.

Hador was a little disappointed, but far too polite to push. Meanwhile, he had to rescue the cat from the attention of Imrach’s great-niece before the cat could scratch her in self-defence. Then he went to work on his leaky bucket.

Suddenly, above Hador’s head, Imrach began to chant softly:

Those were tough times I had of it, up north, scouting out orc holes amid rock and ice, the fumes the Ered Engrin belched forth, constant danger, lack of rest—not nice, but what got to me was going it alone, for months never seeing a friendly face, until I shed tears, cold to the bone with more than wind chill—yes, a sorry case— but, oh, when I turned home south again, how warm a welcome, such praise and gifts, I received from my own Lord Malach then, that, remembering, my heart still lifts, and more—the Elven King himself, of high fame, poured mulled wine for me, spoke my name!

Hador sat there with his mouth open.

‘The High King Fingolfin himself served wine to you!’

‘Only the once. It was a great honour, Hador.’

Hador’s father was of the opinion that the Elves thought too highly of themselves, but Hador felt it was a great honour, too.

‘I wonder whether Fingolfin remembers me,’ said Imrach. ‘He might. Elves are like that, Hador. At least, some are.’

Imrach died the following year. But when Hador at last, against his father’s wishes, travelled to Barad Eithel to see the Elves for himself, he found that Fingolfin indeed remembered Imrach and had a store of tales about his great-grandfather, too.

[leucisticpuffin]

Kameiwa cave.

Chiba, Japan.

Kameiwa cave known as heart cave. With the right time of the year around late summer. Where sunlight make a reflection on the water's surface. we can photogrape picture to see a heart shaped form. Sadly, this picture was took since early summer not the right timing for sunlight to create reflection on water's surface to give the best heart shaped sight.