#tolkienfolkloreweek2025

🧚 A weeklong celebration of legends, lore, and faërie in Middle-earth

Tag: #TolkienFolkloreWeek2025

Date: December 1st – 7th (for when best to tell old tales than in winter?)

Have you ever imagined Lúthien as the fairest of them all — a hunted daughter with raven hair, echoing Snow White of the Brothers Grimm?

Or seen Yavanna, born of blossoms and divine power, in the image of Blodeuwedd from the Mabinogion?

Have you thought of Gandalf as Odin wandering in disguise? Or Fëanor as a fallen craftsman god, not unlike Prometheus?

If you’ve ever been drawn to the myths behind Middle-earth — the fairytales, epics, legends, and old gods that shaped Tolkien’s world — this is your invitation.

This is Tolkien Fairytale & Folklore Week 2025 — where we return to the stories beneath the stories. Where Middle-earth meets myths, epics, hearth-tales, and the whispering woods of old.

🌿 What is this?

A creative fandom event celebrating Tolkien’s legendarium through the lens of:

🏰 Fairytales (classic, dark, and global)

🐉 Folklore (rural myths, local legends, old wives’ tales)

📜 Mythology (Norse, Arthurian, Greek, Celtic, Hindu, African, and more)

⚔️ Ancient epics (Beowulf, Gilgamesh, Mahabharata, etc.)

Middle-earth was a mythology, after all — and Tolkien loved the tales that came before it. This week is about reimagining and rediscovering those mythic roots, through fanworks of all kinds.

✨ What can I create?

Fanfiction

Fanart

Edits / moodboards / aesthetics

Meta / headcanons

Original poetry / songs

Playlists

Worldbuilding

Cosplay / crafts / anything that tells a story!

No need to follow a daily prompt schedule — use as many or as few as you like!

📌 Follow this blog for reblogs, prompts, and updates!

"But no wizardry nor spell, neither fang nor venom, nor devil’s art nor beast-strength, could overthrow Huan of Valinor. . ." - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion, "Of Beren and Lúthien"

@tolkienfolkloreweek day 1: magical creatures ⇢ HUAN, THE HOUND OF VALINOR

[ID: an edit comprised of four posters in shades of black, cream, and brown.

Summary: The traditions of the House of Dol Amroth say little of Mithrellas, and even less of her true nature (written for @tolkienfolkloreweek).

Rating: G

Word Count: 2.7k

There were tales among the Men of Dol Amroth of women of the sea—foam-maidens, they named them, for of course they were always maidens. In the tales, they dwelt deep beneath the sea, far past the Bay of Belfalas, with hair like the spray of seafoam and arms that glistened like the luster of pearls and tails that glinted silver beneath the waves. With the flash of their eyes and the wild chant of their songs, they lured men beneath the waves and into the catacombs of their caves far below. 

They came at times into the bay, or so the stories said, to perch upon the rocks and comb their hair and tempt men to follow them, and those brave or foolhardy enough to follow met sorry ends. Still more tales abounded of men who had thought to trap them, to lure them to the shore and make them their brides, and had woken in the night to find pools of water glistening upon the floor, and silver scales glittering among them. That none had ever seen a foam-maiden did not dissuade the men from their stories.

Mithrellas listened to the tales with patient scorn. If any such woman was to be found, she would already have been seized, for if there was something men could take, in thought or deed, and name it a prize, they would.

She was not a foam-maiden, but she was of the Eldar, and therefore a prize, a treasure to be kept within the white walls of the city, little permitted to stray afar for fear of meeting peril.

Once upon a time, long ago, there lived in a little village somewhere along the river Withywindle a poor shoemaker. He had little to live on and had to toil day and night to earn his meagre keep, but he was an honest, kindly man, and so the folk of the village had taken a liking to him.

In that same village there lived a fisherman who had a daughter. She was fair to look upon, with hair spun of gold, cheeks like roses, and eyes the colour of rain. Every day she would play by the river, tossing her red ball high into the air and catching it again, or dancing through the swaying grasses on the bank, singing until she grew weary and fell laughing onto her back.

Read on Ao3.

for @tolkienfolkloreweek

Relationship: Finrod & Maglor, Finrod/Maglor Characters: Finrod, Maglor, Uinen (briefly), Earwen

Summary:

“Monsters rarely know themselves to be one,” Finrod probingly said. “I find that the self-aware ones are just as bad as the rest,” the figure said, not in the slightest easing Finrod’s disquiet. --------------

There is a mysterious lighthouse that one day appeared in the middle of the archipelago once known as the Enchanted Isles, rumoured to have an inhabitant who sings with the voice of the Sea. To avert unrest from breaking out based on these rumours, Finrod Felagund sets out to discover what secrets the lighthouse hides. Will he find a monster lurking inside that solitary tower, or will he find someone who was thought lost to the Ages? Pehaps both?

I began writing the next installment of Heirlooms thanks to inspiration from @tolkienfolkloreweek's Day 7 Prompt: Objects & Relics <3 I did not finish in time, but I wanted to share an excerpt in honor of the event!

from Chapter 1: Glamdring

~

Sliding the blade into its pristine ivory scabbard, Rôg lets an infinitesimal amount of his stress fall away. He can never let it all go: he is shaped too much by captivity and escape and determination. But regarding this project, he is at last content.

The sword is beautiful, one of his finest, and will suit the King well at his formal coronation ceremony. Rôg, Turukáno has assured, will be granted high honors in Ondolindë, and the spacious forges he now calls his own are proof of that—but there are rumors of lordships and noble houses, and he thinks perhaps his King is referring also to that.

Rôg does not need such an honor. His cohorts of smiths and warriors are bound by loyalty and hardship, and follow him less as a leader and more as an advocate. But if Turukáno sees it fit to formalize that in a way that will satisfy his more bureaucratically-minded advisors, he will accept the mantle of Lord.

The jeweled hilt of the sword glints in the forge-light, and Rôg knows it will gleam brighter in the light of the Sun. It does not shine from within, as do the eyes of the King and his kindred out of the Far Land, but Rôg has learned his own way with Light. He has imbued his weapons with song, that their blades might glow when orcs are near. It is a skill he wishes he’d known earlier, that he might have been warned before the foul creatures fell upon him at Cuiviénen, and been spared his grueling captivity in the Iron Hells.

"Wait," she said. "There is still one room left." Halbrand stood above her on the stairs, and she watched the muscles of his back tense. Galadriel turned and gestured to a door at the end of corridor. The wood was a sanguine shade of red, and a heavy lock of blackest iron hung from the handle. "What lies beyond this door, my love?" Ominous silence followed this inquiry. "What door?" The question was dripping with deceit, and Galadriel realized Halbrand had not wanted her to notice the strange door cloaked in shadows. "Halbrand…" she chided him, annoyed by his evasion. Her husband slowly turned, dark eyes reluctantly sliding over to the door. His sweet facade had vanished, and his voice was devoid of warmth. "You are never to go into that room, Galadriel."

What Lies Beyond the Door

Haladriel Retelling of Bluebeard's Castle by makeshiftdraco

Written for @tolkienfolkloreweek Day 3: Fairytales

Chapter One: Threshold Crossed

Fandom: The Rings of Power and Tolkien's Legendarium (LOTR, The Silmarillion, Unfinished Tales, etc)

Pairing: Galadriel/Halbrand|Sauron

Rating: Explicit

Status: In Progress

Description:

Halbrand is eager to welcome his bride into their new home, but Galadriel's marital bliss is quickly undermined by strange premonitions and elusive memories. Halbrand assures his queen that the many chambers in his castle are open to her...all except for one. As their honeymoon unravels, Galadriel is plagued by troubling questions. What secrets does her husband keep hidden behind that strange red door deep within the castle? And what is she willing to risk to uncover the truth?

(TLDR: Haladriel Retelling of Bluebeard's Castle)

(Check tags on AO3 for trigger warnings.)

↳ @tolkienfolkloreweek day one

What if Lúthien had fallen in love with Tilion?

Lúthien as Naiá, Tilion as Jaci and the tale of Vitória Régia

Many years ago, in an indigenous village, it was said that there was a god, the personification of the Moon, and when night fell, would kiss and fill with light the faces of the most beautiful girls of the place, called cunhantãs. Whenever he hid behind the mountains, he would take with him the young women he preferred and transform them into stars in the firmament.

A beautiful young woman, lived dreaming of this encounter and could hardly wait for the great day when she would be called by the god. The village elders warned her: after meeting the seductive god, the young women lost their blood and their flesh, becoming light, and turning into stars in the sky. But who could stop her? The girl very much wanted to be taken by the Moon. At night, she wandered through the mountains after him, never reaching him. Every night was like this, and the young woman withered, dreaming tirelessly, obsessed with the union.

One day, after stopping to rest by the edge of a lake, she saw on its surface the image of the beloved god: the Moon reflected in its waters. Dazzled by her dream, she threw herself into the bottom of the lake and drowned. The Moon, moved by what had happened, wished to reward the girl’s sacrifice and decided to transform her into a star unlike any other in the sky; she then turned her into a “star of the waters,” unique and perfect: the vitória régia. Thus was born the plant whose fragrant white flowers only open at night and, at sunrise, become pink.

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