Fanworks Tagged with Eärendil

After a few minutes, though, he heard an answering voice. He looked up, falling silent. That had sounded like—but no, it couldn’t be. Eärendil saw movement on the path again, just the top of someone’s dark head coming up the last slope toward the tower. As whoever it was drew farther up the hill, more became visible, and Eärendil abandoned his flower weaving and scrambled upright, bare feet slipping over the stones as the grass and daisies tumbled over the cliff side down into the water below. 

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Four true drabbles from the perspectives of Maglor, Eärendil, Elwing and Elrond, vaguely connected by the state of being six (years old). 

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This is a collection of true drabbles completed for the 'Four Words' drabble bingo card.

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Eärendil found not Tuor nor Idril, nor came he ever on that journey to the shores of Valinor, defeated by shadows and enchantment, driven by repelling winds, until in longing for Elwing he turned homeward toward the coast of Beleriand. And his heart bade him haste, for a sudden fear had fallen on him out of dreams; and the winds that before had striven with might not now bear him back as swift as his desire.
The Silmarillion

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Dior did not see the arrow until it pierced his own flesh, a hard thrust of a point entering his back and blossoming out of his heart. The pain of the wound, and the feeling of his body in uncertain panic around it, was almost secondary to his curiosity.

Now what?

Dior felt strangely detached, as if he had stepped out of his body. He watched himself fall over the body of the Golodh he’d slain. Dior had worn no helm nor armor that day – and he saw his hair fan out to cover them both. They died together in the dark cloak of it.

Dior’s eyes closed, and all was dark.

~

And then Dior opened his eyes.

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Morgoth has been defeated and the War of Wrath is over. Eärendil has to return to his task of sailing the Void beyond the world, but first he wants to see his sons again. Hugs and talking happen

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Carrying the Silmaril for millennia has consequences.

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Elrond and Celebrían celebrate their anniversary with their family.

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Morgoth lost the Silmaril. Elrond lost his parents because of the Silmaril (and that was just to start with). Sauron lost the One Ring. All have lost something, or someone precious to them.

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Humanity took to the skies. Eärendil and Ilmarë adjust.

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A horrid cacophony of cries erupts ahead of them, as orcs appear—up the cliff on hidden ledges, on the path, with bows and swords. And behind them rises a figure of darkness and flame. The heat rolls down the path over them, bringing the smell of burning flesh and bitter fear with it. Someone screams.

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The three atmospheres of Arda celebrated in three drabbles and three photos...

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Idril and Meleth (my OC) welcome Finduilas, Niënor, and other refugees into Havens after the Fall of Doriath, hoping they can start anew there. Finduilas's daughter is distraught about the situation. Also, how did Finduilas and Niënor make it to the Havens after the Fall of Doriath?

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Earendil and Elwing's story has captivated Middle-earth for centuries. An examination of various pop culture adaptations of the story.

KEY WORDS: Earendil, Elwing, Pop culture, Third Kinslaying, Sirion, Theater, Art, War of Wrath

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Elrond asks about his mother, in 100-word drabbles.

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Eärendil returns to Sirion after his latest sea voyage, and Elwing's anxieties about her pregnancy are soothed in the loving arms of her husband.

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“Oh,” Elwing said faintly. She felt the need to sit down, but locked her knees against it. “Then—have they been released from Mandos, my lord? I had not heard that you came in person to deliver such news.”

“They have not, not yet,” said Námo, and to Elwing’s surprise his mouth softened into a small smile, there and gone again in the blink of an eye. “Your brothers are still very young; Mandos is not a place for children to grow. They are ready to return to the world, but unlike most others who pass through my halls they cannot make the journey across Valinor alone. Come to the gates of my halls with all swiftness, and you will find your brothers there.” He inclined his head, and was gone.

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Elwing arrives on Vingilot, bearing news of the Third Kinslaying. Earendil and his sailors must make a choice.

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‘And that is the device of the house of Bëor,’ Elwing adds. ‘My house.’
‘Mine too,’ Tuor says. ‘In part.’

-

Tuor, a young Elwing, and the remnants of the Edain in the havens of Sirion.

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When Tuor can't find Eärendil, he sends for Maeglin to help.

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Eärendil considers destiny and love, alone in the cold on Vingilotë.

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The tide played around the horizon, only beginning to consider its daily sweep up the beach to the toes of Alqualondë. Eärwen waved to the far-off breakers and slid down to the wet sand, then turned and lifted Anaïre down. Anaïre pecked her on the cheek in thanks, and they started up the beach to the strand and the woman lying there sobbing for breath.

She did look young, close-up. That is, she looked like an Elf who had just reached full maturity, except where she did not. Around the eyes she bore little crinkles like the seafarers did, on her heaving belly the lightning-marks of pregnancy, and two fascinating rivers of silver ran into the light-gulping blackness of her hair from the temples. And, of course, there were the feathers

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One late summer day, a postcard comes for Elrond in the mailbox. Elros intercepts.

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The sea-longing returns to Tuor, and he hopes he might be allowed to sail West, for the miseries of Middle-earth only grow and no place feels safe enough.

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Earendil's stories of his voyages are passed down through the years.

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