Fanworks Tagged with Drama

The Havens of Sirion burn, and it is not the Sons of Fëanor’s doing.

Maedhros, Maglor and Fingon, in the years between the fall of the Havens and the arrival of the Host of the Valar.

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A drabble about the fate of Maglor.

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Galadriel felt she had a well-matched friend in Princess Luthien, and she did not expect that ever to change.

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A Dwarf tries to come to terms with the cataclysm that was the end of the First Age. A four-drabble sequence.

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“It's not your fault,” whispers a voice very like Tyelpë’s — but Tyelpë isn’t here. There is no succor left for Mairon; no refuge in this land of Men permitted only to stand at the gates of the world and gaze in longing toward its glory.

In Númenor, Mairon longs for what he has lost. Tyelpë comes to find him.

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In the aftermath of the Dagor Bragollach, newly-crowned High King Fingon sends his wife and child to Eglarest for safety. The parting is bitter, as his wife has discovered a betrayal that Fingon has long concealed from her.

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Eönwë, Maia and herald of Manwë, after the War of Wrath and after seeing Angband. He has long silver-grey wings, and his appearance is tattered and bloodied, he's exhausted after the long war and what he's seen. His hair is silver-white and long. He wears a knee-length surcoat over his armor. He wields a polearm.

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A sonnet addressing some of the challenges the Noldor faced as Exiles.

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After Oromë sends a Hunting Party to investigate the reports of proliferation of fell beasts far in South Aman, the entire errand goes horrifically wrong. Celegorm was prepared to die a grisly death, yet he dares to beg the Great Void Spider to spare his life, which to his surprise, the request is heeded. Then comes the most unlikely partnership and friendship in all of Arda, and its unexpected consequences.

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Turin, just after killing Beleg, sinks into despair.

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As the bells began to ring alarms at another five black-sailed Corsair ships hoving into view, Ulloth’s mind and pen alighted upon the pelargoloth, her namesake, the common and beloved flower of the city’s balconies and courtyards, just opening its scarlet petals with the dawn of the the Second Siege of Pelargir.

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Fingon y Fingolfin tienen una conversación a las vísperas de la Batalla de la Llama Súbita.

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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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The Silmaril falls slowly, so slowly, as if taking its time to caress the weightlessness of Ulmo’s waters. Does it seek relief also, Maglor wonders, to be free at last of all the hands that lusted after its blessed shine?

Maglor casts his Silmaril into the Sea.
[Also available as a podfic, recorded by Anerea]

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The story of a girl who wanted a ring on her finger.

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The arrow shoots straight, but in the brief arc of its flight, it flexes ever this way and that, undulating in the air as if straining against the bonds of its mark. And yet what mark it finds, it finds, and strays not from its fate, and so do you, Túrin, in all your struggles, bend ever toward your doom.

Thrice would Beleg find Túrin in the wild unbidden. Beleg/Túrin.

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As the Bragollach rages, Andreth waits.

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A Fëanorian hunter is seriously injured near the Nolofinwëan camp at Lake Mithrim. Though Fingolfin scarcely knew Fëanor's youngest sons, he at once recognises and is drawn to his nephew, whose presence offers him a semblance of closure to the irreparable relationship with his dead half-brother. After taking on the role of Amrod's healer himself, he discovers that their wounds, and their need for each other, run far deeper than he thought.

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That it was returned, he did not question. He could look back now and see everything arranged in its full image, he could trace the careful dance they both wound through this past year; every word, every silence, every touch ringing through with that steady truth. How had he been so blind?

Springtime has come to Estolad. Finrod is struck with a realization he has been avoiding and faces the decisions that lie in its wake.

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“Let us not perish here in the long darkness,” Balan said softly, crossing back to take one of the waiting wreaths and set it upon his own brow, “these creatures you chose to form. Remember us, here in our frailty.”

It is Yuletide. The Atani and Finrod celebrate throughout the night as they stay awake to greet the dawn after the Longest Night. Balan's people settle into Estolad, Atani traditions abound, and Finrod faces some memories.

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A disabled young man is approached by a mysterious stranger. A triple drabble.

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After capturing Finrod and his companions, Gorthaur attempts to discover their identities...

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It was a custom done in scorn of death, Balan would tell Finrod later that night as they sat beside the fire in the hush of the midnight watch. He might come ever ravening among them, but they would scorn his maw. Even in their rotting they would lay claim to life.

Balan's people are on the road to Estolad. Finrod begins to suspect his own feelings, there is danger on the road, and we witness Atani burial rituals.

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Finduilas had never thought she had been saved for a reason, until she found the woman in the river.

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Maedhros and Maglor disagree about the education of the Peredhil.

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