Fanworks Tagged with Curufin

On the eve of his wedding, Gil-galad sends three last-minute invitations to his potential fathers.

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In which one Fourth Age historian sets out to chart the complete history of the events and writing of the Lay of Leithian and ends up with an oral history of First Age politics, the Fall of Nargothrond, the Second Kinslaying, the Third Kinslaying, and one elf’s commentary on Second Age repertory theater.

OR “The Lay of Leithian: a Historiographical Approach” by Líwë Ríniel of the University of Tirion

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"Atya, I'm scared."

A small voice caught Curufin's attention as he lowered his gaze to meet two large, frightened brown eyes.

He caressed his son's face, sighing. "Why are you afraid, Tyelpë?"

The little elf clutched the blankets of the bed, his small, round face and brows furrowed in pure terror.

"I... I don't want them to take me away!" he whimpered between sobs. "They've taken Uncle Nelyo, they'll come for me too!"

During bedtime, Curufin finds himself consoling a young Celebrimbor.

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In which Curufin is pretty sure he's been cursed. He doesn't know what other explanation there is for why the song of the world is unspooling about him again and again, and surely, surely, there must be an explanation. 

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Convergent evolution: in which two creatures, completely independently, evolve the same characteristics.

Otherwise known as the time Celegorm got ahold of some kola nuts, and decided to try brewing a stimulant tea for their soldiers by combining it with the leaves of the coca tree they’d conveniently brought from Valinor, and accidentally invented one of the most famous drinks in the world several Ages early.

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After an argument with his father, Celebrimbor gets lost in the woods and happens upon a beautiful wolf in a trap.  He frees it, not expecting it to turn out to be a Maia who now decides he owes him a life debt.

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Feanor keeps his baby grandson up past his bedtime, Curufin frets, Maedhros intervenes.

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It was necessary, Atar had said when he'd refused to seek out a partner within the
Noldor. Like hair-braiding before the day began, he could not be allowed to embarrass himself with a lowborn Teler of all people simply because his body demanded care. The conclusion was only natural.

It was necessary, Nelyo had confirmed when Tyelpe had found his friends amongst the other Hosts, and that was the end of it. Tyelpe had to learn.
 

Curufin helps his son get ready in the morning, in more than one way.

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Fem!Curufin, her wife, and Celegorm enjoy her period.

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Modern AU, No Oath, No evil creatures bent on gaining control of the earth and destroying everything (I mean, there are politicians in there if you squint but... ), No Elves, No Valar. 

The day was grey, but not bad at all for a day of March in North Beleriand. Himring was a perpetually cold city, it earned its name fairly, and yet the city was well loved by its inhabitants. Next to Himring, stood the Himlad national park, mountain, forests, and protected wildlife. That attracted a lot of tourist in the summer season.

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Curufin becomes ill after a hunting trip with Celegorm. 

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He kisses Finrod again when the serious expression does not lighten. Twists them and presses Finrod down into the bed, kissing him hard and deep until he's gone completely boneless beneath Curufin. He has the brief, mad thought that perhaps if he is still kissing Finrod when the next day begins, then maybe that will be enough to stop the constant unsinging.

By the gods he wishes it were that fucking simple. 

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The first time Curufin kisses Finrod, it is to provoke.

There is no deeper meaning to it. Only a cousin with a pleasant smile and mild words; only Curufin's unending need to break things and a violence that has been hanging from his fists since they stepped into these caves.

He expects Finrod to reel back with disgust, expects him to be scandalized, to be offended, to narrow his eyes, maybe even to threaten. He does not expect for Finrod's mouth to open beneath his, Finrod's hands coming up to fist in his robes and pull him close. He bites at Finrod's lip savagely, and Finrod bites harder, smiling into the kiss when copper bursts bright between them.

It really only continues escalating from there.

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Created for TRSB 2026, art 100 is a hand-drawn interlaced star of Fëanor with four of the named points broken (CW: drops of blood). 

The fic written for it will be posted in the TRSB 2026 collection after 5 September 2026. 

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At the end of all days, when sun and moon are no more, Túrin Turambar shall face Morgoth and slay the Foe.

Yet in the dark, the Elves wait in vain for Túrin's return. Beleg Cúthalion knows he will find him. But first, Gurthang, the black sword made of the iron of a fallen star, shall be re-forged. When he visits its smith, Beleg meets someone unexpected.

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This tale follows Maedhros and his wife (OC) from their time in Aman to the end of the First Age; following a brutal attack in Valinor, intense familial strife is forever set in motion. Mostly follows Silmarillion timeline/canon with internal narrative twists. Character dives on all of the Sons of Fëanor, ongoing work with currently 17 chapters I will be posting soon (currently all cross posted to AO3) :)

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"Move farther north," Caranthir says to her a month after the attack, gaze steady on her even as his hands continue briskly gutting fish. "There is plenty of land closer to my fortress, and my people can help protect yours if there is another attack."

Haleth looks up from her own fish, frowning a bit at the sight he makes. Even after a month, she hasn't grown used to the sight of this elvish prince so casually working with the rest of them. She opens her mouth to refuse, proud of her people and their independence, having no desire to be indebted to anyone, but the words catch in her throat as she meets his eyes. She thinks treacherously of his mouth against the inside of her wrist, and what comes out instead is, "How close to your keep are you trying to drag us? And what is the cost?"

Or: Caranthir asks and Haleth agrees. This does not mean they were prepared for what follows.

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There is nothing for Celebrimbor here in Nargothrond. No one foolish enough to befriend him, no one brave enough to forgive him after what happened in the passes, only the comfort of the warm forge-hall waiting for him.

Then Felagund opens his mouth to sing.

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A young Celegorm and Curufin befriend an old Spruce tree. 

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The thing about forgiveness, he thought, was that it was so much easier when the object of it was far away—or dead. It was so much easier to let it all go when those responsible were far away and unable to do any more harm. 

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Celegorm does not like the idea of fleeing to Nargothrond. He likes it even less for the nagging fear that Curufin will prefer the Arafinweans to him, will abandon their Oath to keep them happy.

He'll do anything to stop that. Curufin will accept it eventually.

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Reembodied in Aman, Celebrimbor decides to return to Middle earth to help heal the darkness and hurt wrought by the ring. 

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Fëanor shrugged, studying the contents of his wine glass. “Something must be done about that house. It will fall down eventually.”
“It does not follow that it must be you that tears it down single-handedly. Are you sure you do not want help?”
“It’s not as though I have much else to do. I need to build something new there,” he said after a few moments. “To do that, I must first clear away the old and broken things.”

Decades out of Mandos, too many things in Fëanor's life remain broken. He can't do anything except wait for his sons to come to him, but he can do something about the old and crumbling house where they once lived. 

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a collection of drabbles and mini ficlets in the meanwhile the world goes on 'verse that aren't long enough to stand on their own

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House of Fëanor star - paper-cutting, markers, pens, coloured pencils

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