Fanworks Tagged with Eärendil

The falcon joined her on the second day of watching. And stayed with her, watching her … Galadriel would say surreptitiously, if birds could do more than blankly stare. It was unnerving. The falcon preened its dark feathers occasionally, but otherwise watched the disembarking Elves with the same keen gaze as Galadriel.
Under the moonlight of the third night the falcon shivered, stretched, and shifted to become one who had been thought lost.
 

Elwing reunites with Galadriel before the War of Wrath.

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Would it never end? Would there always be one more mother standing on the shore, looking out to sea, full of a grief made more terrible by hope?
Elwing and Nerdanel in Valinor in the Fourth Age; a story about children coming home.

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Old age creeps upon Tuor, insistent and unsettling, and as sea-longing grows in his heart, Annael guides him on his way.

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The elves of Beleriand lose the first battle against Morgoth. The Noldor find the free lands they'd been looking for. Lúthien is on the warpath.
And the First Age still is as bloody as it is in canon.
(Please read the author's notes, there will reading-instructions, as this is my first attempt at a deconstructed fic)

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Two bird-related drabbles featuring Elwing and Eärendil for December 2025 Instadrabbling

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His life in Valinor.

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For this month’s ‘The Only Thing To Fear’-challenge, I tried something a little different- which was to write short ficlets for as many prompts as possible. (Admittedly, I wanted them to be drabbles at first, but I just couldn’t manage).

Some of these turned more into PTSD-stories than phobias, but I think it still fits the challenge.

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Vingilot was a magnet for bugs, and Eärendil feared coming back to land because of it. 

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painting of the Tower of Pearl in the Western Isles

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"Whatever the songs say, I am still only myself, and I miss my grandfather.”

Five times Eärendil asks for news of Turgon, and one time he does not have to.

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Hope is a weapon. Hope is a skill.

or, the art of not giving up in the face of the impossible, as seen through the eyes of fifteen people living in First Age Beleriand.

16 perfect 100 words drabbles, exploring this concept.

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The third kinslaying and its aftermath, from the perspective of Maedhros and Elwing: a shape poem.

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Now a great crowd of spirits, both Elves and lingering Men, were gathered before the newest tapestry as it fell open down the wall, luminous, gold and silver threads glittering in the pale light of Mandos.

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Eärendil on Vingilótë arrives in the Bay of Eldamar; in the bottom right corner it says: "Vingilótë" and "Aiya Eärendil Elenion Ancalima!" 

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Egalmoth has his fears, when Earendil sets sail, but also pins his hope on him.

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Eärendil has to find his way in this unfamiliar land. Luckily (or unluckily, depending on your point of view) for him, it's a time of festival in Valimar...

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They passed out of Lhûn and the wider coastline of Middle-earth opened up before his eyes. He had wandered those shores for centuries, and even now he felt the pull of that same wanderlust, and knew he would miss them for the rest of his life. Their wildness, the untamed waves, the rocky shores and the cliffs and the sandy beaches. The gulls, and the dunes, and the tide pools with their ever-changing denizens. Someone began to sing a song of farewell, and other voices took it up. He did not join them. 

Maglor keeps a promise, and comes to Valinor, only to find the ghosts he thought he'd left behind are alive and waiting for him. 

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Eärendil comes to the Ring of Doom to plead before the Valar. 

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A reworking of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star

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In a mostly-starless void, the Star of Earendil is shown glowing within reach of a silver full Moon with the last flower of Telperion upon it. Drawn using MS Paint. A poem called "Connection" is also shown:

As Earendil 
rises for the first 
time

He sees Tilion

And knows that
he is not the 
Only watcher
over Arda.

There is a
connection
forged.
 

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She sits alone in her room and pulls the silmaril out. Stares at it in the dark until the light makes her cry. Weighs the blood of her kin staining the Fëanorians hands against the yet unspilled blood of the people she’s been told are her responsibility. Holds the question she’s never been able to answer in her hands and makes herself think — what makes a monster? She knows what her advisors say. She knows what her people whisper. She knows their blood will run red regardless of which set of monsters end up finally coming for them.

or: Elwing is sixteen when she finally comprehends the brutality of the war ravaging Beleriand, when she realizes what it means to be told the people of Sirion are hers to protect. She is sixteen and helplessly in love and her advisor tells her that she is safe in Sirion and she cannot believe him. She comes up with a plan to fix it.

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Just a few of my favourite podfics that I've found soothing for bedtime (or middle of the night, or any time really) listening.

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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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