New Challenge: Title Track
Tolkien's titles range from epic to lyrical to metaphorical. This month's challenge selected 125 of them as prompts for fanworks.

“He is my brother,” Ñolofinwë says once more, willing her to understand. “He is half of me. What is a fëa worth if half of itself is gone?”
Ñolofinwë is scared that if he takes all that his brother is, and unravels the braid, takes out all of the love, winds what’s left back together — he is so terribly afraid that it will turn into a bitter hatred so dark and violent it may finally rival his brother’s.
He cannot risk that. He cannot. Better to die with love in his heart than live and become an angry, bitter version of himself.
Or: Ñolofinwë begins coughing up flowers and Fëanáro learns that hatred does not erase the duties of a brother.
The formal ceremony where Maedhros hands over the High King status to Fingolfin.

Fingon’s prayer. Last-minute sketch entry for the 40s monthly challenge!

“Come on.” Maedhros grabbed his hand and pulled him along down the path, both of them quickening their pace now, until the trees opened up into a wide meadow filled with flowers, bright yellow celandine and dandelions and sweet-scented pale chamomile mingling with cornflowers and irises. On the other side of it was a larger party than Maglor had ever seen in Lórien—five figures sitting in the grass. Huan barked again, and they all looked up. “It seems everyone has come to fetch us home,” Maedhros said, laughing, as all their brothers scrambled to their feet.
After years in Lórien, Maglor and Maedhros are ready to return to their family and to make something new with their lives--but to move forward, all of Fëanor's sons must decide how, or if, they can ever reconcile with their father.

On the night after the coronation, the wind was cold. Fires still burned in the north; their light could be seen, flickering on the far reaches of the horizon, but they provided no warmth. A figure stood on the ramparts of the keep at Hithlum, where the ceremony had been held, more solemn than joyous. The wisdom of having so many of the rulers so near the great darkness to the north, given what had happened– what was happening– was questionable, at best. But their luck held. For now.
A conversation between two kings of the Noldor.

Fingon makes a small request to Maedhros. She obliges.
featuring Trans Fingon and genderbent Maedhros.

Ósanwë gives an intimacy to relationships that is almost unmatched.

They marry in a field, years after leaving the halls.

After the Dagor Aglareb, Maglor and Fingon help Maedhros relax.
Distant sequel to this fic, also featuring Maedhros as a trans woman.

Fingon's rescue of Maedhros in An Attempt at poetry
For the July 2025 Challenge Swinging 40s

Fingon steals Maedhros away a hundred times during the long peace.
Double drabble

Findekáno, son of Fëanáro, and Maitimo, son of Nolofinwë, have always been close. A pity, then, that their fathers' relationship trickles down to them.
A role reversal fic

Fingon knows that it is reasonable for Maedhros to go east, good, even. That doesn't mean he's happy about it.

Argon, my sweet, foolish, impetuous youngest brother, ran ahead. I found him, you know, before he died.
Fingon remembers the first rising of the Moon and Sun, mourns his youngest brother and resolves that his cousin will not share Argon's fate.

It is an unfortunate fact that Findekáno has a reputation for making girls think he is courting them. Maitimo, as his friend, knows that this is simply a miscommunication, a disconnect between Findekáno's easy affection and the norms of Tirion. Knowing all this does not help him at all.

The mood in Maitimo's house has been dark these last few years, and his father's eyes have been following him.
Inspired by the fairytale Donkeyskin

Maedhros and Fingon, ie Russo and Finnu from Prayers to Broken Stone, 19 years old and up to no-good at all. If you want to know why they’re dressed up like a Mecca pilgrim and a Roman cardinal, check out the snippet in the notes!

A collection of drabbles primarily featuring male characters from the Legendarium

About the Battle of Unnumbered Tears.

“I do love you, Russandol. You know I do, do you not?”
For a long, drawn-out moment, Maedhros only stares. Something is taking root in his chest, something he knows, then, he will not be able to extricate from himself again. “I know,” he says, voice rough. “I—“
But Fingon stops him, pressing a hand to Maedhros’ mouth. “Don’t, not yet; tell me when we see each other next.”
Five times they share their own small ritual upon separation and reunion, and one time it takes a little longer than either of them can endure to mark its completion.

Everyone, including the Valar, are convinced that Fingon and Maedhros are lovers no matter how many times they explain that they very much are not. When will they get it through their thick skulls that there are other ways to love and be committed to someone? Apparently not soon enough. When the Valar decide to involve Maedhros and Fingon in their meddling, it leads to some interesting circumstances.
A queerplatonic take on Maedhros and Fingon's relationship for Russingon Week, with some Gil-Galad parentage exploration for fun.

And of course, of course it is about the boats. Fingon wants—oh, Fingon wants to forgive Maedhros so badly, but he dreams of leaping flames, of the feeling in his chest like something is crushing his ribs, slowly, inevitably, to dust and grime.
“What do you want, Makalaurë?” he asks again, except that this time, it comes out angry. He has ever had an atrocious grip on his temper.
“You should ask him about it.”
Forgiveness takes time and honesty. Fingon has never been a patient person; Maedhros, in recent times, has not been an honest one.
Eventually, they work it out.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?”
Findekáno stills, and finally looks at Maitimo. Finds him already staring back, unflinching and—hungry, almost, Findekáno would call it, if he did not know better.
“I have not,” he says, his heart hammering madly inside his rib cage. Still, he adds, all bravado, “Why? Have you?”
It starts reckless and stupid. Which is to say, it starts with them.

Little moments of connection with Maedhros. A collection of drabbles and other short writings to accompany One in the Fires of the Heart of the World.

If Aredhel had to listen to one more person heap praise on her brother while she stood right beside him, completely disregarded, she might scream. The praises were well deserved, she must admit. But was it only Fingon who scouted ahead over the treacherous shifting ice of the Helcaraxë? Didn’t Aredhel also take her fair share of that hazardous duty?
In the early days at Lake Mithrim, Aredhel endures a restriction in her freedom after the comparative autonomy she had during the crossing of the Helcaraxë. Fingolfin seems set on weighing her down with safe and mundane duties. Aredhel is not enjoying this one bit. Her father may be able to keep her inside the encampment, but he cannot tame her. She longs to for greater freedom, but when it comes it is not be the victory she was hoping for.