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.

After the attack on the Havens of Sirion, a figure from Maedhros' past comes face-to-face with him one last time.

Maedhros' rescue from Thangorodrim left him deeply scarred. But how did it impact Fingon as his rescuer? A drabble sequence from Thangorodrim to the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

In the First Age, Fingon traveled to Rerir after discovering Turgon's disappearance. In the Fourth Age, he travels to Rerir again in Beleriand Risen.
A tale told in drabbles.

These are the first fanfics I ever read, and they are all truly fabulous and absolutely timeless and 100% recommended!

After a drunken night at Minas Tirith, Fingon and Orodreth wake up married with a baby on the way.

It is not, Maedhros thinks, that Fingon is no longer angry. It is just that Fingon has never let anything as clean-cut as betrayal stop him from loving Maedhros in despite.
After everything, they are just a little insane about each other.

At Ivrin, during the aftermath of the Mereth Aderthad.
A brief vignette.

Two years before the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Húrin and Huor journey from Dor-lómin to Eithel Sirion for a war council with their new allies from the East. A story about the stirring of hope and foreshadowing of woe. Well-peppered with humour.

Fingon returns to Barad Eithel after a late-autumn hunt, finding someone unexpected with his wife. The night takes an even more unexpected turn for all three of them.

Created for the 'Geography/Maps/Places' prompt on the "Tolkien meta" bingo board, this is a collection of maps marked with the various people groups showing how they arrived and moved about Beleriand. This collection focuses specifically on the time from the arrival of the Teleri, Vanyar, and Noldor before they went to Aman up to the distribution of the various kingdoms after the Flight of the Noldor, when they arrived in Middle-earth and settled there.

"Would it help,” Maedhros starts, his tone pensive and his fingers pressing more firmly against Maglor’s jaw. “Would it help if I did not forgive you as easily? If I punished you for what you did not, could not do?”
It takes a moment for Maglor to understand, Maedhros pushing images into his mind—of rope and chains and bruised skin, of pain and pleasure mingling without release.
It makes him shiver, the thrill quickly followed by shame hot enough that he wants to flinch from it.
Maglor is unable to let go of his guilt. Maedhros gets inventive about it.

“A pity,” Fingon says, and his grin looks only a little forced. “Will you dance with me regardless?”
Maedhros first instinct is to say no. Elbereth, he should say no. But he looks at Fingon with his flushed cheeks, the braids coming loose, the banked hope in his eyes. The way the slant of his mouth reveals that he expects a rejection, and how he asks regardless.
Maedhros has always been terrible at denying him anything. It is why he had put half a continent between them, why he knew that coming here was a mistake before he so much as left Himring’s walls.
Maedhros believes that Fingon deserves something better. Fingon disagrees.

It is too much to ask, Findekáno knows. If there is one thing he understands it is loyalty, the way it sits on your shoulders, the crushing weight and comforting form of it. Maitimo can no more turn his back on his family than Findekáno can, and that, more than anything, has always been their most wretched similarity.
One last meeting on the Eve of the Fëanorians' exile.

His gaze, inevitably, is drawn back to Finrod, the marred beauty of him. It has not been Curufin who ruined him so—had not been Curufin who had dragged him out of Nargothrond and into the wolf’s den, who had let Finrod protect him with his life. And yet.
And yet it feels oddly fitting, that such a ruined thing should be Curufin’s.
Through careful manoeuvring and a few lucky coincidences, Curufin saves Finrod's life without having to admit to anything so humiliating as having emotions. Contrary to what one would expect, this does not make things all that much easier.
Alternatively: Curufin lies, Finrod lives, and somehow they do still manage to figure it out, for better or for worse.

Berion, captain of Barad Eithel under King Fingon, laments Fingon's death and the loss of his home.

Makalaurë was sitting at the harp in his music room. He was holding a dark blindfold in his hands and was looking at it with much scepticism.

In which Legolas Greenleaf dreams he is in the First Age. Time is strangely haywire and there are a lot of Noldor royalty talking about ravens. More importantly nobody has offered him a drink.
Or: a medieval Welsh story adapted with Silmarillion characters (and Legolas)

This, them, is a caricature as well. Fingon unleashes another row of blows upon Maedhros and does not think about the way it feels like penance and revenge both. Does not think about how this is the only way he still knows to touch Maedhros without fear.
After Thangorodrim, Maedhros needs to re-learn how to fight. It goes about as well as can be expected.

In that time before he had taken himself and his brothers East, taking Fingon back to his bed had been the last thing on his mind. After, in his cold fortress and alone with his thoughts, he had almost been grateful for it, for never having asked. As if this was something Fingon would still want—the ruined body, the betrayals like landmarks etched into it.
A sweltering summer day during the Long Peace, a cool lake, and a revelation; it is enough to bring back together what Maedhros thought lost.

“Show me your hand,” Maedhros says, once he seems satisfied. At Fingon’s frown, he rolls his eyes. “Your finger; you cut yourself before I got here.”
It hits Fingon like a punch. He had forgotten, the pain fading into the background, and now here Maedhros sits, alcohol and gauze in his naked lap because Fingon had cut himself on what was once, long ago, meant to be a betrothal gift.
He is sure that somewhere, some Vala is laughing at him.
In the wake of Fingolfin's death, Fingon's first instinct is to run East. It has been long years since Maedhros' arms meant comfort, and yet, at the end of it all, it may have been one of his better impulses.

Maitimo had allowed it, his eyes dark and knowing, even as it was a gamble. There is only one person who is known to wear gold in their hair like this; there is only one thing that wearing someone’s token means.
Much the same way that a crown signifies allegiance, Findekáno thinks, as Maitimo kneels in front of their grandfather’s throne.
The copper circlet Maitimo is crowned with is a work of art. He finds that he likes it much better on another's brow.

Fingon and Hurin: I. A Common Root

A series of acrostics based on the letters provided in the Tengwar challenge, telling the story of one enterprising Telerin merchant.

Hithlum reckons with the departure of the future Gondolindrim.