Fanworks Tagged with Maedhros

It was well-established knowledge amongst all their brothers that if they did something that made Makalaurë suitably upset, he would retaliate by playing his pipes very early outside the offending brother’s window.

However, while Maitimo was certain that he had done something to earn this assault on his ears, he could not for the life of him figure out what it was.

(In which Maitimo is the latest victim of Makalaurë’s early morning bagpipe playing.)

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Maedhros will always take care of Maglor. Maglor learns this, and he uses it.

For Maedhros & Maglor Week Day 7: Partners (Intimacy and Entanglement).

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Five tents, he counts. Two dead guards. The fire within him burns so white, he wonders if it will leave anything of himself behind. Wonders if he can bring himself to care. Wonders, too, if this is what his father had felt like when he found the innards of their grandfather’s head spilt over his well-wrought front steps.

If so, perhaps Maedhros finally understands.

Maglor is taken. Maedhros handles it as well as can be expected, which is not at all.

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“Forswear the oath, then!” Elrond raises his voice. 

“The oath was sworn in the name of Ilúvatar,” Maedhros explains. “It cannot be broken, lest we be doomed to everlasting darkness.”

“Seems to me you're both f****d either way,” Elros says. “So what's the harm in asking?”

"Elros, I will not tolerate that language in my halls. For someone of your stature, it's unbecoming." Maedhros conveniently ignores the question.

The War of Wrath has started, and the kidnap family is coming to an end. 

This is how the conversation went.

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They speak as if they have not been sending messengers to keep each other informed of what was necessary. As if this—war, strategy, cold facts—is not all they have exchanged ever since Maedhros had removed them East.

He wonders if Maglor has forgiven him yet—for giving away the crown, for not asking him first, for coming back someone other than himself. He wonders if he has forgiven Maglor yet—for leaving him to Morgoth, for looking at him returned only with horror and guilt. For not forgiving him yet.

They have not spoken in twenty years. Maedhros doubts that this is the kind of reuniting that their uncle had in mind.

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He used to be able to read his brother better than his own mind. He used to think that he would do anything, would bear anything, to have him back.

Maglor’s worst crime to date, he thinks, is that in this, too, he has proven himself a liar.

Maedhros abdicates the throne. Maglor copes, more or less (it's definitely less).

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A collection of flashfic, drabbles, and snippets.

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Following Maglor as he suffers through captivity in Dol Guldur, and his journey to healing afterward. 

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“They left everything behind? All of their families?” Elrond asks.
“Yes.”
“All for a magic stone?” he asks.
“Yes. A very special, very magical stone,” Maglor says, unsure why he should have to justify his deeds to a child.

~~~
Maglor tells Elrond and Elros a story. Maedhros listens.

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Drabbles created (and now polished) from February 15, 2025 Maedhros & Maglor week-themed Instadrabbling session)

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Alphangil lives in Eglarest following the Dagor Bragollach, while Fingon remains in Hithlum. During a visit by Maedhros they find a way to bridge the distance.

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Alphangil surprises her wife Fingwen and their lover Maedhris in the gardens of Barad Eithel. Fluff and smut ensue.

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Following Maedhros averting the burning of the ships, Fingon worries, Maedhros finds a new reason to live, and Fëanor begins to wonder if he has made some mistakes. And underneath it all is enough love that they're all hoping, maybe just this once, it won't end in tragedy.

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Nerdanel ran her fingers along one, and turned her thoughts to her son, hoping for a glimpse of more than a misty shore, or of the ragged hem of his cloak. She wished to see his face, wished to see that he was somewhere safe and warm and perhaps not still alone after so long. But even a glimpse of him lonely but whole upon the shore would be a relief, and enough to banish the dreams that had troubled her, knowing them for just dreams and nothing more.

Troubled by dark dreams, Nerdanel picks up a palantír to seek for Maglor. She finds him. 

After, Maedhros has returned to life and also seeks for his brother--and also finds him.

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“No,” he says once more, cutting his father off. The pressure in his chest hurts. He wanted to rest but instead there’s a great, spiked ball of fury dragging itself up his throat. “If you burn those boats I will walk out there and burn with them. I’ll swear it to Eru if you don’t believe me. Damn myself to the darkness twice.” He had intended to burn anyways, may as well go out the way he’d meant to, let his death mean something this time. Let it be for something that matters.

There must be something truly terrible on his face because his father visibly falters.

“You would not,” his father says but his voice wavers slightly.

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Maedhros dies and opens his eyes to Losgar, to ships unburnt, and a heart like a mad thing. It depends on who you ask if this is a good thing or not.

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Maedhros closes the shutters, one by one. "You're late," he says, voice low but not unkind.

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Maglor prepares for the Winter Solstice celebration, but Elrond and Elros disagree with his choice of clothing.

Or: in which the Noldor invented waistcoats

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There was, he thinks slowly, trudging through the grief mired thoughts, gold ribbons coated in blood, a cold bed, a gaping emptiness in his mind where a marriage bond used to hum. There were years and years with only his brothers and even those dwindled with time.

His ears catch on a voice raised high, panicked, and then with terrifying force, the marriage bond snaps back into place, filling an emptiness he’d only just begun to grasp the edges of, and everything goes very sharp and clear.

Fingon, he thinks, feels the answering burst of confusion, fear, hope. “Fingon.”

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Maedhros comes to Barad Eithel after the Dagor Bragollach and the fall of Fingolfin.

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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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Tyelkormo was currently outside the house, hiding from his mother.

It was nearly winter and every winter was peak matchmaking activity time in Tirion’s palace. So Nerdanel focused more on her sons at this period since she wanted them to make a good impression so they could find a good wife as was proper for young adult elves. 

Alas, Tyelkormo didn’t want that. 

Works for the Sitcom Bingo : We need a distraction, Failure is the Only Option, and getting volunteered (poor Makalaurë's dramatic so he enjoys being volunteered, worry not, no minstrel was harmed in the writing of this fic).

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A selection of brief writings (mostly conforming to drabbles but some veer into dribble territory) from the SWG events on January 18-19, 2025.

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Short interaction between Maedhros and Caranthir, written during an instadrabbling session.

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Maglor, a Jedi, gets roped into investigating the theft of the Silmarilli and some Sindarin treasures. His partner? The Singer Daeron.

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