Fanworks Tagged with Maglor

There is a creaking in his ear, a rumble born low to rise above and beyond and the sound of glass shattering. There is blood on his lips - and shards in his eyes.

His heart 𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠 .

“I 𝑎𝑚 sorry, Atya.”

Maglor still doesn’t know - and it’s 𝑘𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 him.

“I am 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦."

...or another world slowly falling apart as Maglor struggles to Forget-Me-N̶o̶t̶s̶.

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Fëanor watches from the Halls. 

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Pengolodh interviews a kinslayer.

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The Fëanorian Zine features art and fiction centered on the House of Fëanor from thirty creators. The Fëanorian Zine is being hosted by the SWG, and you can read the zine and download a copy for free here!


The contributors who have participated are as follows;
Isilwhore, Balrogballs, Firefly, Whovianofmidgard, Nighttimepatrons, Astral, Isilwhore, Katarrinskey, Rainfeather, Dragonbornsandwaffles/beatles4ever65, Transsexualhamlet, Sage, Iwi, Starillion, Thelien, Angamaite, Truc, Mag-lore, Mauvearts, rputthebottledown, StarsOfArda, JoeTamy, Laerthel, Curufiin, Swordhound, Elrond's Library, Peasant-Player, Tomefaired/Solmarillion/Soleil, Starshadeemily, Sesamenom.

Their handles are all stated in the Zine's index page, please welcome them and enjoy all of the hard work they have done for the project!

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Various short pieces for the Great Beleriand Bake-Off PLUS! Instadrabbling session that Himring and I cohosted on the SWG's Discord. Maglor learns perfectionism from his father. Nerdanel becomes of the subject of the national epic of ugly girls. 1980s!Maglor discovers Lúthien as a calendar girl, and medieval!Maglor gets paid in gold. Tilion muses on the end of the world and his prophesied violent death.

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Before Círdan can sail West he has one last task to complete: find Maglor Fëanorion and bring him home. Aided by the capricious maia of the sea, Ossë, it does not prove difficult to find him. The trouble is, Maglor does not want to come.

Written for Scribbles and Drabbles 2025 Prompt #89: Guided by the Lonely Star by Maglor My Beloved, whose artwork can be found here.

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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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Oh it was so good. Just that perfect puffy pastry with crunchy almonds on top. Just enough sweetness to satisfy Tyelkormo’s sweet tooth, without being so overwhelming that it’d disgust him in two bites. No really, this croissant was just utter perfection!

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Amid the devastation of Nírnaeth Arnoediad Fingon reaches out to Maedhros with one last command: 'you must not follow me', and Maedhros remembers the last sweet hours they spent together before the battle.

"Promise me something, beloved.”
This, the only time he allows fear to break through before the battle, catches my attention. I extend my neck to see creases of care in the corners of his mouth. “Mm? What is it?”
“Promise me you will find your place in the world to come, beyond tomorrow,” he lowers his voice to a whisper, “whether I am by your side or not.”

Written for Scribbles & Drabbles 2025 Art Prompt #51: And his banners they trod into the mire of his blood by Fiamma Galathon. You can find the artwork here.

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War is never quiet. Not like this. Tonight, there is a hush in which the grass whispers, birds sing undisturbed and brooks murmur gaily, wending their way between the trees, heeding no danger, anticipating no pain. This apparently, is peace. I find it unsettling.

Elrond has never known anything but conflict. As peace settles over the land he must reckon with the unknowns it brings and his place within the future, all while facing the biggest decision of his life.

Written for Scribbles and Drabbles 2025 Prompt #170: Small Birds, Dry Grass by Vinyatar. Their beautiful artwork can be found here.

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After Maedhros and Maglor stole the two silmarils and escaped Ëonwë's camp, Elrond and Elros had followed the two in secret. And when the two casted the gems in their respective resting places, the four of them woke up to a dark Arda, along with the cursed beloved gems.

Nothing was right in this Arda.

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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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Bad dreams?” I ask, and Elrond nods. When I brush against his mind it laps like the tide against some desolate shore, and he stands alone in the washed out landscape. Young eyes rove over a heartless sea where the horizon is empty of all but tossing waves. White cliffs are at his back, reeds peek over sandy dunes southward along the shore, and Elrond’s heart fills with the hollow echo: no longer my home, no longer my home.

There is a new star in the sky and and old fears surface. Maedhros supports through Elrond and Elros through their ensuing emotional turmoil as he battles his own.

Written for the SWG October Challenge 2025: The Only Thing to Fear using the prompt: fear of being alone.

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Finarfin wishes for a simple end

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After a breakup, Maglor pays a visit to Himring. It would be more relaxing if his brother's boyfriend wasn't visiting too.

A Fingon/Maglor romcom.

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And Celegorm? Well, Celegorm simply wants a fight, wants revenge, wants to see his debts repaid. He wants to tear that godforsaken forest apart piece by piece, one step further on the inescapable road to their inevitable end.

He knows of monsters, after all. Knows how to speak their tongue, how to coax them along. His brothers, by then, are hardly any different.

Celegorm wants it all to end. He cares little, now, for how they will achieve such a thing.
 

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The Fëanorians, the Second Kinslaying, and how they all reached that point—an attempt to trace their fall from grace, from Valinor to Doriath.

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“Are they fighting again?” Idril asks, wandering over to the fireplace the moment Fingolfin lets her down.

“It is what you do with siblings,” Fingolfin says, and succeeds at not laughing at the irony.

Oh, how much would be different if it were not so true. She treats him to a look full of sceptical disbelief and sets to restacking the fire.

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An exploration of the Nolofinwëans in early Beleriand, and the effect that Maedhros' rescue and abdication would have had on the relationships between them, in the wake of the Ice and all its horrors.

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"I think something is going to happen soon.”
“Something good or something bad?” Maglor asked.
“Something important,” Elros said, looking suddenly very serious and far older than his years. He and Elrond both looked at Maglor with starlit eyes under shadowy hair, Melian’s children whom the birds and the stars would both love.

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"Gather your strength, Daeron. I will get you to the Ford of Bruinen.”
“Will you swear it, kinslayer?” Daeron asked, voice heavy with irony and with something else Maglor couldn’t quite identify. 
He paused for a moment. Then he said, “Yes.” 

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On a sunny day in spring, Frodo got the urge to go north and west, up into Arnor, which was still quite wild and uninhabited outside of newly-built Annúminas, and the slow trickle of work happening around the ruins of Fornost, which even the Dúnedain were still sometimes reluctant to visit. When he spoke of his plan, his dad told him to remember to pack enough food and not to forget a bit of rope, and his mother said not to forget his cloak. Most of his siblings were too young yet to be permitted to go along, but Elanor immediately asked if he wanted company.

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As she reached the bottom of the stairs, Galadriel looked up to find Celeborn following. “What is it you seek?” he asked as she filled the silver ewer from the clear and cold waters of the stream.
“My cousin,” she said as she turned to the silver basin. “It is a new Age; if he lives still, I would find him and bring an end to his long exile.”

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A repository of little songs for elflings, as compiled by Maglor Fëanorion in the late first age.

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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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Maedhros has received an invitation to one of Elu Thingol's exclusive charity galas. She opts to take her sister as a plus-one. She'll probably regret that.

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