Fanworks Tagged with Drama

In the corner of his eye, Finrod’s form morphs and twists, dark spots against the flickering light like gore and blood on sun-kissed skin.

Is this what he did to you? Curufin had asked once, one of the first times—drunk, not-grieving, his mind a war zone. Finrod had smiled at him then, almost tenderly. It revealed the gorge within his well-loved cheek, and Curufin would have flinched if not for the memory of pressing his fingers there, a coward’s imitation of intimacy.

“Worse,” Finrod’s ghost had said, and then had vanished, leaving Curufin to the rolling nausea of sour wine on an empty stomach.

---

On the eve of the battle for Doriath, Finrod pays a visit—or rather, whatever is left of him does.

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Once, in gold-cast days of careless bliss, the three of you used to be—something. A triangular shape, always revolving around each other. Warm hands, late nights, a tangle of limbs in opulent beds. A reprieve, a stolen treasure, and you all thought, then, that it could always be like that; that one day, the world would bend to your folly, and all would be well.

What fools you had been.

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Fingon, Finrod, the Ice, and the gaping space between them.

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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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Argon falls.

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"But you will not persuade me to love the Elves, Felakgundu; not though you had all the years of the world to try."

"If you will let me try a little longer," answers Finrod, "that is all I ask.”

On the deeply unlikely friendship of Mîm, Petty-dwarf of Nulukkhizdîn, and the wandering Elf-king who set up camp on his doorstep. 

For TRSB Slide #21 by Huorinde.

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I made a project out of this year’s Silmsmutweek, to accompany the line of the Peredhel through the Ages.

1) Spring; prompts: ritual sex, bathing and washing. Melian and Elu beget their daughters.

2) Summer; prompts: sport and competition. Finally allowed to live their love makes Arwen and Aragorn light-headed with bliss. That, and a little too much wine for the newly crowned King of Gondor. (Not explicit)

3) Autumn; prompts: canon ships, blanket; my first drabble. On a chill afternoon in autumn, Celebrían finds her husband dozing, and finds that something has to be done about it (Not explicit)

4)Fading; prompts: water sports. Elwing can’t have what she wants, and Eärendil has to suffer for it. (He loves every moment of it, though)

5) Winter; prompts: throne sex. Dior has doubts whether he will ever see himself as the King of Doriath. Nimloth finds that it is time for him to truly claim the throne.

6) Stirring; prompts: erotic dance and acrobatics. Ficlet. Beren watches Lúthien dance, and feels life stir in him again. And other things.

7) Dark; prompts borrowed from another day: rare-pair. This one is weird. No more needs to be said

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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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Fëanor did not know how to explain the ill-defined uneasiness and the almost instinctual dislike he felt, how impossible it was to reconcile the impression he had gotten from the tapestry in Mandos to the reality of Daeron in person, in life. “He seems careless,” he said, because he did not know how else to explain. 

“That is certainly not true,” said Nerdanel, “though I know well that I cannot expect you to take my word for it. It is long since you placed any trust in anyone’s judgment aside from your own, flawed though it is.”

Midwinter is meant to be a time of feasting and merriment, but Fëanor does not find it so, especially with Daeron of Doriath in attendance. 

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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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As beautiful as he is dangerous, Aegnor, an elven prince, stands against the looming shadows of Angband. Brother to Galadriel, he commands the siege with a fierce intensity, a duty that exacts a heavy toll on him. Beneath the iron walls he has built lies a broken soul, haunted by a devastating trauma and a well of deeply guarded secrets. His demons, kept at bay by his unyielding intensity that is both his greatest gift and his biggest curse. 

Little does our Noldorin prince know that a chance encounter with a terrified young girl of men will set him on a collision course, igniting an extraordinary bond wrought with challenges, sacrifices, and intense love that threatens to unravel his guarded heart, and all he keeps within it.

Brace yourself for Part I of this captivating tale, where the primal power of love and devestating loss will tear lives apart forever.

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In the Year 1405, the Witch-King of Angmar begins his plan to conquer the northern kingdoms of Arthedain and Cardolan.  Rhudaur is mostly under his control but Dunadan Houses Melosse and Rhudainor stand in his way in the southeastern part of the failed kingdom.  He brings an Easterling mage, Ethacali to lead the effort to remove any resistance to his coming war.

Based on and inspired by the MERP RPG module of that name.  Image courtesy of the Dark Mage of Rhudaur RPG.

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After his release from the Halls of Mandos, Melkor seduces many of the Noldor with honeyed words and accusations against the Valar.  The Two Trees are ruined and the Sun and Moon arise.  One of these elves, Ardana the Astrologer, leads her people to return the skies to their original form, nothing but stars.  But she must destroy the Sun and Moon to accomplish that from her holds in the south of Middle Earth.

This is a non-canon story that is inspired by an MERP RPG series that was a gift from my aunt.  Most of the characters and settings were from the series and some quotes and songs are taken from Tolkien's writing.  It also ties in with the Wars in Beleriand and two my other two stories, The Dark Mage of Rhudaur and The Thieves of Tharbad.  The story is designed to span three ages.

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War is upon the northern kingdoms as the Witch-King of Angmar unleashes his fury against Arthedain and Cardolan in the year 1409 of the Third Age.  Annuminas, Amon Sul and the Barrow Downs are destroyed by the armies of Angmar and the Royal Family of Cardolan is slain, except for one young lady.  A group of adventurers attempts so survive and to help rebuild the kingdom with a spoiled princess as refugees and hostile agents stream into the capitol of Tharbad.  

This is a non-canon story, inspired by an MERP RPG series.  Arthedain and Cardolan stand against Angmar and the puppet kingdom of Rhudaur.  This is a sequel to The Dark Mage of Rhudaur and contains a number of the same characters.  It will also tie into The Court of Ardor.  There will be occasional quotes from Tolkien's writing to flesh out the story.  

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In Dor-lómin, Tuor and Lady Aerin both dream of a golden-haired child. (Lalaith is doing her best, considering that she's a young child and also dead.)

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“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.

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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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“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.

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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.

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...everyone here seemed to think Daeron should return to them equally unchanged, the same merry minstrel he had been long ago before the Girdle had been breached. He was yet a minstrel, and he was often merry, but he had seen and done so much that so many here could never even imagine. He had come very close to death more than once, and yet survived. He did not care what others might think of him, really—except for a select few—but it would be tiresome to be always catching them off guard, and his love for one of the sons of Fëanor would catch many very much off guard, he knew.

Daeron settles back in among his own people, travels to Tirion--and meets Fëanor.

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Ósanwë gives an intimacy to relationships that is almost unmatched.

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Éowyn decides to join the Ride of the Rohirrim to Minas Tirith. A poem in alliterative verse.

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for the prompt "i'll be the man my father never was" for any trans son of feanor

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The Gap falls. Hemmoril and Maglor try to cope, with varying success.

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Hemmoril, Maglor's best friend and horsemaster, says a quick goodbye to her wife as the Dagor Bragollach looms.

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Finrod is confused and distraught to learn that Bëor will die of old age.

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