Fanworks Tagged with Drama

“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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Elros and Elrond enact their plan to escape from their kidnappers and find allies along the way. Reunions are made in the dense forest of southernmost Ossiriand, just not the ones that were expected.

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The truth was, she should have been dead. The spear that was now leaning against the wall behind her should have killed her. The healers had told her that they had never seen someone survive such a wound, especially without the aid of elvish medicine, as she had been for the first days after the people of Brethil had found her. 

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Beleg seeks, by all means that he might, to persuade Túrin to return to Doriath with him. But two can play at this game.

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Brandir of Brethil also loved Niënor, and his death stands among the tragedies of the Children of Húrin: an alliterative poem.

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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.

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Guided by their tutor, Prince Eldarion and his friend learn that the choice to seize or reject the Ring's power is not an easy one.
 

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He opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the lantern light. He stared at Elrohir with a strange look—horror and helpless fear mixed with longing and perhaps…recognition? But Elrohir did not recognize him, he was sure. And there was something else in his eyes too—a Light that Elrohir had seen before only in a handful of people, dimmed by pain and fear, but not extinguished. “It’s all right,” Elrohir said. “We’re going to take you away from this place.” 

The Necromancer is driven from Mirkwood, and Elladan and Elrohir find someone altogether unexpected in the pits of Dol Guldur.

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A slightly different take on Maedhros' end in half a drabble. 
Plus half a drabble of Maglor's.

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Years of the Lamps. Mairon has come home early from the celebrations to some alone time, but Melkor’s visit destroys both his plans and the peace of his mind.

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In the end, the master of lies made the mistake of underestimating him. 
A story of Celebrimbor, the last of the House of Fëanor in Middle-erath.

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The fall of Fingolfin from Fingon's perspective

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Daeron is caught by orcs in the shadow of the Ephel Dúath, but is rescued by someone entirely unexpected.

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“Dior, son of Luthien,” Námo intones, “you do not belong in these halls. I will show you the way to where your path is meant to lead.”

Celegorm looks to Dior and tilts his head in curiosity at the defiant look being directed at Námo. “No,” Dior says, voice hard. “I feel no call to follow the path of men. I will stay in the halls with my kin.”

“I was not presenting it as a choice,” Námo says severely and Celegorm frowns. Sees Curufin across the room shaking his head and gesturing for Celegorm to join him. He thinks to but then looks at Dior again and gets distracted by the look on his face.

An animal backed into a corner, his mind supplies, glancing down at the way Dior’s fingers are beginning to press into Celegorm’s fëa  from how hard he is gripping Celegorm’s wrist.

Dior bares his teeth. “I was not either."

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Maedhros, eldest son of Feanor, is captured by Morgoth and chained to the cliffs of Thargorodrim by his order. There is no hope of rescue until his dearest friend appears. (one-shot)

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