Fanworks Tagged with Family

The whispers that circulate through Tirion afterwards, throughout all of Aman, will be cruel. She had gotten overconfident, they say, she should have known that Finwë’s line was cursed. She should have been content with three children! The whispers never stop circulating but everyone learns very quickly that no matter how Prince Fëanáro had felt about Queen Indis to say such a thing within earshot of him was to earn his everlasting ire.

It goes like this —

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They passed out of Lhûn and the wider coastline of Middle-earth opened up before his eyes. He had wandered those shores for centuries, and even now he felt the pull of that same wanderlust, and knew he would miss them for the rest of his life. Their wildness, the untamed waves, the rocky shores and the cliffs and the sandy beaches. The gulls, and the dunes, and the tide pools with their ever-changing denizens. Someone began to sing a song of farewell, and other voices took it up. He did not join them. 

Maglor keeps a promise, and comes to Valinor, only to find the ghosts he thought he'd left behind are alive and waiting for him. 

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Fingolfin feels like part of him is still stuck in Beleriand, blood on his teeth and an all-consuming anger splintering out of control. Like he'll blink and once again see Morgoth's foot coming down. He wants. What does he want? He does not wish to be dead. He is, he supposes, grateful for this chance to fix things as much as they can be fixed. But he wants.

He wants for Fëanor to know him. Wants to work through all the ugly words and acts of violence that had divided them and come out the other side better for it. He cannot throw all the scathing anger in his chest at a brother who does not understand. Cannot scream at this Fëanor for burning the boats, for leaving them to the ice, for Elenwë, for Arakáno, for the countless others who had followed him and paid for it. And so what is he meant to do with the anger? He cannot swallow it all down forever and also salvage his relationship with Fëanor in this new song.

He wants, he thinks, watching a potter unmake a bowl that was marred, to un-sing himself as well.

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Fingon leaves a note for his family before attempting to rescue Maedhros

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Dear Elrond, It feels a little silly to be writing this to you while you are sleeping right next to me, but I cannot sleep.

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A oneshot on the complex relationship of Maglor, Maedhros, and giving.

For Maedhros & Maglor Week 2025.

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When Maedhros goes to parley with Morgoth’s army after Fëanáro’s death, Celebrimbor sneaks out to join him, and the consequences are dire.

Rated M for graphic violence (primarily torture). First three chapters were posted only on AO3 in 2024.

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

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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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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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He doesn’t need to stay but he knows, that buried in his heart is that same little desire that had sometimes had him looking over his shoulder after he’d left Nargothrond. That little thought that he’d turn to look and find Curufin and Celegorm riding up behind them because they’d realized they didn’t want him to go into danger alone. He just wants his friend back really. Doesn’t know if that’s possible. Especially if Celegorm isn’t willing to even try to apologize. He’s just hurt. He’s never handled that as gracefully as he should.

Or: Finrod just wanted to retrieve his niece and return to Tirion so he didn’t have to explain to his sister why he let her daughter come to even more harm. He absolutely did not want to deal with all the old hurts that seeing Celegorm brought back up. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem like he's going to get much of a choice in the matter. Everything is going totally fine.

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In which Celebrían befriends Celegorm and sets off a chain of events no one expected.

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The night before the Last Alliance leaves Rivendell, Elendil has a conversation with Isildur's wife and leaves something in her keeping

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A thoughtful young girl of about eight, Andreth comes to live with Adanel and begins learning her lore...
(part of a W in very slow P series)

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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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Galadriel sees something that yet may be.

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

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Netyalindë was walking home slowly, after the Valar announced the horror that had taken place in Alqualondë, promising it would be the last time such a deed is seen in their lands.

Her eyes had gotten used to the darkness around her she thought. Or perhaps it was that she knew those streets like the back of her hand-stitched pocket that currently held in secret the brooch that Fëanáro had made for her for her wedding to his second-born son. 

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Maitimo held his baby brother in his arms, and was surprised when the baby started to emit a melodious sound. 

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Angrod has to comfort his son.

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There is no escaping guilt.

Or,

Maedhros finds another orphan in the woods.

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But at the very end of the letter she spoke of one more prisoner that Elladan and Elrohir had discovered in one of the deepest dungeons of Dol Guldur, locked away behind a door unopened in so long that the hinges had rusted. 

Maglor has been rescued from Dol Guldur, and now faces a long road of healing.

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There was a gap between them that he did not know how to cross.

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As Lúcellë entered the courtyard, which was missing the fountain that had been there previously, instead sporting a much less attractive hole in the ground—clearly awaiting a new creation, whenever Fëanáro or Nerdanel managed to finish it—a young voice called out to her from above. “Aunt Lúcellë!” She looked up to find Macalaurë hanging out of a window, waving, with his dark hair falling over his shoulders and into his eyes. 
 

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