Fanworks Tagged with Teens

Maedhros stands at the battlements of Himring and faces Thangorodrim.

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Fëanor watches from the Halls. 

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Pengolodh interviews a kinslayer.

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Drabbles written for the Great Beleriand Bake-Off Plus! Instadrabbling.

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Drabbles written at the Insta-drabbling session at the SWG Discord on 21 December (Winter Solstice in the northern nemisphere), for expanded prompt sets based on the Bake-off Challenge.

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In the wake of the fall of Númenor, the penal colony at Andrast is liberated by Sauron's forces. One of the Historians' College of Númenor bears witness.

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After the slaying of Brodda, the stronger among the rebels who aided Turin are driven to take up a life as fugitives in the mountains of Dor-lomin in the middle of a grim winter.  Asgon is their leader or one of their leaders.

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In the wake of the Final Battle of the Last Alliance, Erestor struggles to keep moving and to reach out to friends and family.

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The events of Redhorn pass cleave a distance between Celebrían and Elrond neither have felt before. That one terrible event sends shockwaves down the long years that come after.

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Elured and Elurin watch their world burn.

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When Maedhros returns from Mandos, re-connecting does not prove easy. Nerdanel is determined to care for her son and finds that she must confront grief along the way.

In my dreams my sons wander at length, lost in pathless woods, ancient, sunless and foreboding. In the waking world, Maedhros breathes and moves before me, but is rarely truly there. I see the dream-wraith Maedhros superimposed over my living son, and am sure he never found a path out of that desolate place. The whispers in my dreams insist he never will.

Written for Scribbles and Drabbles 2025 Prompt #53: Night Watch by Zhie, to whom credit belongs for the artwork below (which can also found here).

Many thanks to Elronds_Library and timelessutterances for beta reading, and Double_Sharp for the conversations on equatorial climate.

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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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Mairon reunites with Melkor at Lammoth.

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“What if,” said Manwë, regarding Maedhros with star-bright eyes, blue as sapphires and piercing as blades, “you were sent from these Halls for a purpose, son of Fëanáro?”
“I suppose, my lord,” Maedhros said slowly, “that would depend upon the purpose.”

Maedhros is sent back to Middle-earth, in the company of the Maia Olórin. 

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Two brief scenes featuring Galadriel, one in Valinor in the time of the Trees, one early in the Second Age.

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Sheer terror helps an orc escape Morgoth, but their troubles are not over. AU.

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Cirdan has never felt so old.

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A glimpse of Luthien and Beren in Tol Galen. (Luthien's POV)

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Pengolodh tries to write about the kinslaying at Sirion. He fails.

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Terentaulë, the wife of Curufin, follows her husband and his family into banishment to Formenos. She leaves everything she loves behind to endure a cold and ever-maddening life making a political point she isn't sure she fully believes in. A Gothic story for Samhain, told in four triple drabbles.

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Arwen's stomach hurts and she ponders mortality; Éowyn provides medicine and a sympathetic ear.

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Fëanor dreams of darkness, and there is only so much Finwë can do to help. Written for the 'The Only Thing to Fear' challenge.

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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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Finrod is not fool enough to have missed the way Curufin, too, at times looks at him. Is not fool enough to make himself believe that his own attraction is some new thing, something only pushing to the surface now that they are trapped together like this, the undeniable way Curufin had saved Finrod from a worse fate, tonight.

Not that Finrod will ever thank him for it; he cannot. But he knows Curufin’s sharp-tongued, bristling demeanour for what it is, and it does not change that the two of them, whatever lies between them, are a cataclysm waiting to happen. Does not change that, in truth, Finrod should be careful to turn his back, lest he find a knife in it.

And yet.

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Curufin and Finrod get snowed in. It goes about as well as can be expected.

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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.

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

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