Fanworks Tagged with Teens

Long after the Fall of Eregion, a survivor returns to face her memories.

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In which Celegorm tries to do some reconnaissance on Doriath, finds some children in the woods, does his good deed for the century, and promptly gets taken prisoner for it.

Dior's bitter he can't just murder Celegorm. After all, he's not one of the eldar, it doesn't count as kinslaying if he does it.

Nimloth's impressed no one is dead yet and plans on keeping it that way for as long as possible.

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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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Maglor, having little will to live left in sinking Beleriand, is saved by tiny things.

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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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But Fëanor was not held guiltless, for he it was that had broken the peace of Valinor and drawn his sword upon his kinsman; and Mandos said to him: “Thou speakest of thraldom. If thraldom it be, thou canst not escape it; for Manwë is King of Arda, and not of Aman only. And this deed was unlawful, whether in Aman or not in Aman. Therefore this doom is now made: for twelve years thou shalt leave Tirion where this threat was uttered. In that time take counsel with thyself, and remember who and what thou art. But after that time this matter shall be set in peace and held redressed, if others will release thee.”

“Well that’s rather stupid,” Fingolfin says.

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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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Maeglin writes to Idril.

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

For Maedhros & Maglor Week 2025.

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An Orc is writing to their loved one in the War of Wrath.

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They speak as if they have not been sending messengers to keep each other informed of what was necessary. As if this—war, strategy, cold facts—is not all they have exchanged ever since Maedhros had removed them East.

He wonders if Maglor has forgiven him yet—for giving away the crown, for not asking him first, for coming back someone other than himself. He wonders if he has forgiven Maglor yet—for leaving him to Morgoth, for looking at him returned only with horror and guilt. For not forgiving him yet.

They have not spoken in twenty years. Maedhros doubts that this is the kind of reuniting that their uncle had in mind.

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He used to be able to read his brother better than his own mind. He used to think that he would do anything, would bear anything, to have him back.

Maglor’s worst crime to date, he thinks, is that in this, too, he has proven himself a liar.

Maedhros abdicates the throne. Maglor copes, more or less (it's definitely less).

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A collection of flashfic, drabbles, and snippets.

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“They left everything behind? All of their families?” Elrond asks.
“Yes.”
“All for a magic stone?” he asks.
“Yes. A very special, very magical stone,” Maglor says, unsure why he should have to justify his deeds to a child.

~~~
Maglor tells Elrond and Elros a story. Maedhros listens.

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Finrod is truamatized from the sudden responsibility thrust upon him and from crossing the Helcaraxë. When he receives a message stating the Petty-dwarves of Nargothrond plan to murder his people, he exiles them. Mîm decides to assassinate Finrod to stop him. What could go wrong?

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Following Maedhros averting the burning of the ships, Fingon worries, Maedhros finds a new reason to live, and Fëanor begins to wonder if he has made some mistakes. And underneath it all is enough love that they're all hoping, maybe just this once, it won't end in tragedy.

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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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Series of snippets focusing on Finrod and written for the Restoration & Rebuilding and Jubilee challenges

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A collection of drabbles about women in Tolkien's Legendarium. 

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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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Two survivors finally get together, with a bit of help from Elrond.

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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 the end, what stops him are Tyelpe’s hands.

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There was, he thinks slowly, trudging through the grief mired thoughts, gold ribbons coated in blood, a cold bed, a gaping emptiness in his mind where a marriage bond used to hum. There were years and years with only his brothers and even those dwindled with time.

His ears catch on a voice raised high, panicked, and then with terrifying force, the marriage bond snaps back into place, filling an emptiness he’d only just begun to grasp the edges of, and everything goes very sharp and clear.

Fingon, he thinks, feels the answering burst of confusion, fear, hope. “Fingon.”

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