Fanworks Tagged with Teens

As a very young child, Gil-galad arrived on Círdan's doorstep with no memories and nothing but a brief letter containing two things: a request to foster him, and a name, Ereinion. Silver-haired scion of kings, he always suspected his lineage was more vexed than anyone, Noldor or Sindar alike, was comfortable admitting, especially in those fragile last days before the War of Wrath.

Parents as well as kings must make difficult decisions. After the Third Kinslaying, Gil-galad learns this the hard way.

Title is a reference to Elizabeth I's Speech to the Troops at Tilbury.

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With the cry of a stolen child, Maglor sees the future in all of its possibilities and makes a choice regarding Elrond and Elros.

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Ereinion becomes Gil-galad, the king, but never disappears. Three episodes from the life of a king.

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“I do love you, Russandol. You know I do, do you not?”

For a long, drawn-out moment, Maedhros only stares. Something is taking root in his chest, something he knows, then, he will not be able to extricate from himself again. “I know,” he says, voice rough. “I—“

But Fingon stops him, pressing a hand to Maedhros’ mouth. “Don’t, not yet; tell me when we see each other next.”

---

Five times they share their own small ritual upon separation and reunion, and one time it takes a little longer than either of them can endure to mark its completion.

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Everyone, including the Valar, are convinced that Fingon and Maedhros are lovers no matter how many times they explain that they very much are not. When will they get it through their thick skulls that there are other ways to love and be committed to someone? Apparently not soon enough. When the Valar decide to involve Maedhros and Fingon in their meddling, it leads to some interesting circumstances.

A queerplatonic take on Maedhros and Fingon's relationship for Russingon Week, with some Gil-Galad parentage exploration for fun.

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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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What is it to be made for a kinder world?

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Drabbles from the life of Emlinn, Maglor's Sindarin student from Brithombar, who is the narrator of my story "The West Wind Quartet".

Insta-drabbles written on the SWG Discord back in December 2020 (which apparently I did not cross-post here?), with another one written in June 2025. 

Warnings for some canon-typical violence and angst, and a bit of internalized body dysphoria and bias.

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Little moments of connection with Maedhros. A collection of drabbles and other short writings to accompany One in the Fires of the Heart of the World.

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If Aredhel had to listen to one more person heap praise on her brother while she stood right beside him, completely disregarded, she might scream. The praises were well deserved, she must admit. But was it only Fingon who scouted ahead over the treacherous shifting ice of the Helcaraxë? Didn’t Aredhel also take her fair share of that hazardous duty?

In the early days at Lake Mithrim, Aredhel endures a restriction in her freedom after the comparative autonomy she had during the crossing of the Helcaraxë. Fingolfin seems set on weighing her down with safe and mundane duties. Aredhel is not enjoying this one bit. Her father may be able to keep her inside the encampment, but he cannot tame her. She longs to for greater freedom, but when it comes it is not be the victory she was hoping for. 

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A dream that Elrond never mentioned to Maglor son of Fëanor.

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The footsteps come to a stop in front of him and he does not have a moment to wonder at his brother’s intentions before fingers are sliding into his hair and tugging his head back. He glares up at Fëanáro, tears on his cheeks, heart racing like a plea. Fëanáro stares back, expression strangely blank as he studies Ñolofinwë’s face. And despite his thoughts, despite his belief, he still finds himself smiling mirthlessly and asking, “Well, have you come to kill me in truth? Make your exile worth it?”

Something flickers through Fëanáro’s eyes too fast for him to catch and the fingers in his hair tighten painfully. “I would have thought that upon successfully usurping the crown you would be far more pleased,” Fëanáro says darkly, lip curling in disgust.

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Gil-galad, Hamilton lyrics and three poignant events in his life.

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Fëanáro was sitting on the floor, his back against the grave marker his father had had made for his mother when her spirit fully settled into Mandos’ Halls.

He was alone on Estë’s island, deep within Lórien’s gardens. Of course he was. When was he not?

Even his father didn’t bother coming anymore.

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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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"The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.”

-The Fellowship of the Ring, Book 2, Chapter 6 "Lothlórien"

A collection of drabbles exploring the beauty of mingled joy, hope and sorrow in Tolkien's world. 

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As the Sons of Fëanor set their feet on the path to the sack of Doriath, Caranthir reflects on the characters of himself and his brothers and contemplates where the responsibility lies for their predicament.

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Compared to Salgant and Bombur, and even compared to Fredegar Bolger, Forlong seems to have the least problems in the Legendarium with being duly respected despite his girth.

But maybe even he had a less good time of it when he was younger.

Set during Aragorn's time in Gondor as Thorongil.

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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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Valandil, Isildur's fourth son and successor, re-enters Annuminas, some years after the victory of the Last Alliance.

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This is a treat for art N°4 : There's a monster inside of me, by Lidoshka.

Celegorm could see things he was the only one to see, from the corner of his eyes. He could see his reflection mocking him in the mirrors.

His brothers couldn’t know. No one could know!

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Written for art 86 - Dream of the Forest, by Sallysavestheday, for Scribbles & Drabbles 2024

Celegorm was dreaming.
He was aware that he was dreaming: he knew faintly, distantly, that he was in Beleriand, and yet…

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This is a story for art 87 - Aromantic and asexual pride by daughterofshadows for Scribbles and Drabbles 2024

Upon his return from his most recent hunt with Oromë’s people, Tyelkormo saw a servant of the house come to him in a hurry.
“Prince Tyelkormo, your father wishes to speak to you at the earliest possibility.”
Tyelkormo snorted at that, faintly amused. His father certainly didn’t word it this way.

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Celegorm suddenly felt like he was suffocating.

In a moment in Himring, Celegorm felt that Huan was dead.

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Three years after Arathorn's death, Gilraen receives a letter.

It contains a short poem and a sprig of rosemary.

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