Fanworks Tagged with Teens

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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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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Gloredhel writes to her brother, after his sons have gone missing.
We know that Hurin and Huor were rescued by Eagles and carried to Gondolin, but their relatives, at this point, don't.

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Mithrellas has arrived too late at Belfalas to meet Amroth alive, but she hears his voice on the wind.

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Níniel comforts Finduilas after a nightmare.

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Usually, the Elves appreciate being heard by Varda and call on her.

Galadriel finds herself making an exception.

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Much is said in the tales of Turin and of Tuor about the severity of the Fell Winter.

But what would it be like when such a long winter was finally over?

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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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As a host of survivors makes the journey from Sirion to Amon Ereb under Maglor's leadership, old bonds unravel and loyalties crumble. But from the scraps and ruins, new and unlikely bonds take shape. A story of perseverance through suffering.

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After the First Kinslaying, the Teleri look around and see the environment of Alqualonde in a new light.

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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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