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The Magnificent Faerie Advent Calendar 2018 by cheekybeak Teen
It’s that time again. What is in store for us when Aragorn drags half of Minas Tirith to Imladris for Yule? 
~ Magnificat of the Damned. Book IV: Anvil ~ by Spiced Wine Mature
From Angmar to the Dagor Dagorath. The final story in the Magnificat of the Damned series. The Doom and destiny of the...
Borderlands by Marchwriter General Audiences
Better, Nellas said to herself and the trees who listened, to remain apart from Men. Better so than to become entangled in...
Be All My Sins Remembered by Marchwriter Teen
Wisdom is hard bought — more often by bitter experience than any sort of grace. While hunting in the wilderlands of Beleriand...
Oasis by Marchwriter Mature
On the verge of perishing in the desert after a fruitless search, a determined Elrohir locates a caravan of Easterlings...
West of the Dark East of the Sun by Marchwriter Teen
Determined to clear Ithilien of the enemy, Faramir is forced to decide the fate of a stranger trespassing in Gondor's realm.
The World breaks Everyone by mangacrack Explicit
Strength isn’t just about how much you can handle before you break. It’s also about how much you must handle...

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Shoutbox

Naledi
12/12/18 01:58 pm
Chapter 12 is up. I think. I'm not sure of anything anymore :D
Narya
12/12/18 09:50 am
Chaos reigns ;) this is even worse than last year XD
Naledi
12/11/18 09:13 pm
Lol! I love how our confusion has carried over to the Shout Box!
ziggy
12/10/18 09:48 pm
whoah- have we missed out Gabriel??? Chapter 10?
NelyafinweFeanorion
12/10/18 12:34 am
Thanks!'
ziggy
12/09/18 10:01 pm
Ok- thanks Nelya- happy birthday to your Dad!
Narya
12/09/18 08:58 am
Chapter 9 is up :) yep, Nelya, pretty sure that's right!
NelyafinweFeanorion
12/09/18 06:52 am
Ziggy I think narya posts ch 9 next then Gabriel with 10 and then you with 11 and Naledi with 12. Then cheeky 13, Narya 14, me 15 (not written yet!)
ziggy
12/08/18 09:40 pm
I'm sooooo confused- whose turn is it??
NelyafinweFeanorion
12/08/18 04:06 pm
chapter 8. is up! Happy weekend to everyone!
Shout Archive


From door to door by Chiara Cadrich

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The childhood door

The morning sun sends its light rays through a delicate foliage, bathing the garden with a gentle spring torpor. The old hobbit adjusts his straw hat and begins to spade the last furrow for carrots.

A small urchin, not taller than two pumpkins, has hidden behind a century-old elm tree to watch his grandfather.

- « What are you doing, GrandDa?

- Oh! Here you are, my little scamp, you have escaped your grandmother again! You have her run after you as usual, poor old thing… »

Panting at the rhythm of his spading, the old hobbit monitors the kid with the corner of his eye. At the end of his furrow, he wipes his forehead and agrees to answer:

- « Well you see, Gerry, I am preparing next week’s supper, while your GrandMa is cooking today’s meal… »

But the boy is gone. Grandfather sighs. He sows the seeds and sets a safety net. Finally he cleans up his spade and goes to the shed, at the bottom of the garden. The heavy door is half-open.

The ancestor nods: all the neighborhood kids dream to enter his shed.

For this is not a simple garden shed. The grandfather had affairs in his youth. One day of quarrel with his elders, he ran away in the wilderness with mysterious companions.

He was believed dead, but returned one morning, his arms full of gifts, his mind filled with tales of yore and colorful memories. His travels also gave him an extravagant and eclectic taste for unusual art objects and motley ornaments. Under remote skies, he also contracted, they say, some malignant fevers, that may only be cured by strongly fermented nectars. Do not worry for him, Grandpa knows how to heal himself...

To the wondering eyes of his progeny, especially Gerry, the jealously guarded shed tightens treasures, with obscure origins if not positively ill-gotten. Mysterious chests and jute balls are piled besides tools, planks and trays of onions. Fading portraits and strange works adorn the walls. But children may not enter. The round oaken door, heavily polished and burnished by the weather, is nailed with protective talismans, terrifying masks, amulets stolen from exotic distant peoples. The bright colors and threatening forms prohibit access to the sanctuary, even for the boldest.

Yet the little rascal Gerry - a baby hobbit but already a daredevil – has crossed the threshold of the unknown.
Grandfather approaches on tiptoe and glances inside.

Astride a tatter’s bag, Gerry is helmed with an old tin pan that has lost its handle. Wielding a sickle, he decimates goblin hordes, riding at the forefront of the King's Guard.

- « I already forbade you to come here, GrandDa growls, it's dangerous! »

He removes the tool from the hands of the urchin, whose lower lip trembles beneath a wet and imploring look.

Grandpa keeps a stern look. Yet deep inside, he is rather proud of the courage of his grandson, still so small, and the panache of his childhood dreams. Drawn despite himself by the tales gleaned in the old days, he takes the toddler by the hand and installs him on the bench.

Putting a strange leather hauberk on, looking fierce, he sits next to the child. After affording a swig of mixing to clear his memory, he tells him the exploits of Odrazàr, the hero who landed in the distant days of yore, to free the people of Eriador from the yoke of orcs and evil things.

On the threshold of the door, in these moments of eternity, childhood distills its ephemeral delights - the golden hues of a promising morning, the protective fullness of a benevolent adult attention, the quiet intimacy of the shelter, softly lulled with chirps outside, the fascination for a spellbinding tale, scents of seeds and rare perfumes, the assurance of so close a stranger, the immortal glory of the captain of the men of the sea, an adventure thrill at the edge of the unknown...
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