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A round-robin advent calendar. Elrohir is pursued by orcs to the eaves of Mirkwood. What happens next is anyone's guess.
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Change by arafinwean Mature
Fingon takes Maedhros from Thangorodrim, but the journey isn't pleasant, nor is all forgiven.Maedhros is released from Thangorodrim...
Even the Birds Are Chained to the Sky by cheekybeak Teen
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Shoutbox

Narya
12/12/17 11:12 pm
Oh, ziggy, btw, are you happy with Friday or is Saturday easier for you? I can do either.
Narya
12/12/17 03:27 pm
Great pair of chapters, ziggy and cheeky! I'm so excited to see what happens next.
NelyafinweFeanorion
12/12/17 02:12 pm
Ok Ziggy Thursday it is for me!
cheekybeak
12/12/17 10:28 am
I managed it :-) and even got the next chapter up early! Not my best, but it was a busy day. That's my excuse.
ziggy
12/12/17 07:26 am
@Cheekybeak- Haha! Serves you right for the last curved ball:D Nelya- yes, fine. You do Thursday, I'll find it easier doing Friday anyway.
NelyafinweFeanorion
12/12/17 01:14 am
Ziggy do you have Thursday too? If not I can do Thursday instead of Friday if someone else wants to pick up Friday? Let me know!
cheekybeak
12/12/17 01:05 am
Oh, seriously, Ziggy?? What are you doing to me?! How do I follow that???
cheekybeak
12/12/17 12:58 am
Me!
ziggy
12/12/17 12:16 am
OK- sorry ! Who's next?
ziggy
12/11/17 10:41 pm
I am onto the next chapter but got home very late- apologies. Scribbling away as we speak (sort of)
Shout Archive


Maedhros on Free Will by Himring

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Story notes:

A little less philosophical and more romantic than it sounds.

Maedhros/Fingon

Preceding me up those steep stairs, he suddenly turns and exclaims: ‘Ha, finally towering above you!’


And immediately, he demonstrates by pulling me close and cradling my head against his chest. His mood shifts, quicksilver, and now he is bending over me and whispering fiercely in my ear that he would choose me before all others, freely, under any and all circumstances--with a bit of added vehemence, dear Findekano, in order to eradicate any trace of doubt before it can arise. For he knows I am prone to doubt. But I do not doubt his sincerity, how could I?


I do doubt, sometimes, that we are free to choose. Buffeted by events, entangled in our flaws, we stumble our pre-ordained path, whether blind or seeing, until—almost—the blind seem the more innocent. Maybe all the freedom we have is only to resist or to consent. Maybe even the limits of our blindness or awareness, of our resistance or consent are inscribed upon us.


Only here, now, on the precipitous stairs between the first and the second floor of the disused guard tower, it does not matter. I lean against him, shifting my weight into his grip, letting him feel how he supports and balances me. He stops speaking, sighs and rests his chin on the top of my head. Findekano, with whatever of free will or choice I have, to you I give my consent. I do.

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