Asking for some Elrond won't eat kidnap fam pretty please. 👀❤️
Can't wait for the stockings!
Sorry for holding out on this one for so long, but now it's precisely a month later, Stocking fics are all wrapped up (with de-Anonymising coming soon) and my brain has had a little time to recover from the intense run of editing that went into those fics at the end of December. So I am back to writing this story and pleased to say that it's about 50% editted now. I'm hoping to have it finished within the week all being well. 😊Here is a little snippet from near the beginning, hope you enjoy! (POV is Elros)
The year I turned six I lost my first tooth, and a particularly vicious turtle clamped down on Elrond’s toe, refusing to let go no matter how loud he screamed or how fearsomely I scowled with my newly gapped grin. Mother’s casual remarks regarding twin and peredhel growth turned into anxious debates with the remaining Doriathrim about that same time, as the differences between my brother and I began to assert themselves. No one knew quite what to expect of us. Elrond showed no signs of loosing any of his teeth, and the few souls brave enough to bring up Eluréd and Elurín swore neither outstripped the other for height as I began to do with my twin. The year I turned six was, therefore, also when I learned of my uncles, frozen in time only two years older than I, and the year my home was burned by the same hands that had torched theirs. Suddenly, I found myself in a world altogether alien. The only familiar thing left to cling to was my brother, and he too was frighteningly changed. Elrond, who had nattered away endlessly since he learned to speak, more often than not in my ear, fell abruptly silent. The brother who had climbed higher than I, strode fearlessly into the foamy breakers to cut me a path and leaned precariously over estuary waters to pluck wild buckthorn berries while I held fistfuls of his shirt, was gone. My willing partner in mischief had become a cringing, reticent thing, who strayed not a foot from the path our strange and fearsome captors bid us walk. On the long and taxing slog up the Sirion river we traded the delicate flesh of saltwater fish for gamey meats felled along the road, and slept not nestled amid concealing reeds, but bared to the cold stars. In short, the year I turned six, the world as I knew it ended.
