Hey guys. 

It’s been a while, I know. There’s been various reasons for my hiatus, all of which have culminated in a lack of time, energy, and inspiration. Between work, driving lessons, personal health, and travelling, I’ve not sat down at my computer in a long while. When I have, there’s been lights on but nobody home, so to speak. 

Put simply: fanfiction is not as fun as it used to be. 

When I do upload, I get little to no interaction/feedback. In order to get it, I’d have to upload regularly, as was proven over summer. Fanfiction has become like a second job to me. 

I’m still writing - and I am going to finish ‘The Tower 2′ - but what’s important to me is that I can preserve the love that I once had for the stories I’m writing. 

The best way to do that? I’m going to leave Tumblr. 

It’s just not the best platform to be writing fanfiction on. Every post gets attention in the forms of hearts, with barely any reblogs or comments. My inbox has been barren for months. Given how long it takes to post each chapter (upwards of 10 minutes just to tag 99+ people), it often doesn’t feel worth the time. 

If it’s any consolation, I’m still going to be uploading my work to AO3 so for anybody who wishes to, they can follow my stuff there. That is where ‘The Tower 2′ will continue to be uploaded, for those who want to see it finished. 

All my works will remain on Tumblr for people to find and read, but there will no longer be any new posts here.  After I’ve finished ‘The Tower 2′ on AO3, I will likely pack up writing fanfiction for good. I’ve been doing it for 3 years now; it was only supposed to be a medium to practice the art form that I loved so much and now I feel I’ve learnt everything I’m going to. It’s time for me to move on to my own characters with my own stories.

I’m sorry if this feels like it’s coming out of nowhere. It’s been a long few months. However, I know that it’s the right choice; for me, and for my passion of writing.

So, friends, this is LittleMissSyreid, logging off for the last time…

Firstly, I ought to thank everybody who entered. There were entries of all shapes and sizes sent to me on various platforms but unfortunately there can only be five victors. I’ll pop them under the cut for people who aren’t as miffed about all this competition malarky. To those of you who are simply waiting for an update regarding The Tower 2: I’ll be posting Chapter 1 tonight. I’ve just got to tidy off Brynjolf’s backstory and then it’s ready to go.

And so, without further ado…

As per the original post, there will be 5 runners-up to the competition, who will become beta-readers for the new fic. One of these runners up will be crowned the ultimate winner, and on top of becoming a beta, will be allowed to request a fic of their choosing and work with me for the entire process of its creation. 

Runners Up
(in no particular order)

@monstermayo with their artwork of Loki and the Reader

It is worth noting that this piece took inspiration from another piece of fanart that I received a while ago. The combo of two beautiful pieces of art, mixed with some of the most adorable expressions I’ve ever seen really sold this piece to me. 

@midnightleone with their artwork of Loki, Nugget, and Jarlien

I treated these submissions as equal - which wasn’t hard to be honest because they’re both equally as brilliant as each other. It was the variety of the characters presented and the humour in both that really stood out. 

@temerey with their art of Loki and the Reader

Wow wow wow, I could not get over how powerful this was. Such a great depiction of the scene and just how I pictured it in my head. From the minimalist background to the detail that matched the description, this one was a pleasure to receive.

@rallsa with her art of Loki and the Reader

This one is beautiful for so many reasons. The lanterns in the background; the otome-esque technique of hiding the reader’s face; the beautiful colour palette. I struggled to stop gushing about this one for quite some time. 

@thatuglyoldjafar with her picture of Loki and the Reader

This piece had me smiling for a good few hours. The comparison worked well enough when I wrote the tower - but seeing it depicted like this? Hilarious. And incredibly accurate. It got bonus points for the reader’s sassy hip bump.

And the Winner is: @midnightleone

When I couldn’t make the decision alone, I had to enlist the help of two other judges. Finally, a call was made and we unanimously agreed that an image so wholesomely and beautifully portraying our favourite gay sons in such a loving embrace could not place anything lower than first. Truly, the utmost congratulations are in order for that fanart; it was everything I pictured in my head and more. 

I’ll be in touch with everybody who won with regards to the prizes, but in the meantime I need some dinner before starting a brand new fic! I don’t know about you guys, but I am heckin excited for The Tower 2. Hold onto your butts folks, you’re in for a wild ride.

Pairing:N/A

Summary:In the realm of Alfheim, political tensions are rising as a new group of elves are gaining traction in the courts of the capital city, Ljosalfgard. When tension become conflict and conflict becomes life-threatening, Fenrien and his friends are forced to run. Though their options are limited, the quick wit and mind of Fenrien Augustino De Antillion offer them an escape, bringing the band of refugees to the glittering gates of Asgard…

A/N:Here we go, the final chapter! It’s a little short but packs a punch. Brynjolf’s backstory is up next - so I’m super pumped. After that, I can get started the sequel itself! Let me know what you think. :3

‘The Tower - Origins: Fenrien’ (Part 5)

Catch up on ‘The Tower’!//Part 4

“And so, I was thrown into Asgard’s prison where I waited for my demise or my release, whichever came first,” Fenrien smiled wearily, running the edge of his finger around the rim of his empty wine mug. For some reason, the effect of the alcohol had worn off. He could feel the grizzly pain of his tale raking across the chambers of his heart. It had been a while since he’d thought about Frida; he now remembered why he’d tried to forget. Jarle tucked a piece of hair behind his lover’s ear fondly, and for a minute he could see the tufts of darkened hair where his cut hair hadn’t quite grown back yet.

Thor had excused himself a few moments ago, upon mention of palace horses arriving at the scene. He gripped the windowsill and bowed his head between his shoulders. Yet another mistake, he scolded himself…

You excused yourself from Loki’s side so that you could follow him, and Loki watched as you wrapped your arms around the sovereign’s waist and held on as tightly as you could, cheek pressed into his spine. He patted your clasped hands before using the same hand to wipe away a tear from his cheek.

“If nobody has anything to say,” Fenrien said. “I think I shall retire to bed. It has been… a long time coming. Thank you for listening to me.”

Fenrien had not been gone long before Jarle excused himself and followed. Thor was still by the window, accepting words of support from you and then Brynjolf. This left Loki on his own. That was always dangerous.

His mind couldn’t help but wander, sinking further into the depths of his despaired mind and tormenting him with images of an all too familiar face. His own.

Who are you to judge? The voices whispered. You mourn for the child – for the elf – because you know them. You know their names. What about those you didn’t know? The ones who died in a city called New York? The children. The caravan owner may have been a con man but he had to pay the bills; you con yourself if you are think you are above him, better than him. You are nothing more than a–

“Loki?”

He heard your voice breaking through the water, like the beacon of a lighthouse, dragging him away from the siren’s call. However, as his focus cleared, he realised why you’d done so. The clenching of his fist was fierce, the expression on his face even more so. His fingers had wrapped themselves around the neck of his glass – and snapped it cleanly in two.

You edged closer to his frozen form.
“Are you… alright?” Loki turned away. When he felt your fingers touch his shoulders, he realised how tense they were. How high up. Even Thor watched his brother with concern. Had the story touched him so deeply?

“I fear I am not alright.”
“Well, we can see that, pebbles,” Brynjolf chuckled morbidly. He was hyper aware that you were stood next to the man whose face indicated he was about ready to explode. “We’s asking why.”
“Because I should be in the cell next to that man. I have killed thrice as many in even more horrific ways. I am the poison in the powder that she ate. I am the fire that burned their homes. I am-”
“-a drama queen and an attention whore,” you interrupted, moving your left hand from Loki’s shoulder blade to his hair and ruffling it manically.

Loki blinked and, along with everyone else in the room, glared at you. A stupid smile was on your face.
“Did you forget the bit where you didsit in a cell for however long? Before being moved to an even bigger, even worse one?” Thor’s mouth parted marginally. “In penance for what you did, there were many who wanted to see you rot. And when I found you, that’s what you’d done. You were a shell of a person, all but withered away. Hollow. Rotten. The part of you capable of murder perished with it, or you’d never have been able to get out.”

Thor’s eyes narrowed and Loki could feel his brother’s stare. You still didn’t know about the bandits in the woods. But that was different surely! ‘Twas simply vengeance. He was defending your honour! Loki knew the second that he thought it where Thor would stand on the subject; your honour could have just as easily been defended by throwing them in prison. Perhaps he was a drama queen.

When Loki bowed his head, you leaned down to kiss it.
“The story was not about you, nor was it for you. Twisting it to earn a little sympathy is not a habit to get into. Let Fenrien make his peace and do so with him.”

It wasn’t helping him feel better, but Loki knew you were right. He resolved to tell you what he’d done to the bandits, hoping that doing so would allow him to ‘make peace’ with it, as you’d said.

“You’re right, love. I will let this go and hold onto something else.” Grinning wickedly, Loki leapt up, grabbed your waist, and threw you over his shoulder. You kicked, and yelled, and beat him with your fists; over the sound of their laughter, Loki bid Thor and Brynjolf goodnight on both of your behalves before swiftly exiting the room.

The sound of your protests could be heard all the way down the corridor.

Pairing:N/A

Summary:In the realm of Alfheim, political tensions are rising as a new group of elves are gaining traction in the courts of the capital city, Ljosalfgard. When tension become conflict and conflict becomes life-threatening, Fenrien and his friends are forced to run. Though their options are limited, the quick wit and mind of Fenrien Augustino De Antillion offer them an escape, bringing the band of refugees to the glittering gates of Asgard…

A/N:Penultimate chapter, my fellow humans. :3 Shit is about to hit the fan so hold onto your butts. Next chapter will tie everything together nicely. Enjoy!

‘The Tower - Origins: Fenrien’ (Part 4)

Catch up on ‘The Tower’!//Part 3

Two days.

For two days the group trekked through the woods. Despite the shade, there was sweat on their brows; despite their pace, they panted like dogs; all of this due to their new leader.
“Fenrien,” Elandor moaned. Fenrien wasn’t listening, marching forward like he knew exactly where he was going, like he wasn’t on the brink of exhaustion.

“Fenrien, please. We’ve got blisters on our blisters. Let us rest.”
“We’ll find help soon, I’m sure of it.” Fenrien stopped next to a tree with low-hanging branches. He considered climbing it to re-navigate from a height. Elandor ducked under the branch and popped up on the other side, placing his hand over Fenrien’s.
“My friend, look at our people.”

Reeus and Inreus, the twins, had taken the momentary pause to collapse onto the cool earth, closing their eyes and sucking in some large, steady breaths. Reeus’ hand slid into his brother’s and squeezed. Mytris too sat down, about two feet from the snoozing twins. She pulled her left boot of and began to rub the sole of her bare foot. Rosy pink blisters were indeed visible. She winced when she waggled her toes, but bit her lip and returned her threadbare shoe to her foot. Sylphine had been a doctor back in Alfheim. She’d been carrying Frida ever since her coughing fit had started up again. Syl placed her down to tend others. Frida looked positively exhausted.

There were plenty who looked much the same, but it only took the sight of those faces for Elan’s point to sink in. Fenrien’s head dropped. So caught up had he been in securing his group’s safety that he’d forgotten to think about the short-term.
“I just…”
“I know,” Elan said, squeezing Fenrien’s hand slightly.

After finishing her examinations, Sylphine wandered over to the tree as Fenrien began to climb up it. She watched him for a moment before requesting a quiet word with Elan.
“She’s not well.”
“Who? The girl.”
“Aye. Without treatment, I…” Sylphine rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. “I… can’t fathom how much worse her condition will become.”

They continued to discuss the situation until Fenrien’s feet hit the ground.
“There’s… a city… Oh, a glorious city,” he panted, stretching as he stood up. “It’s not far. Perhaps a day’s walk at best.”

Sylphine shot Elan a pointed look and he placated her with a hand gesture.
“Fenrien, please. We are all exhausted. Frida is unwell. Not all have your energy. We must make camp here for a while.”

When Sylphine returned to Frida, who was now sitting up against a tree, coughing gently, Fenrien sighed. He spoke softly, to Elan alone.
“Rest then. I will trek ahead on our behalf. I will return as soon as I can with supplies or support, whichever I discover first.”

Fenrien walked like a man reborn. He couldn’t say quite what spurred him on in particular; in part it was Frida’s declining health, but equally it was the proximity of the glistening capital city. The elusive culprit for his lifted spirits had nonetheless put a skip in his step, a lightness in his heart, and a smile on his face. He whistled in tune with strange foreign birds as he stepped into the sunshine at the edge of the forestry.

A road! Fenrien bent down and touched the gravel path with his hand, running the sediment through his fingers. If he could lead the party here, they’d no doubt feel as much hope as he.

And if his mood had been bright before, it consequently doubled at the sight of the caravan not 20 yards from where he currently crouched. It was old and battered, bent metal making a triangular roof that was attached to the bowing base. The strange technology that powered the vehicle allowed it to hover a few inches above the ground, floating gently in the air. A small canvas awning protruded from the side, bathing the owner in shade as he rocked casually in his hook-like chair. A trail of smoke rose from the end of the long, silver pipe sat between his lips.

Checking both ways, Fenrien crossed over and positioned himself in front of the snoozing gentleman. It was only after clearing his throat a third time that he awoke with a cough and a snort.
“Who are you? Whaddya want?!”
“I wish… I wish to make a purchase,” Fenrien stammered, wondering what sort of manners this place sported.

Immediately the businessman’s demeanour changed. It made him looked much younger than he sounded, fierce sideburns trailing down his face, and greasy brown hair pulled into a braided rat tail.
“Well, why didn’t you say so, young man? How can I help? What are you in the market for? Exotic bugs? Rare jewels? Weaponry forged in cold fires?”
“Food,” Fenrien said. “And medicine, something to help cure frailty.”

“Right this way, right this way,” the shop owner grinned, gripping Fenrien’s elbow and steering him to the front of the caravan. He yanked a panel out from the side of the caravan and heaved out a drawer containing bread, fruit, and vegetables, beautifully arranged in rows. Another drawer just below it contained several silver foil pouches.
“‘Fraid I got no fresh meat for you, but-”
“This is perfect, truly,” Fenrien exclaimed, shaking the man’s hand. “I’ll take it.”

“Well, now, hold on, you haven’t paid for it yet!” He chuckled, beginning to load things into a brown satchel. “What have you by way of coin?”

Rummaging through his pockets, Fenrien’s heart suddenly fell. No, no, no, no…
“One gold… and- and- and a few silvers.” He pulled the money from his pockets and held it on flat, begging palms. The businessman rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head.
“That won’t do, I’m afraid. It’ll cover the food, or the medicine, but not both.”
“Please, good sir, we need both. We’ve been travelling for days and my… my daughter, she grows sicker by the hour. My people are starving.”

“Then your people ought to pay for it,” the businessman growled, placing the satchel down behind his feet. Folding his arms, he then looked up at Fenrien, scowling, until he seemed to notice something. His expression swiftly changed. “Unless…”
“Unless what? What will it take?”

Frida slowly forced her eyes open. She could feel someone shaking her gently; it was rattling the pebbles in her brain. She wished the rattling would stop, she was very, very tired…

“Hey, little one,” Fenrien whispered, stroking the hair on top of her head. “It’s me. I’m back.” Frida groaned and tried to roll over. “No, no, no, come on, it’s time for you to wake up. I have medicine for you, see?”

Sitting up, Frida rubbed her eyes and blinked sleepily. When her eyes fell upon Fenrien, she gasped.
“Your hair is gone,” she whispered, reaching up to touch the shaved remains on one side of Fenrien’s scalp. It was true that the payment for Frida’s medicine had been steep.
“It is?” He smiled. “Well, that’s not good, is it? I must’ve dropped it somewhere! Tell you what, once you’re back on your feet, we’ll go hunting and try to find some more for me, yes?”
“Maybe we could glue some straw on it,” she yawned, before opening her mouth so Fenrien could tip the contents of one of the sachets onto her tongue.
“Hey now, I’ve been told that my hair is…” Fenrien looked away morbidly. “I’ve been told it’s very valuable. Beautiful and rare. Can we do no better than straw?”

Frida grimaced as she swallowed the medicine down. That was far too salty. Much worse than what she normally took. If this was the medicine of their new home, she didn’t think much of it.
“Fine. Then I will learn to use a wheel and spin the straw into gold.”
“Much better,” he smiled, planting a kiss on Frida’s forehead and settling her back onto the makeshift bedroll of leaves and moss. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you when I’ve cooked something to eat.”

The fire crackled and spit, filling the forest with gorgeous golden hues. The smell of roasting food filled the nostrils of the elves who dozed around the flames, the warmth lulling them to blissful sleep. For some it would be a calm night; for others it would be riddled with nightmares of rubble. Blood.

Fenrien finished sharpening a stick and plunged an apple onto the end of it. He rolled the knots out of his shoulders before settling onto the soil and holding the spear over the fire. Sylphine stood up and handed her own stick over.
“I’m just going to give Frida her second dose of medicine. Can you keep cooking this?”
“Sure. Take some water from the pale over there for her to wash it down with. Apparently, she’s not keen on the taste of this new stuff.”

Sylphine picked up the pale, accepted a pouch of medicine, and wandered over to Frida’s sleeping form. Despite her one bout of treatment already, she was no better. It was likely the severity of their current predicament that had worsened her condition. Both Sykphine and Fenrien were hopeful that the second sachet would have a more noticeable effect.

And it did.

Frida began to wretch and gag, before rolling over and vomiting horrifically onto the earth. Her little body quivered; Sylphine began to panic as she scraped the girl’s hair out of her face. Immediately, Fenrien was on his feet, discarding the semi-cooked food onto the floor and scrambling closer.

There was no way this was a side-effect of the medicine. Fenrien snatched up the empty foil pouch and dipped his finger inside. He sniffed. Nothing out of the ordinary. It was only when he touched the powder to his tongue that he recoiled.
“What? What is it?” Sylphine asked when Frida had stopped vomiting. She still shook horribly, further depleted of the vital nutrients and hydration that she already lacked before.

“It’s… It’s salt,” Fenrien growled. The pouch was crumpled in his clenched fist. “The bastard sold me salt.”

A horrific wave of realisation washed over Fenrien suddenly. His stomach plunged. He stormed back to the campfire and seized one of the spears. He took a large bite from the bubbling apple – and immediately spat it back out.
“It’s rotten. The food is rotten, and the medicine is fake.” Fenrien ran a hand over the shaved side of his head. “We’ve… I’ve been conned.”

Frida began to cry suddenly, and, honestly, Fenrien felt like joining her. Sylphine gathered the child up into her arms, shushing her in vain. Frida wept more and more, clutching her tummy and sobbing about the pain.
“What’s going on?” Elandor mumbled sleepily, sitting up and stretching. The sound of a child’s crying was not the way to be awoken. It raised concern and questions, answers to which he wasn’t getting forthwith. Fenrien was pacing the floor like an agitated bull.
“That bastard… That rat bastard… I’ll– I’ll go back. I will. I’ll go back and I will… do something. The fool must have his own means of survival, living on the road, so I’ll take the bread from his table if I have to!”

Elandor was understandably confused. Between the weeping women and Fenrien’s ramblings, there weren’t many clues as to what the hell was going on. However, he was soon beginning to wish that he hadn’t wondered.

Frida hadn’t stopped coughing between her wretched sobs. No longer was it cute little spluttering, but horrific wretched hacking. Globules of blood hit the floor, and Sylphine – completely unphased – continuously wiped the edges of the girl’s mouth with her sleeve.

Suddenly the coughing stopped.

Fenrien’s head whipped round. Frida lay limp in Sylphine’s arms. No matter how much the nurse shook her, the girl wouldn’t wake. A trickle of blood was still coming from the corner of her mouth.

“No…” Fenrien whispered. He strode over and picked up the child. Sylphine was crying and crawled towards Elandor. He’d woken up to another massacre. “Wake up,” Fenrien said, stroking Frida’s hair with growing frenzy. “Come on, little one, wake up. It’s alright, I’m going to fix this, I promise. You can… You can wake up now.”

It took an hour for Elandor to pry the corpse from Fenrien’s person. That night the forest filled with the sound of a foreign lullaby, as six lost souls sang an angel to sleep.

When the song had finally ended, Fenrien stood. The dying embers of the fire cast red hot shadows across his face. Another shadow, infinitely more frightening, was also visible in his eyes.
“Bury her please,” he snarled. “She should be with her parents.”

When he turned on his heel and stormed into the forest, Elandor was quick to follow.
“What are you going to do?” He asked.
“What is necessary.”
“That’s ominous… What are we to do in the meantime?”
“At first light, head for the city I saw and seek the asylum we came for. Do not wait for me.”

“What?” Elan scoffed. “Why?”
“Because if what I intend to do goes well, I’ll be arrested, exiled, or shot.”

Part 5

Pairing:N/A

Summary:In the realm of Alfheim, political tensions are rising as a new group of elves are gaining traction in the courts of the capital city, Ljosalfgard. When tension become conflict and conflict becomes life-threatening, Fenrien and his friends are forced to run. Though their options are limited, the quick wit and mind of Fenrien Augustino De Antillion offer them an escape, bringing the band of refugees to the glittering gates of Asgard…

A/N:Hoo boy, prepare for feels. I’ve started on Brynjolf’s backstory too so that is now in the works, and hell am I excited. Why? Because once that’s out the way, I will be starting on The Tower 2! And releasing the winner to the competition. :3 Enjoy, peeps!

‘The Tower - Origins: Fenrien’ (Part 3)

Catch up on ‘The Tower’!//Part 2

After a few minutes, Fenrien’s lungs were beginning to burn. His legs ached, and his neck stung.
“Why do they not venture inside?” Solmund wondered aloud, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of the floating black swarm with masks that hunted them.
“If I had to guess?” Fenrien replied between deep breaths. “To uphold the ultimatum. Currently we are cornered between fire and the blade. If they pursue us any further, they remove one of those risks. They’d give us a chance at escape.”

Frida was getting heavier in Solmund’s arms. Her head rested on her father’s shoulder, her forehead tucked into his neck. She continued to cough, the thin entrails of smoke burrowing in through her nose and tickling her throat.
“Daddy, are we okay?”

Solmund looked worryingly at Fenrien.
“Uh, yes, pickle, yes. We’re okay. Are you okay?”
“I’m… I’m a little tired.”
“Okay, pickle.”
“Are you tired? Do you want me to walk?”
“No, pickle. I should carry you for now.”

Fenrien ran a hand through his hair, the sound of Solmund’s conversation breaking his heart. He had no solution to this. He’d asked these people to run, he’d given them hope, the kindling that their passions currently burned on. If he couldn’t figure things out soon, however, he’d have their blood on his hands. He’d have simply delayed the inevitable and led his flock of lambs to slaughter.

“Are…” Frida yawned. “Are we going through the secret door?”
“What’s that, pickle?”
“The secret door. In the woods. In the tree. It’s where I hide for…” Frida yawned again. “For hide and seek.”

Solmund looked around and shrugged in bewilderment.
“Perhaps it is a fairytale of some kind,” Elandor offered, having caught up for the latter part of the conversation. “Or a story!”
“Not one I’ve told her, if it is.”

Fenrien knew better than the guesses of his counterparts. This was real. A real door. Perhaps their ticket out of here.
“Hey, little one,” he said, slowing down to a jog. Placing his hands under her armpits, he lifted the little girl onto his hip. “Do you want to play hide and seek now? You and I, versus your old man?”
“Right now?” She yawned.
“Right now?” Solmund agreed. Was this really the time to be following up on fairytales. The Dark Elves had slowed to a halt next to them. No doubt they wondered what the rebellion had in store; however, they’d only wait for so long before they lit their final grenade.

“Right this very second,” Fen grinned, placing his hand over the infantile fist which now clung to his shirt. “I bet if we find this secret door of yours, we’ll win in a heartbeat!”

Frida pondered the proposition for a second, blissfully unaware she held the lives of her family in whatever response she gave.
“Okay,” she said, before coughing frightfully once again. “Let’s play.”

Leaning upwards, directions were whispered into Fenrien’s ear. When he rushed into the cloud of smoke that built around them, his followers wasted no time in following him.

Though nobody could see it, the leader of the Dark Elves smiled wickedly behind his mask. Finally. They’d decided. Death by fire after all. He pulled a grenade from his belt, lit it, and heaved. The sphere exploded not ten feet from their faces, spitting fire like a newly woken dragon. No matter what happened now, Alfheim was no longer home to the light elves.

“Where to?” Fenrien asked, covering his mouth with his sleeve as the bitter taste of ash settled onto his tongue. He’d let Frida down so that she could lead the way, her energy seemingly returned by the promise of play. She toddled forward insistently, dragging Fenrien forward until she decided that he was a dead weight. Wrenching her hand free, Frida shot off on her own.

She launched herself at a particularly thickly-trunked tree – and disappeared out of sight.

Solmund blinked and shook his head fervently. His surprise was shared by everyone in the current party.
“It’s… It’s real,” Elan whispered, slowly growing a smile and beginning to laugh with disbelief. “It’s real! It’s a way out, it’s-”
“-suspicious.” Sol folded his arms and approached the tree. “I mean, this thing just swallowed my daughter whole and who knows where it goes! How can we trust it?”
“Are you asking because you think I know?” Fenrien chuckled, placing his hands on his friend’s shoulders and attempting to rub the tension out of them. “Wherever it leads will be better than this place, I dare say. She discovered this sometime ago and, by the sounds of it, has ventured back many times since. So, who will be the first to follow her, hm?”

One by one, the last surviving members of the Light Elves stepped into the bark of the tree and disappeared out of sight. The would-be rebellion leader, Elandor, firmly shook Fenrien’s hand before following, determined to express his heartfelt gratitude. It was clear to Elan that he was no longer the sole leader of these survivors.

Finally, it was only Solmund and Fenrien left to depart.
“After you, my friend,” Sol grinned, gesturing to the wooden portal. The blaze was almost upon them, golden heat warming their faces to an uncomfortable degree. The scorching light illuminated the change in Fenrien’s eyes, which Sol noticed all too late.
“Actually, I… I think I will stay,” he said.

Solmund scoffed.
“I’m sorry?”
“If we go through there, all we shall do is bring a war to whomever resides on the other side. They can just as simply follow us if they find our path but not our bodies. No, someone must stay to ensure that this tree is destroyed by the fire once its purpose is fulfilled. You have a daughter to protect so it must be me.”
“But Fen, there-”
“-is no other option. It must be me.”

For a moment, Solmund considered fighting. He considered shouting, and screaming, and even pushing his neighbour through the tree’s trunk just so that he’d save his own skin. But ultimately, he knew he was right. He admitted as much aloud.
“I usually am about these sorts of things,” Fenrien chuckled morbidly, crossing his arms.

They hadn’t much time to say goodbye, but he’d be damned if that stopped him. The two men embraced suddenly and tightly, holding onto each other as though it were the last chance they’d ever have to do so. Because it was.

A small tear escaped the corner of Fenrien’s eye as the weight of the situation finally settled in. He didn’t want to die. If it meant that his family would live, however…
“Iwillprotect Frida,” Sol said firmly. “It is a father’s job to protect their child.”
“I know, my friend.”
“Which is why it cannot be you who does this.”
“What?”

“Look after her for me,” Sol sniffed, grabbing Fenrien’s shirt suddenly and throwing him towards the tree’s think trunk. Fenrien saw a flash of blue as a sudden weightlessness overcame him. It ended just as soon as it had started and suddenly he’d hit hot, dry soil on the other side of nowhere.

Scrambling to his feet, Fenrien yelled in protest and threw himself at the bark from whence he’d just emerged. To no avail… This time, his flesh met only solidity. The fire had swallowed the tree; the portal was gone. Solmund was gone.

“Why, my friend, did you do such a thing…”

Fenrien felt warm tears spill thick and fast, streaming down his cheeks. The crowd of survivors gathered around to watch as he bowed his head and pressed it into the rough wood. It took a moment but eventually he calmed, if in the way that a sea calms after the storm. Angry. Seething. Ever as dangerous as before. The fight was over, but the war was lost. Emotions swum through the air as the waters settled. Rage, upset, and grief all amongst them. Some were simply tired and grateful for an end. Others would have spilled blood at a second chance to change things.

No, Fenrien soon realised. It was over now. All that could be done now was tend to the survivors. Survivors like–

“Daddy?” came a small voice.

Part 4

Calling all fans of The Tower!

You there - yes, you!

Did you read The Tower? More importantly, did you have a good time reading The Tower? Were you left wanting more when it ended? Well, if you answered ‘yes’ to all those questions, then you’re in luck:

I’m going to write a sequel.

It’s been in production for some time - as many of you know, I like to plan my stories in excruciating detail - so thankfully, I already know roughly where I want it to go. Many of the fan-favourites will be returning: Brynjolf, Jarle and Fenrien, Lady Montilyet, and of course his royal highness and resident pain-in-the-ass, Loki Laufeyson. 

So why make a post about it, you might be wondering. Well, here’s the fun part for all you readers out there. 

I am running a competition - with prizes. 

In honour of The Tower’s return, I’m asking all fans of the fic to get involved with a little giveaway I’m organising. Something The Tower granted me was a lot of reader contributions, be it fanart or headcanons or just general conversation. 

This competition is based around just that. You. I couldn’t write a reader-insert story with that really, could I?

So, if you’re a writer, an artist, or even a musician (remember the lullaby from the reader’s music box? I’d love to hear it), then get cracking on something creative related to The Tower, making sure to tag me in it or use the hashtag #TheTower2Comp. It doesn’t matter if it’s fluff or angst, based on the first story or your hopes for the second; if you’ve got it, I’d love to see it. I’ve had people make paper lanterns in honour of this story - truly, anything and everything is possible.

Now, of course, if this is a competition then I have to talk prizes. So, what’s at stake here? 

The winner will receive a request of their choosing which I will draft as a multi-part series, which they can help me develop. 

A selection of 5 runners up are offered the opportunity to become beta-readers for the new ‘The Tower’ fic, gaining early access to the chapters as they’re written. 

The competition will end when I’ve settled in to my new job. To clarify: you’ve got until the 1st of August to submit your entries for this one. That’s two months, people. 

I’ve got a few weeks between now and then, during which I’ll be very busy. Thus, I’ll be taking a very small break from the blog before coming back full swing with some origin stories and a few new series.

I’m looking forward to seeing what you come up with. :) Love to you all!

~LMS

Apologies for the spam of masterlist posts today. I’ve been making some changes to the blog recently, as per this post. Here are some of the major changes I’ve made:

• I’ve got a new, super-cute PC theme. 
  

• I’ve got a Ko-Fi link now, instead of a PayPal link.
  

• I’ve split up my masterlist into character specific lists.

• Fics no longer contain gifs.

• TheDiscord is becoming far more developed. 
  

As you can see, there’s plenty going on! As well as that, if you’re a fan of ‘The Tower’, keep an eye out - there will be news coming very shortly with regards to a sequel and a competition surrounding it. Exciting stuff!

Summer should be a very busy time as I’m starting my year long work placement. Once I’ve settled in, I’ll hopefully be able to update the blog far more regularly.

Buckle in folks, I’m on my way back!

~LMS