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 The Forest of Shadows

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Lassërîn Rudenėja

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PostSubject: The Forest of Shadows   Wed Aug 05, 2015 12:17 am










The place, where the King had decided to sink into his thoughts, was the most obscure area of the forest, where even his subjects, the inhabitants of Mirkwood, dared not go, unless they had to deal with a serious problem therein - among the deepest recesses of the forest, a place that even the most undaunted animals avoided. Neither birds' chirping, nor swishing steps in the bushes could be heard there; it was complete silence that reigned. Even the leaves on the trees did not twitch, they were frozen like statues, lifeless, cold, insensitive, indifferent ... only they were alive. It was solely them that knew what was happening in their blackened souls within the wood. They were not communicating even among themselves. Each tree was a fortress of its own, a broody separate universe captured by shadows ... Yes, Shadows ... They were the exact reason why this place was so evaded: these depths of the Forest was where the Shadows nested, it was their bottomless lair, the temple and the heart of the black corruption which had overcast the whole forest.
Yet  King Thranduil was not afraid of them. And why would he ever be? Wasn’t it him that was their Ultimate Master? Nobody knew where the pervasive darkness that had conquered the forest had appeared from; the forest that once bore the name of Greenwood the Great, that used to be a carefree realm of natural beauty, now mortified by overwhelming gloom. Everyone, including the Silvan Elves, speculated that Sauron had settled in the southern parts of the forest, disguised as a Necromancer, but no one had witnessed it so as to prove the truthfulness of this assumption.
The King, however, Knew. He carried the burden of the Dragon fire; and deep in the hearts of the shadows he had sealed the unutterable grief for his dead wife, likewise the burden of his destiny. Yes, his morbid, sore fate that would burn eternally in hellish vortices, deep underneath the icy facade of his royal, perfectly controlled, aloof and reserved elven superiority.
How many shadows had he locked in the woods, how many people had he dragged with him, beings that were now long gone, sealed in the depths of Mirkwood’s darkness, doomed to empathize His everlasting suffering; yet all of them alone among His army of collected lifeblood… just as alone, as the soul of Thranduil was. Wasn’t it funny how he trapped all of them so that they could burn in his own omen, yet the more shadows he captivated, the more desolate he felt.
He had no reason to be afraid of the Shadows. They were an external projection of the malediction which weighed secretly within him; yes, he did not want to escape from his pain, he glorified it, for it enhanced his precious love and devotion. So he wanted to sink in it, he wanted to become One with it. So he immersed his dominions in damnation, yet the darkness made the magic of the Forest glow in a divine contrast; the Stars of the Elves were treasured up in the cozy embrace of the blackness; and it was beautiful.
No one really realized that the murderous sorrow weighing upon Mirkwood came from the most delicate chords of his soul, even though every resident of the forest felt its effects on themselves. Sigh, wasn't it so tragic and sensual at the same time? How come his pain could vanquish his whole kingdom, yet the King was still doomed to suffer all alone? There was a gap between him and the rest of the world. Everyone was in complete awe of his royal presence; but their reverence brought him only an empty desolation that could never feed his soul.
So he derived the aromas of their souls, he kept adding shadows to the layers of the Darkness Doomed – so that he could, at least for a moment,  inspire life into the hole burnt in his chest, which would gape therein in eternal emptiness and dragon fire. And it hurt, it hurt so much, for His Beloved was Gone, and without Her, all the world was merely a meaningless desert, eternal, infinite and lifeless as the elven immortality, which, a gift to many, was a doom to Him.

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Mœrilindë Thranduiliel
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PostSubject: Re: The Forest of Shadows   Thu Aug 06, 2015 6:10 am




This Night too, or were there still weak whispers of a day? They only had such days here in the heart of Mirkwood…days darker than a starless night. But Thranduil did not give a care nor wonder be it day or night. Was the clockwork ticking away with seconds, hours or…many moons passing him by? It didn’t matter he was here now. At long last. He had all that time in the world to forget he was immortal. And the World became poorer every time this treasure went into hiding, tucked away, inundated in his hermitage of shadows. Every time the Elvenking stopped being for the World and began being only for himself.

But what a cruel thing it was… to belong to himself when his was such a leaden self to carry. Elvenking Thranduil never disappointed the shadows, never failed to fullfill them. But alas, if only the poets could behold him now! They would sing litanies to Him! Ballads and poems would overspill, bleeding away from chapped lips tremulous with inspiration. Those chosen lips, askew with the ecstasy of touching upon the vision of HIM! Only if just in words… Those lips were accursed. For upon the ephemeral battlefield of poetry, grasping upon Thranduil's beauty and taming it down into something as lacklustre as words was a lost cause - causa perduta. Like chasing after your own shadow. But if their voice held just a splinter of worthiness and truth to praise King Thranduil, they would sing it like this - he stood tall and proud like a Centenarian oak, towering above the axes of poaching woodcutters. Seemingly unflinching, untouchable, nearly crushing all with his presence, alone. Yet he had nothing but himself to crush...as the shadows were ever agile and flowing. The statuesque slenderness of his bow-strung body, his tousled tresses sweeping down a broad back like the cascades of a silver waterfall, his fair brow crowned by a ringlet of sleek-wrought gleaming steel, an ancient, ageless face – fine-lined yet strong-featured, illuminated by the otherworldly glow of two beryl-blue eyes that seemed to have seen it all. The porcelain hews of his alabaster skin, silk-petal lips deliciously grazed with fresh bruises like strawberries upon snow, stung upon by the pearly-white edges of his own incisors. His wide chest violently heaving into a rise and fall, the fluid motions of a caged feline predator… it was simply all too immaculate for an earthly creature to fathom. So thank Valar the only eyes that gazed upon him were his own, in the rippled reflection of the Forest river...but there always were the grizly eyes of shadows - not just hollow but completely amiss - like holes cut through a fine paper pergament propped up to gaze into steely gray skies with the vacuum of their own nothingness. For any other pair of eyes, a glipse upon his Elven Majesty, may lead their owner into an early grave, succuming to Death out of his own fancy. The eyeballs would implode inwardly and juices would gush into his soul till he does choke and die happily with a smile upon his foaming face. And had the shadows not sucked out every gust of wind...all the living air from this place it would be a delicacy to inhale the Elvenking’s essence… his ghosting scent of rimy forest flowers, freezing to their lovely death in the blue hour of a cold springtime morrow - fresh and failing at the same time but all the while so beautiful. The elegance that could excite anyone but it's originator.

On the inside Thranduil was dying again. He felt a sort of miserable luck that Legolas had sneaked off to bow-practice, making busy in the bustle of life far away. Else he would hurl… And oh, if King Oropher only knew of this …he would turn in his watery grave… Thranduil had wished upon countless stars, prayed countless nights that his father could see or hear him. He prayed for the contrary tonight. It was night after all, he could feel it in the marrow of his bones. He tried to reach in and pull a thrill out of himself...a single sigh of ardour...but he knew it was hopeless once again. Only darkness hit him back like a boomerang and when it came he embraced it, lunged into it headfirst and never looked back. He welcomed the sweet oblivion of obscurity as he feared all that awaited him beyond its muffling refuge were the dying screams of his ladylove & Lordfather. They ever resonated into space and time, like echoes purged from the throat of a bottomless Abyss and he knew no silence deep enough to cease their Music. That concert of chaos inside his head. And yet here...in his clandestine haven...they were only bloodless whispers. Bloodless like the heart of his. Soulless, like he dreamed to be... Like a Star @ heaven

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PostSubject: Re: The Forest of Shadows   Mon Aug 10, 2015 10:04 pm




Потънал в горестта си, крал Трандуил се беше слял със сенките. За момент бе оголил себе си, бе превърнал мрака на гората в Аз и тежестта на душата си в Гората, и просто се бе оставил да чувства. Убийствената болка го разяждаше и той я триумфираше. Не знаеше кое бе по-силно: мазохистичната наслада от вътрешния му пожар, или задушаващото бреме, което бе обсебило дъха и естеството му и ги покоряваше завинаги на себе си. Той никога нямаше да бъде свободен, никога повече нямаше да почувства лекота, да тича светъл като дете по окъпана от слънчева светлина поляна с хиляди опияняващи парфюми. Каква ирония! Бе крал на стотици хиляди, но бе роб на самия себе си... а оттук не можеше да избяга. Не че и всъщност искаше. Но му омръзваше, дотягаше му вечно да потулва всичко в себе си, да поддържа ледената фасада. Първичен инстинкт го караше да свали маската, да отпуши истинската си същност и да остави на адския огън да разяде не само другата половина на лицето му, но и да обгори, съсипе и останалата част от ефирното му елфическо тяло. Така щеше да сложи на главата си корона, която не можеше да бъде заменена по чест – тялото му щеше да се превърне в символ, в образа на мъките му, които бяха го поддържали в предсмъртна агония за време, което му се струваше като самия безкрай, но никога донесли утехата, покоя на смъртта. Искаше му се Черният ездач да изсмуче последния му дъх, който циркулираше тъй режещо през трахеята и белите му дробове, но Трандуил удавяше тази мечта в името на дълга си и в името на Единственият, когото бе останал да обича на земята – неговия син, Леголас, макар и винаги да бродеше толкова далечен от него, че синът му навярно чувстваше баща си като едно неуловимо, вечно изплъзващо се привидение. Да, Леголас... Дълбоко в сърцето си Трандуил бе затворил нежността и горящата обич към него, която щеше да избухне като всепоглъщащ вулкан, ако някога открехнеше вратата, която толкова трудно поддържаше залостена в себе си. Душата му бе постоянно пронизвана от остри акорди вина, задето бе оставил синът му да не вкуси бащина обич... освен в смътните, най-ранни детски спомени, които сега не можеха да изплуват в главата му, а бяха останали запечатани някъде във впечатленията на подсъзнанието му. Кралят много пъти бе долавял как Леголас се опитва да му се докаже, убеден, че съзнателната отдалеченост на баща му се дължи на разочарование от наследството му, което не бе успяло да покрие предварително изрисуваните очаквания. И как след всяко постижение му отправяше погледи, препълнени с неизречената трептяща надежда да чуе похвала, да го сгрее бащина усмивка, дори и... да долови блясък на задоволство в погледа на родителя си, но това така и не се бе случило. Трандуил всеки път оставаше все тъй студен, безизразен, като непристъпният най-висок връх на планина, който е съвсем безразличен към онези, които се осмеляват да отправят погледи към него. Да, кралят бе попарил момчето си, бе пробил дупчица в жизнената му душа, която винаги щеше да зее, излъчвайки пустош и себеобвинения.
Но нима Кралят не се измъчваше от това повече, отколкото Леголас някога би допуснал? Не беше ли това поредната жертва, която той правеше в негово име? Да го остави да вярва, че баща му е безчувствен леден къс, когато не виждаше и не усещаше никого другиго сред живите? Но Леголас бе точно това, което Трандуил никога повече нямаше да бъде... макар да бе живял хилядолетия,  синът му бе останал малкото слънце, ефирното дете, кълбо сияеща елфическа магия, която разкрасяваше и оцветяваше всичко, покрай което минеше, просто дарявайки на света частичка от лековитото си присъствие. Как да допусне Леголас до себе си, как да му покаже истинският си облик, когато това значеше да го завлече със себе си надолу? Да изгори непорочната му звезда във всепроникващия драгонов огън, да я сгърчи в клокочеща болка, докато не я превръне в една съсухрена чернилка от агония?
О, Леголас, само ако знаеше как Трандуил тайно си мечтаеше да е способен поне веднъж да го докосне по рамото, един най-лек загатнат знак на безкрайната му любов, която бе длъжен винаги да спотаява в себе си, редом до онази, другата, която завинаги щеше да липсва запълващата си съкровена половина – покойната му съпруга. Да, Любовта е копнеж, вътрешното теглене на Ин към Ян, към Онзи, без когото си обречен да чувстваш вечна пустош. Любовта завладява диханието и кара всяко вдишване да представлява желание да съединиш Другия със себе си. Да се докоснете вътрешно, докато не се превърнете в Едно.
И така, Трандуил беше пуснал на воля всички свои емоции... Те се обвиваха около дърветата, нагласяха вибрациите на въздуха, почвата, растенията в акордите на собствената им мелодия. Процесите на природата протичаха, диктувани от състоянието на Краля – когато го давеше отчаяние, гората заприличваше на измерение на прокълнати твари; когато превес вземеше носталгията, тя почваше да трепери като нежното сърчице на малко момиченце; а вземеше ли връх еуфорията на Любовта от отминалите дни, все едно се изстрелваше в Астрала и се сливаше с Ом, обгърнал целия Космос.
И пикът на симфонията от душевни аромати и вкусове откликваше в Половината, която носеше Драконов Огън.

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PostSubject: Re: The Forest of Shadows   Tue Sep 22, 2015 11:54 am





The refection of his elevated silhhouette, once more caught his mind's eye - delicately rippled in effect by the water's touch. Like the fingerprints of the River were laid upon him in a masterful aquarelle. The stream was new to these regions which is not to say it was fresh. How could anything stay fresh all the way down in here Mirkwood? But yet, it had not flowed by him before, so it knew nothing of his Secret. And beneath the murmur of its languid flux, not really flowing, no - rather crawling like a venomous old slug...yes beneath all that he could hear the soul of the River. It was pure. It was crying. She wept that the blurred and soiled panel of her surface sullied the Elvenking's unflawed face. That the reflection brought back to his Majesty’s mesmerizing eyes came out ever so distorted. Ashamed and crying she was, but he soothed her in the transcending silence of his thoughts. Hush now. Hush, for you know not the Truth. Oh, Dark Truth of mine. Forsooth, he pondered. If only the River did not lose her memory as she flowed on, did not have to be shown over and over again. If only she knew the skewed reflection of Thranduil that she so mournfully produced, was far smoother & milder in appearance. Much less of a nightmare as compared to - the Truth that lay beneath. And he tasted a sort of sadistic delight tickling the curls of his lips, every time. He felt the River to be his only lover and he delighted himself in surprising her - every time. Thranduil reached up & decrowned himself, gently setting his gleaming ringlet down on the mossy ground. Like most elven crafts, his casual crown was featherlight, lighter than the legendary Mithril itself & yet once he took it off with a sigh of relief... Thranduil felt WORLDS lighter! But it was not for this sole purpose that he took it off. One could equate this gesture to the offing of gloves right before battle so as not to obsruct the properly firm grip upon weaponery... Or the sarcastic would say he was about to do something not so Kingly at all, off the royal record. He could always be Elvenking in an instant, but right now... His flesh became so sensitive...even a robe spun of the finest spidersilk would feel heavy & suffocating upon it. It ached to breathe... Thranduil got the sudden craving to be completely naked. It washed over him in such an impulse that he didn't think about it...he just couldn't get rid of his fancy garments fast enough! He twisted & turned restlessly - undid latches, untied strings, ribbons & laces... In moments like this he cursed the complexity of his high-fashion attire with all his might! Finally... he shed his clothes & took a deep breath, the shadows slithering upon his open flesh... But he wasn't done removing all of his facades...
The next thing Thranduil seized upon, was not of solid material but rather immaterial... He seized upon the curtains of a glamour, one eerily enveloping his lovely visage. "Here, let me show you. How you cry in vain." he said more to himself than to the River. Familiar pins and needles seething a flurry into his skin with the prickling of a million tarantula bites. They stung with a vengeance to foreshadow the magic curtain was alift. Caving in, dissolving, melting, twisting, perverting, disintegrating, scorching, rotting, wriggling shreds of skin like carrion maggots set afire. Utterly self-abominating into the horror of its true form. Thranduil finally allowed himself the depraved Ecstasy of letting go... of Everything. He set himself free. No crown, no clothes, no mask... Completely exposed! In his true Demonic form...

The ancient elf sighed a breath from the embers of inextinguishable Dragonfire broiling beneath his skin. What is touched by dragonfire can never be untouched. And what could be seen in the River, upon this moment, girdled steeply by the sable arch of guardian shadows, oh...Thranduil wished it could forever be unseen. But alas, never could he unsee himself. He remained prisoner to the sharp sight of his own elven eyes and the inerasable memory that they burdained.  Endlessly perceptive elven eyes were – a distinct feature of theirs, yet as perceptive in light so blind were most in Darkness. But this particular pair, that glowed secretly in the twilight, was in it‘s stygian, rayless reaches at its most sentient. They could see where most of their kind grew blind. For it was the poisoned mind they reflected on that never failed to mark a grim fancy…as it was gravid with far, far too grim a fancy of it‘s own. The dark Art, Thranduil knew in the privacy of his haunted heart, was still an art. A different kind of art - is all. And just because it haled of that harrowing Void, made it no less artful and robed the craftsman nothing of his mastery. Therefore, that Lordragon of old North was quite the craftsman - a fiery Demiurge that forged Thranduil's flawless face into a sordid masterpiece. A halved, gaping crater of demoniac decay, a glorious tragedy. A balefire of Blackmagic that bewitched it's own bearer into becoming the true King of Shadows. The Necromancer, that distant shade of Dol Guldur, could only behold him, and bewail. For Thranduil's shadows were deeper & more deeply suffered, interlaced into a Sacrament of their own. Together they merged into a dark puzzle of dysphemistic Perfection. Thranduil's scar was as sacred as the forge of his soul. Full of pride & glory, yet accursed by the Shadow of Death. Like one heroic mission to shield his father from dragonflames, thus branding himself for all Eternity instead. "Thangail" Oropher had called him, everafter...That was a sacrifice his son did not regret. He only regretted the immortality that bound him to the everlasting consequences. Prince Thranduil had been so aloof and misunderstood, to begin with, by the lesser woodland elves...with all that intimidating pure-blooded grace that he carried as an inseparable part of his high Sindarin bloodline. But this scar of battles by-gone... It alienated him so fully from the Nature of Eldar, in its entirety. Even his precious son, he had to elude... That was the hard price for keeping his mutilation completely out of sight, out of mind, beyond the knowledge of any living creature, as well as the more talkative dead. He detested that Acar, yet he celebrated it. He hid it away behind sheets of dark Magic from everyone else, even Legolas, yet wore it in his Secret heart like a medal of Honor. He knew not what to do with himself. All he knew now was what he felt - the exotic, inexorable pulse of arousal stirring in his veins when he finally revealed himself. Let the frightened soul of the River shiver and shrink after consuming his terrible little Secret.



Thranduil did love to force himself upon it, expose himself, lewdly aware that for a mere moment... someone shared in his grief. And his scorching burden was not his alone to bear. One single witness, who could not speak, therefore could not gossip, either. What harm could it do? Ah...how bittersweet is Freedom. Thranduil whispered - for the first time with his own voice - the empty, misguided echoes chasing each other right back to him, like a scattered army of ghosts rallying to their leader, post mortem. He gulped down on a sip of malady - his own saliva, to stop it from slavering beyond the margin of his lips which he had now pursed into a narrowed slit. He bated his breath. The palm of his hand glided across his abdomen... & lower still, down his hips...to where - he chose not to tell himself. But whatever unmentionable place it had deviated to - there were no more strings & latches to be undone. And the moment they had come undone, the hot, succulent flesh of something even more unmentionable had arisen, impatiently, free from its prison cell. A throbbing shaft, that even the most continent celibate, virgin, or frigid creature... or even a frigid virgin celibate would be ready for. And die to the penetrated by. A longsword of royal flesh that the most battle-seasoned of warriors was not worthy of wielding. Perhaps it was a shocking sight... ironic even. But perhaps all too befitting... For whose hands were worthy of touching upon the Elvenking's Majestic cock? Why of course, non other than his own! Lonely - they say it is - at the top. But at the soaring ridge of martyred beauty that Thranduil erected upon, it was not simply lonely. It was desolate! And far, far too high up wn into the Shadows for anyone to dare reach and worship. And so the King gave pleasure to himself - slowly, meticulously. But it was a stifled sort of pleasure...painfully sere… simply wrong. He let his stare linger obliquely into the uncharted distance in a haze, then looked away, batting his lashes in a subtle tremor, the way he did. The way he alone could. And oh, how they fluttered…ephemeral, effortless. Otherworldly, like silver-laced silk moths flirting with the light of Ithil, amid layers of dense nightly air. Not a single beamling of light was anywhere to be seen, yet Ithil was there, behind the eyelids of the Elvenking, glowing with his dim luminescence of noctilucent Ecstasy. He was the Moon. And in this most delicate moment Thranduil had the strangest of feelings. Two deep, velvet eyes - rusty red like the chains Suaron bound his slaves in, opened right in front of his darkling fantasy. Such brightsome little eyes - taking in his every movement with the curiosity of a child. Thirsty to pry into his soul. Wa…was he being watched? One sudden jolt of pleasure cut into him with a redhot dagger, then spilled over his body like warm mother's milk fresh from the teat, then stung like blackthorn needles would sting your softest of places. It caressed, and it scraped and blew hotness in his entire essence. How new, how exciting! Was he really being observed? Being admired… He could sense his climax brewing up right below his stomach in a rolling fireball. It promised to come and wash away the quicksands of swampy stagnation he kept sinking into. It tempted to crash over him like a cleansing ocean tide and make him forget himself in the bliss of sweet submersion. It vowed to shipwreck the vast armada of his sorrows, that would otherwise sail to Valinor with him, in case he tried to escape. It even swore to bring him back to Life...

And yet - just empty teasing, empty like the Shadow's eyes. The only ones left after those newlings had gone out like a light. Just as mysteriously as they had appeared - like vigil candles blown away by a gust of wind. The truth was he was hopeless in everything. Despite this vivid new dream he was still too unalive to reach an orgasm. That was a blessing meant only for the living Souls. For all the dragonfire burning up inside him, it was enough for him to lust...but never to finish. Oh how he needed to rupture himself with rapture. One sacred release is all. And yet dragonfire only teased and the cruel shadows simply denied. And how would he even begin to pray to the Valar for something like this? No...It was meant to remain his own, personal shame. Tears stung his eyes, pierced through and finally glistened in crystalline spheres atop his trembling eyelids. He touched himself harder, more violently still. He drew out his hand, lathered it with the ambrosial fluid now dripping from his mouth and handled himself thus slicked and lubricated. He persevered in a despondent struggle and yet to no avail...no, he could not exact a thrill from his unfulfilled soul. He was hopeless. He was all alone.

He opened his eyes remorsefully, admitting that he had defeated himself in yet another battle. It did not help to clear his heavy conscience that he had been thinking of Legolas again. Actually, his son had been the original daydream... no rather faedream in his mind, as per usual, but then Thranduil remembered something. Those other eyes. Who did they belong to? A foreign fantasy intruding upon his solitary dark world, at a time like this?! NO! A new fear was born to make matters worse! Thranduil seemed to choke on his own breath. The Yawning Abyss on the left side of his face contracted to the crack of the whip of anguish. A blurry tear cloak, no longer upheld by his eyelids pooled into his eyes then ran freely down the right side into the River. The poor, unfortunate droplings that rolled down the left - vanished into the Blackhole, never to be seen again. Thranduil tried to do wisely and shun the parasitic panic away from his mind. Before it drove him madder than he already was. No, it was an impossibility for anyone else to be here, watching. Just him and Forest River, and Shadows all around. No one else could ever thrive in this Netherworld, black like a raven’s wing in nightflight. End of story.

Little by little, Thranduil put his nightmarish doubts to sleep. He would try to forget the stranger's eyes. They were just a new figment of his imagination. Yes, that was it! Thranduil's own sick imagination, and the even sicker way his body had throbbed in reciprocation. Why did it even feel so good to imagine he was really being watched? He kicked himself for enjoying this obscene fetish fantasy the way he did... although in reality it would be the death of him... There, he murmured to the River with a gentle croon. There, there...if I cannot feed you with my seed, drink my tears. Drink them instead; they are more poisonous than you, my dear. But suddenly the shadows bustled in unforeseen disarray. Branches broke and twigs cracked and the thicket rustled…and the deathly standstill within his haven of despair was completely ruined at the blink of an eye. A rusty red eye. A ball of something very, very much alive and therefore very much unwelcome here - rolled, like a horsenut kicked astray, right at Thranduil's feet. He smothered his own petrified gasp, that seemed to inflate his soul so much, he thought it might implode. If elves could at least have a heart-attack he would have been writhing on the ground from one right this now. Once more he cursed the bloody roots of his immortality. Then by the flash of instinct and a flying sleight of hand he brushed away the dead leaves from the unidentified ball of Life. A furry, little head arose in clumsy confusion. BY ALL THE VALAR AND SAURON ON HIS DARK THRONE! Thranduil cried - weather to himself or out loud...he knew not. CHILD! A HUMAN CHILD! The Elvenking he had been just moments ago vanished into thin air and for the first time in millennia Thranduil simply shrank back, feeling like a helpless child himself. Such fierce fear came over him that the dimness of his dilated pupils spilled like black flickering ink over his lucid irises reaching to the dark frames of his limbal rings. His eyes went into blackout - perfectly eclipsed yet brilliant still like fading stars… Two human eyes blazed into his bewildered elven eyes and therein their reflection he saw...oh the horror. He had not put himself back into his garments after the deed had been done... Like a Star @ heaven

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PostSubject: Re: The Forest of Shadows   Wed Sep 23, 2015 7:06 am


Thranduil ruffled back into his robes hysterically, as if a huge hairy spider had taken to crawling between his legs. He fought to contain himself in whatever manner left him & his Elfhood immediately undisclosed! He looked back towards the little girl...ever so slowly...hoping...no - PRAYING to the Valar with his entire being that this was just a trick of his mind, an apparition or at least a very, very bad dream. What he would not give to wake up in cold sweat right now! But nothing of the sort did happen. He fumbled for meaning, for words with or without that privilege...tried to summon up within himself some adequate response. On the outside, he seemed to be simply staring at the poor thing, gaping and jittery as he had ever likely been seen ...especially by humble mortal eyes. One cheek burning in the rudescent flush of his royal humiliation. Whilst the other...HIS SCAR! He swore...in what tongue he really did not care but it sounded an awful lot like Black Speech. And with that thunderous sound that pervaded the Allsilence he cupped his face into shaking palms. And pressed closely... and begged the curtain to cast it's cacooning embrace back onto the length of his vulnerable face... A sob stumbled drunkenly down his swanlike throat. With great reticence he lowered his hands back down and woe as him oh woe...she was still there. Had not moved an inch, yet from the wild-eyed blinking and loud breaths...he had to confirm, a heavy heart & weightless pride therewith, that she was still alive! Even worse - aware of her surroundings, no matter how barricaded she should have been from them. Curse each and every speck of Darkness! Even the Shadows finally betrayed him....
But alas, something needed to be done. The child, Thranduil started to shape up his first coherent thought in a while...she did strike him as rather tiny. Perhaps, far too young & innocent... What if she did not understand the true Nature of what she had witnessed?
Ae, Thranduil painstakingly put his stiff tongue into motion. Girl! What did you see?!
The human, tightened her own unhinged jaw of lingering surprise, gathering herself, as best she could. She blew up her small birdy chest, to try and answer. And when she uttered, a strange flood of goosebumps descended all over Thranduil's neck nape in the most tantalising of ways. "Oh, I...just..." she choked then stumbled to her knees suddenly as if hit by a Legolas-shot arrow and coiled in Thranduil's skirts. He thought to cringe but couldn't move. She reached out greedily and kissed the fringes of his dusty tunic. "His Majesty King Thranduil was giving pleasure to himself. As mother gave to father by Night! With your own two hands though. How strange that is..." Thranduil's jaw dropped again. This time even lower. "No my Lord, no bad in making yourself feel good. But why were you crying, it hurt my heart to watch so I had to look away." Öh Illuvatar! Do I finally meet your divine punishment? For all my perversion... Thranduil chanted solemnly to the blackened skies above, throwing his hands up in a tantrum of heathen desperation. "But you are so beautiful, my Lord! Even the scar you hide! So beautiful..." she whispered worshipfully below him. Her rusty auburn eyes seeking to lock onto Thranduil's with undivided childish adoration. His face hung imposingly over her gentle form. His strong body followed like a dark storm cloud looming from the horizon over a little sapling & threatening to smite it down with a bolt of lightning from Above. "You... have seen too much." he hissed menacingly between tight-clenched teeth. "Now, you must die!"  Like a Star @ heaven

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PostSubject: Re: The Forest of Shadows   Fri Oct 30, 2015 5:33 pm


The moisture in her beady eyes trembled as they widened, slashed through by the Elvenking's unforgiving glare. If one had set a mirror before Thranduil now, by Valar, he would have drawn back by a shot of his own venom. "I must...die" the girl was in such a daze she could not seem to do anything but echo the last words she had heard him say. "Must I really, Milord?" "I am not your Lord!" Thranduil uttered a cutting retort, disapproving of her very existance - head to toe, below an upraized eyebrow. He cleared his throat against his fist, rectified his regal posture & thus proclaimed: "I am Thranduil Oropherion, liege Lord of the silvan elves therein Mirkwood...the Great. Remember that, you mortal trespasser." There was no Mirkwood the Great...it had only ever been the forests of Greenwood the Great, once upon a time. But whenever lord Thranduil felt himself intimidated he liked to decorate the gaunt title of his Kingdom with a touch of the olden name, from those glorious days of yore. For the Name gave him Power. And who would dare correct him? What would a simple girl know of names, in any case? His head tossed back with a haughty flaunt as he crossed his hands curtly before his chest as if to build an Iron Curtain between the two of them. He - the tall, slender Shadow, the vigorous spring of despisement & she - a petty peasant...shaking like a featherless birdy that had fallen down from momma's nest. Something of an apology pushed against her throat, but refused to come out. Her eyes were swimming in tears now. She buried her face in the dead leaves, curling up with a squeal, like a snake-bitten, baby hedgehog.

 Thranduil's insolence froze bitterly upon his face...and peeled off scale by scale. What was he thinking? Who was he trying to prove himself to? Could his deflated honor be cured by such cruelly misplaced arrogance? There was no good reason for a child to be out here alone, of its own free will. That could only mean the worst of fates had already befallen her... He sighed away the tyrant he had become & silently stole nearer to the sobbing furball. Examined her closely now, a touch of regal caprice still lingering within his manner. Reached out a hesitant hand...extended slowly, stopped...& pulled back & even somewhat trembled. He was not prepared for this. But that sobbing little thing in the dead autumn leaves... He laid his palm tentatively upon her disheveled head. There was a certain redundancy in trying not to hurt that which you must kill in just a moment, but to Mandos with it! "There...there now, little lass..." he crooned melodically with his cold elven voice. "There, there. No use in despair. Yes, you will die. Today, tomorrow, one year hence, a hundred years from now. What does it matter?" He sank into the moment tracing his fingers across the tangled spirals of her curls. He had never handled dark hair before & the way his snow white hand shone against the deep contrast pleased his eye aesthetically. "Such fragile things you humans are. Ah how you must have angered our lord Illuvatar to have moulded you so weak, so weak & fallible...I almost envy you." The trembling head slowly shifted itself & one reddened face peaked out of the leafy mess, eyes glowing like black pearls upon Morgoth's crown. "Ye all are Mayflies." he whispered to her with aloof affection
"Up you go, Mayfly. I will be good to you. I promise." & he outspread his hand in courteous invitation. 

The Mayfly, still unable to meet his eyes, grappled unto his hand as a drowning ant clutches a straw. The right one - too small to catch anything more than his fingers, the left wrapped around part of his wrist & pulling at his lace-fringed sleeve. She sat up hesitantly on bent kneese, blinking like a pup that had just been badly scolded by its Master. Thranduil reclaimed the autonomy of his hand, with certain effort, mind you & while he knelt, leaned over the girl, balancing himself with his arms set upon the ground on either side of her. As two pillars of an altar where dark ceremonies betide. Meanwhile, the lamb of sacrifice...looking up towards him now, her head was raised so high, she almost fell back into the foliage. But did her best not to, for what a magnificent spectacle it was. The exquisite illumination of King Thranduil's face, so close yet up so high, with blue gems of pure moonlight irradiating upon her...his argentine tresses streaming down on both sides, surrounding her completely, like scintillating curtains of silk & stardust. A sight to die for... His breath blew immortal coolness upon her heated skin & when she inhaled it she wished never to exhale again. "It blackens my heart to make a leafling so green fall before its time, but alas, Autumn comes early for you, little one..." But I will keep your Secret, Elvenking, who is not mine. Trust me..." she whispered earnestly, the pupils of her brilliant eyes growing wider in dreamlike inebriation.
 
Thranduil scoffed. "If you had time, such tails I could tell you! Of Numenor the Downfallen, of Sauron's Black Captain - the Witch King of Angmar... & even a child would see that you humans are but the Betrayers upon Middle Earth. Nothing to you is Sacred! Trust is not a crop I hope to yield from the barren soil of your kind. Amarth faeg for you, little Mayfly..." he finished with narrowed eyes now flickering with the sparks of both pity & disdain. True...he got a little carried away. Hopefully she understood half of what he had said. "But I swear upon the forge of my Soul...Elvenking who is not mine." she stuttered again with deep despodence. How fascinating, she had used an orcen oath that he actually rather fancied... A perceptive little insect, wasn't she? Thranduil's heart did move but his resolve was still set as starkly in the same place as before. "My word is beyond question! Your life beyond salvation... But lucky you should fall into my hands, for no one knows the art of keeping & taking life better than I do, little Mayfly. I will kill you with such kindness that there will be more delight in this single moment of Death than you ever could harvest in your entire miserable human lifetime." He cupped her burning face within his handfull. Not one speck of dust dared stick to the marble surface of his skin. He steadied her inside his grasp, with a cool fixation above & beyond mortal skill. "Now..." he sighed his breath of Magic 
like the gust of a faraway whirlwind. "Give me your wings, Mayfly. Let me take your soul & make you my Shadow..." The Mayfly did not hesitate. She made a deep bow then lay down in his lap & nestled herself within his robes. As if it was utmost protection that they provided her...not the promise of Death. "Yes, my Lord... I am yours."

He gazed into her eyes and found them so lost in his own, as many a victim before her, but something was not right. A main ingredient was there amiss. That lowly, back-stabbing malady that made him scorn humans as less than bumbling insects. That’s right… her eyes should have been blind with fear! Sheepish…base…like human nature! Had the Mayfly no fear? Was she even human? He could hear her rabbit heart drumming instead…to the song of devotion & it was so precious… Why couldn’t she just choke with fear & have him despise her…like he dearly wanted to. Let out an ugly scream, perhaps...to incite his Hunter within? It would make things so much easier! Why did she not kick & fight & try to run away like a little rabbit so he could be the Great Eagle
! Properly grasp her within his talons & be done with her once & for all! But this little one… she gave herself so blindly, she surrendered her soul so eagerly. Maybe he did not trust her, but she trusted him with her life. For what it was worth...He did not want to end it! Not this way... It was sin, even upon his Soul to let such a rare leaf fall ill at ease…There must have been something he could give this unlikely creature in return for her selfless sacrifice. “I know it is none of your fault." He said. "You were simply on the wrong tree at the wrong time. So allow me a parting gift.” He beamed her a light, mitigating smile and rested his hand atop her head. “Tell me little Mayfly – do you have a Deathwish?”


"Yes... Yes I do!" the human girl fluttered with eyes bright alit. Her mind kept discarding the word Death no matter how many times it was thrown at her. "I just haven't thought of it yet..." Thranduil couldn't but meet her cheekiness with a smirk. She propped her lips against a bent finger in a gesture of deep contemplation. But deep did not always mean long. "I got it! I wish to see King Thranduil sitting high & mighty upon his magic throne with his crown of falling red leaves that never all fall out." "Nice try little one!" Thranduil gave a bit of a deviant wink, which suited him so well. "Änd where would the Mayfly be in this moment of King Thranduil sitting high upon his throne? Running for the Gates, I imagine." "Nay sire, I shall not leave your side until the very end! You have my word." she declared in such great state that a child cannot use without invoking something of an adorable comic effect.  Thranduil sighed & shook his head. "Very well, you may behold my throneroom & my autumnal crown. But should you ever try to escape...yours will be a far scarier fate than I have in store for you right now...  Have we struck a deal, Mayfly mine?" "Ae, sire!" "Excellent..." Thranduil concluded with an affirming nod but then something prodded him from within to adopt a more threatening demeanour & added sternly below dark, heavy eyebrows: "And remember, child...Many things will hurt you in Mirkwood, but no one will ever help you, if the King forbids it." "Whatever you say, milord!" the Mayfly bobbed a gracefully clumsy curtsy then peered into the distance with a focused smile. In her mind, she was already en route, to the fabled underground halls of the great Elvenking! To die...  


It wasn't until the girl tried to make a few decisive steps on her own accord that she waddled forth shakily like a dizzied duckling. "My my my..." Thranduil sighed with a sort of parental derision. "We have broken Mayfly's wing already, have we not? Nan Belain, feeble child...Come Here!" the Elvenking leaned down swiftly & scooped Mayfly in his arms then reeled her upward where he folded her within his cloak & cradled her tight against his chest. She could only gape & gasp in awe, drowning in the resplendent perfume of his closeness. "I come in these here desolate regions without my trusty elk. So it would seem that you shall be riding a King tonight..." Like a Star @ heaven  

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PostSubject: Re: The Forest of Shadows   Fri Nov 06, 2015 12:00 am


With nothing further to say he spirited her away! The journey was sweeping, the Shadows steeping - full in sway, but as they broke off from their girdling embrace Thranduil could feel the girl writhe in agony & his heart went out towards her but for a mere moment. "Ah yes..." he regarded wistfully. "Once you leave the Shadows, Pain is the first to welcome you back. But fear not!" He pressed her flat against himself and hummed something of a sweet tune. A word she did not understand but yet she could feel the deep Music reveberating through his chest like the sacred gong of the Universe, playing innermost symphonies to the beat of His everblasting heart. Melting from inside, her pain seemed to subside & dissipate without a trace, to the Melody of His healing heart. "Better?" Thranduil asked, rhetorically. "Never better! Sire..." the Mayfly cheered as the warmth of a grateful sigh spilled across his chest. "Splendid... May mirth only come your way...till your last breath be drawn away." he rhymed with a silver-tongue & glided onwards still in the forbidden secrecy of their Nightflight. The Shadows far behind...The Gates of Mirkwood drawing nigher! Like a Star @ heaven

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PostSubject: Re: The Forest of Shadows   Wed Nov 11, 2015 2:21 am

Thranduil blinked once & Mayfly was all grown up in a twinkling...
& before he knew it, there was a beautiful lady by his side...



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PostSubject: Re: The Forest of Shadows   Wed Nov 11, 2015 2:32 am




But his little Mayfly grew up into a blooming floret! & in a blink of his immortal eye...she was a child no more


He saw Mayfly & she was so beautiful in red... Thranduil fell in immortal Love!

& for every red dress he stripped off her...upon his silken sheets at Night...

He gave her a red rose in the morning thereafter...
& a tender white flower in the Bluehour thereafter...
to make up for deflowering her so young & green. flower

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PostSubject: Re: The Forest of Shadows   Wed Nov 11, 2015 2:46 am



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PostSubject: Re: The Forest of Shadows   Sat Nov 14, 2015 4:42 pm





Малката Мейфлай се бе заровила в прегръдките на Негово Величество. Ефирните му коси я обгръщаха от двете страни и вселяваха в лелеещата й душа усещането за пълно спокойствие, красота, магия, доверие ... беше приказно. Но имаше нещо различно от вълшебството на рисуваните книжки, в чиито светове въображението й бе летяло безкрайни часове... Не нейният Крал бе толкова сдържан, движенията му – плавни, грациозни, премерени; излъчваше... Зима. Която те обгръща със студа си, запленява те, изпадаш в транс, извън от свят; и в ушите ти се носи песнопението на сирени от недрата на океаните, но май това не бяха дори гласове, и въпреки че долавяше одушевена мелодия, като да е излиза от сочни свежи устни на възнесла високо душата си жена, в миг като че прерастваше в по-фина вибрация от всяко същество, което бе чувала да пее... Ами да... Можеше ли човешките елегии, които метафорично назоваваше ангелски, да се сравнят с ... Елфите... Тъй биха я зовяли сирените, които въртяха изкусително с опашки от невидимия, угасващ в залезния сумрак, морски хоризонт,  а също и танцуващите слети кръгове самовили, устремяващи като дар за Боговете нощните си любов и преклонение нагоре, към Бездънното Небе... Сърцевината на Мейфлай потрепери и всичкото живописно слово, с което се бе обогатила от литературата, всичките разсъждения, с които се бе опитвала да извае в думи есенциите на света, не й стигаха, за да обясни, дори на себе си, това фино, но запечатващо усещане в гърдите си. Елфите пееха като Космоса... Като самотните величествени Звезди... Неизмерима Скръб покоси душата на Мейфлай. И точно там беше разликата, която носеше със себе си приказността на Не нейно Негово Величество. Феите в книжките й бяха щастливи, безгрижни... И макар Кралят да лъхаше хармонията и неземните чудеса от онези фантастични светове... Толкова много болеше. Ако Мейфлай не бе така успана в неподвижност от Неговата Магия, тя би почнала да дере кожата върху белите си дробове, защото вътре в тях нещо умираше... Каква бе тази непреодолима тъга? Каква бе тази покруса? Спомените на Мейфлай бяха смътни, тя дори не се насилваше да извика в съзнанието си миналите времена, само на моменти в главата й изникваха отделни образи, които асоциираше по някакъв начин с настоящия момент... но не се питаше откъде идваха, защо, какво се бе случило покрай тях... всичко бе толкова естествено, на мястото си ... откакто бе почнала да се лута из гората, тя бе изпаднала в някакво състояние на транс, което просто я носеше наоколо... без страх... напротив, в пълна сигурност... не знаеше накъде върви, но не беше загубена... не се опитваше да намери посока, просто бродеше, не се отклоняваше от целта нито за секунда. Блъскаше я силестезия от сетивни впечатления и тя се рееше в тях, в сменящите им се картини, аромати, звуци, цветове, ... дори вкусове ...
Не се боеше от Сенките. Напротив, те я обгръщаха като топло одеало от мрак, бариера срещу бедите на света, и тя пътуваше из астралните вселени, докато те носеха тялото й наляво-надясно, накъдето преценяха, че трябва... изолираха я от опасностите, изолираха я от всяка форма на живот, било то и съвсем безвредна, може би я искаха само за себе си... и за техния Господар. Какво ги бе подтикнало да се отнесат тъй невраждебно, може би само те си знаеха, дълбоко в сенчестата си природа... Може би се наслаждаваха на фантазиите, които така доброволно и достъпно споделяше с тях; може би оцветяваха за миг антисветлината си, липсата, Нулата, може би ... се съживяваха чрез момиченцето. И може би усещаха с какво бяха свързани всички тези приключения, в които се бе заключила... да, защото тя бе сред тях физически, но душата й блуждаеше, потънала някъде дълбоко в нея ... до Някой, който им бе много познат и близък. Парадоксално, но дестинацията, в която тя бе обсебила творческата сила на вдъхновението си, любовта си, възхищението си, я караше вътре в себе си да се скита ... точно там, където беше и телом. Момиченцето бе до Повелителя им. Веднъж потънала в гората, откъсната от спомена и от живота, тя се бе отдала напълно в най-Съкровената си мечта: за Горския Елфически Крал, който царувал в сърцевината на Мраколес, покорил с доблестта и качествата си народа си от други елфически неземни създания, спечелил доверието му и взимащ винаги най-уместните решения, за да може тайнствената му империя да процъфтява...
Мейфлай и преди ... преди сигурно интуитивно се е докоснала до отделни повеи на естеството му... Винаги е усещала, че Негово Величество може да бъде безскрупулен, ако обстоятелствата го налагат... толкова силен душевно, че би потиснал всякакви пристъпи на жаловитост и състрадание в името на висшата цел, нещо, поставена пред което, би я накарало да се разтрепери и да се свие безпомощно и нерешително на кълбо... И как би запечатал това дело в Трагична Възхвала, която би облагородила потърпевшия... Наказанието му, допира му дори до най-низвергнатите би оставило отпечатък след себе си, съхранил величието на допира му, превъзходното му благородство... Изваял и въздигнал Себе си като Велика Аристократична Фигура, с Горда Осанка, която винаги е изправена, Вечен Фонтан на Съвършенство, Мъдрост, Непреклонност, Авторитет, Вдъхновение и ... Студенина. Слят с Мраморната неподвижност на пода на Тронната зала, Одухотворяване на Кралските Начала, Ритуал на Възвисяването им от самото му присъствие на Трона, продължаващ естествено в русите му коси, въплътили ефирността сама по себе си, в обаятелното му лице, пропускащо до света преднамерено избраните от Негово Величество послания и емоции, ... завършващи в неговата жива Корона. Не от метал, било то и благороден. Сърцето на самата Природа, на Гората му, Туптящо в Символа на Кралската Власт, Сляло се в едно със самата му Същност. И Негово Величество се носеше неземно из Гората, като нейн Свещен Дух, отговарящ за всичките й естествени процеси... Властелинът на Елфическата гора Мраколес бе в едно с работливото пълзене на всяка трупаща зимните си запаси мравка, с всяко (синкаво) проблясване по речните потоци, с разцъфването и увяхването на всяко цветче, поникването и първото стъпкване от горско животинче на нова горска тревичка, с (смъртта на всяка пеперуда) преплитащите се чуруликания на причудливите птици, с (преждевременното откъсване на всяко свежо листо) хармоничната цялост на всеки един процес от микро- и макро- света... Дори и с Космоса, който наблюдаваше армиите от гордо изпъчили се дървета, белия дроб, вдъхващ живот на почвата, на тази земя... И може би... може би не нейно Елфическо Величество бе самият Космос, който със зорко, вечно будно, всеобхващащо око наблюдаваше териториите си ... приспиваше ги, бранеше ги... И те се укротяваха под любящата му прегръдка, чувстваха се чисти, тъй пречистени в душите си от свежия му допир... на сняг, който може да е безмилостен и безскрупулен, но и да пази и топли под белеещите си камари от ... животоподдържаща Смърт!


Смърт...


Втори остър пристъп прониза по онази нишка в душата на Мейфлай, която бе почнала да загнива и умира заедно със страданието на Негово Величество...
Да, Смърт. Като че ли Смърт бе обхванала душата на Негово Величество. Когато най-неочаквано и в шокиран ступор го бе видяла пред себе си в цялото му Открито! Елфическо Превъзходство... Когато фантазиите се сблъскаха с реалността, когато се разтвориха пред очите й.... Тя бе Завладяна. Покорена. Остра игличка прониза Преданост някъде в дълбините й, към това Величие. Фантазиите й... не можеха да се сравнят с този Аромат. Тя не можеше да го опише, не искаше да го опише. Тази картина оставаше тайна в душата й ...
Момиченцето бе белязано от Болката на Негово Величество. Тя с радост щеше да загине в името на Неговата Висша Цел. Можеше ли само да снеме поне пласт от безкрая на този Корозиращ Гнет, който .... само Божество като Крал Трандуил знеше как понасяше в себе си, как го носеше с гордост, запечатано и невидимо пред света, но носено с пълна убийствена сила, докато Той поддържаше  и не позволяваше на гнилотата му да помрачи Неговата Кралска Осанка.



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Mœrilindë Thranduiliel
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PostSubject: Re: The Forest of Shadows   Thu Nov 19, 2015 6:38 am



He did not order his servants to do it. If you want something done right, do it yourElf! He went aforest to pick the herbs, leaves & flowers closest to his heart & easiest on his eye. Upon the brand new bed he'd ordered to the finest silvan carpenters made out of living wood he went & set them & he wrought wreathes not for a deathbed but... For a Lifebed instead! He adorned the whole chamber with his beloved gems of white starlight then put a circle of soil around the bed, from his most potent land & sprincked it from the Forest River's purest waters with his fingertips... For both the empyreal & the earthly mattered equally in Nature. Breathed his breath of loving warmth into the fine silken sheets to create a warm Welcome! Took his sword & cut where his immortal heart lept wildly underneath. Thence he stained the bedside with his Sacred heartsBlood, tracing a crimson Lemniscate in the center  - for the Blood is the Life! He even lit up candles with essential oils for the flame of Passion to burn forever bright and brewed potions from magical extracts. Nothing was a mere trifle! Every single detail, he believed, was of the Essence... & so, upon transition Night at the fall of the Blue Hour I came to him, I breathed my first breath here - deep & clear, my heart pulsed to the melody of Mirkwood for the first time & Thranduil REJOICED! He planted the kiss of a father upon my brow, the kiss of a lover upon my lips & the kiss of True, Eternal Love - Meleth Marthannen upon my Heart & Soul! Thence He said unto me:  
"Shut your eyes in the old life. NOW open them ANEW. All your lives I have been waiting - for You..."

But no words could outspeak The EMBRACE...


- Once Thranduil had a thought  -  he thought of all the things he was & all that he wasn't but wanted to be...could be! & this thought was the birth of a Soul! Like a Star @ heaven

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PostSubject: Re: The Forest of Shadows   Mon May 09, 2016 4:09 am

We interrupt your regular story programme to present to you - A game of Shadows by Meliell Thranduiliel








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PostSubject: Re: The Forest of Shadows   Sun May 15, 2016 3:38 am







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PostSubject: Re: The Forest of Shadows   Tue May 24, 2016 5:39 am

Ohne Dich kann ich nicht sein! Wo bist Du???  Like a Star @ heaven

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PostSubject: Re: The Forest of Shadows   Tue Jul 12, 2016 5:57 am

My King, Lordfather, Fëadar Thranduil! ∞
You are my Eyes when I am blind...  Like a Star @ heaven


You are my Truth when I am Blinded! Like a Star @ heaven

∞∞∞




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