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Narya
02/16/18 10:17 pm
Have a great holiday, Naledi, and happy birthday for Sunday!
Naledi
02/16/18 10:03 pm
Thanks, Ziggy and Ysilme. My birthday is on Sunday. Iím on holiday at the moment, so not able to check in so often.
Spiced Wine
02/16/18 03:50 pm
Oh, Iím so glad, Glorfindel. It must just have been a glitch
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02/16/18 03:41 pm
Happy Birthday, Naledi!
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02/16/18 03:35 pm
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02/16/18 03:28 pm
I will try again, Spiced :)
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02/16/18 02:03 pm
Happy Friday,everyone :)
ziggy
02/16/18 10:15 am
Is it your birthday today, Naledi? If so, Happy Birthday:x
Spiced Wine
02/15/18 09:28 pm
I would not be surprised. If fiction is a bit buggy now, Glorfindel :(
Spiced Wine
02/15/18 09:27 pm
There is nothing inj submissions either
Shout Archive


The Kiss of Death by Glorfindel

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Story notes:
Thank you to Keiliss for her wonderful betaing :)

This story is for Fadesintothewest..
Thranduil's POV



Here I was in Valinor, hoping to see my soul mate, FŽanor, again. He did not meet me at the dock, so I assumed he was either still resident in NŠmo's Halls, or had forgotten about me. My initial disappointment was tempered at seeing my parents again. True to form, my father, Oropher, had proclaimed himself king as soon as he was reborn, and like sheep the Wood Elves had allowed it, just as they had the first time. To be fair, my father was a good king, beloved by all. It was hard to fill his shoes, but I like to think that in the end I was just as popular. Gone were the days of war. Instead, my realm became one of peace, where happiness and harmony reigned - to a point.



Old habits die hard. We remained a military realm because the threat was ever present and it was how we were used to living. The major difference was that I rarely had to sit with grieving relatives, telling them how sorry I was that their son or daughter had been killed while serving in my army. Of course, accidents happen, but not as often as one would think.



"I have sent runners to the other realms to enquire about FŽanor," my father said, his lip slightly curling with distaste. "If I had known who he really was I would never have allowed you to take up with him. You know his family are our sworn enemies." He had no idea my lover was FŽanor when we lived in Middle-earth. He knew him as Authigil. I still have no idea who told him my lover's real identity.



"The Valar decide who we love."



My father sighed. He had not changed. Never would he forget Doriath or our flight to the Greenwood to escape the sons of FŽanor. My mother was killed during the flight, a stray arrow piercing her through the chest as we ran through the city gates. "Go!" she cried out, a cross between a gasp and a yell. "Keep Thranduil safe." My father hesitated as if torn and needing direction. Her eyes closed and her face relaxed. A hail of arrows awoke his senses. He picked me up and ran for our lives. Never would he forgive.



Convinced that he would one day see my mother again, my father did not engage in the pleasures of the flesh, saving himself for the day when they would be reunited in Valinor. I felt that if anyone should identify with my feelings for FŽanor he would, simply because he had experienced such intense love himself. I was not surprised at his lack of understanding, although I suspect it was wilful. However, I must admit to being disappointed.



When the runners returned they reported that Galadriel had gleefully informed them that FŽanor was still in the Halls of Waiting. "I doubt the Valar will ever release him," she said with a chuckle as she presided over her mirror, watching the surface intently. "It's where he belongs, after all. According to my mirror, FŽanor was reborn by using the devices of trickery and deceit, so in my opinion he deserves to stay there forever."



I have never liked Galadriel.



"I will journey to the Halls of Awaiting. Perhaps I can persuade Lord NŠmo to release him," I announced to my parents as we ate breakfast in the palace garden.



"You have only been here for five minutes and now you are off on a jaunt," my mother protested. She took a sip of her tea, looking over the cup disapprovingly at me.



"He only thinks of himself," my father said blithely. It was almost as if he did not care.



"He is my soul mate," I replied weakly, knowing my mother was right.



"What will happen if Lord NŠmo takes you to his hall and you lose your life as forfeit?" My mother stared at me, her sea-grey eyes boring through my soul and making me feel once again the little boy I was when she had died.



"If there is any risk of that, I will come back," I assured her.
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