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The King Plays with Toys

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Thranduil left the festivities, and walked along the corridors to his study. The image of Harlette at the balcony watching him jealously as he kissed another woman's hand made him smirk. He had felt her presence all along, and he had wanted to play.

The sight of Harlette standing up there had been so beautiful; her parted mouth, her chemise falling low down her shoulder and her wide eyes fixed on him. However, the hurt in those eyes caused his smirk to disappear, and guilt to weigh only slightly on his heart. Harlette was young and romantic, and Thranduil was nothing of the sort. He knew he had to stop toying with her, however her body, her energy and her personality were so enticing.

He wanted to talk to her extensively, just to be able to have her at his reach, a reach that would enable him to touch her and explore her, at least for a while.

No doubt Thranduil's interest in Harlette would soon fade. He was accustomed with things of beauty, and in a way, quite jaded of them. Yet Harlette was the fairest and queerest jewel he had ever beheld, and what rendered her even more beautiful was the fact that she was so heedless of her beauty.

His eyes darkened; the leeches. They had bowed before her and she had bowed back. Why? He needed to get that question out of the way. Harlette knew nothing, yet something knew her. Who?

Harlette was invited to stay in Mirkwood for as long as she wanted. However, if it was found that she had something to do with the darkness rising within Mirkwood, he would have her executed.

He reached the door of his study, and rested his forehead against the wood. He closed his eyes tightly. Killing Harlette?

Thranduil frowned to himself; how could he care for a human? He sputtered a derisive laugh, and walked into the room.

Unstrapping Hirvegil from his waist, he placed it on a table.

'Thranduil, King of the woodland Realm,' a voice whispered.

Thranduil turned around slowly. 'Who speaks?'

'Thranduil, will you strike or will you not, this story could be a sad, sad plot.'

'Show yourself. Who are you?' Thranduil asked icily.

The voice hummed, and this ghost seemed to be moving fast, and crawling rapidly along the walls, it snickered when Thranduil whirled around trying to spot it.

'The King plays with his toys, yet he should watch out, for some things once broken not only will not mend but will turn dark in the very end. Ancient devilry. You know about it. You've seen it. Watch out, watch out for it, King. Watch out for it.'