Fate is designed to tear,
Doomed to fade away;
As the gift turns into the fear,
Curse, whence it becomes.
By force, it dealt to suffer,
Once again, shall bound by eager;
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
For once the fear is no more curse;
By hope, the accursed fate broken,
Once taken will return again, to rewrite and fasten.
Light from the shadows shall spring;
The crownless again shall be king.
The reforged stars will never shall be parted again with their lights.
~oo~
Prologue
Everything was gone.
Everything was burnt by the fire.
The fire, these malice flames, had taken every living lives, and burnt it at last.
The darkness had swallowed everything, and now even itself. No moons and no stars to take a pity on this accursed place. The choking smokes seized every lives' breathes and forbade to remain on the earth.
Dark bloomed on the sky, and now already filled with fire and smog since the starlights had been gone. And will never show their glorious light again.
All the trees and the flowers, that there once was life has gone; the ashes, with the burnt trunks and the branches of the trees were roaming on the dead ground. Shapeless bodies, it was, with their lost looks, were painted with colours of death. And there's no one to flew; none would ever dare to seek them and take out from this hell.
Except the ashes and the flames, were the things that only survived, - no, remained - and there was only one, who wasn't taken. There was only one, who was alived, and did stand alone in the shadow.
Only the Great Elvenking was.
And he was alone. Whole alone; left behind. His companies, were gone; and he also knew that: they can't return. He was now alone, only but with the lifeless bodies by his side. And what the strange things about him, was that he wasn't a elf, that can be easily broken: and yet now he was kneeling before.
He was kneeling before them, yes he was, but he was not alone: he was with someone, holding in his arms so desperately. Someone was in his arms, and he was with: someone, who can't recognize barely with blurred sights, and also due to it's body, which was all covered - painted as - with black.
And he was so dearly, begging to that who couldn't ever return, and answer at his asks. Approaching to him, from that beautiful blue eyes, the red-tear was coming over, washing his cheeks, and from that beautiful lips, the most sorrowing sounds - moans - were coming out: He was weeping. His body was trembling with whimpering, shuddering of fears, and.. fears.
It was the most desperate, heartbreaking, crying that could be ever heard.
So red, were his eyes. And so red, was him: more than the dozens of bloods were covering him. And the blood, that he did not know also whose.
He was Alone.
And It wasn't done at all.
Something vast, has approached to him, who was alone, and halted. And soon, it's gnashing sounds pierced the ears annoyingly, and the snake showed up itself before him.
The Arsonist of this terrible wanton forest fire was seemed to be expecting, the death and the desolation of this forest. As the darkness of evil wished: there was no life, nor hope. The burning red golden colours of huge flames stroke him; the Elven king.
Every living things in this place were faded, only by the fire. And after all of was finished; finally, the cruel fire has stopped.
It seemed everything has gone. Smog and few flames were remaining; but behind of that, the tall silhouette of body was still holding himself; refusing to surrender to the death.
He was standing still.
Indeed, he did have a fair look: if only the half of his face were not burned. His burnt hand was not shuddering, nor aimless. He took his hand to his sword. One of his eye was turned into the numbness white marble.
His eyes were closed; but the rough air, which was still coming out of his breath was the only sign that he has not lose his life yet. The red, bloodied tear rolled down into his cheeks. The slashing sound aggressively hits the ears. His sword tastes the bitterness of the moan. The large whining cry of creature has stopped, and the huge dragon's body fells down in to the lifeless soiled ground, that made.
And the moment, when his eyes were opened; nothing was shining at there, the accursed land that has destroyed by the wickedness of pure-evil.
Only but except the cold-shining blue eyes, which was glittering by full of tears of sorrow and wrath.
The sharp blue eye gazed coldly.
As the gasps of terrorism seizes her, she opened her eyes with great haste swift. Lúthien sobbed irrevocably, with broken heart.
Again. Who are you.
Why.. why is it hurt so much.
Why are you making me shattered, in like this.
She cried over and over. Like the mourning doe in the thorn bushes when she lost her fawn.
Her only rough breathes were be listened at here, in this darkness. No lights, to appease her torments, no stars and moon, to warm her shuddering pains.
She was drowned in her griefs. She bit her paled lips aggressively. As the red roses blooms in the snow, the red blood soaked her pale lips.
Who are you.
She can not resist the strange feelings were seizing her gradually. Yes, she have waited for someone in her whole life, whom she was longed to be with. But she does not know that who it was. Or was she?
Perhaps it could be her, who try to find her own dearest.
Perhaps it was her unknown dearest, who was waiting for her patiently.
Whether she or not, she must find the reason, and what she had lost before. She was eager to find out both.
She had waited for centuries and centuries. And now it is her turn to find out.
Be strong, Lúthien. Don't be afraid.
You could do this.
Yet the emotional grief of pain was growing deep down to her core. She trembled by the ache of her sore heart, but she stands over it.
Lúthien rose her aching body up from her wet bed, by her sweats and her tears to awake from this sorrow.
When she lit the candle to find her new wearer, she have sensed the unexpected sounds. The pierced sound of well sharpened sword has ring her ears. Someone uninvited guest was here. She was not alone.
She sharpened her every senses and silently took her own sword. She turned the lights on the candle off, and concentrated to expand her senses. She followed the way where the groaning moans were coming from, and lead to her.
As her silent steps has closed nearly to this unexpected guest, the stars and moon begins to show themselves again from the misty black surfaces of vast oncoming night to shine them. Through the clear glassy window, the bright even star has shine gradually upon them, but she did not noticed that, until her sword aims this guest.
She sneered, "What's this? I haven't invited the burglar in my house, nor the stranger. Oh, the ranger without his swords in his hands-" but eventually she lost her words.
By the shinning moonlights, this unknown guest's face has revealed brightly.
Following the points of her sword, there was the ellon. There was a handsome ellon but armed with blood-soaked silver twin blades, in the armour. And, only thing that she could assure was, that he was the ellon, that ellon, who she saw in her dream. Who made her heart sore once again. She groaned deeply. Her heart aches again. But, she did not lose her sword to him.
"Who.. who are you. Why are you here." Lúthien mumbled irritably at first, but soon she lose her will to expose her anguish. She sensed that her heart sores again deeply, this time it was more dangerous than before. She gasped intensely and with grieving for this unknown reasons.
As he speaks, the tear rolled down along to her cheeks.
"First, let's talk without the weaponries. I could swear that I'm not here for mean any harms to you. Please, believe me." He pleased to her, who was keep aiming him a sharp blade. He sighed, and dropped his other long, silver sword into the ground.
Lúthien sighed too. She was expecting for another answer. She aimed him more tightly.
"I wasn't asking for that, but thanks for dropping your sword. Now, answer me. Who are you." She hissed.
"I'm Thranduil Oropherion, the king of Woodland realm. And you haven't answered yet at my request." He moved his eyes to her blade, which was aiming him directly to his neck.
Fine.
Lúthien removed her sword from this 'king'. As she dropped her sword over his, he sighed inwardly, and thanked to the Valar, who had transported him to here.
She studied him, who was naming himself as the king of the Woodland realm, in the Mirkwood. His current state of looking was not same as her dream, because of the blood, which can not distinguish the owner has soaked him in it. He was kneeling before her. It seemed that he was injured gravely, but he did not show that he was. His white gold blonde hair was mingled with dark bloods, which was not braided, not as the other elven warriors. Only just but cold, numbness white gemstone on his plain circlet was making his look more bit coldly. It was not fit with him. Lúthien thought to herself.
Comparing to her usual nightmares - well, dreams, about him, his look was bit changed. For once, when the certain age has come, eldars' appearance does not changed; aged.
Of course, it is only about their appearances. He was not aged, but of course his eyes were not. His shining refreshing ocean eyes were containing the greifs about the ages of time. His state was in tranquility, calmed; but Lúthien could assure that he was not. But why?
It must be rather contained the furious angers or confusion, but there was nothing.
Except the tears.
This was why how she could determine that he was him, the one who was wailing with broken heart in her dreams.
It was, his eyes.
The only thing that was not changed, was his eyes.
The cold-shining blue eyes which glitters in the darkness.
Prologue was about the Lúthien's dream, which is about the Thranduil's tale, and first meeting of these two elves.
I hope you would enjoy!