Extras indeed
Vhagar was Godmother and Grandmother to the Dragons, to the same house his Echy was bound to, still reflecting how Elu Thingol has allured him in, by his own volition, how he had misdirected him so, and he snared him, thinking it was his idea, when it was Elu’s game all along, and that was the point. Literally. Even for sending him the message of taking pride in him, bringing him in all this mess, damn. He fell alone into the clutches of the faith which has all the intention to keep him in, in its loving embrace. Ah, no use in ruminating, let it be how it must. Under the moon raying awnings, the two Elves were there for one another, they were rethinking of how it was, and how it is now. Not bad, not bad at all, and they did become enamored with their lifelong partners, just not in the way when the two of them were each other’s first love. It was impractical to say, how all the aspiring moments were waking an instance when all is a joy.
- Hm, do you sometimes, marvel so, how it could be? – Celeborn began first with his undyingly empyreal voice, celestial was his cosmic adventure. – I do not. For then, how we would have what we do have now? It is futile to think it otherwise and to brood on what it could be.
- You mediate a lot? – I do, and sometimes, or many times, I do find myself of reconsidering my own chances and the words, and the acts of what I was, and what I did, it was all leading to the shame, on my part. I did seed it myself. – You believe that he would let you go? – Yes, but I never gave myself anything what he didn’t see that he cannot take. That was the last resort.
- You could put it to use. Your other advantages, you do woo humans by playing your magical flute.
- I am not that man any longer. Strange, I mean…you know, when we were younger, so to say the least, everything was much more harder, graphic and violent. We were the hard-core bondage enthusiasts, we could grow by magic or to do our nesting, to use the welling of resin, which would even birth our Wombs, deliver it straight to us, all what we manifested, it was organic and biological, it was the well of blood, and afterwards, what did occur, or who…? What happened?
- Happens him, one and only, who was given to the humanity. Jon Snow.
- Even before him, bit by bit, space after space, it was supervening, and we are losing this battle, of our dominion, over our supremacy toward the life that did change us.
- It didn’t for the rest of humanity, generations were being birthed and died with us. Someone wouldn’t take it as that. They would say that it was far too long, and they were living, birthing themselves, in hope, that our power shall decline, and really, if you have welled it up to the verge, why would it be anyhow different, why would you rather have it as it is, to stay status quo? It is we who believe that the Life is the one that remains at the standstill, but we are. But it appears so to use, for we did reign over spans of eras, and we still do, but today, you have even have one Grand King, one Glorfindel of Golden Flower, who doesn’t deem in the same manner he did for so uncounted epochs ago, and why is it so? You may go and freeze yourself up with anything you want, ice yourself and wake up in the future, would that still be the world you know? No, it wouldn’t be.
- But each of them, of the human beings, has left something in us. As we do it with them, we bleed them in between, we are in them, and they become the part of us, why that resistance gave birth to him. To one who is just like us. Why would he fight for them, when he knows who they are, what they represent. What? He believes that they had evolved? That is the instant and misleading dream. The hopeless one. The Holy Grail and still… I really do not get it, about myself…some things. How I could do it or say it? I do not say that I am on this night a better variety of myself, but why I was doing some things? And when I hark back to it, I see how much I was a sinful man. The ugly person, and I am supposed to be somebody’s Swan Prince.
- Echy – the endearing name – it was no one’s fault - which much later, that same moniker, Glorfindel has seized for himself. It seems, all what was theirs, it was his then or it was all a pretense of Life. Once again, they couldn’t unearth what was deeply so, concealing itself from their masked facades. It was only the exterior frontage, but what was underneath? What was sown, what did they do, that it could be seen as something that is far more than they were ever, something that could shift where they did continue, something they could reach, and where they stalled, that there are dallied repercussions of each word, each written spell and every sin that they delivered. It was transcendentally to know, that Elves did this to themselves. All misdeeds do come for the payment. Reimbursing the virtue with the integrity, and where is the nobility, there is the sin.
The biosphere was the classed family type of the stocks and vines. The array of the beings who were living in the firefly world were cohabiting with one another, they do not even entail the need for symbiosis, they were lighting up the fluoresced realm.
The flaring birthing was done by itself. The gender was non-essential, it was merely the advancement, and the growth was the flooding light that is brimming over the darker gleams.
The whole forest has come to the manifestations of itself, fluorescence was the irradiance of the immortals, each life had a role to play.
- It is titled, mutualism. – It is the labeled plain sailing, my Celeborn. – I am not yours any longer, but, I may still hear your flute, don’t you think so? – Oh, well, if you do insist, and the night is passing so fast. We may repeat it. For I wonder what he does, and… - Will you go to him? – I will or else, he will come to me, or for me, which is even worse, and that is something I wish to eschew myself from. Or he may even send for me, but I see this as my prerogative, the entitlement to the liberation, for some time. I have no misgiving in letting myself fly over to him. He may wait. And he may be at ease. – He is never easing himself, he is slackening around, if he must, lightening the moods, even allaying the nerves and assuaging the ones who were made to be owned. – That is what he calls balancing and I cannot believe it, even when he isn’t around, we are spouting about him.
- You spewed? – You know what I imply. – You regard it as belching out. Like from some scorn novella. – Hey, you heard about it? The new scorn series? – Yes, it is the great publication. – How many issues it has gotten? – Hm, I trust that I overheard, about twenty seven or so. – That is little, I have to wait monthly, I will satisfy myself to wait about 100 years. – I second that, I will do that, and then, we may send to each other some forwarded letters. – Your letters are all the lettered decorations, decorative and handwritten. – I may teach you, there is even that purple prose. – I may have tried it, I have no sufficient forbearance. – And there is a war and hammer, and anvil editions. – How do you have so much time on your hands? – What can I tell you, what you already do not know? – And Galadriel? The kids? – Usual. – It isn’t the time when we were threatened, our mouths bound… - Your was, my wasn’t. – You do not nitpick or pointing out. – You mentioned because you are into it, to do it. – I did when we were together, to you – he winks – would you open your sappy mouth to me? – Just to cover.
As always, this man was no fun. Ecthelion took Celeborn by the elegance of the hand fingers, leading him into the bowels of incandescing Kingswoods, which were the splendidness into the resplendent and redolent luminescence.
There was no glitter that was missing and no glint that didn’t flare up when he ushered him into the bio sphere of outgrown resin that is breeding itself from within. Ecthelion cocooned him into it, bringing some of the goo onto his talking cavern, covering the speech, for upon the simple touch, the Elf mouth are closed and muffled, cloaked inside, all what is left to him is to listen to the flute of the piper. He relaxed, eased down, leaning back into the cotton plushness. Restrained and with the bound silence.
It was beautiful to experience the powerlessness in the dominant world, for once, they to be on the receiving side, whiles the rhythmic melody was for the lamenting reality that was no longer blameless as such!
*
- You contented? Do I make it tight? Ah yes, you cannot speak, oh well, let me demonstrate to you how it looks like, when I elicit the Man toward myself – after a little while, Cele dozed off.
*
Feeling serene and complacent. Filling with such the fulfillment that anybody could touch suchlike gratification that is gleaming your ways, across 7 realms, sundering waters, or narrow hills.
Scarlet wine is a bliss.