Rejoice anon
Out of all Princesses who might be chosen, even the ones of Lionesses, the Wolves are those who push forward even when there is nothing to hope for, against the shadiness of the world. But those of the Dragon, they are another story to tell. Humanoids may be all around, as the Giants that are falling to their eternal sleep, when the last magic is foreseen, creating the ranges of mountain hills, never even knowing, that when you look at them, that they were the giants of the worlds. Not like Paramount or Sovereign Gods, not those of Elf or any Bear kinds, not the Demi and not the Prime. But godlike of angelic fairy star stuff that is leaving a trail. For Elves do not forget the details, the North does remember the names. Echo into the walls of those who weren’t in the material world anymore. All what is left is the deplorable stain on the cobblestone. Doreah couldn’t take it.
Experiments behind the seeming Doors were those you do not wish to enter or to walk in. Celegorm could feel that something was the matter, for the traces of the misdeed were already washed away, as if her sister, never existed. All the masks has fallen, hers is not yet. She was unveiled, and in the woman’s body. When she got back through the secretive aisles, right back to him, in the woman’s form, she fell onto his feet, and sobbed, riven by what she experienced. Celegorm, at that point, who had the faith of how everything is going according to a Master Plan, had held all the invisible threads in his hands, but now, experiencing something what he barely had ever, he knelt too, scooping her up, feeling faintly how fragile she is, and cuddling her in the male’s arms, he was Celegorm, for now, concealed from the world, he shushed and pacified her, rocking her back and forth, she was like a child. She was lamenting, squalling her sorrow and the great sadness, she has lost her sister, and he was her only hope, everything what this was all about, is falling into million pieces, and she cannot collect herself, not assemble any longer, but he may. And he shall be each step with her. Twinge of pangs, is this, what it means to be human? Is this why my son is so into you? Is this the power of the goodness, of friendliness, of the compassion in the human hearts. Please, do not cry. If you do, I must too. She was comfortless and brokenhearted. He kissed her lady’s hands, classy and gentle. Nothing has helped. Till she didn’t start to talk of what happened and if there is any hope left.
- My father took her. – Really? – he was wiping her inconsolable tears away.
- Yes. – And may I see her? – something has moved in him. He never has done it, to any human, why would he do this to her? She was a slave even among humans, she is the lowest of the low. She could be sold and resold, she had no say. Why would he even heed her? She had no rights, no prospects in life, only her witching hour and her spells, but nothing else, except for the bare life, and he, as one Feanorian, the Son of the Fire, of the seven sons, to indulge her? That is outrageous.
- I feel for you and your sister, but I am not here for the family drama, I am here for the prey, and you yet have to play your game. You gave your word, not to go around, saving your sister – when he said it, something broke so hard in her, that she lost her will to live, wishing even to end it, but she only did what she never thought, to the man’s face, she slapped him, he didn’t even feel it, it was the matter of pride.
Celegorm raised a hand to slap her back, when at that instant, and at that time, Jon Snow was standing there, he wasn’t present, but the Ghost was. He watched him, to see if he is going to go through it and Celegorm stayed his gloved hand, his hunter’s armor and the armguards, along with the facemask that is guarding his face, were emphasizing the reflective silver strings of fate that are in rills cascaded down his caped back, no plume and no weighty boots, just the beauty of the man who sees that she wanted to die, that one slap would kill her, no, he won’t give it to her, and he won’t ever hit a woman, never again. He looks away, being converted back, then again to be a male. She needs the consolation. She needs that her agony is tempered and moderated, she looked so small and so vulnerable, he took her again into his all-male arms, sinewy and folded to his armored chest. He had no right, he was the man who should feel disgraced, and so he was, Jon Snow vanished, as Ned’s avatar does to Glor, they are lasting guilty conscience, there is nothing that could be done about it.
He rocked her as if she were a baby girl, spooning, kissing her florid cheeks, taking away the grief, if not, just for a while. She looks up, she was so frightened, she got intimidated by him, she was so sorry. Finally, something was born in between. The hunter has smiled upon the human.
Whose life was the ephemeral miracle in his never – dying hands. Uplifting her spirit. Lifting her up when she is down. Leaning his silver head upon her mortal one. He was anew the silver queen. Her glimmering was blanketing her mortality.
She won’t leave her, she will not abandon her, she will be shown, but after it, it is meaning, perchance, only one thing that is assumable, she will belong to fire in a next life or when her own is finished, he will come for her, or, it all depends on the dire circumstances, but he can give it to her, he can make it less grim and bleak.
- I shall do it, I am a man again, but you must promise me one thing – hopeful, she stared back at him, her swollen and puffy eyes were given another ardor, and even avidness for life, vehemence of what he had promised – do not fear. There is charisma, there is the draw, there is the magnetism of the place, just as it is in each Elf that is pervading, and so even the inbreathing the magic is something what any human can do, without your trickeries and deceitfulness, all what you create is the newly fashioned birth.
- I realize it… so, I shall not fear, but, what has changed your mind? Why do you have a change of the heart? – he exultantly smiles at her, brushing his gloved hand across her pale countenance, bringing back the color, making her healthier and brushing away all the puffiness and swollenness. She got mesmeric, she was herself, again, and it was all thanks to him. He leans forward. – Take my hand. – To kiss it afresh? – That is given – he kisses, both of them, again and again – but there is something much more that I am gratified to find in the sense – pulling her to oneself. She is in the mantled embrace. He won’t let go. Not this time. – Are you ready? – I am. – Then, close your eyes.
- But, you told me not to fear, then, why do I have to close my eyes? – I told you to have no fear of something which you expect to be beautiful and kind, since it comes with what you do fear, for the villainous entities are those to whom you are allured to, and such a fateful living shall not be your fate and thus, it won’t be hers – she closes her tired pupils. Weary from all the fighting, she gave in, and when she opened her eyes, she could hardly breathe, she was clinging onto him, and what could she know?
All was the resplendence and vividness, the welcoming Garden of Eden, from Tirion upon Tuna by which is inspired Gondolin as its capital of the otherworld, from the crystal purified seas, to the diamonding mountains, the living northern lands, of the crystalline stairs, to the stoops of flurried gardens of planting seeds, to the steps of the tallest peaks, to the exoticness of the hidden realms, while the gleaming vines were flaring the flickering in the flashing sparks, the pollination was high, the germinating was gladdened, all was enveloping you in the celestial epiphanies, from ascending Valinor Twin Trees, the only into which is captured the holiness of Silmarils, the Great Jewels of the Great Elf, stowed away from the prying eyes, only when there is utilization of Tengwar of tongues and Palantiri (Seeing Stones in reproductive living processes), then it is called upon as the grandest wonder of Feanor, to balance the nature that births another God, for Dragons may freeze you with a stare, to their longing names, Telperion and Laurelin, silver and gold, the stars and the moon, another is the sunniest shade, the one that should never be replaced, that is not the Red Giant whose flare has stirred the Fallen God, the Great Winter Prometheus, there is no Second Coming or something that can second the Sun, except the God Elf that is buoying up the real life when all around desists in being what you recognized, by laying your trust in Higher Self, it is escape, the elder and the younger, the male and female, favorite is silver under which they are brought back to live again.
Engaged into the inspiriting dream. She was crying. She knows where this was. She eyed up, and, there he was, winking back at her. Not giving up!
They are to find her sister. Even her real name that she lost. The Garden of Eden was speaking to her, the name of her sister was Adana.
She was born a slave, just like her, separated from the birth, Doreah found her, but it was long-overdue, and the coruscating streamlets were full of gleams and glimmers. Where it was wilting, it is sprouting out, where it is not growing, it is shooting up, springing the crinkled flowers, the buds, florets, flowerets, and all that is new. Hand in hand, she was walking with him upon the softest grass, while blades of grass were softened allurement, and aloft, upwards, the sky’s roof had birthed the 7 Suns, she didn’t cry, she didn’t shed tears, for they were turning into the pearls which were blessing the ground she ever trod upon. She was the elation and the exulting havoc that is glorying when she was the merriest. Next to him, even when she was that small and insignificant, she proved him wrong, for all times.
*
- You truly believe, that we are going to find her in here? – She has to be here. The fire purifies. She is as she should have been. – Will she be jocund whilst living in this place? – She is a joy!