Gail síla erin lû e-govaned 'wîn

He turned suddenly, eyes narrow and sharp as his hand gripped tightly to the quill it had been utilizing. “Leave? And where exactly do you plan to elope to, Dinendir? Do you really believe that I will simply let you walk away?” He dropped the quill to the roll of parchment, wiping his hands on his robes before standing in one graceful movement. His height was like an imposing shadow as he strode across the room, stopping just in front of the bold scribe. “You. Will. Not. Leave.”

"Do not attempt that again," he finally stated, pulling the covers up over the bloodstained bandage on the scribe’s abdomen. "I forbid you from it - and if you disobey me, I will chain you hand and foot to the wall so that you never have free range, ever again. Do you understand?" 

He turned to his side, slowly and painfully, allowing his hand to feel beneath the pillow. "Where is it...? I had another one... I..." There was no other knife, though. His mind seemed to be an imbalance between thoughts, dreams and reality. There were no inner monologues he could control or hide anymore. "Sharper, finer... shinier. M-my lovely knife... It was here."

The subtle shade of red became more distinct on his cheeks as he heard her response. “I… I apologize for being so straightforward. I simply admired your fairness from afar and thus I decided to approach..”

Taken aback by the solemn nature of her voice, Dinendir handed her back the necklace. “I apologize, though I find that piece of jewelry to be stunning. May I ask where have you got it?”

He turned suddenly, eyes narrow and sharp as his hand gripped tightly to the quill it had been utilizing. “Leave? And where exactly do you plan to elope to, Dinendir? Do you really believe that I will simply let you walk away?” He dropped the quill to the roll of parchment, wiping his hands on his robes before standing in one graceful movement. His height was like an imposing shadow as he strode across the room, stopping just in front of the bold scribe. “You. Will. Not. Leave.”

The healers were already prepared when he arrived, and with a violent impatience he instructed their work, ordering for Dinendir to be saved - if they valued their lives. When work was underway he retreated to a corner, surveying with the sharp eyes of a serpent who missed no flaw; but he was calm enough to let the work continue unhindered, and before long they had stabilized the scribe and left the room, leaving the brooding and conflicted ruler hunkering in the shadows.

His eyes looked around and there they saw him, in the shadows. His worst nightmare, as much as he could remember, was responsible for his 'salvation'. Yet, it was only a matter of time before he would be confronted once again and he would spend his evenings in the dungeons. A sob escaped him, then another one. Until he was able to look away and force himself to sit up despite the pain. He had to leave, he knew. And that idea was still carved in his mind.

He turned suddenly, eyes narrow and sharp as his hand gripped tightly to the quill it had been utilizing. “Leave? And where exactly do you plan to elope to, Dinendir? Do you really believe that I will simply let you walk away?” He dropped the quill to the roll of parchment, wiping his hands on his robes before standing in one graceful movement. His height was like an imposing shadow as he strode across the room, stopping just in front of the bold scribe. “You. Will. Not. Leave.”

"Dinendir…" he said softly, a tone that was deathly quiet but not at all kind. Beneath it hid the malice that lurked like black serpents in his blood, ready to reach out and strike at any moment. His eyes narrowed, darkening considerably as they lit upon the small knife in the trembling hands. "Do you know what you have done? Did you think this through at all? You fool! You have three seconds to drop that knife, or you will once again face my wrath - and such a shame, as I had planned to let you sleep comfortably." He was not phased by the display of braveness and took his own step forward, drawing himself up tall and proud, needing no weapon to overcome a weak scribe with a butter knife.

"Do not touch me!" His voice, nearly a scream, echoed in the room, breaking the silence. "I-I know-... I know I cannot kill you." Slowly, the knife was lowered before he swiftly brought it to his abdomen, courage leaving him when he was about to pierce the flesh. He was still attached to this life and leaving it would mean being devoid from all the simple pleasures he still clutched to. Overthinking was his worst enemy and it was with that fact that he managed to stab himself, knowing that his actions cannot be reversed. A strained breath escaped him and he felt his hands stain with blood, the pain setting in only a few moments later, yet he hoped that these were his final moments of life.  

He turned suddenly, eyes narrow and sharp as his hand gripped tightly to the quill it had been utilizing. “Leave? And where exactly do you plan to elope to, Dinendir? Do you really believe that I will simply let you walk away?” He dropped the quill to the roll of parchment, wiping his hands on his robes before standing in one graceful movement. His height was like an imposing shadow as he strode across the room, stopping just in front of the bold scribe. “You. Will. Not. Leave.”

He carried him swiftly to his own chambers, winding through corridors and stairwells, the house guards smart enough to keep their eyes respectfully forward. When he reached the large chamber he walked through and locked the door behind him, laying the scribe’s form gently on the bed. “Let us change you out of these clothes, hmm? And then you must eat something. I am afraid your lack of nutrients is a partial cause for all this fatigue.” As he spoke he began to unbutton the simple tunic, moving swiftly and casually so as not to spook him; though he knew to expect a small resistance. 

A small whimpering sound escaped him, though he knew that the king bore no pity. Trembling hands reached up as to unbutton the king's shirt, though he was far from ready for such. His body was still sore and mind devastated. "L-let me help..." The other hand moved away the fabric, already seeking out the soft flesh beneath. And, in that moment, he felt an urge overwhelm him, clouding his mind and dimming his conscience. His frail hand reached beneath his own shirt, taking out a knife he hid there once he finished with his dinner. He held it with both of his hands, scrambling away from the bed and standing up. The petrified eyes didn't leave the elf before him. And, he was bold enough to take a few steps around the bed as to approach him, ready to attack and bring harm to his master.

He turned suddenly, eyes narrow and sharp as his hand gripped tightly to the quill it had been utilizing. “Leave? And where exactly do you plan to elope to, Dinendir? Do you really believe that I will simply let you walk away?” He dropped the quill to the roll of parchment, wiping his hands on his robes before standing in one graceful movement. His height was like an imposing shadow as he strode across the room, stopping just in front of the bold scribe. “You. Will. Not. Leave.”

He noticed the trembling of the legs and thus reached forth, wrapping his hand around a slender bicep. “Come, I will help you to my room. I would not want you to fall and hurt yourself, now would I?” He raised his free hand and threaded his slender fingers in the earthern hair, rubbing them in feigned tenderness against the scalp; and yet the grip was equally as possessive, marking Dinendir as his and his alone. 

"Please... you do not have to. Please, I am doing well. Please..." The touch was soft and he longed for more of such signs of tenderness. Although he knew what would follow most probably, he found himself giving in and nodding. "I-if you wish... you can come along..."

"Oh, excuse me." Taking a deep bow, he clutched to his books and gave the stranger a polite smile. "I doubt you do. My name is Dínendir. At your service, friend."

Taken aback by the solemn nature of her voice, Dinendir handed her back the necklace. “I apologize, though I find that piece of jewelry to be stunning. May I ask where have you got it?”

He turned suddenly, eyes narrow and sharp as his hand gripped tightly to the quill it had been utilizing. “Leave? And where exactly do you plan to elope to, Dinendir? Do you really believe that I will simply let you walk away?” He dropped the quill to the roll of parchment, wiping his hands on his robes before standing in one graceful movement. His height was like an imposing shadow as he strode across the room, stopping just in front of the bold scribe. “You. Will. Not. Leave.”

"Tired, you say? And what have you done to exhaust yourself so?" He finally moved forward, taking the soft chin in hand and turning the head from side to side, quickly surveying for any signs of soul-sickness; that was one downside of keeping the scribe so close. There was a constant fear of losing him to the fading of his fea, and thus Thranduil had taken smoother measures to prevent such a thing. "Are you sick? Do I need to accompany you?"

"N-no, my lord. My beloved lord. I only wish to rest. I t-transcribed a book lots today-... a lot of books, that is. I need a bit of rest... may I?" His voice was trembling, his hand reaching to find a solid object with which he could keep balance and not collapse, for he felt his legs turn weak.

He turned suddenly, eyes narrow and sharp as his hand gripped tightly to the quill it had been utilizing. “Leave? And where exactly do you plan to elope to, Dinendir? Do you really believe that I will simply let you walk away?” He dropped the quill to the roll of parchment, wiping his hands on his robes before standing in one graceful movement. His height was like an imposing shadow as he strode across the room, stopping just in front of the bold scribe. “You. Will. Not. Leave.”

"Only if you give me something in return," the king shot back, holding the bundle of letters over the grasping tendrils of burning flame. He gave his wrist a small flick, as if he would toss the papers in; but then he drew them back, just a bit, precariously out of reach. He turned back to the scribe, his lips curling in a venomous grin, his other hand beckoning. "What can you offer, my dear scribe, in return for these useless letters? Or perhaps they do not mean as much as I thought."

“I have obviously made a mistake in choosing you as a bed partner, though I have thoroughly enjoyed the use of your body. I do not plan to stop, or release you, or give in to your failure; yet I do not wish to see you fade into a lifeless shell. That is unacceptable. Thus…” he leaned forward slightly, brow tightening into a crease of sternness. “I will not force you tonight. Nor tomorrow. I will let you rest, though you must stay here, where I can watch you. You do not have to fear me, Dinendir. If only you learned to trust me, to be complacent and willing… things would be so much easier.”

"Might you need s-something, lord? I have... I have thought you might need help with something. Do you need your hair washed? M-massaged... I mean, do you need a massage? Or maybe boots polished. Yes... I can do that. I can help with such."

Taken aback by the solemn nature of her voice, Dinendir handed her back the necklace. “I apologize, though I find that piece of jewelry to be stunning. May I ask where have you got it?”

The subtle shade of red became more distinct on his cheeks as he heard her response. “I… I apologize for being so straightforward. I simply admired your fairness from afar and thus I decided to approach..”

Taken aback by the bluntness of the stranger, Dínendir decided it would be utmost wise to hear the blond out. Nodding, he gestured him to proceed.