༺┊#TʜʀᴀɴᴅᴜɪʟOST┊··Cᴀʀɴɪᴠᴀʟ ᴏғ Rᴜsᴛ··┊Pᴏᴇᴛs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ Fᴀʟʟ┊༻ youtube.com/watch?v=TyX0q0…

Scowls at the appearance of a certain Woodland King.

The Cold King turns, regarding the stranger within his halls with a detached sort of interest. He raised a frost tipped brow at Thelion. "If your voice should be as loud as your scowl, I dare say every Orc will be drawn to this place, Northman."

"....Subtle..."

#SemiFakeRP: I'll have you know, 𝑇𝐻𝑂𝑅𝐼𝑁 𝑂𝐴𝐾𝐸𝑁𝑆𝐻𝐼𝐸𝐿𝐷...

| ℱʀᴇʏᴀ | — find sanctuary upon the celestial vision of his mate. A stoic endearment is all anyone would ever see, save for she —

| ℱʀᴇʏᴀ | — whose right and passage allowed her to see the gentler angle of his brow, the softness of his lips from the —

| ℱʀᴇʏᴀ | — downward frown, and the devoted vows of which he so armed himself and declared himself hers. Not until the cool —

| ℱʀᴇʏᴀ | — caress of her flesh to his, did he relinquish the visual vows and close his eyes to imprint upon so familiar a —

| ℱʀᴇʏᴀ | — touch. The scent of frozen spring radiating from her flesh. With the slight canting of his head, rivers of —

| ℱʀᴇʏᴀ | — silver-white tresses glide over one of his broad shoulders. With a near mute turn, the King brings those once —

| ℱʀᴇʏᴀ | — frowning lips to caress the face of her palms, “Orthach 'uren ir tirach enni [You lift up my heart when you look —

| ℱʀᴇʏᴀ | — at me]…” She whispered, filling his mind with the melodies of her love. A tremor to his brow, and a faint furrow —

| ℱʀᴇʏᴀ | — is followed by her words. When those frosted, ashy-black lashes drift open to gaze upon her through winter-bright —

| ℱʀᴇʏᴀ | — eyes, the reining Patriarch and King could have been brought to his knees with one word from her. “Amin ullúme s —

| ℱʀᴇʏᴀ | — thír deno’ lle…” [I will always look upon you…] He murmured under his breath, yet clear enough that each and every —

| ℱʀᴇʏᴀ | — syllable was heard. “Sevig i veleth nîn…” [You have my love.]