Rating: G – maybe PG
Disclaimer: Tolkien’s creation – Kortirion’s imagination.
Thorongil walked among fallen Corsairs, bloody knife ready to deliver the grace-blow. Three white-fletched arrows quivered as an armoured chest laboured to breathe. He knelt, pulling aside the painted battle-mask.
A grand-dame stared back at him.
"My Captain… but not yet a king!"
She grimaced, beckoning him closer, reaching to tangle engored fingers in his hair.
"Know you cursed by three, my Captain. As I die so shall your love!"
She hissed with pain.
"Release me, Captain..." blood clogged her throat, "...give the King’s Kiss..."
Much, much later, he remembered, weeping as her seer’s curse befell them.