The fall of Mirkwood

Help at hand

Fareth sits, her back to the stone cold bars of her father's cell, waiting for the occupant to awaken. It seems like hours went by, the only indication of time passing was the slow rising light that cascaded down a staircase in the close distance.

A faint grunt snaps Fareth out of her blank waiting, she turns around to clutch the bars. She watches as Thranduil unwraps from his sleeping ball, his body heat the only source of warmth.

"Father?" Fareth asks. Unbeknown that his daughter was in his presence, Thranduil, shocked, clambered quickly away from the sudden noise. His eyes, only used to the dark, squint towards the silhouette.

With a sore and parched throat, "Why have you done this to me?" Thranduil says, collapsing under his shaking arms from the lack of strength, both mentally and physically.

"Without this, Legolas will never return. It's for your well being. He is your son and heir. Who else will the kingdom go to after your heart breaks from guilt?"

The most ungodly scream ripped from the former King's throat, his already breaking nails scraping across the solid stone. His burning eyes looked straight into his daughter's, leaping with all his strength towards the exit.

Before his angered hands could claw at the Queen's face, she sprung away. With heavy breaths she scampered back as her Father stopped, one hand reached out towards her throat, "You can't do this," he pants heavily.

Her back pressed to a ragged wall, she staggers up, "I can," she smooths out her dirtied dress, "Maybe you should focus your consideration on your family, not your reputation and wealth."

"This kingdom belongs to me, I am the King," Thranduil coughs out, his voice intensely rough and desperate.

Fareth shakes her head, a smug look creeping on her lips, "Not any longer, not until I let you be. Everyone is simply in my command, and you shall watch.

Thranduil does nothing but stare up helplessly at his poor daughter, clinging onto stone cold bars. After a moment's silence, he sadly whispers, "Why? Why do you wish to rule the kingdom? Why must you throw me off my throne and into a dark cell? Why must you protect your brother so dearly so?"

The young leader is taken aback by her father's questions, pressing against the wall behind her for mere support, "You are not fit to sit on that throne: you are overwhelmed by sickness, the power is too great for you."

"Do you want your brother with you?" Thranduil softly asks, relaxing slightly. Fareth nods, staring gently into the eyes of her pained father. He nods back, sitting back and shrinking slightly into the shadows, "I will do everything in my power-"

"Power!" Fareth screeches, anger surging through her. She leaps forward, reaching wildly for the collar of her father's gown, "You no longer have any power."

Fareth turns lets go, turning her back and striding away. This action is met with a rattle of the grate and a stifled yell of, "They'll know what you've done soon enough, don't you dare think you can rule this kingdom whilst I rot down here!"

The young Queen scoffs, not bothering to turn and see her father's face again. She wanted her brother back and she did not care how much that would take.

"If they find out, they'll be quick to forget. Don't underestimate me, father, or you'll wish you didn't," Fareth calls, approaching a staircase that leads to upper levels.

Thranduil stands in a hurry, once again rattling at the mounted doors of his dungeon, "Return to me! Do you hear me? Come back," He yells, his voice cracking, fading away.

There is no response, no call back and no returning, light tap of footsteps sprawled against the exit to his confinement, he swallows his anger. He was loathing the daughter he once loved.