The fall of Mirkwood

The mountain lodging

Almost at the summit of the Misty Mountains, Legolas struggles up the slope, Tauriel keeping him upright. The air is cold and the water that litters the rock is freezing, making their path unstable and unreliable.

Nevertheless, the elves plough on to the peak of the mountain range, Middle Earth at their feet. Tauriel glances around, looking for Rivendell and she spots in far in the distance, sunny and warm; quite the opposite to the weather that they currently shiver in.

"How long until we reach it?" Legolas says, his teeth gritted. Tauriel stares off at the distant beauty and hums to herself.

"It would have taken us less that four days but now, six; minimum," Tauriel says, holding Legolas in a soft but strong manor.

Legolas shakes his head hard, gulping, "No, no. If my Father has sent guards after us then surely they will catch us by this time. We need to go, now."

"The sun is setting, we shall surely be in darkness within the hour. Unless you want to stoop on an icey, or orc infested, slope for a night, we must continue. We must get to the foot of the mountain," Tauriel says, already walking forward.

Legolas, helpless, winces and shuffles along at minimal speed. With one swift movement, Tauriel lifts Legolas gracefully onto her back. She walks on as if there is no one upon there.

Back in the wide halls of the Mirkwood fortress, Thranduil sits upon his carved throne. He bears a distant glare as he sits alone. Nothing distracts him from his daze until a small, "Ada?" is heard from the bottom of the steps.

Fareth sits there, in a bundle of dirtied white robes, holding a vile of a swirling blue liquid. "This is to help clear your mind, help you think straight,"

"I need not to think straight but to think better, have you anything for that, child?" Thranduil asks, his glance delicate across Fareth's face.

She sighs, rising, "I'm afraid not. I insist you drink even a drop of this, the alchemist made it especially for you."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" Thranduil asks, leaning forward slightly.

"I am your Daughter, am I not? We should trust family, should we not?" Fareth says boldly but gently, "Ada, I insist. You look ill, you need something to bring some colour into your cheeks,"

Thranduil complies, raising from his throne but Fareth declines the action. "No! I shall come to you," she says quickly.

The King returns to his throne as the Princess advances up the stairs, her long robes billowing gracefully behind her. As she stood before her Father, she removed the cork from the vile, the liquid emitting a swirling fume.

Thranduil delicate fingers wrap around it and he almost immediately raises it to his lips, his daze being fully forfilled as the fluid danced down his throat. His eyelids fluttered as the potion took its toll.

Before the remaining liquid could fall to the floor, Fareth takes the vile from Thranduil's relaxing hands. She parts a layer of her robes, revealing a belt of viles and she slots it back in, after replacing the cork.

She turns swiftly, striding down the stairs and away from her sleeping Father.

As the peculiar events unfold in Mirkwood, the sun is setting over the Misty Mountains. With Legolas mounted on his companion's back, they had made little progress but progress none the less.

Tauriel stopped, lowering Legolas off her back and looked around. In the distance she could hear the gentle neigh of horses below them.

"Do you hear that?" she asks, holding Legolas as his leg tires again. He nods in response, the noises distracting his away from the pain of his leg.