Mirkwood: The Forest of Fear

Prologue: Where the Shadows Lie

"It's a place where the strongest and most cunning rule... where the cost of survival is paid for by others... and everyone feels alone." - Gotham

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Leaves rustled in the breeze, changing patterns of the Sun's beams on the ground as they pierced the canopy. Birds twittered happily as they streaked across the blue sky, returning to their nests and young with food. Below, majestic deer grazed on vibrant green shoots. White spotted fawns frolicked after their parents on shaky legs. Red and grey squirrels chased each other into the trees, their cheeks bulging with nuts. The Queen of Greenwood observed it all.

Faenmîr did not expect to be queen. She was a lowly Silvan of the Elven Guard. She did nothing for King Thranduil to notice her except her duty, protecting her home under his command. As he was king, there was no one to tell them no when their love blossomed like the spring. She fell for those eyes as blue and frozen as ice that would melt only for her. She loved and admired his devotion to his people and their prosperity. It's what made him a great leader. A great king.

A beautiful blue butterfly flitted softly onto the windowsill, catching Faenmîr's eye. Thranduil loved her eyes as vibrant blue as that butterfly and her ross-brown hair falling like a waterfall down her back. He declared his love for her willingness to sacrifice and her strong call of duty to protect her people. "The people will love their warrior queen," he told her.

The butterfly soared into the sky and Faenmîr shook her head, bringing her mind from the wide world back to her little writing desk in the palace library. She tapped the dry quill against the blank paper, biting her lip as she pondered on what to write. Although she was a warrior, the duties of a queen also called for politics. This was to be a letter addressed to Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn of Lothlorien.

She sensed him approaching with her Elven warrior instincts long before feeling his embrace and his kiss on her cheek. Faenmîr smiled as she melted into his touch.

  "Gin melin," he whispered into her ear.

She reached up and gently turned his jaw so she could kiss him passionately. These were the moments Faenmîr treasured: where she could forget that they were king and queen and acknowledge that they were bound together in love as husband and wife.

All too soon, the moment was interrupted by an urgent banging on the library door. The two Elves parted and Thranduil smiled apologetically before crossing the room to open the door. It was a young ellon named Feren, and by the expression on his face and his hushed words to the Elvenking, Faenmîr gripped the back of her chair a bit harder.

When the message was complete, Thranduil nodded and made to follow Feren before pausing and glancing back at her. For the anxiety on her face, Thranduil sent Faenmîr the warm smile he reserved only for her, then disappeared behind the door.

A beat of loneliness, then a cold wind cut through the air like a knife from the window, sending a shiver down Faenmîr's spine. She grabbed the sword King Thranduil had specially made for her and strapped it around her waist. The snugness of the belt and the weight of the weapon reassured her. Duty called her as she abandoned the empty parchment on the writing desk.

In the palace halls, a frantic Elf glanced around until he spotted the queen and rushed to her. He was breathless, hands braced against his knees as he gasped for air. His face was pale with fear. Faenmîr had not witnessed one of her blessed kin so spent and so afraid since the War of the Last Alliance at the end of Elvenking Oropher's reign.

  "Le Belaith," the guard gasped, "I must escort you to safety."

  "Why? What is happening."