Ani walked the paths skirting the small Irish village on a sunny summer's day. The kind which tinged the air with the smell of grasses and dew, and everything in sight was a feast for weary eyes. She'd already walked seven miles, from where her bicycle was parked at the next outpost of civilization, distantly to the east. But she had not come on account of the rustic scenery; she'd targeted this sleepy enclave of humanity on account of the woods. Specifically, remote woods, about which compelling local superstition guaranteed that no one would search her out, or ever find her once she was gone. The ravens followed her on her walk, as always, telling the pattern of her life. Her time on earth had not been extraordinary, unless it was for her illness and this one stamp of something mystical. Since she could hear or remember, she'd known the folklore Poem of the Ravens. For her, it was real. They were ever around, ever above, ever outside her windows. Their prophecy could be straight up truthful or they could be tricksters...like the sun and the stars, they allowed her to mark the flow of her days, with vague inklings of what each one might hold. That one, and one only, often followed spoke of the misfortunes of her existence.
Last night had been her best scouting effort. At the pub, she'd bought rounds of drinks for the locals, presenting herself as a charmed tourist who sincerely wanted to hear tales and folklore. She pretended to be suitably appreciative and alarmed, by the nonsense tales of a King in the woods, and the fate of those who went in never to return. She nursed her drinks carefully, and acted the part. Her appreciation at the end of the evening was genuine, though. They'd confirmed for her that at last, the woods of Lasgalen would to suit her purpose. Having battled debilitating depression for all of her life, and having nothing in particular by which to justify the agony of continuing to fight, she determined that her misery would finally end. On her terms. Of course, she had to rebuff a few of the local men hitting on her, it was a given. Though she downplayed it in every way possible, she was a stunning beauty. Taller than average for a woman, with a lovely figure, long red hair and green eyes, she caught many an eye. And as always, she looked straight ahead, uninterested.
Her choice did not sadden her, because the long years of torment had washed away anything resembling self pity. If she had taken a dime for how many times she'd been told how much she had to live for, by the transient yet well-meaning people in her life, she would have had this holiday paid for. None of it mattered to her, and none of it had ever really mattered to anyone else, either. Which was a tragedy. She was not only physically exquisite; intelligence, articulate self-expression and a kindness of spirit were also hers. But through all of her life, no one remained long enough to see those things. Grief and instability of mood consumed her on a daily basis, driving any would-be friends far away.
Finally, she caught sight of the edge of the woods. There were many birch, at the edge. She carefully looked all around, before leaving all paths and making a winding trail in the lower grasses, toward the border of the forest. She wanted no sign of her passage, no indication that anyone had ever been through here. Triumphant, she lingered at the edge of the trees to see her success, then turned to swiftly run well out of sight. At last, it was in her grasp. And she had time. The woods did have a feel of watchfulness, her sensitive perceptions told her. They were silent, ancient and to her mind, altogether inviting. Many more ravens joined the one; she now counted seven. It was fitting enough; the final journey. Walking deeper and deeper in, she listened carefully for any sound of water. While she had brought enough to suffice, finding a creek or pool would help her accomplish the task. What she discovered after about three hours' walking was nothing she could have guessed at. She entered a large clearing with a beautiful pool. Mosses covered the large stones, and dappled sunlight streamed through the thinner canopy. But inexplicably odd were the dozens of climbing roses that rambled in this place. They were all blooming, perfuming the air. "I guess it doesn't get more obvious than this," she said. She liked to talk to herself aloud, and as she was most of her own company, it was a long standing habit. There would be a little time to enjoy her surroundings, while she completed the first stage. A number of strong opioid painkillers were in her pack. They would take some of the edge off of opening her wrists, and drastically reduce her respiratory drive as she slipped away. There was no point in suffering more than need be. Opening her pack, she bit into a piece of fruit that she'd brought, and with her hands buried deep in her pack, procured a number of the tablets. With a practiced hand, she drank them down with the water she carried, as she ate. This was seven times a normal dosage, but she did not trust the tablets alone to do the job. Having used these drugs all her life for terrible headaches, she was fairly tolerant of their effects. And now, she could afford to drink until she was no longer thirsty, thanks to the pool.
The oddest thing she'd carried in here was a bucket. If she were to have been asked along the way, she would have said it was for picking berries. But its real purpose was to have water in which to immerse her wrists. For a moment she considered going into the pool to complete her task, but it would be wrong. This was a beautiful place, and the water did not deserve to be fouled with a rotting corpse. An eighth raven now joined the others milling in the branches overhead. "That is very thoughtful of you," she told the birds, smiling. Visiting the pool to fill her bucket, the absolutely clear water almost seemed to glow, with verdant color reflected above and below. A suitable place away from the pool had a rock against which she planned to sit, and she set the bucket down here. Lastly, she used her exquisitely sharp knife to cut three of the roses. Surely this place would not begrudge her a last emblem of beauty. Two Ravens left. Six. "Should I not have?" she asked them. To be thought a thief, even by them, was not her intention. But their meanings were not always easy to reconcile, and she'd learned long ago to take them lightly on most occasions. It took only a moment to work the three stems into the plaits of the long braid of her hair. Seating herself finally against the rock, she enjoyed smelling the roses and touching the soft petals as she waited. Now two more ravens returned, to join their companions on the nearby tree branch. She chuckled. "What will you do with yourselves, after today?" Some of them croaked back in reply, shuffling and rearranging themselves.
King Thranduil had known, the moment she entered his domain. For the last hour, he had tracked her. They never really seemed to learn. His palace was inescapable, and his dungeons secure. The cooperative ones he allowed to serve him, and the uncooperative ones tended to perish in a matter of months, locked in their cells. He did not kill them, but they wasted away nevertheless. Why this was the case had never concerned him; they were trespassers that deserved no better. It amused him, to observe intruders at a distance, capturing them after he frightened them half to death at the moment he revealed himself. He had to admit, though, that this one seemed different. For an Edain, she was remarkably beautiful. And she had brought ravens with her...he had never seen this before. They were far from his favorite birds; they still carried the memories of years of conflict with the Dwarves, for him. He watched with curiosity as she filled the bucket and cut his roses...which made him frown. He saw it as a serious transgression against the wholeness of this, his special sanctuary. He realized she spoke to the birds, referencing something he did not understand, and was now thoroughly intrigued. She seated herself with her back to him, and did not seem to be doing much of anything. He was patient, and could wait. He hoped, on some level, that this one would cooperate. There was something about her, and it had been long since one of them came that might offer him some companionship in their captivity.
After about fifteen minutes, she felt the drugs pulling at her strongly. It was precisely the correct time. Her medical skills were well developed, and she decisively and deeply opened each of her wrists with no sound nor grimace, making sure to sever the radial arteries on each cut. Left arm first, then quickly the right, keeping the spurting blood elegantly over the bucket. Lowering both of her forearms into the water, she watched it begin, dispassionately. From time to time she rubbed her arms together, to ensure that the incisions could not clot. Some minutes later, she could feel herself slipping away in earnest. The birds began a raucous cry, and then went utterly silent. She watched as two flew away. One last time, she spoke to them."You are mistaken, there is nothing left to steal."
Smiling, her dimming eyes took in the lovely clearing. "I want to stay here always, in these beautiful woods." Her eyes closed.