Mirkwood, used to be full and booming with life. Light shone through the canopy and life was in abundance. But sickness has fallen on the Greenwood. No longer is the air light. Those living underneath the sick foliage travel with caution. For the past nine decades, the sickness had been spreading and becoming darker. Spiders began to nest within the Greenwood. They continue to help this darkness poison the life around it. The air is thick. The trees are no longer speaking like they once had. King Thranduil, Elevenking of the once Great Greenwood, cannot contend alone with this madness. For every nest they take out, two more take its place. The sickness lies heavily on the minds of the elves. For they are connected to the life around them. No one dares stay outside of Thranduil's great hall, save for one. One alone, wanders the vast forest, a mysterious protector of the wood. They say where ever the guardian walks, the sickness recedes. That there is a small portion of the wood, that is untouched by disease. But not many have even seen this guardian. Only small glances of a figure in the distance, before it disappears. The few who know the face of it, remember to leave it be. For people fear the unknown. In the past thousand years, only one has broken the distance between the guardian. Just one, who has been a friend to the last protector of the Greenwood. But the darkness spreads. Evil grows, and a small Hobbit, carries the fate of all.

Silence. She dreaded the silence. Beneath the diseased trees, a lone woman glided over the forest floor. Over her shoulder, three small rabbits hung. She had struggled a bit while on the hunt today. Those nasty spiders always made a mess of things. But she managed. Slipping deeper and deeper into the wood, she finally came to her destination. A large tree that stood much taller than the rest. Her home was here. She slipped underneath the large roots, and after a while of weaving through underground tunnels, a light was seen ahead. She moved a bit faster as she finally reached her home. A large clearing opened up in front of her. The grass was greener, the air was lighter, and animals scurried around the forest floor. This clean space, which lacked a sickness, spread only a few leagues around. This area was her sanctuary. She fought the darkness daily to keep what was left of the Greenwood. A small faun ambled up to her. The woman smiled and laid a delicate hand on its head. The faun dipped its head and then skipped away. Suddenly, everything stopped. The animals became on edge. Someone else was in their sanctuary. The woman put down her catch and drew an arrow and fit it against her bow. She stalked through the trees, all of her senses on high alert. A twig snapped to her left, and she spun around drawing the bow tight. The sight before her surprised her enough to almost lose the arrow. She lowered her bow.

"Gandalf?" Her soft voice asked. At her question, a wizened old man stepped out of the trees. He dressed in a grey robe and cloak. Upon his head sat a crooked grey hat. In his right hand, he gripped a gnarled staff and at his belt rested a sword. His wrinkled face split into a grin.

"Is this how you treat all of your guests, Merethyl?" Came the reply. She immediately sheathed her bow and leaped at the wizard.

"I have missed you, Olorin." She said as he wrapped his arms around the lithe woman. He chuckled at her actions. For one so old, she could be quite lively. He held her out at arm's length.

"Let me take a look at you, for it has been years." She pouted.

"Almost 60 years, I believe." She said turning her nose up at him. Gandalf laughed, and she turned back toward him with a grin. She looked exactly the same, which was to be expected. Her brown wavy hair had gotten longer, her body was much leaner, but her amber eyes still held a light and her long pointed ears still twitched when amused.

"Beautiful as ever." He smiled. She laughed and shrugged him off.

"Come, Olorin. I will make tea." Merethyl led him deeper into her sanctuary until they came upon a small hut. She opened the door and beckoned him inside. The interior was simple but cozy. Only a few chairs and a small table framed the fire pit. She stoaked the fire and placed a kettle of water on to heat it. Gandalf sat at one of the two chairs, and they waited in silence until the pot began to scream. Merethyl quickly prepared the tea and held a steaming glass out to Olorin. He took it and sipped it carefully. He sighed in content and leaned back in his chair.

"Merethyl, you have always made a wonderful cup of tea." She chuckled.

"Well, as much as you love my tea, it isn't good enough to risk coming into Mirkwood. Especially here, which is off the path." She frowned and stared at her tea. Olorin sighed.

"You are correct. There is a darkness brewing. As I am sure, you are aware." Merethyl's eyes darkened.

"Yes. The vile creatures become more and more bold every day. I loathe spiders." She ground out, her fists clenched. Olorin put his hand on hers, and she relaxed a bit. His face darkened.

"The One Ring has been found." Merethyl recoiled from him as if burned. Her face held fear. "Right now it is I the hands of a young hobbit by the name of Frodo Baggins." Merethyl drank deeply from her cup before gingerly setting it down.

"What would you have me do, Olorin?" She asked warily.

"A council is meeting in Rivendell to discuss its fate. I would like you to attend." He told her. She stiffened and rose from her chair. She began pacing.

"Olorin, I have not left these woods in 60 years. And before that, it was 900 years. I do not like the outside world. They are close-minded, and they are quick to judge." Her eyes were angry.

"I know. You know I would not ask you to do this unless it was necessary." Merethyl sighed and nodded.

"I will begin packing." Olorin rose.

"It is in two months time. I suggest you leave as soon as possible." She nodded once more then moved to a chest and began pulling out her weapons, travel gear and armor. "Oh and Merethyl." She looked up at him. "Wear something appropriate." He suggested eyeing her limited apparel. Her race wasn't known for modesty. She frowned but agreed.

"Be safe, Olorin." She whispered. And then he was gone. Merethyl had work to do. She decided to leave at dawn tomorrow morning. It would be the farthest she has traveled in almost 1000 years. She hoped for the best.