Evelyn drew her bow and knocked an arrow, one last glance of reassurance to Nightshade before she pushed open the grand doors of the throne room with one thrust of her wings.
There, sitting tense and ready on his throne was him, the one who didn't believe, who mocked, belittled, and imprisoned Evelyn all those years ago...
Thranduil.
"Don't move," she yelled. The elven King took one glance at pair and reached for the sword at his hip. Before his hand got halfway there however, Evelyn let loose the arrow from her bow, watching as it flew straight and embedded itself in the King's shoulder. The elf let out a small gasp of pain, but paused his motions, eyes unreadable as he glared at Evelyn.
"I should have killed you when I had the chance," he hissed.
The King wore his crown, a thorny monstrosity decorated by the colorful leaves of the changing season. He seemed unperturbed by the arrow protruding from his shoulder and remained perfectly still, ignoring the blood seeping down his arm. The sight of him made Evelyn sick.
"Then we were both fools that day," Evelyn replied with a slight smirk. "For at that time, I would've done anything to help you win the upcoming war. I was ready to tell you everything you needed to know to fight back against the darkness encroaching on Mirkwood."
"And now?"
"Now I want to watch your kingdom burn."
"It takes much more than one Crebain to bring down a kingdom that has survived against the darkness for centuries."
"You're stalling," Evelyn spoke plainly, watching as a slight frown twitched in the King's eyes. "Don't worry, your soldiers are occupied. Do you smell that?"
Just as she asked, the scent became clear... burning. In the distance screams and sharp orders could be heard as the elves were in chaos. Never before had their stone halls been breeched by orcs. No one knew how many they were, where, or how they got in. All they knew was that orcs were running rampant and everything was burning.
"What have you done?!" Thranduil roared and reached for his sword with his other hand this time.
Once again, Evelyn fired an arrow which pierced his palm, fixing his hand to his throne just as his shoulder was. Evelyn delighted in the slight gasp of pain as the delicate tissue of the elf's hand was pierced by her obsidian arrowhead. His eyes turned fierce as he roared out an order for guards, but none came.
"Shut up," she leveled another arrow at him. "Shut up and for once in your miserable life... listen!"
"How dare you enter my halls and order me you Crebain! Do you know what-"
He was silence by another arrow which pinned his left calf to his throne. The King gritted his teeth through the pain, but he remained silent.
"See," Evelyn took a few steps closer, followed behind by Nightshade who was guarding her back in case any guards did happen to enter the hall. "This is your problem... you just don't know how to listen. You didn't when I was here last time, and you still refuse to now. You're as arrogant as your father-"
"Silence-"
Another arrow pierced his other leg, causing the King to clamp his mouth shut.
"As I was saying... you're as arrogant as your father. For wasn't it King Oropher who was stupid and so pig-headed that he refused to obey the order of the High King and thus... sent his troops into battle early, slaughtering so may of his own subjects unnecessarily? Now, you do the same thing. You could have listened to me when I was a wide-eyed child. You could've had the keys to victory handed to you. But, instead you let your pride dictate your ruling and thus you condemned you own people."
Evelyn paused her diatribe for a moment to admire the view. The elven King had all four of his limbs restrained via her arrows embedded deeply into the monstrosity that he called a throne. His robes that day were a deep amber and despite the fresh wounds, his expression was nothing but cold fury. He was like a pinned butterfly, beautiful and trapped. As expected Thranduil looked as elegant and perfect as he did that day when Evelyn was first thrown at the foot of his massive throne, not a single line on his face had changed for such is the way of the elves... like Dorian Gray they remain fair and youthful no matter their sins.
Such was not the case for Evelyn. She was scarred heavily from her ankles and wrists which bore the old marks of manacles to the twisted line of flesh that once boiled in the pain of spider's venom. She was marked in every way by her time with the elves, marks that would never fade from her body.
She hated that the King was unmarked.
"You know," Evelyn continued to speak. "I wanted to kill you. For so long there was nothing that I wanted more than to kill you and watch your corpse rot."
"You're taking an exceedingly long time to-"
Another arrow, this time to his gut and Evelyn smiled in satisfaction as she finally drew a real reaction- a choked of scream as her weapon found its target.
"I could easily do it now," she continued as if he hadn't spoke. "But then I remembered the days during my captivity when I wanted nothing more than death and you refused to grant me even that... going as far as forcing food down my throat to keep me alive in hell. Now... I think I'll return the favor."
Evelyn reached into the little pouch tied to her waist and pulled forth two items: an oil soaked rag, and a pice of flint. She placed her bow on the ground and withdrew a knife, walking slowly up the steps to Thranduil's throne. The elf watched her with fierce focus as she drew closer. When she was close enough to touch him, Evelyn could swear her heart would beat out of her chest. She forced the tremble out of her hand as she wretched the crown from his head and replaced it with the rag still dripping with oil. She then took a step back and scanned her eyes across the scene, desperately trying to commit it to memory.
Perhaps, if she could remember this image... then the image of his cold and calculating glare as he sent her to the dungeons would fade from her nightmares. She was sick of seeing his face whenever she closed her eyes for too long. She wanted to remember this version of him... cowed and weak, sitting on the precipice of destruction.
"I've heard..." she drawled as she wrapped a small piece of specially soaked cloth around her arrowhead. "That you once faced the great serpents of the north in battle... that you fought in dragon flame." With those words she used the flint to light the cloth, stringing the burning arrow to her bow. "The scars of dragon fire never truly fade from an elf... do they still pain you?"
"Take care with what you do next, Crebain... for you may soon find yourself regretting your action."
"I have many regrets... this is not one of them."
With that, she let the arrow fly and watched at the elven King flinched when it embedded itself two inches away from his flowing hair. The flames began to eat away at the wood throne, smoldering and slowly lighting the wood afire.
Evelyn took one last, long look at the King pinned by her arrows to his own throne, wearing a crown of cloth, and with a deadly flame creeping closer and closer to his doom. She committed the sight to memory before turning her back on the King and walking out, calling over her shoulder as she went.
"I'll send you son to fetch you. Depending on how quick he is... maybe he'll arrive before you've been completely burned. I suppose you'll just have to wait and see."
Evelyn was careful to close the door behind her, sliding a metal spear between the two doorknobs in order to seal the throne room shut. With a nod of satisfaction in seeing that her first two victims had fled, she turned to Nightshade.
"It's time to move."
With a nod from the wolf the pair took off, sprinting through the flaming halls that were now being filled with smoke. They ignored any elves or orcs that they saw for they had but one goal in mind... the very thing that they came for.
Upon reaching the fresh air outside, the pair slit up, Evelyn taking to the sky and Nightshade springing through the underbrush. If everything had gone to plan, then a small group of orcs bearing smoking torches would have created the illusion of orcs burning down the trees drawn the attention of the party guarding Gollum to lead them on a merry chase away from the Halls. Then, by the time the elves would be able to overtake and kill the small group, they would have reached the ambush sight where more orcs could occupy them.
If the orcs were smart enough to follow Evelyn's careful planning, then she should be arriving at the sight of a rather fierce battle quite soon.
Seeing the clearing of the ambush sight in the distance, Evelyn swooped down and landed in a rather well hidden tree a little ways off from the battle where she could watch. The fighting was indeed fierce for while the elves were far more skilled than the orcs, the orcs had numbers, surprise, and their surroundings to their advantage.
Scanning her eyes quickly over the scene, Evelyn as able to identify the blond head of Legolas who stood at the base of a tree, firing off arrows as the creature Gollum remained in the branches above him. Evelyn pulled the crown that she had yanked off the King's head and nocked an arrow to her bow, drawing it back and leveling it carefully.
Even with the heavy crown hanging from it, the arrow flew true and embedded itself in the tree right above the elf's head.
Legolas stared at the familiar crown hanging over his head. His eyes widened in shock as he swung his head wildly, attempting to find where it came from. Evelyn obligingly stepped forward, out of the shade of the tree's leaves.
"You!" He gasped. Several of the elves in his party noticed the interaction and gazed at the crown in shock as well.
"I told you that you would pay for you actions. More specifically... your father."
"How did you-" he reached for an arrow, but found his quiver already empty.
"I suggest you hurry home... your father has found himself a bit... trapped."
"Fall back! To the King," Legolas cried, his elves immediately obeying, running back towards the Halls, killing only the orcs that gave chase.
Gollum took his chance and dropped from the tree, sprinting into the undergrowth in the opposite direction of the elves. For a moment, Legolas looked torn, head pivoting between the direction where Gollum disappeared and the Halls of his father. His hands twitched over the handles of his twin blades, Evelyn could feel his indecision.
"I suggest you move quickly or else your father will once again be well acquainted with fire."
Those words were all the encouragement Legolas needed to ignore Gollum and take off through the trees, moving like a minnow through a sleek stream as he darted towards the Halls of King Thranduil. A single nod from Evelyn was all the encouragement that the orcs needed to continue to give chase.
They would be slaughtered quickly for the the elven warriors chasing the first distraction party would probably be arriving at the Halls at the same time as them, but Evelyn couldn't be bothered to care. The orcs were a tool and nothing more.
Now, there was only one step left for her plan... the last piece that she needed before she could leave and never step foot in Mirkwood again. Leaning her head back, she released a series of short howls, pausing and closing her eyes as she listened. Then, the same series was repeated back to her and she dropped to the ground, sprinting in that direction. She followed the sounds of the howls until she came upon the scene of Nightshade growling fiercely at a small hollow at the base of a tree.
When she neared, she found Gollum hunched over at the base, spitting curses back at the wolf. Without any ceremony, Evelyn stepped forward and scooped the creature into a sack which she quickly tied off. With her prize in hand, the elves distracted, and Thranduil finally brought down, Evelyn finally smiled in triumph.
She turned to Nightshade who seemed to be smiling as well.
They did it.
The rest of their journey was relatively uneventful. The pair traveled nonstop until they reached Dol Guldur where they deposited the still squirming and cursing sack at the foot of one of the Nazgul. Evelyn fixed the wraith with a fierce glare, ignoring the utter wrongness that she could feel exhuming from the creature of darkness.
"Tell your master that I have fulfilled my end of our bargain. I never want to hear from him again."
Without waiting for a response, Evelyn and Nightshade turned, leaving the dark fortress and heading for the edge of the woods. They were finally done with Mirkwood. Evelyn fulfilled her bargain and got her revenge.
She was done with the elves.
Glorfindel opened his eyes and found himself in a familiar place- his gardens in Gondolin. Normally he would be very confused considering that he was there when Godoling fell, he watched the lilacs and roses of his garden burst into flames as a Balrog tore through them.
But, for some bizarre reason, he wasn't at all concerned with this strange turn of events. Instead... he felt completely at ease. The climbing trellises of morning glory formed a beautiful arch over his head as sunlight filtered down to warm his skin. Birds were singing as they flitted from branch to branch, stealing seeds from the massive sunflowers that were almost as high as the stone walls. Gorfindel found his hand drawn to caress the petals of a beautiful chrysanthemum blossom.
His feet began to pull him in the direction of his fountains and he followed obligingly. When he got there he sat down upon the edge and traced his fingers through the cool water, relishing the peace and serenity of the place. In truth, he hadn't felt so peaceful in what seemed like centuries.
"A fitting place, I thought," a voice spoke and Glorifndel looked up in surprise to see a tall, broad soldered elf with star-white hair.
"My Lord Irmo," he dropped to his knees and bowed.
"None of that now child," he gently admonished. "Come, walk with me."
Glorfindel stood and followed the Valar of Dreams as they walked through the all too familiar gardens. He waited respectful for the Valar to initiate the conversation.
"I remember," his voice was soft, but low and musical in the way that one would imagine the voice of a dream to be. "When you were but an elfling how you loved my gardens in Valinor. You would sprint through the place, kicking up dirt but never hurting the flowers which grew there."
"You have always been most generous in sharing their beauty," Glorfindel smiled gently. "This is a dream... isn't it?"
"They call me Lorien for a reason," the Valar smiled gently. "But yes, sadly this is a place that now lives only in dreams."
"I miss it," Glorfindel whispered.
"I know... but you can always visit it in your dreams."
"I suppose so..." Glorfindel hesitated, thinking over how to properly phrase his next statement. "Is there is reason why you've brought me here?"
Lord Irmo smiled gently- it was a small, sad smile. He allowed his hand to caress the bark of a tree that they passed before he turned to Glorfindel and spoke.
"I am afraid that the news I have is not good... the child who rescued you-"
"Elenya! Was she sent by you? Why?"
"Ah, yes, the name you've made for her. She was sent by the Aratar, for what purpose I cannot reveal. But," Irmo paused his speech for a moment. "She is on a terrible path now. The Child has lost hope and fallen into despair. She dances on the edge of darkness and makes unwise alliances."
"What must I do?"
"You must hold the hope that she has lost. Her fate is uncertain, it lies clouded from even us... but her impact will be catastrophic. Whether that is a catastrophic good or evil shall all depend upon her path. She needs hope."
"Hope?"
Irmo paused and turned to face Glorfindel, placing a hand on his shoulder. He looked deeply into the elf's eyes and Glorfindel felt like his soul was being searched and rifled through... it was a strange but not altogether unpleasant feeling.
"You are a beacon of light and hope in Middle Earth. You must shine that hope upon your Elenya. She is falling into darkness, but so long as you hold up the light of hope, she shall not fall entirely into darkness. You must show her that there is still light in the world."
"I swear that I shall do all I can," Glorfindel once more dropped to his knees, palm across his heart as he bowed his forehead to the ground at Lord Irmo's feet.
"I know you will," the Master of Dreams crouched down before the elf, lifting his head gently with a finger. He smiled and placed two fingers against Glorfindel's forehead. "Sleep now, wander through you home from ages past and then awaken with new hope in your heart."
Glorfindel felt his eyes closing and fell into a deep and restful sleep, where he walked through his ancient home in Valinor. For the first time in what seemed like ages, his sleep was unhindered by nightmares of fire and gaping chasms.