Author's Note:

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Please heed the T warning. If it does not suit you, kindly press the back button.

Flames not appreciated. Constructive criticism is welcome.

Enjoy!

~S~

Prologue:

Greenwood the Great,

After the Great Plague ended,

Third Age, Year 1642

His breathing came in short, ragged gasps. He was hurt, bruised and alone on unfamiliar grounds. It was ironic, considering this was his forest.

He could not hear any birds singing. He did not even any forest animals for a long time. It must have been a few hours since he first began to run. His pursuers were far behind, but Thranduil hoped he had shaken them off.

The quiet of the forest did not mean the forest was not deadly.

One of the trees beside Thranduil suddenly unravelled itself, its branches fanning out dangerously. Thranduil did not have the time to react; it slammed its branches against him, sending the king violently backwards.

Thranduil's back slammed hard against another tree. He slid down against it to the ground. Thankfully the tree behind was him wasn't so responsive as to harm him. That tree was not so sick yet.

Blood trickled from his lips. The king wiped it and stared the dark red liquid on his fingertips. He had bit the inside of his cheek. He could taste the metallic tang of his blood filling his mouth. He leaned back on the tree behind him, waiting for a death blow but none came.

~You remember me.~ He murmured to the tree he had collided into. The tree remained silent, then rustled its leaves a bit. Yes, the tree remembered him. But the sickness had gone too deep. It will not help him, or protect him. Thranduil knew he had to run again soon, but for the moment he was glad for the respite.

He studied the cuts over his body. His armour had a rent in it as if the metal was just cloth. His cloak was ripped and there was a gash from his face that barely missed his eye and went to the jawline. Is company was dead, so was his horse and his hounds and he was too far from the Halls. He could die before he got there, he thought grimly.

He heard a loud howl. Thranduil looked up sharply. The trees rustled in anticipation. He looked around him, feeling the hostility press on him like a large stone on his chest. It was difficult to breathe here. The howls came closer. He stared in the direction it was coming from before turning on his heel and running through the trees. None of them moved against him. That did not mean they knew him and did not want to harm him. It meant they wanted to prolong his suffering. They wanted to see him dance like a clever Dwarven children's toy before the final blow came.

He was the king of a hostile forest.

~S~

Author's Note:

-It is said that the Great Plague was brought on by Sauron, for it deepened the sickness lying on the forest of Mirkwood.

-The Great Plague had started in the Year 1635 of the Third Age.

-It is not clear when the Plague ended, so I gave it almost the same years as it took for the Black Death to end.

-Thranduil by this time is not a new king, but it is still an unexpected situation. Hence it is a curiosity how he managed to handle it.

-Unfamiliar grounds- since this was a new terrain in the sense that the trees were behaving strangely.

-The trees- In Mirkwood, some trees were considered 'friends' of the Elves in the Hobbit while others were not. This led me to think that they probably had an intelligence level and also a sense of morality.