Kinslaying is the greatest taboo to elves.

Therefore, when Thranduil finds himself sentencing Tauriel for her crime of treason and threatening her king, he is not afraid for her life. But that doesn't stop the little twisting sense of wrong in the pit of his stomach as the crying elleth is lead from his chambers.

The elves do not kill their own.

Their punishments, however, are made to last for eternity.

Tauriel sits in the healer's quarters, unable to stop her tears. She has never been more frightened or apprehensive in her life. A small group of counsel members are gathered around, a few watching the healer prepare a goblet for Tauriel to drink, but most of their eyes are on her, narrowed with judgment.

The healer is stoic, her face giving away nothing about her feelings of the matter, but Tauriel notices the ferocity with which she crushes up berries - red as blood - to be mixed with the Dorwinion. The wine is to numb the initial pain. The leaves that the healer walks towards now are to put Tauriel to sleep for the duration. The berries are her punishment.

Tauriel tries to take a slow, steady breath but instead her chest heaves with a shuddering gulp for air. She feels cold, but can't tell if that is why she's shaking or if it is from fright.

As the cool metal cup is pressed into her hands she wants to beg for mercy, but she knows that it will not be granted, and so she bites her tongue. Her eyes drift up as the healer explains the drink's effects in a clipped, clinical manner. Tauriel tunes out the list of possible side-effects, the walk-through of what she will feel in the first few minutes after she consumes the drink. She knows what's coming, there is no use to her in sugar-coating it.

She reminds herself bitterly as she looks into the cup of dark red liquid that this is her own fault, that she brought this upon her own head, but it does nothing to ease the nausea that has settled in her stomach, the fear that is consuming her now and causing her hands to tremble. It does not change the fact that there is no turning back for her.

She is possessed by the sudden, wild urge to run, and it takes all her willpower to stay in her seat. Running will be pointless. She will not get far. There are guards at the door and in the hall, as well as an armed soldier on either side of her, waiting to escort her back to her chambers once the healer sends her off. There is only one option for her now, and it is clasped in her trembling hands. The healer finishes her speech and motions for Tauriel to drink from the goblet.

With a shuddering breath, Tauriel looks around her. This will be the last thing she will ever see, and she doesn't want it to be the scowling faces of the council members, judging her hesitance as weakness. Her eyes lock for a second with the ice blue of her King's stare, and he dips his head slightly, expectantly, his gaze boring into her with something almost akin to pity. She is to drink. No more time will be granted.

Taken by a sudden idea, Tauriel digs in her pocket for the runestone that she slipped from Kili's cold hand at the funeral. Her gaze travels over the small, dark rock, the runes etched into its glistening surface, and she lifts the goblet to her lips. Snapping her eyelids closed, so as to retain that final sight, she downs the dark, bitter liquid within the chalice.