Dark Hunger (part 3 +4)

 Shadows of the Anduin: A Tale of Mirkwood Part 3 

Tauriel felt a potent stirring, an almost irresistible draw to take Rhûn's hand, accept his offer, and let her past fade. Her hand rose slowly, an unconscious move leading her down the dark path. But then her eyes settled on a fine gold bracelet with a tiny, delicate leaf chain—a gift from Aerin.

                                      The sight shattered the illusion. Crushing guilt and shame overwhelmed her; despite knowing Rhûn was the source of the curse, the act of murder had been her own. Her arm dropped back to her side. She turned away from him, her eyes unfocused, no longer truly seeing the forest. For the first time, she truly felt the icy, endless loneliness to which this monster had doomed her—an eternity, alone. The despair was momentarily all-consuming.

Rhûn’s eyes narrowed, sensing the shift. His arm dropped, and he let out a slow breath before speaking, his voice quiet. 

“It is overwhelming, little warrior. I understand. I will not force you.”

He turned and looked toward Aerin's cairn; an expression Tauriel couldn't recognize—a fleeting shadow of melancholy—crossed his features. 

“We have plenty of time. Go if you must. When you decide, return here. I will be here.” 

For the first time, Tauriel saw a flicker of genuine warmth in his eyes. Confused, despairing, and physically exhausted, she sank onto a moss-covered log as Rhûn walked away, vanishing seamlessly into the deepening mists. Left utterly alone, Tauriel felt the tiniest, agonizing pang of her new Thirst, and with it, the first icy cold touch of fear for her future.

Shadows of the Anduin: A Tale of Mirkwood (Part 4)

Tauriel remained rooted to the mossy log long after Rhûn vanished, the silence of the forest pressing in on her. Her eyes, now inhumanly red in the low light, were fixed on the empty space where the vampire had stood. The crushing despair was a physical weight, cold and heavy, a profound and complete loneliness that felt deeper than the death of her people. She was now exiled from the light, from the Elves, and even from her own soul. But beneath the despair, a flicker of the old Captain remained: the instinct for survival. She looked to the east. The dark canopy was beginning to soften, a subtle, almost imperceptible shift that spoke of the imminent dawn. Rhûn's words echoed in her mind: You are a creature of the night. Tauriel understood. The sun, once a friend and guide, was now a lethal enemy. She stood abruptly, the action sharp and decisive. Her grief and shame were still present, a constant torment, but they had to be locked away. Survival came first. She quickly retrieved her sword and bow.

           She moved south, her gait no longer the light-footed grace of an Elf, but a low, liquid glide. Her speed was startling, and her senses were violently heightened. The sounds of the forest—the scuttling of beetles, the soft snap of a twig a hundred paces away—were a painful bombardment. Her eyes registered the veins beneath the leaves, seeing the faint, intricate flow of life in everything. The Thirst was there, but it was not yet a fire. It was a subtle, persistent coldness in her chest, a distracting new lens through which she viewed the world. Every creature that moved now represented not food, but potential sustenance. This managed hunger only intensified her terror; it was a constant, chilling reminder that this monstrous need now defined her. She knew that soon, the coldness would bloom into an unbearable fire. The logical choice of refuge was simple: Dol Guldur. The old fortress, though cleansed by the White Council, was still soaked in shadow and offered the deepest, most secure sanctuary from the sun. It was a place her people avoided, a place of death—and now, her only haven.

                   As the first faint streaks of pale light touched the highest branches of the Mirkwood canopy, Tauriel slipped through the skeletal gates of Dol Guldur. She found a deep, broken fissure beneath the crumbling watchtower, a place where the sun would never reach, and retreated into the cool, suffocating darkness. Curled in the stone fissure, clutching her bow, her body began to tremble. Not from hunger, but from the horrifying realization of her fate. She was alive, cursed with immortality, and bound to the shadows. She had two days, perhaps three, before the true hunger came, and she spent that time in the oppressive darkness, battling her shame and contemplating the impossible choice of her first conscious kill.