41Alliance – The act of allying or state of being allied.
Tauriel's heart contracted with grief as agony devoured Kíli's mien like an all-consuming force; and she watched with discomfort as the dwarf prince caved down onto his knees, bowing into the frigid ice alongside his wounded brother. As the she-elf watched, heartbroken at the sight of his misery, she noticed Kíli beginning to shrink deeper and deeper into the depths of his own despairs.
In contempt of knowing that Fíli would survive, Tauriel understood where the roots of the dwarf prince's pains truly prevailed; for death had still achieved its ultimate goal in a separate form on this day.
As Kíli cried into his brother's hand Tauriel longed to reach out and pull him close; fighting away his anguish with her affectionate touch. And she may have done it – despite knowing that such an act would completely ruin them – had it not been for Legolas and his unwavering eyes. Instead, and with great effort, Tauriel backed herself slowly away from the dwarves, eventually planting her feet neatly alongside her silver-haired companion as he examined Durin's heirs at a distance.
There was a haunting silence that floated listlessly above the lake, broken only by the sounds of Kíli's shaky, uncontrollable sobs. His trembling gasps managed to send a paralyzing chill down and around the she-elf's spine, awakening memories of loss that she had long-since suppressed deep within the hidden cells of her heart.
For a long while the two elves stood, like unmoving statuesque guardians, protectively watching over Kíli and Fíli with vigilance. And time slipped gently by, blatantly unconcerned for the matters that troubled men, dwarves, elves, or orcs, as it drove the clouds and shifted the trees.
The silence that surrounded them left an undesirable span of time for Tauriel's mind to soundlessly race, and deep within her thoughts raged a terrible, unfaltering war. What would become of her now that she was branded as a lowly Silvan elf, banished from Mirkwood by her former king? What would become of Kíli, the reckless younger brother to the newly-appointed King of Erebor? When would Tauriel accept these outcomes, and leave the dwarves to discover their unexplored and unfamiliar futures? When the appropriate time presented itself, would she be capable of abandoning the dwarves? Would she be capable of abandoning him…?
With a frustrated sigh, and a refusal to permit her internal torments to rampage any further, Tauriel slammed her eyes tightly shut and balled her hands into strong fists at her sides. She would not allow herself to fall victim to these fruitless temptations. She would not succumb to the weaknesses of her heart. She would not let foolish, unwarranted desires take hold of her future…
The alarming sensation of fingers brushing lightly against the skin at her knuckles forced Tauriel's lids to flash open, and her eyes flicked onto Legolas' face with a rising confusion.
Her stomach flipped as the elven prince's familiar, crystal gaze stared deep into her soul, overflowing with empathy. Legolas offered her a smile as if to say, everything is going to be alright, and she found herself physically stunned by the overwhelming intimacy of the moment.
For three-hundred years Tauriel had fought at Legolas' side, loyal almost to a fault. Many battles had been won and many elven lives had been lost, on this day and long before. And yet, despite the countless deaths and losses that her and Legolas had suffered through in unity – and despite the many times that Legolas had sacrificed his life for hers – Tauriel could not be comforted by the compassion he held within his gaze.
Instead, as Legolas looked upon her with sincere admiration, Tauriel could not help the flick of her emerald-colored eyes as they shifted with longing onto Kíli. And in that brief, fleeting moment she had led on far, far too much of her heart…
Troubled by the absurdity within her own aberrant actions, Tauriel bit down upon lower lip and shied away from Legolas' touch, pulling her hands up and around herself in a cradling motion.
Legolas may have said her name, low and beneath his breath, but her ears were distracted by another promising tone.
"Kíli!" A voice called to the left, causing Tauriel's eyes to snap cautiously onto the source of the sound. She recognized the white-haired dwarf who approached, recalling his name as Balin, and a flood of relief rushed throughout the she-elf's body as a group of six dwarven warriors barreled hurriedly in tow.
Finally, she deliberated silently to herself, appropriate help had arrived.
Kíli's disheveled hair whipped wildly about him as he reacted to the sound of his name, rising to his feet and turning to face his approaching kin. He wiped the back of his right sleeve against his raw, frozen cheeks, freeing them of the tears that ruddied his ordinarily pale skin, and his mouth caved upwards into a half-grin.
The six dwarves were quick to spring into action; moving a long, wooden trundle towards Fíli's unmoving body and placing it alongside him with a series of grunts and groans. At first, they deliberated amongst themselves on how best they should move the battered prince, then gently they began to shift and arrange his body onto the platform with precision. Several curses and warnings to "be careful" erupted from within their assembly, until finally they succeeded in lifting the blonde prince up into the air.
"Let us help you." Tauriel insisted kindly as the dwarves shuffled hurriedly past them, balancing their fallen prince between a few dwarves from Thorin's Company and a few dwarves from Dain Ironfoot's army.
"You needn't worry yourself, lass, we've got him." Balin said with a smile, though his eyes warned her of another, more serious matter.
Despite their rejections, and Balin's meaningful countenance, Tauriel moved to catch one of Fíli's legs as it shifted lazily off of the edge of the trundle.
Immediately following this contributive act a very short and gruff looking dwarf, who was a product of Dain Ironfoot's army by the design of his armor, pulled a long, silver dagger from deep within the protection of his pocket. He held it against the green fabric of Tauriel's tunic with warning, pressing it angrily into her abdomen.
Tauriel's hands instinctively lifted and she took a tentative step backwards, feeling Legolas shift uncomfortably at her side. She could sense the elf prince's well-practiced fingers fly onto the hilt of his knife, in the very same moment that the dwarf's sword had been drawn, but something had steadied his hand.
In the blink of an eye, the dwarven dagger was aggressively slapped free from the unsuspecting dwarf's grasp, causing everyone to turn and face the attacker with surprise.
Tauriel's lips formed into a hard line as she looked upon Kíli; his dark, bloodshot eyes staring with a menacing caution onto the shorter, completely offended dwarf.
"If you do that again," Kíli warned, in a voice that trembled with exhaustion, "m'imnu Durin, ohr an urtag leib…"
"Kulhu saglibi?" The shorter dwarf spoke, wincing as he rubbed gingerly against the tender skin of his hand. Tauriel noticed the sensitive area beginning to swell and redden where Kíli had smacked his wrist with precision, proving that the impact had been vigorously executed.
Kíli took a protective step in front of Tauriel, his fists balling tightly at his sides, and he leaned forward until his chest towered above the shorter dwarf's head. "Ag zasasmaki rathkh-hund."
The she-elf was lost among the dwarven exchange, as their conversation had shifted from basic into Khuzdul, but she could tell that their traded dialogue was not moving in the direction of a civil conversation.
Fortunately, Dwalin, another dwarf that Tauriel recognized from within Thorin's Company, stepped swiftly between the two quarreling dwarves, placing a firm hand against Kíli's chest while shooting the shorter dwarf a stern glare. A silent conversation took place within their glances until eventually the smaller dwarf bowed his head gracefully forward, widening his arms in a surrendering gesture.
"Burushruka igbulul e." He spoke firstly to Kíli, then glanced up at Tauriel. "My apologies, Elf."
Tauriel's mouth dropped open, ready to speak, but her voice faltered as Legolas hooked his hand around her arm, silencing her with his touch.
"Tauriel," He started, voice demanding that she look at him. Stubbornly and with much hesitation Tauriel flicked her eyes onto her former prince, anticipating his pained expression as it welcomed her in full. Legolas took a moment to float his eyes off to the left of Tauriel, focusing them with disdain around Kíli's shorter head, before returning his gaze onto her and continuing. "Let us take our leave of the dwarves. Dale may yet need clearing."
There was a tense, thick silence wherein Tauriel challenged Legolas with her eyes; knowing as well as he did that this ruse was much deeper than that of aiding Dale.
Kíli turned and caught Tauriel safely within his gaze, and she could discern his apparent grief hovering just below the surface.
After a span, he spoke, his voice full of tribulation. "Will you come with me?"
Legolas dropped his hand from Tauriel's arm, letting out a terse breath of air.
Her ear twitched in response to the irritated sound, but her eyes sank deeply into Kíli's gentle, brown stare with a tenderness she could not resist. She teetered on the verge of doubling over in torment as Kíli took a tentative step towards her, disregarding the audience of dwarves that pierced dagger-like glances into his back.
Valar, why do you afflict me?
Dwalin made a very loud and very disgruntled sound directly behind Kíli as he darted his eyes from Tauriel, to Kíli, then back onto Tauriel again. His hairless scalp glistened with a combination of melted snow and fresh sweat, and his demeanor darkened as he shot the she-elf a look full of stern warnings. Tauriel stared back at the disgruntled dwarf for a moment, offering him an informal agreement, then turned her attention back onto Kíli with a riddled look full of severe tribulations. At long last, she respired quietly, "I can't."
Tauriel had half expected the dwarf prince to argue but his composure remained steadfast and strong, and she was satisfied to discover that he had internally accepted their plight. His full lips twisted up into a devoted smile and his brown, tender eyes grew with promise as he slowly backed away.
And with that, the group of nine dwarves departed with agile speed in pursuit of Erebor.
Without breathing a word to her former prince, Tauriel turned on her feet and began to move in the direction of Dale, fully aware that Legolas was quick on her heels. And for a while he trailed behind, assuredly staring at the back of her auburn head while contemplating whether or not he should assert himself. Though, regardless of his internal battles, he never risked the gamble of a comment.
The road to Dale was covered with death, overspread with the bodies of fallen warriors from each varying alliance; black blood pooled into puddles of red, and un-seeing eyes stared blankly up towards the heavens from frozen, petrified faces. And these images, familiar to Tauriel from wars and battles past, never ceased to unsettle her.
While the pair swiftly traveled, determined to reach Dale as quickly as possible, several Mirkwood elves stopped to acknowledge Legolas and to offer their prince support in whatever way they could. As each one approached, promptly bowing before him, Legolas was quick to insist that they continue with their more pressing tasks, such as finding survivors and tending to the wounded. At one point, Legolas even dared to suggest that one elven guard "aid to more dwarves".
At this uncharacteristic suggestion Tauriel made a face that sought to betray her, and Legolas acknowledged it with narrow eyes.
"Do not look at me like that," he respired, avoiding her gaze. "I do not wish ill fates upon all of the dwarves."
"Just some?" She challenged, though her heart ached as the words surfaced and she wished that she could retract them as quickly as she had spout them. "I am sorry, I do not mean that."
Legolas paused in his gait to look at her face, and it was a grief-stricken, melancholy sort of look that tugged at the strings of Tauriel's heart. "Yes, you do."
Dale was alarmingly peaceful, save for the occasional sounds of joyous outbursts that could be heard from deep within the city walls as families reunited and victorious exclamations were cried out. For a town that had just undergone such destruction and murder, Tauriel considered, there was an infectious merriment among the men and women of Dale that touched her to the core.
As she and Legolas moved throughout the town, as silently and swiftly as dark shadows, they were unnoticed by most people. This held true, up until the familiar face of Bard the Bargeman came into view as the ebony-haired man rounded a corner before them. He held his blade high and his eyes remained wide with an unquieted anticipation, until he focused his gaze upon the two elves and brightened.
The sound of broad wings fighting against the cold, wintery winds brought Tauriel's eyes upward, and she watched with satisfaction as the Great Eagles began their retreat toward the far-reaches of Middle Earth. That was a good sign, she decided, for it assuredly meant that the battle was officially over.
"Impeccable timing for The Eagles to arrive…" said Bard, gesturing towards the sky as several warm rays of sunlight broke free through the clouds.
"We've come to offer you aid." Legolas said, stretching his hand outward with cordial intentions. "What do you need?"
"The last of the enemy has fallen within Dale, my people are safe. We require no aid here." Bard responded, clasping Legolas' hand tightly within his own while nodding to Tauriel in greeting. "Has Ravenhill been cleared?"
"It has." Tauriel said, returning the acknowledgement, though her skin prickled and crawled as she recollected her earlier battle.
"Then victory truly is ours." Said Bard, sheathing his weapon with triumphant prowess and offering them both a jubilant smile. The trio exchanged quick glances, understanding that victory came at a cost. "How are your people?"
Legolas wavered onto his heels, shifting his brow with displeasure. "Wars are never won lightly."
Bard nodded while studying Legolas' face with a frown. "And what of the dwarves?"
Tauriel quirked an eyebrow, unable to contain her surprise.
She had not expected this man to care for the well-being of the dwarves; after all, it was Thorin Oakenshield's quest – and his quest alone – that had brought such destruction and misery upon Lake Town and its former inhabitants. And had it not been for the foolishness and irrationality of dwarves – as Thranduil had once so eloquently put it – many lives would have been spared on this day.
In truth, Tauriel anticipated Bard to dislike – or even despise – the dwarves now; but he did not exhibit such aversions.
The she-elf opened her mouth to respond, but it was Legolas who ultimately answered the bowman's inquiry. "Their king has fallen. They suffer a great loss."
Bard cursed beneath his breath as a sincere sadness glazed across his soft, brown eyes. "We all suffer a great loss, then."
A slow flow of relief trickled throughout Tauriel's body as the genuine kindness within Bard's heart forced an uncontrollable smile to tug across her lips.
"Indeed, we have." A familiar voice interjected, causing the trio to turn in unison.
Mithrandir, or Gandalf the Grey as he was more commonly known, approached them with glistening eyes. His face was ashen and painted with blood, some belonging to him and some belonging to fallen enemies, and his expression was faint and sad. Gandalf placed a heavy hand upon Bard's broad shoulder, a warm smile spreading across his weary, thin cheeks, and he looked to them each in turn. "I am glad to see you all… in good health."
"Mithrandir." Legolas said, his narrowed eyes scanning across the wizard's tired face. "It is good to see you."
"Legolas." Gandalf replied in greeting before shifting his attention onto Tauriel. He examined her for a lasting moment, wherein he appeared to be searching through the faces of his past to place a name upon her. "And… Tauriel? It has been an age since last we met."
Tauriel caved her head forward, closing her eyes in a humble agreement. It had been an age. And it was not an encounter she was particularly fond of reliving…
"Four-hundred years, I understand."
Bard made a noise that resembled surprise, which provoked a smile from Gandalf.
The wizard then waved his staff-bearing hand through the crisp, billowing air, and twisted his head to look over his shoulder onto a much smaller body. "Regrettably, we do not have time for pleasantries now. Come along, Bilbo."
It wasn't until now that Tauriel took notice of the small, fair-haired hobbit, who shifted quietly among the shadows of Gandalf's path. His demeanor was full of distress and his wide amber eyes weighed heavy with grief; and Tauriel's mind began to stutter as images of Kíli, and his very similar miseries, flashed across her mind.
At the sound of his name Bilbo glanced up toward Gandalf with a newly awoken spirit. "Where are we going?"
"To Erebor. To console what remains of our Company." Replied Gandalf in a gruff, yet somehow gentle, voice.
"I-I do not think I am ready for that…" Bilbo mumbled, more-so to himself.
Gandalf tilted his head to the side, an understanding sadness buried deep within the silver outline of his gaze. "No one is ever prepared for grieving, my dear friend." The hobbit furrowed his brow and twitched his nose, staring back at Gandalf with a stubbornness that Tauriel had only witnessed within dwarves, resolved to remain silent. The wizard knelt forward and placed two comforting hands atop Bilbo's narrow shoulders and further expanded, "nevertheless, it is what's required of us."
Bilbo inhaled heavily and puffed his chest outward, as far as his ribcage would allow, before nodding in silent agreement. The unlikely pair then slowly sauntered away, leaving an air of sorrow in their wake.
"Battlefields are no place for child-folk." Bard commented, breaking the stillness.
"Or the young at heart." Legolas added, and he and Tauriel exchanged quick glances.
Assuredly he could not be referring to Kíli? She thought, feeling a frustration beginning to brew within her belly as she understood the answer.
"My Lord, Legolas!" A voice spoken in Sindarin called out, suppressed by the sounds of a horse's thundering hooves.
Tauriel swallowed dryly as she glanced upon the elven guard who rode hastily toward them atop a gray, snorting steed. When the elf emissary was upon the three allies he reigned the horse to a halt, eyeing Tauriel with confliction before turning his attention onto Legolas. "Your father searches for you."
Legolas took several steps forward and nodded to the elf guard in greeting before tilting his head towards Tauriel. "Very well. Let us go, Tauriel."
"My Lord," the elf started, voice abashed, "assuredly you have not forgotten that Tauriel is…"
"Banished." The she-elf finished, squaring her shoulders.
Bard, though certainly lost within their elven conference, flicked his eyes tentatively onto Tauriel. She flushed, knowing that he well understood the fundamental meaning behind their exchange.
A silence fell amongst them as Legolas glanced indignantly toward the ground, pressing his lips into a hard line.
Tauriel suppressed the rising urge to console him; for she was fully aware that the notion would not be well-received by Legolas, despite how earnest it may be.
After a long stretch of stillness, the elven prince brought his gaze back up towards the messenger, eyes rife with passion. "I have no words for my father. You may tell him–"
"You may tell him yourself."
Tauriel inwardly shied as the crass, familiar voice of Thranduil sounded off from behind her.
She turned to discover the elven king calmly approaching them with the same steely expression he always wore, callously eyeing the triumvirate of weary onlookers with amusement. His face, so celestial, showed little evidence of the battles he had undoubtedly endured, which proved to be both disturbing and intriguing.
Thranduil's fierce, crystal blue eyes bore their way deep into his son's emotionless face, then flicked onto Tauriel, where his countenance instantaneously hardened.
Legolas stiffened and relaxed a series of times, staring at his father with an impassive expression. Long strands of silver hair brushed softly against his face, acting as a gentle reminder that time was still passing them by. Finally, the elven prince spoke, in a breathless voice, "I … cannot go back."
Tauriel clinched her jaw as her composure began to abandon her. She stared at the thin lips around Legolas' mouth, wishing that she could physically reach out and grab the words he had spilled and force them back into a thought. Do not do this, Legolas…
"I understand that," Thranduil responded to his son coolly, his crowned head inclining to the side, "I would speak with you, alone."
His response baffled Tauriel, and she released a bated gasp. She had learned, over the past few days, that Thranduil was capable of being an elusive, cruel king - one devoid of any love or compassion - and she could not imagine a situation wherein Thranduil would willingly let Legolas go without dispute...
Legolas hesitated, taking a moment to shift his sights onto Tauriel while appearing to share the she-elf's same inner turmoil. Tauriel winced in response, unsure of what she could offer him that would be of any use. The elven prince then exhaled heavily before traipsing after his father, distancing their conversation from unwelcomed ears.
Tauriel watched after them with unwavering interest, feeling vulnerable as the realization of her current status began to take hold. Now that the bloodshed had ended and Kíli's misfortunes had come to a far-away resolution, Tauriel was left to do nothing else but contemplate her own dire circumstances. In a strange and ironic twist of fate, she found herself feeling as lost and broken as Thorin Oakenshield had; living without a home and existing without a purpose.
An alarming, unwelcomed sting of tears began to threaten the corners of Tauriel's eyes, and she was gladdened by the impeding cough that erupted from Bard's throat as he shifted cautiously towards her.
"I do not understand the lifestyles or the mannerisms of elves." Said the bowman, offering her a distraction while furrowing his brow. "Nonetheless, you are welcome to reside among my people, from this day until the end of your days."
Slow and numbing astonishment crept up and throughout Tauriel's body as Bard's generous offer sank into her ears. She wiped her hands swiftly across her cheeks, catching tears as they fell past her lashes, and turned to look upon the gracious man with fresh eyes. This was not the first-time that Bard had proven his generosity to her; for she had once witnessed him offer the dwarves safety and shelter, and she had observed his courageous sacrifice when he had bravely conquered the dragon Smaug.
He was, undoubtedly, a true treasure among men.
"Your generosity inspires me," she smiled, unable to contain herself as she reached forward and placed her hand gently upon his arm.
"You have done much to earn it," Bard acknowledged, with a sincerity so pure that it lightened her spirit. "I fear it is still an insufficient offering."
There was a pause before her answer, allowing Tauriel the time to collect her jumbled thoughts. To live among men would be an unexpected undertaking… though, she was quickly discovering that it was the impromptu adventures that seemed to ignite the flame within her heart.
"Only a truly honorable king would offer shelter to those who have none."
Bard's uncomfortable flinch as she labeled him 'king' did not go unnoticed by Tauriel.
"You protected my children when I could not." Bard said pointedly, steering the conversation onto a different topic. "And they think highly of you, which is a judgment I cherish."
"You have extraordinarily lovely children." Tauriel smiled, hoping that Bain, Sigrid, and Tilda were all three recovering from the horrors that this day had to offer.
"Aye," Agreed Bard, glancing up towards the magnificent sky in wonder, "and I thank the stars that they turned out to be such perfect illustrations of their Mother."
A silence fell between them as Tauriel joined the bowman in looking up towards the heavens. The sun was finally setting, casting a warm, orange glow across the cluster of thick, snowy clouds, and it was a beautiful sight to behold. The first beautiful sight of a new beginning, Tauriel acknowledged.
After a few blissful moments, Bard continued in a pensive voice, "Consider my offer. We would do well with you among our ranks."
"Tauriel," Legolas murmured dolefully from behind, breaking the illusion of the intimate conversation between them. Tauriel turned to Legolas, obviously puzzled, and he continued. "He – my father wishes to speak with you. Though, you need not satisfy his desire."
Tauriel was disturbed to discover that Legolas appeared to be adrift; floating upon a cloud that Tauriel could not reach. What Thranduil could have possibly said to him, she did not know, but she greatly feared the possibilities of a similar outcome.
The she-elf stood between Bard and Legolas, shifting her weight from one foot onto the other, silently wondering if she possessed the mental strength to face her former king. She was banished, therefor no longer holding any loyalties to Thranduil, thus justly capable of denying him the courtesy of her company. She represented nothing more than a lowly Silvan elf now, adrift in the world with no purpose or reason. And assuredly he knew that.
What does he desire?
She inhaled slowly, glancing at Thranduil's back as the coral glimmer of the sunset outlined his tall and narrow frame. Perhaps it was due to her resolute curiosity, or perhaps it was the result of three-hundred years of servitude as captain of his royal guard; regardless of reasoning, Tauriel's feet carried her heavily toward Thranduil as he stood at the edge of the broken city.
As she approached, hesitant and guarded, the Woodland King did not turn to acknowledge her. Instead, he chose to stare in a muted silence, gravely observing the expansive battlefield and its vast stretch of destruction that spread out before him. Tauriel stood alongside her former king, soaking in the devastation that reached from one end of the battlefield to the other; from the start of Dale's bridge, all the way out to the royal, crumbling entrance of Erebor.
At length, Tauriel forced herself to glance up at her former king's face, and she was shocked to discover that his demeanor appeared to be pained. She found herself at a loss for words, for she could not begin to speculate what grandiose thoughts performed within the guarded walls of his ancient mind.
Finally, he started, his resonance as smooth as a blade, while refusing to offer the she-elf the civility of looking upon her. "Tell me how, despite my best efforts, you still managed to elude my protection?"
Tauriel's lips twitched as she stared with inquiry into the side of Thranduil's stoic face, willing him to look at her. She shifted her leather boots against the cobblestone ground, wishing that her feet had not betrayed her with their decision to bring her to him. Ultimately, she spoke, with a voice free of reverence, "I… do not understand."
Thranduil narrowed his brilliant blue eyes, still denying her the clarity of his gaze, and inhaled deeply.
"The dwarf prince. I attempted to sway you from him, three various times. First, I tried at securing you within the safety of our borders. Yet, you fled. Then I banished you, assuming your grief would draw you back for forgiveness. Still, you resisted." Finally, he turned to her, granting her the attentiveness of his eyes, with his voice breaching just above a whisper. Tauriel's breath hitched within her throat and she physically stiffened beneath his intense, severe stare. "I ventured to break you, even … thus you challenged me."
Tauriel had been moving swiftly throughout the broken city of Dale, her emerald eyes scanning desperately for her former king, when the goblins descended from the rafters above her.
The ambush had taken her by surprise, certainly, but the attack had been conducted by a measly troop of pitiless creatures, thus the she-elf spared little energy in defeating them. Soon, Tauriel was jerking her dagger free from the throat of the last dying goblin, watching in silence as the repugnant creature fell into a heap alongside the rest of its lifeless company.
That was easy enough, she calculated. But the true challenge still awaited her in the form a very different kind of battle.
Tauriel sheathed the twin daggers at her sides and began to move with a fierce urgency deeper into the heart of the city, making her way central and towards the abandoned marketplace. As she curved the final corner, leading her straight into Dale's core, the she-elf's heart plummeted into the pit of her stomach as the familiar sound of a blaring horn impeded her feet. The horn blew – once, twice, three times – alerting the remaining Woodland Elves of Mirkwood to retreat. No…
Suddenly, the well-known march of armored boots parading to a familiar cadence across the cobblestone ground caused Tauriel to spin about on her heel. The slow winter's snow-fall brought an eerie ambience down around her pointed ears as she found herself gazing upon her former elven king, with his expeditious gait carrying him swiftly toward her.
You will not flee! She shouted within the privacy of her own mind. You will not abandon them!
Thranduil gave no notice of the steaming she-elf as he made his way across the deserted marketplace, failing to break pace as he cut down an attacking goblin that hurled itself toward his throat.
"You will go no further." Tauriel warned in the tongue of her people, voice unwavering. "You will not turn away. Not this time."
At last he stopped, momentarily dismayed by the sight of her.
"Get out of my way." Thranduil warned, his crystal eyes piercing through her like a sharpened blade.
Tauriel's chest tightened as the world caved in around her. She could tell now, by the way her former king stood before her, that there was no sympathy left within his archaic soul.
Tauriel pressed forward, with a voice that trembled. "The dwarves will be slaughtered!"
"Yes, they will die." Thranduil agreed, beginning to move slowly towards her; and Tauriel's heart sank further and further with each and every word that followed. "Today. Tomorrow. One year hence, a hundred years from now."
Thranduil was within arm's length of her now, reminding her of how small and insignificant she was as he towered above her. She stared up at him, through crimson strands of hair that billowed across her face, and her eyes began to fill with tears that she did not restrain.
Thranduil's upper lip curled as he leaned into her, disgusted by the emotion that flashed across her face. He was very close now, sharing in the same frigid, winter air, and their dense proximity frightened her.
"What does it matter?" He inquired, lifting his pale hand and brushing it through the weightless air for emphasis. "They are mortal."
Tauriel never conceived of a day when she would challenge her former king.
And yet, with a fire that engulfed her entire heart, Tauriel took an abrupt step backwards and drew her bow with well-trained hands; pointing it directly into the center of Thranduil's face.
"You think your life is worth more than theirs when there is no love in it!?" She cried out, unfazed by the natural reaction of two elven guards as they mirrored her threat; aiming golden-tipped arrows into the heart of her chest.
Tears began to pour, like a warm, dreary rainfall, down the sides of Tauriel's blushing cheeks. "There is no love in you!"
"What do you know of love? Nothing!" Thranduil's hand swept up and over the back of her bow, knocking the weapon free from her hands and sending it to the ground with a loud vibration. Tauriel's breath hitched as Thranduil unsheathed his famed sword and brought the polished blade up to her breast, pressing it against her. "What you feel for that dwarf is not real. You think it is love?"
His eyes flicked momentarily past her, landing atop something far beyond their reach.
Tauriel could feel her hands beginning to tremble as the pressure of Thranduil's blade moved into her, threatening to plunge past her tunic and into her chest.
She felt helpless and afraid – though, not just for herself; for she knew now, without uncertainty, that Thranduil was not the great king that she had once believed him to be… and the dwarves would soon perish as a result.
After a moment of stillness Thranduil lowered his sword from Tauriel's breast and quirked an eyebrow, satisfaction suddenly dripping like acid from his voice as he whispered. "Are you ready to die for it?"
Tauriel's chest caved as Thranduil retracted his sword and she craned her neck to follow his gaze onto the expanding stretch of ruin behind her. A gasping cry fell from the she-elf's lips as a wave of ravens poured out from within the halls of Ravenhill, unveiling the horrors of her fears.
Kíli!
"Tauriel," a voice spoken in Sindarin cooed from around the corner.
Tauriel breathed a gasp of relief to observe Legolas; his glittering eyes holding her as he bent forward to lift her fallen bow from the ground. He straightened and offered the weapon forward, balancing it between his fair hands. "I will go with you."
With that, Tauriel snatched her bow from Legolas' grip and pushed past him in pursuit of Ravenhill, resolved to never look back.
Tauriel's lower lip trembled as she recalled their previous confrontation, and anger clouded her feelings as she watched Thranduil's acute gaze fill with an abrupt delight.
"Perhaps it is real." He said, with a resigned smile. "Do not forget where your allegiance lies within the coming age."
"My allegiance had always belonged to my people. To you." Tauriel hissed, aghast by the boldness of his statement. "Do not forget that it is you who has banished me."
"I have seen the errors in my ways. Still, many errors…" Thranduil respired, twisting his body to face her in full. Tauriel could say nothing. She simply stared up into the eyes of her former king, absorbed by the foreign tenderness he held within his gaze. Thranduil lifted a narrow brow before his expression cleared entirely. "Live among the men of Dale, Tauriel. Live among the dwarves. Live among those who do not share the same fortunes as you."
Fortunes, she repeated within her mind, I have been absolved of fortunes! "You speak of immortality as if it is a gift."
"It is not a gift." He corrected, speaking in a detached tone.
She considered his words for a brief moment, knowing that Thranduil's bitter past had an impact on his opinions of this matter.
Suddenly – and certainly out of line from what Tauriel understood to be his natural character – Thranduil lifted his hand up to the side of Tauriel's face, tenderly capturing her cheek against the warmth of his palm. It was an act that he had not performed in over three hundred years; not since she had been a child, crouching amongst the forest leaves in terror.
He began to speak, though his voice flowed past her as if recalling a memory. "Mithrandir speaks of dark times ahead. Dark times that will require strange allies. I anticipate that you will form a great bond between men, dwarves, and elves; and with it, an allegiance that will prove itself invaluable. Then, when the appropriate time presents itself, you will return to your people."
Tauriel felt youthful again; like a foolish child staring up at her father. With a wince, she pulled away from the heat of his touch. "I-I do not wish to return to my people."
Thranduil dropped his hand and clasped it against the other at his front. He inhaled deeply, drawing into his lungs what Tauriel assumed to be patience. "I understand that, on this day, you do not wish to return." He started, inclining his head and causing the sunset's glow to cast through the gaps of his crown. He then drew his eyes onto the horizon and whispered in Sindarin, "you may be able to save the dwarf from many things, Tauriel; orcs, spiders, even poison. But you cannot save him from time."
Once, long ago, Tauriel had watched her family perish. And the pain of their passing, though strong and persistent, never succeeded in bringing her to her demise. Instead, it had shown her that memories were precious; and that love could not be weighed by the span of its existence.
With a flush, Tauriel shook her head and murmured, "Time has a wonderful way of showing us what truly matters."
A smile began to spread across Thranduil's lips, and it was a warm smile that Tauriel had never viewed before. Then, as swiftly as it had appeared, the moment was gone, and within its absence the elven king began his departure.
Tauriel's jawline stiffened and she watched from the corner of her eye as he moved, floating away from her with an airy gait.
"You spoke of an alliance. A bond between men dwarves, and elves…" she called after him, still staring into the warmth of the sunset. "I alone am burdened with the task of forming this union?"
"You are not alone." Thranduil whispered, his voice fading fast.
Tauriel twisted about to face her former king, intending to stare upon him with lush green eyes that brimmed with disbelief, but he was nowhere to be found.
When Tauriel returned, haunted by Thranduil's words, she was gladdened to see that Legolas and Bard were busily engaged within a pleasant conversation. A conversation, she noted with a heavy heart, that had failed to pull Legolas back from his deep, yearning behavior. There was hardly an expression that Legolas could produce that would go unnoticed by Tauriel. And she could discern by the way he stood – with his shoulders held back and his bright eyes anxiously scanning the horizon – that he soon meant to depart.
"Where will you go?" Tauriel asked, impeding Legolas' parting mannerisms as she arrived at his side.
"North. To find the Dúnedain." Legolas responded, rocking backwards onto his heels and shooting her an insightful look. His eyes softened with a fondness that she had grown to anticipate. "I do not expect that you will follow."
Tauriel bit down on her tongue and narrowed her eyes, undecided on how to answer him. She knew, now more than ever, where she belonged within Middle Earth; but she had not yet prepared herself for that impending discussion.
"The Dúnedain?" Bard mouthed with surprise, drawing their attention. "That is a distant travel. I would not see you off without a meal."
Legolas made a face, running his thumb beneath the strap at his chest that held his beloved bow in place. "It is not necessary-"
"Ah, but it is. Come then." Insisted Bard, cutting over Legolas' words as he turned to head back into the deeper regions of the city.
This elicited a small smile from Tauriel, and she exchanged a quick glance with Legolas. After a span, they both resolved to follow after the bowman, and the she-elf was comforted by the knowledge that she would soon be serving under a king who knew not how to be cruel.
A/N: The dwarven exchange between Kíli and the dwarf warrior from Dain Ironfoot's army translates (roughly) into:
"In Durin's name, I will hurt you"
"What did you say?"
"You will taste my knuckle soon." Which essentially means, "You're going to get a beating soon."
"I'm sorry."