Work Text:
Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, stood silently at the edge of the small camp of Elven tents, surveying the lands in the shadow of the Lonely Mountain following the battle. Although many of the wounded and dead Elves, Men, and Dwarves had been collected by their kin, the bodies of the enemy remained piled on the battlefield, pyres still smoking. It was a gruesome scene he had hoped to never witness again after the bloodshed at Gundabad so long ago, and yet here he was, drawn into the fight once more.
Taking a deep breath, he turned from the sight and made his way through the camp, focusing his attention on his own people. Their losses had been great and the healers were laboring tirelessly to save as many as they could, but he knew the final toll would be devastating. As he passed by the tents, many cries of pain followed him, and his heart weighed heavier and heavier with each footstep.
He came upon one particular tent, modest in size yet kept sparse but for the necessities, reserved for the Captain of the Guard. The warm glow of candlelight greeted him as he ducked inside, his eyes immediately finding the single occupant curled upon a cot, furs and blankets tucked tight around her to ward off the chill of winter.
The healers had seen to Tauriel as soon as she had been brought into the camp, cleaning, stitching, and bandaging her wounds upon the command of their king. Satisfied with the knowledge that the young elf was being cared for, he had left to see to the needs of his people and to meet with Bard of Lake-town and Mithrandir. Many hours had passed, and it was not until the first stars had begun to appear in the evening sky that he found himself at her tent again.
As he stepped closer to the cot, the sound of her deep, even breathing reached his ears. Sleep was typically unnecessary for the first Children of Ilúvatar, but on occasion some gave in, allowing themselves to rest more completely than slipping into a meditative state. Considering what she had been through both physically and emotionally, it came as no surprise to Thranduil that she had allowed herself to succumb to her exhaustion.
He took a seat at the edge of the cot, careful not to wake her from her slumber, and looked down upon Tauriel, contemplating the features of the face he had come to know so well over the centuries. His fingers ghosted over the dark bruises and livid cuts that were so prominent on her pale, freckled skin, but in her sleep, there was none of the wariness or righteous anger that he had been confronted with more alarming frequency.
Instead, she looked very much like the elfling he had found just over six hundred years ago, unguarded and vulnerable with nothing to hide from him.
The memories of that day were never far from his mind when Tauriel was in his presence.
A shadow had crept into the southern borders of the forest, ever darkening the once peaceful and green land. Orcs and other fell creatures were now daring to raid the outlying villages of the realm, forcing his people to retreat further north, closer to the safety of the Elvenking’s Halls and the protection of the Guard. One such village near the foot of the Mountains of Mirkwood had come under attack just before daybreak one day.
By the time Thranduil had arrived with the Guard, smoldering ruins and carnage were all that remained.
Standing among the fallen men, women, and children, rage and devastation waged war within his veins, battling for dominance as memories flooded him of another great loss and a grief so powerful he had not spoken of it since the Second Age. After a moment, he mastered himself, issuing the order for his men to collect the bodies of the dead so that they may be laid to rest with honor. Heart heavy, Thranduil raised his eyes to the canopy overhead, weariness settling in his bones.
A flash of red suddenly caught his eye up in the treetops.
Curious, he walked closer to the tree before him, his gaze traveling higher and higher until, almost near the top, his keen eyesight found a clever little observation deck that had been constructed around the trunk of the tree, permitting visitors an unobstructed view of the sky above. Certain he had seen something, Thranduil moved around the tree, searching for the means to ascend to the deck, but found nothing.
He rested his hands lightly on the bark, contemplating the nooks and crannies for a few moments, before his long fingers dug in and he began to climb.
“My Lord! What--”
The surprised voice of one of his men was but circumstantial noise in the back of his mind, barely registering; his concentration narrowed to seek out the next safest handhold, and he pulled himself up again and again until he had reached the deck.
Sliding onto the safety of the platform, he looked around in interest, taking in the delicate carvings on the wooden panels beneath his feet, depicting the constellations detailed by a meticulous hand. The entire structure was expertly and beautifully crafted, untouched by the sadistic horror and shambles on the ground below.
Suddenly, a diminutive figure peeked out at him from the other side of the tree trunk, almost perfectly concealed but for the striking long red hair.
Thranduil paused, not wishing to startle the child, voice low and nonthreatening.
“I will not harm you.”
Slowly, the elfling – a girl – eased herself away from her hiding place, blinking as she stepped into the morning sunlight away from the veil of shadows. She was extremely small, the top of her head not quite reaching his waist, dressed in the garb characteristic of the village Elves, her tiny tunic, trousers, and boots varying shades of greens and browns.
Thranduil took a knee, lowering himself to her height, studying her as she cautiously crept closer. The child’s pale face and clothing were stained with soot, the knees of her trousers torn and bloody. A tiny cut marred her lower lip, and as she pushed a strand of hair away from her face, he saw that her chin and knuckles were scraped raw.
Before he could say anything further, she surprised him by inclining her head forward, her voice small but sure.
“My Lord Thranduil.”
He was not given an opportunity to inquire as to how she knew who he was for she continued speaking, clearly gaining confidence as she searched his face.
“Ada and I accompanied the delegation from our village to the Halls of the Elvenking for the coronation of Prince Legolas this past Midsummer’s Eve, my lord. I will never forget how truly beautiful it was.”
Elves from around the Woodland Realm had journeyed to his halls for the crowning of his only son for a fortnight of feasting and celebration. Although he had met with many of his people, he did not recall this child, for with her personality and vivid red locks, he was certain she would have left an impression. Indeed, already he felt a stirring of affection for her in his heart.
“What is your name, child?”
Something caught her attention below his neck, her head tilting slightly as her eyes found the jeweled pendant he wore, and she took another step forward.
“Tauriel,” she replied, curious and innocent little fingers reaching out and gently clasping the pendant, her focus absolute as she examined the gem embedded within the silver.
Daughter of the forest, he thought to himself. It was fitting.
“Do you know what this represents?”
Her answer was immediate and self-assured.
“Gilgalad.”
The corners of Thranduil’s mouth lifted up just a fraction.
“That is correct, little one. Starlight.”
Tauriel tugged her lower lip between her teeth, and he noted with a pang that she had yet to lose any of her elfling teeth; she was far younger than he had previously imagined. By Elvish standards, this poor child was still in her babyhood.
Heedless of her king’s tumultuous thoughts and concerns, the little girl carried on the conversation.
“Ada is a carpenter. He crafted this deck to teach me of the stars. We venture up here every clear night before bedtime so that he can show me their positions in the sky and tell me stories of how our constellations came to be known. We…” Her voice faltered ever so slightly. “We were up here when they came. The Orcs. He commanded me to pull the ladder up and remain here. Ada… He never trained as a warrior, but he went anyway. He wanted to try to help! I only saw him for a moment down below before he… he…”
The spirited bearing of the girl crumbled before his eyes as the reality of her situation crashed onto her tiny shoulders, and he glimpsed tears filling those large, green eyes before she ducked her head, unwilling to cry.
“Tauriel.”
His voice, although gentle, still held a hint of command in it, and unable to disregard it, she forced herself to raise her chin and meet his eyes, steadying herself even as her lower lip trembled traitorously.
“I have a task for you.” He unclasped the chain from round his neck, holding it out before him. “I wish for you to protect this for me. Can you do that, Tauriel?”
The elfling gaped in wonder, nodding solemnly, lowering her head just enough for him to clasp the chain around her neck. Her fingers closed around the pendant protectively, and as her eyes returned to his, he felt a rush of pride flood through him as he saw her innate strength taking control once again.
Astounded at her courage, Thranduil lightly brushed the back of his fingers along the curve of her cheek before he returned to his feet, gathering the rope ladder and casting it over the edge. He wordlessly held out his hand and Tauriel obediently took it, wrapping her arms snugly around his shoulders as he lifted her and carefully tucked her against his hip to make the journey down.
Soldiers marched back and forth throughout the village as they carried out their tasks, the area awash with their activity, a stark contrast to so much death and destruction all around them. Thranduil skimmed through their ranks until he found a small gathering of Elves that had accompanied the Guard in the hope of finding survivors. He began making his way toward them when he noticed his small companion was not by his side.
He stopped and turned, finding the child standing still as a statue where they had descended from the deck, eyes wide as she stared at what had become of her home. A shudder wracked her slight frame as she gulped for air, struggling not to weep.
"Tauriel. Tolo."
The sound of her king’s voice was all of the distraction she needed. Her eyes snapped toward Thranduil and she dashed forward, her hand instantly reaching for his, holding tight as she fastened herself against his leg, trembling. Instinctively, he tenderly slipped the fingers of his free hand into her soft hair, stroking the tresses, praying it would soothe her fear.
Tauriel closed her eyes at the sensation, and very gradually, he felt her shaking cease, her grip on his hand easing.
“Tolo,” he murmured, and she followed him to the group of healers.
In a low voice, he explained where the child had come from and gave them a brief description of the injuries he had seen. The healers were to examine her to ensure she had not been injured internally and to determine if she was fit to travel with a contingent of their company following his meeting with his Captain of the Guard. Before he left, Thranduil gazed down at the little girl, resting his hand upon her shoulder.
“I will return shortly. You will be safe in the capable hands of the healers.”
Tauriel nodded in response, remaining with the healers without protest.
He proceeded to seek out his captain for a full report on the situation, his heart twisting as his suspicions were confirmed by Calminaion. The entire village had been slaughtered by the Orcs and every dwelling had been razed to the ground.
There was nothing left except an elfling who could not be more than two decades old.
Guilt weighed him down as he watched Tauriel from a distance as the healers tended to her scrapes and washed the soot from her skin. Clearly shaken by her experience, she still managed to hold her head high as she was outfitted with a thick traveling cloak, fingers carefully closed around the pendant he had given her. She had the strength of a warrior five times her age, and had she been a couple of decades older, he had no doubt she would have followed her father into the fray.
Neither he nor her father could protect her village, but there was one thing he could do.
Pulling aside one of the healers named Beriadanwen, he instructed her to prepare a horse so that she could accompany the group back to his halls, placing the girl in her charge. The woman took her leave, allowing the king a moment alone with Tauriel.
Thranduil crouched down in front of the girl, fastening her cloak for her, eyes warm as he lightly brushed a fingertip over the dusting of freckles on her nose that the soot had hidden. As he looked into her eyes, he debated internally only for a moment before deciding he needed to be honest, no matter how much the truth might hurt. He owed her that much.
“Tauriel, the Guard has found no other survivors. You are all that remains.”
Her hands, clasped together in her lap, momentarily constricted, her knuckles turning white and the skin around her scrapes threatening to tear open and bleed again, but she quickly mastered herself, giving him a solemn nod.
“Child, there is nothing for you here.”
She was silent as she searched his face, taking slow, measured breaths, her expression equally brimming with heartache and weary resignation, voice so quiet he almost missed her question.
“When do we depart?”
In response, he held his hand out, leading her to where Beriadanwen waited on horseback. Together, the two of them secured the girl on the saddle in front of the healer, Tauriel allowing herself one last glimpse of the ruin that was once her home.
Mounting his elk, Thranduil called out his final orders to Captain Calminaion, who would remain behind with much of his Guard to complete the task of caring for the fallen villagers. With that, the contingent set off for the Woodland Realm, a scout riding ahead to inform the king’s attendants of his return and to prepare quarters for the child now in his custody. The journey took much of the day, but as the sun began to set in the west, the sound of the Forest River flowing reached their ears and the gate appeared in the distance.
A handful of the king’s attendants met the party just beyond the entrance, seeing to the riders. One of his personal aides took the reins of his elk, while another helped remove his armor and weapons, informing him that the arrangements he had requested for the child had been seen to in the palace. He turned to find Tauriel being assisted off her horse, eyes blinking owlishly as she scanned the endless caverns around them, exhaustion evident in her every move, barely noticing the healer that took her by the hand.
“Beriadanwen, ona he a'amin!”
The woman abruptly came to a halt upon hearing the king’s sharp command, her facial expression one of faint surprise as she immediately released the elfling’s hand. Thranduil stepped forward, resting his hands on Tauriel’s shoulders as she imperceptibly swayed against him, addressing the remainder of his attendants.
“I will see to the child’s welfare.”
Recognizing the dismissal, the men and women quickly dispersed to handle their various responsibilities, leaving the pair alone outside the royal halls.
Thranduil reached down and gently lifted the child into his arms, holding her protectively against his chest as she tucked her chin on his shoulder, her fingers digging into the fine material of his tunic. The two Elves were silent as they made their way through the winding walkways; he could feel the girl turning her head slowly from side to side against his collarbone as if she was searching for something,
His curiosity deepening, he paused midway across a set of steps and opened his mouth to voice his question, but she suddenly buried her face against the side of his neck, thin arms tightening around his shoulders, and allowed the softest of sniffles to escape her nose. In response, one hand slid up to cradle her head, his fingers winding through soft red hair as he tilted his temple against hers, and it was this affectionate gesture in the security of his arms that finally allowed the dam to break.
Tauriel’s little body shook as the tears she had repressed all day slid down her cheeks, yet she still barely made a sound, only an occasional hiccup or sniffle breaking through her ruthless control. Thunderstruck, Thranduil realized at once she had been looking around to confirm no one but her king would see her cry; whether she did not want an audience to witness her own heartache or because she assumed he would not tolerate her weeping in the presence of others, he could not begin to guess.
All he knew for certain was that this child was so shrewd and so adept at controlling her emotions in front of those that had not earned her trust that she seemed centuries older than her tender years.
He knew, in that moment, he had been granted her trust, and he intended to keep it until the breaking of the world.
Thranduil resumed walking down the steps and through the halls, rubbing soothing circles against her back and murmuring Sindarin nonsense in her ear, comforting the girl who had lost more in one day than most Elves had lost in entire lifetimes. Gradually, he felt her begin to relax against him, wet eyelashes blinking sluggishly against the skin of his neck as her fatigue caught up with her.
By the time they reached the quarters that had been assigned for her use, Tauriel was completely limp in his arms, her breathing slow and even.
One of his attendants had laid out a clean nightgown on the bed and left a jug of water and a small glass on the table near her pillow. Shifting her in his arms, he managed to remove her torn and dirty clothes and boots and slipped the soft gown over her head without waking her, tugging a thick, warm blanket up to her shoulders.
Seating himself at the edge of the bed, Thranduil brushed his fingers along her brow, thinking to himself that the last time he had tucked a child into bed was for his own son almost a millennia ago. Legolas had long since matured and was on the verge of becoming one of the most skilled warriors the Woodland Realm had ever produced, the days of his youth far behind him. He had been blessed with the support of his father and the encouragement of a multitude of teachers and aides, helping him grow stronger, more intelligent, and wiser, all within the comfort of a place to call home.
The little girl sleeping by his side had lost all of that in one fell swoop.
Elflings were rare and precious among their people, protected and cherished above all else. It had caused his heart terrible torment to find the small bodies of the handful of other children from the village scattered about the forest floor among the adults, his rage at their senseless deaths blinding. Finding this one child, frightened and heartbroken but still so very much alive and incredibly brave, had ignited a fierce flame of protectiveness within him.
Tauriel had no one left to safeguard her well-being because he had not been able to defend her village from attack, and he vowed she would never again be left defenseless. She would never want for anything, and he would make available to her everything at his disposal including the finest tutors for education and the most elite weapons masters for training.
If he could provide it, it was hers.
And he had come to learn that had also included his heart, which she had stolen from the moment he first laid eyes upon her.
More than six centuries later found him sitting by her side once again as she slumbered, unaware of his presence, feeling as raw and guilty as he had that morning they had first met. Despite their heated argument and his vehement words and actions in Dale, he had been utterly relieved to find her alive atop the hill, but his spirit had shuddered as he stared down at her tear-streaked face, for it seemed as if time had shrunk back on itself and he was once more looking into the anguished eyes of the child he had all but raised as his own.
Regret pieced through him, sharp and unmerciful, when he realized her expression mirrored his own on that terrible day he lost his wife.
For the second time in her short life, Tauriel had lost everything dear to her, banished from her home by his own authority for her disobedience and mourning the young dwarf prince, which he could plainly now see she had indeed truly loved. As fresh tears tracked down her cheeks, she had raised her eyes to his, her voice cracking as she pleaded for him to explain why love hurt so much.
Using the gentle tone of voice her ears had not heard since she was a little girl, Thranduil had responded in the only way he knew how.
“Because it was real.”
It was stating a fact based on the details.
It was an explanation, one she so desperately deserved.
But above all else, it was an apology for the way he had treated her, the closest thing he would ever have to a daughter.
She had fulfilled all of the promise he had seen in her, becoming one of his brightest and most capable warriors, earning her title of Captain of the Guard despite her youth through her hard work and sheer determination. He had personally overseen every aspect of her education and upbringing, strict and demanding at times, but always with her best interests at the forefront of his plans for her future. She had absorbed all of his knowledge and had grown to become as insightful and clever as her king and she was just as fiercely protective of their people as he was.
Yet deep in his heart, he knew that for all the small ways they were alike, he and Tauriel were very different people.
Where he resolutely remained an isolationist, unwilling to involve his people in matters outside the borders of his lands for fear of bringing them to unnecessary harm, she was the opposite. Tauriel was every bit an interventionist, following her heart’s desire to help others in need no matter who they were or where they hailed from, a trait that had been ingrained in every fiber of her being since she was an elfling.
It was something Thranduil had recognized in her the first day they had met when he knew with absolute certainty that if she had been any older, Tauriel would have followed her father down that ladder to do whatever she could to help even if it meant dying by his side.
This characteristic had been one of the greatest sources of the rising enmity between the pair, infuriating him more and more with each passing year as she grew bolder in her desire to fight the evil emerging outside the realm, for in his eyes, every time she expressed the need to do something beyond their borders, it was a blatant reminder that even though he had raised her, she was still very much someone else’s daughter.
As he listened to the steady rhythm of her breathing, he wondered if now that she had seen the horrors of war and felt the cruel sting of true love lost forever if she would feel any differently about her desires to help the outside world. As quickly as the thought came to him, he dismissed it, his lips twisting wryly.
No, Tauriel would remain unchanged in this regard. She would carry her grief with her for the rest of her life, yet another scar upon her tender heart, but she would continue to fight for what she believed in no matter how much the memory of this loss haunted her.
There was no question in his mind that she would leave Mirkwood behind. Even if he were to lift the banishment, he had no doubt she would never accept her position in his royal halls even if he had been able to offer her the choice. She could not go back to hiding behind his walls.
Carefully cupping her cheek and taking one last look at her, Thranduil realized he had given her everything she could ever need to survive on her own and venture wherever her heart decided to take her. He had educated her, trained her to defend herself, and passed on every bit of knowledge that could be beneficial to her. Tauriel may not have shared his blood, he thought as he glimpsed the pendant she had worn almost all her life, but she had always and would forever hold a piece of his heart. He leaned down to brush his lips upon her brow before he rose to his feet and exited the tent, unable to look back.
* * *
Following the funeral, Tauriel returned to her tent emotionally spent, heart heavy with sorrow and throat tight with unshed tears.
Kili had been laid to rest in great honor with his brother and his uncle, and though the thought of him entombed beneath the mountain sent a sharp spike of pain through her, she prayed he was now at peace. She had quietly slipped away from the rest before the feast commemorating the King Under the Mountain and his heirs was to begin, her grief too close to the surface for celebrations.
Ducking inside the tent, she padded to the low table where she had left the small bag she had packed with supplies before the rites had begun, fully intending to take her leave in the cover of darkness, but she stopped in her tracks when she saw something resting by the satchel.
It was a bow, identical to the one destroyed by Thranduil, right down to the intricate carvings marking it as the property of the Mirkwood Captain of the Guard. A beautiful quiver filled with arrows rested beneath her bag.
Stunned, she slowly picked up the exquisite gift, running her fingertips along the smooth wood of the upper limb, eyes wide with wonder. As she hooked her fingers around the bow string and pulled it back, Tauriel could not help but laugh in pure joy, tears filling her eyes, for the draw weight was perfectly suited to her strength.
She knew this gift could only be from one person.
Slinging her bag over one shoulder and the quiver over the other, she walked out of the tent with the bow in hand, her feet guiding her through the camp until she came upon the tent of the king. Tauriel stared at the fabric of the entrance, which fluttered in the gentle breeze, trying to will herself to take but a few more steps forward. Her feet, however, would not carry her any further.
The bow and quiver were indeed magnificent presents, but Tauriel knew her king better than almost anyone else. While these gifts were intended as a peace offering, she was certain without a doubt that they were also meant to say farewell, for they both knew she would never again return home.
She swallowed hard as she made her decision, fingers tightening around the riser of the bow. Facing the tent, Tauriel dipped her head forward in reverence, a single tear sliding down her cheek as she lifted her right hand over her heart, before she turned and disappeared into the night beneath the light of the stars.
Translations:
Ada – father
Gilgalad - starlight
Tolo – come
Beriadanwen, ona he a'amin – Beriadanwen, give her to me