Disclaimer: I don't own anything besides the idea for this story. I only borrowed the characters.
The progress was slow. Even weeks after the destruction of Esgaroth the resettlement of the citizens to the ancient city of Dale was still ongoing. Broken windows, roofs and walls had to be mended, wood had to be cut to build cranes, wheelbarrows and for fires to keep away the cold of the receeding winter. Food was sparse, the many carriages full of supplies from the Mirkwood elves lasted only for a short time. The dead had to be buried. Every hand was needed to rebuild Dale, so Tauriel decided to stay.
Her king rid her of the rank of Captain of the King's Guard, Legolas left for the north and the dwarves, Bilbo and Gandalf where almost on their way back home.
One more duty had to be fulfilled: the fallen sons of Durin had to be buried. Tauriel helped the dwarves dig the graves, after they overcame their suspicion towards the former captain. She was the one to put the runestone on Kíli's chest. The dwarves sang a low dwarven chant in a tongue unknown to Tauriel. She uttered some Elvish sermons under her breath and wished the fallen dwarves a safe journey to their afterlife. It felt like all energy and will to go on with her life has drained from her. She cried during the funeral, but she didn't feel anything anymore, only emptiness. If only I hadn't talked to him while he was incarcerated and treated him just like all the other prisoners. He would have died of the poisoning from the Morgul arrow instead. Same outcome for him, but I would still be Captain of the King's Guard. Patrolling in and around Mirkwood, minding my business. Completely oblivious of other races in this world.
Kíli was the first to make me feel something. If only I had been able to save him from the orc's attack, too. He would be alive now standing here next to me. With me.
The weapons were laid next to the armored bodies of the Thorin, Fíli and Kíli before their graves were covered with soil.
She walked back to Dale alone. Tauriel shared a house with widowed women and orphaned children who lost their parents to the orc attacks. Gusts of icy wind swept through the old rooms, but since the cold didn't affect Tauriel as much as the children, she was willing to sleep beneath one of the broken windows. A coarse blanket and some empty jute bags with lots of holes served as a bed.
Tauriel sat down, after having walked past the widows sitting around the campfire.
All elves have left, no, abandoned the people of Lake-Town. Thranduil never cared about anybody's fate and well-being except for his own kin.
"Tauriel, bard put you in the lumber group tomorrow. I spoke with him since you told me you wanted harder work than handing out supplies." a heavyset woman called Poppy announced.
"My gratitude. May you sleep well."
Poppy walked back to the campfire.
Tauriel traced the embroidery of her quiver with the now obsolete arrows, because Thranduil cut his bow in half. I'll have to trade them in for something more useful.
She lay down and covered herself with the blanket.
"I'm cold" a pair of small, tired eyes looked down at Tauriel.
"Go get your blanket then and you can sleep here as long as you want."
It was Pip, an orphaned four-year-old girl everyone tried to keep an eye on. She trotted to her blanket and returned swiftly.
Pip crouched down and lay next to Tauriel. She covered her in her blanket and pulled a part of her own blanket over Pip, just to make sure she won't be cold tonight.
The people have gone through so much pain and suffering.
Tauriel gently pulled Pip's hair out of her face and started humming a soothing song.
"Sleep well, Pip."