A/N: I was playing Dragon Age at the same time my husband was watching The Desolation of Smaug. This is where my brain took it. Idk I might do more with it if people seem interested. I just have a lot of feelings. Elves are Very Important.

Warnings: Canon Violence; Spoilers for all the things.

Canon: You probably do need at least basic canon knowledge of Dragon Age to know what's going on. As far as The Hobbit/LOTR is concerned, so long as you know it's a thing that exists, you're good. Also note that I play fast and loose with canon details to merge the two worlds together.

Setting/Timeline: In this fic the Warden is the Male (Aedan) Cousland, and the party went from Lothering to Denerim, got ambushed by Zevran, did the Orzammar quests, and now are on their way to do the Return to Ostagar side quest. No, they have not gone to Redcliffe yet. At all. Basically I wanted Oghren to be in the party and them to know what Broodmothers are, but I didn't want to be too far through the main questline because I want room to play if I decide to continue this.

The Tale of Tauriel, Who Cannot Return to Mirkwood

They were on the road to Ostagar. The Wardens had a lead on some hidden chest or another, though Zevran suspected that the promise of a king's treasure was merely an excuse for Alistair and Aedan to return to the site of the battle that had decimated their Order.

Zevran did not mind. He would have gone with his Warden whether the task was of a personal nature or not. His oath of loyalty demanded no less. Though the promise of gold and perhaps some state secrets did make him a little more eager. After all, they were very likely to run into a great deal of darkspawn on this journey.

Later, he would curse himself for even thinking the phrase 'a great deal of darkspawn.' It was surely too tempting for the Maker, for just after the sun reached its zenith, a mass of the disgusting creatures boiled up out of the ground, surrounding Zevran and his companions. First ten hurlocks, then twenty, then fifty. They kept coming and coming, more than Zevran could count. More than their party could defeat on their own, no matter how skilled.

"They must have taken women captive at Ostagar!" Aedan shouted over the sound of steel and trampling feet.

It took Zevran a moment to understand. When he did, a string of Antivan curses fell from his lips between slashing and dodging. The darkspawn surrounding them were all hurlocks, and the majority of the fallen army at Ostagar had been human.

There were Broodmothers about.

A blade bit at Zevran, catching him in a vulnerable place under his arm, and he cursed again. He quickly sidestepped and swung his longsword at the knees of his opponent, closing his mouth tightly against any tainted blood that might find its way onto his face. Once the beast was dispatched, he dashed for a rocky hillock that stood at a bend in the road, hoping to gain advantage and perspective on the forces arrayed against them.

What he saw when he reached the height made the blood drain from his face. He'd known they were surrounded but… There were so many hurlocks, their deaths were all but certain.

Zevran had found that he wanted death the least when he was most likely to receive it.

Grimly, he promised himself that he would kill the women of their party before allowing them to be taken.

He moved to rejoin the fray, stepping in to stop a Hurlock Alpha from laying Aedan's back open along the spine. "My Warden," Zevran said, pressing his back to Aedan's, the better to protect it, the two parrying and lunging as best as they were able. "It has been an honor to serve you."

Aedan made no reply. He was not one to admit defeat, but neither was he one to offer false hope. Thus, he was rendered silent. Zevran was left to wonder, as a saw edged sword arced down toward his face, whether the last of the Couslands would find honor in dying alongside an Antivan Crow.

Then came a miracle.

Three of the hurlocks standing before Zevran fell simultaneously, arrows through their eyes. The darkspawn's sawsword clattered to the ground, no longer a threat. Zevran turned his head, expecting to thank Leliana, but it was not she who had felled the tainted things.

An elf woman stood at the edge of the forest, in a beam of sunlight that seemed to exist solely for her.

She was tall for an elf woman. As tall as Zevran, and wearing a knee-length green tunic that was fitted to her lovely form, tastefully accentuating her femininity while still being wholly functional. The top half of her long red hair was braided back, revealing her delicately pointed ears. Her face was sweet, her jawline exquisite, her mouth forming a perfect bow. Her expression was calm, as if she was not concerned about the warband of darkspawn at all, though there was a steely determination in her eye.

She caught Zevran watching her, and inclined her head to him.

Then she spun into action, a whirlwind of archery and bladework. She used a longbow and a beautifully curved dagger in tandem, switching back and forth between the two so seamlessly that Zevran could scarcely follow. At times the longbow was utilized as a stave, and at others she loosed arrows so quickly that it did not matter she was fighting at such close range. Her style was similar to his own - she glided between opponents, always moving in circles, simply refusing to be there when blows fell. But with her, it was more. So was so fast, so graceful, so impossible. More than a mere elf.

She was a deadly goddess.

One by one, Zevran's companions stopped fighting as the hurlocks all threw themselves at the newcomer. Before their eyes, she slaughtered her way through thirty of the things. When the last one fell, she kept her dagger extended for a long moment, her eyes scanning the trees. Then she straightened and pushed a strand of copper hair off her shoulder, sheathing her dagger and slinging her bow across her back.

She was not even sweating.

"By the Stone," Oghren sounded awed. "Now that's a woman."

"Yeah," Alistair agreed breathlessly. Leliana gave a lovesick sigh. Sten hummed in a way that might be approval, or possibly gas. The Warden's dog panted.

Morrigan snorted.

The elf woman approached them, and Aedan stepped forward to attend to the introductions. The woman glanced up at the human man, then pushed past Aedan to kneel in front of Zevran. To his bemusement (and no small amount of pleasure), she took his hand and kissed the ring he wore on his first finger, a little bauble that protected him from mage fire.

"Mae govannen, heru en amin. Amin naa Tauriel en Mirkwood. Lle naa en i' agar en Thranduil-aran. Amin naa lle nai. Amin khiluva lle a' gurtha ar' thar."

Zevran blinked.

"Friend of yours?" Aedan asked, one of his brows raised.

Zevran smirked. "I sincerely hope so… Though, I no more understand her than you do."

"'Tis elvish she speaks, of a sort," Morrigan chimed in. "Though no dialect I have ever heard."

Aedan shrugged. "Well, Zev, she seems to like you. And she's good in a fight. I don't mind having her along, if you can figure out a way to make her understand."

Zevran was about to retort that he had certain skills that overcame all language barriers, when the elven lady spoke.

"I know the Tongue of Man." Her voice was light, her lips dancing around the Fereldan syllables as if they were trying to make the words as musical as her own dialect of elvish. Zevran suppressed a little shiver. The more he saw of this woman, the more he wished to bed her.

He looked down at her, for she still knelt in front of him, and she raised her eyes to meet his.

"I am Tauriel, my lord."

"And I am Zevran," he replied. "And no one's lord."

Her brows furrowed in confusion, and she made even that look beautiful. "But your hair, and the curve of your cheek," she protested. "You are of the noblest line, are you not? Only the highest among us can claim locks of starlight: Thranduil, Legolas, Galadriel..."

Morrigan broke into cackling laughter, Alistair joining her a second later, one of the few instances of the two agreeing on something. "Locks of starlight," Alistair repeated, chortling.

Tauriel rose to her feet with a swirl of hair and cloth, and before any of them could move had her dagger at Alistair's throat.

"You mock either me or my people," she stated, sounding for all the world as if they merely discussed the weather.

Morrigan renewed her laughter, and Alistair sputtered, carefully not moving. Zevran allowed himself a small smile.

"No, no… No mockery here," Alistair did his best to placate Tauriel, rolling his eyes toward Aedan.

"Zev," Aedan barked, like the Dog Lord he was.

"Of course, my Warden." Zevran gave a little bow, and then went to place his hand over Tauriel's, guiding her dagger away from Alistair's throat. "You must forgive him, my lady. He has no manners to speak of. But it is not his fault, you see. He was raised by dogs."

"Yes. Yes, I was," Alistair agreed, nodding vigorously now that he was not being menaced with a piece of fine elven steel. "Big slobbery ones."

Tauriel tilted her head, looking Alistair up and down. Then she gave a sly little smile and said, "That explains the smell."

They all laughed at that, even Alistair.

Tauriel sheathed her dagger again, and returned to Zevran's side. "My lord," she persisted in addressing him. "As I said, I am Tauriel. I have served King Thranduil of Mirkwood for the past three hundred years. As his kingdom is closed to me now, I would serve you instead."

Zevran looked over Tauriel's shoulder to gauge Aedan's wishes. Zevran himself would leap at the chance to have a rogue of this calibre in their party. That she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen and treated him with the deference of royalty was just a pleasant bonus, really.

Aedan was already grinning wryly at him, no doubt guessing the content of Zevran's thoughts.

Wait.

"Three hundred years?" Zevran was barely able to keep the incredulity out of his tone. Was the woman mad?

She firmed her jaw. "I admit, I am young to have been the Captain of the Guard of Mirkwood, but I cannot be more than a century younger than you, Lord Zevran. I assure you, I earned the position, and I will be a worthy retainer."

Now it was Zevran who sputtered. "Century? My dear lady, I have no way of being certain of my exact age, but I doubt very much that I am more than forty."

Tauriel's eyes widened. "Forty? But… you do not look like a child."

"Forty?" Aedan echoed. "Huh. I thought you were younger than that. You look younger than that."

"My mother was Dalish," Zevran said, flapping his hand dismissively in Aedan's direction. "The elves may have lost their immortality long ago, but the Dalish are still long lived, compared to humans."

Tauriel's eyes grew wider still and she grasped at Zevran's shoulders as if to shake him. "Lost immortality? What is the meaning of this? Do you mean that… that you are mortal?"

Zevran's breath stilled in his chest, a sort of wonderment he had never been able to summon for the divine filling him. "Yes. I am mortal. Are you... not?"

Tauriel closed her eyes, her face creased with something that looked like despair. "I may fall in battle, or sicken from a poisoned wound. But age will never take me."

Utter silence followed that pronouncement, as if the world itself hushed to listen.

"Whoa," Alistair's blurted exclamation broke the stillness.

"This is like a tale come to life!" Leliana enthused. "She is one of the Old Ones, returned to our land! One of the immortal elves!"

"We shall see." Morrigan was not going to be so easily convinced. "How came you to be here, elf? And what proof can you offer that you are what you claim?"

Tauriel surveyed each of them in turn, moving from left to right. Oghren, Sten, Alistair, the dog, Leliana, Morrigan, Aedan, and finally Zevran himself.

"It is not safe here," Tauriel said at last. "And my lord is injured. Let us find somewhere to rest, and I shall tell my tale."

Zevran had nearly forgotten the cut he had taken under the arm, but at Tauriel's words it flared with pain. He ignored it, hoping only that the wound would not become tainted with darkspawn blood. He had no wish to become a ghoul. (He would later curse himself for thinking that as well.)

"Well?" Alistair said, looking at Aedan.

Aedan smiled and shrugged. "You heard the immortal elf lady."

-l-

Tauriel all but disappeared into the forest, and for a moment Zevran thought that would be the last they saw of her. But she came back as quickly as she had left, calling down to them from a perch in the low branches of one of the trees that lined the road. She traversed the canopy above with as much ease as she did the ground, it seemed, deftly leaping from branch to branch with no more effort than a child playing hopscotch.

She led them to a deep thicket, where the light of the sun had to fight through the leaves to make a dappled pattern on the forest floor, and then she dropped from her footpath of branches, landing with bent knees next to Zevran.

"The trees here slumber deeply," she commented to him. "But they awaken at my touch. They will warn us should any orcs draw near."

Orcs? Trees standing guard?

"If you say so, my lady. You would know better than I."

Tauriel gave him a sharp look, her perfect lips pulling into a little pucker of displeasure. "You will find I can pass any test of woodcraft you put before me, my lord."

Zevran's brows lifted. He turned to study her profile. "I am not testing you. I have told you that I am mortal and not a day over forty, and I obviously don't speak elvish. Truly, I barely set foot outside a city before swearing myself to Aedan. Whatever woodcraft you have, no doubt it surpasses my own, and that of any elf born in Thedas."

"Thedas?" she murmured. "The land across the water… the dragon brought me farther than I thought."

Zevran felt his ears twitch. "Dragon?"

Tauriel shook her head. "'Tis a tale best told from the beginning." She looked out over the campsite Zevran's companions had swiftly erected, leaving Zevran to deal with the new elf in their midst. "You said you are sworn to the man with dark hair? You allow him to lead?"

Zevran didn't bother to stifle a smile. Tauriel's assumptions about himself and their party were charming in their own way. Amusing, certainly. "I allow him nothing. But yes, he leads us."

Tauriel caught Zevran by the elbow, steering him toward the fire Leliana was already hanging their stewpot over. "Then come. He has awaited us long enough. I shall tend to your wound and answer the questions he must surely have."

She bade Zevran sit and set about removing the upper portions of his armor for him, which he did not protest. He was not in the habit of preventing beautiful women from removing his clothes. He reveled instead in the brush of her fingers against his skin, and the scent of her, like green growing things and new steel.

"You lead this fellowship?" she addressed Aedan while she did her work. A cloth was drawn from the depths of her tunic, and a pouch of herbs pulled from the belt at her waist.

"I do," Aedan confirmed, with that quiet ease of his. The Warden had a jolly, easygoing nature that was rare in any man, let alone a noble. He seemed to adjust his demeanor to suit whomever he spoke to, and thus it was a rare person who could find something to dislike about the human.

Tauriel paused in her tending of Zevran and peered at Aedan, as if looking for something. Whatever it was, it did not take her long to find, for she let go a blinding smile and said, "Ah, I see. The dark hair and eyes of piercing blue. A white tree…" she began.

"And laurel leaves," Aedan finished, blinking in bewildered surprise. Zevran glanced over to the pile of gear Aedan had left by his tent. There sat the Shield of Highever, painted with the Cousland heraldry: a crown of laurels.

Tauriel stood and bowed from the waist, never taking her eyes off Aedan's. "You are one of the lost kings. A son of Gondor. Well met, and may what was wrongfully taken from you be one day returned."

Aedan reddened and balled his fists, his jovial armor stripped to reveal the turmoil beneath. But it was for an instant, no longer. He gathered his shattered composure and returned Tauriel's bow. "Thank you, my lady."

Tauriel resumed ministering to Zevran, directing his arm too and fro as she examined the cut beneath his armpit.

"I sense orc taint within," she told him. "But fear not, for I have the means to cleanse it. It is not so for the men you travel with, however. They will become wraiths in time."

"What?" Zevran demanded, not quite sure what he was asking. There were so many things that needed clarification.

Tauriel raised her voice so that the others might hear. "Your wound has been tainted with the pestilence orcs bring with them everywhere. But it is early enough yet that I may cure you. Your companions Aedan and Alistair, however, are beyond saving. The evil of the Shadow has already touched their hearts and pounds in their blood. They have thirty or forty years, if they are strong, before it twists them into wraiths who serve only the Dark One."

Everyone began talking at once.

"Orcs? You mean darkspawn?"

"Hey, that's a Grey Warden secret!"

"You can cure the taint?"

"Dark One? 'Tis the Archdemon you speak of, then?"

The clamor was cut short by Aedan clapping his hands once, sharp and loud. "Lady Tauriel," he said, at his most solemn and lordly. "There are a great many things we don't understand. The elves of Thedas lost their immortality and their lore hundreds of years ago, hard as it may be for you to believe. If you would indulge us now in telling us of yourself and how you came to be here, I would be most grateful."

Tauriel regarded him as regally as would a queen. "As you will, Son of Gondor. Allow me to see to Lord Zevran, and I shall tell you all you wish to know."

Aedan nodded his acquiescence, and Zevran's companions gathered close to witness him be cured of the taint.

Zevran did not allow himself to contemplate the horror it was to contract the illness that sentenced once to a quick death by blade or a long, lingering existence as a mindless goul. He was to be cured presently, so such thoughts had no purpose, yes? So he did not think of it, but instead of how nicely shaped Tauriel's bosom was and how well her tunic fit her. She was rather like the stars over Antiva, was she not? Remote, and beautiful, and forever just out of his reach, though he would not allow that to stop him from trying.

"You will wish to be lying down for this," Tauriel directed him, pulling him down to rest his head in her lap. Zevran grinned and nuzzled closer, giving Alistair a wink that made the man blush. Ah, but it was too easy.

Tauriel murmured something in elvish, and then tweaked the tip of his ear. Bemused, he returned his attention to her.

She was favoring him with quirked lips and raised brow. "No older than forty. Yes, I see it now. You make mischief as a child does. Now hush," she went on, before Zevran could respond. "This will hurt a great deal."

With that, she arranged his arm so that she might press some herb into the cut beneath it, and began chanting in her foreign elvish. Nothing happened at first, but at length Tauriel's chanting grew louder, and a glowing white light seemed to surround her. It took Zevran a moment to realize that it was coming from her skin. She was as a star plucked from the sky, proving the truth of his thoughts.

And she was right. Being cleansed of the taint did hurt terribly. But Zevran had been trained as a Crow, and a Crow was not a Crow until they could be tortured on the rack and make jokes at the same time. So Zevran did not scream. He merely separated himself from the pain and admired the elven lady who seemed too good to exist in his world.

The pain reached a crescendo, and Zevran's body arched up, every muscle tense, a vile blackness leaking from his eyes, mouth, and nose. Still, Tauriel did not stop her chanting, keeping it up until his eyes ran clear with tears that stung.

When at last the task was complete, Zevran was as weak as a kitten, and Tauriel's countenance was filled with some secret sorrow. As tenderly as she had done everything else, she cleaned his face, wiping away the blackness of the taint.

"Do not look so, estrella," Zevran said through lips and tongue made thick with fatigue. He tried to cup her cheek, but his hand would not obey him.

"Do not try to speak," she admonished him, then helped him into a sitting position, pulling him between her legs and bringing his bare back to rest against her chest. Clever of her, really. She was helping Zevran, and yet he was also a living shield for Tauriel, should his companions become less favorably disposed toward her.

He wondered if it was deliberate.

"You move him as easily as if you have the strength of two men," Leliana said, asking a question without asking, her expression one of innocent contemplation. Ah, the work of an Orlesian bard.

"That is because I do," Tauriel answered, settling Zevran more firmly against her torso and wrapping her arms around him to keep him steady. He closed his eyes, breathing in her scent and enjoying the heat of her body against his. She was a tactile creature, this Tauriel. That, or she had assumed the attitude of a mother toward him, given the disparity in their ages, and offered him a mother's comfort and embraces.

He sincerely hoped not. He would much rather be her lover than her son.

"You have the strength of two men?"

Morrigan was incredulous again. Zevran did not open his eyelids. They felt impossibly heavy. But he would not allow himself to sleep in the arms of one he barely knew, never mind all she had done this day to save his life. And he would not miss the telling of her origins.

"My strength is that of the trees," Tauriel said. "My speed that of the stream. My life is of the earth, and my youth of the sun. I am a wood elf of Mirkwood, and so long as I have light and a forest to freely roam, I shall continue to be so."

Oghren grunted. "So what yer sayin' is, you eat sunshine and shit rainbows."

Aedan and Alistair laughed, Tauriel and Leliana joining in a moment later. Zevran was too tired to do anything but sigh and trust that Tauriel would not hurt him after going to such effort to heal him. Hopefully, Aedan would stop her if she tried anything. (Anything that he would actually object to, that is.)

"Dwarves are the same no matter the land, it seems," Tauriel's voice sounded next to Zevran's ear. "I knew a company of them just before circumstances brought me here, and they were just as crude."

"Prissy elf," Oghren grumbled.

Tauriel shifted Zevran again, wrapping one arm more securely around him and freeing the other. Zevran was in no shape to protest. He could no longer even make his lips move. It required all his remaining strength and focus to remain aware. Like waking, but in reverse, his world whittled down to the feel of Tauriel's arm around him, and the voices of his companions.

"I will tell you now how it is that I came to this land. Perhaps once the tale is told, Lord Zevran will allow himself to rest."

"He's still awake? How can you tell?"

"I can hear his heart. It beats too quickly yet for him to have succumbed to slumber. It is likely that he is awake and is listening to all that we say, but cannot summon the energy to respond."

"You can hear his heart? And you're as strong as two men? Fantastic! What else can you do?"

"Psh, Alistair! She is not a trick pony, here to amuse us! She is one of the Old Ones!"

"Now, now, Leliana, I'm sure he didn't mean it that way. Did you, Alistair? And if Tauriel is going to travel with us, it would be useful to know."

"I possess no great ability, Son of Gondor. I am an accomplished scout and warrior, but apart from that there is nothing extraordinary about me."

"You forget, my lady, that the elves of Thedas are much less than they once were. Speak to us as if we are very small children who know nothing of your race, and tell us what you can do."

"Very well. I have had little opportunity for comparison before coming to Thedas, but I am told that even on my weakest day I possess twice the strength of a full grown man. I may see in the dark and at great distances and in greater detail than you ever shall. My hearing is greater as well, as is my sense of smell. I may run as a wolf does, loping for days without resting. I do not like to, but in times of great need I can go without food or sleep with no ill effects. The trees waken and whisper as I pass, and I may speak with those animals who call me friend."

"And you have magic, right? That's what you used to heal Zevran. To cure him of the taint… Thanks for that, by the way. The only cure we know of is to become a Grey Warden."

"I am no sorceress, nor a great healer like the Lord of Rivendell. I have only the small gifts that are given to every elvenborn. And you are welcome."

"But our elves -"

"Lord Zevran has the same potential. I can sense it sleeping within him. If your elves have lost something, as you say, then it is not the ability. It is the knowledge of their use. When Zevran-heru has recovered, I will begin teaching him. In time, he will be able to do all that I can."

There was a silence.

"Now, I will tell you of my journey here." Tauriel's words took on a measured cadence that nearly lulled Zevran to the sleep he was so desperately denying.

"For three hundred years did I serve Thranduil-aran in the heart of Mirkwood. Strong was my bow, and swift were my arrows. Side by side did I fight with Legolas Greenleaf, younger son of the king. It was a good life.

"And then came the shadow. Monstrous spiders sought to den in our forest, tainting it with their evil and making scarce the game. We drove them out with bow and knife and burned their webs, but always they returned. Thought I, 'We must strike them at their source, not merely push them back beyond our borders.' But Thranduil-aran said nay.

"Then came a band of dwarves, blundering along the twisting path and straight into a spider's den. It was the spiders we sought, but the dwarves we caught. We brought them before the king, and locked them within our walls, as was Thranduil's will. They escaped. I still know not how."

"Good on 'em!"

"Shhh, Oghren!"

"In pursuit went I and Legolas, sprinting along the river. But the dwarves had more enemies than we two, for out from the twisting path came a great band of orcs."

"Darkspawn!"

"Shh!"

"Orcs are loathsome creatures, and so we turned from our pursuit of the dwarves to face the vile host. Fifty strong were they, though only thirty lived to flee Mirkwood. Thranduil-aran bade us return, and the doors of Mirkwood's palace sealed. And I…

"I did not obey. Sworn I am to serve the king and all of his line, and I did not obey."

Here Tauriel faltered, her words falling out of the storytelling cadence she had assumed. "But I am not forsworn! In disobeying my king, I serve him still, for we are elves and we owe a duty to more than just those who live within the bounds of Mirkwood!"

She took a deep breath, Zevran's body rising and falling along with hers. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Calmer, she took up her cadence again.

"Legolas would not let me go alone, and so he followed, even as I tracked the orcs. To turn me aside, he tried only once. He knew the right and duty that is ours. And so, when I would not be dissuaded, he came with me.

"The orcs led us to a human town upon a lake, at the base of the Lonely Mountain. The dwarfs were there to reclaim a kingdom lost, the orcs to slay the dwarves, and within the mountain did a dragon dwell.

"His name was Smaug, a fulsome beast. Slumbered had he for many a year, so long that the mortal races thought him dead. And so did the dwarves enter the Lonely Mountain. And so did the dragon waken. And so did the town upon the lake come to burn.

"The battle was chaos, man turning on man, the dragon roaring, dwarf and elf and orc all running from the flames. I know not how I came to be upon the dragon's back, but upon his back I was, clinging to the fearsome spines.

"Smaug rolled and spun in the air, knowing I was there and trying in vain to dislodge me. I held fast, and so he flew higher and higher, until I could see nothing of the land below. At last did the air grow so thin that even an elf could not breathe it.

"I fainted, and next I knew was in a great body of water, an ocean without end. For three days and three nights was I there, keeping myself afloat and hoping for a ship to pass, or that a creature large and friendly enough to bear me to shore would come near. At last came a ship on the horizon, and sailors who called to me in the Tongue of Man.

"They pulled me up, and, in exchange for the knife I kept in my boot, took me to the closest shore. I made my way to these woods, and here have I been ever since, slaying what orcs I may. Until the day I set my eyes upon an elf I knew to be of the House of Thranduil, and knelt to kiss his hand. Long will I serve Zevran-heru, in keeping with my oath.

"And so now you know the tale of Tauriel, who cannot return to Mirkwood."

A heavy silence fell.

It was Alistair who broke the spell woven by Tauriel's words. "So… a bastard prince, a lost king of Gondor, wherever that is, and an elf lord… is anyone here not royalty?"

Oghren raised his hand.

END NOTES:

Elvish translations:

Mae govannen, heru en amin. Amin naa Tauriel en Mirkwood. Lle naa en i' agar en Thranduil-aran. Amin naa lle nai. Amin khiluva lle a' gurtha ar' thar: Well met, my lord. I am Tauriel of Mirkwood. You are of the blood of Thranduil-king. I am yours to command. I will follow you to death and beyond.

Zevran-heru: Zevran-lord.

Thranduil-aran: Thranduil-king.

Antivan (Spanish) translations:

Estrella: Star.