A/N: The idea for this story came to me out of bumfucknowhere and wouldn't leave me alone for the last three days, so I decided to indulge my whimsical muse for once and simply started to write. I admit that I've taken a lot of liberties with the canon and that I've changed quite a lot of things to suit me, but I think it's going to be a fun read for you and a fun write for me ;)

There will be a bit if Thranduil/Tauriel somewhere in there, as they are one of my favourite couples right now, but the main focus will be ultimately on Sigrid and Legolas, as they are the main pairing of this fanfic.

As it is now, I think there will be four chapters in total with a possibility for a sequel if you will want one. Also, I would like to warn you that there will be smut (described in detail to a certain extent) and some graphic descriptions of violence (namely battle scenes and such), so if you're not a fan of those, I suggest a retreat ;)

Have a nice read and please, leave a review when you are done! I would love to know what you think! :)

EDIT: Yes, I am aware Lorde's version isn't the original one - I'm merely stating which one inspired me.

NO TURNING BACK

"There's a room where the light won't find you
Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down
When they do I'll be right behind you"
-Lorde, "Everybody Wants to Rule the World"

Chapter 1

Sigrid was Bard's daughter in all but blood.

She had known it for years, since neither her mother nor Bard himself have ever tried to make it into a secret. Besides, if her slightly pointed ears weren't enough to at least hint at her birth father's identity, then her unusually acute senses and the astonishing grace of her movements pretty much spoke for themselves. She was unlike any other girl in Lake-town with her ginger brown hair and eyes in such a bright shade of green they seemed to glow even when there was no light to illuminate them.

However, beauty was more a curse than an advantage to her. The leery looks some men were sending her way when she happened to pass by the taverns or the docks on her way to and from the market made her feel uncomfortable and very uneasy. She never wandered alone in the evenings or at night, afraid that one or more of them could potentially harm her. Without any friends to accompany her, she usually only ever went out of the house with her father or in the light of day, because it guaranteed that she stayed relatively save.

Sometimes she wondered what would it be like to live amongst her Elven kin. Her mother, when she was still alive, often spoke about her life before Esgaroth, recalling tale after tale of the beauty of the woods and the gentleness of the fair folk that lived there. She never mentioned the names – of people, elves, or places alike – but it didn't make her words any less beautiful. It sounded so much better than what Sigrid had now that on some days she truly considered leaving everything behind just so she could see if her mother's stories were at least partially true and experience those wonders for herself.

As it was, she had yet to actually make up her mind about it. For now, she was content with helping her foster father, Bard, and her half-siblings. She loved them, as they were the only family she has ever known, and the thought of abandoning them didn't sit well with her, even if it wasn't always easy to be who she was in this godforsaken town.

People in general shunned her, because she was just too different. They were probably a bit afraid of her as well, if the wary glances of some of them were anything to go by. Men in general simply lusted after her body, but there was little else that interested them about her besides her beauty. Women were envious of Sigrid's looks and cautious about the wandering eyes of their men, some going as far as to bluntly ignore her presence in hopes of getting rid of her.

In those moments, when she felt like there was nothing to cling onto besides her family, she usually let her imagination flow. It took her to the woods on the West coast of the Long Lake where she could finally breathe freely and stop pretending to be someone she was not. She dreamt about being herself without restraints, because even though people knew she was unlike any of them, they weren't exactly certain why and it was better this way. Ending up as a freak show because of her uncommon heritage wasn't something she needed in her already quite complicated existence.

That being said, as much as she yearned for some sort of an adventure and the freedom it would give her, she wasn't really prepared for it and it showed as she tried to manoeuvre between the company of dwarves that was making her already rather cramped house seem even smaller.

For the life of her, she couldn't fathom why her father had decided that it was a good idea to smuggle them into Esgaroth in the first place, so understanding why they needed to stay with them was far beyond her.

She sighed deeply in annoyance as Fili stepped onto her toes on his way to assist his brother, who was running a fever and needed constant care. He was among three dwarves whose names she actually remember – the other ones being Kili, the feverish brother, and Thorin, the grumpy leader of the company – but it didn't necessarily endeared him to her, especially when he seemed to be on a mission to collide with her in one way or another every time they were within each other's reach.

A loud noise, resembling the sound of heavy footsteps, coming from the outside made her head snap in the direction of the door. Call it paranoia, but she was not going to risk the lives of Bain and Tilda simply because she refused to believe that her father would willing put them in danger. It was obvious that he had some sort of agenda with their dwarfish guest, but she wasn't going to play by his rules if he wasn't even there to take care of them himself.

"Tilda, Bain, blow out the candles. Everyone, keep quiet," she instructed as she moved swiftly to the only two uncovered windows to close the curtains.

"What is going on, lass?" Asked one of the dwarves, but she ignored him in favour of retrieving her dagger and the worn-out bow with a leather quiver full of arrows that belong to her father.

She fastened the sheathed blade to the belt of her tunic and then put the quiver onto her back, securing it there with firm and steady hands. It was good that she had decided to forego dresses in favour of men's wear, for it would have been impossible to do anything with a long skirt in the way. Slinging the bow over her head in the same manner as she had done a moment ago with the quiver, she moved soundlessly to the only entrance to the house. Once there, she took the dagger out and, after taking a few breaths to calm down her racing heart, she slowly opened the door to take a look at the dark street.

A foul smell hit her sensitive nostrils almost immediately. She forced down the overwhelming urge to gag and instead poked her head out, surveying the eerily silent neighbourhood with narrowed eyes.

Something wasn't right.

She closed the door without making any sound and walked to where the dwarves and her siblings were sitting.

"I need to go out for a moment," she whispered. "I heard something and it's better to check what it is than to wait for it to come here. Be quiet and don't lit up the candles. I hope that this companion of yours, the one looking for kingsfoil, has enough wits about him to keep his mouth shut as well."

"Is it really safe for you to go?" Fili asked from his place to her right. "You don't look like a warrior, my lady…"

"I am plenty a warrior," she responded with a huff of indignation. "And it's much safer for me than for you."

"She is light on feet," murmured the dwarf who, Sigrid suspected, was the oldest of the lot, judging by his white beard and calmer demeanour. "And she is right. We shouldn't wander into the streets."

"Thank you," she said, glad that at least someone seemed to understand. "I'll be quick."

Without saying anything to Bain and Tilda, who were probably too frightened to do anything but stare at her with wide eyes, she was out of the house and moving swiftly along the walls, trying to stay away from open spaces as much as it was possible. She stopped briefly at the first crossing before continuing onwards, her hand gripping the hilt of the dagger so fiercely she was sure her knuckles were snow-white by now.

In all seventeen years of her life she had never been forced to use a weapon. Of course she had practiced, because her father thought the right training shaped the character. It was also quite useful to have means to protect yourself, especially in this world where dangers laid around every corner.

Speaking of corner, she managed to jump behind the huge stack of empty barrels just in time to avoid a face-to-face encounter with one of the smelliest and ugliest creatures she had ever seen in her life. It was stomping rather than walking and it was also without a shade of doubt the source of the horrid stench she had detected earlier. She scrunched her nose, wondering if it was possible to lose one's sense of smell because of something like that. The creature moved past her, going in the opposite direction than where she had come from, which made her mentally sigh in relief.

She moved out of her hiding place only when she was quite sure the thing was far away from her. With her hands trembling with nervous energy, she continued her little patrol in peace until she, once again, came across the same gut-wrecking smell. Following it, even though she didn't really want to do that, lead her straight into what could only be described as the quietest battle in the history of Middle Earth. She could hardly hear anything at all, which was probably due to the fact that the creatures were fighting against an elf, who was obviously a very experienced warrior.

There was an occasion clang, hinting at a sword fight, or a subtle swish of an arrow as it cut through the air, but there was no shouting whatsoever, which explained why the villagers weren't probably even aware that there was something like this happening right outside their homes.

Instead of rushing head first into the fight, she decided to find a good spot somewhere above the ground, so she could shoot at the enemies with more accuracy than she would have been able to do from the ground. Her small frame would hardly help her in close combat anyway.

Jumping around the rooftops as a child was something most children in Esgaroth did for fun and Sigrid had never been more grateful for the existence of that silly game than now. She knew how to jump around to make the least amount of noise, which ensured that she could aim, shoot, and move on without leaving a trace or altering anyone to her presence, although she suspected that the elf knew she was there.

The fight continued for some time and Sigrid found herself easing down bit by bit with each shot she took, which ensured that she was able to hit the target with more precision. When the last of the creatures in her line of sight fell to the ground with an arrow sticking grotesquely out of the back of its head, she decided to return to the house, but before she could do it a loud thud filled the air, followed a moment later by the unmistakable sounds of a brawl. Too curious for her own good, but unable to resist, she tracked the source of it and the bow she was holding in her left hand almost slipped from her fingers in shock.

One of the creatures – bigger and sturdier than the others – was holding the elf by his neck, pressing him against the wall with so much force it was a wonder he could still move around as much as he did. Putting the bow onto her back, she weighed her options, but there was really only one right thing to do.

She took a deep breath, unsheathed her still unused dagger, and then she jumped down onto the creatures back. Taken by complete surprise, it wasn't fast enough to react, and so she was able to cut its throat before it had a chance to do anything other than grunt in pain and fell forwards, slamming its ugly face onto the wall with a sickening crack of breaking bones.

The elf managed to pull himself away just in time to avoid being squashed, but not before a fountain of dark warm blood hit his face.

Sigrid stood up from where she was squatting over the creature's back and eyed the elf, for the first time realizing how bizarre this entire situation truly was.

"You are not a child of Men," he said before she could fully comprehend the fact that she was actually looking at a real elf and that she had just saved his life.

"Neither are you," she scoffed, mildly baffled by the tone of his voice, which made it sound as if being a human was something one should be ashamed of. The fact that he had called her a child didn't make her any happier. To distract herself from such negativity, a sure result of her nerves getting the better of her in the aftermath of her first fight, she nudged the creature with her foot to make sure it was really dead. "What is this thing?"

"An Orc. A strange one, but still an Orc."

"It stinks, even in death," she commented with a grimace, which made her companion chuckle quietly. "What? It's true, is it not?"

"Ah, yes," he acknowledged with a swift nod of his head. "The smell is hideous indeed."

It was then that Sigrid finally came to her senses, at least somewhat. She became tense once again, sparing cautious looks to the both end of the narrow street as if she was expecting an ambush, which was partially the case. The other part of her wondered what would anyone think if they saw her with an elf out on the streets so late in the evening and bathed with thick dark Orcish blood to top it all. She wasn't Esgaroth's favourite as it was, but if someone was to see her in this state and company, she had no doubt they would finally have a reason to get rid of her as they had wanted to do for years.

"We need to go," she informed the elf and, without giving him much thought, she pulled him after her by the sleeve of his tunic.

Surprisingly enough, he didn't object and followed her with quiet graceful footsteps, gasping her hand as if it was the most natural thing to do.

The walk back to her house was fast and thankfully uneventful, although on one occasion they have almost crossed paths with a group of drunk fishermen. It was solely due to the elf's fast reflex that they weren't seen, as he had somehow managed to pull them into a dark alcove a split second before the men rounded the corner. As they waited for the loudmouths to pass them by, she was acutely aware of their close proximity. Pressed against his body in the tight space with little to no room between them made her very aware of the fact that he was indeed a male and a quite fetching one at that, although it was hard to assess his features when he had a layer of blood smeared across his face, the left side of his neck, and even in his light long hair. Sigrid caught herself admiring his profile in what little light there was, admitting to herself in the confines of her mind that the tales about the elves' astounding beauty weren't exaggerated, for he was easy ten time more handsome with a blood-covered face than any men she has ever seen.

After they were sure the fishermen were far enough, which took some time considering their inebriated state of mind, they pressed on and managed to arrive at the doorstep of Sigrid's home within minutes.

Upon entering she noted with satisfaction that the lights were still out, just like she had instructed. The only thing that made her less than happy was the fact that there were now only four dwarves present instead of the previous thirteen. There was also a new addition in the form of a red-haired she-elf, who was sitting by the table on which Kili laid with her head resting near the dwarf's hand. She was asleep, just like the rest of the remaining dwarves.

"Sister!" Tilda came to stand in front of her with a look of relief mixed with horror on her face. Sigrid supposed she made for quite an image in her blood-soaked clothes and holding an equally as dirty elf by a hand. Upon realizing that she had yet to release him, she did so abruptly, trying to fight the heat that started to spread across her cheeks.

"It's me, Tilda. And this is my new… friend." She hesitated at the word, but the elf didn't seem bothered by what she said in the slightest. He offered her a barely visible smile and then moved to the side of the she-elf who Sigrid suspected was familiar to him in one way or another. "Where are the dwarves, little one?"

"They left quite a while ago. Kili got worse, so they couldn't take him with them," Tilda explained. "Then the she-elf, Tauriel, appeared and did something… I do not know what exactly, but I think she helped Kili."

"Aa," was Sigrid's only answer, since she had already suspected that much. "You did well to keep the lights out, Tilda. Now, get Bain and fetch a bucket of water for me, please."

The girl nodded her head quickly and went to Bain, who was dozing off on their father's favourite chair. Sigrid turned her attention to the elves, noting that her fair-haired companion looked distressed by the sight of the she-elf. She furrowed her brow, wondering about the reason behind such a strong reaction to a very innocent scene, but didn't dwell on it for too long. While her siblings were busy getting fresh water so she and the elf could clean themselves off, she started to prepare tea. There was still a lot of water left in the kettle from before, so she could start straight away.

When she was done, she put the full steaming teapot and an array of cups on the kitchen countertop, making it obvious that everyone was free to help themselves to the hot beverage. She then moved to where the male elf had seated himself a moment ago with two full cups in hand. She handed him one of them without a word and sat down herself on the chair opposite to his. He accepted his tea, but his mind was obviously miles away as he stared outside through the small gap between the curtains. His eyes were glowing in the faint light of the moon as it slipped into the otherwise dark room.

"Are you alright, Mister Elf?" She asked him quietly, when it became obvious that something was bothering him greatly.

He turned to look at her and shook his head, but a weary sigh escaped his lips. She understood that he was either not ready or not willing to talk about it just yet, so she let it be. Instead she decided to inquire about the most pressing matter, namely the Orcs and the reason behind their appearance in Esgaroth.

"They have been following the company of dwarves all the way from Mirkwood. I know not what they want exactly, but there is no doubt in my mind it cannot be anything good," he answered. "My name is Legolas. You do not need titles when I own you my life, elf-friend."

To her astonishment, he bowed to her afterwards. It was pure luck that Tilda and Bain returned with the water just then, because she was sure she would have made a spectacle of herself otherwise. Even though she knew close to nothing about the Elven customs, she was quite certain calling someone by their given name was no small deal. In the world of Men, it meant that the other person regarded you as their equal and it was considered an honour. If the Elves were similar in this regard, she was fairly certain she had just gained her first friend.

She smiled a little as she gestured for her siblings to bring the bucket to where she was sitting and then instructed them to bring her a few linens. When they gave them to her a moment later, she thanked them and send them on their way to have a cup of tea before bed, since they deserved some rest after this long day and even longer evening.

Putting her already empty cup on the windowsill, she bent down and soaked the piece of soft fabric before wringing it. She started to scrub at her arms, which were still mostly covered in dirt and blood. When she looked up a moment later to see how Legolas was fairing, she could barely stop herself from laughing. He had somehow managed to make it worse, smearing the blood all over his face instead of wiping it away. He was obviously struggling with the task and she suspected that a lack of a mirror played a part in his awkwardness.

For a lot moment she watched him, a small smile playing across her lips, before deciding that enough was enough.

She put the linen she had been using away and reached for a fresh one. She dampened it in the same manner as she had done previously. Then she reached out and took a hold of Legolas' hand that held the piece of damp fabric, bringing it down and away from his face.

"Let me help you," she offered with a smile. "You are only making it worse."

A few seconds of silence passed between them as he looked at her with an unreadable expression before he slowly nodded and leaned forward in his seat so she could reach him more easily.

Washing someone's face shouldn't have felt so intimate, but it did. As the grime slowly disappeared, wiped away bit by bit, she could she more of his features as they emerged from beneath. His face was just as pale as his neck in those few places where it wasn't bruised and it was free of stubble. His skin was smooth and warm against her fingers when they happened to brush against it by accident as she worked. Although there was a certain gentleness to his appearance, his jaw was angular and his cheekbones were sharp, which should have given him a rather severe look, but it did not. Instead it made him look even more appealing to her eyes.

She felt herself blush at her own trail of thought as she moved the cloth down his nose once again, removing the last remains of blood from it. Looking straight into his bright blue eyes during the entire ordeal wasn't probably a very good idea, but she could hardly stop herself from doing so.

Even though she knew he would be handsome, since the Elves were called the fair folk was a just reason, she did not in fact expect him to be so breathtakingly beautiful. His light golden hair was marred with blood at the hairline, his face still wasn't perfectly clean, and there was a growing dark bruise at his neck in the shape of the Orcish hand, and yet she still thought him beyond gorgeous, as strange as it was.

She averted her eyes, her cheeks growing even darker in embarrassment.

"I'm finished," she announced and moved away as silence fell around them. It wasn't exactly awkward, but it was certainly uncomfortable and she soon found herself fidgeting in her seat, wondering if it would be horribly obvious that she was running away from him if she decided to leave him alone right now.

Not that it mattered.

Mind made up, she briefly glanced at Legolas from the corner of her eye as she stood up and then bend down to scoop up the barrel into her arms before carrying it over to the privy at the back of the house so she could dump its contents there.

It was not as if she had never seen a handsome man before in her life, since there were plenty of those in Esgaroth, but it was hard to miss the fact that Legolas was no Men, she thought, and maybe that was the reason why she had noticed him.

Although she wasn't usually one to pay attention to the members of the opposite gender – more often than not it was the other way around – she had spotted some quite becoming faces as the years went by and she slowly became aware of the more intimate aspects of the married life. She knew she was already at the age when most girls had husbands and little ones of the way, but her father thought she deserved a chance to make decisions for herself. He would never force her to do anything she didn't want to do and so Sigrid remained unattached. Of course village gossip followed her decision to remain unwed ever since she had debunked a few decent proposals, but they talked about her anyway as it was. One more oddity wasn't going to make a difference in the townsfolk's opinion about her, so she didn't even bother.

When she came back to the house, she took some of the clothes that needed to be mended and returned to her previous seat.

As she worked her way through the small pile, trying to forget for a moment about his presence by occupying her mind with other things, she could feel his eyes on her the entire time.

-o-o-o-

Legolas couldn't decide why he had followed the strange elleth in the aftermath of the fight, but he would wager a guess it had something to do with the fact that he found her quite attractive. He was not immune to the feelings of desire and lust, and she was one of the fairest beings he had ever seen in his long life.

He observed her as she sew, nibble fingers working the needle through the thick woollen fabric with practiced ease, and he remembered the way she looked during the fight – all deadly grace and delightful agility. He had known someone was aiding him even before she had leapt from that rooftop to save his life, but he had been quite sure it was Tauriel who had decided to follow him instead of staying behind with the dying dwarf and not some unknown she-elf he had never met before.

Come to think about it, she was not entirely Elvish. Her ears were pointed, yes, and there was the natural eternal glow all Elves emanated, but she reminded him more of his kind in Rivendell than those who lived within the Woodland Realm. It didn't seem polite to ask about her parentage, since they didn't know each other well enough, but it was clear to him that the two human children calling her "sister" were not fully her siblings, if they were ones at all.

Tilda and Bain looked alike each other, both dark-haired and dark-eyed, whereas Sigrid with her bright golden-brown hair and light green eyes stood out against them like a precious stone would do when put amongst lumps of coal.

His eyes shifted to Tauriel.

For a long time he had been sure she was meant for him, but he had been wrong. He loved her, yes, but in a way a brother loves his sister and there was nothing romantic about it, but he accepted and understood it, and he could also appreciate it. He knew she held some affection for that young dwarf, but he was also aware her heart and soul laid elsewhere, even if she wasn't yet ready to admit it.

He sighed heavily.

Love was an unnecessarily complicated matter, especially for Elves who believed in the existence of soul mates and often times were so strongly bonded with their partners that they could feel each other from miles away.

A soft gasp brought him out of his musings. Apparently his sudden exhale of breath had startled Sigrid, which resulted in a pricked finger and a few drops of blood on a white tunic she had been mending for the last half an hour. He watched in a daze as she put her bleeding thumb into her mouth and sucked on it gently. It was definitely not an image he needed right now when his thoughts about her were already less than courteous as a result of her earlier ministrations as well as her alluring presence.

As if sensing his gaze, she looked up. She must have seen something in his eyes, because she immediately withdrew the finger from her lips with a soft pop.

"Forgive me," he said to distract himself from the products of his too vivid imagination. "I did not mean to startle you, mellon nin."

"It's alright," she responded with a small smile, her head slightly crooked to the side. 'What does that mean? That Elvish phrase you've used?"

"It means 'my friend'," he supplied. "You don't know Elvish?"

She shook her head. "My mother died before she could teach me."

"I am truly sorry, I did not…"

"You didn't know," she interrupted him with a dismissive shrug of her shoulders. "Time has freed me of my grief and the illness took her swiftly, so at least I know she wasn't in pain for long."

"So you truly are a Peredhil then." Her face showed her incomprehension, which made him smile. She was quite remarkable if she truly had no previous contact with her father's kin, because she behaved in a way not unlike other Elven maidens he knew. There had been no one to teach her their ways and yet she somehow knew how to use a bow with lethal precision and her movements were unlike those of Men – fluid, measured, and soundless.

"Half-elven," he explained to her and she nodded her head in affirmation. "It is your father then?"

"Yes," she responded quietly, her hands gripping the white shirt tightly. Something in her posture let him know she did not wish to talk about it any further and he had no desire to upset her even more.

"Tell me about yourself," he requested instead and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth when she obliged him after a brief moment of hesitation.

He didn't need to know everything at once, he told himself as he listened to the sound of her melodic voice, and he was more than willing to give her all the time she needed.