Mountains Cold and Gray


...

Twilight had finally come. The Lonely Mountain stood alone, a wall of black against the fading blood orange sky line. The giant rock formation smothered out the setting sun's last precious rays of warmth, and the shadow of night began to cast its net over the land.

A cool mist had approached from the east, creeping over the silhouetted peeks from the sea beyond to blanket the ground in a cloud of gray. As darkness swept over the valley, consuming territory inch by inch, King Thranduil's piercing blue eyes were drawn to the only source of light left remaining.

Man made light, yellow and bright, poured out from the mouth of the main entrance into the Lonely Mountain. Cheery music also came forth from the mountain, echoing its way across the landscape into the Elvenking's highly attuned ears. A celebration of the most joyus kind was transpiring within the Halls of Erebor. For the last two days the elated cheers of dwarves and men victorious, dwarves who had redeemed their homeland and the men who had helped them do it, had trumpeted across all of Middle Earth.

But not every soul who had survived the bloody Battle of the Five Armies was in the mood for revelry...

The great king of the woodland realm bowed his uncrowned head, his silver hair streaming freely like a curtain around his face. He turned slowly away from the view and sought to find some solace inside the silent enclosure of his royal tent.

For a brief moment, the steady warmth and soothing crackles from the fire hearth numbed the King's troubled mind, but its effects did not last long. All the fine furnishings and familiar elegance of his traveling quarters could not provide an escape from his sorrows this evening. Striding to his deer skinned lounge chair, Thranduil lowered himself tiredly into the seat, fixing his long satin robe about him before leaning his elbow onto the armrest and lifting his fingers to support his chin.

The intense aches and pains he had been experiencing over the last few days had finally dulled to a manageable level, thanks to the persistent and skilled hands of a medical officer and the use of enchanted herbs. However, it was the mental and emotional trauma that was by far the hardest torture to bare.

Thranduil's eyelids shuddered involuntarily against the sudden onslaught of horrific images that flashed uninvited through his mind; images of lifeless eyes, gaping mouths, colorless skin, and bloodied, mutilated bodies lying strewn on the cold grounds of battle. The aftermath of war, even one that ended in success, had never been anything less than depressing. There were no spoils that could outweigh in jubilance what the staggering loss of soldiers' lives would equal in grief. Not even the precious white gems which had inspired Thranduil to march on the Lonely Mountain to reclaim.

The king inhaled a deep breath through the nose, but the weight of his guilt still rested heavily upon his breast. His lapse in judgement had cost him dearly, and even now, Thranduil could not determine if he had made the right or wrong choice in having brought his army to this death ridden land in the first place. Without his help, the dwarves might have never been able to hold off the orcs from their newly reclaimed kingdom, and the army of man would have surely been thoroughly slaughtered. But why then did the king's heart remain wholly untouched by even the smallest shred of satisfaction? Why were loss and loneliness his only companions on what should have been a festive evening?

"My Lord,"

The voice, speaking in elvish, came from a sentry guard standing by the curtain of Thranduil's tent entrance. Thranduil inclined his head in acknowledgement, though his eyes did not meet with the guard's.

"It is Tauriel. She wishes to speak to you," the sentry explained.

Now this was unexpected, and finally drew Thranduil's gaze. Indeed, there she stood. His previous Captain of the Guard. She waited patiently, her expression professionally blank, but her eyes gave her away. They were still faintly pink from the tears of agony she had expressed a few hours earlier over the loss of her loved one: a dwarf prince called Kili.

They, along with Bard the Dragonslayer, the Great Wizard Gandalf, and the Brave Hobbit, Bilbo, had all respectfully attended the burial ceremony of King Thorin and his two nephew's: Fili and Kili. It had been a mournful gathering in which many tears were shed. Everyone, save perhaps Thranduil himself, was greatly moved by the gravity of their loss.

The Throne of Erebor had lost its rightful heir, leaving Dain, son of Nain, to assume rulership over the great treasure hoard. But there was one treasure which was to no longer belong to the great halls; it was to be delivered into the hands of the dwarf who had fought so hard to reclaim it.

It was Bard who lay the Arkenstone between Thorin's cold, lifeless fingers, where the white gem was to stay forever within the fallen king's tomb. King Thranduil had then stepped forward to bestow his gift, the sword named Orcrist: the very elven blade in which Thorin had slain the Orc beast, Azog. It seemed to Thranduil that the best place for the beloved weapon was with the dwarf who had wielded it in victory.

The rustle of his tent door flapping in the night wind, brought Thranduil back to the present. Casting these thoughts aside, the king shifted in his chair to properly address his visitor.

"You may enter," Thranduil permitted, straightening his posture. The sentry left them, and Tauriel glided into the tent, her long red tresses flowing behind her as she approached. She stopped, a gracious two yards before his throne chair, and bowed her head. Thranduil waited patiently until her eyes at last lifted to meet his.

"My king," she addressed, her tone soft and broken.

"Why have you come to me at this hour, Tauriel?" Thranduil asked shortly, his demeanor slightly coarse. He was not in the mood for friendly conversation with the traitor, and was too weary to pretend otherwise.

"I have come because I felt it was my duty to inform you that I have found no trace of Legolas," Tauriel answered meekly, clearly apprehensive of what reaction this news might evoke from her king. To her own bewilderment, her words brought on no sudden movements or words of wrath. Instead, Thranduil gazed off dazedly behind her, his mind miles away. Finally, after Tauriel had been left waiting several long moments with bated breath, he responded.

"I have given Legolas leave to explore the western territories in search of advantageous allies. He left two days past, after the conclusion of the battle. I do not expect him to return for some time."

Tauriel swallowed, stricken. Thranduil observed her reaction to his announcement with careful attention. She was making a valiant effort at maintaining her composure, but Thranduil saw it crumbling away with each moment in which his words sunk further in. Slowly, her mouth parted to respond, but nothing came forth from her quivering lips save for a shallow breath. A shimmer of fresh tears glassed her liquid blue eyes, and one rogue drop broke away, slipping down the center of her right cheek. She looked suddenly very faint and the strength of her knees began to falter.

Thranduil's eyes widened in alarm, and he stood swiftly, taking two large strides before the elven maid was safely within his reach. His arms encompassed her carefully and Tauriel collapsed into him, resting her head upon his shoulder and shivering in silent sobs. Nothing but small gasps escaped her throat as her tears stained his robes. Thranduil simply held her.

To have her fleeting love affair with Kili cruelly shortened by his death was one thing, but to be robbed indefinitely of Legolas' company- an elf in whom she had grown up with, had fought and served with, whom she had trusted as her truest, most loyal friend- was another matter.

Only now did Thranduil realize how the loss of both relationships might deeply damage the essence of this passionate, young warrior. Unable to think of any other words, the king spoke these:

"I am sure Legolas did not intend to cause you further pain through his absence. However, perhaps it is best, for the both of you. He has been longing to explore the outer realms for some time, and this is the perfect opportunity. And as for you… You need time to rest and quiet your mind from these events. If you ever have hope of returning to your former self, you will need to conquer this grief…"

At that, Tauriel abruptly pulled herself away from her king's embrace.

"Don't you see?" she spat venomously, her wet cheeks glistening in the low lantern light of the tent. "I shall never again be like my former self," she resolved, quivering with barely restrained anger. "She died some time ago, within the dungeon halls of the Woodland Palace, whence I first spoke with an unlikely dwarf who reopened my eyes to a world of wonder beyond our borders, and in doing so, also my heart. I shall never again return to the cruel, indifferent creature that I once was, having no feeling towards those deemed lower than us. My heart will not allow me to operate under such pretenses in good conscience."

Her speech astonished the Elvenking, and Thranduil's feelings of offense were made evident by the darkening of his stormy blue eyes.

"What other choice do you have?" Thranduil challenged. "You swore an oath to me. Or have you forgotten? You swore to serve under me and to heed to my orders. To defy me is treason. Your disobedience in leaving our realm when you were not given my express permission has already gotten you banished. See where following your heart has taken you. Down a path of inexplicable pain, tragedy, and ruin," he declared firmly, his silver brows set. "Tell me, dear Captain, how can I possibly receive you back into my confidence? Even if I were not already displeased with your insubordination, would you honestly expect me to take you back, being as emotionally compromised as you have just demonstrated to me now?" he demanded hotly.

This revelation seemed to strike Tauriel off kilter, and a flush of mortification reddened her cheeks. It was true. Had she been in a sounder, less emotional state, she would have never let herself cling unabashedly to her king and cry as she had just moments ago. Much less, rant to him in such a way! How could she bare the shame and disgrace of not only losing her prestigious position, but also her place among her people? And all for love? A love now lost? Tauriel swallowed, distress painted clearly across her features in shades of fear, guilt and uncertainty.

Thranduil's intense expression softened, sensing his lecture had inspired the effect he'd hoped for in proving to the Captain just how far she'd fallen from her senses. Once again, Tauriel stood before him, mouth parted, but unable to summon a reply, locked in a silent struggle for mental ground. Thranduil glanced away towards his wine dresser, and turned to approach the polished wooden cabinet, producing and uncorking an ancient bottle before pouring out some of its red contents into two glasses.

Taking both glasses, the king returned to Tauriel's side and outstretched a hand, offering her one. Slowly, Tauriel lifted her fingers to receive the glass, but her eyes would not meet his, staring emptily down at the immaculately embroidered rug beneath her feet.

After allowing himself a savoring sip from his own glass, Thranduil decided to re-engage the conversation.

"You are a wonderful warrior, Tauriel. I watched you from your youth and was there to witness your greatest victories, as well as your defeats. I have seen your resiliency, and your unwavering determination. Both are admirable character traits," he assured, his voice soft and caressing. "Yet," he continued, "When you allow yourself to be controlled by your impulsive passions, the results of your efforts lead only to inevitable downfall. Time and time again, I have warned you against the danger of letting your emotions govern your actions, yet you have refused to heed my words. Perhaps now, this death of a loved one: the cruelest of all lessons, will finally teach you the many benefits of better guarding your heart. Calm, collected thought, cool reserve and self-control can never betray you. Embracing them, as I have learned to over the span of my experience, is perhaps your only hope now of moving on."

Tauriel's eyes ascended from the carpeted floor and examined her king's serene countenance. After a tense moment of silence, she slowly shook her head.

"I will not allow any pain of mine to transform me into a hardened statue, devoid of any compassion or warmth, to leave me to a fate where my person is as cold and unfeeling as you," she hissed, her words striking as sharply as a two edged sword.

Thranduil's eyes blazed with burning ire, but scarcely had the time to respond before Tauriel had turned on her heel and was marching for his tent's exit. She slowed only to set down her glass of wine on one of his desks before she was gone.

Nothing but the chilly night air replaced her fiery presence.

...

In the cool of the following morning, the king's elven army was in full activity, packing away the campsite tents and supplies. Wounded soldiers were loaded on wagons, and able bodied troops tended to all other matters needing to take place for the preparation of the journey back to the Woodland Realm.

Sounds of the elves hard at work filtered through the king's tent and served as a soothing background noise as he perched before his writing desk, a black tipped quill braced between his slender fingers. Practiced, controlled strokes brushed on the thick hewn paper as Thranduil transcribed the events of the recent battle. It was a letter, addressed to the Lord Elrond of Rivendell.

The king had spent hours that morning dedicatedly documenting his accounts of what had transpired between the men of Laketown, Thorin's Company, the Dwarves of the Iron Hills, and the orcs hailing from Dol Goldur. Gandalf's arrival, along with the timely intervention of the Eagles, and the creative meddlings of a hobbit, were also noted- though not so heavily expounded upon in comparison to the valiant efforts of Thranduil's noble warriors and their selfless efforts to even the tides of a battlefield that was no longer politically their own concern.

Lord Elrond would surely appreciate the lengths Thranduil was going through to see to it that in this letter, the elves were given their rightful recognition as the most supreme warriors of the day. After all, had it not been for them, it was clear that the dwarves and the men would not have achieved victory against their enemy.

With a disgusted sigh, Thranduil leaned back into his chair, and glared down at the nearly completed letter upon his desk. It was a painful thing, to describe the circumstances of the battle without the emotional investment. Yet still, he tried to play the part of a fair and accurate scribe. Even if it were a part he loathed to play.

Why, if the prince was here, Thranduil would have given this job to him instead. Legolas was an excellent writer, as he was excellent at everything, and had often taken dictation for Thranduil's letters himself. The king's frown deepened, wishing he'd taken more time to think of just how many conveniences he would be without in the meantime that his son was gone. If he had meditated on this subject long enough, it was unlikely he would have allowed Legolas to take such an extended leave of absence.

But it was over and done with, and no one would feel the pain of his son's leaving more acutely than the king himself- no matter how wildly emotional Tauriel had proven to be.

Tauriel.

The king's jaw set just at the thought of her. The conversation they'd had last night was quite vivid in his memory, and just recalling her thoughtless, naive words sparked anew the same flare of anger she'd ignited then. He had kindly extended a hand of comfort and fellowship towards the Captain, and instead of receiving his gracious gift of advice, she had vehemently slapped it away. That was gratitude for you!

Why was it that this elven maid was capable of inspiring a frustration within him that he himself could hardly begin to explain or understand? Not even Legolas on his worst day could provoke these feelings of intense bitterness from the king. Thranduil prided himself on his impressively calm, collected demeanor in all manners of circumstance. It was a quality all Elvenkings were taught to possess, and yet, he had neglected all rules of propriety in favor of publicly lashing out in fury at the provoking of his Captain of the Guard.

She had been completely out of place to challenge him the way she had on the streets of Dale. She'd thought for a moment that her opinion on the subject of his decisions mattered. Under extreme stress and fear for his people he might have been, but he had not failed to see how the elven maid had attempted to manipulate him to her will through the use of declaring what flaws she thought she had perceived in his character. But she did not know him. At all.

His slicing of her beloved bow, followed by the undeniably strong urge to silence the female warrior's vile tongue permanently, had been abruptly interrupted by the arrival of Legolas. And how glad the king was for his son's impeccable good timing. Had the prince not stepped in at that moment, the king would have rashly acted on something that he would have come to regret for the rest of his life- all at the expense of his rotten temper.

If ever there was a flaw that Tauriel wished to accuse him of, it should have been that.

But no. Instead, all she chose to see was an unfeeling, heartless king, who did not understand the value of what it meant to love and extend compassion to others. Well had he not just done that last night, in offering her his advice for how to soothe her broken heart? And what had she done? She'd not only refused, but she'd insulted him. Tauriel was many things, but foremost of her making, was that of a hypocrite.

With all her talk of love and acceptance of others, he, her very king, seemed to be exempt from all her precious beliefs. And how many others did she conjure compassion towards outside of the dwarves? He did not see her pining over the loss of the many men who had died of Laketown- nor did she weep over the drastically lowered numbers of their own elven ranks. She cared solely for the fate of the dwarves, and Thranduil was certain those sympathies were only inspired based off of her unexplainable infatuation with the now deceased Kili. Well, she could stay with the dwarves, if she admired them so much. She would surely not be welcome to join his army's return journey into the Woodlands.

Realizing how he had fallen greatly out of attention to his letter, Thranduil once again sat forward and resumed his writing. At length, when the letter was completed, Thranduil enclosed and sealed it with his signet ring, standing and taking the envelope in hand to emerge from his tent.

The sun was only just beginning to peek over the hills from the south, but what a beautiful picture its emergence did paint across the sky. Three soldiers approached him and bowed. The center elf spoke.

"Your highness, if you are ready, we shall commence with the taking down of your tent."

"Proceed," Thranduil granted, now extending his hand with the envelope forward, "And see to it that this letter is delivered into the hands of my royal courrier."

The lead soldier took the letter with care and bowed his head respectfully.

"Of course, your highness." And with that, the soldiers moved swiftly to do their king's bidding.

Thranduil, already properly adorned in his riding attire, made his way through the massive camp grounds to seek the stables, his velvet cape trailing behind his boot steps. The picketed hitching lines of tethered livestock were not hard to locate. The sounds of snorts and whinnies called to him, and the sweet smells of fresh alfalfa and horsehair wafting through the morning air were all too familiar. Both heavy drafts and light footed war horses ate their breakfasts side by side in an orderly line up, their tails swishing and the occasional hoof stomping in the dirt.

The king's stormy blue eyes fell over the sea of multicolored backs and flanks, searching, in vain, for that particular brown pelt that he so deeply longed to find.

His faithful elk mount, stalwart and loyal, had born him through hundreds of battles. Yet, the Battle of the Five Armies was to bring about his faithful steed's end with an enemy arrow to the head. Thranduil physically cringed at the memory. There would be no other that could serve as a replacement to the bond in which Thranduil had formed with his previous war elk companion.

Why did it seem, that no matter where Thranduil turned upon this early morning, there was nothing but loss to greet him?

He felt it then, welling up inside him. Bitterness, black and ugly. The kind of foul emotion that's dark grasp was powerful enough to choke you from the inside. It was raw, and rising, threatening to suffocate what was left of his sound mind. Thranduil's fists suddenly clenched, the only outward act which betrayed the fact that he was struggling to contain yet another anger episode.

"Lord Thranduil,"

The voice was so unexpected, it shattered through Thranduil's concentration and immediately extinguished the flames of fury that had been steadily building in his soul.

Turning slowly about, Thranduil took in the gray clad form of the wizard, and his small, childlike companion. Behind them was a great black draft horse and a small pony, loaded with a pair of chests and traveling packs.

"Gandalf, Master Baggins," Thranduil greeted the pair, noting how the hobbit carried on his back a traveling bag, and that Gandalf himself wore a satchel strapped over his shoulder.

"I see you are also intending to make your departure for the journey home this morn," Thranduil perceived with a small smile. "My company and I will be taking the road to Mirkwood. Since your travels lead you in the same direction, I would be honored if you would join us."

Gandalf and Bilbo exchanged a pleased look with one another.

"I would like that very much," Bilbo offered. Gandalf smiled and looked back to the elf King.

"Then we accept. You are most gracious," Gandalf replied happily, leaning on his staff.

"Very good. We shall be ready to make our leave within the hour," Thranduil informed them.

In all truth, Thranduil was glad that the wizard and the hobbit would be joining him. He should actually enjoy the company they had to offer, for he was sure they would bring a cheerfulness that would lighten the mood of his kin's travel.

It was in that moment that Thranduil suddenly was taken off guard at the sight of Tauriel, of all the elves, making her way towards him. Frowning deeply, the king pardoned himself from the wizard and hobbit, and moved to discover just what the she-elf was doing here.

Tauriel approached to stand before him with her head bowed in supplication.

"Tauriel, you stretch what is left of my patience," Thranduil warned icily.

"My Lord, I have come to seek your forgiveness and your mercy," she blurted quickly, "I have treated you with extreme dishonor, and I know you have every right to be angry with me and to uphold your judgement for my banishment. But is there any way I can make amends for my words and my behavior of last night? If we are to part, it is my deepest wish that it be done in such a manner that peace has been made between us. Otherwise I should not be able to forgive myself..."

A slender dark eyebrow inched higher upon Thranduil's forehead. Clearly, she was desperate. He also ascertained the she-elf's apology was merely for the night prior, and not for her behavior during these entire weeks past as a whole. He certainly deserved an apology for everything she had said and done since this dwarf business had first begun. But then again, it was not very often that the king was graced with hearing a sincere penitence from this Captain of the Guard's own fair lips. It would seem, this was the best he should expect to get.

As it was, her wishing to make amends betwixt them, even while knowing her banishment was a solid arrangement, was quite amiable.

Taking a deep breath through the nose, Thranduil deliberated in what manner he should respond. He was not so lofty to deny that he was still extremely displeased with her, but… His frustrations did not outweigh the importance he suddenly saw in allowing the repentant Tauriel to rejoin his command. He needed something stable right now, when the rest of his world was so rapidly changing, and even if the red haired she-elf could prove herself quite testing at times, she would provide him some comfort.

Tauriel waited, anxiety written all over her tense countenance. Her future hung in the balance, and she dared not speak a word while her king made up his mind.

"Your king hears your words, Tauriel," Thranduil spoke at last, "And while my forgiveness for your wrongdoings may yet be some time in coming, I am willing to extend unto you my mercy. I will retract the order of your banishment."

At this, Tauriel's bowed head jerked upwards to meet her highness's gaze with an expression of astonishment.

"Thank you, my Lord," she breathed, scarcely able to believe his words, after everything. She for one, had never expected to be allowed back into the realm of her people. It was more than she had ever dreamed she deserved, and her heart filled with a relief and a gladness she had not felt in days. But then, Thranduil's gaze sharpened, and Tauriel sensed this discussion was not yet over. She was right.

"Do not mistake this as an act of pure charity, on my part," Thranduil warned, his tone hardening in all seriousness. "A punishment is still due to you, and it will come in the form of your demotion from Captain of the Guard to that of a scout. Furthermore, I expect you to understand the full gravity of this restoration to your citizenship. Should you ever make me come to regret this newfound trust I've put in your ability to follow my orders, expect your next punishment far more severe than banishment."