A/N: This is my first foray into the Hobbit movieverse! I wrote this after being hit by such inspiration, both by Tauriel and Thranduil's relationship as seen in the films, as well as by the few but awesome fics of this pairing. I welcome all feedback! I may add more to this story if there's any interest.

Side note: I personally believe that Tauriel and Kili were not given enough time to truly get to know each other. In this story, Tauriel does not love him but thinks of him as a dear friend. I don't think she would throw away 600 years of Thranduil's trust and favor for someone she's only just met. I do believe she'd challenge her king to let go of his isolationist policy in righteous anger, but I don't think she'd have challenged him so openly in front of her fellow soldiers for a flimsy love interest. (Sorry PJ)

I also took a lot of liberties with the descriptions of Thranduil's halls and Greenwood/Mirkwood geography. Please bear with me!

"Captain, it is done." One of her warriors approached her in the aftermath of the attack. The spiders' population waned in the aftermath of the battle but a considerable amount remained in the woods.

Tauriel stood silently, seeming to ignore her lieutenant. She breathed deeply to calm her racing heart then her lieutenant watched as she sheathed her sword.

"We will increase the frequency of patrols on the outskirts of the capital. Ensure the watchers report the slightest suspicion of any new nests."

"Yes, Captain."

Tauriel was then left alone to contemplate the pile of spider carcasses before her. The evidence of the growing darkness over Greenwood was incontrovertible. That she was able to remain the Captain of the king's guard was a blessing she did not deserve. She'd committed treason and felt she was no longer fit to serve the Elvenking. Thranduil showed her mercy when she could only hate herself for what she hissed at him in the heat of her anger in battle.

Her king had repaid her defiance with clemency so she would do her duty—ferociously cutting down Spiders and orc packs that dared breach Greenwood's borders.

With a sigh, Tauriel followed her soldiers back to the Eastern gate of the palace. They obeyed her without question but they undoubtedly saw the unrestrained rage in her movements when she fought. They likely heard the rumors of her grief for the dwarf warrior Kili. Her grief was true, but she did not love him as they assumed. She also grieved for her fellow commanders and soldiers that fell to the savagery of those foul creatures who sought control of Erebor.

She felt Thranduil's pain as if it were her own when he informed her of the totality of Elven casualties and of the departure of his son Legolas to join the Dunedain in the north. That was the moment when he told her she'd resume her position as captain. Her protest was at the tip of her tongue but it died when the king's face darkened. He was stoic once more, cold yet beautiful, and she felt the reproach keenly. Elves had long memories—Thranduil would never forget her flagrant disregard for his commands.

Tauriel had not seen him since but for occasional deferential glances from safe distance. Her reports were delivered in writing by her lieutenant to the king. Tauriel had no reason beyond her official duties to seek him out. She was shunned by most at court. Her final transgression was so unforgivable that she took a perverse satisfaction in her ostracism. She threatened their king with bodily harm and was blamed for the prince's absence, though it was his own choice to leave.

In the following weeks, the Woodland realm saw a mysterious reprieve from the giant spiders. Tauriel roamed the entire forest that lay between the Elfpath and the Old Forest Road with her soldiers and none loosed a single arrow. Greenwood was seemingly safe for now.

When she was not patrolling or training her soldiers, Tauriel spent her time in the Halls of Healing. They were remote in relation to the King's halls and she did not feel the repercussions of her actions so acutely here. She was not an expert healer as her power lay in arms and combat, but she did what she could. She sat with the wounded, spoke with them as they recovered, kept them company until they were strong enough to leave their beds. Some did not survive their wounds, and she wept at each of these losses.

The seasons passed slowly even for the Elves, as families mourned their deceased loved ones.

There is no love in you. She'd said to Thranduil with an arrow aimed at his person. The gods only knew how deeply she regretted those shameful words. She meant to goad, to pierce through what she perceived to be indifference to the plight of the Men and Dwarves in battle. In the months that passed since then, she'd learned of Thranduil's involvement in rebuilding Esgaroth and Dale. To those who'd lost everything to dragonfire, the Elvenking sent food, healers, and builders just before the winter truly arrived with its killing frosts. When the snows began in earnest, the discussion turned slowly to renewing diplomatic relations with the Dwarves. She heard whispers of the king's visits to each family who'd lost a father, son, brother, to show his sympathy and respect.

There is no love in you. Her own words pained her, and she continuously thought of that terrible moment in the lonely hours when sleep evaded her.

One afternoon, nearly five moons after the fight for the Lonely Mountain, she received summons from Dain—the new Dwarf King of Erebor. She read his words with bleak surprise. It seemed that his hatred of Thranduil her king had ebbed enough to offer back that which belonged to his people. She wondered that it was addressed directly to her, then realized Thorin's company must have informed Dain of her attachment to one of his kin though they were misguided on the nature of that attachment. Kili was only a dear friend to her, who told her tales of places far beyond the Woodland realm and whose brevity in troubled times made her smile. She'd not been able to attend their funerals for she was one of several who scoured the surrounding area for straggling orcs.

Tauriel sent a reply to the Dwarf king that she would wait until winter gave way to the early thaw of spring. Soon enough, the snow melted away and the well-worn paths to the Lonely Mountain were clear.

She set out for Erebor on the swiftest of horses available—only informing her lieutenant and the royal council that she was taking a small squadron on a patrol west of the capital. Tauriel mused with bitter irony that she was once again indirectly defying her king. He knew not the true reason for her journey. This time, she was certain that the reason was worth Thranduil's scorn.

The gems of Lasgalen were indeed the most beautiful she'd ever seen in her seven centuries of life. Dain presented her what his uncle denied Thranduil so long ago. It was a rare gesture of goodwill, knowing she'd defied her lord's orders to help Dain's royal kin on Ravenhill. Her eyes filled with tears when she saw the beauty of the necklace that Thranduil had commissioned for his wife. She could only imagine the depth of the love he bore his dead queen that he would wage war for this last remnant of her. She then paid her respects to the fallen heir of Thror, and of course, Kili. Dain saw this and knew her to be sincere.

The ride back to Greenwood from the Lonely Mountain passed quickly as she beheld Thranduil in her mind's eye. Tauriel and her steed needed neither sleep nor nourishment that the dwarves offered—the urgency to return these precious items far outweighed any discomfort. Dain recognized her urgency and was not slighted by it. He was wise enough to realize that an alliance between him and the Woodland realm would benefit all, as dark forces would gather strength in the days to come.

Upon her return, her lieutenant eyed her with barely disguised suspicion. Tauriel asked him to lie for her and though he followed his orders, she knew the deception irked him. She told him for better or worse, he would soon know the truth of it.

She stepped into the king's antechamber, pausing to strengthen her grip on the small wooden chest in her hands.

Thranduil stood alone on his balcony with his back toward her. These chambers were above ground and carved into the side of the stone that housed his great fortress. She knew it was his lone indulgence to have his living quarters above ground. From here, he could see the river and into the forest beyond. He cut an imposing figure in the moonlight. She had to cross the expanse of his bedchamber to reach him, the slight turn of his head indicated he knew exactly who dared approach him.

Halting but a few steps from him, she stood silently until he addressed her.

"Tauriel." Hearing her name in his resonant voice made her aware of exactly how much time had passed since he last addressed her directly. Her king was pensive this night. "I have scarcely seen you."

"I have not been remiss in my duties, my lord." She kept her pitch low, respectful.

At last, he turned his gaze fully toward her. She refrained from trembling at the sudden scrutiny. He looked upon her yet she could not meet his eyes for she knew she'd see cold disdain reflected there. Tauriel steeled herself—she was no frail flower, and she would not become one even in her contrition.

"Indeed, you have not." Thranduil did not speak further. He noticed the chest she carried and raised his elegant brow in question.

"It is not nearly enough to earn your forgiveness, nonetheless I hope they bring you some semblance of joy." She tarried no longer in opening the chest.

The moonlight shone upon the gems of Lasgalen and softly enveloped them both. She watched her king's face as he set his eyes upon his wife's necklace, which was nestled atop the rest of the unset stones. He looked from the jewels into her own face and she was shocked when she saw his expression soften imperceptibly.

When he made nary a move to take the chest from her, she began to doubt the wisdom of her actions. Legolas told her that his father never spoke of his mother's death, or of her at all. It was not Tauriel's intention to offend but rather to make amends.

"Am I to understand that you ventured to the new Dwarf king to retrieve these? You need not risk yourself to earn that which is already yours." The Elvenking murmured. He knew without asking how she drove herself almost past her own strength to retrieve the gems from Erebor. He could sense it in her exhaustion she was laboring so hard to mask.

"Guren glassui, Tauriel." Thranduil said after another long moment. Cautious intimacy was unmistakable in the king's voice.

She felt a renewed sense of shock at his gratitude. This time, her hands did tremble under the weight of the chest and she knew she must set it down or risk dropping it. She swiftly moved into his chamber to set it at the great oak desk that was adjacent to his bed. Thranduil followed her, and somehow the moment felt more real inside among the dim light of the single lantern than it had while beneath the gentle glow of the stars and moon.

Tauriel shut the lid, hiding the jewels from sight. She stared at her hand upon the wood as her king stepped beside her, close enough that the hem of his resplendent grey robe brushed at her feet. Was this the same lord who slashed her bow in half with such deadly precision? Whose shoulders fell in sorrow when he watched his son defend her plea to come to the dwarves' aid on Ravenhill? She felt the ever-present self-hatred flare at his kindness.

He must have seen the shadow cross her face, for he raised his hand to tilt her chin up to him.

"I committed myself to what I thought was right, and others have suffered greatly for the abundant folly of it. I would not wish that pain on anyone, least of all you."

"You are our king, hîr vuin." She said simply. "You are fair and wise, I saw what you and your advisors have done for those outside of our borders in the wake of all the destruction."

"I confess I was influenced by one wiser than I. Tauriel, you were justified in your anger. We cannot retreat from our allies when they are in need, but I would not senselessly risk our own people."

His luminous eyes remained upon her. Then he shifted his hand from her chin to lightly rest on her cheek. His thumb stroked her skin so softly that she swore she imagined it. She feared he could plainly see that which she wished to conceal. She was reminded of his terse warning, so many moons ago, that she should not encourage his son's affections.

Tauriel cleared her throat quietly. She said, "Do you recall when you bid me not to give Legolas hope?"

The very air between them seemed warm, even on this cool spring night. She had the distinct feeling of falling over a precipice from which there was no return. In the life of an immortal being, such permanence was frightening. She thought she'd forever soured any goodwill between her and Thranduil with her treasonous actions, but somehow this tension frightened her far more. In nature, tension eventually gave way to release—this was a path she could not allow him to lead her down.

When he inclined his regal head in answer, she watched as several strands of his pale hair fell forward.

"I would ask you now to do the same for me." She stepped away from his touch and felt bereft.

Thranduil's hand fell to his side slowly and regarded her with such intensity that she knew at once she must take her leave of him. The king stood alone once more in his chamber. The fire in the lantern had blown out some moments ago. He stared at the threshold of his chambers where his captain had just been, then turned to the wooden chest she'd left him.

The Elvenking opened the lid to behold the finely crafted necklace, still as pristine as the day it was created by the Dwarf-smiths of Moria. He thought of the woman for whom the necklace was meant so many centuries ago. The old pain resurfaced yet as he took the delicate strands of gold and silver into his hand, Thranduil imagined the necklace against skin as fair as lilies, surrounded by tresses the color of the setting sun.

Sindarin translations:
1) "Guren glassui" - Thank you from my heart
2) "Hîr vuin" - beloved lord