"Shouldn't we tell someone?" A female child asked, anxious and impatient.

A boy on the cusp of Manhood from his height and maturity responded, "Who would we tell?" He was turning the crank and drawing the bucket from the well to fill a pair of buckets at his feet with fresh water.

"Maybe we could find the Elf-king... If he hasn't left, yet. They must have someone who can help Tauriel."

"The Elf-king banished Tauriel. Why should he care if she is hurt?" This was a female child, older than the first, and obviously not fond of his actions regarding their friend and houseguest. She moved the two full buckets off to the side and placed two more empty buckets down for the boy to fill.

"Maybe he does care," the boy stated. "She was important in the Elvenking's guard. You saw her fight the Orcs. How could a King not want a fighter like Tauriel?"

"If he cared, King Thranduil wouldn't have told Tauriel she can never go home. She doesn't even have spare clothes or any of her belongings," the older female stated, her tone grim. "No, we can't tell the Elves. We'll just have to hope she doesn't get any worse before father gets back from his trip to speak with the new Dwarf King."

"Tauriel doesn't need those Elves, she can stay with us," the youngest said, petulantly. "We lost our home and all our clothes, too, and we can be her family."

The older female said, "Tauriel asked us to be back before she goes to the check on the wounded, but if we are late, maybe she will skip tonight and rest."

King Thranduil's head tipped to the side as he continued to listen to the conversation of Bard's children. They were far more mature than one would expect.

The youngest one said, "I don't want to make her worry. She already looks so pale and tired and the songs she sings are all so sad."

"She loved the Dwarf Prince and he died. That is why she is tired and sad."

"Tauriel is tired because when she isn't protecting us for father, she's in the tents tending the sick and wounded. She needs to rest. And she hardly eats anything at all."

The boy said, "That's because the food we've been managing to scrounge is awful."

"Elf food is better."

The boy agreed, "I'd eat the oats from the horse stalls if I thought father wouldn't get mad. I can't remember the last time I wasn't hungry to the point my stomach hurt."

"The cold at night makes the hunger worse, I think. Maybe, we need to eat more in the winter not to shiver ourselves to death, but most of our blankets burned up with our clothes, of course."

Thranduil listened to the children's conversation for another moment and then turned and strode off in the direction of the supply tents. Their honest insights were invaluable and he counted himself lucky to have happened across them at the well.

Once inside the tent, the King asked for lists of the on-hand supplies of blankets and medical supplies and foods that wouldn't spoil such as hard bread, cheese and dried meats and fruit. He had parcels made up and gave orders to have them distributed to each of the families before sunset. The King set one aside to give to Tauriel, but to it he had them place fresh clothing of the sort Tauriel preferred with fine soft woolen tunics, stockings and leggings, and added one of his personal waterproofed winter traveling cloaks. It would be too long, Tauriel was short for an Elda, but she could adjust it to a length that better suited her.

The idea of Tauriel remaining in this Valar forsaken ruin of a city for the winter bothered him, but he didn't want her to strike out on her own either. Not if she was injured and ill prepared for the long, cold winter.

What he found himself wishing was that she would come to him and ask him to lift the banishment. He knew her well enough to know she wouldn't do that. Her stubborn pride ran deep, and it was something the King always found amusing in her... Until now.

Thranduil had already come to the conclusion he needed to find some other punishment or act of atonement for her, to be administered back home within the comfort and safety of his Halls. The children of Bard seemed to think Tauriel was ill to the point of being alarmed for her welfare, and the King would see her healed and back under his wing where such a young Elf belonged.

Thranduil entered the remains of a large Hall the refugees were using for shelter and immediately wished to leave. The stench was beyond foul. Cooking odors warred with the smells of sickness and filth.

It wasn't hard to find Tauriel as she wisely kept her sleeping area to the outer edge of the building next to one of the exits. He couldn't imagine she did any sleeping with the assault on her senses of smell and hearing in the enclosed space.

Her shoulders stiffened as someone approached, an outward sign she felt herself being observed. Tauriel's eyes widened in alarm as she turned and saw the King watching her. "Legolas is gone, my Lord?" Tauriel asked, dreading the answer she already knew in her heart.

Why would Thranduil come looking for her? Was she in danger without the Prince's continued protection?

"He is." The King made Tauriel uncomfortable by examining the small space she'd been diligently working to clean and turn into suitable living quarters for Bard and his family.

Most of the survivors were staking claims to corners of that building, so she wasn't difficult to locate if he thought she would hide from him and his wrath. The surviving bottom floor of this once tall building offered the most shelter from the elements while being central to the well, the kitchen tents and the area where the wounded were being tended. Families with children needed more space, of course. Living space territory was delineated by how many bodies needed room on the floor to sleep, and privacy limited to a length of thin cloth pinned over a long stretch of rope.

At night, the stench of unwashed bodies ripe with grief and desperation became overwhelming to her sensitive nose, and she would stay in the makeshift infirmary as long as she could stand upright and her hands were steady. Only when her strength failed and fatigue got the better of her, would the wood-elf retire to her bedroll at the edge of Bard's space to take the last watch over the children while Bard slept.

"I warned you not to give him hope."

Tauriel's flew open wide, shocked by the accusation leveled at her. It wasn't fair to blame her. "I never encouraged the Prince... I swear I did as you asked. I know my place, and I cannot hope to change the circumstances of my low birth. We could never expect your blessing, and I would not do that to Legolas or a child we might have made together."

The King blinked at the mention of a child, like the idea of Legolas fathering a child startled him, but he quickly recovered. "Tell me something, Tauriel. Had you followed the Dwarf Prince to Erebor and found the King Under The Mountain's reception lacking, what then? King or not, Thorin Oakenshield hates me and mine. Why would he ever allow one of his heirs to live in peace and happiness with one of my warriors?"

The thought hit Tauriel like a fist to the gut. She'd had a momentary glimmer of hope, at the time, but Thranduil was right. She would never have been made welcome in Erebor while Thorin sat on the throne. Kili must have known it as well as she, but he didn't seem to care what his Uncle's reaction to her would be...

"Would you have meekly tucked your tail between your legs and left the Lonely Mountain without your precious Kili?"

Again, Tauriel was forced to pause and examine the situation from a different perspective. Could she have turned from Kili knowing how they both felt? "No. I do not think I would have left, not without Kili."

Thranduil smiled, nodding, "You would have faced down the King and stood up for your heart's desire, like Luthien in the tales all Elves can recite practically from their cradle." He pressed on to make his point, "But, you didn't stand up for your right to love Legolas."

"I do not think... I would not..."

The King's eyes narrowed, and his voice took on a glacial calm, "Would not face down your King, perhaps with an arrow drawn and aimed at his head, in the heat of the moment? I think we both know you have no problem standing your ground with me, when you feel I am acting in a way that doesn't suit you."

The wood-elf felt a small yelp escape, the parallel finally coming into focus, and followed it with a muttered, "Why does it matter, now? Kili is dead, and Legolas is gone into the North."

"My son was not Beren to your Luthien," the King stated, mildly.

"No, he is not. You must be relieved, my Lord, that I do not return Legolas' love."

"Must I?" Thranduil rumbled, getting angry at her presumption. "My son has given his heart to someone and found only friendship offered in return. I take no joy his suffering." He held her gaze for a long moment calming his temper, then Thranduil added, "Or yours, for that matter, Tauriel."

The admission surprised the much younger Elf. "Banishment is not an unjust punishment for my actions."

It was clear from the hardening of his expression and the momentary clench of his jaw that he did not like her answer. "So you will choose to make yourself of use to a new King, then."

"What do you mean, for I don't understand... What other King?"

He waved a hand at her pathetic surroundings. "Bard, the dragon-slayer. You tend his hearth and play nurse maid to his cold, hungry children, but why? Do you do this to have his favor when he takes his rightful place as the King of Dale? Or are you so naive you do not even realized he will soon be more than just a brave Man whom his people respect and trust? His blood makes him the only clear choice for the crown, and he has proven himself well enough in battle."

Tauriel fell into the latter category. She genuinely liked Bard and his children. There was no ambition behind her actions, only compassion and a shared sense of being homeless and cast adrift on the cruel winds of fate. She needed to keep busy and this was the place where Tauriel felt she could do the most good. The children were too young to be left on their own in such grim and desperate times.

"If it is any consolation, Bard is most likely still unaware of the crown his people will soon force upon his head. And when the time comes, he would do well to take you on as an advisor on matters relating to diplomacy. You know what I am capable of and what I will and will not tolerate from my neighbors."

Tauriel opened her mouth to say something, but couldn't decide what to say. She stared numbly up at Thranduil, confused by his words and actions.

"We will be leaving before dawn. I've sent our wounded home already, and the healers will do what they can for the wounded Men tonight before we take our leave of this ruin and it's huddled masses. I have had the remaining food and blankets divided among the survivors here. The food from our stores should get them through a fortnight, if they ration carefully." He placed a basket inside the curtained area. "This is for Bard and his children." Then, he offered Tauriel a much larger bundle wrapped in a traveling cloak she recognized as belonging to the King's wardrobe. "This is yours."

"Is this..." The wood-elf stared at it in disbelief. The King never made a gift of the one of his traveling cloaks. Ever. "My Lord?"

King Thranduil put the bundle in her arms. "The snows have come. This place is not a suitable residence for so many. The Men would fair better in a single residence dwellings where disease will not spread as quickly."

Tears burned Tauriel's eyes when she realized the King worried for her survival in Dale. "My Lord, I do not deserve your consideration. Or such a gift."

Emotions she couldn't read played across his face briefly and were gone, leaving his expression impassive as he told her, "You served as a Captain in my guard for over fifty years, and I was never given reason to doubt your loyalty and dedication, Tauriel. Perhaps, if that accursed Dwarf and his company had not entered our lands, you would never have had cause to challenge me."

Tauriel opened her mouth, and Thranduil cut her off, "Or perhaps you would still be challenging my authority and wisdom, though only from the safety of my Halls." He sighed, "It matters not. I am not without mercy, Tauriel, if you are capable of admitting you were wrong and willing to accept the punishment I name for your rash actions and the threat on my person."

"What punishment would you have for me, my Lord?"

"You can serve five years of banishment from the Woodland Realm. Or," He hesitated, briefly, frowning. "Ten lashes to be administered immediately, a reduction in rank, and posting to guard duty within my Halls for the period of one year."

Tauriel's eyes widened at the mention of physical punishment, as the King rarely called for someone to be beaten. She could count the number of times such a thing had happened on one hand, and in all cases, the guilty person had committed a much worse crime than disobeying orders and leaving the Kingdom without permission. "Do I have time to think about the choices, before I am expected to give an answer?"

Thranduil nodded, "Of course. You have the remainder of this night to choose." He turned on his heel and left her trembling and clutching his cloak in her arms.

Thranduil paused outside the doorway, out of Tauriel's line of sight, and watched her. Giving her one of his cloaks had been a test, of course, while providing a constant reminder of him and her choices, if she chose to wear it at all. He wanted to see the results of the gift with his own eyes. Suspicion was a constant companion to the King, but his instincts were rarely as wrong as they'd been with Tauriel of late.

What she did with the cloak would reveal more than she knew about what was going on in her head, and her heart.

The King knew his own heart ached for her. He didn't want to add more physical or emotional trauma to the wounds she was already suffering. The children of the Dragon-slayer were more right than they knew. Tauriel was indeed wounded in the battle and her strength waxed and waned as her body healed itself at a pace she was intentionally slowing by using her healing magic on the Men of Dale each night.

If she was intentionally punishing herself, Thranduil was going to need a new plan of attack, namely putting her into protective custody, so she would stop the ridiculous martyrdom. If she was unaware of the detrimental effects of draining her magic each night, the King was going to throttle her. She should know better.

Tauriel placed her bundle on the tiny table, then she retrieved the basket from the floor and scanned the contents. A smile ghosted the corners of her mouth, while Thranduil tapped his booted foot impatiently, wishing she would get on with it. She put the basket in the far corner of their space, hidden under the bedrolls, then unrolled her pack. The clothes were examined and set aside, as were most of the food parcels, with the exception of the leaf wrapped packs of lembas bread. Those puzzled her, for some reason.

The next layer held a new bow and two quivers full to bursting with arrows, alongside her knives which Elves had retrieved from within dead orcs on the battlefield and turned over to Thranduil, their expressions ranging for anxious to pitying.

Tauriel stared at the blades for another moment before setting the weapons in the same pile as the clothing.

His cloak was last, of course, and her fingers stroked the fine fabric tentatively. Tauriel finally gave in and tried it on, only to find much of the fabric pooled on the stone floor around her boots. There would be much fabric left over when she adjusted the hem to a serviceable length, and Thranduil stifled a chuckle. She gathered the cloak around her and sank to her knees in the center of her space. She rubbed a tear tracked cheek against the collar and Thranduil felt a grim satisfaction when she buried her face in the mass of fabric and inhaled his scent into her lungs.

The King wanted to walk way and leave her, but found he didn't have to strength of will. He'd know she had a crush on him, most silly ellith did at some point and to his consternation, so did more than half of the ellyn, too. It was an annoyance, until it was his innocent Tauriel. Strict boundaries he'd held against her became even more so.

Did she love Legolas, as well? Could a heart be tugged in three directions at once? Or had she let go of the other two ropes to grasp the only one left to her that offered hope? The Dwarf Prince was in her heart and gone blink of an eye, but had the King's warning about Legolas' feelings for her open the crack allowing the Dwarf's love to take root in her heart.

Thranduil went to see to the last details of pulling up camp, but as soon as everything was in order, he haunted her steps like a phantom until she left off cleaning the makeshift infirmary and took her place in her bedroll, with her body acting as a physical barrier between the world and Bard's sleeping children. A mother bear guarding the sleeping cubs. It was exactly what Legolas' mother would have done, and he shuddered to think of how much more fierce the hotheaded Tauriel would be if those children had come from her womb and nursed at her breast.

His traitorous heart stabbed him for that errant thought.

Elves only loved once, did they not? Conventional wisdom held it to be an axiom. If their love was cruelly snatched from them, the Eldar didn't get second chances, or the opportunity to go back and redress the terrible wrongs. The lines of Silvan Elf bodies they'd been burning for the last three days were more than enough proof of that. His whole Kingdom was falling into deep mourning, grief was the price for getting involved and standing up to the darkness, whether Tauriel understood it or not. She understood more, now, but not enough to bow her head and submit herself to his wisdom blindly, as she once had.

"Why can I feel your eyes on me in the darkness?" Tauriel whispered, as her mind and spirit warred over her injured, exhausted body. "Ánin apsenë," she whimpered. "What would you have me do? I feel so lost."

Thranduil squeezed his eyes shut to ward off the tears he felt trying to betray thousands of years of ingrained tradition.

Kings do not cry. Kings do not give in to displays of affection or emotion in public or private. Sindarin Kings do not place the dagger-like shards of their broken hearts into the careless hands of Silvan ellith. Nor do they condone their sons pledging themselves to one and filling her belly with a babe the King knew would be both beautiful and formidable.

And how could it not be, if it was conceived from the two people Thranduil loved more than anything, even more than his long life?

"Stop trying to pour wine into the shattered pitcher, Tauriel. It only makes an embarrassing mess," Thranduil grumbled, voice a hoarse whisper heavy laden with emotions.

Tauriel smiled, just a little. "Broken pitchers can be mended, Melda tár."

Thranduil moved out of the shadows and knelt beside her on the cold stones. "Some pitchers can be mended, you are correct. Ones that are newly made and not completely destroyed. Other are beyond hope." He put his hands on her shoulders and started chanting quietly to the Valar to have mercy on his wayward elleth and heal her body and heart of wounds both seen and those stubbornly hidden from him.

The room glowed painfully bright around the King for a long time, denoting the layered nature of Tauriel's injuries.

When it was done, they were both blinded by it for a time, and sat together in silence. When he could see, Thranduil snatched Tauriel up and rolled her onto her belly over his folded thighs. She struggled, as expected, but he pinned her easily with an arm across her shoulder blades while his free hand came down loud and hard on her leggings clad bottom.

Ten spanks, fast and hard, and Tauriel was sniffling and whimpering quietly into his cloak, which he noticed she rolled for the night and was using to pillow her head. "The lashes were never truly an option, on offer only to intimidate and test your current level of masochism. This is a more fitting punishment for a petulant, disobedient child who lacks all common sense."

"Yes, my Lord."

"As of this moment, I can claim to be your Lord no longer." At the stricken look she gave him and the quivering of her lower lip, the King hastened to add, "You've dived headlong out of the safety of the nest I made for my people, little bird, and you've taken some lumps as a result. I fear putting you back in is just going to give ample opportunity for you to hop out, again. And next time, if you raise a weapon to threaten my person, you may not recover your dignity with a mere spanking. No, you need to stay on the ground, squawking and flapping your wings, until you get the hang of flying on your own. I've done all I can to teach you, and now you must prove to us both the lessons were not a complete failure."

Thranduil did something in the grief of the moment he feared would haunt his dreams for millennia to come, something he'd been denied with his wife, he cupped Tauriel's face tenderly in his hands, much as he would cup the fledgeling bird he called her, and pressed tender kisses to her forehead and cheeks, and a lastly to her lips. "Áva sorya. This will not be the last time we meet, willful Daughter of the Forest. Rest assured. There is much work to be done in Esgaroth and Dale before full winter sets in and kills every Man, Woman and Child." His eyes were drawn to Tauriel's still sleeping charges.

"The Dwarves are not in a position at this time to offer assistance, all the piles of gold in Arda will not fill a single empty belly in the depths of winter."

Tauriel nodded, "You will continue to help?"

"Of course. Boe i 'waen." He unfolded his long legs and stood to his full height. "Na lû e-govaned vîn, Tauriel." The King gave her the traditional Eldar gesture of respect, fist to chest, and forced his feet to carry him far from her before he could see if she returned the gesture or not.

Cutting the second of his doves free of her ties to him was every bit as agonizing as his parting with Legolas and he cursed her, again, for trying to work some silly ellith magic on his heart.

Too late by half, child, he told himself grimly.

They would be gone before she rose from the floor to begin her day, but at least Thranduil knew Tauriel wasn't going to be killing herself by inches without him to watch over her.