Chapter 1: An Unexpected Arrest
By Black Death
"Throw me your dagger! Quick!"
The dwarf shouted his command, swearing as the spider hurtled towards them. Tauriel caught a glimpse of his terrified face before turning her back on him just as another crashed down from the overgrowth.
"If you think I'm giving you a weapon, dwarf, you're mistaken."
She moved with deadly efficiency, the daggers she carried an extension of herself, embedding the first into the skull of the spider hissing before her and throwing the second through the air, the blade arching past the dwarf's ear before finding its mark. The spider's flesh quivered with the thunder of a mountain falling, skidding to a halt where they both stood.
The dwarf's eyes widened.
The trees quieted. Tauriel could no longer hear their whispers. Now it was the clanking of armor and the scathing insults of a furious band of trespassers that resumed the din on the forest floor. Across the short distance that separated them, she heard Legolas' voice.
"Search them," he ordered.
"Nenu nogal," she added, eyeing the proximity of a particularly brutish-looking dwarf who was staring holes through him.
The guards confiscated the trespassers' weapons, herding them into a tight circle and binding their hands. Legolas went over to a dwarf that looked as if he had been born sucking a lemon between his teeth, a nest of red hair darker than Tauriel's own covered his head and chin. Legolas plucked out a square of filigreed metal that stuck out of his pocket.
"Give it back, that's private!" the lemon sucking dwarf cried.
"Who is this? Your brother?" Legolas opened the square of metal that contained a portrait of his kin.
"That is my wife," the dwarf bit out.
"And what is this horrid creature? Goblin mutant."
"That's my wee lad, Gimli!"
Legolas' brow vaulted over his forehead.
He sneered and handed the portrait back to the dwarf, walking to where Tauriel waited, his silver hair standing out against the shadows of the wood.
"Dirth gon ungol ben?" he asked.
"En ornier ungol einier ure," she said. "Neng hae in yeh."
Legolas sighed. The sound was meant for her ears alone.
More will come. Spiders, orcs, the rot that had overtaken the forests of her ancestors—it all originated from the same source. A darkness there had been whisperings of, uncoiling itself into the heart of the land.
She considered the thirteen dwarf captives, a motley group of strangers, each distinct in appearance, wearing an assortment of rusted armor and boiled leather. They scowled and muttered amongst themselves, preoccupied by the presence of Legolas as he questioned their leader, the one who had called himself Thorin. It would not do well for this Thorin or his companions that he had been found in possession of an elven blade. Tauriel wondered if their arrival in Mirkwood would prove another bad omen for her people.
As she brooded, she became aware of a pair of eyes on her. It was the young dwarf whom she had saved. She straightened her spine and stared hard at him. Whatever it was that he had seen must have made an impression. As Legolas gave the order and he and his company were marched off, Tauriel was the first to break their gaze, though not before she noticed his wink at her, a wide grin stretching the sides of his mouth.
"Where are you taking Thorin?" The elder dwarf demanded. Tauriel heard one of the others refer to him as Balin on their way to the palace.
"He will have an audience with the king," she said, leading them down the damp path that opened into the dungeons.
"King Thranduil?" The dwarf with an axe lodged in his skull growled, shoving against the handling of the guards. Tauriel wondered how horrible the injury must have looked when it had still been fresh.
"Yes."
"What does he want with him?" the dwarf with the skin markings on his bald head demanded.
"That is King Thranduil's concern."
"He better not hurt him," the fat one menaced.
"Elves have no honor!" the dwarf with the white hair—Tauriel didn't know which, there were two of them standing side by side—announced waspishly.
"Aye, Dori. That's what Thorin's been sayin' all along—"
"If we had stayed on the road we wouldn't have gotten into this mess—"
"—We couldn't stay on the road because of the elves, nitwit! Do you still think they would have let us stroll merrily through their woods? They wouldn't have admitted us through these lands if we'd come in on our knees begging—"
A dull ache started behind Tauriel's eyes. She made a motion for her guardsmen to separate and take the dwarves to their cells. The guards traded long-suffering glances.
"What will we do if Thorin is executed? Who will—"
"Quiet, moron! You want these lichen-eating elves to know everything? They'll all have us murdered—"
"Devoured—"
"—by animals!"
"I'll take my chances. Nothing could be worse than those spiders..."
The noise of their argument died as the number of dwarves in Tauriel's presence dwindled to two, both the youngest of their group. The one she had saved was one of them. The fair-haired dwarf that looked as if he were a blood relative regarded her with open contempt.
"I just want you to know," he said, drawing himself to his full diminutive height, "That if you or the rest of your flower-tickling elves mean to harm my uncle, I'll—"
"Flower-tickling, Fili?" The dwarf she had saved snorted with laughter.
Tauriel exhaled. "I believe King Thranduil only wishes to question your leader for now—if this eases your worry."
The two dwarves looked at each other.
Another guard came up her flank to lead away the fair-haired dwarf. Tauriel nodded her thanks. The dwarf pitched a last distrustful glare over his shoulder before being led down a level to his cell.
One left. Tauriel looked around and grimaced. There were no more guards.
"I guess it's just you and me," the dwarf declared brightly, echoing her thoughts.
Valar give me forbearance.
"Do you have a name?" he asked.
"Yes."
The dwarf waited.
And waited.
"That's…not what I meant."
"Then why not ask my name?" Tauriel said.
"Alright…what is your name?"
"I do not give it to prisoners."
The dwarf looked at her. "What am I to call you?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing? How lovely. A family name?"
"No."
"No?"
"Do not call me 'nothing.'"
"I must call you something."
"Anything but that."
He grinned. The ache that had started behind Tauriel's eyes began to throb.
"You may call me Captain."
"Captain? Captain of what?"
"Of the Mirkwood Forest Guard."
"Do you mind if I abbreviate that?"
They rounded a bend on the narrow bridge, coming to a wider ledge. Tauriel pointed to the cell that had been carved into the side of the sheer rockface.
"This is where you will stay."
"Could use some throw pillows," he said, wrinkling his nose. "Do you want to know my name?"
"No."
"It's Kili," he said, smiling and stepping into his cell. His hair was very dark—dark and tangled from many nights likely spent sleeping near an open flame. Tauriel wondered why he hadn't braided it like the rest of his companions. He was tall for a dwarf, grazing chest-level. The more she observed him, the more she decided he was not quite as young as first appeared. Aware of her scrutiny, he turned and captured her gaze.
"Aren't you going to search me?" he asked. "I could have anything down my trousers."
Tauriel regarded him with the serenity of her six-hundred years. "Or nothing," she said, and closed the iron bars.
She did not miss the smirk he cast as she walked away.
"Tauriel."
Legolas came down from the second bridge, still dressed in armor covered in spider gore. It was not uncommon for him to attend his father before changing out of his soiled clothes. It was rare for royalty to disregard vanity, but it was a trait Tauriel admired in him that was otherwise dismissed as eccentric by members of the court.
"Why does the dwarf stare at you, Tauriel?"
She blinked at his words. They held an undercurrent of accusation.
"Who can say? Perhaps he is soft-headed."
Legolas shifted. She immediately regretted the annoyance his tone had provoked in her. It was the tumult of the day—the introduction of the dwarves that had thrown them both off balance.
She smiled and saw him relax. Legolas Greenleaf was not in the habit of returning anyone's smiles, though Tauriel knew well how to read his goodwill. She inclined her head and made to move past him, thoughts inexplicably straying to her grinning captive.
"He's quite tall for a dwarf, do you not think?" she asked.
"Taller than some," he called to her retreating back. "But no less ugly."
Tauriel knew Thranduil's patience would be frayed by the time she reached the throne. She was grateful to Legolas for paving the way by announcing the capture of the dwarves himself. It wasn't often that he was able to join Tauriel and her guard on patrol, but this occasion had proved fortuitous. Owing to the unusual nature of their prisoners, Thranduil would be relieved his son had been present to handle the affair.
It wouldn't help his good spirits that he had just finished interrogating their leader. Tauriel retraced her steps back to the entrance of the dungeon when the guard that had been escorting him gave her a wide berth, the dwarf marching past with regal indifference.
She stopped outside of the throne room, feeling a sensation like someone staring at the back of her neck. She looked around, and there was no one there.
Peace Tauriel, it has been a long day.
"I know you're there." Thranduil stepped around the expanse of a column that divided his throne from view.
"Why do you linger in the shadows?"
She stepped forward. He gestured for her to come closer, the white of his robes pooled like water behind him.
"I was coming to report to you," she said.
"You have taken your time."
"Yes, My Lord."
Thranduil observed her coldly. Legolas possessed all of the beauty and composure of his sire but lacked the true ice that ran through his veins. She was grateful for it.
"I thought I ordered that nest to be destroyed not two moon's past?"
She bowed.
"We cleared the forest as ordered My Lord, but more spiders keep coming up from the south. They are spawning in the ruins of Dol Ghuldur. If we could kill them at their source—"
"That fortress lies beyond our borders. Keep our lands clear of those foul creatures. That is your task." Thranduil cut through her words with his own like a knife. It was an old dance between them—each moving in their futile orbits, hoping to press the other into a position of acceptance. He didn't know why she persisted in her arguing with him and on occasion she wasn't sure she did either. It was the same with his son.
"And if we drive them off? What then? Will they spread to other lands?"
A sliver of ice tightened his jaw. "You forget yourself, Captain. Other lands are not my concern."
Her protest died a swift death on the back of her tongue. She knew better than to press him today.
"I see this does not please you."
It was not a question. Tauriel did not reply. His eyes flashed, a deeper blue than Legolas', the dangerous color of a lake with deep-running currents.
"Fortunes of the world will rise and fall. But here in this kingdom, we will endure."
She bowed once more and kept her eyes fixed on the floor. He dismissed her and she turned to go.
His voice, soft and arrow-like, shot a parting remark through her back.
"Legolas said you fought well today." His expression was inscrutable. "He has grown very fond of you."
All at once she sensed herself balancing on the edge of a narrow precipice, unexpected and treacherous.
"I assure you, My Lord, Legolas thinks of me as no more than a Captain of the Guard."
He glided past her, a creature of frost and air.
"Perhaps he did once. Now, I'm not so sure." She heard the chink of silver behind her as he poured himself a goblet of wine.
Wishes of long ago assailed her, dreams she had believed long extinguished. A foolish hope she had kept burning while she still trained as a guard. She had been much younger then, climbing through the trees, stealing glimpses of Prince Legolas—the silver-haired being he had been before he was simply Legolas—hunting with his retinue.
She drew herself away from useless fantasies.
"I…do not think you would allow your son to pledge himself to a lowly Silvan elf," she said.
"No, you're right. I would not."
A glowing ember that had remained banked inside her heart was quietly snuffed.
"Still, he cares about you. Do not give him hope where there is none.
Notes:
Translations:
-Nenu Nongol (Thoroughly)
-Dirth gon ungol ben? (Are the spiders dead?)
-En ornier ungol einier ure (Yes, but more will come)
-Neng hae in yeh (They're growing bolder)
No, I have no idea how to properly transcribe Tolkien Elvish (or Dwarvish and Orcish or any other ish you will see in later chapters.) These translations are a slap-stitch amalgam of Things That Sound Good as well as supposedly "real" words from online Tolkien fan dictionaries.
This is a multi-chapter series, the first of which I have already completed. I will post each chapter on a biweekly basis (or maybe more frequently depending on the response I get-hint, hint.) The first half follows the movie fairly closely, though once I see BoFA it will likely branch off into an AU that will chronicle the battle as well as the aftermath. We all know Peter Jackson doesn't have a happy ending for our Killiel in mind, but that doesn't mean I can't make one (or will I?) There is a terrible shortage of good fanfic in this fandom-I think I've read two that I thought were truly well-done-so my goal is to remedy that. We all love the Romeo and Juliet dwarf-elf scenario. The second series will increase to an M rating for violence and other things, so if you're scared of those beasties, watch out. o
I'm not in any way, shape, or form a Tolkien purist. While good 'ol Peter Jackson may have turned this glorious franchise into one big cgi cashcow, he's also breathed life into Tolkien's world for me. I've read the Hobbit and was never impressed by his storytelling, though I appreciated his world-building. I tried the Lord of the Rings and found it too dry. So for this, I do have Jackson to thank.
Also...I have no qualms about holding this series for ransom. Authors, fanfic or otherwise, live and breathe reviews, so if you have read and enjoy this story that has taken weeks to write, please review. Constructive criticism is always helpful and appreciated. Praise never hurts either. ~_+