A/N: Hello everyone! I am back with a story that was long in the making. I don't know why but I've always felt the appeal of a Bard/Tauriel pairing, and I needed to exorcise some of my demons via the Elleth. Expect a story that will be pretty dark at first, and progressively lighter. Tauriel is in a very bad place when we start off.

Warning: This story might trigger you for the following reasons: suicide-attempt; self-harm; depression. If you are raw on any of these subjects, please avoid this story.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit or any of its characters. I only played around with it for my own personal purposes.

Feast of starlight

Chapter 1

It hurt. Everything hurt and nothing was alright.

If that was what love made someone feel, then Tauriel wanted none of it. Not the pain, not the searing burning hole in her chest where her affection had once been, not the memory of Kíli's young face when he closed his eyes for the last time.

The Elleth fell to her knees on the soft grass, angry tears falling free from her eyes as she tried to find a hold of something – anything, within her grasp. She decided to claw at her forest-green tunic, almost ripping it off her slender body as the ripples of her first love's death overtook her once more.

It had been almost a week since the Battle, the one they now called Battle of the Five Armies. Back there, near the Mountain, not one soul had forgotten what they had seen and been through, but none really understood her pain, and that's why she had left the humans to their rebuilding, and the Dwarves to their brooding.

She vividly remembered that day, when after Bolg drove his blade into Kíli's chest – she shuddered again under the force of her grief – her King Thranduil had found her. What he had told her in lieu of comfort.

"It hurts because it was real" he had said. Crushing her once again with the sheer power of what emotions could do to an individual.

Maybe Thranduil had said it because he was compassionate, because it reminded him of his own wife's passing. But maybe he had just been willing to end her with his words, knowing the pain she'd feel would simply be unbearable.

She had not returned to the Greenwood after that. She could not. She knew that Legolas would not be there, and even then, the presence of her oldest friend would not have soothed any pain. He would not understand. He had never loved anyone like she had loved the Dwarven prince. And he didn't like Kíli anyway.

She could not return to Dale either, though. Everything there reminded her of Ravenhill, of Kíli's cries when Bolg threw her into the side of the cliff; of a jagged sword going through her love's chest as if it had been leaf bread.

She screamed and clawed at her chest once again, tears continuing their deathly path down her cheeks and onto the grass beneath her. Maybe something good would come of this. Maybe her tears would sate some plant or other, and a flower, symbol of her heartbreak, would thrive for a while.

Tauriel could not even find solace in that little thought.

Her green eyes fell onto the sight below her. Sometime during the past week her erratic thoughts had brought her to the shores of the Lake, where once upon a time, Kíli had given her a stone, a token of his affection, a token he'd be given back to make sure he'd be safe.

Another scream echoed in the empty place.

Esgaroth's ruins were still scattered on the pebbled beach: wooden beams; cloth; food; but also rotting bodies, left there by hurrying folk.

It was a sight of desolation and it was good that way.

Tauriel stood from the grass. She did not straighten her tunic, not caring if it was wrinkled or if it rose above her knees. She wiped angrily at her cheeks to try and give herself some strength.

"I'll soon be there, my love," she whispered to the wind, hoping that it'd carry her words to Kíli's soul, wherever it was.

And she stepped into the water.

It was freezing, the dead of winter not quite having left the air, and she hissed under this new pain, dulling her broken heart for a second. She advanced in the water until it reached her shoulders, and she sighed in relief.

She'll soon be reunited with her prince, and the pain would be gone.

Bard and his son were chatting away, smiling and laughing under whatever joke the young boy had just told his Da. They were both sat on the bench of the carriage, and from time to time, the older man bumped into his son's shoulders playfully.

Bard was King of Dale in anything but name by then. His people had elected him as their leader, and against all odds, he had agreed to the task.

But he had also refused to be crowned before Dale was rebuilt and thriving once again.

By then, he and his three children were living in a modest house in the centre of town, near Duke Girion's old home – now being repaired – and each of them was helping in any way they could. Sigrid was helping the healers with those many injured during the Battle; Tilda was helping the seamstresses sow curtains and blankets and clothes; and Bain helped his father with the building itself.

Except supplies were coming in rare, and before trade could be reinstated with other kingdoms and such, Dale's inhabitants had to be clever. That's when Bain thought of the Lake and its shores.

"There's still a lot of stuff that we left behind there! Maybe some of it can be useful!"

Bard had ruffled his son's hair with pride. His kids were all intelligent, kind and selfless, but he sometimes was still surprised and proud to see to which extent they were.

So both had departed from Dale at dawn, taking a horse and a carriage in hope to bring as many useful materials as they could. Their people needed it, and they would make sure they got it.

"Da, what's that?" Bain asked when they came in view of the Lake. There was something in the grass, something that would probably be dangerous for a horse or a carriage to walk or roll over.

"It's a quiver," Bard answered in a whisper. He stopped the carriage and jumped off, picking up the brown leather and eyeing its marking with awe. "It belongs to an Elf, I'm sure of it."

"But Da, why would an Elf leave their quiver in the grass?" Bain asked, and both started looking around frantically in search of the arrows' owner.

Bard then felt something akin to dread fill his veins. He remembered a slender figure ghosting around town after the Battle, not seeing anything or anyone around them, their paleness and red-trimmed eyes leaving little for imagination. They were grieving.

So he started looking for any ripples in the Lake that would tell-tale that someone had gone into the freezing water in search of release from this world.

He turned to his son, wishing to warn him, wanting to shield him from some horrors of the world still, but Bain had suddenly jumped off the cart as well and was running towards the Lake.

"Bain!" he called, going after his boy. He hoped he had not seen one of the many bodies littering the beach.

But instead, Bain reached the water, and called to his Da. "It's her, it's Tauriel!" He entered the lake without any shadow of doubt, and Bard felt something else fill his veins by then.

Tauriel.

The Elleth who had saved his children, who had returned them to him. Who he could not thank.

He needed to save her.

"Bain, wait! I'll help!" he called once more, and he entered the water as well to help his son drag the floating body to shore.

She was pale as death, but a faint heartbeat still echoed against her skin.

And Tauriel did not get the release she hoped for.