Many years and a number of human lifetimes later, it occurred to Legolas that Tauriel's inability to return the feelings that he had once entertained for her should have been obvious, even before the ordeal with the dwarf—Kíli, he would remind himself, the voice in his head always sounding exactly like his fiery-haired friend and sister-in-arms when his thoughts to this turn. Yes, Kíli was important, especially to her, yet this was something that had started years before the quest to reclaim the mountain from Smaug—Legolas simply suspected that he had been too blind to notice it.
(Later, he would also wager that he was not the only one.)
Still, for those who possessed a large amount of foresight and perceptive ability, the truth was sitting plainly out in the open, dangling rather elegantly from a fine silver chain around Tauriel's neck, where it had rested for any and all who would see for centuries.
As a rule, Tauriel never wore much by way of jewelry. For one, the daughter of Mirkwood was first and foremost a warrior and had always felt that bright and flashy jewels would only get in the way and attract unwanted attention—especially when her whole livelihood, not to mention survival (which Tauriel never did) depending on her ability to be as inconspicuous as possible while moving through Mirkwood's lands, ridding them of the seemingly ever-present threats. It just didn't seem practical.
The second, and more unspoken reason the elleth limited herself to the few pieces of jewelry she always wore was more a matter of social standing. Tauriel was Silvan, and as such, lacked the precious gems with which her Sindar and Noldor counterparts regularly adorned themselves. For her, this was no problem—she had long ago come to terms with her social standing, which is to say, she rarely spared her time to think on it in the present days—not as she had in her youth. She was proud of her rise in the ranks from simple soldier to captain of Mirkwood's guard, although it was more a pride and sense of contentment in her duties than one of elevated status.
She had come to the Elvenking's halls at a young age, helpless, bloodied, and lost—an attack by servants of darkness leaving her bereft of family, a home, and all possessions except for the very clothes on her back the elegant, yet deadly daggers that had only recently belonged to her late father. The king, moved by he tragic circumstances and the responsibility he felt for his people, had personally supervised her healing, spending the uncertain hours where her life, which had been too short even by the standards of mortals, hung in the balance, even going so far to wipe her brow and softly yet fervently whisper for the child to keep fighting.
There was something about such a small, broken thing that drew Thranduil in. He, who had hid his feelings for so long after his own tragic loss, was overtaken the desperate feeling of watching such a small flame flicker and fight for survival even though everything she had ever known was lost. He, after all, remembered being in a similar situation when the dragonfire of Gundabad had claimed everything that he held dear, save one. He was determined to give this child, who was so very small and so much more innocent than he had been at the time of his struggle, the knowledge that should she choose to fight and survive, she would have something to return to.
In the back of his mind that same voice that had told him that to survive was to be numb, whispered to him that this was a dangerous endeavor, yet he couldn't bring himself to care when he looked at Tauriel's battered and broken body as she lay in her sickbed. Still, when she made it safely through the night and his healers assured him that she would make a full recovery, he withdrew and returned to his usual duties, though he never truly stopped watching her. When she wakes, she has no memory of her arrival—only flashes of terror and violence that she tries to put from her mind and then, the memory of a voice and a pair of vibrant blue eyes whispering for her to fight.
Soon, when the small elleth was given a clean bill of health and it was time to decide what to do with the orphaned child, it was the king who decided that she would stay in the palace rather than be sent back to a foster family in the country and for that, Tauriel would always be grateful.
At court, she was given opportunities that a Silvan elf from the country could only dream of—a life of relative luxury and ease and an education only the highest-born elves could ever dream of. Aware of the rareness of her circumstances, Tauriel did everything she could to prove her thanks, although she rarely saw the one who had made it possible. Still, she often felt a pair of icy, sky blue eyes following her and, remembering a time when they were the only thing urging her to fight and stay in this world, she always felt comforted by the gaze.
As she grew older, she saw the king less and less, and so, when it is time for her to ask him for the one thing she has ever asked for, she finds herself filled with icy dread at the prospect. A familiar voice in the back of her head whispers that she must fight, and so, she steels herself and enters the throne room with her head held high. Though she has never approached the king in his throne room before, his guards move from the doors and allow her to pass without question.
Once she passes through the doors, she hangs back under the intricately carved archways, attempting to gather her courage. The king alone in the chamber, pacing below his throne, which is in a way both a blessing and a curse. It means no one will witness her embarrassment should she fail, but it also means that she is acutely aware of being alone.
After a brief moment that feels to her like an eternity, the king speaks.
"I know you are there," he drawls and Tauriel is stuck by how shockingly familiar his rich voice is to her ears. "Come forward."
Startled into action, she briskly walks forward and drops to her knees in a bow in front of him.
"My lord," she greets, her voice slightly strangled sounding to her own ears with her nerves.
"Tauriel, a surprise. What brings you here?" he asks firmly, though not unkindly.
"I would ask a favor of you, my lord," she replies formally.
"Go on," she hears him say, though she still does not look up from where she kneels on the ground.
"I wish to train to join the guard."
At her admission, the king stops pacing and she feels his eyes on her, more intensely than when she had first arrived.
"It is a dangerous choice, Tauriel. The life of a soldier is not an easy one. Would you throw your life away so easily?"
"I know, my lord," she says, finally looking up, though not at him. "I am grateful for everything that I have been given here at court, yet I wish to give something back, if you'd allow me. I know, better than most, what lurks out there in the world. If I can stop just one attack, it will be worth it."
As she explains, Thranduil can't help but notice how her eyes light up with passion as she explains and her voice gets stronger. Yes, this is what she truly wants, and if he's honest with himself, he knows that he should have expected it. He has lived for many hundreds of years and knows from all that time that once one has encountered the truth of what is truly out there in the world, there is no turning back. He only regrets that with Tauriel, it happened so young and that she never really knew a world without a shadow…but those are sentimental thoughts that he does not have time for. While Tauriel is not a naïve innocent, Thranduil still cannot bear the idea of her loosing what small amount of innocence she has left, if he spends the time to truly think about it. And yet, he must acknowledge, it is her choice.
Once she finishes with her speech, Tauriel's gaze quickly returns to floor, examining the stone as if it holds the secrets of the universe while she waits. Thranduil can almost taste her anxiety as he moves to stand directly in front of her, fine leather boots obscuring the edges of her examination and causing her to look up and directly at him for the first time in years.
"I see you have given this proper thought," he says, beckoning her to her feet.
She swiftly obliges, although even fully grown and standing, her petite frame is still no match for his imposing height.
"If this is what you truly want, then you have my blessing. If you choose to give your life to Mirkwood, then I will give you the gift of truth," he continues. "You will have to prove yourself, though, even more than the rest. You have been sheltered from the prejudices of some of the kingdom, but you will have to prove yourself first as a Silvan and then as a female."
He can tell that this has shocked her, but he also can see the steely reserve of strength behind her eyes as she takes this in.
"But there are many Silvans in the guard already, my lord," she responds, eyes flashing.
"Yes, there are," Thranduil concedes, "but very have rises to the rank of captain," he admits, leaving the implications of his words and the weight of his expectations unsaid. Her eyes widen in surprise.
Then, Thranduil isn't really sure what makes him do it, but he steps forward, even closer to the young elleth and reaches his hand under her chin, forcing her bright green eyes to meet his icily blue ones for the first time in years.
"Tauriel, you will have to fight," he says, somehow more serious than before, and suddenly, she makes the connection between the voice and the familiar pair of eyes from her childhood and the ellon standing in front of her.
Her eyes widen in shock before her determination returns and as she meets his gaze without fear and responds, "Always, my lord."
And with that, he releases her chin and she is dismissed from his presence, free to start her training as part of the guard the next morning.
