This the sequel to The King Weeps – I recommend that you read that story before this one, or it might not make a great deal of sense. If you don't want to read the previous fic, I've posted a brief summary of it at the bottom of this chapter.

Warnings: Spoilers for The Hobbit.

Tauriel had been pacing for ten minutes, breathing tightly and clenching her hands, when she finally relented and turned back towards Thranduil's chambers. She was going at such a speed, paying no heed to her surroundings, that she ran into Elrond on the stairs, almost upsetting a basket from his hands. She steadied in time to catch a small cake that, precariously balanced, had toppled from the wicker rim.

"For the king?" she murmured, replacing it, speaking only because she could not bear to stand in silence.

Elrond readjusted the basket. "He refused most of it, but yes." He frowned. "You should not have left him alone."

"I could not bear witness to his tears," she said. "He did not want me there."

"It seems, he wants no-one with him."

"He sent you away?"

Elrond nodded. "He is as stubborn as he is proud. I was doing no good by remaining at his side."

To her surprise, Elrond sat himself on one of the steps and rested his chin on his hand, so casually that Tauriel was taken aback. She stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure what to do. In the end, she joined him. The day had been a strange one.

"You are fatigued from your journey," she murmured. "I am sorry you have not had time to rest."

Elrond shook his head. "That is not what troubles me."

"What, then?"

"After Thranduil lost his wife, he focused his attention on two things; his son, and his work. Now he has lost his son, how do you suppose he will curb his grief?"

"With his work." Tauriel would not have needed Elrond to give the answer; she knew her king well enough to guess.

"He will drive himself to distraction if he is not stopped." Elrond gave her a long, hard look. "I will not be able to remain here. There is little I can do to change his mind, and I have affairs of my own that are of grave importance. I must leave by nightfall. You will have to keep him under your eye."

"If he allows it."

"He will. He is fond of you. Give him the afternoon alone, but go to him at dusk. The first night will be the hardest."

"You trust me. Why?"

"Because you wrote to me, when others would not."

Tauriel inclined her head, pressing her lips firmly together; yes, she had written to him, and little good it had done her, at least in the eyes of the Council. She had worked hard to be Captain, and now, when she considered what she was supposed to do, stripped of her position, she found herself adrift. Follow orders, she supposed. It would be hard to once again hold her tongue around the other soldiers.

It did not matter, she told herself. She had succeeded in getting Thranduil to wake, and that was all that was important.

Thranduil staggered to his feet as soon as Elrond left him, pushing up from the drawer he'd been slumped over and slamming it shut, blocking the sight of Legolas's painting. He needed to leave the room – he had wept so long that he could barely breathe, and he had no desire to suffocate within the confines of his own chamber. He had been sitting so long that his spine had grown accustomed to the position. Moving was painful, and he needed no more pain now. He needed occupation.

He changed his robes. He brushed his hair. He gently pushed at the base of the one eye that could still produce tears until it was a little less red. All his life he had been forced to look the picture of calm and collection. This was no different.

There were no guards posted outside the door, and Thranduil took the less-traversed passages to his throne, tracing the paths automatically and focusing every attention on pushing away the thoughts and memories of his son. It was an effort that exhausted him, but that did not matter. Little mattered, now, except his kingdom.

There was no-one sitting upon the throne – part of him had almost expected there would be, after so long. The seat was dusty, and he brushed it with his sleeve before sitting, more out of habit than anything else. Dust was a very small thing, really. The crown was resting where he had left it, and a cloud of silver particles rose from it as he placed it on his head. It was heavier than he remembered, but the smell of fresh branches and berries was one he found comforting.

He would go into the forest soon. It would be difficult, alone – he had not gone alone for years. He would find the spot Legolas had climbed his first tree.

Thranduil called a guard to him, ignoring the look of surprise apparent on their face as they saw that their king was not only back, but sitting on his throne as if nothing had changed.

"Tell the Captain of the Guard that I would see her tomorrow morning," he said, motioning a hand, keeping the gesture deliberately lazy to hide his trembling fingers. Getting Tauriel to bring him up to date on all matters would be a welcome distraction, though one he could not bear this night. Just walking to his throne had been painful, and once he was sure that the guard would spread the news of his emergence from his chambers, he would return to them. "That will be all."

The guard only gawked at him. Thranduil was about to snap something about it being rude to stare, until he finally received a small bow and the words, "My Lord, there is currently no Captain of the Guard."

The throne suddenly felt very warm beneath his fingertips. Much as he wanted to, Thranduil resisted the urge to lean forwards. "What do you mean?"

"My Lord, she was demoted."

"Explain yourself plainly, or cease to speak," Thranduil snapped. "I will not abide receiving scraps of information as if you are a series of letters I must reply to."

The guard snapped to attention and told him all so quickly that Thranduil almost wished he would slow down. A battle. Many dead. Bard, a common bargeman, a slayer of dragons and working alongside the Master of Laketown. Thorin, Bolg and Azog slain; the orcs scattered, Dáin King under the Mountain. The facts came at such a rate he could barely breathe for forcing his tired mind to process them, but force himself he did.

"And Tauriel led our kin at the Battle of the Five Armies herself?"

"Yes, my Lord. Bard led the men, and Dáin the dwarves. The alliance was a hasty but sound one, though the help of the eagles was sorely needed by the end."

"Nothing was wrong with the attack? No unnecessary casualties, or…cowardly behaviour?"

"No, my Lord."

"Tell me, then, why Tauriel is no longer Captain of the Guard, if her conduct was as good as you suggest?"

The guard faltered; Thranduil saw his eyes flicker left to right before coming back to focus stubbornly on the rumpled hem of his robe. "We are not supposed to ask, my Lord."

"And yet, you have your suspicions, and you will tell me them."

"I do not know the full truth of-"

"You will tell me them."

The guard shifted nervously. "I only know that it happened soon after Elrond arrived at our borders. Many feel the two events are connected, though the details are uncertain; that she must have overstepped her place in inviting him here."

That much didn't surprise Thranduil; he had made efforts in the past to keep the Council and Tauriel as far apart as possible. They were too reserved, and she too fierce, to make a good partnership. "And my absence?" Thranduil said, mind racing. "What has been said of that?"

"Only that you were grieving, and could not leave your rooms."

Thranduil was certain that was not all, but he had no time to rend the truth out of the guard now. "Give the Captain of the Guard the message."

"My Lord, there is no-"

"I said, give her the message. You know who I mean."

The guard bowed so hastily that he dropped his helmet and had to scramble to pick it up before rushing down the staircase. Thranduil leaned back in the throne and rested his head against it, trying not to feel the ache at the base of his neck. He had slept for weeks, and yet remained exhausted.

That Tauriel had disobeyed council orders by sending for Elrond was obvious; as to why they would be so reluctant for him to be reached in first place…well, the Council had never been one to come to hasty decisions, and Tauriel, brilliant in her own ways, was occasionally impulsive beyond her place.

But her impulse had caused no harm, and it may have done some good, and he would not have her removed from Captaincy. Though he would not have said it out loud, he needed her. Much had changed in a short space of time, and he could rely on her to be both honest and helpful when others were not. She had also known the true nature of his condition over the past weeks, and the thought of not having to pretend to have been merely selfishly grieving, as he would have to around others, was one that filled him with dull relief.

"Remember that his chief emotion will still be grief," Elrond murmured. "He will try and cover it with anything else he can bring to the surface. He may try and make you angry, or offend you, so you will leave. You must not let him rile you."

For a moment, Tauriel wanted to shout that she, too, was grieving and that no-one except, perhaps, when she was in Laketown and Bard had talked to her by the fireside, had allowed her to express any manner of feeling. The words hovered sourly on her tongue, but then she pushed them down. She had had weeks to grieve, but for Thranduil, it would still be fresh. Legolas had only been her friend, and Thranduil had lost his son.

Thinking as such did not make her feelings any less, but it allowed her to choke back her words and nod at Elrond, who was already saddling his horse. She did not want him to leave, but she had no power to make him stay. She felt adrift. If she had been Captain of the Guard, she would have gone and inspected the troops.

Perhaps she should patrol; the feel of her knife would help to orientate her. Of course, she would have to ask permission of whoever was now Captain. She hoped it was someone who would not further humiliate her.

Elrond's horse had vanished by the time she'd steeled herself to go, but before she could get halfway to the guard's quarters there was a shout of "Captain!" behind her. She hesitated, remembered that was no longer her position, and carried on walking.

"Captain!"

Footsteps rang out, and then someone plucked at her sleeve. Tauriel turned with a growl. "I don't know where you have been these past days, but I am no longer Captain of the Guard."

"Captain-"

"I am not your Captain!" To speak the words made her throat sting, but she spoke them all the same.

"The king insists that you are."

Tauriel felt her mouth slide open. "What?"

"He said to give you a message – that he wishes to see you tomorrow morning."

"That is all?"

The guard nodded, bowed, and hurried off. Tauriel stood in the corridor, torchlight forming diamonds in the corners of her eyes and the winter wind whipping past her cheeks. To know what she had worked so hard for, for so long, was no longer lost to her made her stomach swell with hope.

She was halfway towards Thranduil's chambers before she realised where she was going. When she did, she didn't slow her pace.

The darkness creeping into the room set Thranduil on edge, and the silence, far from soothing, only made his ears ring.

Elrond had pressed on him the need for rest, so he tried to sleep, but as soon as he closed his eyes he had a sudden vision of agonising brightness and clanging bells, and Legolas calling his name, and he snapped upright again, gasping.

There wasn't enough to distract him; he wasn't tired enough to sleep without dreaming, so he would not sleep at all. He got to his feet and paced the room, and the images trickled away from him until he could remember nothing, except that he was afraid of the inside of his own head.

He walked until his heart was beating at a normal rate, then went to the window. The lights in the forest looked like eyes, and he pulled the curtain shut with a growl. It threw dust into his face and plunged the room into the darkness. He had a terrible feeling of being watched, hands shaking until he could barely light the candle on the desk. Even when it flared, the inside of his mouth remained dry. His head was spinning.

A distraction; there had to be one in the room. His eyes flicked to the bottom drawer, which he kicked to ensure it was firmly shut; he knew what was in there, and he would not allow himself to look.

Thranduil's eye fell on the top drawer, which he eased open. Inside were papers and messages, thrown in haphazardly, that had been building steadily over the last few months. Hastily, he pulled them out, intentionally dropping them on the floor in the hope that it would take longer to sort them. The longer the better. He got in a rhythm; sort, fold, sort, fold. He arranged them into five different piles, and then – the candle was still burning strong – decided that he really should be more specific, and reordered them again into seven, and then ten, categories. When he couldn't fool himself any longer, he put them back in the drawer, opened the next one, and began writing letters. He was always behind writing messages and instructions for the minor issues around Greenwood. He would make more effort from now on.

He wrote until his fingers were cramping and his face was spattered with ink. He couldn't stop. He made bargains and challenges for himself; could he hold his breath for an entire paragraph? A page? Every failure didn't matter, because he would make more deals, layering them one on top of the other until his head was pounding and his vision blurring with tears.

When the knock came at the door, it startled him so much that he jumped in his seat, and the pen clattered to the floor, spraying ink across his robes. Trembling, he got to his feet. "Hello?"

"My Lord?"

Thranduil's shoulders relaxed. "Yes. Come in."

Tauriel stopped when her eyes came to rest on him – Thranduil had no idea how he looked, but he was willing to bet that it was not his best – and then travelled to the floor, where the pen was still rocking amidst its own ink river.

"Elrond said you were to rest."

Thranduil made an effort to draw himself to full height. "I had some…things to attend to."

Tauriel was standing very still; that wasn't usual for her. She often paced or fidgeted.

It took Thranduil a moment to realise she was angry.

"I cannot sleep." The words left him before he wanted them to, and once he'd started speaking, he found it impossible to stop. "The inside of my head is like a candle that will not go out."

"You look exhausted."

"I am." The confession made his head heavy, and he dropped back into his chair with a thud, resting one elbow on the desk and pressing a fingernail into his eyebrow until the pain focused his hazy thoughts. "I…Legolas used to play cards with me, if I could not sleep. He was good to me. He was so, so…" His chest hitched, but his eyes stayed dry. "It isn't fair."

Tauriel did not argue with him. She did not pity him, or grow annoyed, or tell him that he was a fool. She went to the corner of the room, found a chair, and sat across from him, almost as if he had invited her. The presumption made him want to smile.

"Where are these cards?"

Thranduil blinked, and stared at her, but she did not repeat the question, did nothing, until he reached for the windowsill and drew them out of the corner, scattering more dust, and handed them to her. She tipped them onto her palm and began to shuffle.

"You should know," she murmured, dealing them into two piles – Thranduil had no idea what they were going to play, but he did not ask. "Bolg fought Legolas before the dragon attacked, and he was injured. When it came to the final battle, I thought that if I could kill Bolg, it would make things right." Her voice didn't waver; there was no hesitation, not a trace of anything but determination. "I helped to kill Bolg. It did not aid Legolas."

"Did it aid you?"

She paused, with a card half-placed on her pile. "It prevented the Orcs from regrouping. That was all."

There was a fresh scar on her hand Thranduil had not seen before. He did not ask her where she got it.

The light of the room cast a shadow against Thranduil's face, and Tauriel could see how hollow it had become, how cracked his lips were. Every time he swallowed, she saw his throat bob; saw how his neck showed weight-loss, the skin baggy and slightly loose. She had not yet gathered the courage to ask him what he had done to re-promote her; when she first entered the room, seen him working, she had been furious that Elrond's prediction had come true so soon, and she hadn't dared speak of it.

Now still didn't seem the right moment. She had won four out of five hands – Thranduil was either distracted or a terrible player – and her mouth kept opening every time she reshuffled and dealt, but she always closed it by the time the cards were in place.

She won another hand, dealt another, lost two, won the next. The candle crackled and spat; the shadows in the room were total and the winter wind beating on the window, but Thranduil showed no signs of wanting to retire, so she kept playing. She was not tired, physically. Their silence was strange, but not uncomfortable.

"Someone called me Captain, earlier," she said eventually, before she could convince herself it was a bad idea. She laid a card down, and Thranduil took it up without hesitation. "He would not be convinced that the fact was otherwise."

"Then you must go about your duties as Captain of the Guard." Thranduil's voice was very even. "If anyone questions you, even if they are the Council itself, you are to refer them to me."

"My Lord…"

"Did you deserve demotion?"

Tauriel hesitated for a moment, but she had never been falsely modest. She could not afford to be. "No."

"Then we have no issue, do we?"

"No." And then. "Thank you."

The surprise on his face made her want to smile. The next moment, he had laid his cards on the table. "My hand, I think."

"I was distracted."

Thranduil scooped the cards up and offered them to her to shuffle. "That does not change the fact that it was my hand."

Tauriel laughed. Thranduil did not but, when the torch had almost gone out, he announced that he would like to retire to bed. Tauriel had no idea whether he intended to sleep, but it was a start.

Thanks for reading, feedback welcome!

To be continued.

The King Weeps Summary:

Legolas is killed by Smaug in Laketown, and Tauriel gives Thranduil the news. He reacts badly and, to prevent his heart breaking, forces himself into a trance, locking himself inside his own head where he suffers from hallucinations about the death of his wife and Legolas's childhood. Tauriel brings an army to Laketown in the hope of getting gold from Thorin for the people to rebuild their homes. The battle of the five armies commences and Thorin, Fili and Kili are killed, though Bard receives a portion of treasure from Dáin, Thorin's cousin, who takes over the rule of Erebor. Tauriel receives no praise for her work from Thranduil's council, and in desperation writes to Elrond to see if he can break the trance. This angers the council, who demote her. Tauriel takes matters into her own hands and conspires with Elrond to rouse Thranduil by pretending that she is in danger for treason. Thranduil wakes to find it is a trick, and resigns himself to grief, beginning to cry only after Elrond and Tauriel have left the room.