Author's note: Well, I've taken the plunge and decided to start uploading this fic. Unbelievably, I've been writing in this category longer than any other, but I've never actually uploaded anything for it before. This story has been growing in my head for a very long time, and as such is more complex than any other I've ever tried to write; I only hope I have skill enough to do it justice. I'm uploading it in the Silmarillion section, because the majority of the action takes place before the events of the Hobbit and LotR. This first chapter might be a bit misleading in that sense, because it starts at the end of the Hobbit, but it seems complex stories lead to complicated timelines. This chapter is, if anything, a prologue to the narrative that is to follow. I hope you enjoy it.

The summary is a lyric from the song "What the Water Gave Me" by Florence and the Machine. I must thank her for filling the summary space with words far more beautiful than I could ever manage.

1. The Bowman

Esgaloth, T.A. 2958

Within the ruins of Laketown, Thranduil's daughter seemed very beautiful. Bard had been told that in comparison to other ladies of her kind she was not of remarkable beauty, but there was something shining about her beside such destruction; such mortality.

After the battle, the elves of Mirkwood had come to aid the ailing people of Laketown. It had been an age or more since so many of the fair-folk had been seen beyond the borders of their forest. Bard was of the few fortunate enough to have glimpsed one of them in the past. When he had been a boy of no more than six or seven he had met a messenger of the elven king, who had come to make arrangements for the trade of wine between the two peoples. The elf had been very tall – taller than any man Bard had met – and fair. Before today, however, he had never seen a she-elf.

When he first saw her she was helping to distribute bread to the women and children of Laketown left without husbands or fathers. She was dressed in green and brown, as most of her kin were clad, and although her cloth was fine, it was plain and practical: made for wear and riding. As such, the clothes were well-fitted, and Bard knew he had been staring when she turned her gaze to meet his. He removed himself from her presence very quickly, certain that he'd in some way acted inappropriately. When he found out that it was the King's daughter who he'd been staring at, he was cowed enough to avoid her as best he could throughout the days and nights that she spent in Laketown.

Despite his efforts, he still caught glimpses of the elven princess from time to time. One day she would be helping to clear rubble from the streets; the next she would be cleaning blood from the faces of those with injuries too minor to be put before surgeons or healers at this time. She always appeared where he did not expect her to be, and he always did his best to escape her presence before she could take too much notice of him.

He busied himself instead with organising the remnants of Laketown's people. With the master gone and the town in ruins, Bard seemed to have somehow become their new leader. Men came to him looking for orders; asking what should be done with looters and thieves, or when they should begin rebuilding the roads. He was not entirely comfortable with his newfound status, but as no one else seemed willing, for the time, to lead the people, he had little choice in the matter.

The first thing he had done was drag the dragon from his watery grave and set fire to his flesh. Smaug had brought pain and destruction to the lives of many, not just those who lived in Laketown. Now the beast could taste a fire of his own. Three days had passed, but the carcass still smouldered to the North of the town. The smell was thick and pungent, and made men gag when they drew too close, but the wind blew the fumes away to the East and the men and women of Laketown could breathe easy again.

Bard watched now from the edge of the camp that had been raised in the wake of the city's ruin, as flames licked at the dragon's bones. They were a golden glow in the distance, soon to be nothing more than ash and memory.

'You're avoiding me, my Lord.' The voice struck him like an arrow in the dark. He turned towards it, his fingers twitching towards his knife, even though he already had a notion as to whom it was who had spoken.

Thranduil's daughter watched him with eyes bright in the gathering dark.

'I am no lord,' he said, forgetting his courtesy. He did not apologise, for doing so would make him look foolish.

The princess smiled. 'Your forefathers were kings among men.'

'My forefathers were soldiers and guardsmen. It's been near two hundred years since a man of my blood sat upon a throne.' Bard knew he sounded sour, but perhaps he was. Miserable and grim was how men had described him before he slew the dragon. Now they called him a hero, and a king. He did not like it.

'It will not be so long before you are crowned again, my Lord.'

He narrowed his eyes in the dark and turned to watch the dragon burn. 'What if I do not want to be a king?'

He could hear the smile in her voice. 'King's rarely choose the thrones they sit upon, nor when they will rise to them.'

He watched her from the corner of his eye as she stepped up beside him. The golden light of the distant fire lit her face, even from so far away, or perhaps she had a light of her own about her. Her skin glowed; unblemished. Soft to touch, he'd wager. He felt himself warm to the thought and looked away again. He would never dare to touch a princess, let alone a princess of her kind.

'These people look to you now; you are their hope. And so you are a lord, I think, at the very least.'

'I do not know how to be a lord,' he said, still uncertain of the life that seemed to be flourishing before him. He felt the princess turn her gaze towards him, but he kept his own firmly on the flames.

'I did not always know how to be a princess, and yet I learned. Well enough, although perhaps not as well as some.'

He looked at her then, because the tone of her voice surprised him. She was making a mock of herself; he had not expected that from one of her kind.

The light was dancing in her eyes. 'You look surprised, my Lord.'

He checked himself. 'I'm not,' he said.

'A lie,' she replied, 'but a noble one, at least.'

He grew uncomfortable beneath her gaze very quickly and looked away, only to find himself staring again at the way her tunic hugged her waist and her skirt fell over her hips. He looked back to the fire, but she had surely seen.

'Do I make you uncomfortable, my Lord?' she asked.

'Yes.' It was obvious enough, and so the admission seemed less embarrassing than the lie.

The elf lady looked away from him and followed his gaze to the place where the dragon burned. 'Forgive me, I am not used to the company of men. Among my own people I am scarcely noticed unless I wear my crown.'

'A lie, I think,' he said before he could stop himself. He turned to look at her and she smiled.

'A less than noble one,' she replied.

Bard supposed that if this was a romance of old then now would be the moment that he kissed her. He was the hero, after all, and wasn't the hero always rewarded with the love of a princess? He would pull her close and she would go gratefully into his arms. Her lips would be soft and damp, ready for his kiss. Her body would be warm against his; her breasts would press against his chest and he'd feel heat rise within him. He felt it now, even without touching her. He was ashamed of himself for thinking such things, but he didn't look away again. She would see his shame if he turned from her.

'What is it that troubles you, Bard the Bowman?' She knew his name then. Of course she did, but hearing her speak it was strange. Her voice, lyrical like those of all her kind, wrapped it in a smoothness he was unused to.

'You, my Lady,' he said, knowing he could not hide the truth.

Her dark eyebrows drew together in the lightest of frowns. 'What is it about me that troubles you?'

Bard was careful now, because what he had just been thinking was too shameful to tell her, but she had already chased one lie out of him and he did not wish to pass another into her waiting palms.

'Your presence here troubles me,' he said at last. 'Why did you come here, when your own people are surely suffering as well? Do you not wish to be among them?'

In the dark, he could not see the colour of her eyes, but he saw the sadness that settled there. He was not sure if it was grief or pity.

'Of course I wish to help my people. We mourn the deaths of our own soldiers as much as any man may. But my people need a princess who is always strong; always able. As long as I am here, helping others, that is what they see in me.'

'Don't they resent the aid you give us, or question why you do not help your own people?'

She smiled then, although it was a sad smile. 'My people do not know death as well as yours. They do not understand the passing of their kin, nor the grief that replaces them. If they were to see me grieve too keenly or too long, it would strike fear into their hearts. Here, I can protect them from my grief, and prove to them that there is still goodness in this world.'

Bard was frowning now. 'You have given this much thought, my Lady.'

'I have known grief before, and I have seen it take lives.' In that moment the thousands of years she had surely lived seemed to lean heavy on her shoulders. Enchanted, Bard reached out and touched her cheek. Her skin was just as soft as he had imagined, although a chill clung to it that he had not expected.

They looked at each other for a long time, and Bard could feel his heart fluttering like a lark inside his chest.

'Be careful, my Lord,' she said at last. 'A heart is a precious thing, and I am not worthy of yours.'

'A lie,' he replied.

'The truth,' she said, and her fingers curled around his, pulling his hand away from her face. 'Although I am honoured to have it offered to me so freely.' She kissed his hand and then let it go.

He took a deep breath and felt his heart slow. 'I could never hope to hold your heart, no matter how freely I gave you mine. Is that not so, my Lady?' He did not feel bitter about the fact; he had never expected to make any maid fall in love with him, especially not one such as her.

'I gave my heart up a long time ago.'

The dragon's ashes seemed to be fading to darkness at last, although the princess' skin still glowed with a pale light.

'You are married?'

That lit the fire in her eyes again and a smile curled her lips once more. 'No, my Lord, but if I am ever tempted into a marriage bed there is only one who could do so.'

Bard drew a sharp breath at the mention of marriage beds, and the memory of his own thoughts not long passed. 'I hope your charmer knows how fortunate he is.'

'One day he'll realise it.' She may have been smiling, but her words raised an anger in Bard that he could not explain.

'You think he is worthy of your love?' He sounded harsher than he meant to, but it did not put out the dancing light in her eyes.

'Worthier than anyone else living.' Her smile grew a little more. 'Even you, my Lord.'

Bard thanked the Valar that it was dark, so she could not see his embarrassment. The princess reached out and touched his arm, and the feel of her fingers through his rough-spun shirt stilled his breath. He knew her then for what she really was: a being unlike any other he had met before, or would ever meet again. She had lived a hundred times as long as him, and would live a hundred times longer at least. He could never hope to understand her, nor the love she bore her people – any of them.

'You are the best of men, Bard the Bowman. Never forget that.'

Again, there was silence as they watched one another, and then she let go of his arm, turned from him, and walked away. He watched her until she was but a shadow in the dark, and then he turned back to the place where the dragon had burned, and he let her go.