A/N: I was toying with the idea of publishing this later (maybe tomorrow or sth), but in the end I decided to go with it and do it today, since I'm pretty sure part 3 (yes, there will be one and then probably part 4, if I decide to go down the path I'm going, which will probably require an epilogue/sequel as well, so yeah, a lot of things to come) will not be ready until at least Wednesday. My exam session is fast approaching and I should be studying instead of writing, but my head is just overflowing with ideas and I can't study with all those plot bunnies jumping around. Besides, I study English, so it kind of counts as practise, right?
That being said, I want to thank you for all your lovely comments! I wasn't honestly expecting such a warm response to this little thing, but I'm truly beyond myself with happiness :) After all, no matter what authors claim, they actually do write for the audience.
I hope you won't hate me after reading this…
Also, I believe that I might have made the characters a bit OCC? Idk. To me it feels like I have explained the reasons behind their actions well enough, but there will always be those who will agree to disagree. So, just saying.
Anyway, I hope you will enjoy it as much as Part 1, if not more (it is almost twice as long, so it naturally deserves more love, right?)! And don't forget to leave a review! Your kind words give me some good old motivation to move my sorry arse and actually write, and – dare I say – finish something for once ;)
PART 2
She drifts in and out of consciousness for what feels like years. In her dream-like state she sees the shadows as the move around against the warm light which seems to flicker every now and then, not unlike a flame of a candle or that of a hearth. There are also voices, which she recalls vaguely, but cannot place, and they speak to her, and to each other, about things she can hardly hear through the soft hum coming from somewhere within her own mind. Dizziness makes it impossible to determine if the speakers are male or female, but at the same time she is sure she knows them and so she lets the sleep take her without any second thought concerning her safety, only mildly concerned about the pain she feels.
"Am I injured?" She asks herself on more than one occasion as her eyes flutter open to the sight of those familiar figures with their soothing voices, but she doesn't remember.
The only thing she knows is that she is still alive.
-o-o-o-
Sometimes when she lingers in the state between sleep and awareness she hears a word that she can recognize.
Tauriel.
It's her name.
Someone is calling her name.
"Tauriel…," someone says and she wonders if it's the sign that she is on her way to the Halls of Mandos.
Is it her mother or her father? Or is it the Valar himself, beckoning her to join him?
After all , there is no one left to call for her in the land of the living.
-o-o-o-
When she finally truly awakes, she comes to with a loud gasp.
Her hand moves to her neck and squeezes over the layers of bandages and healing herbs as she tries to calm her erratic breathing. It hurts so much it makes her sick, but she refuses to let it consume her.
Someone places a hand on her back and starts moving it up and down in a soothing motion that helps her along through the blinding pain. The same person mutters something in Sindarin, although she is too preoccupied to really pay attention to the words, but the lilt of them is like a balm to her arching soul. She regrets sitting up so abruptly, but there is little she can do about it now other then endure and pray for the unpleasant sensation to ease down at least a bit.
Finally, after a few long minutes of fighting for breath, she is able to let go of her neck and open her eyes.
"Send for Narie," the person next to her, her helpful guardian, says quietly. She remembers who he is almost instantly.
"M-my lord," she whispers as she turns in his direction, stumbling over her words. Her voice is strained and rough, and barely audible from lack of use, but he hears her anyway.
She catches a glimpse of Galion over Thranduil's shoulder before the butler disappears from view, already on his way to the infirmary to fetch the head healer. Her eyes move back to the king, looking straight into his eyes, which are as intense as ever. There is something new lurking in them though, which she recognizes for what it is in no time.
Worry.
The king is worried.
And he is worried about her.
"How are you feeling?" He asks, his hand still on her back. He hasn't stopped his ministrations yet, but for some reason she doesn't really care.
"It hurts," she manages to say.
"I suspected that much, " is his response and she smiles a little at the sarcasm in his tone. "You should lay down, Tauriel."
She only nods. He helps her, guiding her back down onto the soft pillows. Her eyes stray from his face to assess her surroundings.
It becomes obvious rather quickly that she is not in her quarters. The chamber is unfamiliar to her with its spaciousness, rich décor, enormous fireplace, and this bed she lays on, which is so big it could accommodate three more people and still have some room left for them to move. The mattress is incredibly soft – as if it has been made out of clouds – and a soft sigh escapes her lips when she is able to sink into it. The warmth of the linens and the heat coming from the hearth make her sleepy, but she fights against the heaviness of her eyelids, determined to be awake when Narie arrives.
As if sensing her struggle, the king lays a hand on her shoulder, saying "You can go back to sleep, if you want" with such gentleness, she actually listens to him and falls asleep within seconds.
-o-o-o-
It is Lady Narie who greets her upon her second chance to make acquaintance with lucidity in the last few hours.
"Finally!" She says as she helps Tauriel sit and scoop over to the edge of the bed, so she can examine the wound. "We were afraid that you will stay asleep forever. I hardly think it's healthy. Of course you needed your time. This injury should have been fatal, to be honest… But to sleep for weeks seems excessive, doesn't it? And the king! What on Arda possessed him to wait at your bedside I know not. He refused to sleep, he refused to eat, he refused to leave… Worse than a mule, I swear!"
Her cheeks turn red at the mention of the king as she remembers the way he has treated her when she woke up previously.
The idea of him sitting by her bed and guarding her makes her feel slightly uneasy, but not for the reason it would have a few years ago. It is oddly pleasant to know that he cares for her, because she cares for him too, as strange and unprofessional as it is. There is something more than duty lurking behind his actions, just like there is more to hers. Although he is her king, older than her by centuries, and a father of her friend, she admits to herself that there is a silver of attraction for him growing steadily and his willingness to be close to her makes it even stronger. The idea that he may return her feelings to some extend excites her and that's precisely why she feels so apprehensive.
What scares her – actually scares her – is the speed at which it's happening.
Is it too fast?
Is it too sudden?
She can't really tell.
"Where am I?" She asks to break Narie's monologue. Listening to her rants about how nobody is ever willing to take care of themselves properly makes her head hurt.
"In the king's chambers, of course," Narie replies as she waves over two maid to help Tauriel to her feet, so she can finally have a bath and change into a fresh nightgown. "He was adamant. Said it was the least he could do for what you have done."
She almost trips on her own feet when she hears the news and it's only because of the maids' steady hold on her arms that she doesn't fall.
"Is it the king's… But how…" Words leave her completely at this point.
"Yes, you have been sleeping in the king's bed, my dear." Narie apparently finds her rather unnecessary embarrassment very amusing. "Nobody dared to say a word against it, of course, since you deserve all the care and gratitude in the Woodland Realm you can possibly get. You are a hero to our people, after all."
"A hero?" She repeats, not quite sure if she understands the meaning of the healer's words correctly.
"Oh yes!" One of the maids chimes in with a cheerful smile. "You have saved the king!"
"And it was so brave of you too!" Adds the other one.
Tauriel's blush deepens as she struggles to find anything appropriate to say, but comes back empty-handed.
In the end she decides to simply listen to the chatter of the maids as they assist her during her bath and then dress her up in a clean gown of soft white cotton. They brush and braid her hair while Narie redresses the wound, which is still arching and painful to the touch, but at least it doesn't bleed anymore and it's free of spider venom. After helping her back to bed, they both go away to the kitchens to fetch her something light to eat. Narie lingers in the chamber for a while after they leave, picking up her mortar with the rest of mashed herbs, the dirty bandages, and some linens she had used to cleanse Tauriel's injury, but she soon excuses herself as well.
Left alone in the vast bedchamber with nothing to do, Tauriel simply sits in the bed and once again examines the room.
Her thoughts wander to the time she has lost in her long sleep.
Two weeks and a half. Seventeen days. More than a few hundred hours.
It seems such a waste, really. However, there is a part of her that knows this time has been lost for a good cause and it makes her feel better. The responsibility of being the captain still rests heavily upon her shoulders though and she promises herself to ask someone to fetch her second-in-command so she can ease her mind a little in regard to her horribly neglected duties.
A set of footsteps reaches her ears. Soon enough she is able to see someone moving about in the next chamber through the small gap between the half-open door and the doorframe. It's hard to tell who is it, since there seems to be an awful lot of activity going on in the king's chambers recently, all of which is probably related to her person.
"Hello?" She calls out, a bit unsure if she really wants to confront this person. Then again, any company is preferable to this tedious silence she has found herself in for the last couple of minutes. Yearning for the presence of others in an unfamiliar setting is only natural, after all.
The person stills. For the longest time there's absolutely no sound coming from the other room and she briefly regrets opening her mouth. Then the door opens to reveal the king, who lingers at the threshold for a moment, his eyes trained on her.
He is dressed only in a simple white tunic and dark trousers with a robe of dark green silk thrown haphazardly over his shoulders as if in an afterthought. His feet are bare of shoes and his hair is flowing freely over his right shoulder, resembling what she thinks liquefied light would look like. There is no crown or circlet on his head now, just like there was none before. He seems a little surprised to see her, as if he has already managed to forget she was in his quarters to begin with. For some reason, the notion makes her smile.
"I would say 'good morning', but I'm afraid I've lost track of time and do not know the hour, my lord," she says quietly, bowing her head in respect.
Thranduil makes a rather peculiar sound – something between a snort and a chuckle – and shakes his head lightly, making a few strands of his pale golden hair sway with the motion.
"It is morning," he informs her with a slight upturn of his lips. "A rather early one, but morning nonetheless."
"Oh," she utters, quite surprised that she was right in a way. "Then good morning, my lord."
"Good morning," he responds. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes. Thank you, my lord. And you?"
"I have had a good night as well."
Silence follows his words and it's so awkward, she would have very much liked to have a chance to excuse herself. Alas, there is no way she can do it, so she simply lowers her gaze to her fingers, which are entwined so tightly, they are almost white.
Thankfully, the maids disrupt the rather heavy atmosphere as they return with her meal. Galion follows after them, helping another ellon carry a table into the room. They put it next to the bed. Then they take the only chair she can see – or rather an armchair with elegant carvings and lush padding – and put it next to the table. The maids place the meal upon it in haste, apparently rendered speechless in the presence of their king, and they leave as soon as they are done. Galion doesn't stay for long either. He simply reminds the king of the council meeting that is going to take place in an hour and leaves them alone.
She tries to move to the edge of the bed on her own, but it's nearly impossible to do when she can only use one arm, especially considering her utter lack of strength. It startles her when Thranduil comes forward to assist her, his gentle warm hands keeping her steady as he guides her to the edge of the mattress. Once she is there, he lets her go and takes a seat in the armchair.
It takes her a moment to realize that they are actually sharing a meal in his privet quarters, but she somehow manages to overcome the sudden nervousness and even eats a bit of what has been served.
She feels his eyes on her almost the entire time.
She doesn't look up to make sure.
-o-o-o-
The days following her come back from death are very uneventful. She gets used to sharing most meals with the king, since he never talks and she can easily pretend that he is not in fact sitting next to her, munching on a piece of fruit or sipping his tea as if there was nothing wrong with it.
Not that there is anything wrong with it. She just finds it a bit strange.
After a week of rest and two days of taking small walks around the room with Lady Narie hovering behind her like a mother hen, she is finally able to return to her own rooms.
She thanks the king in simple words and with a deep curtsey, and goes back to living her previous life in her humble quarters.
Except her life is not the same.
Other elves bow to her now, even those of noble birth, and it is so bizarre, she needs to fight the urge to pinch herself every time it happens. Since she is not yet ready to return to her duties outside the fortress, she takes to overseeing practice of her subordinates and catching up on some reading.
There is also another change to her routine and this one surprises her the most.
Thranduil seeks her out.
And it's not only for the purpose of discussing strategy or to gain information about the progress the soldiers make during their training. Mostly, there is hardly anything professional about their encounters.
He asks her to dine with him so often she starts to feel lonely when she is forced to eat on her own. He comes to visit her on the practice fields and simply sits next to her for hours on end. He brings her books to read. He approaches her in the middle of the corridors just to inquire about her day. He sends bottles of good wine to be delivered to her room when he cannot meet with her for dinner.
What strikes her most is the way he looks at her when they are together and she catches him red-handed. There is something in his eyes… Something burning and heated, and very unexpected.
But she doesn't really mind, simply because she returns those looks and starts to enjoy his quiet presence. She feels safe in his company and it's a very liberating feeling for someone who has spent most of their life almost drowning in anxiety.
-o-o-o-
The first time he touches her in a way that is not purely coincidental, it makes her shiver.
It's only a small gesture – his warm hand sprayed on the small of her back as he guides through the crowds during the feast on the night of Summer Solstice – but it is enough to let her know that there is definitely more to them than what meets the eye.
For the first time since Kili, she feels genuinely and unabashedly happy.
-o-o-o-
Their intimacy grows slowly, but steadily. Their touches linger and are less platonic than what is widely considered as appropriate. There also are no longer exchanged in privet.
She hears rumours going around about her and the king, and their close relationship. Some people are even bold enough to ask her, if there is something between them, but she has no answer for them.
At the same time she accepts his offered arm and she lets him brush away a stray strand of her hair that has escaped the confines of one of her braids. In turn, he lets her straighten the collar of his robe when it is crooked and humours her when she asks in a moment of weakness to braid his hair. She makes him a wreath with fresh cosmos and he in turn decorates her head with forget-me-nots.
There are subtle caresses that go mostly unnoticed – a brush of hands as they walk side by side or a gentle touch to the shoulder to get the other's attention.
She discovers his other side, the gentle and caring one that has been there all along, and it thrills her to know that she is the first elleth to get even a glimpse of it in years.
-o-o-o-
One evening they are sitting in the king's garden completely alone. They have shared an early dinner and decided to spend some time in the solitude of this enchanted place, away from the ever-watchful eyes of the court.
They are sitting amongst the flowers and she is holding her hand up against his, marvelling at the significant difference in their size. His palm is twice as big as hers, his fingers are long and slender where hers are rather short, although still dainty and delicate.
It is in this very moment, as their hands touch and their eyes are locked, that she realizes the seriousness of the situation.
She pulls away abruptly, suddenly frightened by her own boldness, and Thranduil's faint but honest smile slips from his face.
"What's the matter?" He asks, reaching for her hand just like she had done a few minutes ago and resuming the feather-like contact between their open palms.
"I don't know," she admits truthfully. "You tell me."
He chuckles at that.
"I admit I have a similar problem." His voice is serious, although she can still sense a bit of his earlier amusement. "What I do know is that you mystify me, Tauriel, and it is not an unpleasant feeling."
"We hated each other," she says and he actually laughs this time. "I mean it, my lord," she adds. "We have been at odds for decades or even centuries, and yet…"
She doesn't finish the sentence, because what he does renders her completely speechless. Fingers wrapping gently around her hand, he brings it to his face and places a butterfly kiss on the inside of her wrist. His eyes are closed as he then moves her hand to his cheek, holding it there with his own.
"Feelings tend to change as time goes by," he murmurs and her breath hitches when he turns his head a fraction and kisses her in the same spot again.
She throws away caution as she takes hold of the lapels of his overcoat and yanks him forward so she can reach his lips with her own. The kiss is hard and needy, and borderline bruising, but he couldn't care less, it seems, for he responds to her with the same fire. His arms are around her in a blink of an eye, bringing her so close to him, there is no space whatsoever between their bodies. One of his hands moves upwards to the nape of her neck where he curls his fingers into her hair and pulls at it, forcing her head to fall back even more.
He licks at her bottom lip and she opens her mouth, letting him in. Their tongues swirl and dance together in sync, and she is sure that if she continues to kiss him, she will lose the rest of her sanity, because he is utterly intoxicating. He tastes like sweet wine, apples, and something else, but it's such a potent combination that she thinks she could kiss him for the rest of her life.
And then her senses return to her at once for the first time in months.
She pushes him away and springs to her feet, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.
He had a wife, she thinks with a pang of regret. He had a wife and is bonded to her even now, and so he shall never be mine.
Why it has never occurred to her before, she cannot say, but she feels so stupid now that she remembers that she could die of shame here and now.
She doesn't stop to look at him – neither at his puzzled expression nor his kiss-swollen lips – as she flees from the garden, angry tears blurring her vision as she runs away from another lost what-if.