The training, Tauriel discovers, is even harder than she had envisioned, yet still, she soldiers on. For every ten males, there is only one female in the guard and almost none are Silvan like herself. She soon learns that Thranduil was telling her the truth—there is no outright animosity towards her, yet some of the older guards regard her with skeptical gazes and cooler attitudes, clearly doubting her capabilities.
When numbers of new recruits start to drop out and end training, male and female alike, Tauriel remembers the king's words and fights on, proving herself time and time again. It helps that Legolas is right there beside her, as he had been since her childhood, making lighthearted jokes through even the most grueling training regimens and standing up for her when old prejudices come to light. They support each other, trading tips and tricks for archery and hand-to-hand combat.
She finds it comforting, although not as comforting as the pair of blue eyes that she occasionally feels, watching her from a distance.
(If Legolas ever noticed his father's attention to his friend, he would always chalk it up to Tauriel having the king's favor until he had lived enough to know better.)
During her training, Tauriel grows strong, hard work and training molding her into a formidable warrior. She does not see the king except in general assemblies and at feasts, yet when it is time for her induction into the guard, she feels his eyes linger on her while he presides over the ceremony. When it comes time for her to swear her oath of fealty, her green eyes lock with his blue and she can see a sense of pride in them, lurking behind his carefully cultivated façade of regal detachment, much to her own elation.
She returns to her chambers after the festivities in celebration of the occasion, smiling at the memories of the night and the new family she has fashioned for herself out of other recruits in the guard. When she reaches her bed, she notices a unique and intricately carved bow and quiver laid out on it, fashioned perfectly to fit her smaller stature. She picks it up and marvels at how much it feels like an extension of her own self and sees a note flutter from it. She picks it up, drawing closer to the candlelight to read.
Fight, Tauriel, it reads in an elegantly curved script. There is no signature, though she knows whom it is from. She drifts off to sleep with a soft smile and dreams of blue eyes that night, though she would forget it as soon as she wakes up.
Over the next few decades, fight is exactly what Tauriel does, performing her duties as a soldier with a deadly efficiency and inventiveness that leads even the most old fashioned of her superiors to admit that she is a shining star in the ranks of the guard and with such glowing recommendations, it is easy to see why one orphaned Silvan elf would gain the king's favor, especially with Legolas' unwavering support. She rises quickly in the ranks until her name is put forth as deserving of the captaincy and the king's prophecy is fulfilled, with her earning the position of the youngest captain of the guard in history.
On the day of her oath swearing, Tauriel rises early and dresses with particular care, drawing on one of the uniforms signifying her new rank. There is nothing exceedingly special about the deep green and durable leather vambraces of her clothing, it is of slightly finer quality than her uniforms before and expertly tailored to her own form. She can't help but take a moment to admire the quality as she painstakingly plaits her hair, using a bit more care than usual. Since joining the guard, she has had little occasion to wear the fine gowns of the ladies of the court, and, in fact, owns only a few actual gowns, but she can't help but feel that it is in clothes like this that she feels most herself.
She wonders briefly if her parents would be proud of their daughter, but, struck with a sudden, unavoidable sadness at the thought that they are gone and she alone, she channels her emotions into her resolve and heads for the throne room, where she will swear her second oath to the king and accept her new position in front of a small audience of councilors and high ranking guard members, as well as Prince Legolas. Never one for ceremony and formality, Tauriel is glad that her closest friend will by there—having at least one person there who actually cares for her somehow seems more important now than any other time she could remember.
Just as she is about to leave her chambers, she throws open the door only to find an expected sight—the king, standing before her, arms poised as if he had been waiting to knock.
"My lord," she greets in surprise, dipping down into a small bow at his presence, "I was just about to make my way to the ceremony."
"I can see," he replies dryly, eyes sparkling slightly with something that Tauriel might have recognized as amusement had she known him better.
He takes the opportunity to lower and cross his arms in front of him, eyebrows raised as if he is appraising her—and in a way, he is. He, too, notices how well her new uniform seems to suit her, the color perfectly matching her eyes and, though its purpose is for stealth in the forest, complimenting her bright, flaming hair that is so rare among the Eldar. Daughter of the Forest indeed, he thinks, noticing that she is beautiful without silk gowns and gems. And still…
"Is there something you need from me, my lord?" Tauriel asks from where she stands just inside the doorway, puzzled tone interrupting his wandering thoughts.
"No, there is not," he replies. "I had rather hoped to speak to you before the ceremony," he adds, making a gesture with his hand to suggest they move inside of her chambers.
As king, he has no need to ask permission to enter a space in his own halls, though he still feels a small sense of apprehension, as if he might still need her permission to enter her personal space, but he bats the thought away as foolishness the minute it occurs to him.
"I—yes, please, do come in," she sputters, moving aside to let him pass.
As Thranduil steps in to the main portion of her chambers, Tauriel watches as he pauses and takes in the room as if it were an unexplored land. The thought strikes her that in her many years residing among his court, the king has never had reason to visit her room and she wonders what his observations are revealing.
His eyes linger slightly longer on the small bookcase she has next to her wardrobe, scanning the tomes she has collected there and she feels a slight prickle of embarrassment when she notices his eyes rake over the desk by the window, which is strewn with a disorganized pile of books, some half open, scraps of parchment, a quill, and the only half cleared away remnants of the arrow fletching she had done earlier that week—something Legolas had taught her. Her embarrassment fades quickly as the king, done with his short explorations, turns around to face her, regarding her with all the formality of the throne room, despite their less regal location.
"Today is rather big day for you," he starts.
"I had noticed, my lord," she interjects wryly, unable to stop herself. She braces herself for the king's displeasure, but finds that he is regarding her with slight amusement instead. She takes a breath of relief and allows him to continue.
"If it had managed to slip your notice, I might have had to reconsider my choice of appointing you captain," he says, smiling slightly. "As it is, I have something for you to commemorate the achievement," he continues, reaching into one of the deep pockets of the silver brocade robe he is wearing and removing a small, carved wooden box.
Tauriel stares as he holds it out to her. While it is not unprecedented for the king to give gifts to those in his service in honor of a job well done, she somehow doubts that it is usual for the king to deliver them personally in such private an environment.
"I merely do my duty, my lord—I do not deserve it," she stammers in surprise, not moving to accept the gift.
"Tauriel," Thranduil responds gravely, meeting her eyes for the first time in years, "you have done exceptionally over the years. Would you overturn your king's judgment?"
Under the weight of his gaze, she says the only thing she can manage while she reaches out, taking the box from his grasp, "No, my lord."
The box is more intricately carved than she had previously thought, she notices, full of swirling vines and antlers. She sees that her name has been carved on the top and runs her fingers over it before removing the hinged lid and peering inside. What she finds there, is enough to make her gasp, eyes widening as she takes in the king's generosity.
There, sparkling against the rich, navy-velvet interior, is a necklace. A pendant, really, she corrects, dangling from a thin silver chain and small enough that it would be virtually undetected with her uniform unless one knew it was there. The pendant itself is small, made up of a single white gem in the shape of a flower—or star, it suddenly occurs to her—and surrounded by what she first perceived as delicate silver vines. Upon closer inspection, she sees that she is mistaken—what she thought of as vines were really antlers, the Elvenking's symbol unmistakable up close, surrounding and supporting the stone.
At this realization, Tauriel glances up at the king in equal parts shock and wonder, seeing that he has been watching her reaction intently.
"Does it please you?" the king questions in a surprisingly soft voice.
"It is perfect," she breathes, meeting his eyes. "I am not worthy."
Not taking his eyes off of her, Thranduil reaches out, taking the box from her. He plucks the necklace from it and sets it amidst the chaos on the desk beside him. Expertly opening the clasp, he takes moves towards her and behind, draping the pendent around her neck and fastening the bright silver chain over the thick sheet of her copper tresses. He lets the pendant fall slack, reaching to move her hair out from underneath the chain. As he does, he can't help but notice exactly how soft her hair is—like silk, he thinks—and take in the faint, floral scent left behind from her soap. For the shortest instant, his hand, acting on its own accord, lingers on the fiery strands, examining the rare shade that has not been seen in elves since the days of the ancients.
He comes back to himself quickly, though, and moves his hands to rest on her shoulders in a more suitable gesture of approval. He is not her family, he knows, but for some reason inexplicable to himself, he wants to make sure that she has someone there to support her—it is one reason why he is pleased that the flame-haired elleth has become such a close confidant of his son, regardless of the difference in social standing. Like his father before him, Thranduil has long since given up thoughts of rank and prejudices among elves, and both she and Legolas could use the companionship, he reasons, although in this rare moment, his son is inexplicably far from his mind.
"Today, you have proven that you are," he states, voice sounding closer to Tauriel's ear than she had thought, causing her to let out a slow breath that she didn't realize she was holding.
At his words, she feels her stomach perform a feat of previously unknown acrobatics and faintly hears a beating in her ears that sounds suspiciously like her heart, though she dismisses it immediately as nerves for the occasion, which she has been feeling since news of her new appointment had reached her. The king's palms rest heavy on her shoulders, yet the pressure is steadying rather than suffocating and she finds herself feeling unpredictably anchored under the weight. It occurs to Tauriel why Mirkwood finds such solace in their king, who emanated an air of ancient steadfastness.
"Keep fighting, Tauriel," he adds softly, releasing her and moving towards the door.
"Of course," Tauriel responds with a small bow as he pauses and looks back over his shoulder at where she stands in the middle of the room. As he leaves and closes the door softly behind him, Tauriel curses as she realizes that she forgot to use his title.
The realization acts as a catalyst, causing Tauriel to wake up from the spell that Thranduil's gift had cast. Glancing out of her window at where the sun hangs in the sky, she realizes that she has a ceremony to get to and somehow, she doubts that being late to her own oath swearing is the way to promote faith in her first acts as captain of the guard. She hurries to the throne room at a brisk pace, fingering her new necklace as she goes and thinking that while she doesn't have family of her own there to see her, she at least has something in Thranduil and Legolas.
The ceremony finalizing her appointment to the captaincy is much like the ceremony where she swore her oath the kingdom upon joining the guard, with its air of solemnity and pomp, although with just her swearing her oath rather than the countless new recruits to the guard, it goes markedly faster than she remembers.
Legolas gazes at her with approval and laughter in his smiling blue eyes, knowing how much she hates the formality of moments such as this. Their character is so different from his father's, yet she cannot help but feel comforted at his presence and return his smile before schooling her face in the stoic formality for which the occasion calls.
When it comes time for her to speak, she goes down on bended knee with her beloved blades and bow, swearing on her life and everything she holds true to defend Mirkwood and its king for the second time in her life, she realizes that she is in the very spot where she first approached him to ask permission to enter the guard. The poetry is not lost on her and when she raises her head to look at where Thranduil sits on his throne as he nods and formally accepts her pledge, she briefly meets his familiar eyes, and sees that shrouded behind a veil of formality, she is not alone in this realization.
When she rises, now as one of the highest-ranking elves in the kingdom and the king wishes her the blessings of the Valar upon her new office, as custom dictates, Tauriel even thinks she detects a hint of pride in his eyes and a smile on his face. She sees his gaze flicker briefly to where his gift glistens on her neck, though later she convinces herself that perhaps she had only imagined it.
In this moment, she makes a silent promise to herself that she will not disappoint him.
Author's note: Hi Guys! Thanks to everyone who reads this story, it's been great to see your feedback and support! This is part II in what will be a short story that popped into my head when I saw an up close picture of Tauriel's necklace from the Hobbit movies. I hope you enjoy it and, please, feel free to leave a review telling my what you think! Also, customary disclaimer-I own absolutely nothing except for a few pairs of shoes and some empty bottle of wine I should probably throw out. Enjoy!