A/N: Hello people! Thanks to all those who have put alerts on this story already! I know it's not a happy one, but it makes ME happy to know that some are actually enjoying it enough to read the rest of it. :)


Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit or any of its characters. I only played around with it for my own personal purposes.


Warning: this chapter might trigger you if you experienced self-harm, considered suicide or lived through intense grief.


Chapter 3


It was going to ask for a lot of patience, Bard thought just as he watched Sigrid try to make Tauriel eat some broth. The Elleth refused to let the spoon past her lips, stubbornly and childishly shaking her head every time she did so. Sigrid was trying her best, using all the techniques she had mastered while helping him raise Tilda, but none prevailed.

At one point, the young woman stood and sighed. "Now it's all cold. I hope you do eat later." She placed her hand gently on Tauriel's shoulder and joined her father in the doorway.

They stared at their somewhat patient for a while longer, and then she kissed his cheek. "Go. Percy will need help at the Gate. I'll look after her."

He silently nodded and went back downstairs where Bain was waiting for him to start the day.

Bard really had no clue how they were going to help Tauriel with her depressive thoughts, but one name kept popping in his mind as a potential help: Legolas. The Elven Prince had proven he held strong feelings for his companion when they fought during the Battle.

But he did not know where Legolas was, and even then, going to Greenwood to discuss someone Thranduil had tried to kill seemed like suicide to him.

All in all, it looked like one day of repairs would do his pondering some good.

And he was right in his assumption, for at the Gate, he unexpectedly met with several known faces, one of which was the hatted Dwarf, Bofur.

"Hey laddie, what 'yer up ter eh?" He was merry as always, which was a stark contrast with how Bard himself felt. But Bofur had always been cheery, at least since their re-meeting on that ghastly day.

"Rebuilding, Master Dwarf! What about yourself?"

There was a glint in the steely eyes before he answered "Why I'm 'elpin' 'course! You Long Legs cannot lift anythin' for life o' ye!"

Bain, who was very fond of the Mountain dwellers, laughed. Bard didn't. He was not really in the mood for Bofur's jokes.

Unfortunately, it showed, for not long after they had secured a large boulder over the Gate, the Dwarf, accompanied by another member of the Company that had, once upon a time, invaded his home, came to sit by him and his son.

Hard work did not appear hard at all for Dwarves, at least not after a whole morning of heavy lifting. But they still seemed extremely content with the pint of ale they were offered.

"So, why the gloomy face?"

Bard looked up when he realised that it had been the unknown Dwarf who had spoken. There was something strange nagging at the back of his mind regarding his appearance. Black grey-streaked hair and beard, long cat-like dark eyes and an ugly scar on his forehead that looked out of place.

"Your axe is gone!" exclaimed Bain then, and the Dwarf laughed.

"Aye, and it seems your father's forgotten me for it!" He had the phrasing of someone who was undoubtedly clever and gentlemanly, and Bard then knew what was wrong.

"I am merely surprised to hear you speak Westron, Bifur."

"Ah, there it is! So when I was an old crazy bat, I was worth remembering, but no more, is that it?" Anyone who did not know them or their history would have thought him angry, but Bard could see the twinkle in his dark eyes, and it was full of good humour.

"Let's say that you were rather easier to single out then." He smiled a little, thinking that it was easy being a notch happier when having these little troublemakers around.

Maybe they'd cheer Tauriel up, he thought.


Said Tauriel had been in a foul mood ever since the previous night. She was still enraged at Bard and his family for saving her, and even more enraged at herself for not being able to scold the little one when she came to hug her and read her a story she'd found on one of her father's shelves.

To be honest, Tilda had irremediably stirred something inside of her, a need to protect her that the Elleth had never had before.

But the gaping ache in her chest only felt worse as little Tilda told her a story of battles and fairies and creatures that no longer existed.

The sister, Sigrid if memory served correctly, had noticed it and called back the little one under the pretence of needing help for lunch.

Tauriel had saved those girls. From Orcs, then from dragon-fire. And because of it, she now was trapped in a world without meaning for a while longer.

Sigrid didn't fail in anything: she wasn't brought cutlery at noon, couldn't find anything sharp to harm herself with. The eldest seemed to have had experience in the matter of self-harm. Tauriel didn't care to ask.

It wasn't until later in the afternoon that she found some sort of answer. Tilda's book. Paper. Razor sharp edges. It'd take some work and it'd be ugly, but she could bleed out before Sigrid even noticed.

For a second, holding a page over her wrist that was already burning and seeping blood, Tauriel felt guilty to leave the two girls in charge of her corpse. What would the young one dream of after having seen her dead?

But the pain of living was even stronger than the guilt of dying, and Tauriel opened her veins further…


"Da! Da! DA!"

Bard whirled around, wiping at his sweaty forehead, and a shiver of dread ran down his spine as he saw Tilda run towards him, her teddy bear cradled to her chest as she cried. "Tilda? What's wrong, is it your sister?" He was already searching for Bain in the crowd of workers, and when he saw him, he readied himself to call.

"No, it's Tauriel!" He stopped, wondering what their charge could have been doing. He trusted Sigrid implicitly, knowing her experience with him when their mother had passed had left her more mature than anyone else in the house, including him.

"What happened?"

"She's bleeding! Her arms! Come, please!" His child, his innocent and sweet child, was tugging at his sleeve and he only could follow, knowing already what he'd see in his home.

How could she have opened her veins like that, when she was alone with two children?

He was angrier than ever, and also sad. Sad because she had felt the need to end her life once again. And once again he'd deny it to her.

On their way they crossed path with Bifur and Bard explained in little words why he had to leave. The Dwarf's dark eyes widened but he nodded and went to his cousin to relay the information. Bard wondered what they'd do with it, considering Bofur had been in the Elleth's proximity for quite a while.

But he had no time to really ponder. Tilda tugged him through crowded streets and when finally they reached the small house that was theirs for the moment, something ominous dropped in his stomach.

He turned to his youngest, lips pursed and eyes wide. "Tilda, go and find Óin. He should be in the old palace." She nodded, the gravity in her face telling him she perhaps understood more than she should. The old Dwarf was the only good healer he knew, and he thanked whatever god there could have been on this Earth that he had been living in Dale ever since the Battle, helping the humans mend their bodies as well as their walls.

Sigrid wore an apron that was far too bloody to his liking when he burst into the kitchen. She was tearing some cloth into bandages, her eyes red and puffy, and on instinct, he went to embrace her. She tore into sobs and clutched at her father, and Bard knew then, that Tauriel had done more damage than she knew.

"How is she?"

"I…I s-stopped the bl-bleeding b-but she is s-still unc-unconscious," Sigrid stuttered. He nodded and kissed the crown of her head before hurrying upstairs.

The floor of the bedroom was soaked with the red of blood, Sigrid having wiped at it but not managing to erase all its ugliness. He stared at the floor for a long moment, and despite his tough exterior, he felt as if he was back in his wife's room when Tilda had been born. The blood there also had been present, too much for comfort, and there too it had soaked into the wood for years to come, taunting him with the consequences of its presence. Sigrid had placed a mat over it, but Bard had been able to remember the stain ever since.

Tauriel was still, far too still, on the bed. Her already pale skin was even paler, almost as if you could see the veins through it. She was barely breathing, her chest barely moving. Sigrid had wrapped her wrists in bandages as tight as she could, but he could see them already getting stained and he sighed as he approached her still form.

"Why did you do that?" he whispered, somehow finding the strength and will to brush a strand of hair off her forehead. "Life isn't that bad, you know…"

He heard heavy footsteps behind him and turned, sighing in relief when he saw Óin's grey head appear in the doorway. Surprisingly enough, though, he was followed by Bifur, Bofur and another Dwarf who Bard faintly remembered as having been Thorin Oakenshield's closest companion.

The old healer went to Tauriel at once, tutting when he took in her appearance. He turned to Bard, dark eyes narrowed. "She is not fighting. But I'll do my best. Now shoo with ya!"

Bard bowed the head in thanks and lead the Dwarves back down, where he found Sigrid, Tilda, Bain and yet another Dwarf preparing tea.

Bofur gestured to the heavy-looking Mountain-dweller. "T'is me brother, Bombur. He'll probably trash yer pantry, but 'ere goes."

"We all wanted to come. The lass is…well, somehow we owe her." The older Dwarf whose name he did not remember seemed weary, and when he added "For Kíli," Bard nodded his understanding.

Tauriel, for better or for worse, had made herself a group of protectors.

Maybe that'll be enough to convince her to stay alive…


A/N2: I will address here a critic that will no doubt arise after reading this chapter. Warning again for those of us who lived through that: yes, it is possible to open your veins using paper cuts. The skin on the inside of the wrist is tender enough. I know what I'm talking about, I unfortunately did it myself.