Brand's word had been good, and the state dinner had, indeed, all been on plates. Most of it had even stayed on them. His advice, to look to the west after sunset, had also been rewarded; a firework display of unparalleled colour and splendour went on for the best part of an hour, the shimmering stars and blazing lights reflecting in the Long Lake as though Smaug had returned to finish the job. The people of Dale had crammed onto rooftops and lined the city wall to get the best view of the display, and shouted and whooped at every explosion. Afterwards, street parties had swung on until the very wee hours, fires burning and bands playing until almost sunrise.
The next morning, she waited until later in the day until leaving than she had at Erebor. No-one had insulted her in Dale - not that she remembered, at least - and it smelled considerably better, too. The bitter wind that had blasted the plains of the last few days had finally let up, so after breakfast she pulled a favour and saw herself admitted to the palace's guard tower, the highest point in all the city. From there, she could see all three of the great realms of the North - Erebor, Mirkwood, and Dale itself. In a cloudless sky, the autumn sun shone brightly, glinting off the golden axes of the multitude of statues that lined the outer wall of Erebor, twinkling like starlight. She always disliked leaving Dale; despite being less recognised than she was in Erebor, Bard's family had always made her feel not just welcome but a part of the household, an honour Thranduil, no matter how much he appreciated her service, would never extend to her.
Her thoughts drifted back to last night. The food, she had to confess, had not been a patch on that served at the Thorin's Day feast. But the atmosphere in Dale, though just as jubilant and raucous as it had been in Erebor, had a certain something extra; a genuine gratitude, a catharsis - a simple thankfulness just to be alive. These were people whose ancestors had seen their city lost, their families slaughtered, and the survivors pressed into serfdom in a floating shanty town, only for the same thing to happen to their own descendents. The people of Dale were known to rate themselves the hardiest people in Middle-Earth; Tauriel was hard-pressed to disagree. They had been whittled down, by famine, fire and force, to the strongest of the strong. They were the great survivors of Middle-Earth.
Tauriel had spent some time the previous night walking the streets of Dale, milling from party to party, seeing the common folk celebrate. They danced, wrestled and made love in the streets with wild abandon. Every few metres a new drink was pressed into her hand; there seemed an inexhaustible supply of the stuff. Elves were hugely resistant to most of the brews Men and Dwarves could concoct, but the sheer volume of alcohol Tauriel consumed eventually started to make her head swim. She had vague memories of beating four men in a row in arm-wrestling contests, and dozens of women complimenting her new hair. Tauriel had meant to return it to her normal style when she returned to Mirkwood, but it had grown on her, and its evident popularity had made up her mind.
After a few hours of watching the world go by beneath her, Tauriel decided to leave while she still had the light. In the courtyard, as Aelfar was being saddled, she encountered Brand, Bard and a dozen horsemen riding in through the main gates bearing three slaughtered does. Tauriel smirked. He'll take him hunting, Tilda had predicted the night before. It's how Bain used to smooth things over after arguments. Brand dismounted, his cheeks flushed with exertion, and greeted Tauriel.
"Off to tell Thranduil all my deepest, darkest secrets?" He quipped as a squire helped him remove his armour.
"I'm not a spy," Tauriel chided him.
"No, worse, you're a diplomat," Brand retorted. "You're a spy I have to feed." Tauriel couldn't help but smile at Brand's cheeky smirk. He looked so like his grandfather. "I think I'd better re-introduce you two," he said gesturing Bard over from where he was being divested of his armour. "Tauriel, Bard. Bard, Tauriel."
Bard walked over, a far cry from the cocksure figure he'd appeared yesterday. His gaze hardly met Tauriel's, as though keenly aware of how he'd embarrassed himself in front of her. Here, his youth was laid bare as he stood awkwardly next to his father, occasionally glancing up at him for reassurance. He was, Tauriel realised, in awe of him; it was no wonder he sought to live up to him so bombastically.
"I hadn't seen you since you were an infant," Tauriel greeted him. Bard only smiled nervously, fiddling with his hair.
"They grow up so quickly, don't they?" Brand said to fill the awkward silence, laying a heavy hand on Bard's shoulder. "Though some could always stand to grow up a little more," he muttered into Bard's ear as he pulled the boy to him roughly, tousling his hair. Bard wriggled from his father's grasp and straightened his hair, blushing. Tauriel couldn't help but giggle. "Ah, inside with you," he commanded him. "I'll see you later." Bard nodded.
"Good day, Tauriel," he said softly as he passed her, walking hurriedly back into the palace. Tauriel's eyebrows rose in surprise.
"He talks," she remarked to Brand. "Not just when there's a crowd." Brand smiled bashfully.
"Aye," he said, "we had a...discussion about that. I can't stay angry at him, though; I remember being young and full of myself."
"I remember it too," Tauriel said teasingly.
"I've one thing to ask you before you leave," Brand said, his hard eyes darting left and right to make sure no-one, not even his guards, was eavesdropping. "The monument. What did people think?"
Tauriel laughed, confused. "Brand, you were there," she replied. "The people loved it." Brand shook his head.
"I mean them," he said quietly, nodding his head back towards the palace. "What did they think?"
Tauriel's brow furrowed. She had suspected Brand would notice his courtier's odd behaviour during the unveiling. "They...didn't seem happy. I'm not sure why. And later they spoke at length about how they felt it was…'a problem." Brand sighed deeply, his lips a tight and angry line. He took Tauriel by the arm and led her farther away from the palace.
"There are those," he began, as quietly as a grandmother in prayer, "who would see Dale without a king. They say it is for the benefit of the people, but secretly, they want to return it to the ways of Esgaroth. Of Masters, and their councils. Corrupt bureaucrats who rule for profit."
"Who are these people?" Tauriel asked, shocked. Brand smirked sardonically.
"Who do you think? Landowners, businessmen, judges. Men with no titles but plenty of gold."
"And you let them into your court?" Tauriel asked.
"But of course," Brand replied. "Where else does one keep one's enemies but within arm's reach?"
"I've always found the end of a knife is most accommodating," Tauriel replied smartly. Brand chuckled as he walked her back to Aelfar.
"You'd make a hell of a Queen," he said. "But this is why I'm so concerned for Bard. When I'm gone, he'll need to be as strong a king as any of his forefathers to keep Dale together and out of the hands of these crooks. That's why I named him so," he admitted, a touch embarrassed. "I hoped to...invoke something of granda'," he said with a nervous laugh. Tauriel smiled warmly and stroked his arm.
"You and he have many years ahead of you," she told him, "to make him, and his children, exactly what Dale needs them to be." Brand nodded, his eyes tightly closed.
"What would he think of me?" He asked, staring up into the sky, where the first clouds of the day began to creep into view. "You knew him. How would he view my kingship?" Tauriel put a hand on Brand's broad shoulder.
"He'd be very proud of you," she said firmly. "You've kept Dale peaceful and wealthy. That's all he could have asked of you."
Bard sighed deeply, nodding slowly. "Give my regards to King Thranduil," he said, offering a hand to help Tauriel mount Aelfar. She forsook offense in favour of appreciating the gesture. "And come back soon."
"I will, of course, your Majesty," she replied, inclining her head deeply as she took the reins in her hand. With a tug and a spur, Aelfar whinnied and galloped out of the palace.
There was still an hour to go before sunset when Tauriel came to the eastern border gate of the Woodland Realm. Red light bloomed from the west, cold and weak, barely penetrating the canopy. She could smell it in the air; the dying leaves, the freezing ground. Winter was coming. Winter in the wilderlands was something only the strongest survived. Even in the comfort of Thranduil's realm, the cold brought hardship. It would still be some weeks before the first snows, but Tauriel knew that the Elves of Mirkwood would already be preparing.
She was admitted through the gates and saluted by a pair of Silvan Elves. Returning the gesture, she trotted Aelfar gently along the road that led from the border to the city, passing a number of her people on the way. All greeted her and asked for news from the wilderlands; Tauriel had come to be seen as a link to the outside world, their scout in the realms of Dwarves and Men. Despite their questioning, she gave the same answer she ever did: "Dale is still cold, and Erebor still smells of dragon." Anything more was for the ears of her Lord only.
At the gates of the Realm itself, she dismounted Aelfar and led him inside. She spoke to him quietly and stroked his smooth muzzle as his ears pricked up at the smell of home. Her sense of smell might not be as good as her horse's, but she felt much the same sensation of excitement at impending rest. Things endured in her homeland; for long Ages of Middle-Earth, the Sindar and Silvan Elves had lived within the ancient caves of the forest and history had flowed around them. In a changeable and unpredictable world, sometimes that was exactly what Tauriel needed.
She led Aelfar down winding walkways carved from the roots of the trees above to the lowest, deepest caves, where families of Silvan Elves lived together in nooks and crannies older than the Eldar themselves; they cooked, they sang, they worked here, on dark soil far below the sun. Soft lights that pulsed like fireflies lined every thoroughfare and hung from every wall, and the voices of playing children and bartering traders echoed through their cavern home. Fishermen sat in tiny vessels on the huge bodies of water that gathered at the cave's uttermost bottom, the lights from their lamps shimmering on the surface; a starry sky for cave-dwellers. Friends and well-wishers greeted Tauriel and gave Aelfar a scratch behind the ears as she walked him to his stable, and Tauriel thought - not for the first time - how surprised the Dwarves and Men of Middle-Earth would be if they learned that Elves were not all, as they suspected, blond-haired royalty living in gilded luxury, but common craftsmen and homemakers like them. It was an aspect of Elven life their rulers had been careful to keep discreet. The Dwarves, Tauriel had long thought, had nothing on the Elves for secrecy.
"Tauriel! Tauriel!" High-pitched squeals cut through the chatter. Before she knew it, Tauriel was mobbed by half a dozen long-haired Silvan infants, cuddling at her legs and stroking Aelfar's flanks. "Where were you? Did you see the Dwarves? Tell us of the Dwarves!"
Tauriel laughed and knelt to embrace each of the children. "I never knew Elves to be so inquisitive!" She said, reaching into her saddlebag as the children looked at each other in excitement, jumping up and down with anticipation at what they knew was coming. "We all know, don't we," she said conspiratorially, "that the Dwarves are the best toymakers in Middle-Earth?" The children screamed with joy and grabbed greedily as she pulled dolls, clockwork animals and other delightful Dwarven wares from her bag, dispersing them liberally amongst her small crowd.
After several minutes of fielding questions which came at her as quick as only excited children can manage, the calls of parents dragged each of them away. Tauriel finished walking Aelfar - who had taken the children's noise and commotion with excellent grace - to his bed, where he immediately stuck his nose into a large bundle of hay. Stroking her faithful steed's shoulders as he ate, Tauriel wished she could stay a little longer in the Silvan village. However, far above her, the ruler of this Realm awaited her report.
The climb from the cavern floor to the royal residences was a long and arduous one, even for an Elf. Over millennia the Elves of the forest had dug into its rock deep and far enough to put any Dwarven realm to shame, in the tradition of Menegroth and Nargothrond, those mighty underground Elven cities of the First Age. Over tree-root bridges and up carved stone stairs Tauriel made her way to where she could finally see the sunlight, or what little remained of it. The sky was blood-red, and soon the stars would shine through the huge skylights in the roof of the cavern, treating Sindar and Silvan alike to their beloved glow. On the stairs below the highest peak of the cave, a heavily-armoured guard allowed Tauriel to pass and enter King Thranduil's councilroom.
A massive circular table, a single slice from the trunk of an incalculably ancient tree, dominated the room, flanked by high-backed wooden chairs, one of which was topped with the antlers of a stag. Papers and notes littered it, spilling out over the floor those which weren't held down with gems, jewels, weapons or curios. The Elvenking stood at the opposite end of the long, unwalled space, gazing out from a large natural fissure in the rock to the East. In the distance, Erebor almost disappeared over the horizon, while Dale was only visible by the light of its torches, a burning scar on the landscape. Even with his back turned to her, Tauriel always felt a kind of intensity pouring off of him, a sense that he had one foot in a world dark and subtle.
"My Lord Thranduil," Tauriel said, clasping her hand to her chest and taking a knee. "I have returned from Dale and Erebor and I am ready to submit my report, should you wish it."
Thranduil's head rose slightly, the golden tips of his autumn crown glinting in the dying sun. "I do," he replied. "Welcome back, Tauriel."
"Thank you, my Lord," Tauriel replied. 'It's good to be home."
Tauriel spent the next few hours recounting in detail the events of her few days away from the Woodland Realm; the Thorin's Day feast and Dáin's play, Brand's statues and Bard's misbehaviour. Thranduil sat in impassive silence throughout, his bright blue eyes boring into Tauriel's, as though he were absorbing every last detail. At length, Tauriel came to the end of her story.
"Immediately before I left, Brand asked me how Bard - the elder one - would view his kingship. If he would approve," she said. Thranduil's brow rose minutely. "I assured him he would."
"Interesting," Thranduil said, finally. Tauriel was taken aback.
"Which part, Lord?" She asked. She thought she could see the hint of a smirk at the corner of his lip.
"All of it," he replied, reclining insouciantly. "In degrees." Tauriel was used to Thranduil's inscrutability, but currently he seemed positively riddlesome. He finally broke from Tauriel's gaze to stare absently into space, stroking the golden stag head which topped his sceptre. "All of it tells me something. Everything becomes relevant, eventually." Tauriel nodded politely, unsure what to say. In the years following Five Armies, as Thranduil and his Realm had become more open to the outside world, so too had he become more obsessed with knowing about it. He was known to probe his operatives for hours to explore the nuance of a single sentence spoken by an ally. "You've done well," he said shortly, rising from his chair to return to his viewing spot, facing away.
"Thank you, my Lord," Tauriel replied, understanding that she had been dismissed. She stood to leave, but as the reached the top of the stairs, a question that had been gnawing at her grabbed her by the shoulder and forced her to remain. "My Lord," she asked, not turning around, "how is it possible that Gondor could retake Osgiliath and I not know about it?" She was met with silence. She turned, only to find Thranduil now facing her, shoulders hunched and head tilted forward like a hawk preparing to dive. Even from yards away, the Elvenking was intimidating. Her words had been an accusation, and Thranduil did not take accusations kindly.
"Your duty is to the North," he replied, his face as impassive as ever but with the merest hint of command in the tone of his voice. "Osgiliath is over three hundred leagues from here, and of no relevance to your interests."
"Forgive me," she replied, "but I thought everything was of relevance."
"To me," Thranduil retorted. "Certainly. But remember your place, Tauriel. Only the hub sees the turn of the wheel." With a narrow-eyed glare he turned slowly away from her, his golden robe flowing around his feet. His dismissal was as incontestable as the slamming of a door. Bowing her head, abashed, Tauriel descended the stairs. From his vantage-point overlooking all of the East, she thought of how very much Thranduil had come to resemble the spiders that infested their forest; a long-limbed lier-in-wait, sitting at the centre of a vast web through which only he knew the safe path. Tauriel had tugged at the wrong string.
Weeks passed. With no further word from Thranduil and no indication when she might be called into service again, Tauriel had spent most of her time in her rooms, catching up with long-neglected correspondence and writing her diaries. As an ambassador, her lodgings were now rather more comfortable than when she had been a mere border guard, and most of the extra space had been given up to reams upon reams of paper, full of recollections, observations, and communications from the farthest edges of the civilised world. In the last sixty years, Tauriel had seen more of Middle-Earth than a great deal of Elves had in this Age; she had travelled to the utter West to the Grey Havens to meet with Cirdan the Shipwright, the oldest Elf in Middle-Earth, and to the South to the mighty Gondorian port-city of Pelargir at the mouth of the Anduin. Her memoirs, when written, would fill a library.
On one wall, a huge map of the known limits of Middle-Earth had been painted, at her own request, with astonishing skill and detail. It was here, sat at her writing-desk, that Tauriel liked to study, and imagine, what secrets Middle-Earth was hiding. Her interest - fascination, really - with the world at large had earned her mockery from other Elves, especially her fellow Silvans. For they, even more so than the golden-headed Sindar who ruled the Woodland Realm, prized endurance in one place; the Sindar, at least, had completed the Great Journey from Cuivienen, the Elves' ancestral home, across the sea to Valinor. The Silvan Elves were descended from those who had, all those hundreds of millennia ago, reached the great forests of Beleriand and refused to go further. They had never seen the light of the Two Trees; they were blameless in the great Doom of the Elves, to spend their blood in futile war against Morgoth. The vindicated virtues of staying put and keeping your head down were well-known to them, and practically gospel.
Tauriel reached for another scrapbook from the huge mound of papers next to her writing-desk. As she rifled through its pages, a loose leaf tumbled out and made Tauriel's heart skip. From across the years, Kíli's smiling face looked out at her. She picked up the page and traced the lines of ink with her fingers; age had yellowed the parchment, fraying it at the edges, but the deep black of the ink, dark as his hair had been, still stood out boldly. She found herself smiling, too, as she recalled that cheeky, self-satisfied smirk. Beneath the image, though, a name scrawled in Dwarvish runes made her smile drop.
Ori.
Tauriel sighed and lay the paper down. On one page, two Dwarves taken long before their time. Tauriel could only imagine what kind of horrible, protracted fate the Dwarves who tried to recolonise Moria had met with; how desperate young Ori's final moments must have been. She recalled the day Ori had given her the sketch, made during a moment of peace on their long quest. It was only a few days after the Battle of Five Armies, when Tauriel was assisting with the clean-up and wounded. You need it more than her, he'd told her, his eyes wet with tears. That Ori had decided to bequeath the drawing to Tauriel, rather than Dis, had always endeared him to her.
It was what inspired her to travel. Being reminded, at such a time of grief, that Kíli was not just someone who was dead but who had been alive, been happy, travelled the world and seen so much in such a short time, had let her begin to build a life of her own, outside of the Woodland Realm. It was that next decade, spent travelling the length and breadth of the world, which Tauriel was now sorting through the assorted scribbled memories of. It was an impossible task; Tauriel had filled more books than she could count, and not all of them dated, either. After weeks of work she seemed even more confused than when she had started, so when an unexpected knock came at her door, Tauriel was more than happy for the interruption.
"Come," she called, setting down her quill. A captain of the Royal Guard entered the room, his helmet tucked under his arm. Tauriel's eyes widened. This meant only one thing.
"Lord Thranduil requests your presence, Ambassador," the guard, a young Sindar, said. Tauriel stood and was immediately escorted out.
"Are you permitted to tell me why his Lordship requires me?" She asked as they approached the walkway to the throne room.
"Lord Thranduil did not enlighten me," he replied. "I'm sure he has his reasons for wanting you, Ambassador," he said, coming to a stop and facing Tauriel with cold, disdainful eyes. Tauriel's eyes narrowed. It was no secret that Sindar whom Tauriel technically outranked despised her, seeing her as lower form of life who had slithered above her station. Their eons of privilege, however, had made them bold, and it was some years, and a number of embarrassments, before they learned to keep their disgust subtle.
"Thank you," she replied with a curtsey. "Soldier," she sneered. She turned smartly on her heels and made her way up the walkway.
"I love what you've done with your hair!" Came an echoing reply, followed by the sound of hurried, heavy footsteps. Tauriel stopped short and clenched her fists tightly, using all her self-control not to turn around and escalate the situation. Taking a few deep breaths, she resumed her walk and turned into the circular throne room to find Thranduil stood before his own throne, looking up at it as if in contemplation.
"You sent for me, Lord?" She asked, head bowed. Thranduil seemed to take an age to reply; so long, in fact, that Tauriel almost risked repeating herself.
"Tauriel, what do you know of the East?" He asked with his back still turned to her. Tauriel frowned.
"Could you...clarify that, Sire?" She replied.
"The lands beyond the Iron Hills. Rhûn. Khand. Núrn. The Orocarni." Tauriel's eyes widened. Thranduil's scope and reach had slowly been growing wider, but this was a bold move indeed.
"N-nothing, my Lord," she replied. "Beyond the little that's generally known."
"Humour me," Thranduil said, turning his head so that only a bright eye and silver-flecked eyebrow could be seen. Tauriel nodded.
"They're wild, untameable lands," she replied. "Long in league with Sauron, of old. Even the Dwarves hear little from their cousins in the Red Mountains. They are...dark places, Sire."
"As I thought," Thranduil replied. Tauriel held her breath as she formulated her next question, remembering how Thranduil had so coldly shut her down the last time she tried to understand his motives.
"My Lord, as your emissary to our allies in the East, I must advise you that," she paused as Thranduil's head tilted slightly, "establishing links with these realms would not be to our benefit. The risk far outweighs any possible reward." She stood with her hands behind her back, ready for her Lord's wrath and prepared to argue her point. To her surprise, however, Thranduil's head sunk with a sigh.
"That was not my intention," he admitted. "Nor why I asked you here." He turned to face Tauriel, who almost gasped when she took in her Lord's expression. His usual inscrutability was gone, replaced with a troubled look. Something had him scared.
"My Lord," Tauriel asked softly, "what's wrong?"
"The same day you returned," Thranduil began, his voice finding strength once more, "I sent Legolas to Imladris, to speak with the chieftain of the Dunedain. We were holding a prisoner of his in the cells, a prisoner who...escaped," he said, with a touch of embarrassment. "But when he arrived, Legolas learned that events far greater than one fled prisoner were unfolding. The details are irrelevant but confirm all my operatives have been telling me for years." Thranduil closed the gap between himself and Tauriel, eyes darting left and right as he shrunk down to lay his lips by her ear.
"The Enemy has returned."
Tauriel felt like she had been punched in the stomach. Sauron, Gorthaur, the God of Cruelty - Sindar and Silvan alike knew him by many names, but only a few had lived through his terrible reign. Tauriel counted herself blessed that she had not.
"Truly?" She whispered, horrified. Thranduil nodded.
"Barad-dûr is rebuilt, the fires of Orodruin are re-lit, and the Nine walk amongst us. The Dark Lord has called in his bannermen," he said bitterly.
"What can we do?" Tauriel asked, feeling for the first time in many years like a hopeless child, looking to the vastly older Thranduil for guidance.
"Prepare," he replied boldly, straightening up and walking around her. "Any assault on this Realm will come either from the south, from Dol Guldur, or from the east. I can deal with Dol Guldur, but…" He paused, standing behind Tauriel. "You know the East better than any of us."
"Orders, Sire," she replied, turning to face him, full of fire and an urge to action. "Tell me what you need of me."
Thranduil stood straighter, the hint of a smile tugged at his mouth. From time to time, he betrayed these morsels of emotion; just enough to remind Tauriel that a heart beat inside that golden robe."Word has reached me of an Easterling general who has gained power at a remarkable rate," he said as he crossed to the stairs that led to his throne. "Whole nations are falling to him and joining his ranks. It is said that he has been anointed as the warlord of all the East by Khamûl himself," Thranduil said as he ascended the steps to his throne. "You will go to the Iron Hills. You will venture as deep into the East as you dare and you will learn everything you can about him, and his army." Tauriel clasped her hand to her chest and bowed deeply.
"Yes, my Lord," she replied enthusiastically. "I'll leave at dawn." Thranduil nodded and dismissed her with a wave of his hand. For the second time, however, another nagging question forced her to remain. Tauriel could never let a hunch go.
"How did you come by this information, Sire?" She asked. Thranduil looked down his nose at her, then broke out into a wide smile and sat slowly down in his throne, kicking his legs over one arm.
"Good day, Tauriel," he replied.
My servant.
Khamûl's face, again, appeared unbidden in a vision.
You are mighty. Your armies are strong. But you are not yet great.
How not?
To defeat the kingdoms of the Mountain and the Forest, you will need more than men.
What could be "more than men"?
You need the power of Morgoth himself.
How is that possible?
We have found them.
Oh, yes. Yes.
Use them, and lay the North to ruin.
Yes, Khamûl, my Master.
The Mountain will fall, the Forest will burn, and the North will tremble to my name.
Margiz.
