The council chamber was carved into the stone that holds Thranduil's mighty throne above, big enough to comfortably host the entire council and its king and shuttered away that none might overhear the discussion within.
Tauriel thought to find him there alone before the council was summoned so she trod the winding stone path that led there. She smiled at her enthusiasm, she very much looked forward to speaking with him if only for a little while before the others arrived.
It had been two weeks since she last saw him, as she and four of her fellow commanders led expeditions sweeping through the woodland until the edges of Mirkwood's borders on all sides. Orc tracks were identified most heavily in the south near the mountains. The goblin population had tripled in the time since Thranduil attacked the Goblin Gate after the Battle of Five Armies. The forest grew ever darker, ever sicker. The purpose of the council meeting was to decide the best course of action in the face of damning evidence of an ancient evil's rising.
She paused just outside the door, which was left slightly ajar. There were voices emanating from inside. She was reluctant to disturb a private appointment so she remained just outside the threshold.
"I chose you for your discretion." She heard Thranduil say softly. "I know my confidence is not misplaced in you."
There was no verbal reply. Tauriel was curious as to who the king addressed but she dared not peek through the cracked door. It was too late to introduce her presence there without revealing that she was blatantly eavesdropping. She heard footsteps approaching from inside, the mysterious individual was preparing to leave. Tauriel jumped behind where the door pushed outward and was unseen.
She was stunned when the lady Vanadessë emerged. Tauriel recognized her as one of their kingdom's most talented artisans. It could be said that she herself was a work of art; it was undeniable that the lady was the epitome of Noldorin beauty. She had hair that shined like nightfall and it trailed over her back, her face partially obscured from Tauriel's view. The train of her mantle brushed the floor gracefully as she moved. She walked down the path and disappeared from sight when she began to ascend the stairs that led toward the throne.
Her stomach twisted unpleasantly. How long had it been since she allowed jealousy to physically affect her? Tauriel gritted her teeth, her excitement to see him abruptly petered out. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable. She stepped inside the council room. There he stood, near an ornate credenza where two half-finished glasses of spring-wine sat. Presumably they each shared a glass of wine together, Tauriel realized. Thranduil looked stricken at her unannounced appearance.
"My lord, I am here to answer your summons and receive my orders from Lord Beriadan, your general." Tauriel said, her tone somewhere between nonchalance and irritation. It was none of her concern, if he held secret meetings with a beautiful lady. He was king of Mirkwood and of his own affairs.
"You have the uncanny tendency to appear at precisely the wrong time." Thranduil stated, frowning. He came to a halt in front her, staring imperiously downward. He clearly knew she'd witnessed the tail end of that interaction. She flicked her gaze to his, her anger sharpening acutely when she realized he was being defensive.
"It matters not, there are far more important things at hand." She said while deliberately ignoring his reproachful look. Never mind that she'd spent two weeks sleeping on the hard forest floor, living off game meat, with the added stress of potential confrontation with bloodthirsty orcs and goblins. She felt tired and unsightly in her plain brown leathers and boots.
He crossed his arms, adding to the impression of his defensiveness.
"It is a private matter, Tauriel." He said quietly. Now he sought to placate her with his words and silken tones. Still, she ignored him.
The approaching footfalls outside warned both of them that they would soon be joined by the full council.
She briefly glanced up again. "I do not doubt it. Though the next time you meet her, remember to ask Galion to fully close the door."
Feeling darkly triumphant, Tauriel broke his gaze and moved to the back of the room where her rank dictated she should stand. As a captain, she wouldn't have even warranted a place in the room, she mused.
Thranduil ignored her jab but she saw it hit home. She felt the spiteful satisfaction fade almost instantly. She attributed her sudden turn of temper to the stress of the expedition. Perhaps she could apologize later, if she could swallow her pride. It truly was none of her business who he spent time with in an unofficial capacity.
The twelve lords of the Elvenking's council entered and took their seats, which were arranged in a wide circle. The king's chair was taller and the most ornate with carven vines climbing up the back of it. She continued to watch the door in expectation of Legolas arriving but he did not come. The chair meant for the prince stayed vacant at Thranduil's right.
All of the commanders took their appropriate places, standing behind the generals. Thranduil went to his seat and convened the hearing, his eyes stormy and equally intent on ignoring her, it seemed.
"My lords, I welcome you to our Halls. I know many of you have travelled far to reach us, what we discuss here is of utmost import to you and your fiefs." Thranduil began cordially. Tauriel observed the Elven lords, half of them Silvan and the other half of mixed Vanyarin descent. Their hair color marked the principal difference between them, but all were nobly dressed and characteristically elegant Elves.
"I will begin with the news I have from Rivendell. Elrond writes that he and his people will leave Imladris with the intention of sailing to the Undying Lands."
This drew a strong reaction from all in the room. Tauriel's jaw dropped. Imladris made up a great portion of the elvish population in Middle Earth. With their imminent departure, a third of their kin will have left Middle Earth forever.
"Is the evil to the east so grave a threat to prompt Elrond thusly?" Hérion, a solemn-faced Silvan general, spoke up among the group. He'd led one of the expeditions north, he well knew the signs of Sauron's darkness from the signs of activity in the stronghold at Gundabad. Elrond's plan was to the Woodland Elves a sign of thoughtless capitulation.
"He is free to make his own choices. His people have elected to go." Thranduil said. He beheld all who sat before him with much seriousness. "As are you. If you so choose to depart for the Grey Havens, I shall not condemn you for your choice."
Some of the lords appeared to consider this, others looked affronted by the concept.
Of the latter was her direct superior, Lord Beriadan. He was Vanyarin, with the pale coloring and arresting eyes like Thranduil.
"We shall not abandon our forest, my king. Not while you remain here to face what rises out of the South."
Tauriel dismissed her earlier pettiness toward Thranduil. She wholeheartedly agreed with her general's declaration though she held her peace for once.
"What of our kin in Lorien? What of Lord Celeborn?" asked another—Lord Arandur this time, another Silvan.
"Celeborn will remain for the time being. His wife is a ring-bearer and has foreknowledge of what may come to pass." The king replied.
Much discussion ensued regarding the journey to Aman. Tauriel said nothing, only listened. Thranduil would not leave. This stood out most among all of the speeches. Her king would not abandon Middle Earth to a dark fate. She was filled with pride for him, how differently he now viewed the world since the last time their realm fought a war. She could not deny that she was afraid. There was so much at stake and too much uncertainty for her to fathom. Facing a dragon was no grand mystery, only a matter of mustering a force mighty enough to defeat the beast. The evil of Sauron was difficult to pinpoint strategically, like trying to trap shadows with bare hands.
After many long minutes, Arandur spoke up once more. "My King Thranduil, we shall inform our people, your subjects of the possibility of departing and we will not punish those who make that decision. However, our place is with you as it has been these many years past and so it shall be until the end of all days be upon us."
All inclined their heads in deferential agreement. Thranduil returned the gesture, honoring all with the same respect.
"We shall discuss the next area of concern. There are many parts of our borders that require vast fortification against both Gundabad and Dol Guldur, should either of these march upon us—"
The king's speech was cut short by the chamber door being thrown open by Galion, whose face contorted with horror. Tauriel's blood ran cold as the butler spoke the words, her hand gripped the general's chair back until her knuckles went white. Before she knew what she was doing, she was running out of the room with both of her knives drawn, leaving most behind though several of the commanders followed suit.
She came to a sudden halt, dust flying as her boots skidded. It was as Galion said. An ambush past the Western Gate—the orc pack she suspected in these parts! She counted three guards fighting valiantly, matching the creatures blow for blow. She saw two fallen soldiers, arrows sticking out of their bodies where their armor left them vulnerable.
Legolas still fought. He slashed the throat of his opponent—a black orc of solid musculature with a menacing face, fangs bared and eyes blazing with hatred. It advanced toward the prince, still hacking at him even as he dodged and parried. Tauriel took her knife by the sharp point and without hesitation launched it at the orc's back, watching as it penetrated its hide and it shrieked in pain and shock. Legolas kicked it down finally and she dashed toward them, bending to rip the knife out of the orc. He registered her presence and together they engaged the remaining three orcs. More commanders arrived and between all of the Elves, the rest of the pack was soon obliterated.
"Where is Gollum?" Tauriel cried with dismay. The creature was nowhere to be found.
"The cursed thing disappeared at the first sign of the orcs. He is gone." Legolas bit out. His voice was laced with panic even though their enemies were vanquished. He turned in a circle, frantically searching for something. She felt a wave of apprehension.
A scream pierced the air, some distance away. Legolas took off running with Tauriel at his heels toward the source of the noise.
In a bed of wildflowers lay a fallen orc, its grotesque body twitching in death. She was confused at Legolas rushing toward it until she saw the small white hand that clutched the dagger lodged in the creature's neck.
"Melethril!" Tauriel shrieked, dropping her knives to pull the wretched corpse off of the young elf's body as Legolas swept her protectively into his arms.
The commanders cleared the wood thereafter. Tauriel and Legolas returned to the fortress, the prince bearing Melethril's unmoving body.
Legolas went to her after the council reconvened, including him in the latter half of it. Tauriel told him where to find her and that she would speak to no one, not even her. He doubted she would speak with him at all yet he felt obligated to see to her welfare after the earlier catastrophe. To his surprise, the wooden door was pulled back and she stood there with reddened, haunted eyes.
"I have come to ask if there is anything I may do for you." The prince murmured. The candlelight of her small solar backlit her silhouette. She seemed to glow gently; the memory of the slaughter she was part of was almost unreal.
When Legolas thought she would simply close the door on him without a single word, she again surprised him by stepping back to make way for him. She went to the chaise that was pushed against the main wall and lay down on her side, her face pointed toward him but she shut her eyes.
Legolas made sure the door was close behind him before he went to the armchair adjacent to the chaise and pushed it closer to her. He said nothing, just took his seat next to her. Melethril was not asleep, he could tell, but she stayed so still he might have believed it otherwise.
They stayed thus for a long while, perhaps an entire hour, maybe even two. He looked around at the room, glancing at the tapestry that adorned the humble walls and the blooming orchids that filled a few of the ceramic vases that covered many of the surfaces. There was a medium sized harp situated in a corner of the room and a short wooden stool beside it where she presumably sat to play. The ceilings were high, it was her favorite thing about the place, he remembered her say once.
"Those creatures killed my father when I was a child." Melethril whispered eventually. He snapped his eyes to hers at that. "I never saw my father's body. I do not know what happened to the dead from that battle so long ago."
Legolas sighed deeply. "We honored their bodies with dignified burials. They were returned to the earth, and their fëar released to the bliss of Valinor."
She was startled by his words. "I'd…I'd forgotten you were there. Tauriel mentioned it once, long ago. But I do not like to speak of it."
The elleth's face then contorted with long suppressed misery. No tears came. She'd spent them all before he'd arrived, it seemed. He was seized with the need to comfort her, to ease her sorrow, but he was at a loss as to how. So he just sat next to her, hoping that by simply being with her he could do just that.
Melethril soon recovered herself enough to resume her speech, though her tone was fragile.
"At that time, I used to pretend the king was my father. Looking back, I see how silly of me it was to presume to claim your father as my own. A lowly Silvan elf am I, my lord, do not think I still harbor the illusion of being part of a true family, much less a royal family like your own." That note of dejection did not belong in her voice.
"You are not lowly." Legolas vaguely remembered Tauriel saying something similar, long ago. "I do not begrudge you your grasp at a normal childhood after…" He trailed off. He did not wish to further grieve her.
"After my parents departed from this earth. There is no point in avoiding the words. They do not hurt me as much as they once did. It is only the memory of my mother's despair at the passing of my father. I imagine nothing can prepare any of us for that kind of sundering." Melethril leaned back into the plush cushions of the chaise. Her hair spilled onto the damask luxuriantly. Legolas studied her pensive face and warned his heart from the way it quickened when he looked upon her.
"No," replied the prince, "Though my father long suffered the effects of his own sundering from my mother when she left this world."
She turned her eyes to him, from the look of her, she was guarding some secret thought.
"Does he love her still?" Melethril asked. She looked away with nonchalance, as if his answer did not matter all that much.
"Who can claim to know the innermost workings of my father's mind and heart," Legolas said carefully. "He cares for all of us greatly. He has denied himself the chance to sail to the Undying Lands for thousands of years to protect us."
She considered what he said. Her knees bent, causing her long skirt to tent over her legs.
"Time may ease the pain of a loved ones' passing." Legolas offered gently.
"You might also make the other case, that for immortals, loss is something that can never be recovered from. It weighs upon us until it drives us mad or kills us too. No matter how an Elf may boast of his immortality, none are immune to heartache."
There was a moment of quiet as he shifted in his chair. He wondered if he spoke of matters far too personal for polite conversation, or revealed an embarrassing, overly sentimental part of himself that he allowed no one to see. Luckily, she just scoffed in reply.
"Your father the King is many things but not mad."
Her skeptical proclamation caused Legolas to laugh unexpectedly.
"That is debatable, Melethril, and certainly depends on whom you ask."
The young woman huffed, ignoring his quip and continued speaking her mind. She almost had to pretend to forget who he was, in order to maintain her air of honesty.
"He was always kind to me when I was a child. If ever I was belligerent and disobeyed Tauriel in some way, the king would somehow know of it and speak to me. It was never clear that I was being chastised until he departed and then I realized it after."
"Such is his way, as a father. But as a king, there can be no mistaking his anger." Legolas mused. He sat back in the armchair adjacent to her. It was pleasant to sit and converse with her, idle talk was not something he could do very frequently anymore much less with anyone he found as interesting.
"I…I think Tauriel sometimes looks at him as a…" Now she took care to censor herself. Perhaps she did not want to offend him. Yet he was intensely curious as to what she would say, for this hinted at a topic he'd long been pondering since he returned to Mirkwood.
"As a what?"
She swallowed, eyes trained on the ceiling.
"She looks at the king…differently." Melethril admitted quietly. Then she shook her head dismissively, "It is very rare that she does so while anyone can plainly see, and I know she has the utmost respect for him. She takes her duty very seriously, my lord, please do not let what I say alter your perception of her as a commander."
"Of course I won't." Legolas said, mildly affronted.
She bit her lip and looked away. Neither of them said anything more on this. The prince turned contemplative when he leaned back in his chair. He turned to look at his companion, studying her posture on the chaise. He realized she was now utterly at ease with him. Her shoulders languid and arms splayed as she cradled her head in her hands, leaning back. Her eyes were half lidded with drowsiness—had they really stayed awake past the midnight hour?
"I will retire to my rooms. Forgive me for disturbing you until this hour, Mistress Melethril." Legolas said, the formality peculiar even to his own ears. He rose from the chair slowly and she tilted her head toward him, her hands coming from behind her head to rest folded on her abdomen.
"Goodnight, my prince." Her smile was tinged with melancholy and he found himself discomfited. This elleth—how she vexed him! So why he continued to end up in her presence for considerable stretches of time discussing things bordering on nonsensical, confounded him. She nearly lost her life today. The thought of her dying was so jarring to him that he knew he must carry out the task his father set to him. He was to ride to Imladris to report to the lord Elrond of Gollum's escape.
His walk back to his chamber was spent in long reflection of the earlier council meeting. The violence Melethril witnessed this day would never leave her. He regretted that she was there at all for it. His anger at his refusal to send her away in the first place, to be firmer even as she playfully resisted, returned. She had to stay away from him, for her own safety. Perhaps it was just as well that he was to travel to Lord Elrond's domain, to clear his head of laughing blue eyes and that voice like Tinuviel's.
The magnitude of Tauriel's relief that Melethril survived the encounter rendered her numb with shock and gratitude. She tended to her charge, applying ointment and bandage to her cuts, and healing her ankle which was swollen from a sprain. Melethril returned her embrace tightly but did not speak. Tauriel knew Legolas's presence soothed her, so she let them be.
Now the commander was left to her own devices. The events of the day were almost beyond comprehension. King and council resolved to dedicate all military force against Sauron in spite of a history of overwhelmingly isolationist opinion. The attack on their prince and the disappearance of Gollum were catalyst enough. Thranduil would not sail west. She would lead her company into battle, it was only a matter of time now.
For the second time that day, Tauriel's feet brought her to a place she did not consciously realize she was going to.
The guards admitted her without question, they knew she was no danger to their king and that he was wide awake. Thranduil paced on the balcony of his chambers. His hands clasped behind his back, he still donned his raiment and crown of woodland flowers. He looked to be deep in troubled thoughts when she came forward. Their eyes met, recognizing the emotion in the others' and Tauriel went to him as he opened his arms wide.
She collapsed against him, shaking uncontrollably. She was incapable of speech, she had no voice left to spare. His large hands stroked her back slowly. This unconditional kindness from him made her even more ashamed of how she treated him earlier. She buried her face in the lapel of his robe, arms wrapped around him uncaring of how tightly she gripped him.
"You will not leave us here," Tauriel said at last, the side of her face resting against his chest. She could feel his steady heartbeat at her cheek. The moon hung over their heads, so too did the Seven Stars of the Valar. Their light seemed more distant than ever.
"No. I shall not, and never will." The Elvenking's words and touch comforted her. They stood together until the sun breached the clouds over the tree-lined horizon and she watched the rays illuminate his person, knowing in that moment that her devotion would never waver again.