They began the descent in silence, for it took much of Tauriel's focus to navigate the more treacherous and icy portions of the path when she could hardly bend her torso. Between the icy cold air and the pounding of the battle, her entire body seemed to be stiffening up by the minute. If she moved wrong, pain shot up through her chest, leaving her gasping for breath, and Legolas rushing up to steady her by the shoulders with concern.

Elves were remarkably resilient creatures, but even the sturdiest of beings needed rest to heal. The third time Tauriel found herself stopping to cringe in pain, Legolas spoke up.

"You are in no fit state to walk. I shall have to carry you."

Tauriel looked at him.

"I assure you, my lord Legolas, that will not be necessary."

"You are in pain," he said, plainly. "And it is a long way down."

He met her eye and said, "This is taking a long time."

And so Tauriel, swallowing a great deal of pride, relinquished, and allowed Legolas to scoop her up. Once in his arms, the pale-haired Prince of Mirkwood took off swiftly down the winding path, holding her remarkably steady in his swift movements so that no jolts aggravated her injuries.

It was, she had to admit, a far more comfortable way to climb down the mountain. But she felt awfully ridiculous, being carried like a child with her arms around Legolas's neck. She would have to tell Legolas to put her down well before the reached the camp, for she much preferred not to be seen this way.

Her attention, free of careful footsteps over ice, now wandered to the battlefield looming below. The orcs had been driven off, and scattered bands were being easily brought down here and there. Men, elves and dwarves wandered the battlefield, picking through the fallen and carting away their wounded. Many tents had been erected within the broken walls of Dale, and that was there the two of them went.

Though Legolas protested Tauriel's request once they had reached the base of the mountain, he set Tauriel back on her feet, and together, they walked (and, in Tauriel's case, limped) towards the bustling camp of the elves. A few elves looked up, many acknowledging Legolas, who was the Prince of Mirkwood and of high rank, after all, but a few cast wary glances at Tauriel before hurrying off on their own business.

"Legolas," said Tauriel, noting this, and suddenly feeling very foolish for having walked into Thranduil's camp. Completely aside from that, she was already a banished elf, and that meant no welcome for her in Thranduil's camp. "It seems... it seems perhaps I should not be here."

"And where else should you be? Come now."

"I have friends among the camp of Lake-men," said Tauriel, for it was half-true, and perhaps they would be inclined to spare her a small space to lie down. "Perhaps it would be better..."

"No," said Legolas. "You are a Captain of the Guard of Thranduil's realm-"

"Was," Tauriel interjected, but Legolas paid it no heed.

"-and you are..." Legolas hesitated, not quite meeting her eye. "You are my friend," he said finally. "You shall be cared for here, where you belong."

And with that, he led her into a tent where several wounded elves lay on clean cots while healers swept over them.

"Amrin!" Legolas called out to one. Amrin, a rather short (as elves go), brown-haired healer hurried over and greeted Legolas. Tauriel knew him vaguely in the halls of Thranduil; he always struck her as rather stuffy, but he was reasonably respected in his craft.

"My lord Legolas, whatever can I do for you?" His eyes wandered to Tauriel, and he frowned briefly.

"Tauriel has wounds that need attention. And a tonic for the pain, if you have it."

Amrin looked rather stiff. For a moment, he said nothing and merely blinked a few times. He cleared his throat.

"She appears unharmed to me. She is still standing, after all," he said, an edge in his voice. His eyes widened strangely, as if he were trying to impress something upon Legolas without speaking it out loud. "That is, my duty is to the seriously wounded."

Legolas scowled, for there was plainly no truth in any of his words. Some elven soldiers lay in heavy bandages, but here and there, elves with only minor wounds sat up drinking hot teas and tonics. It seemed to Tauriel that her worries about entering the elven camp had not been unfounded. True, she was standing, but her body swayed unsteadily.

"What orders has my father given you?" Legolas spat, and Tauriel clenched her jaw. "Is it true that a healer will cast aside his sworn duty to the wounded on the whims of... of a foolish king?"

Amrin almost sputtered, but he regained his composure.

"I do not think it wise to speak that way, my lord! King Thranduil has given us no orders other that to see to our fallen. But you know how word travels. And Tauriel is... well... she is... I know of... what she did."

"But there was no order?" said Legolas. His composure was a stony as ever, but Tauriel knew the prince's lividness was boiling just beneath the surface. Amrin was all but crumbling under Legolas's eyes.

"Not as per..."

"If there was no order from our king, then you will see to Tauriel," stated Legolas matter-of-factly. "For she has fought valiantly in battle and defeated many foes in defense of this land, including our elven army. You will do well to remember that."

"Very well," Amrin said after a long moment, looking rather resigned. "Come along, then," he gestured to Tauriel, leading her to a small alcove in the back of the tent where a vacated cot lay. "I suggest you take your armor off and lie down over here. I will have a look at you in a moment, but there are elves here far worse off than you that require my attention!"

He led her to a cot. He seemed determined to regain his composure as a healer, but worry was stitched into his brow, and he threw a rather disgruntled look at Legolas. Tauriel followed, somewhat warily, and feeling rather uncomfortable about Legolas's words; part of her wished Legolas could just accept that what was done was done, and that she was not welcome here. But Legolas stayed close to her side, casting stern glances at the other healers, as if daring any of them to contest.

She sat down stiffly on the cot and proceeded to remove her green coat, and the armored vest she wore underneath. Legolas leaned forward to help her when she struggled, but she shrugged him away. She set the two daggers- her elvish one and Kili's dwarvish blade-which she had quite forgotten about until now-carefully aside. Legolas cast the dwarvish knife an appraising look and perched himself on the edge of the cot. Tauriel silently berated herself for not returning the blade to one of the dwarves on the mountaintop. But then, her mind had been elsewhere. She would have to give it back to its owner later. Somehow.

"Who gave you those wounds? I have fought by your side for many years now, Tauriel. It must have been a mighty foe, indeed."

"It was Bolg," she told him. "The great orc, spawn of Azog."

Legolas looked at her in wonder.

"You fought him?"

"Yes," she said curtly. "And he is slain by my hand." She paused. Legolas looking at her with wide eyes. Then she added, "But not by my hand alone."

"I fought that filth myself in Esgaroth. I know he must have been no easy match in battle, yet this is happy news to hear of his end."

Tauriel lay back on the cot (with some reluctantly accepted help from Legolas) exhaling in relief as she finally allowed her muscles to relax.

"I was spared," she said slowly, turning the events of the battle over in her mind. "By the dwarf. And in turn I spared him."

There was a long silence.

"The dwarf? You mean a dwarf, surely?" said Legolas. Then he quickly added, "I can barely keep track of them myself. They all look the same to me."

"Really? I find them all quite different to look upon, in their way. But I mean the black-haired one."

There was a pause.

"The beardless one."

"Oh. That one."

"His name is Kili. The nephew of Thorin Oakenshield. He is a prince of Erebor, and now..." she said. Then she added, realizing it for the first time, "now it seems he shall have to be its new king."

Legolas was rather quiet for a few minutes, and Tauriel languished in the silence, just breathing. It was remarkable how much simply-finally-lying down on a soft bed in a warm tent did for the pain. Though her own pain grew less sharp, her heart dwelt heavily on Kili, weeping over his fallen uncle-so small, he was, and shoulders shaking-and she wondered if he, too, realized that such grief also meant his ascension to the throne. He seemed to her far too young, as dwarves go, to sit on the throne beneath the mountain, much less atop a kingdom in ruins.

After a time, Legolas said quietly, "It is no small thing, to save the life of a king. Even to folk as stubborn as dwarves. I do not think they shall forget what you have done for him."

Tauriel snorted.

"Oh, Legolas, mellonamin, I never thought I would say this," and she thought ruefully back to Dwalin's angry face on Ravenhill as she tried to help move an injured Kili, "but I think you are overestimating dwarves in this case." The she added heavily, "I fear I drew him into danger in the first place, though it was my wish to draw him away."

Legolas looked puzzled, and he disregarded this last remark.

"This prince-this king-though. He will not forget," said Legolas in a solemn voice.

No, perhaps he will not, thought Tauriel to herself. But whether he does or does not, it is not for you to think of now, nor perhaps ever. Grief is heavy with him, and you have your own troubles to think of now. You are banished and a traitor! Still there will be bitter consequences to bear, even if Thranduil doesn't know you sit in his tents while his healers tend to you!

But Tauriel tried pushed these thoughts away for her mind for now. Still, whatever Legolas might think, she had no home now to return to.

"I hope they do not forget," said Legolas, "for it would do a great deal towards friendship in these lands for the dwarves of Erebor to remember an elf of the Greenwood who would fight to save their king. Today is one victory, but I fear it is not the end; if the darkness you feared should spread, it is all the better the people of these lands stand together."

"Maybe the dwarves will remember that. Perhaps a few. But I worry the elves will not," she said sourly. "Thranduil is ever eager to turn away. You were there. Even after today, he would have our people hide away, even as the shadow draws ever closer to our borders. I wonder what he will do when it beats upon his very door, long after all other strongholds have fallen."

And Legolas looked very solemn and was without words for a long moment.

"I almost forgot," he said, breaking the silence. "I found this." And he reached into his belt and brandished an elvish dagger-Tauriel's dagger-with a smile before laying it carefully next to its twin. "You will be needing it again someday."

"I thought it was lost over the mountainside!" Tauriel exclaimed.

"You should not be so careless with your belongings, Tauriel," he said.

Then an elf, still clad in his armor, ducked his head into the tent and called for Legolas.

"I am needed elsewhere," he told her, rising to his feet. "I will return as I am able."

Tauriel nodded, and closed her eyes as Legolas took his leave.

Amrin said very little to her, but that was alright by her, for there was not much she needed other than a soft place to rest and recuperate. He briefly examined her, declaring a few broken ribs that would soon heal and some livid bruises. He told her the swelling would go down soon, and provided her with a sweet drink that he promised would sooth the pain and allow her to breathe more easily.

"Do you have anything stiffer?" she asked, jokingly, downing the contents of the cup. But Amrin did not respond, for he still feared Thranduil's retributions about allowing Tauriel into his care in the first place.

"One night of rest. Then I think you can be on your way," he told her, and he did not hide his eagerness to be rid of her in words or manners.

Other elves were brought into the tent, some in far worse condition than herself, and some in far better, but who sought medicines for small wounds and discomforts .

One soldier was brought in with the tip of an orcish spear protruding from his belly and driblets of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. He battled for breath. All of the healers dropped what they were doing and rushed to his side, shooting terse words and directions to each other. They held him down, and he writhed beneath their hands as they removed the spear tip as best they could without causing more damage to his innards. It seemed to be going well for a short time, but just as they were dressing the wound, the elf gave one more desperate gasp. Life left his body, and he became peacefully still.

Many of the elves looked on mournfully as his body was carried from the tent. One younger elf was set about cleaning up the mess of blood he left behind. It was an ugly scene to watch. It took time to feel restful again even after it was over.

Eventually, though, Tauriel drifted away in her mind for some time while her body began to heal. She was woken at some point and presented with a hot bowl of broth, which she welcomed gladly, for she had greatly missed the cheer of warm food over the last few days.

The second time she was roused, however, it was not for a bowl of broth.

"Can you stand, Tauriel?" said a tall elf, a messenger of Thranduil.

She nodded, her throat suddenly feeling very tight. The messenger had come, she knew that would happen, but his arrival was sooner than she wished. She longed to stay here and simply rest, but here was nothing for it. If Thranduil called for her... well, her situation would turn very sour indeed.

"Then you must come with me at once to the King."

Tauriel felt a pit form in her stomach. Oh, she really should not have come here!

She sat up slowly and felt that she was much improved from the rest and the medicines, for no pain shot through her body. Reluctantly, she reached for her armored vest and donned on her green coat. Her belt she wrapped around her waist and replaced her two daggers in their scabbards. Her hand hesitated for a moment over Kili's dwarvish blade.

There would be no coming back here. No chance to leave anything behind. The knife belonged with the dwarves; not in Thranduil's camp, for they would toss it aside like a worthless trinket. It was now a weapon worthy of songs, and more importantly, Kili's.

The elf made an impatient noise, but feeling rather bitter about her current predicament, and deciding that she in no way could make things worse, Tauriel decided not to heed it. So she took an intentionally long time to smooth her hair, lace her coat and carefully place Kili's dagger in her belt. Meanwhile, Thranduil's messenger tapped his foot and rolled his eyes.

"Are you ready at last? We should not keep him waiting," said the exacerbated elf.

"Oh, I think I probably should," answered Tauriel drily, and loud enough to hear.

"I don't think it will help you to keep the king waiting," retorted the messenger and he led her from the tent and out into the winding stone streets of Dale. A few faces glanced at her as she passed, yet she did not allow her face to betray how nervous she felt.

At last, they arrived at a large tent, grander than all the others. Two guards stood armed at the entrance. They nodded as her escort approached and pulled the flap aside. And Tauriel was led inside, where Thranduil stood before his great chair.

The tent was lined with familiar faces of many members of the forest Guard, though they were dressed in silvery armor for war rather than their usual green and brown vests worn for camouflage while patrolling the forest. These were elves Tauriel knew well, for she had commanded most of them for several years now. A few of them looked at her, but most looked to Thranduil, as if waiting to see what he would do.

Thranduil appeared haughty and relaxed. Tauriel stood alone in the center of the tent as the Elvenking loomed over her. It was several moments before he spoke. She realized it now: Thranduil was putting on a show. He was going to make an example of her to the rest of the Guard, for why else would they be assembled such? Yes, this could be very bad indeed. Oh, why hadn't she at least tried to flee the camp the moment the messenger had showed up? She might have made it out from there.

Lingering duty, she thought bitterly, and a foolish urge to speak your mind, one last time.

"It would seem, Tauriel," he said at last, "that I am late to welcome you to my camp."

And Tauriel looked up, surprised, for she had not been expecting that. But Thranduil continued.

"Except, of course, that you are not welcome here at all."

Well, so much for hoping, thought Tauriel.

"Twice now, you have openly defied me. You are banished. You have made an attempt on my life and are an enemy of the Woodland Realm. And yet, you wander freely through my camp, eating my food and stealing the attention of my healers?"

Whatever Thranduil intended to do with her, she wished he would get to the point. But that was his way, and she knew it well. Thranduil was all niceties mixed with snide remarks, until his anger burst over and left in its wake a swift retribution.

Don't speak. Any words will be fuel for humiliation, she thought. But something reckless took hold of her.

"I thank you deeply for your hospitality, my lord," she said, gracious as can be, bowing her head. A small snigger escaped from a corner where a younger member of the Guard stood; another elf quickly stamped on his foot to quiet him.

"Your words would be better spent begging for mercy," said Thranduil, ignoring the young guard in the corner, "for your crime bears the sentence of death."

"And are you going to kill me, or are you going to taunt me all day?" said Tauriel.

But before Thranduil could answer, the tent flap was drawn aside, and an angry looking Legolas burst in.

"What is the meaning of this, father?" said Legolas, planting himself firmly in front of Tauriel.

"Stand aside, Legolas," said Thranduil, but Legolas did not move. "Do you really think I will spill any blood in here?"

"I'll be more assured when I know what you do intend to do with her."

Thranduil sighed.

"Why are you always in defense of this treacherous creature? She could run with the wargs and invade our lands, and still, you would rally to her side. You are blind to treason against your own king. Now stand aside."

"She does no such thing, father."

"Legolas-"

"You would all be dead, were it not for her!" said Legolas, now looking past his father and addressing the guards. "Let it be known that Tauriel brought down many enemies who stood atop Ravenhill, who commanded the legions who sought to kill each and every one of us! By her hand, Bolg, the leader of the orc horde of Gundabad, was slain and his army scattered! Were it not for Tauriel, how many of you would be dead?"

The guards exchanged troubled glances amongst themselves.

And now he turned to Thranduil. Tauriel was feeling altogether quite stunned by this outburst.

"Dale, and this very camp, would be swarming with orcs had Tauriel not fought on the watchtower. And yet you accuse her of the crime of asking for aid in this task?"

Well, thought Tauriel, that's a bit of an exaggeration. He speaks as if I am the lone hero of this battle and not one mere warrior who made a lucky kill with the help of a dwarf.

There was now murmuring amongst the Guard.

"I don't remember her asking," sneered Thranduil, and the murmuring guards quieted. "I do, however, remember her holding an arrow to my throat. And for that, fair punishment shall be dealt. Such insolence cannot be tolerated. I will not allow any elves in my realm to turn on their own."

"You will not kill her," said Legolas fiercely.

"No," said Thranduil, tilting his head. "I will not. Not that she doesn't deserve it. Yet enough elvish blood has been spilled here, and I will not spill more on her account."

A huge weight seemed to lift off Tauriel's shoulders at these words, and she exhaled.

"But I still cannot allow her back on my Guard, or back into the realm."

Tauriel heard the words, and yet they did not surprise her, or, even stranger, sadden her, for she was already resigned to her banishment. But they had quite an effect on Legolas.

"If you choose this, know that you banish me as well. I told you before, and I hold to that.

Thranduil paused. His face was impassable.

"If that is what you choose, then so be it," and he quickly turned away from his son.

Thranduil may have planned to drag this whole show out, but Legolas's arrival appeared to have made him restless and eager to end it quickly.

"Now, begone from here, Tauriel. And know that should you ever cross our borders again, you will not find mercy as you have today."

Tauriel hesitated. Was that it? Should she leave? She briefly toyed with the idea of making one more bitter remark but thought better at it. Instead, she cast an eye at the guards who had once followed her, meeting the gaze of several in turns. She gave a respectful nod to her former comrades in parting. Some remained stone-faced, and a few looked away; still a few of her friends nodded in return, and one even smiled at her weakly. So that was that; a swift goodbye and no return. Tauriel turned on her heel to leave.

"Wait," said Thranduil. She stopped in her tracks. Oh, what now?

"Do not make yourself guilty of theft as well. You carry something of mine. I ask that you return it."

Tauriel was perplexed.

"And what do I carry?"

"Those daggers on your belt are of fine elven craft," said Thranduil.

The bottom dropped out of her stomach. No, she thought. You have broken my bow, is that not enough?

"Those blades were forged for your use when you were appointed to the Guard. You may believe they are your personal playthings, but they belong to the Woodland Realm. You shall return them before you take your leave."

Tauriel glared, and anger bubbled up inside of her, for there was no purpose to this, no purpose at all but to shame her.

She detached each scabbard from her belt and held the blades out towards the Elvenking's messenger, but before he reached forward to take them, she dropped them unceremoniously on the floor, where they clattered. Then, without another word or another glance, she threw back her head, whirled around and strode from the tent, fists clenched at her sides.

She stalked through the camp, eyes firmly planted ahead; she walked very swiftly for one who did not know where she was going.