Coming home felt, well, different than Tauriel had expected. It wasn't simply that the wood felt lighter, freer, more open than it had ever been within her memory. Even under the leafless, snow-laden branches of winter, the forest already felt more alive than it had when she had walked out from under those same trees mere months ago, following the urge of duty—as well as a somewhat less definable prompting—towards the dwarves who had been under their watch, and whose safety she still felt was her concern.
Yes, her forest had changed. But so had she. She had seen the world outside her woodland home, met some of the people in it. She was sure, now, of what she had begun to feel back then: that she could not live in isolation, as if their lives had nothing to do with hers. Tauriel had found that the happenings out in the world were very much much concerned with the things even she, a wood elf, cared for. Or perhaps she had grown to care for things beyond what she had known before. Maybe it was the same thing.
She was greeted affectionately by the forest sentries, most of whom were her friends. There was some good-natured ribbing about her extended stay in Erebor, yet no one challenged her friendship with their erstwhile captives and nearly enemies. She supposed she had Thranduil's pardon to thank for that. Her defiance of him had been quite public, and his kindness to her after the battle had been equally so, when he had granted her his quarters as she recovered from her salvation of Kíli, a sacrifice that had proved nearly fatal to herself.
Tauriel was grateful that her friends in the guard had not made an issue of her new loyalties, for she feared her parents would not let it go so easily. In truth, she wasn't sure how they would respond. Her mother, at least, had always hoped that Tauriel's close friendship with the prince would come to something. Tauriel had never had the heart to tell her that the King would never approve of such a union. Proud as he was of a lineage that traced back to the Teleri of Doriath, the fair and ancient kingdom of Elu Thingol, he would hardly permit his son to chose a woodland elf like her, whose kindred had hung back upon the twilight borders of the world and never dwelt among their blessed kin returned from the west. She had never cared for Legolas in that way, anyhow, though sometimes she had allowed herself to think of him as the brother she had always wanted. As for her father, he remembered tales of an old quarrel with dwarves over payment and precious stones, and had always spoken of them as a stubborn, distasteful race motivated more by greed than by honor. His opinion had never troubled her overmuch; she had always considered it more as an incidental grudge rather than a universal fact. But she did not relish the prospect of hearing him speak ill of her new companions and friends, who had proven themselves loyal and true to one another, as well as to herself. She would not allow herself to imagine what he might say in objection to the one she loved.
In truth, her initial meeting with her parents had not proved the confrontation she had feared. Her mother had held her close, breathing her thanks to the Valar. "When we first heard how many had fallen, we feared we'd lost you," she said, releasing Tauriel at last. "Later, we learned how right we nearly were, though not for the reason we had guessed." She smoothed her daughter's hair, regarding her with thoughtful, troubled eyes. "So it is true," she said, as if she read something in her daughter's face. "It's too late, and you have already made your choice." And then she had wept softly against Tauriel's shoulder and said no more.
To her relief, her father had not questioned her, but merely welcomed her home and kissed her hair, as he always did. Yet he, too, had fixed her with such a wondering gaze that Tauriel wished she knew what it was he saw. Tauriel knew she must answer them regarding her love for Kíli soon enough, yet in the meantime, she had still other meetings to worry about.
On the morning after her return, she presented herself to her King. She had not faced him since he had pronounced her banishment, and while he had shown her kindness in the aftermath of the battle, she could not guess what his feelings regarding her would be, now that he had had time to consider her actions.
Standing before his chamber door, she found her palms sweating. She brushed them against her skirts, settled her shoulders with a deep breath, and knocked.
"You may enter," the King's dispassionate voice called.
She drew open the door and stepped in to the room where she had given reports and received her orders so many times before.
"Your majesty." She curtseyed, unsure, for the first time in ages, of how to address her superior.
"Tauriel," Thranduil spoke as she rose, "It is good to have you back."
She smiled, relaxing slightly. "It is good to be back," she said.
"And yet," he continued, a cryptic smile of his own playing over his lips, "You will not stay."
"My lord," Tauriel stammered. "I appreciate your kindness to me, and I would not disobey you, but I have found new allegiances that bind me as much as my love for the Greenwood."
"It did not trouble you to disobey me before," he noted, almost amused.
Tauriel's color deepened. "Forgive me," she said.
"Tauriel," he addressed her, his impassive expression softening somewhat, "You have long been one of my most trusted lieutenants, able to see and consider what others would not. It occurs to me that no less may be true now." He sighed, and Tauriel could see the weight of many cares in his face then. "Much elven blood was spilt that day. I would not see such loss again. And I would not command my people against their hearts."
Tauriel stared at him, unable to find anything to say.
"I must confess, I cannot imagine what you see in a dwarf," he continued, reassuming his usual haughty air, an attitude with which Tauriel was both familiar and comfortable. "But I suppose that is hardly my concern. It is my concern, however, that we establish more . . . favorable relations with Erebor. You told me once, I recall, that we ought to take more interest in the world outside our borders. I find that such interest ought to extend to our neighbors, at least. And you are in an ideal position to promote such relations."
"You would make me your envoy?" she queried, surprised.
Thranduil's mouth lifted in a knowing half-smile. "I suspect you would act as one, whether I empowered you or not. Let us at least legitimize the role."
"I am honored. And indeed," she added with a soft laugh, "I seem to have stepped into that part already. Please allow me to present you a gift from the Prince of Durin's house. He offers it as a token of friendship and appreciation for the people of the Greenwood and their King."
She produced a small, intricately decorated casket and presented it to the king.
He took it wordlessly and opened it. Inside were five large, finely cut emeralds of surpassing brilliancy and hue. Kíli had selected them without her assistance, and she had immediately approved his choice.
"The Prince has discerning taste," Thranduil commented drily. "I foresee we shall understand one another well enough."
Tauriel made no effort to hide her smile as she curtseyed once more. "Thank you," she said warmly.
"And Tauriel," the King added, "I expect you to resume your duties as lieutenant until you return to Erebor."
"Yes, my lord," she answered happily.
"You are dismissed."
Tauriel nodded respectfully, and exited the room, feeling giddy at finding such unexpected favor.
Author's Note:
Well, I meant to end the story at the last chapter, but it's become something of a bug in my imagination, and it has kept going. I guess I'll see where it goes!
I've kept the name of Greenwood for Mirkwood, since I imagine that Mirkwood or Taur e-Ndeadelos (Forest of Great Fear) are probably names given by outsiders, rather than what the elves call their home, even a home fallen into darker days! I can see the Mirkwood elves stubbornly insisting upon the name that reflects the forest's former majesty, even now that it isn't very accurate. And Kili, wishing to be diplomatic, isn't likely to address Thranduil as "King of that horrible scary forest," either, despite having had up-close and personal experience with just how horrible and scary it can be. Hence, he, too, says Greenwood here, through Tauriel.
Those are the emeralds of Girion, mentioned in chapter 18 of The Hobbit as the gift of Dain to the Elvenking. They're not mentioned in the films, so I thought I'd throw them in here instead.
