Notes: Hey everyone, is it just me or has the Thranduil x Tauriel corner of the Hobbit fandom gotten a lot quieter in the past several weeks? Where did everyone go? o.0 I hope everyone is alright. I'd totally bake my awesome banana bread for you guys if it's school/stress/work-related. Regardless, I'm very grateful for the feedback thus far and hope y'all enjoy this next one.


The evening is come and all is silent. Singed remains of houses and peoples' belongings litter the shoreline. Thranduil treads slowly toward the water, carefully stepping through it all. He looks across the water toward the Mountain—this is where the Halfling told him he would find her.

With Bard of Lake-town mounted on horseback at his side and a combined army at their backs, Thranduil had gone to the gate of the Lonely Mountain. He despised being taunted from such a disadvantage. It did not matter how much of a threat his army posed to the Dwarves; the gate was impervious even to an army of his best fighters.

Only after he and Bard failed to come to terms with Thorin did the tables turn. Bilbo Baggins of the Shire came to their camp with the smuggled Arkenstone in hand and the interest of furthering peace. The Halfling also claimed that he set the sea-maiden free where the Celduin rose from Erebor's gates.

For this reason, the certainty that she will be there constricts his lungs and weighs him down from his very bones.

At last her slender silhouette appears. Tauriel swims to the shallow water and sits, twisting her locks over one shoulder as she always did. His relief is palpable. The tension he carried since receiving Legolas's missive finally abates. The image of her held captive by Dwarves haunted his waking hours on the way to Dale. He sinks down to his knees and sits on his heels on the dry sand.

"What happened?" Thranduil reaches tentatively toward her. Tauriel takes his hand in hers and guides it to her fin where it has curled protectively inward. He can feel the torn membrane, both sides of the wound are slightly raised like a scar will form. Though the wound is closed, there will be a mark left after it heals. Rivulets of water left on her shoulders make her skin glisten. Her eyelashes are dark against her fair cheeks and he notices she has kept her hair braided in the elvish style.

"This is from an arrow point clumsily torn out." The timber of his voice has dropped in realization. He is filled with unholy rage at the thought of her injured by dwarvish weapons. Her hand moves over his in a caress as if to stem the barrage of curses he has in mind for the company of Thorin, son of Thráin.

"No flesh wound can stop me from protecting you." Tauriel speaks frankly. He thinks he had quite forgotten the way love can be a double-edged sword. He does not guard his expression in front of her. It is only too easy to let her see him as he is, not what he prefers the rest of the world to see.

"I will not have you harmed, especially on my behalf. The grey wizard warns of Orc armies, you will be in mortal danger here. So have the Dwarves chosen their path and they will die in defense of their accursed kingdom." Thranduil says roughly. He resolves to bear her back to his Halls, beyond that, it is her choice whether to dwell in the woodland or return to the sea. The army that he brought to wage war for her will sheath its swords and retreat. He wants no part in another war, he has had his fill of death. No speech that Mithrandir delivers will dissuade him from his course.

"You think your life is worth more than theirs?' She speaks gently, as if she knows her words can break him. "The Dwarves are part of this world as much as we are, even if you do not care for them or their culture. Do not let this be your legacy. There is love in you yet."

"And look what it has brought to my people," He retorts sharply, "Complacency leads to despair and fear."

Tauriel sighs as he turns aside. "Do you think I am a stranger to loss, dear prince?" Her voice is tinged with quiet, ragged grief. Thranduil grants her the courtesy of meeting her eyes. He is ashamed that he has never once considered this, that he has never once asked.

"My people now dwell away from the light, down in the forests of the sea. I am the last who dares venture out. We are hunted for sport, for the beauty of our form, for our treasures. I have seen kith and kin slaughtered by fishermen, for my part I have fled from harpoon and net with the cries of those left behind filling my ears. I have saved some and lost more to the brutality. There were ample chances for my heart to turn to hatred, but I find that there is still love in me. So too is there in you, Thranduil Oropherion."

Somehow he is the prodigal son of the woodland realm again, she the beguiling sea-girl. Disparate creatures united in grief on a cloudless winter night. The sound of his name on her tongue quietens the thrumming discord in his mind.

"Return to thy ocean 'ere the fighting begins." The plea sounds strange coming from him. It has been an age since he last begged like this. "I will come to you when this is over."

Tauriel lowers her gaze. "I would not part from you yet…Will you take a turn about the water with me now?"

Thranduil discreetly surveys their surroundings. There is not a living soul to be found. His guards were taken aback by his demand to be left alone, but they heeded him and remained behind at their camp. He stands up to disrobe while she twists and swims farther out to await him. With each garment shed goes his defenses against her. His light mail falls, clinking softly as he drops it atop the pile.

Wading into the lake, Thranduil grasps Tauriel's outstretched hand. He withstands the sting of freezing water just until her touch wholly warms him. They keep their heads above the surface and she takes them out into the center. They are flanked by forest and mountain, bathed by the light of the Netted Stars of the Remmirath.

It is this memory of her that he keeps in his heart when the Orc legions burst from the earth. The hordes of hell charge toward him, the Men and Dwarves. Thranduil has long been a vessel scraped raw of feeling, he has bled and bled until nothing was left. A thousand years of numbness are dashed the moment he leads his troops to battle, knowing that his son is among them and that Tauriel is gone.

He will take a stand.

It may well be his last.