Summary:
Bard has the honor of attending the funeral for the late King Under the Mountain and his nephews.
After putting it off as long as he could, Thranduil and Tauriel finally meet in his tent to discuss her actions during the Battle and learn her fate. Thranduil and Bard begin to reflect upon the Elf's family, and what could have been.
Chapter Ten
Erebor; 30th of November, 2941 T.A.
Erebor, even in its current state, with Smaug's claw marks and so many broken walls and pillars, was astounding. Bard could see much had been done to clear debris and bring as much order as possible here. He beheld the green marble walls, the high carved ceilings, the grand pillars, the bridges, the majestic statues, the tapestries, and best of all, the golden floor of the Hall of Kings.
Before this, Bard had never been anywhere but Laketown and the river in Mirkwood. He'd seen this mountain in the distance his entire life, but never imagined it had held such wonder. His first glimpse of the carvings of the entrance to Erebor, were only peripheral; he was too preoccupied trying to keep his people alive. When he rode up to the Grand Entrance to confront Thorin, it was only hastily-placed ramparts he saw. But now that was over, and he could truly marvel at the craftsmanship of the Dwarven race, it took his breath away.
"It's marvelous, isn't it?" A voice to his left, said.
Bard looked down at Bilbo and smiled. "I've never seen anything like it. I feel like I've left Arda and am walking in another world."
"That's how I felt, when I left the Shire. It's one thing to contemplate this wide world from my armchair and a map, but it's another thing it see it, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is, Master Baggins."
"Please, call me Bilbo."
"Of course, Bilbo. And I insist you call me Bard. No formal titles between us, yeah? Not for someone who tried so hard to prevent war."
"I thank you. And this is…?"
"Oh, please excuse my manners. This is Lord Percy, my Chief Aide and Steward, and his wife Lady Hilda, my Seneschal. Percy, Hilda, may I present Master Bilbo Baggins of the Shire."
Bilbo exchanged friendly greetings with the older couple, who also requested informality.
There were all seated at the head table at the feast given after the funeral for King Thorin, Prince Fili, and Prince Kili.
~o0o~
It had been an extraordinary service, in the tombs of the Lonely Mountain. Bard stood with the other guests by the stone platform, cradled between the arms of two enormous statues, with three plinths supporting the bodies of the fallen above a huge, echoing bottomless pit. The hymn was sung by the Dwarves vibrated throughout the enormous tomb, and down into the unknown, reverberating to form a distinct, unforgettable sound. There were Dwarves on the staircases, and each level of the cavern, holding lamps and candles. The platform, was surrounded by candlelight, as was each of the bodies.
Bilbo and the rest of the company were making their way slowly around and in between the plinths, weeping openly over their fallen comrades; even Dwalin was heartbroken. Balin told him how his younger brother sliced down Orc after Orc like blades of grass, desperate to save Thorin, but he simply couldn't reach him in time, was forced to watch as Thorin, with no other choice but to sacrifice himself, moved Orcrist the Goblin Cleaver out of the way, allowing the Azog's blade to pierce his body, so he could thrust his own into White Orc's heart. Dwalin felt responsible for Thorin's death and Bard had compassion for him. The Dwarf could be aggressive and frightening, but his actions showed a devoted, loyal and commendable heart.
Bilbo lingered at Thorin's side, sobbing until Ori and Dori gently led him away. He had loved the King, so Bard was told, and, despite the Gold Sickness, Thorin cared for him, as well. If things had been different, Bilbo might have been a neighbor of sorts, as the King Under the Mountain's consort. Like Tauriel and her lost Dwarven Prince, there'd be no chance to see where love could take them. An untimely death doesn't just rob one life, it's the death of a future involving many, and all the joys, trials and triumphs that would never come to pass. It was a death of possibilities.
When the hymns were finished, the Dwarves began a deep, reverent humming, while the original members of the Company gathered on either side of the marbled plinths. Bofur and Nori went to Prince Kili, taking the cloth he was laying on, and lovingly wrapped him in it. They lifted him and took him to the edge of the platform. All present bowed low with respect, and Bofur and Nori gave the Kili to the Lonely Mountain.
Bard heard a sob to his left, and glanced over to see Tauriel. Her face was full of anguish, and tears ran down her face and off her chin, unchecked. She had also been invited as an honored guest, and for her valiant efforts to save Kili's life, was named a friend to the Dwarves. Once Kili was given into the mountain's care, Tauriel slowly stepped forward, bowed and gave an Elven salute to him, and dropped a small, smooth stone down into the depths. Then she turned paced back to take her place beside Thranduil, looking stricken and pale. Thranduil looked down at her, concerned, placed his hand on her shoulder, helping to steady her.
Ori told Bard what happened to them on Ravenhill; how she had gone up to where he and Bolg had been fighting. She and Kili did their best, working together to kill him, to no avail. Kili had been stabbed through the heart, right in front of her. In the end, Legolas killed that evil creature, plunging a knife right into his brain, twisting it, with satisfaction that this monster was dead. After such an ordeal, Bard could understand why Thranduil wanted her to oversee his children, a cheerful occupation to soothe her broken heart.
Oin and Gloin now went to Prince Fili, Heir of Thorin. They, too, took their Prince's body carefully and entrusted it to the mountain in the respectful way, while the Dwarves hummed their lamentations.
It was the time for Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain's interment. Gandalf stepped onto the center of the platform, facing the Free Peoples there, and gave his eulogy, his voice rumbling and echoing in the cavern:
The King has come unto his own
Under mountain, under stone
Send him now unto the deep
Unto earth, eternal sleep
Under mountain, under stone
Through all the lands, let it be known
The King is dead!
Long Live the King!
From somewhere, deep horns blew, and the Dwarves' tune slowed in reverence, for their dead liege-lord. Thranduil gave Tauriel's shoulder another squeeze, and walked to the platform, placed the ancient Elven blade, Orcrist, the Goblin Cleaver, under Thorin's hands. He saluted Thorin, and bowed low offering a brief blessing in Sindarin, before pacing back to his place. It was now Bard's turn to walk to the platform and, and bowing before Bilbo, who placed the Heart of the Mountain in his hands, wrapped in cloth. Bard went to Thorin, unwrapped the King's Jewel, and placed in Thorin's hands. He stepped back, bowed low, and said, "May your journey the Halls of your Father's be swift and joyous, My King," and returned to his place beside Percy and Hilda.
Then Balin and Dwalin, with many tears served their King for the final time. They neatly wrapped Thorin in his gold and purple cloth, and lifted him. Slowly, they brought him to the edge, then the Lonely Mountain embraced the him in the bottomless depths. The King of the Mountain was returned to it and to the stone from which his people were made. Bilbo was completely overcome, leaned into Gandalf and sobbed bitterly, and as Thorin fell, while the Wizard did his best to comfort him.
The horns and the humming stopped, and cavern was complete silence and stillness for long moments. Then Dain, went over to the walkway, on to the platform, and stood regally between Balin and Dwalin at the center, wearing the crown of Durin. Balin raised his sword and cried in a strong voice:
Long Live the King!
Dain, the King under the Mountain, bowed low to his new subjects, as the cries of, "Long Live the King!" were repeated three times, its echo bouncing off of the walls, and echoing down into the pit, over and over and over. Dain straightened and faced his people, as their new ruler. Another Dwarven hymn was sung, as the King made his way to the steps of the cavern and up the stairs, followed by the Royal Guests, and the rest of the Dwarven people.
Bard, Fisherman, Bargeman, now Dragonslayer and King of Dale, was moved to tears at all he had witnessed. Never again, during his life on Arda, nor even beyond that, would he see or hear anything like it.
~o0o~
As Bilbo and Hilda chatted during the feast, Bard turned, looking for Thranduil. He was sitting next to Gandalf, with Tauriel, Galion and Feren. Tauriel seemed a little recovered after the ceremony, but she was still pale. Gandalf was speaking with her, and from what he could see, he was trying to offer her words of comfort. Thranduil turned his head a little, and met Bard's eyes, giving him a smile and an encouraging nod. The Elvenking met with Bard, Hilda, and Percy before the trip to the Lonely Mountain today, telling them all he learned about the proceedings, and what would be expected. This was a huge help, as they no experience in such matters, yet wanted to represent their new country well. At first, they felt embarrassed at their ignorance, but Thranduil assured them that they need not be. Dwarven funerals, especially a Royal one, are hardly ever witnessed by outsiders. The Elvenking only knew what to expect because he sought the Wizard out and asked him, and offered to give Thorin the Elven sword Orcrist, as a gesture of goodwill. Balin took Bard aside as soon as he arrived, and asking the King of Dale to place the Heart of the Mountain in Thorin's hand before he was buried.
Bard refused to show up refugee rags for this, so Thranduil arranged for formal clothing to be made for them. It was one thing at the service for his people, where dressing as one of them served as a sign of unity. Bard was dressed in black soft leather leggings, a cream-colored tunic with gold embroidery at the collar and around the lacings, topped by a dark blue cloak, lined with crimson, also trimmed in gold, as befitting his station.
He didn't have a formal crown. There was none to be found in the city, so it was assumed the crown jewels had either been stolen by the Dragon, or looted by bandits. Thranduil had offered to loan him one, but Bard refused. Thranduil's crowns were beautiful, but they reflected his Elven culture, with their meandering vines and leafy shapes. Bard would only wear a crown that depicted his own kingship and his own new city. It would not be a great start to the negotiations and the entire idea of the Three Northern Kingdoms, if there were such an overt sign of the friendship between the two of them. When he pointed this out to the Elvenking, Thranduil gave Bard an approving smile, and kissed him, for his brilliance. It would be better to go without. The Dwarves would likely accept this absence of deference due to circumstances beyond Bard's control, over any evidence of favoritism.
Percy and Hilda looked different than Bard had ever seen them. They looked almost like strangers, and they hardly recognized themselves. Hilda loved it. She was given a dress in green, a dark shade, to reflect the solemnity of the occasion, but elegant, and after the fashion of the People of the Lake, which she appreciated. She, too, wanted to represent the best of her folk, not look like she was "dressed in Elven hand-me-downs," as she put it. Percy was dressed in a tunic of dark blue, and, like Bard, wore black leggings. He looked uncomfortable out of his usual loose-fitting fishing garb. It took both Bard and Hilda a bit of coaxing to convince him that he looked fine, and he'd better get used to it in his new position!
The open hatred between King Dáin and Thranduil seemed to have tamed, somewhat. In order to encourage relations between the Elves and the Dwarves, Gandalf had served as liaison, and made sure each side understood what actually brought them to the valley of Dale with such hostility. Thranduil was made to understand that Thorin's message for aide was influenced by the Dragon Sickness. The Lord of the Iron Hills was told that the Woodland Realm and Dale had wanted to steal their entire treasure. He hadn't even told the others he had sent the Raven to Dáin, such was his paranoia.
For Dáin's part, he learned that Thranduil only wanted the necklace, and was told how Thorin promised a share of the gold to the Laketown people and then refused to give it. The rest of the original Company confirmed this. He was told of Thranduil's concern about Thrór having the Sickness, before the Dragon came, and his attempts to help the Dwarves immediately after, despite Thorin's unreasonable pride. King Dáin, at the idea of an Elf going behind Thorin's back for any reason, made him explode in temper. Gandalf, with great effort, helped him understand Thranduil only did so because there were the early signs of illness, and Thorin's people would have starved and frozen to death if Thranduil had not done it. As far as Thorin's insistence that they attack Smaug, Dáin needed no assistance from Gandalf to know that the idea was foolish and suicidal. As much as it goaded him – and it goaded him a lot – he admitted that Thranduil had done exactly the right thing.
The Elf and the Dwarf would never be close friends. But this information went a long way to ease their mutual hate. In an unexpected way, Tauriel, seemed to serve as a conduit between the nations. The original Company liked her, and respected her. Dáin, who was always fond of the Princes, was cordial and as kindly as someone like him could be. Bard suspected he especially liked her because she defied her King.
Bard looked over at the New King Under the Mountain. He was terrifying when he first saw him, in his full armor and ready to deal out as much death as he deemed necessary. He was still a formidable figure to behold. It fascinated him that he and Thranduil could be such complete opposites in looks and bearing, yet still strike such fear in the face of an enemy. He had seen the both of them at this, during the Battle. Their fighting styles were different, each using their natural strengths to benefit. Perhaps Dale's army would benefit with some training by the Dwarves as well as the Elves, to glean what skills they could.
Thoughts like that could wait, as the speeches were about to begin. Gandalf got up, raising his glass, and saluted all the Three Northern Kingdoms represented here. He talked of how the Valar had been looking out for all of them; had they not all been assembled before the gates of Erebor at that precise time, no one would have survived. While they all grieved at the loss of King Thorin and his Princes, the Valar had brought about the means to reunite the Kingdoms of the North and thus strengthen the area, which could only benefit their people. Gandalf paid homage to all the Valar, and Eru himself, while all members of the feast stood, and joined him.
Then Thranduil rose and gave a short speech thanking their hosts for the honor of witnessing such a heartfelt farewell to their comrades, and extended his best wishes to King Dáin, and his hope of renewed relations between their nations. This was met with polite applause, which was more than Thranduil had been expecting, as he told Bard afterward. So, this was an encouraging sign. Any huge change, such as this, could never be wrought overnight.
Next, Bard stood up, and raised his glass to the Dwarves. Out of nervousness, he had practiced his short speech endlessly. He was told that Dwarves hated flowery talk, which was a good thing, because so did Bard. He simply extended his sympathies to his Dwarf neighbors for their loss, and that he hoped that, as Dale was the center of the North, they would see his Kingdom as a friend, both in good times and bad. After paying homage to the new King, he spontaneously added his honest amazement at the beauty and craftsmanship that he could see in this mountain, and he looked forward to seeing Erebor, once its beauty and glory have been fully restored. This apparently was the exact right thing to say, as the Dwarves burst into applause and cheers.
Then, Dáin, Lord of the Iron Hills, King Under the Mountain, stood up and officially began his reign. Although sarcastic and irreverent when they met in battle, Dáin could be eloquent. After a brief greeting, he ordered all the Dwarves to stand, then they sang the Song of the Lonely Mountain:
Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away ere break of day
To seek the pale enchanted gold.
The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells.
For ancient king and elvish lord
There many a gleaming golden hoard
They shaped and wrought, and light they caught
To hide in gems on hilt of sword.
On silver necklaces they strung
The flowering stars, on crowns they hung
The dragon-fire, in twisted wire
They meshed the light of moon and sun.
Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away, ere break of day,
To claim our long-forgotten gold.
Goblets they carved there for themselves
And harps of gold; where no man delves
There lay they long, and many a song
Was sung unheard by men or elves.
The pines were roaring on the height,
The winds were moaning in the night.
The fire was red, it flaming spread;
The trees like torches blazed with light.
The bells were ringing in the dale
And men they looked up with faces pale;
The dragon's ire more fierce than fire
Laid low their towers and houses frail.
The mountain smoked beneath the moon;
The dwarves they heard the tramp of doom.
They fled their hall to dying fall
Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.
Far over the misty mountains grim
To dungeons deep and caverns dim
We must away, ere break of day,
To win our harps and gold from him!
Upon hearing these words sung so beautifully, Bard had a vision: His own city in all its former glory, the sun shining, children playing; Elves wandering the street talking and laughing with his people. There were also Dwarves busy at their work, creating the things that only they had the skill for. He could see the Dwarven men, women and children happily wandering through the vast halls of Erebor. He saw the flames and the terror the Dragon wrought, and there was Girion, trying desperately to save his city, using all but one of the Black Arrows.
Listening to words of the song, he could also see the Dwarves' hope and determination that they would one day return to their home. With this, Bard was moved to tears, as the fullness of what was finally restored to them, the fullness of what was given back to Bard's family, of the hope that was in the hearts of his people. When he shot the arrow into the Dragon Smaug's heart, he did it for his children and the safety of Laketown, nothing more.
Now, the enormity of this deed was felt, and he was overcome.
When his eyes cleared some, he noticed that he wasn't the only one who felt this way. Bilbo was openly weeping, as were many of the Dwarves, and Hilda and Percy were dabbing at their eyes. Thranduil looked pensive and sad.
After the song, Dáin raised his own glass, and gave his first decree as King: The Song of the Lonely Mountain was never again to be sung by any Dwarf, as, thanks to Bard, King of Dale, their Kingdom had been restored to them. He decreed that new songs were to be written, to honor Bard's brave deed, and to reflect the joy of his people in their new life here. He also said that, hereafter, the King of Dale, and his entire family, throughout all their generations to come, will forever be known as a friend to the Dwarves.
Bard was stunned. And so was everyone else, that wasn't a Dwarf. The applause was thunderous. Hilda hugged him, and urged him to stand up, and so did Gandalf. Thranduil looked up at him, applauding, and gave him another magical smile.
Bard was thankful that no one asked him to speak, because he wouldn't have been able to utter a word.
Ruins of Dale; 1st of December, 2941 T.A.
It was the day after the funeral at Erebor, and Thranduil could delay this no further.
He had spent the entire day catching up on paperwork sent from his Realm, replying to messages and looking at reports. It was a busy, if uneventful day, and he was relieved to put a dent in the pile, before it got too out of hand. He wrote a small list of things to be brought from the palace, which would arrive with the next shipment of supplies in two days. Feren had taken most of the Elven Army home this morning to return to their duties there; he could not afford to leave his Realm with less than optimal protection for too long. Since Dol Guldur had been routed, this was a good time to take advantage, and clear much of his land of the spiders. And he followed Tauriel's earlier suggestion order them killed at their source. Feren will be returning to Dale to take command in Thranduil's place, while he is at Erebor.
Bard, in the meantime, was helping his own men with some physical labor something or other. He insisted, saying all this sitting around and eating was making him feel soft. "I'm not going to be one of those fat, lazy oafs like the Master was. My people need to proof that I'm willing to put my shoulder in with everybody else." Thranduil rolled his eyes, but really, Bard was right.
"You wished to see me, My Lord?"
"Yes, Tauriel, please come and sit down."
She knew what this meeting was about, and she looked terrified.
~o0o~
Thranduil had spent the last two nights reflecting on his long talk with Galion. To say it was a weighty conversation couldn't begin to describe it. Thranduil had been drained - an accurate observation, when one considers drawing an infection out of a wound. As hard as was, it to share his thoughts and feelings out loud it with Galion, it some brought clarity and relief. When Thranduil got into bed that night, he fell into a deep, restful sleep.
After returning from the Lonely Mountain yesterday, he decided it was time to speak to Tauriel about what occurred between them. He met with Galion and Feren, and told them of the context of her behavior. Feren was sympathetic, but not impressed enough to think laws should be broken. As her superior officer, he had the right to express his opinion and help decide her fate. He would never believe there was an adequate excuse for raising her weapon to her King. Thranduil, sadly, agreed. An explanation was never an excuse, and there must be consequences for one's actions; especially this. It was the consequences that were considered, in light of this context. He told his Aide and his Commander he had decided, and after some deliberation, Galion, and even Feren was satisfied with his course.
~o0o~
"We have many things to discuss, Tauriel, and I think it best to start with several apologies."
"Of course, My Lord, and I truly wish to. I beg your forgiveness for -"
Thranduil raised his hand to stop her. "You misunderstand me, Tauriel. It is I who need to express regret to you."
If she had been drinking when he said this, she would have choked on it, he thought to himself. If this wasn't so serious, it might be comical. But it was serious, and it was absolutely not funny.
"The first thing we need to speak of, Tauriel, is the situation between you and Legolas."
At this, her face fell, ashamed.
Thranduil took a deep breath, and said, "I want you to understand that I do not hold you responsible for whatever feelings he has for you. I have neither seen nor heard any evidence that you encouraged him, or gave him reason to hope. This was not your fault. To my great shame, Tauriel, I allowed you to think that I discouraged you because of your heritage. It was inexcusable to let any subject of my kingdom think themselves inferior because of their birth. It is not true, and I apologize."
"But…Legolas has left because of me!" Tauriel was near tears.
"I do not believe my son decided to leave just because of his feelings for you. The other reasons, and I must deal with that, when I am able. But Tauriel, even if you were the sole cause of his departure, you still would not be to blame. Frankly, neither is he." He looked at her with sympathy. "You have discovered recently, to your great sorrow, one's heart cannot be ruled by one's head."
Her eyes filled, and her hand went to her mouth.
Thranduil continued in a gentle voice, one he had not used with her in countless years. "It was good you came to Erebor yesterday, and I am truly sorry for your loss. I apologize for dismissing what you felt for your Dwarven Prince; it was wrong of me." He looked into her lovely, sad green eyes. "I have treated you badly Tauriel. I wish I could change it, but I cannot." He thought of her crying over Kili at Ravenhill, and how she cried yesterday, as she watched him be put to rest. She looked so lost, and his heart went out to her.
They paused for a few minutes, while she composed herself. Then he said, "As you well know, this is not the only thing we need to discuss. Tauriel, the time has come to discuss what your punishment will be for your desertion of my kingdom, and for your actions against my person during the Battle of the Five Armies." Tauriel turned white as snow, and another tear escaped one of her eyes, as she closed them. She became still, unable to breathe. Thranduil felt compassion for her, but he needed to make his edict to her as her King.
"Tauriel, I hereby declare your banishment as a subject of the Woodland Realm to be permanent, and your temporary assignment as Chief Guard to the Children of Dale to be permanent as well. From this day forward, you are no longer permitted to enter my Kingdom, unless it as an escort to the Children of Dale and only under extreme emergency. At that, you may only take them to the Palace Gate; you may never enter the Halls of the Woodland Realm again. As of today, you are a subject of Dale, and Bard will be your ruler."
The young Elf looked at him, and blinked at him, several times. "I do not understand, My Lord. I deserve death for what I have done!"
"I do not hold with Kinslaying, Tauriel. There are other kingdoms where this is practiced, but not mine, nor my father's."
"But surely there must be more to this, My King. I have committed an unthinkable crime, and I have no-"
"Yes, Tauriel, you do have an excuse. And we will discuss this. But first, you must have something to drink. I fear you may faint, you are so pale." He handed her a cup of water, and she hesitated to take it, astonished that her king was serving her. He set it down in front of her, and ordered her to drink it. He waited until she finished it all, and then he continued.
"In the midst of the Battle, I made the wrong decision. I gave the order to withdraw, and it was done for the wrong reasons. If we had left, the Battle would have been lost, and the Northern Kingdoms would fall, including the Woodland Realm. Your defiance was what saved us all, do you understand? As much sorrow as I feel over the lives lost, we were meant to stay. I see the Valar's hand in this now, although no one could have known this at the time."
"My Lord, I cannot say yet how to respond to this. I raised my bow to you, and that was treason! You must not set that aside. I am more sorry you can know, My Lord, but I deserve to be punished. I must be!"
The Elvenking was intrigued. "What are your reasons for insisting on your beheading, Tauriel?"
"My Lord, what I have done was unspeakable! I am ashamed to even think of it now. You took me into your halls, into your own home, when I was a child, alone and helpless and I repaid you with a threat against your life? I cannot understand why you do not hate me!" Her voice trembled, and she was still pale, such was her regret.
Thranduil regarded her stricken face with sympathy. "I could never hate you, Tauriel." He said, gently. "I understand that you are young, and what you did was an impulsive act, borne of desperation, and love. I regret my reaction as well." He sighed, then said, "This is not something I wish to do, but I must follow the laws of my Kingdom. I cannot allow myself to make exceptions, as much as I would like to. Do you understand?"
She then showed her quality by straightening her posture, saying, "If there are those who think raising a weapon to you would not be severely punished, it could be seen as an invitation to attack you! It could cause you to be in danger, My Lord, and I cannot live with this!" She held his look and as upset as she was, she did not back down.
"Peace, Tauriel. What you have said does you much credit. It proves my confidence in you to guard the King of Dale's children was not misplaced. Twice, you have saved them, have you not? I also want you know, I have shared my judgement with King Bard, Lord Galion, and Commander Feren, and they are in agreement with my decision." He smiled. "King Bard is delighted to have you here in Dale, and I imagine his children feel the same. They have grown quite attached to you, have they not?" he tilted his head. "And I think the feeling is mutual?"
The strain in her face lifted for a moment and she nodded with a small smile.
His voice was quiet when he spoke to her with compassion. "I believe you will be happy with Bard's family, but make no mistake, you have my sympathies. It may not seem difficult now, Tauriel; so many things are happening, in quick succession that I fear your loss will not fully make itself known for some time yet. How will you feel once there is peace? You will no longer walk through my forest, and hear the trees of the Woodland Realm speak to you, Tauriel. I fear you will miss your friends, and the songs you have heard all your life." He got up, walked to her and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, looking down at her sadly.
"I understand, My Lord, and I am prepared to accept my punishment," She put on a brave face for him, but her eyes looked unsure.
"I do not think you understand, Tauriel." He whispered. "By banishing you, you will now, and forevermore, be deaf to their voice. I am so very sorry."
Thranduil's heart wrenched badly as he watched the meaning of his words sink in, and her face crumbled in despair and began to cry. He stood beside her and put his arm around her shoulders as she put her head down into her arms and sobbed. His throat hurt and his eyes stung as he rubbed her shoulders and wished he wasn't the King.
After his dinner, Thranduil was sitting on the cushioned throne, legs crossed, chin in his fingers, deep in thought. He had no choice in his sentence for Tauriel, and, she knew this. It still didn't make it easy, and he knew he would truly miss her in his home, her laugh, her smile and energy. She worked hard and was diligent, but she had a joy about her, and a lust for life. For centuries, she lived in his part of the Palace, in the apartment next to Legolas. When he returned home, the quiet and stillness would break his heart all over again at her loss.
~o0o~
She had been brought to the Palace, as a toddler, when an outlying village had been attacked by Orcs. He remembered the village, before the attack, it was small, but well-protected. An attack like that was rare, as he was fastidious about seeing to their safety. But sometimes, it couldn't be prevented. After inspecting the site with his troops, he was told that every Orc responsible had been found and killed. He was satisfied, but he was still furious at the loss of the villagers and several of those guarding it. These were good, peaceful people, part of his guild of weavers. His wife had loved the fabric they bought from it. After her death, he still made a point to keep his purchases the same, to help with their economy, and anonymously sent it to a human settlement to the West of them, to be used for their poor and orphans.
Their leader, Tasar, was hardworking and honest. He had no problems among them. There had been no disputes for Thranduil to settle, as Tasar was adept and solving problems within the village itself. His death, and that of those villagers was yet another example of the senseless death and tragedy this evil in his forest had wrought.
The soldiers told him there was a child, the little daughter of a couple was found, hidden in a compartment under the floorboards. Earlier, a lieutenant had heard crying in the house, moved the rug away, lifted the door and saw her, there in the dark. A small sleeping bundle with red curly hair was placed in Thranduil's arms. Her face was streaked with soot and tears, and she was clutching the corner of a sooty blanket. Then Tauriel woke up, making no sound, and looked at him with solemn, trusting green eyes. She blinked up at him, then reached up and touched his cheek.
Thranduil remembered well the day her parents came to the Palace to present her for naming. "Daughter of the forest" seemed perfect for her, then. Even then, as an infant, she had gazed up at him with those trusting, beautiful green eyes, and the Elvenking couldn't look away.
Thranduil couldn't say why this little one moved him so, and said nothing, but got on his Elk and carried her to the Palace himself, wrapping his cloak around her to keep her warm, as they rode through the forest.
What was to be done with her? Galion suggested she be placed in the Royal Apartments, as a companion for the Prince, and Thranduil agreed. Legolas had long reached his majority, and spent a great deal of time out on patrol, but he was still young, and might benefit from the company. Perhaps he could make it up to his son, if there was someone to feel close with, besides Galion. To an extent, it did. He remembered seeing them run through the halls, Tauriel toddling ahead, squealing with delight, while Legolas pretending to chase her. For several decades, the Royal Wing was livelier, noisier, happier.
That wasn't to say that he ignored her. Not at all. She would come and see him in his study, with her caregiver, or even on Legolas' hip, asking to see him. She was an engaging and adorable child, but the problem was, Thranduil just couldn't engage. He would hold cursory, short conversations with her, pat her on the head, then send her on her way, saying he was busy King, and must get back to work. He didn't stop Tauriel from asking to see him, but didn't encourage it, either. So, between her caregivers, Galion, and Legolas, she was raised.
But if she cried out in the night, as children often do, Thranduil was the first to reach her bedside. He would sit by her bed and hold her hand, until she fell back to sleep, and he'd watch over her to make her feel safe. When Thranduil suffered a nightmare, he'd tiptoe into her room and hold her in his arms, while she slept. That innocent, sleeping face and those red curls, help chase away the images and dreams that haunted the Elvenking.
The first time he had done this, he looked up to see Galion in the doorway, watching them and it was then that he realized why Galion wanted her with them, and it wasn't for Legolas. The Elvenking needed her as much as she needed him.
Perhaps Galion had also hoped Tauriel might bring father and son closer, but on the occasions that Legolas saw his father sit by his foster-sister's bedside, Thranduil saw hurt in his eyes.
Thranduil did reach a point, thanks to the little red haired Elfling, where he did feel strong enough to try and bridge the chasm and reconnect with his son, though. Galion had noticed this, and discreetly made excuses for them to dine privately, rather than in the Dining Hall. There was conversation, but it often was uncomfortable and forced. Thranduil would make an effort, but Legolas was so used to being pushed away, that now he pulled away. Tauriel, following every move her foster-brother made, took her cues from him. It all felt too late. Despite Galion's encouragement, Thranduil stopped trying, because he didn't know what to do, and it felt like a muddled mess.
~o0o~
And now, even Tauriel was gone. Her things were being cleaned out of her rooms in the Royal Wing, and to brought to her. His halls would never hear her voice or her laughter again. He was all alone again, it was his own fault, and his heart hurt.
He was so lost in his musings, that he didn't even notice the King of Dale's entrance.
"You look depressed, Thranduil."
He didn't move, didn't look at him. "I am," he said, and heaved a great sigh.
A goblet was pressed into his hand. "Here, my friend."
"I thank you." It stayed in his hand.
"May I ask what's wrong?"
He still didn't look up, just found interest in the dark red of his cup's contents. He finally looked at the Bowman, whose eyes were searching his own.
"I just had to pronounce Tauriel's sentence."
"What happened?"
Thranduil had been grateful to Bard for agreeing to her permanent assignment, but the Bowman assured him the blessing would be theirs. Her skill and agility in hand-to-hand combat was rivaled by few, and he was grateful for such excellent protection for his children.
Bard sat on the chair to the left of the throne, and listened to him recount the talk with Tauriel. Then he said, "I didn't know her relationship to your forest would be severed. I'm afraid I don't understand these things. She must be heartbroken."
"She is." Thranduil said, in a small, sad voice. He felt pain in his chest, knowing he had hurt her so deeply. "She has grown up with those trees and the animals. They have been her friends. Many of them had become sick, when the evil in Dol Guldur grew. But, to even travel on the path between our two nations to take your children to my Halls, she will not be able to hear them. It was a just punishment, even though I hated to carry it out. Knowing I had no choice, does not make it easier." Thranduil was still looking off to the side.
"This has been one of my worst moments as a King, Bard."
"I imagine I'll learn things like that for myself, soon enough."
"Yes, you will." Another sigh.
They sat in silence for a while.
"She expected to be killed, you know."
"Really? And is that something that Elves do?"
"There are other Elven Kingdoms that practice this sort of punishment against Elves. King Thingol of Doriath did. I do not know if Elrond of Rivendell, or Celeborn of Lothlórien carry out those sorts of sentences. I have no judgment against them if they do. But I do not, and neither did my father. That is not to say I am against it altogether. If there are outsiders who invade my kingdom, and threaten my people in any way, I have no qualms carrying out a swift and final sentence. In your own Kingdom, how you decide to handle such matters is your own affair; I will not judge you, either."
"Will Tauriel be able to find other trees?" Bard asked.
"Yes. I can only control the trees in my own forest. I hope they will forgive me."
"How old is she?"
"She is 617 years old."
Bard deadpanned, "Really? Just a baby, then."
Thranduil smiled. "It is true, she is young. I wonder if banishing her might not benefit her in the long run. Tauriel has always wondered about the bigger world. Prior to these events, she had never been outside of my Realm. She has a curious nature that might never be satisfied, had she stayed forever in my Kingdom. With you, she might see more of Middle Earth. She will protect your children as they they travel throughout the world on your behalf."
"You might be right. She's been hurt by Kili's death, something new and different could help."
I agree. I think that she will find the loss of my forest can be replaced by other things, which might bring her some happiness. It may bring her peace to be closer to Erebor."
"Thranduil, forgive me, but from everything you just told me, it sounds like you've not really meted out much of a punishment."
"Perhaps I have not. Or perhaps I am telling myself these things for my own comfort."
"So why do you look like you have had her decapitated?"
Thranduil sighed again, and said quietly. "Because I will miss her in my Halls. I am grieving for myself more than her."
"Why is that?"
A long silence. "Because she is my daughter."
Bard looked at Thranduil in surprise. "I had no idea."
"She is my adopted daughter, to be precise; we've had her with us since she was a baby."
Thranduil told his friend the story of how she came to live at the Palace, and some memories of her, growing up there.
He told Bard how, once, when she was small, she went missing, and everyone was frantic, searching for hours. She was finally found in a large cupboard in the kitchens, fast asleep, curled around one of the Palace cats, with a plate of half-eaten tarts in front of her. He talked of the little pranks she played, like sneaking up behind Galion, to pull his hair, and run away, giggling. She was the darling of all who worked in the Royal wing. She was ever-curious, and got into everything. Bard was amused when Thranduil told him no one could stay angry because although she was full of mischief, she was never hateful. The Palace enjoyed her sunny disposition, and her affectionate nature, as she always had her arms out to give hugs, kisses and giggles.
Everyone except me, Thranduil thought. He became sober, and fell silent.
"Do Elves have many children?"
"Not many. Since the forest became so sick, there have been fewer, but births are not as rare as outsiders like to think. We simply do not have big families like Men do. Elven couples usually only have one or two. Lord Elrond has three, but that is because the first two were identical twins."
"I can imagine for an Elf, three is a real handful."
"Oh, those twins were." Thranduil could not help his small smile. "Just one of those Ellon was harder to handle than anything Legolas or Tauriel could come up with. Two of them was almost impossible. There was no peace at Rivendell for nearly 120 years." He huffed a laugh. "I felt genuinely sorry for Elrond and Celebrian. Even now, the twins are wild, and pull outrageous pranks, when the mood strikes them. Their reputation is the stuff of legend, but I think they are good for their father. Elrond is weighted down by many cares, and those two prevent him from drowning in it all."
"Oh, I'll bet." Bard grinned. "Speaking of Legolas, where is he? I haven't had a chance to thank him for helping my children at Laketown, and for helping with the refugees. I can't find him, and when I ask Daeron, all he would tell me is, 'I cannot say, My Lord.' I asked Tauriel last evening, and she looked like I slapped her. Did he go back to Mirkw-, sorry," Bard winced, "I mean, the Woodland Realm? Is he running things there for you?"
Thranduil froze. His knuckles were white, and he was glad the cup was metal. If it were glass, it would have broken.
"Thranduil?"
He closed his eyes and tried to calm the wave of anxiety that wanted to steal his breath away, but Bard had become important to him, and he was terrified of losing him. Thranduil took a deep breath, then another...
"Thranduil?" This time Bard was sounding seriously concerned for him. "What's wrong?"
His voice trembled when he forced himself to say the words. "Legolas is gone."