Chapter 11 everyone!

Now, the next couple of chapters will focus on events in DoS and a few of you might doubt the Legolas/Tauriel when Kìli comes in, but no worries; there will just be a bit of a struggle to get there because life's seldom easy, especially in Middle Earth.

Thanks to all readers, followers, favourites & reviewers. You are all wonderful with your support!

I do not own any characters or places; J.R.R Tolkien or Peter Jackson and Co do.

Enjoy!

Chapter 11: Tauriel

"Legolas said you fought well today."

She stopped at the sound of the king's voice. There was something in it that got warning bells in her head to ring. She turned around to look at him. Thranduil was holding a cup – probably celebrating because he had gotten the dwarf king safely locked up in his dungeon – and he looked at her with a knowing look.

"He's grown very fond of you."

Unsure what to say, she stumbled to find the truth, the right words. She looked away from the king, who looked so like his son, and kept her gaze fixed on something nonexistent in the distance.

"I assure you, my Lord, Legolas thinks of me as no more than a Captain of the Guards."

Both of them knew that it wasn't entirely the truth. They had been friends long before that and they were more friends than anything else. At least, that was what she had thought. She swallowed and tried to calm her heart that had started to pound with a terrible force.

"Perhaps he did once", admitted Thranduil, walking her way. "Now, I'm not so sure."

She thought words failed her once more and she shook her head, mouth open in clear disbelief. Or perhaps it wasn't disbelief, but denial. She cared for him, she always had and a part of her loved Legolas, a part she had kept very closely guarded in later years because of the fear that a conversation like this would come up. Thinking back on all the times they had spent together, she knew that others had always looked strangely upon them, but she had never cared.

Finding her voice again, she approached the king with another angle of the problem, because she was almost certain that it was how the king saw the thought of his son and her as something else than friends; a problem.

"I do not think that you would allow your son to pledge himself to a lowly Silvan elf."

She couldn't help the small, bitter smile that stretched her lips at that. Her upbringing and position had never been something they had discussed before as a problem, but she couldn't help but speak up. Her blood was still hot from the fight with the spiders and irritation of not getting permission to exterminate them once and for all. It made her bolder.

"No, you are right, I would not", Thranduil agreed, pouring himself another cup of wine.

The words hurt more than she had expected and she was glad that she wasn't face to face with the king, because she didn't want him to see her disappointment.

"Still, he cares about you", he continued and his rich voice had the same tone as if he would discuss something insignificant. "Do not give him hope where there is none."

She felt stupid and sad. She didn't answer right away, because there was a strange lump in her throat that was in the way for any words she might have liked to say.

. . . .

She escaped to the dungeons. She knew she would be alone there, not counting the prisoners. The other elves would be upstairs, celebrating Mereth-en-Gilith. Before, she would have wanted to join them, but now she didn't want to face the king again or his son. Everything had gotten a lot more complicated then what she liked and she didn't know how to approach Legolas without risking hurting him in some way. No matter what, that wasn't something she wanted to do, ever. She cared for him too much.

The water from the falls made the walls seem as if they were moving, streaks of gold and silver upon them. The sound was low and fresh, calming her and she found the checking on the prisoners almost enjoyable.

Some of the dwarves ignored her, crawling deeper into their cells so the shadows engulfed them. Others only stared at her, rudely and angry, hostile. She found that she didn't mind; it was refreshing to see someone with emotions clear on their faces and not the collected expression that the elves often wore.

The dwarf king's eyes held the most anger and emotions. It was as if looking into a cloud of thunder, a raging sea or a hurricane. He didn't move a muscle as she passed his cell, only stared and she felt her heart go out with him, but hurried past before he could catch glimpses of pity in her eyes. She knew how horrible it felt to be trapped.

She came to the last cell too quickly for her liking, because she knew she would have to go upstairs after and face something she didn't know how to handle. She sighed hopelessly inside.

She recognized the last dwarf as the one that had been oh so charming before. She had saved him from a spider. He looked different from the others, probably because he didn't have a large beard like the rest of them. He looked young and bored, tossing a stone up in the air before catching it.

Later, she would wonder why she did what she did, but at the moment it seemed as the right thing to do. She recognized the restlessness he showed, because she often found herself feeling the same.

The dwarf looked bored, but when his eyes met hers – he had very dark eyes, she noted – they held interest, not anger, and that was a surprise. He quickly looked away and continued tossing that odd stone.

She moved closer to the cell, looking at him through the bars of the door. Her eyes shone with curiosity and she spoke eight words that came to change her vision on the world:

"The stone in your hand, what is it?"