She's getting closer...


The sun was just beginning to set the next evening when the palace came into sight.

It was no surprise to Tauriel that there was a welcoming party at the end of the bridge. Alaren's entire unit was fanned out across the entry into Thranduil's halls—she'd half expected to see the king himself if his concern was really as great as Feren had made it out to be. But a part of her was also glad she had a few more minutes before she had to face him, though it was hardly like to be enough to prepare herself for all his inevitable questions.

Alaren was at her side before she'd even climbed down from her horse. "Mae athollen, Tauriel," she said with a smile. Her gaze was then drawn to Thêllenn, who lowered her head and nudged the elleth's hand with a nicker.

"Is this horse a Meara?" Alaren asked as she cautiously scratched the mare between the ears.

"She is indeed," Tauriel replied as she climbed down. "She is called Thêllenn, and she journeys with us because she chooses to do so."

Feren snorted. "You she seems to like," he said to Alaren as he walked past her.

Laivindil chuckled softly. "What the aranel neglected to mention is that we met this beautiful creature in Rohan, after camping with some fur traders there. They claimed to have seen her roaming around for days as though waiting for someone, and Tauriel seems to be the person she was waiting for. The mare approached that night and has traveled with us since. You're the first she's let touch her other than my Lady."

Alaren grinned, then turned her eyes to Tauriel. She let them roam over her as though assessing her condition, her gaze pausing as it fell on her midsection. A soft gasp escaped the other elleth's lips and she looked up again.

"How wonderful," she said. "There has not been a babe born to a lady of Mirkwood in more than three hundred years."

Then, to the surprise of several of the elves present, Alaren reached up and drew Tauriel into an embrace. "He will be so happy to see you again," she whispered.

Tauriel tightened her hold on her friend at the words spoken just loud enough that only she could hear—and there was no doubt as to whom Alaren referred. Tears stung eyes closed tight as emotion swelled beneath her breast, and she responded with, "Do you really think so?"

"He loves you, Tauriel. You hurt him, I will not lie, but I know that he still loves you. Forgiveness will take time, but with a child between you, I'm sure it will take less than were you not blessed with new life."

Drawing a ragged breath to keep the tears from falling, Tauriel nodded and drew back. "Feren says the king was worried for me. Is that so?"

Alaren chuckled. "He was certainly not happy when I relayed news of your departure," she said.

"Great. Yet another man I've now a need to appease," Tauriel muttered, then proceeded to make her way across the bridge. Inside the palace gate, grooms waited to take the horses to the stables; they were surprised when not only was one of them not bridled or tethered in some way, but that she went along with minimal direction from Tauriel, who informed them they need not attempt to handle her, only to guide Thêllenn to a stall and she would enter of her own accord.

The four who'd guided them through the woods along with Feren and most of Alaren's company departed after that, the lieutenant and the captain taking point as they were led through the halls to one of the many reception rooms. Feren took up a post by the door with another guard as Alaren quietly directed the group of five to make themselves comfortable around the table, while she notified the king they had arrived.

Nervousness immediately settled in Tauriel's limbs—she wanted nothing more than to get up and pace, but she forced herself to remain seated, her hands clasped together in her lap, the appearance of calm stealing over her even though she felt anything but.

It was only a few minutes later that Thranduil swept in with Alaren on his heels. Tauriel and those with her stood and gave the formal salute.

"Tauriel, glass nín gen achened," he said, holding his hands out to her.

Tauriel stepped forward and took his hands in hers as she bowed her head again. "My Lord," she greeted him softly.

"Captain Alaren, you mentioned our Tauriel was wed," Thranduil said casually. "Now I see that she is with child also—my, my, iell nín, you have been a busy elleth, haven't you?"

The king dropped her hands and turned toward the table, where he naturally took the seat at the head. When she and her companions had been seated, Thranduil looked to Tauriel with a searching gaze, then said over his shoulder, "Feren, go and see to it that the kitchen sends up refreshments for our guests."

"Yes, my Lord," Feren replied, and was gone in an instant.

"So, Tauriel…" the king began, "I see you have decided to trade your prince for a king."

He could have meant Kíli, who had been a prince among his people. He could have been referring to Legolas, his own son. And though she was certain Thranduil was only attempting to jest, the remark stung just the same, and she felt her cheeks alight with color. Tauriel made no reply and hoped the awkward moment would pass, but Laivindil, whose loyalty already astounded her, was not so inclined to let it lie.

"I beg your pardon, sir," the Dúnadan said hotly, "but that remark was entirely uncalled for."

Her adoptive mother admonished her softly; Tauriel could see in her peripheral vision that Thranduil was surprisingly amused by the outburst, the corners of his lips turned up in the barest hint of a smile.

"Your mortal friend is quick to defend you," he said in Sindarin.

On the other side of Tauriel, Laivindil raised an eyebrow. "Do not be so quick to presume that said friend cannot understand Sindarin just because she is mortal," the girl retorted in perfect, Lórien-accented Sindarin. "I was raised by these good elves here—" She indicated Tirinwë and Ceridwen. "—and thus know just as much of that particular Elven tongue as you do. In fact, I likely know Quenya better than Your Majesty."

Thranduil mimicked her expression. "Is that so?" he asked in Westron.

Tauriel placed a hand on Laivindil's arm. "I am grateful that you would stand up for me, Laivindil, but it is not necessary. King Thranduil, I am sure, meant his words as a joke."

She turned to him then and let him know with her eyes that she was no more pleased than the girl beside her. "Unfortunately, his sense of humor has been hidden away for thousands of years and he is no longer practiced in its use. Therefore he does not know what jests are in good taste and which are not."

Thranduil's expression changed immediately. Oddly enough, he appeared to her both sorry that he had made an error and angry that she had put him down in return, in front of an audience no less.

Laivindil, it seemed, would not be easily appeased. "Forgive me, Aranel, but even a king should respect those he has deemed his guests—even more so one he has referred to as 'my daughter'."

The tension that had quickly mounted was momentarily broken by the arrival of two maidens from the kitchen and Feren, who returned to his post by the door. The ellith entered carrying trays, one with a large bottle of wine and several glasses, the other laden with fruits and cheeses and bread. From the first tray the glasses were taken and set before each of them, then filled before the bottle was returned to the tray where it sat on a side table. The tray with the food was sat in the middle of the table around which they were gathered. Once their task was complete, the kitchen maids curtsied to their king and retreated as silently as they had entered.

Thranduil picked up his glass and took a drink of the wine, his eyes on Laivindil, before he said, "Young lady, whether you are more versed in the ancient language than I is debatable, but suffice it to say I do know the Quenya word for 'princess'—and your use of it is entirely out of place," he said, and Tauriel noted a trace of his old, familiar arrogance seeping into his tone. "There is no royal blood among the Silvan Elves in my lands—or any land, for that matter."

"Not even you," Laivindil shot back. "For I know much of the history of this world, and I know that you were not born into royalty. Sindar you may be, but had it not been for the graciousness of the Silvan Elves of this land in taking your father as their lord, you would not have had a crown to inherit. You ought show greater respect for those you rule over, for without them you would not be king."

Silence so deep one could have heard a pin drop in the next chamber descended over the room as the king and his guest stared at one another. They were all of them surprised when suddenly Thranduil laughed.

"You—Laivindil, is it? I like you," he said. "So very few are willing to speak their minds in my presence—apparently I am rather famous for my temper."

He shot a knowing look at Tauriel as he spoke the last, and she could not help but smile. "I would have you tell me," he went on, "why you called Tauriel 'princess'."

"The epessë was given to her by another," Laivindil replied. "Like she, I use it as a mark of respect."

Thranduil looked to Tauriel. "And why would this 'she' Laivindil speaks of anoint you thus?"

Tauriel drew a breath, wondering how to explain. In truth, she'd not intended to reveal to the king what she had learned about her heritage, as she didn't see the point. It didn't change her situation at all, didn't change who she was. Learning about Maglor, and by extension her kinship with others, only told her where part of her family had come from.

She had, however, planned on telling Bard. While her being born of royal blood meant little to her, he, of all people, she wanted to know everything there was to know about her.

"It would seem, my Lord," she began slowly, "that I am not Silvan after all, as you and I have long believed."

Over the next few minutes, Tauriel spoke of her trek through the mountains—though not precisely why she had traveled that way—her encounter with the orc horde, and her rescue by Rangers of the North. She told him of her time in Rivendell, how Elrond had written to his foster father with the suggestion she might be his kin, and how on meeting Maglor for the first time, she had sensed the bond of kinship herself.

She did not mention the part Ranárë had played in the series of events—something told her that it would be best she kept her name out of it. Though she was insanely curious as to what had transpired between the Maia and Thranduil that the other woman would decline to return to the Woodland Realm, even after more than two millennia, instinct told her the king's mood would alter drastically upon hearing she had been involved.

Tauriel did, however, say that she had seen Legolas in Imladris. At this news Thranduil smiled, and she could see great relief in his eyes on hearing that his son was alive and well.

"He was, as he told me, quite surprised that the Ranger you suggested he seek was but a boy," she finished with a smile.

Thranduil grinned. "I did tell Legolas there was something he would have to learn for himself," he said. "I never said it was the only thing. Strider, as I know he is called, is quite the horseman for one so young."

Melvar perked up from his place across from Ceridwen. "Indeed he is, my Lord. Never have I seen a child of the Dúnedain learn to ride so well so fast. 'Tis how he earned the name Strider."

Thranduil nodded in acknowledgement, though his expression told Tauriel he'd already been well aware of that fact. That he did not say so aloud was small surprise to her, as in days past he'd rather enjoyed letting others know that he already knew something. Perhaps he really was trying to change.

The king then queried Tirinwë and Ceridwen as to how they'd come to raise a mortal child, and they recounted the story for him. Pride was evident in their voices as each spoke of what a bright, intelligent little girl she'd been, as well as what an accomplished young woman she had grown to be. Color bloomed in the girl's cheeks when her mother said she hoped Laivindil would someday soon find a Dúnedain husband with whom she could share a long life and many children.

"Dúnedain, are you?" Thranduil said to Laivindil. "Well, that certainly explains why Elrond would be willing to teach one not of our kin his knowledge of medicinal lore. He's always had a fondness for his brother's descendents."

Thranduil next spoke briefly with Melvar about the Rangers, then informed Tauriel about the Halken refugees he had hosted until just a few weeks ago. She was disheartened that so many had died, but pleased some had survived and were now safe in Dale. Soon after, the impromptu dinner ended and the others in her party were directed to chambers where they could sleep for the night. The king walked alone with Tauriel to her old, familiar room in silence. She knew it would not last—though he had not focused on it during the reception, his thoughts were no doubt centered on his son and what she'd told him about herself.

As they entered her old living quarters, Thranduil said softly, "There is a part of me that suddenly feels as though I ought to apologize to you yet again."

"Whatever for, my Lord?" Tauriel countered.

"You were born of royal Ñoldor blood. Though I have long considered many of them naught but pretentious snobs, I have always respected the royal houses. Even more, I took you into my home as a foster-daughter, for all intents and purposes a position that was akin to being a princess. I ought have treated you as such, yet for six centuries—though I showed you favor—I behaved toward you as though you were no one of importance," he replied as he strode over to the fireplace. "I've behaved that way toward everyone, as though there were none who mattered save for myself and my son."

He turned to her then. "I've been quite the arrogant bastard toward our people, haven't I?"

Tauriel wasn't sure how to respond to that. She wanted to be blunt, but she was so stunned to be once more confronted with this introspective side of her king she was afraid to be so honest. Then again, he needed to hear the truth no matter how painful.

"My Lord, you have been… Well, I suppose arrogant is the word," she said at last. "'Ill-tempered' I've heard you described more than once. Although certainly kings and lords ought be afforded due deference as deemed by their station, no one person is unimportant. No one should be considered inferior to another. Laivindil is right, I must say. Had the elves of this land not granted your father lordship over them, you would not be a king now. For that you should certainly show those of Silvan blood—to whom this forest was home long before you called it such—a great deal more respect than you have thus far given them. If Legolas wants to marry a Silvan elf someday, let him. If he wants to marry a mortal daughter of Men, bless his union and hope he is happy.

"As for myself," she went on, "what's done is done. You cannot take back your harsh words nor can I unhear them. And the truth of my lineage matters little in the grand scheme of things. I may have been born of royal blood, but I can hardly claim the title of princess when that same title was forsaken by my grandmother the night she abandoned her husband. Maglor is now a prince of nothing, and I have no kingdom to inherit. There is truly little point to my having learned of being a princess when in the end it is but a small part of who I am. It is not my whole story. Ñoldor I may be by blood, but Silvan I will always be at heart."

Tauriel sighed then and offered Thranduil a small smile. "Dwell not on what is past, my Lord. Seek only to be better for the future."

Thranduil studied her a moment, then crossed the room and placed his hands on her shoulders. He smiled as he said, "You have grown so much in so short a time, Tauriel. You continue to amaze me with how open-minded and generous you are. I curse myself for all those years that I was too blind to appreciate that part of you—that I was too blind to appreciate you for who you are. And I would have you know that even in my rage from the battle, and the loss of so many of our kin for so worthless a reason, I could not have killed you."

With a nod, she acknowledged his words. "I could no more have shot you with that arrow. We are neither of us kinslayers, my Lord. In that I am certain that my ancestors' blood does not taint me.

"You have grown as well," she went on, regarding him thoughtfully. "That you would admit your flaws and failings and express your desire to correct them, and reveal some of your innermost feelings—though I hardly think you have touched the surface—to one whom you banished and a son of Men… That is proof enough to me that you have seen the need for change and are making an effort to do so. Already I can see some result of your efforts—you are more welcoming and approachable. You smile more. Even the forest seems lighter of late. When we traveled through from the west gate, I noted there was much green in the leaves and color on the ground amongst the bushes and flowers. There was much more light, also—you've had someone thinning the canopy, haven't you?"

"Indeed," Thranduil replied. "Soon sorties will be sent out to burn the spider nests as those fell creatures sleep. I am even considering a raid on Dol Guldur to hit them at their source, as you have long suggested we do. I only wish to be certain our people will suffer no losses in the endeavor, so it will take much planning."

Tauriel knew that the safety of his kin was paramount to Thranduil, and she was glad that he was, at long last, taking her suggestion to heart. "I do not doubt you will see the task done and all lives of our kin spared, my Lord."

Thranduil bowed his head in acknowledgement. "I believe you will make a fine queen for the people of Dale. You are so very kind-hearted and forgiving, iell nín—"

A sigh escaped her. "Why do you keep calling me that?" she asked. "It was not even a year ago that you declared I was not good enough for your son, yet each time we have met since the battle, you have addressed me as 'my daughter'. For that matter, why do you make your confessions to me? We have spoken more deeply in the nine months since that fateful day than ever we did in the six hundred years prior."

The king stared at her for a long, silent moment, then breathed a deep sigh through his nose. "I have done you wrong, Tauriel, and I desire to make amends. One mistake I made is not treating you as I should have—as a daughter, as when I gave you a home alongside my son that is what you should have been to me. Another, I see now, was denying Legolas a chance to follow his heart to you, for then you truly would be my daughter." He snorted. "He's not likely to forgive me for that anytime soon.

"As to making confessions," Thranduil continued, "even a king must vent his feelings and frustrations, and as we both know mine have been held in check for far too long. Who else can I speak to if not the closest thing I have to a daughter? If not the closest thing I have to a friend?"

Tauriel blinked. "You mean Bard?" she asked, incredulity obvious in her tone.

"Who else?" he replied with a slight lifting of his shoulders. "You did mention him before as one to whom I have made confession—which tells me he spoke of it to you."

"He spoke to no one else if that is what concerns you."

Thranduil shook his head. "I am not concerned at all, so long as the two people to whom I make confession share those confessions with no one else."

The look he gave her was pointed, and she could not help but smile. "There is one other, my Lord, to whom you really ought confess your feelings when the next opportunity presents itself."

"Really now? And just whom do you think I should speak to?"

"Legolas. Your son should hear you say that you love him. That you're sorry you stood in the way of his happiness."

Raising an eyebrow, Thranduil retorted, "Bard should hear you say the same thing."

Tauriel looked down at her feet. Thranduil was no fool—Alaren had told him she was wed, and he'd seen that she carried a child. He had already concluded Bard was her mate, and so it was not too far a leap of logic for him to have guessed what had driven her to run away. "He will hear those words on the morrow. I only hope he can find it in his heart to forgive my foolishness," she replied sadly.

"I think he will. Mortals have an incredible capacity for forgiving the transgressions of others, especially those they love." He crooked a finger under her chin and raised her head so that she looked him in the eye. "I must confess, Tauriel," he went on with a slight smirk, "that I sensed a connection between the two of you the moment I set eyes on you that first day of your journey. You might not yet have been aware of it—"

"More like I was fighting it," Tauriel said with a small laugh.

"—but it was there," Thranduil said. "And it was strong. I was not entirely surprised at the timing either, for you have such a great desire to love and be loved. And I was certainly pleased that you hadn't fallen for another dwarf—your taste in men has much improved."

Tauriel narrowed her eyes and Thranduil laughed. "You really need to work on your sense of humor," she told him. "While I appreciate your efforts, I don't appreciate the reference. There's not a damn thing wrong with anyone loving a dwarf."

"Come now, Tauriel—surely you must see some humor in it," the king returned. "How would the dwarf have kissed you when your lips were so far above his own? He'd have had to climb atop a box to reach you!"

"And I would have loved him for desiring to make the effort," she retorted. "Dwarves are people too, Thranduil. You really ought to remember that."

"Being a better king to our people will take little effort," he said. "Being kinder toward dwarves will take far more. You can hardly expect me to make more than one personality change at a time."

Tauriel lifted an eyebrow, then turned and made her way toward the door and opened it. Thranduil took the hint and moved to join her.

"Keep it in mind just the same," she said. "For soon enough you will have an entire kingdom full of dwarves living right next door."

Thranduil emitted a disgusted noise as he stepped across the threshold into the corridor. "Don't remind me," he muttered sourly, before turning and gracing her with a smile. "Good night… Aranel."

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, she replied, "Good night, aran nín."


Sindarin:

Mae athollen – Welcome back.

glass nín gen achened – it is my joy to see you again

ellith – female elves (plural)

aran nín – my king