disclaimer.
All belongs to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson.

additional notes.
Tauriel's POV of Stronger Than Morgul-Spells.

October 25th 3018, TA

Tauriel had known that she had came back from Ravenhill a little less whole than she had been before. It would take a fool to miss it and Tauriel hadn't been made Captain of the Guard for being a fool. She had felt each moment of her loss without cease- every heartbeat that stuttered into nothingness when she had seen a dark head of hair from the corner of her eye, every smile that had never wormed its way on to her face and every laugh that shrivelled in her chest because the same jokes weren't as funny as they had once been. Each jagged piece of herself, lodged in her throat and her chest, was a constant, throbbing agony.

"You hurt," her brother had told her on one of the long nights that she had spent crouched and retching into their toilet, wracked with nightmares that refused to abate, and he by her side, smoothing back her hair, "but you are not broken. You are Tauriel- you will heal, sprite, and get better. You are not broken."

She had thought she knew better than her brother. If she was not broken then what was she? Not broken! One of the only thoughts that remained amusing to her. Her stars were pale and washed-out, a dying mimicry of the former beauty she had attributed to them; her fighting was for nothing more than hoping to feel something at last- and in vain, for not even the injuries she had been dealt pained her; and her fëa is shattered to the point where she doesn't think she could ever feel anything beyond her pain again.

Imladris proved her wrong; Legolas proved her wrong.

He had been her dearest companion from the moment she and her brother had moved from the isolated little homestead their mother had lived and died in. New to Mirkwood (she wasn't there when it was called Greenwood and cannot bring herself to call by the name Legolas insisted on), the youngest prince had taken it upon himself to show her around and settle her in. He had, at first, been the only person she would speak to until he introduced her to his friends on the guard and offered her a place alongside him. Despite the tension that had near ruined their friendship when Kí- the Battle of Five Armies was waged, it had been Legolas who could coax her into conversation, Legolas who had returned from the Dúnedain and noticed how she struggled, Legolas who she had sworn to stand by and felt at least some of the affection she had held for him before.

Broken people do not feel- Tauriel didn't either and had told herself that she was broken. Nothing then accounted for the pain she had felt hearing Legolas surge to his feet and pledge his bow to a suicide quest as though his life was something to be taken lightly. It had been as solemn an oath as the Eldar ever made, born of friendship and love, and though Elrond had announced that he would still consider whether there were any others who would fit better on the Quest in the months until the Ring's departure Tauriel knew he wouldn't disregard such a promise. To Mordor her prince- her friend- would then be faring.

Her feet couldn't take her away from the Council quick enough. If Tauriel stayed then she was sure she would explode in tears or fury in front of everyone- the Dwarves she had watched with grieving eyes, the Noldor who both she and her mother had loathed, the Men who turned up with little concern other than their greed, the Hobbits upon who this burden had been laid upon, the Istari who she still blamed for all those who had died at the foot of Erebor and the Elves who had been her friends yet watched her now with barely veiled concern and suspicion. For a moment, she thought they had let her leave in peace.

Then, amidst the murmur of voices as those assembled at the Council disperse, she heard Legolas, his footsteps loud as chased after her and his voice raised high in distress. He sounded as though his choice had hurt him. Good, Tauriel thought savagely, he knows how I feel now.

But Legolas was no mind reader and his pursuit didn't flag. "Tauriel!" he hollered, and she noted that he said her name as he always did: Tarry-el, rushed and hurried, cutting out the Ow sound with his brisk Silvan-influenced accent. As if he hadn't spited her in the Council by given up his life. As if he hadn't done the one thing he had always promised her he would never do and sacrificed himself in some noble act of heroism. As if he thought she wanted to talk to him.

Without thought, with only the want of comforting solitude in mind, her feet sped, the crack-crack-crack of her impatience like bones snapping as they struck unforgiving stone.

"Tau," he called again, a needle thin spike of desperation wheedling into his voice.

Nicknames now.

And weakness. Legolas had always let emotion rule his common sense, naïve as he was to the cruellest things in Arda; once, Tauriel had been much the same- impetuously hot-headed, acting with her heart as a compass until it had been dashed off the floor and irreparably broken- but she had learned where Legolas had stopped paying attention. It was his weakness that had lead him to induct himself into the so-called Fellowship of the Ring- what else was his friendship to Strider- Aragorn- the Ranger? A weakness, a fault of heart, an opening in the defences that both his father and, later, Tauriel had tried to instil in him. Perhaps he didn't have the strength to resist the crumbs of warmth scattered by the Dúnedain and the other mortals he had loved so- but he would learn.

Tauriel didn't have to be there for him to learn though.

"Please, wait up!" -this was her prince, her commander, her friend, and he begged her to wait- "Tauriel!"

Finally, her feet freeze.

"Tauriel," she remembered him saying before his sojourn with the Rangers, "come with me. Win back our king's favour by doing your job as it was supposed to be done. You grieve and I grieve for you- let me heal your hurts, sister, let me help."

He'd begged her then. She'd said no and then- She only had herself to blame really, for Legolas' future pain. If she had been there then she could have stopped him from forming attachments with his mortals- she could have reminded him of K- her pain and saved him. If Legolas died on the Quest, it would be her fault as surely as though she had spilled his blood herself for she had allowed his... fondness... to grow like moss on his soul. There was nothing beyond mind-numbing pain for one who befriended mortals- in this, at least, both she and Thranduil were in accord. Legolas, not so.

One more attempt, she promised herself, to save a friend.

No apathy- Legolas didn't respond to the coldest, bleakest of her moods. Her fury then. She dredged it up from the hollow of her heart, all her rage and her bitterness unfurling from the quiet ember she had muted it to until it formed a raging inferno that gnawed on any fuel it could consume with its searching fingers. Anger was useful, a tool Tauriel could bend to her will and use. (Use against Legolas.)

"Why?" she exploded- all her hate, her fear, her grief, her loss, she poured it into her voice and let it burst out in a yell. If she meant as more than a device to get what she wanted, no one but her would know. "Why should I stay? Why should I have to watch you kill yourself? It's not fair, Legolas, to ask me to stay and watch as you go off on a Valar damned suicide mission! You are my best friend, my prince, my brother in arms- and I am going to watch you run off to your death!"

Please don't make me watch you leave me.

"I did not do it to pain you-"

Tauriel thought that it would be easier to hate Legolas and all his Valar damned sincerity, if only he wasn't so nice. Something wet and cold trickled down her face. Blood? Sweat? No, tears. Tauriel was crying like she had never experienced loss in her life before- like she was a child seeking reassurance- and Legolas looked lost, broken and guilt stricken.

Embarrassingly, her voice was still thick with tears when she spoke, a spider web growing in her throat and choking her in her sorrow. "You never do, Legolas," -if he did, she could hate him without second thought and move on with her existence- "you are too good for that. Always too good for that, and that is why I must leave, or at least steer clear of you until you leave. I will take your messages to Thranduil, to your brother and to anyone else you would have them sent, but have Lastor send your messages to me instead of saying them in person. Give me that mercy at the very least."

Please.

"Tauriel-"

Tarry-el.

Tauriel turned away before her best friend's last words made themselves known to her. Let it be her name- let there be no sorrow attached to them but the sorrow she had borne all her life, let her take the coward's path for once in her life. Tauriel had never needed last words to rest easy- K- so many people had had their last words swallowed by the din of battle outside of Erebor- and why should Legolas' be any different?

It was always the walk away that mattered, Tauriel knew. It had to be strong, decisive, otherwise the temptation to turn around for one last look wouldn't be quashed; and one last look would turn into Tauriel shattering under pressure like a twig underfoot and rushing back to beg Legolas on bended knee not to go. But to show how much she cared, to openly show her grief- all her protections would fall and Tauriel would be nothing but a shiver of a person held together by stitches alone.

It was on the walk away that Tauriel was selfish for the last time (the very last, she promised herself) however.

The Man she had found Legolas that morning with stood, feet planted firmly to floor, just around the corner. She watched a whisper of amusement as he flushed an ungainly beetroot-red at being caught eavesdropping. It was clear he had heard everything and if Tauriel hadn't been as stretched taut as she was then she would have spat some insult at his feet and barged past with a contemptuous sneer. She was still weighing up the pros and cons (mostly the pros) of doing do, hating the fact he had heard her bare her soul, loathing the fact he no doubt thought her weak, when she slammed her shoulder into his.

Tingling, the force of impact trembled up her arm with a satisfying intensity but it didn't- couldn't- stop the quiet, whispered plea that slipped from between pursed lips, even as she carried on forward without pausing for reply:

"Look after him."

to be continued.