Closures

A/N I have struggled with what this chapter should cover, where it should end and how; after many writes and re-writes I came to the conclusion that it should (for once) be sooner rather than later. Having lost my notes and earlier versions didn't help its progress either. I'm still not satisifed with it but have come to the conclusion I'm not likely to be so and that I might as well go with what I have. This chapter ends this part of the story arc but a little more abruptly than I had orginally intended so I hope its not too unsatisfactory for a reader.

As always I have tried to finish in a place where it is satisfactory as an ending should I be unable to continue to the next part, though I have every intention of doing so. (I hate the fanfic habit of manufacturing cliff hangers and then leaving the reader disappointed because there is never a completion).

I'm having problems with my spell checked so please excuse me if there are any oddities/spelling mistakes, I hope I have got them all but I can't be certain and I'm going crosseyed looking for them.

To Chloe

I can't respond you directly but thank you so much for your concern, your kindness warmed my heart on a rather difficult day.

Legolas left Bard's Hall un-noticed, the borrowed dark cloak hiding his finery and the hood pulled up to shadow his face and cover his hair. His circlet he had entrusted to the cloaks owner but he was well aware he did not need that to identify him as Thranduil's son, or even just as an elf, and the people of the town were very much interested in the elves of the wood. Their king and his son in particular.

Outside the air was heavy with the scent of roasting meats and the smoke of many fires, and though all the shops were tighly shuttered many brightly garbed pedlars mixed amongst the crowds offerring ribbons and scaps of lace as well as wooden toys, leaf wrapped parcels of summer fruits and honey glazed pastries. In the wider thoroughfares tumblers and jugglers and travelling players battled for an audience and the associated coppers whilst the doors of the ale houses were thrown open, their customers spilling put into the paths of passers by. Since the dragon fell and the goblin hordes had been routed men had started to move north from the desolate lands to the south, pledging their loyalty to Bard, and word had spread of his crowning bringing many to share in the festivities. Some would move on as soon as sobriety returned but others would stay, if allowed, helping to bring the land to the east of Dale back into cultivation. Legolas wondered what Dain would think of that for it would bring them closer to the Lonely Mountain and the Iron Hills and he was rumoured to have little love for Men.

In the larger squares spits had been set and those tending them were handing out bread trenchers filled with meat and roasted vegetable, some were more ambitious and had tables laid out with fruit tarts and pitchers of cream. Jugs of ale and mead stood beside them and even the occassional bottle of wine and brandy, and few who passed him were empty handed. Legolas smiled, Bard had made sure that the feasting reached well beyond his Hall and he wondered if he should see his fathers guiding hand in this, for Thranduill had ever been sure of the power of a well timed feast. Many were the evenings he had sat at his fathers side in some forest glade at the head of a long table laden with food as their people feasted and played the harp and sang. Thranduil had always been just as at ease sitting on a log beneath the trees as he was on his throne, more so it often seemed. Legolas caught himself wondering how he had ever forgotten such times, the accord between them and their shared love of the forest, and once more he promised himself he would never forget again.

The streets were thronged with people dressed in their best and brightest clothes, and lamps were lit on every street even though the summer night was pale and warm. Most had started their celebrations early in the day, or so it seemed, and were very merry, but guards were posted at each street corner to deal with those that became ill tempered with their drink and with those less than honest citizens or visitors who were still working on this holiday, looking for pockets to pick and the reckless to take advantage of. Though matters appeared good natured enough at present Legolas had little doubts the guards would find plenty to occupy them as the night wore on for he had noticed before that, unlike elves, many amongst men tended to become ill tempered when in their cups.

He pulled his hood closer around his head and slipped into the throng of people moving through the center of the City. Even with his face obscured by his hood his height and graceful movement attracted attention and several young women attempted to accost him as he made his way through the rowdy thoroughfares, their intentions unmistakable. He took no offence at it and he evaded their hands with humour and a smile, a lesson he had been required to learn before his father had allowed him out into the wider mortal world. His father had stood beside an army of mortal men for as many years as had passed since the dragons death and knew well their fascination with elves and some of its consequences and had not sent him out unprepared, something he had been thankful of on many occassions.

The scene was one of joyous celebration and yet he could not excape the sense of sadness that stirred within him as he watched their antics. He knew that it would be a very short passage of time by his reckoning that saw these carefree girls become matrons, their faces a map of their worries for their husbands and children, and not much more before their hair became white and their bones thin and twisted. Their lives were short, and those lives were all too often hard. Even the boy raised by Elrond, whose line were impossibly long lived by mortal measuring thanks to their long ago elven blood, would see little more than a Yen or two. For a moment paused and wondered what part of Eru's thought required that it be so, why the natures and fates of the first and second born should be so different.

A sudden shout brought his attention back to the present and he smiled as he watched a group of three lads chase a dropped silver coin as it rolled down the street. The thought was put away for later consideration, for tonight was not the time for such philosophy.

He moved on his way again only to come to an abrupt halt as one girl, more determined than the others, stepped before him and reached out to grasp his arm; a dark haired girl with bold and shining eyes, who managed to catch his hand before he could step around her. She leaned close and whispered to him, the scent of ale was on her breath but she was steady enough and her eyes were clear. Legolas smiled and shook his head, in no doubt of the offer being made though in truth he did not understand more than half the words she spoke. He raised the hand she held brushing her fingers with his lips before releasing them and sliding past her too quickly for her to catch a tighter hold, continuing on his way without a backward look. No mortal lass could hold interest for him, for they were but children now and in a tiny passage of time in his eyes they would be aged.

Once he had been regularly accosted in such a manner but those were the days when he travelled the lands of Middle Earth about his father's business, when he wandered the Cities of men and the courts of their kings, when he was set upon learning the ways of the world beyond their lands. Those times had passed when they had moved north and the shadow took Arman Lac, more than five Yen ago now, for the business of protecting their lands was too demanding to allow for either his father or himself to venture much beyond their borders. In his recent time upon the road his saddness had seemed a shield against their interest, a memory that brought a sharp surge of regret that he hurriedly pushed away. But he remembered those other times, and how to slide away with kindness, and he would spoil no ones revel this night if he could avoid it. The memories of those times in the lands of men were still fresh when he chose to recall them and he could not help but wonder how many of these girls would end this night of celebration with cause for regret, with lives made harder for a moment of pleasure.

Legolas paused again in the shadow of one of Dales fine new buildings and looked around him with a sudden sigh, nor would it be only the girls. Though all was calm and happy now he had seen enough of celebrations in mortal lands to know that more than one who passed him in these streets would lose their life tonight, to too much ale or a drink fuelled quarrel or a careless thief. Yet for all that their joy was great and he would not wish it less. He shook his head in amusment as a group of four youths passed him arm in arm, singing in a language he could not decpiher, swaying across the street in their drunkenness, all the cares of their brief lives set aside for a short while. Their conduct bemused him even as he smiled at it for elves were little affected by strong drink. The strongest wine might send them off to elven dreams if they imbibed enough of it, and that was a considerable amount, but the tipsy behaviour all around him now, that came upon men so quickly, was not known for them. Indeed in his life he could not recall seeing his father or any of his friends or guards so affected by the Dorwinnion they loved, strong as it was; though it was true they tended not to quaff it in the quantities that the sons of men considered usual. In fact the only member of his father's household he recall seeing affected by drink was Galion, who could often be found sleeping beneath a tree, wine flask in hand, at a feast.

Galion who had almost certainly drunk too much the night of the feast during which Thorin Oakenshield and his ragtag company had escaped.

But he pushed that thought aside for he had other things on his mind than Galion's foibles or the strange conduct of mortals, being far more concerned with the equally strange conduct of a certain elleth.

Legolas stepped back into the throng and quickened his pace for he recalled that his father had told him that Tauriel was to be allowed to stand the guard at the Battlestone only whilst Dain and his party were occuppied at Bard's revel; and that she was to be allowed to make some tribute to the dwarf Kili if she so wished during that time. Presumably her duty would end when the revelry in the Great Hall ended and the visitors turned towards their couches, if that was the case he had another bell or two at most before the elven guard was replaced by Bard's men. Legolas found himself wanting to see for himself what she chose to do with that permission.

xxx

"Lord Thranduil, I would have a few words with you." The tone was hectoring and the words a little slurred.

Thranduil did not need to look to see who it was that accosted him and sighed silently, it seemed that his moment of peace was at an end. Turning his head he saw that it was indeed the King under the Mountain that stood before him, a worried looking dwarf was standing to the side of the swaying king. Balin he thought he recalled the dwarf's name to be and unlike his king he looked to be painfully sober.

Schooling his face to an appropriately kingly calm Thranduil indicated the chair beside him, he did not stand for he knew that the difference in their heights was an ongoing irritation to the dwarf, irrational though it was, and after all they were both kings. Instead he inclined his head and smiled slightly.
"Lord Dain, you are welcome to join me, though on such a night of celebration I wish for Bard's sake that the words are of no great gravity. I would hope no threat has come to your notice, no words of goblin armies or packs of wargs, for I would not see Bard to have to go to war so soon after taking up his crown."

Dain huffed and waved his ale cup as he sank into the indicated seat, spilling some of the contents onto the hem of Thranduils robe. Balin winced and shot a nervous look towards the Elvenking, however that king showed no sign of noticing instead he satisfied himself with a silent sigh and mental apology to his laundress. Dain nodded.
"Aye, 'tis a notable night for him for he has journied far from his beginnings."
Thranduil inclined his head.
"True, but his kingship is well deserved is it not, and he is of the line of Girion? But for Smaug he might still have worn the crown he has taken this day."
Dain nodded gravely.
"Hmm, yes I suppose that is the case and as you say his crown has been earned, unlike some amongst the lands of men." Dain shook his head in bemusment. "To kill a dragon, who would have thought any marked for that in this age."

Thranduil noted the remark but let it pass unquestioned for Dain had supped too well for any rational discussion of statecraft or politics or the tenacity of dragons. Instead he sat further back into his chair and took a sip of wine before asking the inescapable question.
"What then was it you wanted to speak of?"

Balin's look of unease deepened and Thranduil had a sudden feeling of foreboding. The dwarfs next words confirmed his fears.
"Oakenshield, I would speak of Thorin Oakenshield."
The Elvenking supressed a sigh knowing the coming converstation would be tiresome and probably akward. Even so he kept his face and voice impassive.
"Indeed my Lord. Has the time for that not passed? It is more than seven springs since he was laid to rest beneath the mountain what more is there to say on the matter?"
Dain drew a deep breath then took a swig from his ale cup as if readying himself for some unpleasent task.
"I would know... I would know.." He took another swig of ale as if to stiffen his resolve. "I would know if you know why he lied to me in such a manner?" The words came out in a rush as if he wanted to distance himself from them.

Thranduil looked at him curiously, for it seemed a strange time to asking such a question. But there was a hint of determination and anxiety in the dwarfs eyes and he realised that he was serious in his desire to know. Unfortunate for this seemed to be neither the time of the place for such talk, yet he had the sudden feeling that if there was to be a moment when they might find some accords between them then this was probably it, inauspious as it seemed. The dwarf Balin was staring at his king with worry in his eyes and Thranduil had no doubt he had worked long and hard this evening to prevent this converstation. Yet he had failed.

The determined look upon the dwarf kings face convinced Thranduil he had little choice but to answer. If he tried to shrug of the question no doubt the other dwarf would support him in trying to deflect his king but would that seemed unlikely to be the best course of action. Certainly he had no desire to cover this ground again, he had said all he thought to say in the night before Oakenshields funeral, but though Dain was well into his cups he would almost certainly remember that he asked and had been brushed aside. If he did then it would not be forgiven and there would be no chance of finding any kind of peace between them in the future. Yet they needed that peace for for he did not doubt that Sauron would rise again and elf and dwarf would need to stand as allies. He had made one concilitory gesture, leaving Orchrist on Thorin's tomb, he could manage another if it allowed some comradeship to be fostered between them. Liking there could never be, but he had worn a crown too long to have illusions about the need to like ones allies, and some measure of respect for each other might still be possible. That was more important.

So he met the dwarfs bloodshot eyes directly and spoke softly.
"My Lord Dain, I can only tell you what I believe to be the case for the thoughts and intentions of Thorin Oakenshield is as closed to me as they are to you. This I have already told to you and nothing I have heard since causes me to be of a different mind. Thorin Oakenshield stood in my presence and hurled base and untrue accusations at me. Accusations that were so absurd, so impossible, that only madness could explain them, for anyone who had been there when the dragon arrived would have known them for the untruths that they were. However you were not there that day and so I accept that Oakenshield's story might have seemed less impossible to you."

Dain drew a deep breath and started down into his ale as he replied equally softly.
"Aye, I recall we have spoken of this before but it was my hope that the passage of time had allowed you to recall more, for we were both still hot blooded from the battle at that time."
He looked up at Thranduil from under shaggy brows.
"Tis true I was predisposed to believe him for he was my kin, though perhaps I should have given more thought to the matter than I did. Wondered more about the hows and whys than I did. For on my word it was not the thought of the gold that swayed me but the grief that we felt at the loss of so many of our kin that day. The idea, the suggestion, that some might have been saved, that aid had been to hand but withheld was what lit the rage in my blood. Perhaps it was easier to believe that, better to believe that, than know that they died because of Thrors recklessness alone."
His mouth twisted in grimace.
"You said that day that you thought that Oakenshield's madness stemed from shame, one that was too great to be borne and that he buried it under a comforting lie that passed that shame on to another. To you and your kin. Well having thought on this long and hard I think that you were right in that. For I cannot help but wonder if it were a similar shame that drove me to believe him so easily."

He turned his eyes back to the contents of his cup.
"No doubt you think me a rude and graceless fellow and perhaps I allowed my anger to overtake my manners but I believed him, though now I doubt my judgement in the matter. Do not mistake me I make no apology for my words before the mountain for had things been as he claimed then they would have been well deserved. However even had that been the case the manner of my speaking and the time of my speaking... it was not well done of me I will admit. Had a son of mine spoken in such a manner to another he would have felt my anger most keenly..."
The words tailed off and a look of deep discomfort settled on Dain's face.

Thranduil supressed a sigh, it seemed that the stiff necked dwarf still needed absolution and was no less incapable of asking for it. The truth was that he was little inclined to give it for the history between his people and the dwarfs was not a happy one for it was steeped in the blood of innocent elves shed by greedy and vindictive dwarfs, dwarfs that had also been lied to by their own. Yet he doubted that Dain knew much of that matter and what he did know would have been carefully framed to displace their guilt. But that was more than an age ago whereas Sauron's malice was like to be a curse upon this age and it must be that evil he was mindful of. For the sake of that, and the protection of his people against that evil, he would give as much absolution as lay within his power and grant Dain a palatable reason to put his anger and guilt aside.

He took another swallow of wine and exchanged a brief look with the unhappy Balin who still stood beside his king with a fearful look upon his face.
"Then let us put the matter aside my Lord." He said softly. "We are both kings with more than our own anger and grief to think of. Let us agree that you believed him at the time and that now you accept there was no truth in his words. Though your words angered me greatly for the sake of our peoples I would not see our future dealings shaped by them. I understand the anger you felt believing your kin to have been left to die when they could have been saved, I would have felt no less fury had I thought that my people had been left to burn. Let us agree that Oakenshield was mad and where true madness lies not even family can be held accountable for the consequences of their actions. He is at rest now, let the ill will he fostered rest too, for I fear that much greater pains may face us in future days. Let us not hamper our coming efforts by past strife, for I do not doubt that the Dark Lord would seek to make advantage of any ill accord between Goblin horde is routed for the moment but there can be no doubting that they will seek to increase their numbers and rebuilt the armies they lost that day. We may yet have to stand side by side against them again and I am sure that neither of us would wish to do that with resentment in our hearts. In the end we were comrades on the battlefield were we not, even Oakenshield, let that be what we remember."

Dain looked up and met his eyes with a straight look and despite his befuddled wits there was relief and thankfulness in that look. Balin seemed to hold his breath. The dwarf king was silent for a long moment and then he drew a deep breath and raised his ale cup in salute towards the Elvenking and nodded.
"Aye. That was so. Let that be what we remember."

xxx

Had it been any other square in the City no doubt it would have been thronged with lovers seeking shadow and dry grass for their assignations, but the square that was the place of the Battlestone was not any square and it was guarded day and night. Its tranquil peace was undisturbed by raucous voices or muffled passion and only the guards, stately and solemn, watched it as the stars picked out the inlays on the monument to those they had lost. Moths and other night insects fluttered and chiruped amongst the grass and plants, their singing a gentle descant to the murmering of a gentle breeze that stirred the summer foliage as it rippled over them. Legolas approached from the main thoroughfare, throwing back his hood to allow the guard captain to see who slipped in through the gate before he slid into the shadow beneath a young willow set beside the wall to provide shade to some woodland plants.

Tauriel was indeed amongst the guard party, standing at the point where face of the Stone that showed the dwarf action within the battle met that showing the elven action, yet she seemed to be unconcerned by her position. Only as he looked more closely did he see that her gaze was far away and that the starlight glittered on trails of tears that snaked down her face from her wide, unseeing eyes. It was clear that her mind was not on her duty, and he did not doubt that she was wandering again in memories of that day; what he could not be sure of was what those memories might be.

With a sigh he sank to the ground sending a mental apology to any plant he might disturb in doing so. Here the smoke from the fires and flares were less noticable and the air was heavy with the scent of flower and herb, lavender and rose in particular but also the scents of night stocks, lily and thyme. He breathed them in and felt his fea warm at the pleasure of the perfume, a tension he had barely been aware of melting on the warm night breeze that wafted the scent to and fro. Around him all was washed of colour, even to elvish eyes, and the white of lily and daisy stood stark against the muted greys and black of the rest of the memorial garden. The Battlestone itself cast a long shadow on the clipped pathways where camomile partnered the grass. This was a beautiful place in which to remember a dark and ugly fight and other deeds no less murky perhaps. For a moment he was content just to breath in the peace of this place and let his mind wander as it would.

Yet soon enough it turned to Tauriel and he sighed and looked towards her, still and pale in the starlight.

He seemed no closer to understanding what her thoughts on that day were than ever he had been. He believed what Mithranir had written of their conversation, he accepted his fathers account of her feelings towards her king, he did not doubt the longing and sorrow he had seen in her face that evening in the garden, but he did not know how to put them together to explain what had happened that winters day in this City. Nor could he explain his own feelings, for as he watched her he found that he no longer felt any sense of grief or loss at her rejection of his affection. Somehow it had taken on the quality of something he had read in a story and he could no longer recall why her approval had been so important to him nor what that need had felt like. His father had told him that it might happen and he had longed for it to do so, yet could not believe that he would be so fortunate. But it seemed that the Valar had been merciful and absence had proved to be the cure not a spur to greater devotion as once he had feared it might prove to be.

He watched her closely glad to find that some feeling remained, different though it was, that she had not become as nothing to him. That would have caused him as much disquiet as if his affection had persisted. No the outcome was more nuanced, more balanced than either of those. It remained the case that he felt sorrow for all that she had lost, for her mistakes and foolishness, for what ever fancy or anger had driven her to betray her people and threaten the death of her king, and he wished for her to find a way home, but that was all. The shadow of the longing he had once felt for her had fled, leaving only a faint regret. She would always be dear to him, of that he had no doubts, and he would forever wish for her peace and contentment, but the sharp edge of the emotion he had once known upon looking at her was blunted and his despair of that time had been replaced by a more gentle and meloncholy sorrow. Yet the time between the battle and this night was but a breath for an elf, how had it all melted away in so few turns of the seasons?

He sank back against the tree and turned his eyes away from her and to the summer sky where pale stars glowed against a sky more blue than black. Dawn was still some bells away but it was one of those warm summer nights where evening seemed to last from sunset until sunrise. The air was cooler than the heat of true day but still warm enough to think that the sun might still be on the horizon if you closed your eyes. His mind slid back to his return home, to the cold chill of winter, the steel grey sky and the ice that had wrapped his heart. He recalled again his early converstaions with his father, how guilt and shame had had him in their thrall, that and the fear of what remained to him and to her. He had not been aware of how much of that ice had melted since that day, but melt it had and now, though the guilt still had sharp teeth that could bite him at unexpected moments, particularly when he caught the hint of the shadow of grief in his fathers eyes or an uncertain look cast at him by one he hadn't seen since the battle, he realised that the constant misery had eased to a dull ache that was set aside or un-noticed much of the time. Perhaps the truth was that a lot of the healing had taken place upon the road but that he hadn't known it until he faced his turmoil and came home.

Legolas reached up and drew a leaf carefully through his fingers smiling at the joy the feel of its silky warmth brought him, perhaps he had only understood when he he set aside imagining and shouldered what was real.

He knew that he still had much to atone for but he no longer thought of that as an impossible task, and could hope that much was already accomplished, or so it felt on such a night as this. Much to his suprise as winter moved to spring he had recovered some measure of ease with his father no longer scrutinising every word or expression for some sign that he was not forgiven, no more did he see the expressions of his fathers guard as hiding contempt and distrust, though he knew he still had some ground to recover with them. He was content to be patient, to allow the process of recovery to take the time it needed, determined to shoulder the burden of regaining trust with humour and cheerfulness, to rediscover the joy in the world that had once been his.

But Tauriel, ai that was different, he still ached for his inability to save her from herself and knew that he would do so for some time.

The knowledge that his father had spoken the truth when he said that it was unlikely she would ever be able to return to the forest still pained him, even as he understood why that had to be so. More so now than he had when they had set out for Dale. She had shown herself willing to consider kinslaying in pursuit of her desires, whatever her desires and motivations might have been at that moment. No elf would ever be able to forgive that, certainly not those of the Sindar who had been the victims of the murderous actions of the sons of Feanor and their Noldar kin. For her there was little hope of return to what had been, nor was there any elven Realm remaining that would house her. No, his father was right Dale was the only avenue for her and probably would be for more years than the mortals dancing in the streets beyond the square could begin to imagine.

"My Lord?"
Legolas turned his eyes to the elf that stood beside him, the guard captain, and then he rose and inclined his head."Captain, all is well?"
The other nodded.
"It is."
He looked towards the Battlestone, to where Tauriel stood in soldierly silence.
"It has been as your father wished, my Lord. She was given a short time when we first relieved the previous watch in which to pay her respects and she has been positioned at a suitable place to look more upon the memorial if she wills it"
"Does she? Will it?"
"I truly cannot say my Lord. Nothing so obvious that I would notice it. She made some form of observance when allowed to approach the stone alone when we first arrived. But since then... well I could not tell you what passes through her mind. Yet I do not think it is in the present."

Legolas looked across to the elleth who had journeyed with him to Laketown on that winters day, her face was blanked of all expression and her thoughts guarded and private. Even he, who had known her since she was a child, could not discern her feelings. Regret? Despair? Longing? He could not tell now, not from her face nor from any other sense of her, and he found himself wondering how much of her feelings he had understood then. He recalled Mithrandir's assessment, that anger still dwealt within her and that she remained a danger to his father, and then the look upon her face as she had stared after the king in the garden. Like his father he found himself hoping that some part of her professed feeling for the dwarf had been honest, at least at that time, for he deserved that at least. But like Mithrandir he wondered how much of it, if anything, had been real even then, or remained now.

"No," he said softly, "she guards her thoughts well, perhaps too well for her own comfort but there is nothing that you or I can do to alter that."
"No my Lord. I wish that she had some friend amongst the guard with whom she might share her thoughts, but she does not."
Legolas shot him a questioning look.
"She is shunned?"
The idea troubled him but he would not in all honesty be surprised given her actions.
"No," The guard captain said slowly. "Not shunned as such for it is known that the king does not will that. But most know her actions that day and are cautious around her," He sighed. "Word creeps out for all the wish it does not, but perhaps it is better that the truth is known than that something even more montrous is surmised. Yet they are wary of her as if she was some new and strange herb whose properties they cannot predict. "
He smiled.
"All are loyal to your father, for he is our king by our choice and has led us well and kindly, and none can understand how she might threaten him in such a manner. Nor why she deserted her post and her duties. No more can they understand how she could conceive a passion for a dwarf much less on so short an acquaintence."
Legolas gave a short laugh.
"Aye that baffles us all I think. Perhaps even her. It is indeed strange."
The guard captain nodded.
"For that alone people are uncertain, fearful to say anything lest it be misconstrued, unsure what feelings they might stir in her. For her conduct is not what would be expected of a guard, nor of an elf of any lineage. Yet for all that she is excluded from nothing and all speak fairly to her, the garrison commander makes certain of that, for it is the kings order. But she shows no signs of wishing company and though none have had cause to complain of her conduct she sets all at a distance, wrapping herself in some barrier that none can pass even should they wish to."

Legolas nodded slowly.
"I do not find that unexpected. She carries much weight upon her and knows that some of that load can never be laid down. It is my fathers hope that in time she will come to understand why events have progressed as they have and find herself able to build her life anew here in Dale. I too hope that for her, but I admit that perhaps I am less certain of it for I better understand her guilt and shame."
The guard captain gave him a shrewd look.
"Of that I cannot speak my Lord but it is true that you were much with her at that time and so saw more of her deeds."
"I did, and like my father I saw her storm of grief when the dwarf died. It was but a handful of years past, little more than an indrawn breath to an elf after all, perhaps it is asking too much to expect her to have lost the numbness of her loss just yet."

The other elf inclined his head in apparent acceptance but something in his look convinced Legolas that he was not truly of that mind. He stepped back and bowed his head in salute.
"I must resume my duty, Lord, she is safe from any hinderance here and it is men of the guard of Dale who will relieve us. Will you stay?"
"Aye I will stay, the streets are rowdy and this place is comfort to the heart. I will leave when you do, until then I am content to sit and enjoy the night."
The guard captain inclined his head again and turned to rejoin his leftenants as they made their stately circuits of the square. Legolas sank down to the ground once more and settled back against the tree his eyes on Tauriel for a while before he turned them away to stare up at the summer sky and its blazing stars his mind drifting back to his own concerns.

So the night progressed. Tauriel remained unmoving at her post and as far as Legolas was aware at no time did she look upon the Battlestone again. Yet he thought that her tears continued in a gentle stream and her eyes remained fixed on some scene he could not share. If the tears were for the dwarf or for herself he could not judge, perhaps for both.

Legolas let him mind wander back to the day captured on the Battlestone, trying to recall how and why events had progressed as they had and failing. Yet he remained sure in his own mind that some external malice had been abroad, twisting events into shapes that should never have been. But what that malice was he cpould not say. Mithrandir had absolved her of being an agent of the enemy, and Legolas was most happy to accept that assessment, and yet he could not escape the feeling that some evil had been done to them, both to her and to him that led them to Ravenhill. Perhaps to his father too for why else would her bitterness have manifested itself in so unlikely a manner at such a time? If it was not Sauron that supplied that malice then from where had it come? For even though he now understood the strange and strained nature of her relationship with the king that a guard should act so at a time of battle still seemed improbable to him, at least without some other cause being present. Yet he had the feeling that should he ask her why she would have no answer for him, anymore than he had an answer for himself about his own strange and unnatural conduct that day.

A sudden thought took him, the dragon, had it been the dragon? Had the waking of Smaug somehow released a miasma of evil that had grown and slumbered with him as he lay upon the gold? Just as gold fever had settled so heavily on Oakenshield had there been some wider corruption released when the dragon left the mountain that had settled upon them? Hi sighed softly, perhaps but that would not explain her behaviour in the seasons before the coming of the dwarfs, nor his strange desire to please her. Yet... it might provide some cause for their behaviour that day. He laughted silently at himself, knowing that he was looking for explinations when in truth there could never be one. He would never know and he must accept that, they had done what they had done and it could not be changed. He would strive to gather what wisdom from it that he might.

He looked back to Tauriel still statue like in the starlight. He was not sure if she knew of his presence or not but if she did she gave no sign of it. For that he was glad for though he did not regret coming to the Battlestone this night he did not wish to intrude upon her thoughts, it was enough that he had been here to ensure she had her chance to make some farewell. Perhaps this would allow her some ease.

For himself he felt more at peace than he had since the day of his return even with the Battlestone in full view, a solid reminder of what had happened and how many had been lost. He let his mind drift again but this time on a different track, thinking of friends who had not returned home with the host, praying for their rest in the care of Namo, asking that one day they would meet again and he would be able to beg their understanding and forgiveness. Promising that he would do nothing further to give them cause for disappointment or to berate him for.

The bell rang out again across the city, though no watchman called the hour this night for none slept it seemed. He heard the slap of booted feet in the street beyond the square and knew that the next watch had arrived, and,casting one last thank you to the tree that had sheltered him, he rose and moved deeper into the shadow. He would not draw attention to his presence given that she had shown no sign of knowing it, for he would not have her think herself watched.

He waited in the shadow as the guard begin to leave the square, surrendering their watch to Bards's men, and as he did so a strange feeling of something being resolved stole over him. Elves rarely thought of ages passing, nor did they think in terms of ends and beginings of era as men might, for their lives were too long for that. Unless sent to Mandos by violence they saw the gradual change of things year by year, century by century, the oak rising from an acorn to fall as a venerable tree claimed by storm, the river shifting in its course as waters ebbed and flowed with changes far away, the hollowing out of cave and cavern; for them change came as a gradual progression in which they shared, not a sudden event. But as he watched Tauriel leave the square he had a sense similar to that of turning the last page of a chapter in a book, the story continues but that chapter had run its course, told its part of the tale, and though it might be re-read at some point in the future it would never have the power to suprise and hold as it did on first reading. So it was here with him and Tauriel, their lives would continue but they would never be entagled again as they were during those days before the battle at Erebor. Though he might remember it in future it would only ever be as a memory recalled. It was as his father had said when he first returned, they both had to find their own way to make peace with themselves and others for the events of that time and those ways would take them on different paths.

As moved to follow the guard captain he sent another silent prayer to the Valar, this one for her safekeeping and for her peace. He wished her well, hoped that she would find her way past her anger and grief to contentment if not happiness, but he knew now that he would not call back his feelings of that time for her even if he could. She would always have a special place in his heart but that niche would be as friend and kin and he was content with that. She must remain here and he did not think that he would visit often. He would work to regain himself, to rebuild the trust that he had lost and enjoy the peace within the forest with his father and their people until such time as evil rose again. When it did he would not be found wanting again.