Tauriel swallows hard, pacing tiny circles in the little front room of their home as she tries not to let her nerves get the better of her.
A week of searching and preparation has led up to this moment, and while she is definittely excited, a larger part of her is terrified.
For the first time in almost a dozen centuries - for the first time since the orcs had destroyed her childhood village and changed her fate - she is going to see her parents.
And she is scared to meet them.
After all, they haven't seen her since she was small, and now she is an adult. On top of that, she is blind - a symbol that she has done something truly horrible, regardless of what favor Thranduil currently holds her in - what if they are disappointed in her?
But more than that, she is haunted by the fear of them remembering the day that they died.
Remembering the way that Tauriel had stood, stupid and trembling, and simply watched as they were struck down in front of her. What if they held her responsible for that?
The worry leaves her tense with anxiety, her hands wringing in front of her as she waits for the Lady of the Greenwood to arrive with the two elves that brought her into this world.
Only the knowledge that she is not paying enough attention to avoid tripping over anything has kept her from pacing the room fully, her nerves bubbling through her veins and demanding some kind of action to save her from the creeping sense of dread that has been building for the past couple of hours as she waits.
But now it is noon.
A gentle knock at the door makes her startle like a rabbit, her chest heaving as she whirls to face the sound in a panic.
The slight shift of cloth from behind her tells Tauriel that her action did not go unnoticed, and she does her best to feign calm as she hears the elvenking rise from his seat at the table to cross to her side.
"Tauriel?" Thranduil asks softly, his fingers brushing against her arm. "What is wrong, child?"
She shakes her head hard, drawing back as nerves writhe sickeningly in her stomach.
A few long steps in front of her, she can practically feel the three figures waiting patiently outside of the door to be invited in.
"I've changed my mind. I can't do this," she begs.
"Come now, there is nothing to be afraid of," he soothes, and she feels his hand stroke over her head as he tries to calm her, but she is too worked up for such a simple trick to work.
"What if they don't want me?" she breathes, and she hears a light rustle as Thranduil shifts at her side.
"Why wouldn't they want you?" he asks gently, seeming genuinely confused.
Tauriel swallows hard as she feels herself tear up.
"I am blind; and regardless of your forgiveness I am a traitor. When the orcs attacked, I stood by and did nothing as they were killed. What if they're disappointed in me? What if I'm not what they wanted their daughter to be? It has been centuries - they may not even remember me. What if they have replaced me?" she lists, aware that she is speaking too quickly, panic setting in as she takes another step back. "Why would they want me, as I am now? After what I've done?"
"Ssh," Thranduil hushes her, gathering her into a hug before she can retreat any further. "Tauriel, you are being absurd," he scolds gently. "Of course they will want you. Trust my word as a father, if nothing else. They will be thrilled to have their daughter back, regardless of what she has or has not done."
Tauriel shakes her head in mute protest, but Thranduil calls for their visitors to come in before she can tell him to send them away.
The metallic jiggle and scrape of the doorknob turning seems to reach her in slow motion, her breathing rapid and shallow as she goes absolutely rigid.
"Breathe, child," Thranduil murmurs against her ear, giving her shoulder one last comforting squeeze before stepping back, leaving her cold and stiff and trembling in the middle of the room.
All alone.
"Tauriel," the Lady of the Greenwood calls after a long second. "Are you there, dear?"
Tauriel isn't even sure that she manages to nod her head.
"I brought visitors," Thranduil's wife calls gently, the slight creak of metal hinges indicating that she is swinging the door further open.
Tauriel swallows hard, trying to hold her ground.
It almost strikes her as funny, that she could stand against orcs and spiders without an ounce of hesitation, but now she is terrified to meet the couple that birthed her. She is trembling like a rabbit as she hones her senses forward in wary preparation, her pulse rushing.
Tauriel can hear Thranduil's wife step through the door, murmuring "please, do come in" to whoever is following her, and she forces a slow breath as she hears two more sets of footsteps come into the house.
For a long second there is silence, seemingly only broken by the pounding of her heart in her ears, but then Tauriel hears someone catch their breath from across the room.
"Tauriel?"
The voice is achingly familiar, even if she has not heard it in ages, and Tauriel knows without the shadow of a doubt that this is her mother.
"My baby...my darling girl," her mother says, her voice tight with tears, and before Tauriel can even speak she hears three quick steps approach over the hardwood floors and she is swept up into a hug.
The smells of mint and chamomile and willow bark and wool surround her, soft and warm and comforting. The woman's touch is gentle yet desperate, drawing her closer, closer, closer, until all Tauriel can feel is love as the stranger who is her mother cradles her close.
"Tauriel," her father breathes barely a heartbeat later, as if it is the most precious name he's ever known, before crossing to her side and embracing her as well.
The smell of leather and horses and freshly cut wood join the herbal sweetness of her mother's scent, reminding Tauriel of a little cottage in a woodland clearing; laughing voices and whispered bedtime stories and her name being called a hundred million times in the tones of the two voices before her, and her breath catches sharply up in her throat as hot tears flood her eyes.
And then Tauriel is sobbing and apologizing and saying over and over and over "I missed you," and "please forgive me" and "I love you" and calling them Nana and Ada just to hear the sound of the words in her own voice after so many centuries apart.
Her mother is crying in joy, hugging Tauriel tight against her chest and rocking her like she is an infant as her father strokes her hair and murmurs her name, his voice tight with emotion.
"We have missed you, nitya peccuvo," her father says, a smile in his voice, and Tauriel is surprised by the rush of memories that are brought back by her father's nickname for her.
Little squirrel - for her red hair and love of climbing trees.
Tauriel can't even find the words to reply, her vocal chords tied into a knot in the middle of her throat as she blinks tears over her face and desperately tries to bring back a mental image of her parents from when she was young.
It is faint - mostly blurred colors and old emotions - but it is there. And she matches it seamlessly with the touch and sound and smell of the two in front of her.
Tauriel scrunches her eyes shut, sending her pooling tears cascading over her cheeks.
It's them. It is truly them.
They're together again at last.
"You have grown so big!" her mother says, drawing back a bit and catching Tauriel by her shoulders to better examine her. "Let me look at you..."
But Tauriel stiffens as a sudden terror courses over her like a bucket of ice water upended over her head, and she braces herself sharply against her mother's gentle movements.
She'd almost forgotten.
With everything else, she'd almost forgotten that they didn't know about her blinding.
"Tauriel?" her father asks gently as he notices her go rigid, a large, calloused hand cradling her cheek to keep her from turning her head away. "Darling, what is wrong?"
Tauriel doesn't open her eyes. She doesn't dare.
She shrinks in on herself, suddenly self-conscious again at the realization.
They don't yet know that she is a traitor.
"Tauriel?" her mother murmurs, a soft hand cupping her other cheek in a mirror of her father's action.
Tauriel feels vile.
She feels a tear slip from beneath her lashes as her bottom lip wobbles, trailing hot over her cheek for a second before her mother's silken touch catches it and strokes it away.
"It's all right," her mother whispers, and Tauriel feels the brush of soft fingers over her eyelids. "I already saw. You don't have to hide them."
With a shuddering breath, Tauriel opens her eyes once more.
Her mother makes a soft noise, one that is half pity and half soothing, and Tauriel feels a gentle caress brushing her hair back from her face as she blinks another set of tears over her cheeks.
"Poor dear," her mother murmurs.
"Got yourself into a bit of trouble, did you?" her father asks, but Tauriel can detect no disappointment in his tone, only a light humor as he steps close as well. "You always were a wild-spirited child. Got that from me, I'm afraid."
A second later she feels him cup her cheeks in his hands, her father drawing her close to press a kiss to her forehead.
"Never you mind such a silly thing as that."
And just like that she is back in their embrace, hardly able to process what just happened for the shock.
They...don't care?
They know that she is blind - that she bears the mark of a traitor to her king and people - and they don't care? At all?
"Ada..." she whispers in shock, feeling her eyes brim.
She can hardly believe it.
In an instant, all of her fears about them rejecting her or turning her away have been solidly snuffed out.
They want her. They love her. They've missed her.
They don't care that she's blind.
"My poor darling," her mother says, voice strained with emotion as she hugs Tauriel close once more and presses a kiss to her temple. "You must have been so lonely... I wish we could have been there for you. To see you grow up."
"I wasn't alone, Nana," she promises, trying to soothe her as she feels the agony radiating from the woman's movement and voice. "I've had people looking out for me."
"Yes...and we both thank you from the bottoms of our hearts, Lord Thranduil, for watching after our little Tauriel for us," her father says, his voice getting a bit softer as he turns away from her, likely to bow to the royal.
"I'm afraid I have been a rather poor guardian," Thranduil admits softly, and Tauriel draws back from her mother to face the elvenking in shock, shaking her head hard.
"That's not true! You have been more kind to me than I have ever deserved!"
"Child," Thranduil chuckles weakly, and she hears him step close, feels the heat of his body as he leans near to press a kiss to the crown of her head. "You have always deserved far more love than I was capable of giving."
"You have kept her safe, and brought her back to us," her father reiterates. "And for that we can never thank you enough."
"On the contrary," the King presses, his voice soft with emotion. "I am the one that should be grateful. My heart had grown quite cold with the passing of my wife, and I had allowed myself to become distant and uncaring as both a father and ruler. Tauriel was the catalyst that finally brought me back around - that opened my heart to caring once more."
Tauriel feels her face flush a little at that.
It is rare for Thranduil to reveal his emotions so openly, especially regarding anyone other than Legolas, but she supposes that they're all a bit emotional right now.
She certainly is.
"My darling," her mother croons, something almost like pride in her voice as she strokes lithe fingers through Tauriel's hair.
"Nana," she murmurs in reply, still trying to make the name sound familiar on her tongue as she cuddles back into her mother's embrace.
The arms that circle her back are strong yet gentle, and very warm, and Tauriel soaks up every detail that she can, desperate to make up for lost time.
"I've missed you," she smiles, tasting tears on her lips.
"We are here now, my precious daughter," her mother croons as she strokes her fingers through Tauriel's hair. "And we will never have to leave you again."
Author's Note: Happy Thanksgiving!