In which both Thranduil and Tauriel keep on truckin' (but only one of them enjoys it), Yavanna continues to meddle, and Tauriel's father gains a little more memory. (God help them all.)

When Thranduil returns to the halls, he is beyond drained.

For the first time in months, he sleeps deeply without the aid of wine, so worn out that if he dreams, he doesn't remember it.

He wakes with Tauriel's hair still twined in his fingers, and rises to carefully put the strands in the jar with the first. He feels strangely empty, like his entire being has been hollowed out, but he can't say that it's a bad feeling. It is…neutral. Neutral, and strangely fragile, as though an errant breeze might shatter it.

Well. His forest is clear of spiders, Dol Guldur has been dealt with…what is he to do now? Sooner or later he will have to meet with Bard, and deal with Dain, but he is not ready for them, and with the shambles of both their kingdoms still to be repaired, he doubts they are, either. That can wait.

Meanwhile, he must find some way of distracting himself, or he will go mad.

It only takes Tauriel five days to reach the eastern edge of the forest, and then she rests.

Nothing and no one lies out here, so very far from the halls. Most of the Woodland Realm's inhabitants live west of the halls, for there are no roads out of the eastern side, and no opportunities for trade. There are a few recluses that live in the forests' interior, but this close to the edge, Tauriel has the run of the place. Even the patrols rarely come here; they do a sweep every so often in search of spiders, but there's otherwise very little to see.

She builds herself a proper little house among the boughs of a huge beech tree, the walls woven of sticks, the roof a sold construction of bark – for it does still rain in spring and summer sometimes, and she would rather her blankets and food stay dry.

For now, she's mostly eating plants, for she won't hunt until the fawns and foals have grown. She builds a little open-air platform beside the house, and plants herself an aerial garden.

She has a home now.

True, her house is rather ramshackle: it's wrapped the whole way around the tree, the floor somewhat uneven, and only the western side – where the wind blows hardest – has a proper wall. She could fortify it, and winter here, but she would rather stay with Beorn, if he will have her again. Out here, when all the forest is asleep, she would likely get lonely.

Her bed is made of leaves, with her cloak spread atop them. Not that she feels much need to sleep, for there is far too much to do. There are still old webs to clear, and she's started cutting down the dead trees when she finds them.

That is something of an ordeal. The forest is ancient, after all, and the trees are huge, and she is but one person with an axe. Tauriel had thought her hands were tough, but they're a mass of blisters now, and she has to wrap them in rags to keep going.

"I'm not doing this to hurt you," she tells the forest, grunting as she swings the axe. Her hair is fully of wood chips, and there is a pile nearly to her knees around her. "These trees are dead. I merely want to clear some space." She's less than a quarter of a way through this one, and estimates it will take at least another five days. The sweet scent of freshly-cut wood hangs heavy in the warm air. Perhaps it's time for lunch.

She won't hunt, but she will fish, setting a trap of wooden slats in the creek near the base of her treehouse. At least on this side of the halls there's water that isn't enchanted – it's pure and icy cold, and has provided her with a number of trout she's smoked and wrapped in leaves. She brought two whole fish with her today, knowing what sort of appetite all this chopping can bring.

As she eats, she finds herself thinking of Erebor, and of Dale. She's half tempted to visit before winter, even if she doesn't let anyone know she's there, because she'd like to see they're getting on. She finally can think of it without a hole tearing in her heart; yes, it's where Kili died, but he wouldn't want her to regard it with horror forever. It's his ancestral homeland, and she knows what wherever he is now, he's happy to have seen it.

"I wish we could talk, Kili," she says. "Not that I have a great deal to say, but I would know what you are doing, if I could."

A thought strikes her. She does need to go to Erebor, because there is someone she needs to see. Kili's mother needs his runestone, and Tauriel would offer her comfort, if such a thing is even possible. It might not be, but Tauriel has to try.

Once she's finished with this blasted tree, she'll go. It will take her weeks to get there, for she'll have to avoid the border patrols, but she will see Kili's mother, and give her all that she can.

And Thranduil…Tauriel thinks on their last meeting, and finds herself vaguely angry. Oh, finding out she was wrong about a few things is a great relief, and she's glad he actually understands, more or less, what he put her through, but how dare he, after everything, believe he loves her? How dare he? It's a truly odd way for his guilt to manifest, and frankly it's quite insulting. If he truly loved her, he wouldn't have let her suffer for twenty years. He would have said something, even if it was only a very stilted apology.

No, he doesn't love her, and she hopes he gets over that delusion soon, because honestly, the thought makes her vaguely sick. If he can think he loves her, yet treat her like that…terrible as it is, it really makes her wonder about his marriage, and just how happy the Queen actually could have been. With Thranduil's warped definition of love, Eru knows what she went through.

Thranduil does not Fade.

It surprises him, actually, but he doesn't. He goes about his duties (return to your duties, King), and if he never smiles…well, his son is gone. He doubts anyone blames him.

While he hasn't actively sent anyone looking for Tauriel, he's expanded the scope and frequency of the patrols. Perhaps someone might find sign of her, if not Tauriel herself. Thranduil will take anything he can get.

He's heard nothing further from Yavanna, but that's more of a relief than anything else. He has enough to be troubled by as it is, for in a fortnight's time he must make for Dale, to meet with Bard and Dain.

He would rather drown himself.

Bard on his own is fine; he's remarkably sensible for an Edain, and brave, but Dain…no. he might not be as unwelcome a neighbor as Oakenshield, but that isn't saying much.

And while Thranduil will not be doing this alone, he will have neither of the two he would most want with him. Tauriel clearly has a way with Dwarves, and while Legolas does not, he at least knows how to joke, and he lacks his father's temper.

But both of them are gone now, and while Legolas will someday return, it will likely not be for decades.

Eru, let him be safe.

Tauriel is in the forest, and without the spiders, she faces little in the way of peril. Legolas, however, could be anywhere, facing anything, and Thranduil can hardly bear the thought.

He lies now on his bed, watching the hateful stars, the tiny jar containing Tauriel's hair on the pillow beside him. The scent of thyme and oak wafts in on the warm breeze, and he wishes, vaguely, that he was dead.

Is this was Tauriel felt for twenty years? Did she feel so worthless, so unloved? He knows the answer, much as he doesn't want to, and it only hurts him all the worse. To think that she suffered so much right under his nose, and he never knew it…it's times like this that he wishes Yavanna had let him die. Legolas might not want to be King, but he'd be a better king than Thranduil, who truly is worthless and unloved, even by his own son.

That's his fault, too, for he's pushed the boy away for centuries. He's feared love, even his son's, and now like where it has them both: Legolas wanders in self-imposed exile, and Thranduil is alone.

"You are not alone, little Thranduil. I walk with you, as I walk with Tauriel."

"You are terrible company," he says flatly. "Is my continued existence your idea of punishment?"

"You punish yourself, little Thranduil, for you know now just how many wrongs you have done, but you are changing. As King, no longer do you sit complacent. As Thranduil…you have much work ahead of you."

"Why?" he asks, staring at the stars, turning the bottle in his fingers. "As Thranduil I have nothing."

"That will not always be the case, little one. You are not mortal – you have no need to be so short-sighted. Your son will return to you, in the fullness of time, and you will see Tauriel again. You must be prepared for both."

Legolas he thinks he can face, for he has done much in his son's absence – the boy will not return to a father who has done nothing but sit and brood. But Tauriel…how can he face her, with all that he knows now? What right has he to even look upon her?

"Right has nothing to do with it, little Thranduil. Before the summer's end, you are going to have a very large problem – as will Tauriel. Until it is resolved, it will not be safe for her to lurk in the forest. You must be able to convince her to return to your halls."

Thranduil snorts. "If the forest is unsafe, she will simply leave. I cannot imagine anything inducing her to stay here."

Yavanna's next words chill him. "Leaving will not give her safety. She will be hunted wherever she goes. This she must confront, but she can only safely do that here. I will bring Tauriel home, in time. Whether she stays is up to you."

The moonlight is bright enough that Tauriel chops well through the night, until her abused hands can take it no longer. The whole time she's mentally prepared herself for the thought of leaving her forest, and she's glad she has a few more days to keep doing so.

For the thought is strangely frightening. She doesn't know why – there is little peril to be found along the way, and certainly nothing she can't handle. Now it's something she has to force herself to do, for she can't afford to become mentally trapped. The Greenwood is her home, her sanctuary, but she cannot let it become her prison.

Five days. Five days, and then she will go. She'll see the progress of Dale and Erebor, she'll meet with Lady Dís, and then she'll return him, simple as that. She'll prove to herself that she has nothing to fear by leaving.

Tauriel, Tauriel – the name repeats in the Elf's mind, though it as yet has no meaning. Tauriel is who he must seek, though the why still eludes him. She is important – this he knows, even if he does not know why or how. Perhaps he will remember when he finds her.

Perhaps, then, he will remember his own name.

Yavanna watches all, and sighs. She had hoped Tauriel would have more time to heal, but if things keep on as they are, it will all come to a head in about three weeks' time. Neither Tauriel nor Thranduil are in any way ready for it, and she wonders if she dares to divert the poor girl's father for a while. With his mind as it is, it won't be hard.

"You meddle too much already, my love," Aulë says, and that's a bit rich, coming from the only Vala who dared craft sentient life before Ilúvatar woke the Elves. "It will only end badly if you try to stave this off."

"But they are not ready," Yavanna sighs. "Tauriel has made such progress, but it's far too soon for her to return to the halls. Even the Eldar cannot walk too soon on a broken limb too newly set, and the wounds on her fëa could so easily rip open anew if she were shut away underground anywhere, let alone with Thranduil."

"What of Thranduil himself?"

"Thranduil is consumed by guilt and shame. Having Tauriel near might be a balm, or it might be a disaster. If she begins to sicken away from the starlight, he will likely Fade."

Aulë frowns. "If it becomes so terrible, send her to Erebor," he says. "Dain will take her in. She will be as safe within the mountain as she would be in Thranduil's halls. Still she would be underground, but she would be free of him."

Yavanna arches an eyebrow. "Would he?"

"He would if I told him to. Honestly, I cannot believe her wretched father is still alive. With his wits so lacking, he should have run afoul of an orc pack an age ago." Her husband sounds rather put out that he hasn't.

"Ilúvatar must be saving him for some purpose." She hopes it's as good one, because the damned Elf is going to cause a great deal of heartache very soon.

If only Tauriel's mother had not been so young and foolish. Tauriel had come about as the result of a midsummer festival and far too much wine, combined with a handsome stranger in temporary possession of most of his faculties. Apparently her mother had been drunk enough to think begetting a child with a stranger was a fantastic idea, and a year later there was a small Tauriel, with her grandmother's hair, her mother's eyes and father's temperament, though thankfully more sense than both of them combined.

If it had stayed at that, he father would never have known of her existence, but he passed through again some five years later, and the cat, as the Edain put it, was out of the bag. Her mother had driven him off, and in his madness he'd forgotten about her entirely for over six hundred years.

But he remembers now, or he's starting to, damn him.

Well. If things become too dire, she may have to visit Tauriel in person, not just in spirit. She's not about to let the poor girl get broken all over again. If she breaks, so will Thranduil, and with Legolas away, so will the Woodland Realm.

"I could tell Dain to give him a good kick," Aulë offers. "He is to visit Erebor in a fortnight, is he not?"

"Tempting as that is, I doubt it will help anything. Thranduil is receiving enough punishment from himself." In truth, Yavanna is wondering if that alone will be enough to break him. Yes, he deserves it, but he soon won't be able to afford to. No one will.

Yeah, this is shaping up to be a clusterfuck of gigantic proportions. Next up, Tauriel and Thranduil independently visit Erebor (and meet again), and Tauriel's daddy finally finds them both (and nobody is happy about it).

Guest: Oh, they can't actually go back to the way they were ever again, but something will happen between them eventually. It'll just be a lot more screwed-up, because they're both pretty screwed-up themselves.