Chapter 9, everyone!

I hope everyone's have had a nice Christmas/holiday!

Thanks to all readers, followers, favourites and reviewers! I really appreciate all your support and I'm glad people are enjoying the story :)

I do not own any characters (except the occasional OC) or places; J.R.R Tolkien or Peter Jackson and Co do.

Enjoy!

Chapter 9: Day 2 – Tauriel

Tauriel was scared.

It did not resemble the slight fear before a battle, a fear that went away as soon as she had fired her first arrow or drawn her thin blades, but something else, something that cut deep into her very soul. She was about to see the wounded and that sent shivers down her spine. It was a strange, dark feeling one felt when it was difficult to say if a life could be saved. Tauriel knew that many of the wounded – who lay in pain, gasping for breath – would not live.

She drew a final breath and was on her way to enter the tent, when the flaps were cast aside and revealed Merenwen and a haggard-looking Dwarf.

Merenwen spared her a brief glance, but did not stop her walk. Tauriel hurried out of the way for the Court Healer and her Dwarven companion.

"Tauriel, you'll come with us."

The old Elf's voice did not give the impression that it was up for discussion. Tauriel nodded and easily fell into step with her, though the Dwarf had to take a couple of more steps to match the Elves' strides.

"You have to understand", the Dwarf said to Merenwen. "It is a thin line between the living and the dead. He needs your help."

"We are all equal to death and life", answered Merenwen stonily, but she did not lessen her speed.

"Yes, yes", hurried the Dwarf to say and Tauriel wondered what all this what about. "But this could change a great deal. Please, Mistress Elf."

Tauriel could not recall the last time a Dwarf had begged an Elf for help so pleadingly as the Dwarf now did. The short man looked tired; brown eyes sad, dark circles under his eyes, making his face look thinner, and his brown hair and beard did not appear to have been taken care of. He was familiar and Tauriel faintly remembered that he had been one of the Dwarves that they had held prisoner.

She followed them as they hurried between tents. The atmosphere was grim, but some of the people had gotten a new gleam to their eyes and color to their cheeks after they had gotten food in their bellies. The news had spread that more was to come from both the Iron Hills and Mirkwood.

The Dwarf led them to one of the tents where healers were running in and out, the flaps of the tent never being still. Inside, it reeked of sickness – that sour, foul stench of something being rotten. Tauriel fought to keep the slight grimace off her face, but Merenwen entered the tent with her head held high, looking more grim than some of the soldiers marching into battle. Taking a deep breath and preparing herself, Tauriel followed the older Elf and the young Dwarf.

The tent was full of wounded. It was mostly Dwarves, but a few Men could be seen lying onto hastily made beds. Tauriel saw none of her own kin there.

Merenwen was immediately shown to the bed of a Dwarf surrounded by three healers with concerned expressions upon faces mostly hidden by impressive beards or moustaches. They parted reluctantly as the tall woman approached and continued to watch her examining the Dwarf with careful eyes. Tauriel looked over Merenwen's shoulder, feeling a rising spark of curiosity despite her better judgment.

The Dwarf was young, with noble features in an ashen-like face. His eyes were closed. Around his head was a bandage stained with red. It covered a large part of his forehead and blond hair, which Tauriel thought to be uneven.

Someone must've cut it to better treat his head wound. Though Tauriel was not knowledgeable in the ways and customs of Dwarves, she knew it was improper to cut off hair or beard, but an exception had obviously been made so that he would survive instead. But taking in the Dwarf's still form, she realized that there was not much the healers could do for him. Merenwen came to the same conclusion.

"He is dead", she said briskly, letting go of the Dwarf's wrist after trying to feel his pulse. "You all know it as well as I do."

The Dwarven healers looked pained, grim and some closed their eyes.

"Yes", muttered one of them, peering up at Merenwen. "But we thought that you might have known something to do, anything…."

Merenwen's expression softened.

"I do not possess such power to retrieve the dead. None of my kin do, though there are some far more skilled than I."

Tauriel kept silent, though she doubted that there was anyone more skilled than Merenwen when it came to healing except maybe the Lord of Imladris. The Dwarves did not pay her any attention, the healers looking resolute and the Dwarf that had brought Merenwen seemed to have had all the air punched out from him. He stumbled on the spot and buried his face his mitten-clad hands.

"Oh, Mahal!" he exclaimed in a shaky voice.

Merenwen patted him on the back and Tauriel could only stare, feeling sad and uncomfortable. One of the Dwarven healers told the grieving Dwarf to spread the word. The words were those of doom. The young, brown-haired Dwarf nodded, but not before adding with a fervently tone:

"And whatever you do, do not tell his brother! It will not help at all…."

He trailed off and cast one last glance at the dead Dwarf before hurrying out of the tent.

"It's a sad day for the line of Durin", offered Merenwen as comfort and the healers nodded.

"Aye, but it was a noble death. Fíli son of Dís will enter the Halls of our Maker to a warm welcome."

Durin. Tauriel recognized the name, but could not place it. Dwarven history was not her strong forte.

At Merenwen's request, Tauriel attended the wounded. Some of them were asleep or out cold, while others were delirious and spoke names of loved ones they would perhaps never see again. Tauriel's heart went out with them all. Those who were awake and not in the delirious state of pain thanked her quietly as she changed their bandages or gave them water to drink. Even the wounded Dwarves put aside their pride and prejudices to speak a few kind words. Tauriel wished she could do more.

A couple of beds from the blond Dwarf – Fíli she reminded herself – laid yet another Dwarf, also young and shaking in feverish attacks. Tauriel fixed his blanket and her eyes went to the bowl of water at the bedside table. She dipped a cloth into it, prepared to wash his face. He radiated heat and a sheen of sweat graced his brows. She tried to move carefully as not to wake him, but he slept worriedly and he slowly opened one brown eye, followed by the other and blinked.

"What's going on?" he wondered breathlessly, a heavy touch of sleep in his voice. He blinked again and his sweaty face showed surprise. "You're an Elf", he said in amazement and Tauriel allowed herself a small smile.

"I am." She sat down on the stool that had been pushed to the side and brought the wet cloth to his forehead. He was burning under her touch. "My name is Tauriel."

"Tauriel", he repeated and it sounded odd coming from his lips. "I'm Kíli. At your service, though it seems to be the other way around right now." He smiled a little, but he was tense and Tauriel did not doubt that he was in pain, otherwise he would not be lying in a tent for the ill and wounded.

Kíli. Fíli and Kíli. Their names rhymed and Tauriel let her eyes wander towards Fíli's direction. The healers were drawing a sheet over him, shielding him from the world of those who were still living. Then she looked at Kíli. He had followed her gaze, though he could not see far, and his face showed worry.

"How is my brother doing?" he asked her urgently, a slight panicked look in his eyes. "And my uncle?"

"Your brother's in no pain anymore", said Tauriel soothingly and it was true.

Kíli smiled in relief and Tauriel felt a pang of sorrow and of guilt, but the Dwarf bringing Merenwen had told them not to tell him after all. But Tauriel wondered if it wasn't crueler to keep him in the dark.

She continued wetting his face. He was burning and his eyelids fluttered as he sighed in content.

"I thought I would die seeing the world fall apart, my kin being slain and everything being a haze of blood and smoke. Now instead, I'll enter the Halls of my Fathers with something pretty in mind."

He smiled a crooked grin before his face was clouded with pain. Tauriel held his hand tightly, tried to share some of her strength with him. Kíli's rough hand squeezed hers before he closed his eyes, his breathing becoming hitched. Two healers approached, giving Tauriel tired and calculating looks, as one of them removed the cover from Kíli's body. A rotten smell assaulted Tauriel's nose and her calm façade slipped to show a grimace. The Dwarf was bandaged around his middle, but it was stained red, black and even yellow.

"Could you be so kind to move?" asked one of the healers, the one that was not holding the cover and was there with new bandages.

Tauriel stepped back, her body moving on its own accord. Her eyes were fixed on Kíli, who thrashed on the bed, moaning in pain. She could not recall having seen such a pitiful sight before. Merenwen moved to pass her, her pale face a mask of concentration.

"Tauriel, could you fetch healer Aenor? His services will be needed."

Tauriel hurried out of the tent to obey Merenwen's wishes, though she feared that it was too late. Her hand was still warm from when Kíli had held it, but since she had let go, everything around her had become more prominent; the smells, the sounds and the faces of those walking by. Her head was spinning with thoughts of life and death, of greed and injustice.

"Tauriel!"

She stopped and automatically turned her head in the direction of her name. She straightened up as Legolas made his way towards her, bow strapped to his back and looking as if he had not gotten a moment of rest. Tauriel bowed her head to him, a habit that would never go away. Legolas accepted it with a nod, but there was worry in his eyes. He clasped her arm in a firm, supportive grip, reminding her that he was still there. She looked at him, feeling small and insignificant. It reminded her of when they were younger, of how she had looked up to him, wanted to be like him, because he had all the answers and could make everything right. What a fool she had been, but when looking at the older Elf now – her prince, her mentor and even her friend – she couldn't help but ask, a last hope of that he will know what to do to make everything fine again:

"Why is life such a fragile thing?"

She sounded weak to her own ears and she averted her eyes, shame coloring her cheeks. Legolas did not let her go and tilted her chin so that she would see his face when he answered. His expression was serious, so grave that she felt as if he had aged lifetimes and taken her with him. The Prince's voice was soft when he answered, so soft that the sound alone almost brought furious tears to her green eyes.

"So one shall be careful with it and live it well."

So, that was Tauriel. Any thoughts?

Next time I'll update, it will be 2015. Time surely flies!

Thanks for reading!