Chapter 12, everyone!
I'm sorry for the delay, but this was a tricky chapter to write and I've been busy with school.
As always: a big 'thank you' to all readers, followers, favourites and reviewers! I really appreciate all of your support!
I do not own any characters (except a couple of random Ocs) or places; J.R.R Tolkien or Peter Jackson and Co do.
Enjoy!
Chapter 12: Day 3 – Tauriel
Tauriel had been up since the early hours to help the healers.
Sleep would not come to her, though exhaustion had long ago crept up on her. She did not dare to try to sit calmly, for the fears of what her dreams would bring her. She did not believe her dreams would be pleasant or bring her that comfort she might have needed.
The red-haired Elf was carrying a heap of linen bandages, walking between the healing tents and giving out bandages to the healers with more experience than her. She was glad that she could help when her duties as Captain did not call for her to be elsewhere.
One of the Dwarven healers reached out for a couple of bandages and Tauriel refrained from bending her knees to make it easier for the Dwarf to reach the bandages. She knew it would not be appreciated.
"Thank you, lass", he offered her gruffly a word of gratitude and was about to turn and go inside the tent when another Dwarf came rushing to his side.
The newcomer seemed oblivious to Tauriel, nearly knocking her over. She frowned at him, but he was speaking with such speed as if the end of the world was upon them and he paid her little attention.
"Healer Mumin, you have been summoned! The Order is going to meet at Thorin Oakenshield's tent. Your presence is required."
"What?" said the healer brusquely, looking grim and not glad to be summoned so abruptly.
"He is getting worse", explained the messenger and Tauriel listened with interest. "They fear he might not survive the night."
That was news to Tauriel and she blinked in surprise before her brows drew themselves into a frown. The healer called Mumin let out what could be described as a long-suffering sigh followed by a curse.
"I will be on my way", he told the messenger. "I just have to collect my bag and drop these bandages off."
The Dwarf hurried inside the tent, leaving Tauriel and the Dwarvish messenger alone. It was first then he noticed her and his eyes narrowed.
"Do you not have somewhere else to be, Elf?" he asked snidely, crossing his arms over his sturdy chest.
Tauriel's expression was calm, though she felt annoyance flare inside. She coolly gazed down at the Dwarf, making sure of not breaking eye contact or blink.
"Don't you?" she retorted back and her tone was haughty, an imitation of the King's.
The Dwarf looked affronted, swelling up like one of the frogs that lived in the swamps back in Greenwood, which now was called Mirkwood. He looked as if he wanted to say something back, but Tauriel gave him a stiff nod and walked away to the next healing tent. She did not have time to bicker with one Dwarf when she had chores to do.
She delivered the bandages to two more tents and the healers gratefully accepted them. During that time, she pondered over Thorin Oakenshield. She remembered him from when they had taken him and his Company prisoners during the celebration of Mereth-en-Gilith. Tauriel had thought him proud and royal, despite his torn clothes and spider web dangling from his hair, making him look years older. Despite his rugged appearance and despite the scorn in his eyes, he had asked for food and help, humbly even. Tauriel had not encountered many Dwarves in her life, but she had known from the moment she had laid eyes on Thorin Oakenshield that she would never meet a Dwarf like him again. There was a fire burning in his eyes and heart and Tauriel had sensed that one day it would grow too big and too fierce for such a small body.
She returned to the tent of the Elven healers as the sun slowly changed position in the sky. The tent was different from the others, more tranquil and it smelled differently, had an unearthly feeling about it. It was quiet. The patients were sleeping and the healers did not speak to each other, so practiced in their art that words were not necessarily needed.
The healer in charge was Aenor and he was sitting next to a wounded Elf, sewing together a nasty gash near his ribs. The Elven warrior twitched, but did not wake from his slumber. Tauriel watched almost fascinated how the thin needle pierced the other so unmarred skin, patching it up. The healer had gentle hands, something Tauriel did not. Her hands were trained to take a life before saving one.
Even though she did not make a sound, Aenor seemed to know that she was there, because he spoke her name in a deep, melodic voice.
"With your permission, I would go and speak to the King about an urgent matter of importance", Tauriel said smoothly, for she respected the old healer, almost feared him.
There were a few moments of silence, only disturbed by the healers fluttering around like spirits of another world, quiet and eyes shining wisely.
"Take your leave then", said Aenor, not looking up from his work. "We can manage without you for a while."
Tauriel nodded curtly and strode out of the healing tent, her steps perhaps only slightly more rushed than usual. As she made her way through the camp, dodging Dwarves, Elves and Men, zigzagging her way amongst the tents, she heard whispers of Thorin Oakenshield. How news could spread so fast, she could not grasp. Her kin listened, but they did not blabber and she had thought Dwarves were more secretive, but that theory seemed to have flown away with the wind. But they were sharing camp with fishermen and it was common knowledge that those were born with loose tongues.
Two guards were standing posted outside the King's tent and they let their Captain pass through without questioning. Their stance was stiff and their golden armors looked heavy. Tauriel did not envy them, but someone had to watch the King, who was too important to be left to his own device, despite being one of the most formidable warriors in the whole Realm. She nodded appreciatively in their direction.
The King was alone in his tent and he had removed his armor and was casually sitting at a table filled with maps, scrolls and one or two knives. The candles burned strongly and the yellow walls of the tent made everything seemed warmer. When the flaps were removed and Tauriel entered, the King looked up only to lower his eyes again when he saw who it was.
"Captain", he greeted her with the same indifference as usual. He seemed oblivious to her bowing. "What do you have to report?"
"Have you heard that Thorin Oakenshield is dying?" asked Tauriel, her voice betraying only the merest hint of breathlessness.
The King blinked, a shadow of surprise dancing over his pale, fair face. Then it disappeared and his face was once again blank of any real emotions. He looked thoughtful.
"No, I have not heard it was that serious", he admitted and had Tauriel not known better she would have thought that the King looked sad at the news. He sighed. "It has indeed been a couple of grievous days for the line of Durin."
Tauriel stayed silent. An image of a young, dark-haired Dwarf flickered past in her mind and she felt a pang of sadness at the loss of such a young life, one of many.
She was broken out of her thoughts by the sound of a drink being poured up. Her eyes were drawn to the King as he emptied a goblet of wine in one gulp, a graceful twitch of his neck. He did not offer her a drink, but she had not expected him to do so. The silence grew heavy and the King looked lost in thoughts. He stared, but he did not really see what was before him. Tauriel carefully cleared her throat, feeling unwanted.
"I thought you should know, My Lord", she said and bowed her head as the King's eyes wandered towards her. She fought not to shuffle her feet. "In case it could be of importance for the future."
"Yes", said the King slowly. "I believe you are right. Thank you, Captain."
Tauriel recognized a dismissal and bowed again before turning on her heels and saw herself out of the tent. Before leaving, she glanced back over her shoulder and saw the King pick out a package and removing the strings. The cloth fell away to reveal a beautiful sword in silver. It was Elven-made, but Tauriel did not recognize it. The King just held it and put one hand across the lower part of his face, deep in thought. Tauriel let him be and exited the tent, nodding again to the guards standing watch.
Her body itched, suddenly restless and her fingers longed to curl themselves around the handles of her long knives. She realized that nothing was ever going to be the same again, that the Battle had let loose something she could not name. Restless and with an odd feeling in her stomach, the young Elf began to walk away, her mind filled with buzzing thoughts and her eyelids feeling a bit heavy. She flexed her fingers and contemplated if she should find some of her guards to spar with.
Suddenly, she felt someone behind her. A feeling of someone watching her made the hairs of the back of her neck prickle. It was a familiar presence and she bowed her head, but did not turn around and kept walking, though slowing down her pace.
"My Prince."
Something silver entered in the outer fields of her sight. Then a hand reached out and grasped her arm, making her stop. Tauriel looked at the Prince and tried to prevent annoyance from showing.
"You look tired", said Legolas and his lips twisted themselves into a worried grimace. "You should rest."
Tauriel vigorously shook her head.
"I cannot!" she exclaimed fiercely. "My health is fine and what shame I would bring the fallen if I did not spend my life in a way they never will."
Legolas looked grim.
"It does not mean that you need to work yourself to an early grave", he said stiffly, using an old saying of Men and Tauriel snorted faintly.
"A Captain's work is never done, Legolas", she smiled crookedly; using the name his mother had given him rather than his proper title. "And my work will not be over until my soul joins so many others in the Halls of Mandos."
Legolas did not look too happy with her words, but she stood her ground and determinedly met the older Elf's gaze. Eventually, the Prince nodded.
"Perhaps you are right", he mused out loud and inclined his pale head towards her in a gesture of respect. "Very well then, Captain. I shall not keep you from your duties."
The Prince walked away as sudden as he had arrived and Tauriel was left standing alone. She frowned and raised her eyes to the Lonely Mountain. It stood tall and strong, unyielding and never bending. Her frown deepened and in its long shadow she stood, wondering who would claim tomorrow that the Mountain belonged to them.
So, that was Tauriel's last chapter. Any thoughts?
Next chapter should hopefully be up next Sunday!
Thanks for reading! :)