Thranduil watches Tauriel fall in slow motion, his heart jumping to his throat as he reaches out to grab her.
He catches her and drops to his knees, cradling her.
"Tauriel," he says, voice barely a whisper.
He's finding it hard to speak while it feels as if all the air has been pulled from his lungs.
"No, no, no," he murmurs, cupping her pale cheek as he supports her head.
Arradon is suddenly beside him, trying to take her away, but Thranduil won't let him. Not when he's just gotten her back.
"Wake up," Thranduil urges. "Tauriel…"
"Let me see," Arradon is begging.
Understanding clicks within Thranduil and he leans back, giving Arradon room to inspect Tauriel, while still refusing to let her go.
There's blood on her stomach where the Orc sliced her, and a pounding in Thranduil's ears that drowns out the world.
Arradon has to repeat himself several times before his words seem to make any sense.
"She's going to be all right," he's saying. "The blade barely grazed her. Just enough to draw blood, but not enough to do serious damage."
Thranduil doesn't dare believe him.
"Why is she… what…?"
"She's been captive for days; I think she's been pushed to her limit. She's passed out from exhaustion."
Thranduil looks her over for himself, now that the world has momentarily stopped spinning. He pulls at where the Orc's blade cut through her clothing to get a look at her wound. Arradon was right; it's barely more than a scratch.
A sigh of relief passes Thranduil's lips as he presses the back of his hand to her forehead. Her skin is clammy to the touch, but he is thankful that she isn't worse off.
"We need to get her back," he says, and then catching sight of the limping Grond, he amends, "we need to get them back. Now."
Arradon nods, and starts checking their surroundings.
"We can fashion a stretcher to carry her back on," he suggests, but Thranduil shakes his head no.
"I will carry her. Besides, you will need to assist Grond. He can barely walk, and you can't carry a stretcher and support him."
Before either of the other two men can argue, Thranduil scoops Tauriel fully into his arms and then, cradling her to his chest, he stands up and begins backtracking the way they came.
Behind him he hears Grond and Arradon whispering, but their (less than silent) footsteps assure him they are following.
Thranduil's pace never falters. Tauriel's weight in his arms is more of an encouragement than a burden, and never once feels anything aside from… right.
If there is one thing Thranduil has learned, it's that he now knows there is nowhere in the world more fitting for Tauriel than in his arms.
After a few hours, Arradon calls out for Thranduil to stop.
"Grond needs to rest," he explains.
"No, I'm fine," Grond tries to argue. "We need to get her back home."
As much as Thranduil would prefer to keep moving, it is clear Grond isn't fairing well.
"She wouldn't want you hurting yourself further," Thranduil concedes. "Let's take a short break."
Grond looks like he wants to argue, but after he and Arradon share an intimate look Grond sighs and nods.
Arradon helps him to sit down on an overturned tree, and then sits beside him, leaning close so their heads are resting together.
Thranduil doesn't wish to set Tauriel down, but he'd like a chance to inspect her wound. Begrudgingly, he gently lays her on the softest patch of earth he can find, a lush patch of moss.
When he checks her stomach Thranduil finds that she is no longer bleeding, and relief flutters in his stomach like the wings of so many butterflies.
From his side, Thranduil removes a leather water pouch, and presses the spout to Tauriel's lips.
When the first few drops of water fall her mouth parts for more, and her eyelids begin to flutter.
"Tauriel?" he asks softly.
"Hmm?" she responds sleepily.
"You are safe now," Thranduil reassures her.
Her green eyes fight to stay open and focus on his face.
"With you," she murmurs.
Thranduil smiles tenderly.
"Yes, with me."
After that she slips back into unconsciousness.
Ignoring his other travelling companions, Thranduil smoothes Tauriel's hair away from her face and leans down to place a gentle kiss on her forehead.
Grond is the first one to suggest moving on, and though Arradon gives him a chastising look he doesn't advise otherwise, so they continue.
To cut down on the their return time, they cut through a different path than the one they originally followed, going straight towards the palace, rather than following the curved route of Tauriel's patrol.
Thranduil doesn't know how they manage it, through sheer luck, or perhaps their enemy wishing to stay away from the borders of the kingdom, but they don't cross any more Orcs on their way.
They make it back to the palace before dawn on the day of what is supposed to be Thranduil and Neleth's wedding, slipping back into the safety of the cavernous halls without being spotted.
"You mustn't let him be spotted," Thranduil tells Arradon, gesturing to a dangerously paling Grond. "Get him back to your rooms. I'll send Arodeth to you to help you tend to him."
"What are you going to do about Neleth?" Arradon questions.
"I will deal with the councilwoman. If everything has gone to plan she's had no time to make contact with her people and she won't know of their escape. Just show up at the banquet tonight as if nothing were amiss."
Arradon nods, and then reaches out to gently clasp Tauriel's limp hand.
"Take care of her."
"I will," Thranduil swears before parting ways with the other pair.
He finds his own chamber doors, thankfully, unguarded and lets himself in quietly, scanning the room to see if he and Tauriel are alone.
They are not.
With hearing of a hawk, Arodeth springs awake from the chair she was perched in beside the door.
"You did it!" she exclaims, rushing over to them.
She's looking at Thranduil with what he swears is more respect than she's ever shown him before.
"Is she okay?" Arodeth asks following closely behind as Thranduil walks over to carefully place Tauriel in his bed.
"Yes, I think she'll be fine. I would like for Maereth to check over her however. Could you summon her for me? Tell her I have a patient suffering from exhaustion, and a small cut from a sword that needs treating."
Arodeth nods her head, but doesn't move, instead staring down at Tauriel as if to reassure her eyes that her friend is there and breathing.
"Did you have any trouble?" Thranduil asks the maid.
"Hmm? No, almost, but no. Lady Neleth showed up yesterday morning demanding to see you, but I told her you were unwell and were refusing all visitors. She was pretty vexed, up until Lord Elrond appeared and told her he recalled you being the same way before your first wedding," Arodeth explains. "He asked her if she would like to discuss wedding details, and that seemed to appease her. I haven't seen her since."
"Excellent."
"Is there anything else I can do?"
"After you summon Maereth, could you go to Lord Arradon's rooms? His— Grond, one of Tauriel's patrol members, needs looking after," Thranduil tells her.
"Of course. I'll go right now."
Arodeth gives a half bow and backs away, but Thranduil stops her, reaching out to grab her hand.
"Thank you, Arodeth," he breathes. "You helped save her life too, and for that I will be eternally grateful."
Thranduil chastely kisses the back of her hand before releasing it and Arodeth blushes, but manages another small bow before stumbling towards the door.
When she's gone, he returns to Tauriel's side.
He perches on the edge of the bed and tries to get her to drink once more.
This time as her eyes flutter open, she seems more aware of her surroundings. She blinks rapidly, trying to force her eyes to focus.
X
Tauriel jolts a little, looking around her, and tries to sit up, but Thranduil rests his hand on her shoulder urging her to stay still.
"We're back," she rasps.
"Yes, we are, and you need to rest."
"I've been resting," she argues stubbornly, trying to sit up again.
"I hardly think struggling with unconsciousness as I carried you through the forest constitutes as rest," he quips wryly.
If her head weren't spinning from sitting up so abruptly, Tauriel suspects it would be spinning at the image of her beautiful king carrying her through the forest to safety.
"Neleth," she breathes, suddenly remembering everything. "Lady Neleth! My King, it was the councilwoman who is behind the Orc army. She—"
"Shh, I know. It is being dealt with," Thranduil reassures her, once more pushing her back onto the bed.
"You know? How? And how did you find me? Is Grond okay? Did you know about him and Arrad— never mind, not important right now… How are you dealing with Neleth?"
Tauriel's questions come tumbling out one after another, her mind buzzing, whether from excitement or dehydration, however, she's not positive.
"Yes. I'm clever. Arradon. Grond is in good hands. I had no idea. And I'm marrying her."
Thranduil lists off his answers, counting them on his fingers as he goes.
All the blood drains from her face, and Tauriel suspects her already pale complexion has withered leaving her looking like a ghost.
"What do you— do you mean? M—Marrying her?"
"Well, I'm not actually marrying her," Thranduil scoffs, and Tauriel senses the feeling slowly return to her body.
Tauriel listens closely as Thranduil begins to tell her of everything that happened since her disappearance, and the challenges he faced trying to find away around Neleth's crazy scheme.
She has so many questions, but Thranduil refuses to answer any until she recounts the tale of her time in captivity.
Haltingly, Tauriel describes everything from Grond's injury, to her delusional state… to Echtel…
Bowing his head in silence, Thranduil squeezes her hand reassuringly.
"It's my fault," she croaks.
"No, no, it is not. The only one to blame in all of this is Neleth, and she will pay," he swears.
A knock on the door startles both of them, and before the king can respond the door opens suddenly.
Thranduil jumps up immediately, his stance falling to that of a warrior without hesitation.
From where she sits propped up on the bed, Tauriel can't see past her king to see whom their guest is. Soon enough, though, he relaxes and steps aside, revealing Maereth to Tauriel.
The healer looks unsurprised to see Tauriel, and she wonders if she knew she would be here. Though, to be honest, Tauriel doubts anything could faze the woman.
Not waiting for pleasantries, Maereth glides to Tauriel's side and begins examining her.
Maereth pushes Tauriel's shirt up to get a closer look at her stomach wound, and Tauriel looks on curiously.
She remembers being injured and seeing blood, but she has no clue the extent of the injury.
It doesn't look that bad in her opinion, it wasn't deep enough to hit anything major, perhaps just deep enough to scar.
Taking Tauriel's chin in her hand, Maereth turns her head left and right.
"Tsk, tsk," the healer murmurs.
"Is she alright?" Thranduil demands, rushing over and leaning in to stare at Tauriel's face.
"She needs food, water, and rest," Maereth instructs.
"And a bath," Tauriel mumbles.
She feels grimy and suspects her hair is a mess.
"She will be fine."
"How is Grond? I tried my best with his injury, but there was only so much they would allow me to do," Tauriel tries to explain.
"I have not seen him," Maereth replies.
"What? Why are you here? He needs you much more than I do!"
Tauriel tries to throw herself out of bed, but the two at her side push her back down, and even if they hadn't the dizziness would have leveled her.
"Go," she urges, trying to quell the queasiness. "I'm fine."
"I should at least try a small healing charm on your stomach, if I do not it may scar."
"Let it, I don't care. Help my friend!"
Maereth turns to Thranduil for confirmation and he gives her the slightest nod.
"He is in Lord Arradon's chambers," the king reveals.
Nodding and offering a small bow, Maereth takes her leave.
Tauriel scrunches her eyes shut and waits for the room to stop spinning.
She feels the edge of the bed dip beside her, and warmth of a hand as it intertwines with hers.
"I will not apologize," Thranduil tells her pompously. "He was walking around, albeit with the help of Arradon, but you were unconscious. I felt you required the more immediate care."
"Thank you," she says softly, squeezing his hand, "for caring."
"Tauriel, I—"
She opens her eyes to look at him, the earnestness in his voice reflected in the expression he wears.
"Would you like me to run you a bath?" he asks, looking away. "You said you…"
Tauriel thinks of everything she felt when she was being held prisoner, of all the things she swore to herself she'd say if she were given the chance, and replies,
"Yes, thank you. My muscles could use a good soak."
Thranduil squeezes her hand once more and leaves her, disappearing into what she assumes is his adjoining bathroom.
Burying her face in her hands, she admits to herself that promising to do something when you think you are going to die is a lot easier than actually doing the thing once returned to relative safety.
What if I tell him how I feel and he doesn't feel the same way?
Suddenly an army of Orcs seems preferable than the rejection she's now sure awaits her.
He's so emotionally battered— not that I'm one to talk— what if I scare him away?
When Thranduil re-enters the room, Tauriel tries to throw her legs over the side of the bed and stand up, but they shake under her weight and she almost falls back on the bed.
"Let me help you," he offers, coming to place a supportive arm around her waist.
He steers her into his bathroom and Tauriel is unsurprised at its lavishness.
It is three times the size of her bathroom, and filled with many more of what appear to be hair potions and tonics. On one side of the room is a large ornate vanity, lined with bottles of all shapes and sizes, and several beautiful brushes.
While the other side of the room houses a roaring fireplace, the true centerpiece, figuratively and literally, is the great marble bathtub big enough for two (perhaps three) full-grown people.
Thranduil escorts Tauriel right to the tubs edge, and she can smell the jasmine and honey in the steam.
"Thank you," she offers, partly as a dismissal.
"You can't even stand on your own," Thranduil observes. "Let me help you."
Looking up at him and biting the edge of her lower lip, Tauriel nods yes.
Neither of them speaks as he sits her down on a plush chair beside the tub and begins to help her undress.
Being nude in front of others is not a new concept to her; she's done it many times in her years, from being fitted by her seamstress, to Arodeth helping her recover, even going skinny dipping with Legolas and other members of the Guard. Nudity to Elves is not something shameful as it is to the mortals.
It is natural.
Now, however, as Thranduil's hands brush over her bare shoulders, pushing the fabric of her sleeves down and leaving her exposed, she feels the tingle of a blush rising.
Not sure where to look, Tauriel settles on Thranduil's hands. His movements are smooth and efficient, and she's not sure whether she prefers that or not. She almost wishes there were some tremble to reveal that he is feeling as affected as she is.
X
It takes all of his self-control to keep his mind on task and prevent his eyes from lingering where they ought not to.
When Thranduil notices her blush, and the way her skin flushes everywhere, he almost looks to the heavens and begs to know why he is being tested?
Once he finishes undressing her, he glances to the tub and immediately notes there is no way in which she can climb in without hurting herself. So, taking matters into his own hands, or arms rather, he scoops her up.
Tauriel squeaks in surprise, and he considers other ways in which he might get her to make that same noise.
Cradling her to his chest as he had in the forest, Thranduil carefully lowers her into the steaming tub, soaking the arms of his robes as he does so.
The throaty moan she makes as the water envelopes her is truly unfair.
After removing his robe and shirt, leaving himself in just his trousers, he turns back to check on Tauriel and sees she has her head inclined, and looks as if she has no intention of moving any time soon.
I'm in this deep, he thinks, and gathers some of the bottles and a brush from his vanity.
Thranduil moves the chair to set behind the head of the tub and seats himself.
Humming an ancient tune he begins to lather shampoo into Tauriel's matted hair, taking care to gently massage her scalp.
When she sighs in contentment, he smiles softly, but continues humming.
After the shampoo has been rinsed, he puts in a conditioning concoction of his own invention, and lets it sit.
"Can you lean forward?" he asks gently.
Tauriel complies, hugging her knees to give him access to her back, and Thranduil begins to rub small circles across her skin with a soapy cloth.
When her skin is slick with suds he drops the washcloth into the water and begins to massage her shoulders, carefully kneading the knots he finds until they dissipate.
Tauriel laughs softly.
"Yes?" he inquires.
"It's just, I bet there aren't many commoners who can say they have been bathed by a king."
"There is nothing common about you."
After he rinses and brushes her hair, Thranduil helps Tauriel stand in the tub so he can wrap her in a big fluffy towel and carry her back to his room.
He places her in the middle of his bed, and makes to walk away and retrieve her something to wear, but Tauriel catches his arm stopping him.
"Wait," she asks, "please just… stay."
Confused, but refusing to deny her anything, Thranduil sits down with her.
"There is something I must say," she admits, not meeting his eyes. "Something I promised myself when I was being held prisoner. I just don't know… if… how to—"
Making a decision and not allowing himself to second guess, Thranduil cuts her off mid-stutter.
"Tauriel, when I heard what happened to you, I too made a promise to myself," he begins. "I have known loss; I know the way it eats away at you, the way it steals parts of you until you are no longer someone you recognize. I have survived loss, for my son, I survived."
Taking a deep breath, Thranduil raises his hand to cup Tauriel's cheek, and stares deeply into her emerald eyes.
"If something had happened to you… if I had lost you… I can tell you I would not have survived it. You have made me a whole person once more. When we are apart it feels like I am missing a piece of my soul. Tauriel, I love you."
Thranduil can see the tears the spring to her eyes, and the way she blinks rapidly trying to hold them back, but he waits with bated breath for her response.
"I love you, too," she tells him, and for the first time in centuries, he can breath fully.
Author's Note: Please, please, let me know what you think! Also, a little spoiler-ish heads up for the next chapter (at the risk of sounding like a sea-captain) "Smut ho!"
Anyways, my husband is back in Korea now (for anywhere between 6 months - 1 1/2 years), so my updates will probably be a little quicker. Thank you for you patience and all of your kind words 3