For the purpose of the story I changed Bain's age (which Mr. Jackson made up for TDOS anyway - Tolkien never says when Bain was born. So I felt safe to make the change.)
Ich dien – To Serve the Kingdom
by faust
2
The Queen
Tauriel has just changed the bandage on Kili's thigh for the third time since the previous night when there is a short rattle and then the door opens to reveal a small group of elves. The tall leader's gesture is almost invisible, but it keeps her two escorts rooted next to the entrance while she steps into the room.
The people of Laketown do not know the Woodland queen. Nor do the dwarves from the Blue Mountains. The Lady of Greenwood has not left the King's Halls for generations of men, and while she occasionally attends feasts, she never takes part should strangers be present. For those outside of the Woodland she has become a mere myth, a phantasy, and some do not even believe there ever was a queen in Greenwood. Yet there is no doubt about who has just entered the house. The Queen Eryniel does not need any regalia to convey she is of royalty; it is in her poise, in her regard, in her features. Even her elaborate riding cloak exudes her majesty.
Tauriel can feel Kili's leg tense under her hand. He must assume the party has come to arrest him, and he is without his friends. Fili, Oin and Bofur have left the house only minutes before, finally convinced that Tauriel presents no danger, will not betray their trust. They had errands to run, they declared, but did not elaborate further.
They have grown close, Tauriel and Kili, after she has saved his life. She feels as if she has saved her own life, too, or at least part of her own life. Perhaps her heart. Certainly, her heart has not beaten quite so strongly and happily as it has been doing ever since Kili has smiled at her so. Ever since she has realised that fondness does not measure people in foot and inch. She could not bring herself to leave Kili's side after she was able to force the Morgul poison out of his body and knew he would live. She has stayed with him during the night, tending him, holding him, comforting him. And taken comfort in that herself.
Now her comfort gives way to a slight unease. Tauriel cannot fathom why the queen should have left the stronghold so suddenly, and why she has come to Laketown and to Bard's house. Of course, the king must by now know that the dwarves have found shelter here; Legolas will have delivered the word. But the king would not send the queen to lead an arrest party. As to that, the king would not send the queen out into the open for any reason. It does not make sense that she is here. Not at all. What could Legolas possibly have told the king that would urge the queen to emerge from her years-long seclusion?
Legolas. With a pang of guilt Tauriel realises that she has not devoted a single thought to him since she decided to stay and heal Kili. Since she deliberately ignored his call, twice. "Tauriel, come!" Yes, she had heard that. But she did not obey the command, chose to defy it. Him. Her superior. Her friend. Chose Kili over him.
She bites her lip. She chose Kili over Legolas, over her friend, her...foster-brother. Her brother who had stuck to her, had followed her—disregarding the king's express orders—to protect and support her against a supremacy of enemies. "You cannot hunt thirty orcs on your own," he had said, and come with her, had fought the goblins with her, as she had known he would.
And then she had chosen to defy his command, his call, his plea. Had left him to fight the remaining orcs on his own, knowing they were retreating already. Knowing he would not take unnecessary risks. Hoping it, at least.
She looks down at Kili, who lives and will be hale and healthy again very soon. It was the right thing that she did. Nevertheless she will have to make amends for her decision, will have to make it up to Legolas. Explain it to him. Surely, Legolas will understand she could not have abandoned Kili, could not have let him die when she knew she could heal him. Legolas might not hold the dwarves in high regard, but he is more compassionate than he likes to let people think. He will understand that she could not have followed him because Kili needed her more. That she knew Legolas could look out for himself.
"Tauriel."
Belatedly she becomes aware that she has not yet greeted her queen. She bows her head, a little deeper than formally required. "My Lady," she starts, but is interrupted by the usually so courteous queen.
"I take it you are well?"
"Yes, my Lady."
The queen nods. It is curt and something in her face is awry, as if she has unlearnt how to smile. "I thought so," she says. Her gaze sweeps through the room, lingers briefly on Kili, a little longer on Bard's children, who are huddled in one corner and stare back at the imposing figure with blatant reverence, then settles back on Tauriel. "Where is Legolas?"
The question slices the air like a sharp elven dagger. It sunders then from now, before from after, certainty from trepidation. Legolas has not returned to the king's halls. And the queen…
This is bad. This is worse than bad. It is a catastrophe.
"Last I was aware of him he was following fleeing orcs, my Lady," Tauriel phrases carefully. "To ascertain they left the town."
The moment the words leave her mouth Tauriel knows them to be naught but a fruitless hope. Legolas is not one who merely observes. He is a person of action, and his loathing of goblins is as strong as any elf's. He will have pursued the orcs, will have sought further confrontation.
And he has not returned, neither to the stronghold nor to Bard's house.
The queen's face is blank. She closes her eyes for the duration of one deep breath in and one deep breath out, then looks back at Tauriel. "Why," she says very softly. "Why did you not accompany him?"
"Kili—the dwarf needed healing. He would have died without my help. I could not let that happen when it was in my ability to prevent it." It is a valid point. Tauriel knows the queen will not argue against it. She is not cruel; sympathy for those in need is deeply embedded in the Silvan elves and their king and queen.
"I see." The queen's gaze shifts to Kili, who squirms under the scrutiny. "Are you well now, Master Dwarf?"
"Aye, my Lady."
"Very well." Eryniel's face remains unsmiling yet not unfriendly as she nods. She looks back at Tauriel. "And after you healed him, you did—what?"
"I…" That is the crux, Tauriel knows that. What was perfectly natural and right the night before might seem not so in the light of the new day. "I stayed with him to make sure he was well looked after."
"All night?"
"All night."
"So am I to understand that you neglected your duty to serve your king and protect your prince in order to nurse a fugitive captive?" Eryniel's voice is still soft, and there is no condemnation in it. Disappointment, however; yes, certainly disappointment. And sadness.
"I did not think the prince needed protection. And I did not think compassion—" Tauriel is almost glad she gets interrupted at this point. She knows she did the right thing—but why is it so difficult to explain it?
The disruption comes in the form of an elven warrior, who bursts through the front door and, after a short, wild look around the room, falls to one knee in front of the queen. "Nothing, my Queen," he says as he lays a hand over his heart and bows his head. "We found no trace of the prince. Only evidence of combat."
Tauriel closes her eyes. Of course…
There is a sharp intake of breath from the queen. "And no one has seen him?"
"No, my Lady."
"And…nothing? Anything else?"
"We found warg tracks and those of a horse, leading out of town."
"Wargs?" It is not much more than a gasp from the corner in which Bard's children have been standing and witnessing quietly ever since the queen has entered the house. Then commotion, scuffling, "let me," "no, stay here," and "I want to—" more scuffling, a tussle; then a thud and a cry. "Ow!"
The weeping of a child, hushed words "It's not so bad, come on. Be still." More crying.
A child cries. No elf ignores a crying child. They all turn around to the weeping pen-neth: a small boy, not a babe anymore; but certainly he has not yet received his first bow. He is sitting on the floor, his hands clutching his leg. His knee is bleeding.
Two girls, one not much older than the boy, the other close to adolescence, are bent over him, trying to console him.
The Queen of Greenwood crouches down in front of the child. "There, there," she says. "Did you fall?"
The boy nods.
"He hurt himself as we took cover under the table last night," one of the girls supplies. "Got caught on a splintered stool. It scabbed over, but now he's fallen on it and it's bleeding again."
"Oh. Let me see." The queen's voice is low and even in the few words there is a melody, a tune that sings of summer and brightly green moss and soft wind. It is soothing—to everyone in the room.
The boy looks up into her face, his eyes wide. He takes his hands off his leg. "Hurts," he whispers.
"It looks painful," the queen concords. Then she lays a pale hand on his knee, covers the wound with her elegant, long fingers. She is completely still, her face pensive, a small smile is curling her lips. Her eyes are locked with the boy's. A smell of forest fills the room. It lasts only a short moment, no longer than it takes a leaf to fall from the crown of a tall tree.
As she removes her hand, the knee is unblemished. Where there was a wound a mere wink ago, is now only a patch of tender, pink skin.
The boy wipes away any left-over traces of blood with the sleeve of his shirt and stares at the queen who is still squatted on the floor, face to face with him. "How did you do that?" he asks.
He has witnessed Tauriel healing Kili the night before, has heard the chanting and seen the blinding halo. None of that happened this time. Of course, merely split skin is easier to heal than a wound inflicted by a poisoned arrow, but the queen's healing powers are very subtle in any case. It takes from her—Tauriel can see it in her drawn features, the increasing pallor of her already fair skin—even this small little act takes a lot, more, probably, than she has to give anymore. But the child is a boy, he is blond and blue-eyed and tiny, and he looks at the queen with trust and affection. Tauriel does understand the incentive.
"It is a moth—" Eryniel interrupts herself, smiles and shakes her head as if trying to free herself from an image. A memory, perhaps. "It is a secret," she says then, and an elegant movement brings the tip of her long, white finger up to touch her pursed lips for a half second.
"An elven thing?"
"Yes, little one."
She and the boy smile at each other as if sharing something special, and most probably they do exactly that. Then he flings himself onto her surprised chest, and instinctively she wraps her arm around the lithe body.
"Thank you," the boy whispers.
"You are very welcome, little one."
"His name is Bain," the older girl says shyly.
"Bain." Eryniel lowers her head so her face almost touches Bain's hair. "Bain," she repeats, and then she breathes a small kiss onto the blonde crown before she releases the child and rises, bracing herself briefly on the table.
Bain lets go of her only reluctantly, as if he knows what she is about to do. "Do you have to go now?" he asks.
"Yes, I am afraid I must."
"Why?"
"I must go and look after my own boy now," she says, and her smile touches her eyes.
"Is he hurt, too?"
"I do not know for certain..." Her smile falters. "But I am very much afraid he is."
Her gaze flickers to Tauriel, just for a split second, but it is enough to convey the accusation. Then she looks back at the boy, her expression tender; and she nods gracefully. "Fare well, little Bain."
She politely waits until Bain has pulled himself up enough to answer solemnly "Fare well, my Lady," and acknowledges the boy's ungainly bow with a rippling smile. Her piercing look sweeps over every occupant in the room, like a blessing—even Tauriel is included, and that is what makes the captain think she has not seen it rightly. Or perhaps…
"My Lady," Tauriel tries as the queen turns to stride towards the front door. "May I offer my help?"
Eryniel halts her steps as she passes Tauriel. She regards her for a moment, then says softly, "Your service is not required, Captain. I have half a dozen trustworthy warriors at my command—they will perform their duty very well." There is a hint of blue ice in her voice. Not a match for king's ability to spread frost with but a single word, but perhaps even more chilling because it is so outlandish for the queen to be anything but warm and kind. It is gone as quickly as it had come, and although there is still not much affection in her lady's voice, Tauriel can hear genuine concern in the next words. "I would, however, recommend you return to the stronghold immediately—or not at all."
Tauriel understands her perfectly well. She understands the queen is upset; but the Lady of Eryn Galen always has had an open ear for her people, has cared—and understood, too. Perhaps she will understand this as well.
"My Lady," Tauriel pleads, "I care for…for him." She stands close to Kili, but still feels the need to touch him, to make sure the queen knows about whom she is talking. Only much later it occurs to her that here exactly lies the problem of it all: the queen has known it all along. "I love him, that is why I had to…. Please, you must…as a woman, do you not understand I had to do it?"
The queen tilts her head. She smiles, and the warmth is back in it and the kindness that Tauriel has hoped to see. "No," she then says, however, and shakes her head. "As a mother I do not."
Her gaze shifts to Kili, then back to Tauriel's face. It lingers there for a few moments, in which Tauriel feels scrutinised, soul-deeply searched and found…wanting. Then the queen turns away and with three purposeful paces reaches the door. She does not stop or look back as she says, "And as your queen, I do not understand either."
Another long stride, then the door snaps shut behind her.
Sindarin, just in case...
pen-neth = young one
Eryn Galen = Greenwood