30: Every King (Knows It to Be True)

Hundreds of years in Thranduil's service had allowed Tauriel to compile a large collection of his expressions in her mind. She had seen him furious—raging, even—had witnessed his small moments of pride, of fear, of happiness, on the rare occasion that he allowed such feelings to touch him. Never, though, had she seen him as slack-jawed with surprise as when he stared at her now, in this liminal space between the kingdom of the Dwarves and the city of Dale.

"Tauriel?"

Even his voice sounded different than she was accustomed to, less controlled, more. . . real.

Her eyes stung, but she was not even sure if it was from impending tears or just the general strain of the insane things which kept happening. Still, she held her king's gaze. "It really is me. And I promise I shall explain everything, but I really do not think it would be wise to do so out here in the open."

She was taking a great risk here, all but telling her king what to do. Under normal circumstances, she was well aware, he would have taken great offense and demanded she explain herself right then and there. It was the biggest indicator of how profoundly her sudden appearance had affected him, perhaps, that he did no such thing. Instead, he continued to stare at her while she accepted Kíli's arm to let him pull her back into the saddle, his lips pressed together in a tight line.

Bard, meanwhile, looked more confused than ever. "Alright, let's get ourselves to safety, then, before Oakenshield makes good on his threat and starts shooting arrows."

Tauriel almost suspected that this would be when Thranduil broke out of his trance to protest, but he didn't. And so they followed Bard into Dale, her heart hammering so fast that she was certain Kíli would be able to feel it even through the layers of his armor where her front was pressed to his back. If he really did, then he did not show it. He, too, was most likely occupied with the unexpected developments their arrival at Erebor had launched upon them.

Up close, the once prosperous city of Dale was in even worse shape than Tauriel had at first thought. Nearly all of the buildings had parts of them missing—crumbling walls, patchy roofs, and splintered shutters or doors were a common sight. And yet the streets were filled with people, men, women, and children making what were scarcely more than the decaying bones of a city feel filled with life.

"I do not understand—what are they all doing here?"

After they had left Lillybelle in the company of Bard's horse and Thranduil's elk just inside the city gates (and wasn't that a curious sight to behold indeed), Tauriel and Kíli had fallen into step behind Bard, who was swiftly weaving his way through the throng of people clogging the streets. Tauriel did not have to look to know that Thranduil was following closely behind, his presence at her back causing her neck to tingle.

Bard glanced at her over his shoulder. Someone in the crowd shouted his name, but went ignored. "These are the citizens of Lake-town," he said. "They sought refuge at Dale after the dragon burned our city to the ground. Oakenshield had promised them a share of the treasure before he opened up the mountain and set Smaug loose, so of course this is where they came after they lost everything. Only now it looks as if they will not merely remain empty handed, but will also be caught up in a war they have nothing to do with."

Guilt settled heavily in Tauriel's stomach. From afar, they had celebrated the fact that the dragon had been defeated and Erebor returned to the Dwarves and had never stopped to consider the casualties. An entire city, burnt to ashes. And now Oakenshield and her king were arguing over some treasure? That seemed wrong in more ways than she could begin to count.

Next to her, Kíli's thoughts appeared to be leading him down a similar path if the frown on his face and the slouch of his shoulders were anything to go by. He looked up at Bard, his eyes dark with determination. "We'll do everything in our power to make that right. So your people don't have to suffer more than they already have."

Bard regarded him, not unkindly, but with curiosity and a healthy amount of trepidation. "We shall see about that."

Tauriel brushed the back of her hand against Kíli's fingers as they continued to follow Bard, sending him a small smile when he looked at her. If her king hadn't been walking right behind them, she would have taken his hand. The Lake-people, recently orphaned from their homes, would hardly spare the time to wonder how it came to be that an Elf was being so tender towards a Dwarf. And even if they did, they likely would not care too much.

Thranduil, of course, was a different matter. Tauriel's cheeks burned as she wondered if perhaps he had not seen through her already. If he had, then a very uncomfortable discussion most likely awaited her in her near future. Once the more pressing matters had been put on the table, that was.

Their small group rounded a corner and found themselves faced with the incongruous sight of a colorful tent—its drapes cut from the finest cloth—nestled between several crumbling buildings.

Tauriel almost rolled her eyes. Of course her king would not stoop as low as to seek shelter in long abandoned houses and crumbling ruins. Why not have yourself built a luxurious accommodation, then, while around you the world was on the brink of falling into chaos and misery?

She took a breath, forced down those feelings threatening to spill over. During the months of her absence she had found the strength to adopt a more critical view on how her king treated the world around him and her in particular, but this was not the time to lose herself in those thoughts. For what was coming, she needed a clear head.

Bard, it seemed, was also rather taken aback by the large tent in front of them. "When did you even find the time to—"

He did not get to finish his question before Thranduil swept past them and into the tent, where a young guard Tauriel remembered vaguely from her own training had hastily pulled aside the drape covering the entrance upon seeing his king approach. Exchanging somewhat resigned glances, the three remaining members of their party followed the Elvenking.

Now that he was on territory he seemingly thought of as his own, Thranduil's momentary discomfort dissipated quickly to be replaced by the sort of aloof coldness Tauriel was so very accustomed to. Without sparing either of his three guests a glance, he made for a low table where a carafe and some goblets had been left out. He poured a generous amount of wine into one of the goblets before sinking into an elaborately carved, cushioned chair at the center of the tent.

Had the Elves brought the chair with them all the way from Mirkwood, Tauriel wondered? They must have, for she could not imagine furniture in such pristine condition to be lying around inside the ruins surrounding them, simply waiting for a king to stop by and use it in lieu of a throne. There were no other seats available inside the tent, leaving her, Kíli, and Bard standing in an awkward half circle.

While she puzzled over the peculiar ways her king was often prone to, his gaze had settled on her and she froze when she realized that he must have been waiting for her to begin speaking for a while now. Just pretend you are reporting back to him after a long mission as you have done hundreds of times, she told herself in an attempt to quell her sudden nervousness. It did not matter that said mission had in truth been an adventure that had changed her life and still continued to do so.

And so she began her narration where every story began: at the beginning.

"Almost three months ago I was overwhelmed and taken captive by a group of Easterlings seeking to strengthen their forces by stealing both people and goods from the lands of the West. . ."

While she talked, she was keenly aware of the three pairs of eyes resting on her. Bard's mostly curious, for he had not heard their tale in its entirety yet. Her king's detached, his judgment reserved for when she would be through with her story. Kíli's gaze was the one she felt the most for its insistent tug on her carefully maintained facade of neutrality.

He knew, of course, that she was omitting certain things, such as the fact that when she had been taken, she had been far from Mirkwood already, prepared to leave her king and her people behind on a mission she had naively believed could make a difference in the course of things. Perhaps it was cowardly to keep this truth to herself for now, but at this point she could not see how coming clean to Thranduil would help their cause. All it would do was pit him even more firmly against her than finding her alive and well and in the company of Dwarves already had.

Once she was done speaking, silence descended over the tent. Bard was restless with the urge to comment on everything she had just revealed, that much was obvious. He waited for Thranduil to speak first, though, which was probably the wisest course of action. Still, the quiet grated on Tauriel's strained nerves.

For now, her king appeared calm enough, but with him you never knew. Thranduil's words could be like hidden daggers, noticeable only when it was too late already and they had pierced your flesh with their sharp, unforgiving blades. She longed to look at Kíli, to seek reassurance in his warm eyes, but did not dare look away from her king. Not now, when things were at a turning point, and certainly not to gaze upon the Dwarf who held her heart.

In the end, it was not Thranduil at all who broke the paralysis which appeared to hold them all in its thrall, but a fifth person, throwing aside the drapes at the tent's entrance and striding inside as if this was the most natural thing for them to do.

He looked like an old man draped in tattered gray robes, but Tauriel knew immediately that this was anything but an ordinary man. She could sense the power radiating off him in waves, power that drew its source from a place beyond all time, beyond all understanding.

A wizard.

"Gandalf!"

Kíli's startled cry caused the wizard to draw up short, whatever words he had been about to utter dying on his lips as his confused frown was, after a moment, replaced by a genuine if disbelieving smile.

"I'm almost tempted to say my old eyes must deceive me. But it really is you, Kíli, is it not?"

"Indeed," Kíli beamed. "It is so very good to see you."

Tauriel could easily identify the hope on his face as he looked at the newcomer. Now that a wizard had arrived in their midst, surely things would be resolved much more easily. And indeed, Kíli did not hesitate to bring forward his case.

"Gandalf, there is something quite seriously wrong with Thorin, and with Fíli as well. I don't know what happened to them, but they must have been put under some dark spell, a thrall or something like that. . . You have to help them, make them see reason again."

"A spell?" Gandalf's frown had returned, deeper now, and he gazed over his shoulder in the direction of the mountain, which was, from inside the tent, not visible of course. When he looked back at Kíli, there was neither surprise nor the sort of reassurance Kíli had probably been hoping for to be found in his eyes. Only sorrow and—Tauriel's heart sank—pity. "This is something other than a spell, young Kíli. For the moment, they are beyond our help, I'm afraid."

Kíli made to protest, but was cut off by a disdainful huff from Thranduil. "Help is far from what those insolent Dwarves deserve. Some more time in my dungeons, perhaps, but other than that. . ."

Gandalf rounded on the Elvenking before Kíli could do something as dangerous and reckless as rise to Thranduil's provocation. The second the attention inside the tent was lifted off them, Tauriel moved closer to him, grasping his elbow from behind. She did not trust her voice to speak calming words right then, but perhaps her touch would at least bring him a small amount of comfort while they both watched the events within the small tent unfold.

"You must set aside your petty grievances with the Dwarves," Gandalf was saying to Thranduil. "War is coming—the cesspits of Dol Goldur have been emptied. You are all in mortal danger."

If the wizard expected this particular revelation to be met with shock or, at the very least, surprise, he was badly disappointed for Thranduil merely raised his eyes to the heavens in exasperation. "Yes, everyone seems obsessed with telling me so."

His eyebrows raised high enough to almost disappear beneath the brim of his hat, Gandalf let his eyes sweep across the tent and found them all looking back at him with grim seriousness. Tauriel met and held his gaze, conscious that this was the first he really took notice of her. His gaze flickered, lingering for a second on the space (or lack thereof) between her and Kíli before returning to the room at large and the ill-tempered Elvenking on his makeshift throne.

"If you have been warned already, then why do I find you here instead of preparing for the fight which is to come?"

Gandalf's question was met with a scowl. "You wizards are like winter thunder on a wild wind, rolling in from a distance, breaking hard in alarm. But sometimes a storm is just a storm."

"Not this time. Armies of Orcs are on the move. These are fighters, Thranduil—they've been bred for war. Our enemy has summoned his full strength."

Little of this was news to Tauriel. Still, to hear it confirmed by this powerful wizard—to hear the unmistakable distress in his voice—sent a shiver down her spine. It was only because she had spent centuries studying Thranduil in order to better anticipate his moods that she could tell he was at least somewhat affected by the dark picture Gandalf painted with his words. He shifted in his seat, taking a deep drink from his goblet before he spoke again.

"Why show his hand now?"

"Because we forced him to. We forced his hand when the company of Thorin Oakenshield set out to reclaim their homeland. The Dwarves were never meant to reach Erebor. Azog the Defiler was sent to kill them. His master seeks control of the mountain, not just for the treasure within, but for where it lies, its strategic position. This is the gateway to reclaiming the lands of Angmar in the North. If that fell kingdom should rise again, Rivendell, Lorien, the shire, even Gondor itself will fall."

Thranduil rose at that, crossing the tent to gaze through the gaps in the fabric at the unchanged gray sky outside. His knuckles, where he still clutched the goblet in his hands, were white. Yet still, when he turned his head to face Gandalf again, to an outsider he would have looked perfectly calm and collected, brows raised in mocking disbelief. "These Orc armies you speak of, Mithrandir, where are they?"

For once, Gandalf did not seem to have a retort ready at the tip of his tongue. Instead, Tauriel found herself speaking up before she could change her mind. For she had seen it, the crack in her king's armor, and knew that if they ever wanted a chance to change his mind about fighting against the Dwarves when they would soon have a much bigger problem on their hands, they could not let up now.

"They are waiting to strike when Oakenshield is at his weakest, I would expect. Meanwhile, other dark forces in Middle-earth hold their breath while they wait for things to unfold. If the enemy wins this war, they will be emboldened to move out of the remote corners they were driven into, long ago. If this is really just a storm, then it will be the first of many."

She was keenly aware of all eyes resting in her once she finished her small speech. The one gaze she met was that of her king and it was hard as steel. Was this the moment where he would have finally had enough of this new, bold version of her and put her in her place? She almost hoped it would be, for the suspense of waiting for him to strike like a mouse cowering before a snake was slowly but surely wearing her down.

Again, though, it was not Thranduil who answered, but Gandalf, whose pale eyes seemed intent to burn right through all her defenses to discover the secrets buried underneath. "What dark forces do you speak of, exactly?"

Tauriel made to answer, but did not get a single syllable across her lips before her king's impatient huff cut her off.

"Yes, yes, we have heard the tale already. Tauriel—walk with me. I find myself in need of fresh air that is not cloyed with the useless superstition of wizards. The Dwarf can supply Mithrandir with the details of your story, since, apparently, he was present for most of it."

The words were tinged with something Tauriel could not quite put her finger on, but which set her heart racing nevertheless. Had he really seen through her act regarding Kíli already?

More nervous now than ever, she sought Kíli's gaze and found him staring at Thranduil in blatant indignation. She was beginning to see why her king was so passionate in his hatred of all Dwarves—they were not intimidated by him in the slightest. Under normal circumstances this would have amused her, but as it was, she shook her head once Kíli finally met her eyes. I will be just fine, she tried to say with a pointed look.

Kíli seemed to understand, and relented. The scowl on his face remained firmly in place, though.

"This discussion is not finished," Gandalf reminded Thranduil as Tauriel went to his side, trying her best to keep her steps measured and secure.

"I would not dare hope as much."

With a last, haughty look at the wizard, Thranduil strode out of the tent, Tauriel following in his step. She wanted desperately to share another look with Kíli, but was afraid what she would find if she met his eyes. Worry? Disappointment? Both might be somewhat justified, but she did not see how she could have acted differently. Despite everything, Thranduil was still her king and as long as his demands remained as reasonable as a conversation just between the two of them, she could hardly deny him.

They left the tent and almost collided with Dáin, whose clever eyes darted between her and the King. Tauriel half expected him to push past, glad that he would not be dealing with more Elves in the immediate future, and was thus surprised to find herself pinned by his assessing gaze. "You alright there, lass?"

Things were getting more curious by the minute. Was Dáin, Lord of the Iron Hills, actually worried for her? She did not quite know what to make of that.

"I'm fine, thank you," she managed. "Kíli is just inside. I shall be back in a little while."

Dáin nodded, stepping out of their way with a distrustful glance at Thranduil. The Elvenking was looking at the Dwarf Lord as if he were something particularly vile stuck to the sole of his shoe as he passed by. Tauriel grimaced. This was not a promising start to her excursion with the King.

She gave Dáin an apologetic smile before she, too, squeezed past him and into the streets of Dale, which were still crowded with people. Thranduil navigated the congested alleys with impressive swiftness, which was probably owed to the fact that no one wanted to stand in the way of the stern High Elf in his magnificent robes.

Down winding sets of stairs and around corners they went and just when Tauriel was beginning to wonder if perhaps her king had located a dungeon somewhere deep in the ruins where he could lock her up as punishment for her many transgressions, they went up again, climbing a steep staircase attached to the side of one of the taller buildings. Not a dungeon, then.

They emerged onto a flat terrace on top of the building. Or no, not a terrace after all, Tauriel realized as she took in the crumbling walls encircling them. This had once been the uppermost floor of a house, the layout of the separate rooms still visible. The roof had been ripped off in its entirety, like a lid plucked from a little box by the hand of a giant. The vivid reminder of just how powerful the dragon the Dwarves had unleashed just a few days ago had been, caused Tauriel to shiver. Which, knowing Thranduil, was most likely not an accident, but precisely the reason why he had brought her here, of all places.

He weaved his way through piles of rubble and half-rotten furniture until he came to stand just by the edge of the building, his palms resting on what was left of the outer wall. Out of the grayness ahead of them loomed Erebor, as ominous and unwelcoming as ever.

All of a sudden, Tauriel felt a deep weariness descend upon her like cold fingers digging into the very marrow of her bones. Underneath her terror, she had been curious about what her king had to say to her when she had followed him from the tent. Now, though, that she felt certain what she was about to hear would be another tirade against the Dwarves of Erebor and the grievances they had brought upon her king, she wished she had stayed behind.

After having walked this earth for thousands of years, were old strifes and petty crimes really the only thing Thranduil could bring himself to focus on? But then again, perhaps if you had seen as much misery as several millennia were bound to bring, doing so was the only way to remain at least somewhat sane.

"When you broke free from your captors, why was it here you chose to come to, of all places?"

Surprise knocked all air from Tauriel's lungs. This, she had not expected. That instead of dancing around the issue by dropping barbed remarks and veiled comments, he would get straight to the heart of her betrayal. Neither had she anticipated the unmistakable tinge of hurt in his voice.

While her mind still struggled to wrap itself around this sudden turn of events, her mouth apparently thought it wise to give her king an answer ere his pain would inadvertently turn into anger.

"I went where I felt I was needed the most, for now."

There, that hadn't been too bad, had it? Also, it wasn't a lie, in most respects. The fact that it had been Kíli's need which had driven her to the mountain much more so than her own, was a truth she (naturally) chose to omit for now.

"You would have come back then, once this whole miserable affair was finished? You would have come home?"

That last word, the way in which Thranduil's voice softened around it—it drove a dagger straight into her heart. There it was, then, the question which she had pushed away again and again ever since she had resolved to follow Kíli wherever fate would take them after Rhûn. Not today, tomorrow, later. . . Time and again she had found excuses to postpone thinking about what she would do after this newest threat had been overcome. If, when, and how she would confront the rubble she had left behind when she had all but run from her homeland.

And even though there were more intricacies than she could count involved in tackling that question, now, here, with her king looking at her over his shoulder as if he were the one who had everything to lose instead of her, there was only one answer she could give.

"I—yes. Yes, of course I would have returned."

With a swish of his long robes against the uneven floor of the old house, Thranduil closed the distance between them and embraced her. Perhaps it was owed to the fact that she had just received the second tremendous shock within the span of a mere few minutes, but suddenly Tauriel's mind cleared and she knew with utmost certainty that Legolas had never revealed to Thranduil the true story behind her disappearance. Also, she realized with no small amount of heartbreak, that now that what she had longed for her whole life seemed within arm's reach, she would not be able to hold onto it. Not if she did the right thing and told the truth, that was.

"Ai elen," Thranduil muttered against the side of her head, either not noticing or not caring that she remained unnaturally stiff in his unexpected embrace, "I feared your light was lost to us for all eternity."

Even if it was, a rebellious voice inside of her screamed silently, then only because you made it so. Only because you did everything you could to bury it underneath your own fear, your own prejudice for so long. And yet an equally powerful part of her longed to curl into his embrace and accept this manifestation of his love she had sought in vain for as long as she could remember.

In the end, neither side conquered the other and she stepped back to wipe the back of her hand across her damp cheeks. "I am sorry," she managed.

And while that did not nearly encompass everything she could have—should have—said, it was at least true. She was sorry it had taken her so long to realize that he would never love her for who she truly was, but only for who he wanted her to be. Sorry she had had to find that out by letting him, and Legolas, and everyone else presume her dead. Sorry he could not know the things which had happened to her on her adventure, sorry she would have to keep lying to him, for now. Because despite all her confusion, there was one thing she did know: if she revealed the truth about her disappearance now, the chances of convincing him to fight alongside the Dwarves would be even lower. And that was something she simply could not risk.

If Thranduil grasped any of those conflicting feelings tearing at her heart, he did not show it. Instead, he regarded her carefully. "There is nothing to forgive," he finally said, and then promptly wrinkled his nose. "Except for your smell, perhaps. Traveling with Dwarves clearly has left its mark on you."

Tauriel gave a startled laugh. That was one way to put it, she supposed. Only how profound a mark her time with the Dwarves had truly left on her, Thranduil could never know.

"I did not mean to offend your sensibilities," she tried. This was new, bantering with her king. But he had started it, had he not? So perhaps this was the safest way to handle the gulf her absence had opened up between them, the bridge across all those unaddressed issues and unvoiced questions.

And indeed, the ghost of a smile graced her king's lips. "I am not quite so easily rattled. Still—perhaps you would like some time alone to freshen up? I fear that meddlesome wizard will come hunt me down before too long, but you at least might escape the tediousness of his speeches for a little longer still."

Was he trying to get her out of the way? Tauriel could not be certain, and so her first impulse was to reject his uncommonly considerate offer. But then again, a few moments to herself sounded almost irresistible. With everything that had happened since this morning, both her body and mind were slowly beginning to reach their limit. How she would ride into battle with her nerves frayed and her muscles stiff and aching, she did not even want to think about. She caught herself before the words of refusal could slip past her lips and nodded. "Thank you. That would be most welcome."

Whatever Thranduil's reasons for making his offer were, he seemed pleased by her acceptance of it. "Come, then. I will have Faredir show you to somewhere you shall be undisturbed."

And indeed, once they had descended the stairs on the side of the half-ruined building, Faredir, senior member of Thranduil's personal guard, was waiting for them. Tauriel silently chastised herself for having been so naive as to believe that the King would truly have come here with her on his own without one of his most trusted soldiers following closely behind.

She was not entirely certain where she and Thranduil stood, right now, but one thing was for sure—he was not taking any risks with one rogue elf, who had already professed her commitment to the Dwarves' cause, no matter how complicated the history between them was. Perhaps she was simply too tired or too used to being hardly more than a pawn in a sophisticated game for hundreds of years, but Tauriel could not find it within her to be hurt and merely offered Faredir a small smile as he indicated for her to follow him.

A final glance over her shoulder at Thranduil showed him by the corner of the old building still, a thoughtful expression on his face. It might have been true that Tauriel had kept some significant truths from him, but it was equally true that there were things he, too, was keeping from her, plans forming in his head that would unravel with time. She could only hope that those plans would not be at odds with everything she had come to care about.

A/N: Credits for the chapter title go to Ben Howard's "Every Kingdom". Also, a few parts of the dialogue inside Thranduil's tent were taken from the corresponding scene between Thranduil, Bard, and Gandalf in The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies.