AN: It's been a while; life has been a whirlwind of changes, but I'm hoping to be back and want to continue with the story that I started last year. I'd love to say I want to post every day, but I'm not sure how realistic that will be. I'm going to try to upload a chapter a week. As always, please enjoy, and feedback is welcome. Enjoy!

Chapter 12: Captive

Daeron sat hugging his knees, hunched over, lost in thought. Doubt assaulted his mind, gnawing at him relentlessly. Surely this isn't what Gandalf had in mind. The voice in his head was merciless. Idiot, you failed everyone. He rocked back and forth slightly, trying to block out the voices arguing within him, but to no avail. Useless Ranger, another voice sneered. You had one task: get us through Mirkwood, and you messed that up.

Thorin's harsh words echoed in his mind, as if the Dwarven lord had slapped him in the face. Daeron closed his eyes, the sting of the reprimand still fresh. He didn't make mistakes—not like this. He was a Dúnedain, half-ranger, half-human, adopted son of Lord Elrond. He could expertly navigate through the wilderness, track a deer with as little as a broken branch indicating its passage. Yet, here he was, imprisoned in Mirkwood, having failed his companions.

The cold, damp stone beneath him seemed to seep into his bones, heightening his sense of failure. He could still remember exploring the Trollshaws with Elladan and Elrohir, sneaking out of Rivendell to hunt deer. Those memories, once fond, now served as painful reminders of how far he had fallen. His journey north with his brothers to the ranger stronghold of Esteldín had been a time of growth and learning. Under Nolin's guidance, he had undergone rigorous training, becoming adept at survival in the wild. The captain had pushed them hard, sending them on missions across the North Downs, often with minimal supplies. Daeron had excelled, his half-elven blood granting him an edge—light-footedness, keen eyesight, a natural ability to notice the smallest details.

But none of that had helped him in Greenwood. Mirkwood had bested him.

The sound of heavy footfalls drew Daeron out of his thoughts. The echo of boots on the stone floor was unmistakable. He scooted closer to the bars, peering out to see several armed Elves dragging Thorin back to his cell. He watched as they threw the Dwarf lord inside, locking the door before marching back the way they had come.

"Any progress?" Balin's calm voice floated across the chamber.

"I told the elf sprite that he can go," Thorin retorted, switching to Dwarvish, his tone bitter and resentful. Balin sighed, the sound heavy with frustration.

"We're losing time," Balin finally said, a note of annoyance creeping into his voice. "Thorin, have you thought of the possibility that you might have to appease Thranduil? If we don't—"

"I know, I know." Thorin's reply was sharp, filled with frustration. From across the room, Daeron could see him standing behind his cell's wall, a hand pressed against his forehead, the weight of their situation evident in his stance. "If Durin's Day passes and we aren't at the entrance, then our opportunity to access the secret entrance will be impossible for another year… But as Durin is my witness, I'd gladly wait another year—several more—than give that stuck-up elf the satisfaction."

Daeron opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. He felt the tension in the air, the dwarves' frustration and despair hanging heavy over them. Another set of footsteps approached, causing the dwarves to fall silent once more. Daeron looked up and saw a familiar red-haired Elf walking towards him, flanked by two sentries. Tauriel's presence was commanding, her green eyes scanning the cells as she approached.

She stopped in front of his cell, her gaze sharp and unreadable. Daeron didn't move, simply sitting there staring back at her. Beside him, Kili stirred, rising to his feet. Tauriel's eyes flickered between them before she spoke.

"Master Daeron," she said curtly, producing a key and unlocking the cell. She motioned for him to rise. Hesitantly, he obeyed, rising slowly to his feet and taking a cautious step outside the cell. The two sentries eyed him warily, their hands resting on their blades, ready for any sign of trouble. Tauriel closed the door behind him, locking Kili back inside.

"Come," she said, marching off the way she had come. Daeron followed, trying to ignore the glares he could feel from several of the dwarves. His mind raced as they navigated through the winding corridors of the Elven fortress. Why is she taking me away from the others? A flicker of suspicion crossed his mind, but he quickly pushed it aside. There was little he could do now but comply.

They walked through several winding corridors, up and down spiraling staircases. As they moved deeper into the fortress, Daeron couldn't help but marvel at the intricate carvings and tapestries that adorned the walls. Despite his current situation, he couldn't deny the beauty of Mirkwood's craftsmanship. They strode past several elves who ignored them completely, Daeron noted that they weren't soldiers which was a relief. Eventually, they arrived at the bottom of a long winding staircase, which they ascended. The lack of water and a decent meal left Daeron exhausted as they reached a door, which Tauriel pushed open.

Bright light momentarily blinded Daeron, causing him to stop mid-step. The fresh, clean air filled his nose, a stark contrast to the damp, stale air of the dungeon. As his eyes slowly adjusted, he saw they were standing on a grassy outcrop high above the ground, well concealed by the large trees that grew around them. The rustling of leaves and the distant sound of a waterfall filled the air, bringing a sense of peace he hadn't felt in days.

"His Highness, Lord Thranduil, has allowed you to spend some time each day up here," Tauriel announced, nodding to the sentries who closed the door, leaving them alone. Sunlight spilled through the weaves of leaves and branches, allowing small rays to touch his face. Daeron closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, the warmth of the sun a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to savor this reprieve, the weight of his captivity momentarily lifting. It was then that Daeron realized how much the effect of the dense darkwood had on him.

"I suppose I ought to thank him," Daeron said, opening his eyes while looking at the lithe elf maiden with fiery red hair. Her expression was unreadable, but there was a hint of softness in her eyes that gave him pause.

"That would go a long way, yes," she replied, taking a seat on a stone bench. She gestured to a table nearby, which had pitchers of water, some fruit, bread, cheese, and meat. "Please help yourself."

Daeron slowly made his way toward the table, his stomach growling as the sweet aroma of the fruit filled his nose. He hesitated for a moment, glancing back at Tauriel. She sat calmly, watching him with a level gaze. Is this a gesture of goodwill? Or something else? Was this all a trap, alluring him to a false sense of security? The questions lingered in his mind as he reached for a piece of bread, his fingers brushing against a cluster of grapes. For a moment, their hands almost touched, and he felt a flicker of something he couldn't quite identify—curiosity, perhaps, or something deeper.

As he ate, savoring the simple yet delicious food, Daeron couldn't shake the feeling that this moment, this brief respite in the sunlight, was the calm before the storm. He glanced at Tauriel, who remained silent, her gaze focused on the distant trees. What game is Thranduil playing? And how much is Tauriel playing him? After what seemed to be only a brief while Tauriel returned him to his cell.

"What did she want?" Thorin asked glaring at Tauriel as she left silently.

"Nothing," Daeron said slowly.

"Really?" Thorin asked suspiciously his cold hard stare making Daeron wince slightly.

"Yes, really." Daeron replied, "Look I'm a ranger of the north. That affords me certain privileges" he held up a hand to cut off Thorin, who's mouth opened, "They offered to keep me accommodated elsewhere but I refused. I gave my word that I would help you and my word is my bond. She took me to get some fresh air, I'm sure they are worried that too much mistreatment could lead to some consequences…"

Daeron bit his lip hoping that his explanation would satisfy Thorin, after all seeing how the dwarf prince interacted with Thranduil left no desire to reveal the complete truth to him, that he was half elf and half human. Kili stared at Daeron, a small smirk rising as he began to grin.

"What?" Daeron asked.

"Oh nothing nothing… just well reckon that elf maiden fancy's you?" Kili whispered his tone barely above a whisper.

"Her? Pfft, I doubt it. I'm probably just an oddity, I doubt they've had many rangers through these parts."

With the constant flickering of torches lighting up the cavern in which their cells were kept, the passing of time was hard to keep track of. They would chat occasionally, oftentimes low murmurs could be heard and the occasional group check in was in order. Basic meals didn't tell much, only that it was time to eat. For the most part they slept, which was one benefit of their capture. They could sleep in peace, there was no fear of giant arachnids, orcs or wargs chasing them. Tauriel arrived and again led Daeron back to the outcrop. Where again food and refreshments waited, guilt struck him as he realized that while he was enjoying the limited freedoms his companions were still left confined to their damp quarters. Daeron sat across from Tauriel, the tension in the air palpable yet unspoken. He focused on the goblet in his hands, letting the cool water soothe his parched throat. The weight of Tauriel's gaze was unmistakable—curious, probing, yet lacking the cold detachment he might have expected from an agent of Thranduil. He could sense her intrigue, and though it made him wary, he found it difficult to ignore.

Tauriel spoke first, her tone gentle but inquisitive. "You are unlike any I've encountered, Master Daeron. Half-Elf, half-human... such a blending of worlds is rare, even in the tales we hear."

Daeron met her gaze, his expression guarded. "It is rare, yes. Few of my kind exist—Lord Elrond is the only other I know of. It has it's challenges, not really belonging in either world completely."

Tauriel nodded, her expression thoughtful. "I've heard tales of the Dúnedain, of their resilience and skill in the wild. But I've never met one, nor have I ever ventured beyond Greenwood's borders. You must have seen much of the world, lived among many different peoples."

Daeron allowed himself a small, cautious smile. "I have traveled far and wide, yes. The world beyond these woods is vast, full of wonders and dangers alike. But each place has its own beauty... and its own sorrows."

Tauriel leaned forward slightly, her eyes shining with genuine interest. "Tell me more. What is it like, living beyond the safety of these woods? To be among men, dwarves, and other creatures?"

Daeron studied her face, searching for any hint of duplicity, but found none. She seemed earnest, her curiosity almost childlike despite the centuries she had undoubtedly lived. Still, he couldn't let his guard down completely. Afterall she was a captain of the guard for Thranduil. But he sensed in no danger is sharing a little of life outside Greenwood.

"It is... different," he began slowly. "Men are not as long-lived as Elves, and their lives are often filled with strife. But they are resilient, always striving to make the most of their time. Though oftentimes it brings about their own downfall. Power often leads them astray. Dwarves... they are a proud people, stubborn, but loyal to those they deem worthy."

Tauriel's lips curled into a small smile. "And what of Elves outside Greenwood? Are they as... unyielding as our king?"

Daeron chuckled softly, a sound that surprised even him. "Not all. Some are more welcoming, more open to the world. Rivendell, where I was raised, is a place of peace and knowledge. Lord Elrond is wise and kind; he allows all who seek refuge in his realm entrance… he's seen and experienced some horrendous and sorrowful things during his life but he's never allowed that to harden him."

Tauriel's eyes softened at the mention of sorrow. "We all have our burdens to bear, it seems. Even within these woods, there is darkness that creeps ever closer. Polluting and corrupting the once beautiful Mirkwood."

Daeron felt a pang of empathy for the Elf maiden. He understood her plight, he loved the North, the wonders that it held, but even the beauty of nature was being robbed by the darkness that always lingered despite the Rangers' attempts.

"What of you, Lady Tauriel? You seem different from the others here."

Tauriel tilted her head, considering his question. "I could ask the same of you, Master Daeron. Why do you travel with Thorin Oakenshield's company? You could have stayed in Rivendell, in safety."

Daeron's expression hardened slightly. "I have my reasons, as I'm sure you have yours for serving Thranduil."

Tauriel sighed, looking away for a moment before meeting his gaze again. "I serve my king because it is my duty, he took me in when my parents were killed. He has provided me with a safe home and given me the means to try and keep The Greenwood safe. But I've always been curious of the world around me, I yearn to see more of Middle Earth."

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the tension between them eased. Daeron realized that Tauriel and himself were similar, parents killed when they were young, taken in by an elven lord and given the means to do something with their lives like protecting the ones and things that mattered to them. Daeron finally spoke, his voice softer. "Perhaps one day, you will. The world is wide, and there is much to see."

Tauriel nodded, a faint smile gracing her lips. "Perhaps. But until then, I will listen to the tales of those who have walked the paths I have not."

Tauriel POV

The silence of the night was broken only by the faint rustle of leaves in the trees outside the stone walls of the Elvenking's halls. The air was cool, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and pine. Tauriel moved quietly through the dimly lit corridors, her patrol completed, yet sleep eluded her. Something had drawn her back to the lower chambers, a quiet curiosity that refused to let her rest.

As she descended the final staircase, a soft, haunting melody reached her ears. She paused, listening intently. The voice was low, rich with emotion, and though the words were in a tongue familiar to her—one of the many ancient languages she had learned over the centuries—there was a depth to them that eluded her understanding.

She followed the sound to its source, stopping just outside Daeron's cell. He sat on the cold stone floor, his back against the wall, eyes half-closed as he sang a song of the Dúnedain. The tune was melancholy, a ballad of loss and hope intertwined, the kind of song that bore the weight of countless generations.

Tauriel watched him in silence for a moment, then gently tapped on the iron bars to announce her presence. The song trailed off as Daeron looked up, surprise flickering across his features before being replaced by his usual guarded expression.

"Forgive me," Tauriel said softly, stepping closer to the bars. "I didn't mean to interrupt. Your song... it is beautiful, but I do not fully understand its meaning."

Daeron regarded her for a moment, then nodded slightly. "It is an old song, passed down among the Dúnedain. It speaks of the struggles of my people, of the long nights spent in the wild, the battles fought, and the losses endured. But it also carries a message of hope, a reminder that even in the darkest times, there is light to be found, if one knows where to look."

Tauriel tilted her head, her brow furrowing slightly as she considered his words. "A hope that persists, despite the suffering?"

"Exactly," Daeron replied, a faint smile touching his lips. "It's a reminder that no matter how dire things may seem, there is always something worth fighting for."

Tauriel couldn't help but stare at the Ranger, he was strange, but not in a bad way. Here laying in a cell was a man who bore the blood of two peoples and held two different statuses a Ranger and the adopted son of Lord Elrond of Rivendell. Her keen eyes could see the scars that marred his hands and his eyes they showed, pain? no , regret of something she concluded. She noticed a pendant hanging around his neck, she hadn't seen it before. A small, intricately crafted piece of silver with a gemstone set in the center. It caught the light, gleaming softly in the dimness.

"Its beautiful." She said softly, her eyes widening as she realized she'd spoken the words aloud. His eyes look at her and glanced down. Daeron's hand instinctively went to the pendant, his fingers brushing over its surface. "Yes. It was given to me by my grandmother before I left Rivendell. It's a reminder of where I come from, and what I must strive to protect."

Tauriel's eyes softened as she looked at the pendant, then back at Daeron. "It is a beautiful piece, full of meaning. We all need something to hold on to, especially in times like these."

She hesitated, then continued, her voice quieter, more contemplative. "For me, it has always been the stars. When the world feels heavy, I find solace in looking up at them. They are constant, unchanging... a reminder that there is something greater, something beyond our understanding."

Daeron nodded, his expression thoughtful. "The stars have always been a source of wonder for the Elves, haven't they? A connection to the past, to those who came before."

Tauriel smiled, a distant, almost wistful look in her eyes. "Yes. In Mirkwood, we are often surrounded by darkness, but the stars... they are a light that cannot be dimmed, no matter how deep the shadows."

For a moment, they sat in silence both lost in their own thoughts. Laughter and voices sounded above them.

"Sounds like quite the party." Daeron said breaking the silence.

"Ah yes, we are celebrating the changing of the seasons, it'll be quite festive this year and the stars will be magnificent." Tauriel replied then remembering she had other duties to attend to she rose to her feet. She noted that Daeron followed suit.

Tauriel spoke again, this time her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you, Master Daeron, for sharing your song with me. It has given me much to think about." Without waiting for a response she quickly strode away leaving the prison chamber behind. As Tauriel ascended the final staircase, she was startled to find Legolas waiting for her at the top, his arms crossed and a frown marring his usually serene features. The prince's blue eyes were sharp, scrutinizing her with a mixture of concern and something else she couldn't quite place.

"You've been spending a great deal of time with our... guests," Legolas remarked, his tone carefully neutral but laced with unspoken questions.

Tauriel hesitated, searching for the right words. She wondered just how long the prince had been standing there listening, "I seek to understand them better," she replied, meeting his gaze evenly. "They are not like the others we've encountered. There's more at play here than Thranduil seems willing to acknowledge."

Legolas's frown deepened, his voice dropping to a whisper as he stepped closer. "Be careful, Tauriel. Thranduil does not take kindly to those who question his judgments. And you—" He stopped himself, his expression softening just slightly. "You have always had a heart too open for your own good…" He paused staring into her eyes before finally saying.

"Goodnight Tauriel." With that he walked off.

As Tauriel watched Legolas stride away his steps were as light as ever, his movements fluid, but there was a stiffness in his shoulders that was impossible to miss. She had known him long enough to recognize the signs—a faint tension in his jaw, the way his hands flexed and curled as if trying to grasp something just out of reach.

Tauriel felt a pang in her chest, an uneasy whisper of concern that she couldn't quite silence. Legolas had always been composed, his emotions guarded like the depths of a still pond. But now, there was a storm brewing beneath the surface, and she was certain of it.

Her own heart fluttered in response, caught between the affection she held for him and the unspoken rules that bound them. She was a Silvan elf, a captain of Thranduil's guard, born from the simpler stock of the woodland folk. He, a prince of royal blood, destined for a path far above hers. And yet, the bond they shared had always been more than mere duty.

Tauriel's fingers brushed the hilt of her blade absently, her thoughts spinning. What troubled Legolas so? Was it their last mission? Or something more personal, more intricate than she could unravel? A part of her wanted to follow him, to press him until he admitted what gnawed at his heart. But another part, the one bound by duty and honor, held her back.

She exhaled softly, watching as Legolas disappeared into the shadowed paths of the woodland realm, his figure melting into the dappled twilight. The tension between them had always been there, simmering beneath the surface, unacknowledged but impossible to ignore. And tonight, it felt more tangible than ever.

AN: Thoughts about doing some POV from Tauriel's perspective? Is it good? or not necessary? Please let me know your thoughts.