A/N:

My Dearies,

I really don't know how this could happen to me. I have loved Tolkien's world ever since I watched PJ's Lord of the Rings movies for the first time when I was a child, but since DoS I seemed to have magically transformed into a Legolas (and Mirkwood Elves in general) fangirl. As most of the fandom I was a little sceptical in terms of PJ's OC Tauriel—which turned out to be unnecessary because seriously: Tauriel is awesome. How could anyone not like her? She is everything the leading female character of such a genre should be like it: Badass, brave, smart, kind and not defined through one of the male characters. Yeeees, I have to admit I also rolled my eyes at the cheesy scene between Tauriel and Kili in the dungeons but giving it a second thought, they only displayed the same kind of cheesy talk that has already been done between Arwen and Aragorn. So to everyone who's mad because PJ spent precious screentime on sweet nothings: Love is just as important in epics as is fighting. That said, I'm actually cool with the love-triangle because as PJ already did with Arwen-Aragorn-Eowyn, Legolas-Tauriel-Kili is handled very carefully.

Having watched DoS I couldn't resist shipping Tauriel and Kili—they are just too cute, especially with Kili being the damsel in distress and Tauriel being the hero to come to his rescue thrice(!). But lately I find myself more on the Legiel ship, and the main reason is probably the scene in which Thranduil confronts Tauriel with Legolas' growing feelings for her: Say what you like but no one can persuade me that Tauriel has not at least once thought about the possibility of her and Legolas being more than just friends. Yes, she looked totally startled when Thranduil spoke of Legolas' fondness towards her but then she looked almost hopeful as he went on. Also: Why on earth would she even bother mentioning her doubt that Thranduil would welcome such an union if she doesn't feel more towards Legolas? If she really regarded the idea of them together to be absurd, she would have just shrugged it and Thranduil's words off. But what do we get instead after his "Do not give him hope"-speech? A miserable, shattered look from Tauriel.

This oneshot (I have not decided yet) is my try on what could be going on in Tauriel's head after her talk with Thranduil. I thought it important to imply that I don't think, Thranduil is against such a relationship simply because of Tauriel's lower elven heritage. Doesn't make sense to me because if that really bothered him, he would have never given her the position of Captain of the Guard—especially if you take her youth into consideration. The fact that he trusts her to handle the "Legolas-is-fond-of-you"-situation instead of stripping her from her position, emphasizes that he respects her. But I guess, Thranduil is such a complex character that you can never be sure.

The song Legolas sings to Tauriel is a modified version of the song of the maiden Nimrodel he sang to the fellowship during their stay in Lothlorien. The first three stanza (although slightly changed by me) belong to J.R.R Tolkien—the last two ones belong to me.

Elvish translations are provided at the end.

Chapter: But Tonight We Dance

I do not think you would allow you son to pledge himself to a lowly Silvan-Elf.

No, you are right. I would not.

The words echoed in her mind—over and over.

Sometimes knowing was more crucial than not-knowing. Knowledge was power. Thranduil had chosen to say the wrong thing at the right time. Was it any better than saying the right thing at the wrong time? Tauriel had left the Elven-King but his words had followed nonetheless. Thranduil's words—no matter if spoken with utter caution or with thundering wrath or even when spoken with tender affection—always stung. They seemed to address the core of one's very being.

It was one of his many weapons if not the deadliest one. Spider poison was kind in comparison. It hurt just the briefest of moments and was gone as fast as a nightmare that has to bow before the first stray of morning sunlight. The King's words on the other hand were made to be haunting. And his voice—smooth as velvet, strong as iron and melodic as moonlight—was made to rule. Yet, Tauriel could also remember a time when his voice was made to soothe. Six hundred years ago he had been already the graceful, aloof Elven-King he was today, but he did not distance himself from the world as he did in recent times.

Her Elfling-self could only recall his kindness and the warmth in his stunning blue eyes when he crouched down before her on the forest floor, dressed in full battle gear. Thranduil had offered her no pity, no tears, no shallow words—only understanding. The understanding of one who shared the same loss she had to endure, who knew the pain it caused to lose a soul that had been here for you from the day of your very first breath, that loved you unconditionally for what you are and that never would have stopped fighting for you—against all odds and darkness of the world.

Avosto, Tauriel gornen. Aphado nin. Since the world has robbed you of your Ada, I will do what I can on his behalf.

Gwestol?

The great Elven-King then had smiled at her—a true, radiant smile she has hardly seen ever since.

Gwestan.

Thranduil's hand had found the top of her head, soft fingers stroking caringly through her auburn hair with the same love as her father had always done it—all those nights spent under the eyes of the stars, listening to the sounds of a world growing darker with every heartbeat.

Lasto tîr, pînmaethril. This is how it sounds when a world is dying.

Tauriel stopped abruptly, only now realizing where her feet and troubled mind had taken her. The familiar scent of wet, cold stone danced around her nose mingling with the reverential smell of ancient wood. She had lost it. In the next second her left hand shot out supporting her against the living walls. A dreadful cry backed against her throat. It threatened to give voice to the kind of anguish not made to be heard by anyone else but her.

Legolas said you fought well today.

The elleth panted, the sting sinking deeper the more she tried to gain control. Both her hands were shaking now. It consumed her—the thoughtfulness, the desperation, the realization. She needed to find herself again, to come back to who she was before sorrow would cloud her judgment. There was only one way to ease such pain.

Tauriel clenched her fist.

Still, he cares about you.

No second thought was able to still her hand. Her movement was as fast as every stroke of her sword—everything she felt converged into this one single blow. She hissed under her breath as her knuckles made contact with the old stone. Liquid fire spread from her right hand into her system freeing heart and mind from the heaviness of her spirit. The nails of her other hand dug into the wall as Tauriel waited for the waves of pain to decline. Her heart was racing now. Traces of blood emerged from the bruised skin.

Presently, the ever so rough, ever so consoling feeling of rock underneath her fingertips slowly sobered her thoughts. Unyielding the hearts of rocks have ever been and marked by stubbornness their bearings. They did not break words with any living beings except with the eldest trees of old—the ones who remembered the first rain. They would not offer her consolation. But there was one who could.

The elleth turned her head towards the end of the stairs.

The wooden path blended into the open mouth of a cavern. No pale light or other twilit glow illuminated the formation save for the sparkling, cheerful reflections of flowing water. The stream under Thranduil's realm called for her from its bed—drawing her in with a calming voice full of hope and merriness.

When she took the last step a chilly breeze brushed ghostly over her face playing with the strands of her hair. Not all Elves found peace in the company of this proud element but she had loved this place the moment Thranduil had showed it to her all those years ago.

Tauriel kneeled down on the hard soil before the water's edge, observing the lively surface while listening to the tales the stream was eager to share with her. She could have sat there for only seconds or for hours—she would not have noticed nor cared. Eventually the elleth dunked her right hand into the water. A relaxed sigh escaped her lips as the water cooled the fire-like pain. Tauriel closed her eyes concentrating on nothing else other than letting go and the murmur of the stream.

I assure you, my lord, Legolas thinks of me no more than a captain of the guard.

Perhaps he did once. Now … I am not so sure.

No.

It was not Thranduil's fault. Not Legolas'. Not hers. It was no ones fault. She had been blind for what was right in front of her. All those years.

Now that Thranduil had pointed it out there was no going back.

Now Tauriel knew what it was—this fragile something that had always been there.

Now she could see it, too: Small gestures—a hand resting longer than necessary on her shoulder; a thumb moving almost cautiously—as if afraid to scare here away—over her fingers to get her attention; Legolas sitting next to her—so close that their elbows touched ever so lightly.

On some days it had amused her. The elleth then had smiled or chuckled at him in response, for—unlike other Elves—she had never been one to be afraid of proximity and skin to skin contact—especially not of his'. Legolas searching for her closeness had always been playful enough. It was just them—nothing to fear, nothing to hide. She had never thought anything of it. It came to them naturally, like the song of the rain or the whispers of the trees. She had welcomed it, for it was a blessing not many of their kind would know even once in all their lifetime: Two souls dancing to the same rhythm of life.

How could she have rejected it?

Tauriel could not decide whether to pity them, or herself and Legolas. What one never has experienced, he would never come to miss. Sometimes fighting could be just as fatal as giving up. This was a lost battle. The elleth would not lie to herself: She would miss it—terribly. She already did.

In a way Thranduil had saved them both from a fate worse than death—he had ended it before grave damage would be inflicted on either of their hearts. Now it would only be her soul—not her heart—that would mourn the loss of Legolas' soothing presence, the hum of his breath—always calm and determined—the scent of his skin—a mixture of sun kissed stone and young earth—and she would mourn his singing voice: Breath-taking beautiful and pure like the sight of a moon in full blossom during a balmy midsummer's night, but also warm and comforting like the flames of a campfire. Hearing it on various occasions she had always wondered which one of his parents had gifted Legolas with this talent—his father or his mother? Tauriel had never heard King Thranduil sing but if his usual speech voice was any indication, she would assume Legolas inherited many of his father's character traits—not his attitude but physical appearance and abilities.

She had followed both their examples for she could not have stand it to be unworthy in their eyes. Ever since it had been her greatest fear to disappoint them both.

Tauriel sighed. There was nothing she would miss more or miss less. She would miss it all—all that was Legolas, her brother in arms, her protégée, her companion. Of course she was still the Captain of the Guard and he was still her Prince. They would be close without being close.

The deadliest is your arrow when released between two heartbeats, Tauriel.

A sad smile settled on her lips, memories overrunning her. For once she let them. This one time—then never again.

On other, more cheekier days she had returned those little gestures of his—bumping her elbow quickly against his in a mocking manner or tapping her fingertips over his arm to a song only she could hear. More than once she chose the rhythm of his heart as a model. No one could have mistaken the affectionate look in his eyes he would give her in return for anything else—except her. She had been blind for the bright light speaking openly from his soul through his eyes to hers. She had not recognized the darker glint that would turn the ice-blue depths into an all-consuming storm when the two of them practiced hand-to-hand combat, or his murderous glare she countless of times fell prey to for her reckless actions.

In retrospective it was not fury she detected in his eyes.

In retrospective it had not been the heat of the battle that had driven Legolas to capture her between his arms and leave a chaste, protective kiss on her temple.

Her cheeks suddenly felt as if the sun had burned them. In one swift motion Tauriel took her hand out of the freezing water and was on her feet, turning away from the stream. Hopefully the water had accepted her memories. After all it was in its character—from the most majestic river down to the smallest brook—to take sorrow away. That was what Thranduil had advised her to do whenever she felt the weight of her immortal existence trying to drag her into the shadows.

Do not travel in darkness. Step out into the rain. Kneel down in front of the river. Memories are like water, Tauriel. Let them flow or they shall overpower you in time.

Thranduil had kept his promise. She would keep hers as well—she would do what was asked of her. It was the right thing to do.

The elleth swallowed. That was when she noticed. She closed her eyes to steady her mind and breath before facing the unavoidable.

"How long have you been watching?" she asked against the murmuring song of the stream, her voice low almost frail. It sounded nothing like her usual self. Yet, with him she knew she did not need to pretend—he would see through any mask and every attempt of false bravery anyway.

"Long enough to know that something is troubling you, tinu nín."

Instantly her grayish green eyes shot up to meet his icy-blue ones. They seemed troubled with her trouble but at the same time harbored the familiar warmth, he seemed to have reserved only for her. It was nearly the same look he had given her on the day they had met for the first time. One tiny something was different, though—like a sunset was different from a sunrise or the light of winter different from the light of summer.

It was enough to make her feel wary.

"Na ten u-mîn, ernil nín."

He frowned in response as if she had insulted him which Tauriel knew she had. Their friendship was on a level beyond such defensive, non-saying answers—and for nearly six hundred years more than beyond proper court etiquette. Tauriel only referred to him as prince when her duty as captain demanded it due to formal situations or when she gave orders. She did not even call Legolas by his title in front of his father. He would not have it any other way. It was Legolas way of expressing that he was much more than the son of a king. The title marked what he was but not who he was. He always made sure everyone remembered that.

"Of course, hest," he said, his tone equally distant as hers. "According to you it is always nothing."

Legolas stepped down from the last stair heading straight towards her. No sound could be heard while he made his way and not once did his eyes leave hers.

She wanted to run—past him, out into the woods, up the highest tree until she was as close to the stars as possible. Anything—even fighting a nest of spiders all on her own—was less dangerous than this. She feared to hurt him, to dishonor and betray his trust and friendship in more ways than one. It was her duty to protect him. She would not let him down. She could not risk to let him know.

He stopped right in front of her—barely an arm's length away, his intimidating stare directed at her. As expected, she was welcomed by the scent of warm stone within the next heartbeat. As an Elfling she had not been able to resist: Every now and then she had thrown her arms tightly around his larger form until Legolas had shown mercy. The moment he had picked her up, she had cuddled as close as physically possible to him bedding her head in his neck, a sigh escaping her lips. The spot under his ear between throat and chin had been her favorite one—there the scent of sun and warmth and earth had been the strongest.

"Don't say it's nothing when it is clearly everything."

Tauriel could not help it. Despite the tension she felt, her features softened. "Tinu nín?" she replied amused, both of her eyebrows forming an elegant bow. "You haven't called me that in decades—are you sure it still applies to me?"

That was when he smiled—a true, teasing one. In an instant the shadow on his face disappeared, leaving a light behind that reminded her of a newly risen sun in the turn of spring. Her blood sang. How she had missed that look in the last couple of decades.

The evil growing from Dol Guldur had affected them all over time—not as strong to cause a change of heart as it would do to men but strong enough to ban certain lights from their lives. The light of smiles and laugh had been one of them. Tauriel could not recall when it began. The change had not been sudden. It had been a slow, disguised process eating on their cheerful souls until one day realization of what has become of their spirited natures had set in. The frustration not to be able to save their home and to defeat the looming threat once and for all had done the rest. Would the light of Greenwood ever return? Would the dying of the trees stop in time? When could the laughter of the stars be heard again at night?

"It always will," he promised, not able to banish the musical chuckle from his voice. "For I am the one who looks after you and you are the one who is trying her best to get herself into trouble all the time."

It took Tauriel all the self-control she could muster up to not pinch him on the arm. Under other circumstances she would have done it—she would have kept doing it if Thranduil had not opened her eyes to the obvious.

Legolas has grown very fond of you.

"Not all of us want to be wise," she offered with a small smile, asking herself why she still had not found a good reason to excuse herself. She balanced dangerously close to the edge. "Besides I don't want to lose this part of me …"

"Never," he interjected, his eyes searching hers to make her understand. "You will never lose it."

"You did," was her gentle reply. Legolas almost flinched. "You are so different from the ellon I met over five hundred years ago … you were cheeky back then, lighthearted, and you smiled more often." Tauriel wondered at every sunset. When did it happen? When did they replace heart with mind; tales with death reports; fighting with hiding; strength with faltering; alliances with treachery? And what was more important: Why did they let it happen?

"Do not think it is your fault," he said, detecting the distress in her words.

"You took me under your wings," Tauriel insisted. "You taught me how to fight, how to run with the wind and how to chase the shadows instead of letting the shadows chasing me. Protecting what is dear to me is the only thing I ever wanted …"

Suddenly she longed to reach for him, to play with the ends of his silver-blond hair and swirl the silky strands around her fingers. It had been her way of expressing her thanks and loyalty to him. When she came off age she had to realize how intimate and unusual such a gesture between non-related Elves was in fact. Still it had taken her about two centuries to get rid of this habit. Now—as she was taking in the sight of him in the calm light of the stream—she was glad she did. Tauriel could not fail to notice that he was still dressed in his armor.

Legolas smirked—the kind of smirk that gave her the feeling as if he knew more than her. "Tauriel, why will you not see that you are the only one who doubts your skills? Stop underestimating yourself or my father will find himself a new Captain one day."

The elleth raised her brows mockingly. "You mean, a Captain who does not defy his orders and decisions? I have always adored your father but there is one thing he doesn't want to understand: We are part of this world. We shall rise and fall with it—whether we take action or not."

This time it was a soft laugh that escaped Legolas' lips. "You and him—you are more alike than you think."

"Which is why we understand each other so well."

She regretted saying it the moment it left her tongue. It was not her place to judge Thranduil. She knew better. On the outside he performed the egoistical demeanor of a King, changing directions in his ruling like the wind depending on what benefits his own intentions the best. Under the surface although, the King who valued gems even above bonds of old, could not stand his ground against the warrior who had lived long enough to know the difference between battles which have to be fought, and battles which are fought out of the wrong reasons. Thranduil cared deeply for the well-being of his people and was willing to do whatever was necessary to ensure their safety—there was nothing wrong with that.

Legolas was right: This was what they had in common. Maybe if she had come to see and endure what Thranduil had in his three thousand years of lifetime, she would be able to understand his motives. But she was young and Thranduil did not hold it against her.

"Goheno nín," Tauriel added quickly. "I overstepped."

Legolas merely shook his head in return, not taking the slightest offence by her words. "You always do. Who can say if you had become such a skilled fighter and Captain, if you hadn't pulled my braids until I finally gave in to talk with my father about your training."

Now Tauriel smiled as well, the memory stronger than Thranduil's warnings. "I tried the same tactic with your father first," she admitted, snorting at how bold and disrespectful she had been as an Elfling. "It didn't impress him much. All what I achieved was that he frowned at me after some time and that I was scared in the end."

"I am sure there are moments when my father wishes these times back, where he could discipline you with just one look," Legolas chuckled, the almost invisible wrinkles in the corners of his mouth laughed at her with all they were worth, a warmth radiating from his eyes that made it almost impossible not to join him in his delight.

"I beg to differ," the elleth challenged with a teasing glint in her eyes, affected by his cheeky mood. "Having you as a son just has taught him how to be patient over the centuries."

Both Elves looked at each other a moment longer then they burst into amused giggles.

Once they had done this every day: Turning Thranduil into ridicule; spending time apart from the duties to protect their borders; talking freely about everything and nothing; joking with each other and being silly for no reason.

"We haven't done this in a while," Tauriel remarked carefully after their laughter had been swallowed by the stones, leaving them again alone with the soothing sound of running water.

Legolas nodded softly, waiting for her to continue.

She wished, she did not have to lift the spell—not yet, not ever. All eternity there was to come and suddenly it was as if she had no time left. Tauriel struggled to prevent her voice from shaking. This was not the time to be self-conscious. She disguised it with a curious wink.

"What is the occasion, if I may ask?"

As an answer Legolas raised his head, letting his eyes wander over the water reflections dancing on the wall towards the bright lights in the distance of the mighty halls.

"It is Mereth en Giliath." His eyes shot back to her face. An optimistic smirk appeared on his lips. "A night for celebration, for forgetting the evil in the world and be merry. A night devoted to tales and songs …"

Tauriel's heart skipped a beat. In the past Legolas often had sung to her the history of their kin to chase the looming shadow and it's foul voice away. During her years of maturity she had told him about the stars in return—what they were for her, what they meant to her and what foreign worlds must lie beyond them. Patiently he had listened to every of her ideas—no matter how fantastic they must have sounded to his seven hundred years old ears. He had taken great enjoyment in how open and bright her mind was, and what original paths it chose.

" … and dance."

Tauriel blinked. "Dance?"

Legolas chuckled at the puzzled expression on her face and at the way she pronounced the word as if she had never used it before. "You always begged me to sing to you the tale of Tinúviel, did you not?"

Now the elleth was even more confused. She regarded Legolas with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. What was it he had in mind? And more importantly: When would they pass the point to cancel it?

"That I did—and the song of the maiden Nimrodel."

"Your favorite one," Legolas mused.

"It still is."

"Iston. Tolo," was all he said before he offered her his right hand, opening his fingers little by little like a blossom on the break of day. A fond smile accompanied his actions eliciting deep and easy breaths from her.

Tauriel enjoyed dancing—all Elves did—but not as much as she enjoyed fighting which is why she had never practiced this art with the same devotion as shooting arrows or perfecting her skills with a blade. Yet, a dance was a dance—whether taking place between two friends or two enemies.

The longer she hesitated the warmer his smile seemed to become. "I assume, this is the moment where we both pretend as if we didn't know that you have already decided to accept."

She shook her head in amusement. There it was—his cheekiness. Once in a while it still knew how to find its way to the surface.

"Caro den i linnas lín," she responded in fake defeat, unable to resist a chance to tease him.

Eventually she closed the gap between. Just as her fingertips brushed over his palm, his other hand shot up clasping her right hand between his fingers. Even in the faint light of the cave the marks on her knuckles could not be mistaken.

"When did this happen?" he growled, undoubtedly recalling that she had not been injured during their fight against the spiders earlier that day. While Legolas was inspecting the bruised skin, Tauriel scolded herself for letting herself get carried away.

"Does it matter? It happened. It belongs in the past."

"The past can still affect the present."

"Are you now going to deny me my dance?" she but challenged, hoping to distract him. There was simply no reasonable explanation to justify such a wound. It was not her first injury and it will not be her last, but it was the first in over a century—naturally he would be alarmed.

Legolas shifted his attention from her hand to her eyes. "You should have told me."

Tauriel said nothing in return. She contented herself with starring at him, daring him to make the next move. And he did—all the while glaring daggers at her for her persistence, which amused her even more. He bowed to her first—she followed displaying no lesser grace. Presently they palms found each other in the air, their fingertips pointing towards the sky. In union they raised their hands on shoulder-level while condemning their left hands to wait patiently on either sides of their bodies.

Teliën Gonathren—it was the first feast dance Legolas had taught her, a steady sequence of repelling and inviting movements, and her spirited nature had enjoyed it immediately. It was a simply dance, easy to learn but what was so appealing to Tauriel was that—despite of all the turns and twists the partners had to undergo in the course of the dance—in the end they always found together.

Smiling the elleth looked at their hands, then back to his face. "And the song?"

In a soft tone hardly made to be carried away by the wind Legolas began to sing. Simultaneously their bodies moved. After the first view notes Tauriel knew it was the song of the maiden Nimrodel, and it was not the version she was used to:

An Elven-maid there was so bold

A shining star by day:

Her wooden bow was hemmed with gold,

Her eyes of greenish-grey

A star was bound upon her brows

A light was on her hair

As sun upon the golden boughs

In Mirkwood the fair.

Her hair was long, her limbs were white,

And young she was and free;

And in the wind she went as light

As leaf of linden-tree.

Beware the blade of just Tauriel,

A master of life and death

Her heart the trees will tell

Derives from stars first breath.

A Prince she served of old

In sunlight as in shade,

For his words had never told

When long his eyes betrayed.

Legolas' voice faltered, and the song as well as their dance ceased.

The full extent of the meaning of his words hit her not as hard as the meaning that lay underneath. Tauriel wanted to back away—eventually drawing the line that would keep them on distance, but he would not have it.

"Legolas," Tauriel began awkwardly, the promising spark as obvious to her as it was to him. "Man … cerig?"

With growing embarrassment she listened to the song of his heart beating close to her own. Never before it had taken such a wild rhythm—like an untamed horse in the steppe, running after the wind who called its name. Ignoring her attempts to struggle out of his hold, his arms drew her closer until their foreheads touched. Tauriel took a deep breath. She was confident her heart would stop throbbing at any rate now. There was no going back, no hiding—he had chosen to expose her, and in the end it would shatter them both.

Legolas raised his head slightly. His eyes found hers once again, holding them with a caring expression. "Every time my father says something to you, you start keeping your distance. Do not think I haven't noticed—don't let him get to you."

Her answer died on the way from her head to her mouth. Legolas moved. Not anywhere. Playfully he tipped his nose against hers catching her off guard. Tauriel could not remember the last time he had done this. He chuckled sweetly as he noticed her reaction—eyes wide open while her breathing hitched—and placed his hands on either side of her face, cherishing the delicate skin with tender strokes of his thumbs.

"Are you going to hide behind my legs and glare at him for weeks, as you did when you were but an Elfling?" he whispered, a low tone that sent shivers down her arm.

He could have asked her if she would stay forever by his side, if she would fight for him until her last breath fades away, if he was the only one in this world she would ever need—and she could never give him an answer.

A sad smile crossed her lips. "He tolerated it once but now, I fear, he would not."

Something flashed in his eyes. The icy-blue suddenly turned dark like a page of parchment drenched in ink. "Do not give him hope where there is none."

Tauriel froze.

Utterly taken aback her eyes searched his. The expression she found was clear and open and oddly vulnerable. If it were not for the movement of his lips and his breath brushing ghostly over her face, she would have been sure Thranduil had sneaked up on them. In this moment Legolas sounded so much like his father that the elleth at first did not realize what his words conveyed. When she did, she could not hold his look and accept his touch any longer. She could draw swords or shot arrows in the blink of an eye, and now she used this speed to force his hands and warmth away from her—cringing when she noticed the look her actions caused on his face.

If this went on she would betray him, their friendship and the generosity Thranduil has shown her during all those centuries. He had been there for her when her father had no longer walked among them. The King had raised her like a child of his own. Not once he had looked down on her because of her lower elvish heritage. It did not matter to him. He had always favored and forgiven her—and he still did. Legolas was not the only one who cared—otherwise Thranduil would have never approached her about this matter in the first place.

"You've overheard our conversation?" , the Captain of the Guard clarified and it sounded less than a question than a statement.

"Not only this one."

"Then you know." Tauriel closed her eyes. She should have known—she should have paid attention. For decades already he would go wherever she went, and she would go wherever he went. If one of them is seen, it could be assumed that the other was not too far away either. Their positions as Prince and Captain had demanded it, though not as much as their relationship as friends.

She turned away, ashamed and overwhelmed but warm fingers reached out for her in time, stopping her from walking away. Legolas did not pull—and she was thankful he did not. Yet, she did not dare facing him. Instead her eyes roomed over the elegant art and structure of their home as if she had never seen any of it before. The reflections of the water-surface danced along the living walls of stone lightening them up with promises of dreams and magic.

"No," he answered. "I did once. Now I am not so sure, melethril."

The hesitant squeeze around her wrist in combination with his voice and choice of words made everything even worse. Her breath came shorter and deeper, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Legolas was still close—she could feel the warmth radiating from his body brushing protectively over her back.

"I said everything what needed to be said in the King's presence," Tauriel replied, forcing her voice to sound harsh and cold.

"Tinu nín—"

"Baw, henio!" Every syllable felt like a stone in her stomach. "Avbedo!"

"Why not?" He squeezed her wrist again. "Tauriel … why not?" It was barely a whisper but it contained no plea or despair or regret.

The elleth swallowed. Then she risked a glance over her shoulder down at their hands. They matched like two bows made from the same tree. Tauriel had always liked his hands—deadly if they needed to be but gentle if you let them. Their strength and kindness had taught her how to fight, how to write, how to notch an arrow, how to climb on trees and how to feel the heartbeat of the earth beneath her palm.

Had it been that wrong?

"I am the Captain of the Guard," she answered sternly. "You and I, we have been together ever since I laid my eyes upon your father's halls for the first time." She paused. Her mind was racing, desperate to find words that would not cause more pain than necessary. More often than not it were her actions that spoke for her. She turned around intertwining her hand with his, but still refused to look at him. "I failed you in the most horrible way. Diheno anim, mellon nín."

Before he could do or say anything Tauriel bowed to him respectfully, placing their interlocked hands over her heart. Instantly her blood started humming in her ears. He heard it—she was sure.

Legolas said nothing for a very long time.

Then the fingers of his left hand lifted her chin. He took his time to study her in detail, taking in every little movement, every tremble of her mouth. A shiver ran down her spine. He was irritated—with her or with himself she could not tell. It was a look he had never used on her before. Without realizing she clutched his hand tighter against her chest.

The thumb under her chin brushed shyly over her lower lip—not long enough to frighten her but strong enough to let her know. She felt it in her breath, on her skin, in every muscle of her body—one more and she would start shaking like a leaf in autumn.

Legolas followed his own movements with his eyes. "Be iest lín," he finally said with a heartwarming smile Tauriel did not expect. It was honest, yet it did not replace the expression in his eyes. The shadow had returned. Pleased that the elleth at least did not evade his touch, his finger made their way up to her cheek until they came to rest against her neck in a tender grip.

"Ú-moe edaved," he went on, his voice as warm as his smile.

Relief washed over her like a mild breeze. The corners of her mouth twitched once, twice, until a brilliant smirk occupied her lips.

Then all of a sudden his right hand freed itself swiftly from her hold. A noise of disapproval escaped her throat turning into a weak gasp as his hand circled around her waist. One strong pull and in the next heartbeat she found herself pressed against his body, wrapped in warmth and this particular scent that was only him and him alone.

Tauriel tensed for a split second, already preparing to push away but her body moved on its own accords, tired of fighting and done with reason. She shuddered, unable to avert feeling equally cold and warm to feel him so close once more. Cautiously she placed her head in the crook of his neck, clinging to the material of his uniform on his back. It took her a while to notice that his body trembled as well—not as evidently as hers but the feeling was there nonetheless.

"Hannon le," she whispered blissfully against his skin, caressing his back ever so lightly with the tips of her fingers to calm him down.

Legolas did not move. His voice sounded perplexed but amused at the same time: "Man an?"

Tauriel inhaled his scent, carefully choosing her words only to end up ignoring them: "For allowing me to stay by your side."

Instead of an answer, Legolas raised his head and forced her to do the same. Tauriel smiled nervously up at him, more anxious about what he was going to do than what he would not do. He closed the gap slowly, all the way giving her time to back away.

She did not.

He kissed her feather lightly. First on the one then on the other cheek, on both of her eyes and finally on top of her forehead. He lingered there a moment longer, smiling against her skin. Tauriel smelled of young rain and fresh grass on a beautiful summer day.

"Gerich veleth nín," Legolas said, his voice full of emotions. It was a promise. A last touch, a last breath and then he left as soundless as he had sought her out.

Tauriel kept her eyes closed cherishing the moment just a little bit longer. It was as if she had taken a bath in pure sunlight.

When the elleth dared to open them again she felt like crying. In the end it had not been blindness that had kept her from seeing. No, it had been her—she had lied to herself about her feelings for her companion.

I Nogoth … amman e tir gin, Tauriel?

Her eyes wandered to the dungeons. A stone-cold expression straightened her features.

She knew now what she had to do.

Elvish (No guarantee for 100% correctness of the forms, for I sometimes had to improvise with my Elvish grammar and vocab book—if anyone of you happens to be an Elvish specialist feel free to correct me):

Avosto, Tauriel gornen. Aphado nin Don't be afraid, brave Tauriel. Come with me.

Gwestol? (reverential) Do you promise?

Gwestan I promise.

Lasto tîr, pînmaethril Listen carefully, little (female) warrior.

tinu nín my little star

Na ten u-mîn, ernil nín It is nothing, my Prince.

hest Captain

Goheno nín Forgive me.

Iston. Tolo! I know. Come!

Caro den i linnas lín Your will shall be done.

Teliën Gonathren Interwining game

Man … cerig? What are you doing?

melethril female who loves

Baw, henio! Avbedo! Don't do it, please understand! Don't speak!

Diheno anim, mellon nín Forgive me, my friend.

Be iest lín As you wish.

Ú-moe edaved There is nothing to forgive.

Hannon le Thank you.

Man an? What for?

Gerich veleth nín You have my love.

I Nogoth … amman e tir gin, Tauriel? Why does the dwarf stare at you, Tauriel?