Based off a prompt from the Hobbit Kink Meme: 'Blind Tauriel'. I I haven't fulfilled the request exactly, mostly because somebody else is already doing a fantastic job of that, but this is a variation on the theme.

Thranduil had expected to find Tauriel grieving her dwarf, and he was not wrong. He had not, however, expected all that he found.

The first, most shocking thing was the amount of blood – black from the orc filth that had killed Oakenshield's nephew, and a ruby-red pool that could not possibly have all come from the dwarf. Though Tauriel's head was bowed, her face obscured by her hair, dark stains had wicked down the fabric of her tunic, turning the green an odd shade of murky brown. Her hands were smeared with it, great sections of hair wet and sticky. She was shivering, though the air was not nearly cold enough to affect an Elf.

"They want to bury him," she said, not looking up. The wounds that killed the dwarf had not touched his face; at a glance, he might only have been sleeping.

"Yes," Thranduil said, as gently as he could. Furious though he had been with her, he knew, all too well, the pain she suffered now. Her love, he had realized, was no less real than his for his wife, for all it was so new. She would carry it with her until the end of her days.

She said nothing, nor did she rise. Her fingers traced Kili's features over and over, as though memorizing them by touch, leaving rusty trails in their wake. Thranduil had little doubt that if she were allowed, she would sit there until she starved.

"Tauriel," he said again, still gently. Only now did she raise her head, and he froze.

Her face was streaked with gore, so much so that it looked like a ghoulish mask. Her fight with Bolg had gone more ill than he thought, and at first the source of all that blood was difficult to identify. Not until she brushed the hair form her face did he realize, and his heart lurched.

Bolg had cut her right across the face – a clean, almost straight line from temple to temple. Right through her eyes. Such precision could only have been deliberate; the orc meant to cripple her, then toy with her like a cat with a mouse.

She did not seem to feel the true pain of it yet, but that was a thing he had seen on many a battlefield: the agony of major injury kept at bay until the body could bear it no longer. Shock, the healers called it. It would, he knew, wear off soon enough.

He could not have banished her now, even had he still wished to. With such a grievous injury, she would not last a week on her own. She might last little more than that even with care, but he meant to see that she received it. For she and Legolas had been right, slow though he was to see it. He had lost his son, however temporarily; he would not lose Tauriel. Not if he could help it.

"You will have to take him, my lord," she said, far too calmly. "You can see why I cannot do it myself."

Her head turned when he stepped toward her, her ruined eyes blank beneath their film of drying blood. "Rest, Tauriel," he said, laying his right hand on her hair. "Sleep, and know no pain."

The Halls of the Woodland Realm were not so heavily populated that news of Tauriel's banishment was slow to pass through them. When the King's host returned, diminished by nearly a third, word that she had drawn her bow on him passed even more swiftly, but it was mentioned almost as an afterthought, tacked on to the gruesome tale of her eyes.

Of all the senses, sight was most precious to the Eldar. In ages past, traitors had been blinded as a punishment – but not as Tauriel had been. The Elven method was painless, and could be reversed after whatever length of time was deemed fit punishment. No Elf now living had the capacity for such cruelty as had been meted out to her.

She was brought to the healing wards with a heavy bandage wound around her head, secure over her eyes. Though many had been given cordials against pain, she alone was kept fully unconscious, so deeply asleep she scarcely seemed to breathe. The others, patients and healers alike, moved quietly, careful not to wake her.

"There is little to be done, my lord," the healer Ríniel said frankly, when Thranduil asked. "We will induce cataracts to protect what remains of her eyes, but I do not think the damage will ever heal. She may well be blind for the rest of her life."

"But she will live?"

"If she has the will for it."

Oh, she would. Thranduil would see to that, no matter what he had to do to ensure it.

When Tauriel woke, she was not at first certain that she had. Her body felt boneless, her head light and floaty – poppy-milk, she realized. She never had liked the effects of it, the way it dulled both sense and instinct. She was clean and warm and comfortable, the scent of smoke and bitter herbs suggesting she was in the healing wards. How? The last thing she remembered was—

Kili. Bolg. The knife that slashed through her eyes, the pain hot and brief, driven away by grief and rage. Kili was gone, torn from her forever, and her eyes—

She realized she was moaning, a low, agonized keening drawn from her throat as she curled into a ball. Her physical wounds she could not feel, but the agony in her chest had nothing to do with any injury sustained in battle. Sweet Eru, why was she not dead? Why would anyone bring her here, save her, after all that she had done?

Why would anyone be so cruel?

"Shh, child." The soft hand of one of the healers – Ríniel, by her voice – smoothed the hair back from Tauriel's forehead. "All will be well."

Tauriel didn't bother asking how. It could not be, ever. Her heart was torn asunder, her sight was gone – for all she knew, her eyes themselves might be gone. Nothing would ever be well again.

"Why?" she asked, unable to elaborate. Why am I here? Why am I alive?

"Your time on this earth is not yet spent, Tauriel," Ríniel said, stroking her hair. "Your song has not ended. There are still things you must do."

She could not imagine what, or why, or how, and she had not the energy to ask. Mercifully, sleep claimed her again, and she did not wake to her grief for a long while.

When next consciousness returned to her, it brought pain. It was not terrible or crippling; it was merely a dull ache in her head, where her eyes should be. Cautious fingers explored her face – yes, her eyes remained, though she could not feel her own touch against them. They felt alien beneath her fingertips, as warm as her body, but they did not yield under gentle pressure.

Just what had the healers done?

"Stop that."

Ríniel's voice made Tauriel jump. The healer took her hand, drawing it away from her face. "The wound has largely healed, but don't fuss at it. If you infect it, you will only stay here longer."

"Where else am I to go?" Tauriel asked wearily. "I am of use to nothing and no one like this." She was useless and Kili was gone. She would never even see his grave.

Tears burned in whatever remained of her eyes, creeping hot down her cheeks. If this was love, she did not wonder why Thranduil was willing to live a life without it.

"You can learn to live without your sight, child," Ríniel said. "It will not be easy, but it has been done before."

How am I to live without my heart? she wondered silently.

At first, she refused to eat. It wasn't difficult; hunger was the last thing on her mind. Not until Ríniel threatened to tie her down and force-feed her did she relent, and even then, it was only bowls of broth. Evidently the healer thought it better than nothing, for she relented. So long as Tauriel at least ate that, the threats stopped.

No one had come to visit, but that did not surprise her in the least. Even yet she wondered that she had been saved at all, but Ríniel would give her no answers. She did not ask about anything that went on outside her room; it was easier not to know.

The fact that she could not do even small tasks by herself irked her. Ríniel drew her baths, laid out her clothes – she even brushed Tauriel's hair, though that at least could have been accomplished without aid. Tauriel didn't see the point in any of it, but Ríniel could be more stubborn even than she was, which was slightly terrifying, honestly.

Fighting her was pointless, so after a while, Tauriel stopped trying to. She let Ríniel badger her back to something like health, preparing her to return to her own room and resume whatever ghost of a life remained to her. As soon as she could be left to her own devices, she would Fade, and then nothing would hurt anymore.

Poor Tauriel. I can already tell this one is going to be heavy on the angst, but never fear - I'm a sucker for a happy ending. She won't stay miserable forever. Certainly she's going to find out that Thranduil has no intention at all of letting her Fade.