The river glimmered through the trees like a great water-serpent sunning itself in the forest. Scales of afternoon light winked on its hide. Tauriel had been hugging its banks for over an hour, but there was no hint of any disturbance on its surface or shadows by its shore. She hadn't expected to find any signs of her quarry this soon, but hope was a harsh mistress. Her keen eyes skimmed the sweep of the forest ahead of her, always returning to the silver luster of the water on her left, as if she thought she might catch sight of a barrel, or the remains of one. Her feet drummed a light tattoo into the earth as she plunged through the woodland, weaving a pattern clever enough to outwit even the most intricate tangle of roots.

I know you, she thought as she ducked a low-hanging branch that seemed to swoop out of nowhere. I have spent six hundred years learning to think as you do. You cannot fool me.

Always the great forest of Mirkwood sought to ensnare those who roamed its reaches, even those who lived there, who had been born there, as Tauriel had. She had fallen prey to its many traps more times than she cared to admit. But she had been raised at the forest's knee. Time and experience had taught her what to expect, and it was a rare day indeed when Taur-e-Ndaedelos could best her.

If she had learned anything from recent events, though, it was that the forest could still surprise her. Only a few days ago, it had brought a strange company into its midst, the sort of which had not been seen in this country for many years. Any number of dwarves was a peculiar number to be wandering in Mirkwood, but thirteen seemed even more so.

Thirteen and they still needed rescuing. Trust dwarves to get themselves into such a sticky situation. Tauriel's patrol had discovered the party waylaid by spiders in a thickly-webbed hollow, where she and Legolas had dispatched the dark creatures and captured the dwarves. They had not taken kindly to the gesture (nor had the spiders, for that matter), but what had they expected? They were trespassers and had been treated as such, imprisoned in the Woodland Realm—at least they were safe from the spiders. But that had not been enough. By some trickery, they had escaped in barrels on the Forest River. As captain of King Thranduil's guard, it had been Tauriel's duty to keep her charges where they belonged: in the cells deep in the Elvenking's halls. She had failed in that duty.

And yet it was not disgust with her own failure—though there was plenty of that to go around—that spurred the warrior onward. Something had changed in the past few days, though it was hard to pinpoint exactly what it was. An unfamiliar taste on her tongue, a foreign scent in the air, a new slant of the sun. Even the way she carried herself seemed different, as though she was leaning forward, tugged by some invisible force. That pull had become almost unbearable today. Now that she had heeded it, she felt a freedom that told her she was going in the right direction. Thranduil might have been able to sit on his hands and do nothing while the world burned, but she was not about to sit back and watch everything she had ever known crumble to dust, and everything she hadn't known, besides.

Inaction was as good as damnation.

The band of orcs had gotten an unfair head start, but they hadn't bothered to hide their tracks. Typical Gundabad arrogance. The trail was still fairly fresh, though not so recent that she thought she'd catch up anytime soon. Tauriel had wanted to go after them as soon as the dwarves' barrels had passed through the portcullis, but her obedience to her post had held her back.

If the portcullis had never been closed . . .

The thought haunted her. True, the dwarves would still be gone and there would be Thranduil's displeasure to deal with, but it seemed like a small price to pay in return for the assurance that they were safe—or as safe as one could be, travelling in a wooden vessel on this river. Those barrels were meant to carry wine, not living creatures. The guards had closed the portcullis in a misguided effort to follow orders. Tauriel could not fault them for that. But in doing so, they had conveniently gathered the dwarves in one place and exposed them to the onslaught of orcs that had descended upon their escape attempt.

It had been fish in a barrel. Or rather, thirteen dwarves in barrels. If Kili had not opened the gate, they might all have been killed then and there.

Instead, only he might be dead. A fresh wave of fury coursed through her, electrifying her nerves and setting her feet nearly to flight. The last she had seen of him, he was wounded but still alive, thanks to her. Tauriel had not realized then the nature of his wound, or else she would have followed them at once. If the orc she and Legolas had captured had not been lying to them, then Kili's wound would only worsen. He would need Elven-skill to heal it, or else the Morgul poison would take him, if the orc pack did not reach him first.

An expanse of silver-blue filled the negative spaces cut between the trees ahead. Tauriel veered left, temporarily abandoning the orc-trail. She vaulted over a fallen tree and launched herself out into the free air. Here the embankment was wide and rocky, framing a small cascade that brought the Forest River to its end. The serpent stirred from its sun-bath, slinking into the still body of water that lay beyond.

The vista that opened up before her snagged her breath in her throat. The Long Lake unfurled across the horizon, luminous and vast. The town of Esgaroth clung to its eastern shore like it thought it might be swallowed any day. Its wooden eaves seemed impossibly far from here, but Tauriel's razor vision could still make out the silhouettes of the roofs, the curve of boat-prows along the rim of the harbor. Further to the north, the Lonely Mountain thrust its spire into the sky. There, the dragon lay sleeping, though not for long, if the dwarves had their way.

Mirkwood ended here, its gnarled growth running to the lakeshore before it had to surrender to the water. The hunting party of orcs must have already been on its way around the lake. If the dwarves, too, were on foot, they would soon be overtaken. Even if they had all been in perfect health, they could not outrun a few dozen orcs and their wargs. Unless . . .

Tauriel's eyes roved the surface of the water. Amidst the distant ice floes she discerned a different shape, dark wood with a billowing crown. Could some miracle have given them passage across the water? A breeze rolled in from the lake, swaying Tauriel's long, coppery hair. It had some bite to it, the teeth of winter. But the chill could not frost over the hope that had sparked in the elleth's heart. The dwarven company had found a boat, she was sure of it.

That hardly meant that they were out of danger, but it bought them time. More importantly, it bought her time. Her tracking skills would not fail her, nor did she doubt her ability to catch up with the orcs, though dealing with them once she found them was another story. She would have to cross that bridge when she came to it; for now, the most she could do was follow their trail, which was heading south and east, skirting the contour of the lake. Heading for Laketown.

Tauriel was about to double back to the treeline when she heard a flutter of movement behind her: a footstep as quiet as a batting eyelash and the familiar creak of a bowstring. She bent her own bow in a heartbeat, pulling an arrow from the quiver at her hip and dropping to one knee as she whirled around to face the intruder. She was not at all surprised to recognize the archer who mounted the higher ground by the waterfall. The ellon's posture mirrored her own, his bow an extension of his arms as he aimed an arrow at her throat. A tense breath passed between them before they both relaxed.

Legolas. She had suspected he would not leave well enough alone, as she could not. She got to her feet as the prince jogged over to her.

"You cannot hunt thirty orcs on your own."

Tauriel angled a knowing look at him. "But I am not on my own."

"You knew I would come," he said, realizing he had been played for a fool.

She smiled.

"The king is angry, Tauriel." He crested the rise beside her, and when she looked back at him she saw that the amusement in his eyes had hardened to disapproval. "For six hundred years my father has protected you, favored you. You defied his orders. You betrayed his trust."

Her smile slipped; his words struck their mark. In her many years serving Thranduil, she had never flouted his commands. She had never been afraid to speak her mind, even when she knew he would reproach her, but she had never openly disobeyed him before. It had not been easy to do so today, but she was no slave to fear, just as she was slave to no other creature. She fixed Legolas with a determined stare.

"I have betrayed no one," she said. "Your father has given me shelter, but I have given him my life. I would lay it down for him."

"Then come back with me," Legolas said. "He will forgive you."

Tauriel's eyes narrowed. "But I will not. If I go back, I will not forgive myself." She stepped closer to the rock's edge, lifting her gaze across the lake. The boat was shrinking in the distance. "The king has never let orc filth roam our lands. But he would let this orc pack cross our borders and kill our prisoners."

"It is not our fight."

"It is our fight." She turned back to him. How could he not see? The truth was as plain as the orc-trail that ran along the shore. "It will not end here. With every victory, this evil will grow. If your father has his way, we will do nothing."

Legolas looked away from her, towards Laketown. He was as stubborn as they came, and his royal upbringing made him haughty at times, but Tauriel knew he would see sense if he was willing. She had already weakened his resolve—now she needed to convince him utterly.

"We will do nothing," she repeated. "We will hide within our walls, live our lives away from the light, and let darkness descend."

The prince glanced back at her suddenly, and she met his ice-blue stare. She had him now.

"Are we not part of this world? Tell me, mellon. When did we let evil become stronger than us?"

His fingers had curled into fists, white-knuckling his bow.

"Legolas." Her temper ebbed as swiftly as it had flowed. "Why are you pretending that you have not already decided what to do?"

A small smile betrayed him. "So that when my father asks, I can tell him that you gave me no choice but to pursue you."

"Do not waste your pursuit on me," Tauriel said. "We must mind much larger game tonight, and we run short of time in which to catch it. I hope the king is not expecting you for dinner."

"I hope that you are not expecting him to receive you with open arms when we return," Legolas warned. "You may be his captain, but you are not his kin. Your weakness where the dwarves are concerned will not endear you to him."

"It is no weakness," she said sharply. Kili sprang to her mind, how earnestly he spoke of his promise to his mother, the warmth in his face as he looked at her through the bars. It could not be weakness to recognize the strength of another soul, whether that soul belong to Elf or dwarf. And it was not weakness to desire to preserve that strength. "We must find friends where we can. If not friends, then allies."

On this point, Tauriel knew she had not persuaded him. Suspicion knitted his brow, and the elleth could tell he believed there was more than what she was telling him. But there was no time to debate the minutiae of her feelings towards the dwarves. The orcs had already gained too much ground. They needed to leave now if they had a prayer of overtaking them.

"In that case, we should waste no more time," said Legolas. He started towards the forest to find the trail. "Unless we want our alliance to be with thirteen dead dwarves."

Tauriel clamped down on her fear as she followed him. It wouldn't be. Not if I have a hand in it.