AN: Oh look, everyone survived BOTFA, because of course they did. I started writing this 'cause my heart needed it after seeing the movie. There's not a whole lot of plot and the story is told in snippets that focus on Kili/Tauriel. There might be a little Thorin/Bilbo at some points.

Spoilers: light spoilers for the last movie. I've tried to keep them vague.

Home is behind, the world ahead,

and there are many paths to tread.

-excerpt from "A Walking Song", J.R.R. Tolkien

In the days following the battle, Tauriel had a hard time balancing her desire to be helpful – to do her duty, as it was – and her desire not to have Kili out of her sight. In the end it came down to one truth: she could do nothing further to help the sons of Durin, but there was much she could do to help the injured and fallen. So it was that Tauriel spent much of her time in the aftermath carrying the wounded off of the battlefield, helping the healers, and organizing a different clean up or regrouping effort nearly every day. The work was hard, both mentally and physically, and yet the elleth welcomed the exertion. Despite the distraction, there was one tent in specific that never truly left her line of sight. She knew where that tent was at any moment, day or night, regardless of how weary or overworked she was. There was nothing to outwardly distinguish the tent – it was as white and non-descript as the rest that stood in the long line of healer's tents – and yet it was the only structure on the battlefield that really mattered to the she-elf. Kili was in that tent.

Tauriel was a common sight, both on the battlefield and off. She had no idea that she was noticed – that her presence was remarked upon by Men and Dwarves alike – or that her long hours of work and ceaseless assistance for anyone who needed it was earning her a reputation that, had she known, would have made her uncomfortable. She was a warrior, not a politician, and so it was perhaps for the best that she didn't realize that the people of Dale had begun to view her as a leader in her own right, second only to Bard the Bowman. Few thought to question why the elleth remained when Thranduil's company retreated to Mirkwood; those who did dismissed the thought quickly enough. The reasons for her continued presence mattered less than her presence itself.

The only thing more certain, more fixed than Tauriel's aid in the regrouping efforts was her presence in that one white healing tent. The end of every day found her wearier than the last in both body and soul; still, her feet knew every path to the place where Kili was, and would carry her there without conscious effort. Every morning she went out to help, and every evening she returned to keep a quiet vigil.

She was dirty that evening as she returned to the dwarves' tent. She could feel the scratch of dirt in each spot that it clung to her skin, and longed for a bath in hot-spring fed pools. Her heart lurched painfully when she realized that the pools she was thinking of were in Mirkwood – the home that would never be her home again.

Tauriel pushed that thought away and approached the tent. Dwalin was standing sentry outside the flap that served as a door. She gave him a barely perceptible nod and then ducked inside; had she been less weary, she might have wondered why her nightly presence there seemed to go unquestioned by the dwarves.

Inside, Balin was facing the door and seated between three makeshift tables that were raised a few feet off the ground. Thorin rested on the table to his right, and Fili and Kili on individual tables to his left. The old dwarf glanced up at her arrival and though Tauriel didn't know him well, she thought he looked older than he had the last time she'd seen him. The weight on his heart shone clearly through his eyes.

Kili was mostly unchanged, she saw, as was his brother and uncle. Tauriel divested herself of her weapons and armor, relaxing marginally when she was down to her tunic and leather jerkin, and then set about checking over the sons of Durin. Balin watched calmly and quietly from his seat, tapping the end of his pipe absently against his bottom lip. The old dwarf didn't take offense to her ministrations as easily as some of his kinsmen had the few times they'd seen her do the same thing, and she was grateful for that.

When Tauriel was finished she took her now usual seat next to Kili and her discarded armor and weapons. Night was falling outside and she could hear the first crackling embers of fires being lit over the dull murmur of conversation. Once or twice, she even made out the sound of a soft chuckle. She closed her eyes despite knowing that that night, like the many before it, would bring her no rest.

"Never seen an elf look as terrible as ye do, lass," Balin said some time later. He seemed to know that she wasn't sleeping, and his tone was gentle in a way that made Tauriel think that he was asking her how she was.

She found the idea oddly touching even though she wasn't sure how to respond. "It has been … hard," Tauriel finally answered. She didn't elaborate, and she somehow knew that she didn't have to.

She didn't miss the tears that had started to gather in Balin's eyes, or the way his gaze traveled over the still forms of the three dwarves on tables around them. Tauriel understood what wasn't being said: that it was a miracle that they had lasted as long as they had, and that they weren't expected to hold out much longer; that together, she and Balin were keeping a death watch.

Perhaps that was why the dwarves had never questioned her presence.