Notes:

I am writing, it's mainly for my own pleasure. It's what I'd like to see happen so when I reread in a few months, oftentimes years later, thus I find a story that is completely to my taste.
2. Yet another post-TBOTFA story that leads to Thranduil/Tauriel. I can't stay away from them, can I!

Genre: G, romance, sickfic.
Rating/Warning: some adult themes, nothing major.
Disclaimers: I don't own anything, barely my knickers.

Chapter 1: Enactment

Sadness. An impenetrable murk Tauriel didn't feel like even attempting to swim out of. Tears that wouldn't stop falling. Heaviness in her chest while the rest of her felt nothing but hollow and floating in void. Purpose and spiritedness lost. Nothing seemed to matter bar that ironlike grip of the sorrow that anchored her to the ground, crushed her body and made her unable to move. There wasn't much that she noticed. She knew that dwarves came and took their prince's body and that frozen onto her knees, she let them. It did not make her move and changed nothing, only how fast her tears were falling. For now that Kili was taken away from her, the void around her wasn't only swallowing her up, but hurt as well, every fibre of her searing with hopelessness and a vibrating yearning for what could not be.

She didn't notice anyone else approaching, not till there was a small hand on her shoulder, and Bofur quietly and sympathetically explained to her that Dain Ironfoot would not allow her to participate at the funerals. And while a flare of anger reared in her as she deserved better treatment for standing by the dwarves, she took the news quietly and lethargically as well, not noticing the dwarf's retreat the same way as she didn't notice him arriving. It changed nothing as the additional pain that it caused was lost in the immense sea of sorrow that already engulfed her. Burying her face into her hands, she rocked herself back and forth till fatigue took over and somewhere along the line she lay down on the ground where Kili has once been.

The sun was high up in the sky the next day before she even thought about moving. Eventually, survival instincts must've taken over because she vaguely became aware of fragmented thoughts going through her mind pertaining snow, coldness and a call for comfort. An elf would not freeze to death in current conditions, it would have had to have been a lot colder, but that didn't stop her from wishing for solace, any kind of relief that alleviated the misery she felt. However, once she found her legs and her bearings, the trek down the mountain side only made her aware of a bigger calamity than her own around her, an overpowering sense of grief and loss that was separate from hers and yet it also felt congruent. And the lower she descended, the more one it called to her fea. Her grief drew her to a similar sorrow and before she knew what she was doing, she joined her fellow elven peers silently and reverently collecting their dead from the battlefield.

Hurt having reached the point it could heighten into nothing else but numbness, she fell in step with the soldiers while carrying stretchers, the monotone quality of the movement made together having a lulling, familiar effect that felt reassuring. Now she wasn't alone with her grief. Nobody questioned her right to honour the fallen and she had already made three trips to the tenting encampment of the elven forces before the numbness gave away to realisation and fear.

At first, she was too enclosed in herself to take in much of her surroundings all the while as soldiers were turned over and helmets removed around her but once she noticed it was happening she could not take her eyes off of the process, fearing every time that she would recognise someone dead. It had been a miracle that hasn't happened so far as she had trained many of the archers in the army or have trained with them, not to mention the other members of the king's personal guard.

What had become clear for her was that casualties were very heavy, for all five armies, and that meant for Mirkwood among them as well. Out of the nigh fifteen-hundred elves, perhaps as much as a few hundred have perished and that was a tremendous loss indeed, especially as some of those fallen would have wives and husbands at home who would want to promptly follow them to the Halls of Mandos in Valinor as not many elves chose to stay after their life partners departed. So in reality it was an even more sizeable ruin on the already smaller than ever population of the kingdom than it first seemed. Then as she passed the rows of the fallen, she started to recognise a few, a silversmith, a young guard just old enough to be serve, a healer she often exchanged herbalist books with, and more. And thus it became clear to her that her place was by their sides, seeing them off when they would be set to sail to the shores of Valinor. And while nobody has objected to her presence so far, to do that she would possibly need clearance from Thranduil. So after her next cargo, a well built soldier with a partially detached head, Tauriel set her eyes on the golden-yellow royal tent. She knew both guards standing outside. It was a relief to see them alive, and yet she was stopped as she approached by the two standing in her way.

"You are to be apprehended if you don't leave the camp willingly," the guard outranking the other held somewhat apologetically.

"About that..." Tauriel tried, "when was that order given? Because I have spoken to the king up on Ravenhill and he had been gracious to me." Which wasn't untrue, though Thranduil had shown no indication that he had changed his mind about her punishment as well, not just the acknowledgement of her feelings.

The guards exchanged confused looks. "There haven't been updates," the same guard as the one speaking previously admitted.

"Understandable given there must have been other priorities," Tauriel reasoned.

"There have been no updates of any kind from His Majesty," the other elf, Injros chipped in.

"There must be a way to check. Who is in there with him?" The elleth questioned.

"It is only Galion, and didn't he say the king was resting?" Injros checked with his counterpart.

"Look, Oenel, Injros, it's me. I outrank both of you, we have shared countless shifts on duty, I led you on patrols, I have taught you how to make arrowheads Injros. Would it be possible to get a confirmation at least before you apprehend me? I'm not asking to see the king, Galion could do it."

Oenel pursed his lips contemplatively, then nodded and disappeared behind the curtains, only to appear not even half a minute later with a dejected butler. "Have you really threatened the king as they say you did?" Galion was shooting daggers at her. While he was no guard, Tauriel had always been sure that the manservant would protect his king just as fiercely. "Have you lost your mind?"

"I came to set things right," Tauriel held, "for I have acted without thinking of consequences fully," she admitted.

"Apologise?" Galion demanded.

"Yes, apologise," the redhead reiterated to appear humble.

"Well, it would probably be beneficial for him to at least hear one bit of good news today," the butler agreed reluctantly.

"Leave all your weapons outside," Oenel nodded his opinion on the subject, "arrows too," he insisted, even though Tauriel had no bow to release them with.

The woodelf deposited them along with her daggers without any further question, thankful she was given permission to enter. A little spring dripping back into her steps, she threw herself at Thranduil's feet as he sat on his wooden chair. Tauriel didn't look up, didn't speak, awaiting the king's judgement, not daring to speak out of turn once again. Her head bowed, she could only see the ruler's ornately armoured boots, somewhat surprised he didn't change out of them yet and worried that no words came from him, weary of his reaction.

It was Galion who cleared his throat to attract attention, "my Lord. Tauriel came to ask for your forgiveness."

Tauriel could see the king's robe slightly shifting and awaited to be struck down by his anger. Instead, Galion scurried to the side and poured a glass of wine for his master at Thranduil's half-hearted wave. He poked Tauriel's shoulder on his way back to stand in front of him, "speak. Now," he urged, "I think he's listening," he whispered.

The elleth bowed even further, "Your Highness," she started with all the respect she was able to give, "I have trained my weapon on another elf and not just any other, but my King. Our losses, my Lord, it hurts just as much," she referred to their earlier conversation the previous day. "Let me make up for as much of my mistakes as I can, let me serve my fellow elves, holding on to our strengths as we lay our departed on their journey to Valinor. Let me be an elf who feels for her fellow people. I am here and I am ready to pay the price..." Feeling utterly defeated, she added, "I have no other family, but the ones who took me in, you, my Liege...I can prove my worth, as I did before," she spoke further as there still was no response.

"The king has already nodded his agreement when you talked about the funerals. I assume that means you can stay for that," Galion let her know. Tauriel looked up at this, surprised. In truth, she did not expect to get away without due punishment she deserved. But mostly she did not expect what she found, Thranduil holding a goblet with a clearly shaking hand and with a haunted expression that echoed as much pain as it did despair. He looked pale, brittle, vulnerable and much much older than his five thousands years. During their moment, up on Ravenhill, his arrogance shed, Tauriel had recognised the fellow soul who's eyes mirrored a similar sorrow to hers. In this moment however, Thranduil seemed lost somewhere in the inside of the darkest pits. He saw her not, she was quite sure, his gaze was empty and distant.

Galion had to practically drag her away from the sight. "The king's unwell," worry crept into Tauriel's chest. "Has he been injured?" She asked in hushed tones only a few steps away, and Thranduil paid no attention.

"I don't believe so," the butler held.

"Something is very wrong with the king," the redhead fretted further.

"Something is, Tauriel. The three hundred elves that have been reported dead so far and the number is still likely to increase as we comb the valley."

Tauriel shook her head. Of course, she knew that but, "he's meant to be strong. He's always strong and in control."

"I'm sure he will be when he needs to be. Now, no word of this to anyone, Tauriel," Galion showed his protective side again.

"Of course," she promised. The question was entirely unnecessary, even if she wasn't the king's guard anymore. Tauriel stepped out of the tent half relieved that she was allowed to continue as she had wanted, the other half burdened even more than she previously had been for now she had to carry those haunted eyes with her. There was a feel to them as if Thranduil would have already departed himself, a jarring, eerie, foreboding potentiality that would change the very world as she knew it.

Tbc