AN: To anyone still reading this story: Surprise, I'm not dead! Fair warning, this chapter is a mess of angst and I-don't-even-know-what. Still, I figured it's better than nothing. I may come to regret that.

The smallest things sufficed to trigger nostalgia in her, it seemed, these days. It was a busy spell, no doubt about it – those who would allow themselves the luxury of laziness were fools and told so face to face, Tauriel saw to that. There was tension in her shoulders, a harshness in her manners and a sharp edge to her speech that many a seasoned warrior cowered to be exposed to.

She had lost none of her friends' love, she was gratefully aware. Still, they were compelled to avoid her and give her some space, at least, that was granted out of free will rather than the necessity of combat, where they would be loath to come into the range of her blade. The she-elf was left to wander the outskirts of the woods, for she knew that if she let her feet guide her into the forest's heart, she would rather sacrifice a night's sleep in favor of counting the stars and the feel of grass and leaves against her back as she laid on the ground, hands linked behind her head at the top of the tallest tree.

She sighed, wondering when it had been exactly that she had become so close to bitter. True, her body tended to be exhausted and her mind to be muddled with questions – did they have enough weapons at their disposal? How likely was an attack of the Spiders, now that they had tasted elf's blood? Would King Thranduil approve of her decisions? Yet, the red-haired captain found it in herself to smile. Retracing her steps from what appeared to be centuries ago, she felt as if a great burden had been lifted and she was walking on air.

As she passed a group of elflings, without warning memories flooded her consciousness like a wave, pulling her under.

"Mellon." Legolas muttered. It was only when Tauriel looked up that she saw he had been talking to himself, clutching the quill with more force than obliged to, struggling to bring the familiar word to paper.

A small part of her mind wondered, helplessly and however briefly, if his lack of concentration was due to the race of the night before. They had both boasted of their skill and alacrity at some point or other, innocent child's play lifted right out of a textbook. She did not think it likely that they would ever realize this strange idea of a contest when they had spoken of it in jest – that was, she had not until the events prior to that day. The slightest trace of a smirk played upon the corner of her lips as well as the sparkle in her eyes that betrayed her state of mind. Unfortunately, her elders took notice.

No more than a glance was needed to examine Tauriel's own handwriting, or what passed for it. She had to admit that she had not been feeling especially motivated to put her mind to the task at hand, no matter how simple. Oddly enough, she had the notion that her teacher would have gladly tolerated her questionable spelling, had it not been for the way she had scratched lines along the parchment in the same manner as one may sharpen a sword on a whetstone.

"Sloppy and without elegance. You must work harder. How is it you can memorize every strategy your opponent might think of in practice sessions, yet fail to correctly write words that are as much a part of you as the stars belong in the sky?"

She would not let him taunt her into answering a question they both knew wanted for no reply – her teacher would hardly be interested in explanations as to why practice put a stop to all the restlessness of her being that theory merely served to inflame.

Among the snickers of the rest of the elflings, she caught Legolas's gaze and caught herself laughing under her breath. Predictably enough, his spelling was without flaw.

It would never make up for his defeat the night prior, so she hung her head in mock shame, if only to balance out the scales. All in good humor, she was not one to let victories that slipped right through her fingers dampen her mood, nor would it do for it to determine her talents by measure of contests.

Taking the sheer number of said contests with Legolas and her humble self as the only contenders into account, those particular two bore the significance of a snowflake in a blizzard.

She must not have been frozen, feet rooted in the soft earth as firmly as any birch, for more than a few seconds. Even so, they were enough for both the young ones to gape at her with unabashed curiosity and her to turn on her heel, heading in the opposite direction. To be perfectly honest, it was only then that she had a direction to speak of.

The rasp of her knuckles against the wood was quiet, barely audible for mortals. The sound did not fall on deaf ears, however – soon enough, she was met with clear blue eyes and before she had drawn breath for a second time, she had wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her head in his shoulder.

Immediately after she registered his arms gently squeezing her shoulders in a comforting gesture, Tauriel hissed as if in pain.

"What is it?" The concern in Legolas's voice made her smile while none of the joy reached her eyes. They remained cold and distant.

She shook her head and hugged him tighter. "I shouldn't be here." She whispered.

He released her and stepped back to get a better look at her face. Had her eyes not been dry and had he not known her for decades, he would have expected to see her cry. Her voice was distorted, as if someone was choking her, letting only so much air into her lungs as survival called for.

"Why would you say that?"

The captain of the guard uttered a shaky laugh, half-collapsing against the door to shut it out against anyone who might look down on her for a moment of weakness. Slowly, she lowered herself to the ground and tucked a loose strand of fiery hair behind her ear.

"It is hardly proper to behave this way in front of my future king. Don't you reckon, my prince?"

Before she had time to blink, Legolas had moved with all the grace of a feline and was sitting next to her, cross-legged. For a moment they were young and without a care in the world, where it was not considered out of the norm for her to rest her head on his shoulder and him to give her hand a gentle squeeze.

His voice was laced with resigned anger, she was surprised to realize. "What's wrong, Tauriel? It is not like you to be as you are now. Please-" He closed his eyes, frowning, "Do not shut me out. Don't treat me like you are beneath me. It makes me question if I do this in reality, and I hate to say these words, be-"

"I'm sorry." She interrupted him, her hoarse voice cracking like a whip through his thoughts. She reached up and cupped his cheek, her fingertips barely making contact with his skin. The Prince of Mirkwood was shocked to see that her hand was shaking.

"I honestly do not know what is wrong. It is everything – the Spiders attacking our lands, claiming our kin. There are thoughts I have given less attention to as the years pass but have never forgotten. I doubt, every day. How can I be sure that this is the right path? Maybe I should be treading a different one. Am I failing you?" It was not until much later that she became aware that in that second, Thranduil had not once entered her head.

Legolas reached for the hand at his face and entwined her nimble fingers with his own. " Tauriel." He said, enunciating every syllable with care so that it rolled off his tongue like a strange song. "I want to ask you for your advice on a certain matter." When he saw that she had raised her head, her eyes once more alive, he continued.

"Which weapon is the easiest to master, if there can be such a thing? A young elf that has seemed to have professed himself my apprentice has developed an obsession of a kind with combat. We each learned from the best and I have an inkling as to what would suit him, but I would still hear your opinion, princess of swordplay."

The way the ancient pet name passed over his lips with such ease made her blink. Hesitation commanded her tone of voice as she fought to remain impartial.

"I would respectfully recommend the common bow and arrow. Not only is it useful for taking down enemies from a distance, but it is also a discipline that demands patience as its chief value. You will find out soon enough if he is passionate about a warrior's life or if he finds it not to his taste, after all." She bowed her head.

Legolas rose, pulling the red-haired she-elf to her feet in the process in one fluid motion. "You have my thanks, and your answer. You won't ever fail me, Tauriel."

Even as she opened her mouth to object, even as she attempted break his hold on her to fold her arms in front of her chest out of vulnerability, she was still.