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why does it hurt so much?

She was still covered in rock dust. She tasted it and the ghost of blood in her mouth. They had told her that his body would need to be prepared for burial. They had likely said it as kindly as they could, but all Tauriel could feel and understand was that he was growing colder, and without the warmth from her own hands he would soon be pale and still as stone. That was to be the end of him.

But the runestone was still warm. It had been warm when he had given it to her, heated from his own body, and she had never let it grow cold since. She did not realize she had kept it – she had meant to leave it in his hand, or had she? – until she was walking through the rocky hillside, and then she was running, or at least trying to run with her injuries. She could force her body, now, even though it made her angry to think that it had failed her when she had needed it most – how, no matter how hard she'd tried, she could not get up from the ground to stop Kíli's death blow.

Could she disappear into the mountains? She wanted escape, and maybe she wanted to descend deep down into the stone, away from the light. While her home had been carved from rock in Mirkwood, it was open, not contained and stuffy. She didn't like the idea of going too deep underground, but now she found the idea of it heartening. Not out of despair, but out of an urge to feel closer to a dwarf she had suddenly lost.

And then suddenly, she was lost.

The people – so many people. And the noise. Nothing to the crash of battle and yet too much for her to deal with. It was easy, at least, not to be noticed; easy to be ignored and therefore easier to ignore what was going on around her. She had been inside of a building, so strange and foreign to her, and while it did not occur to her to feel terrified – she felt beyond that – she did not like it.

There was no mountain but there was sky. She knelt on a hilly piece of land, in the dark, away from the festivities. She took bracing breaths of chilly air, and looked up. Hours she spent, considering what had happened but not caring. She knew something foreign and untoward had occurred, and she had stepped beyond what she knew. The fireworks were abrupt and explosive and startled her, but the cheering from the guests told her to take it calmly, and she did. Still she hunkered at the outskirts of the revel, until the noise began to die down, the music stopped, the people slowly trickled away and the grounds were quiet.

She felt empty, but really she was just alone. She ought to tend to her wounds, and yet it did not occur to her. Let everything fester, let her wither away. She palmed the runestone in her hand; it felt much heavier, more formed, than the rest of her body. Tauriel thought she was done with crying, but she wasn't. At the very least, though, she wept silently, as she waited for the dawn.

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Legolas had been enjoying himself this evening but he needed a little air, a little space away from the press of the crowd and the crush of happy men and women. When he sought out that space, he found something he never expected to find.

An Elf. Not just any Elf, but one that he recognized from his recent trip back to Dale and Erebor and it was so, so strange to see her here in the Nexus.

"Tauriel?" he ventured, hoping that he had the name correct. That world had been slightly different from his own, some little scene from his past that he didn't recall.

Her head came up, slightly. She had not heard his approach, which said far more about who he was than his voice did. She looked over her shoulder and there he was - the prince of Mirkwood himself.

Tauriel did not rise, because their friendship was beyond formality in so many ways. But she didn't understand. Had he followed her here, wherever this place was? She was certain he had taken his leave, rather permanently. "Legolas?" she asked, hesitantly. He seemed different; she could not quite know what. Maybe it was just this place. Maybe it wasn't him at all, but she found it difficult to doubt her own eyes.

"Tauriel, when did you arrive? Just now?" Legolas had not been watching the doors this eve, too occupied in the party and in the delicious alcohol his human hosts had been giving him. It was no elven wine, no, but it was still good. How had he missed her? He had so longed to see another elf after so long in human company and he could not believe that he might have missed something as wonderful as this.

"How long have you been here? I have tarried here in this go-between for many, many days - nigh upon a year. I have never seen another of our kind before."

"I have been here some hours," Tauriel replied, composing herself. She thought that might have been the case, anyway; she wasn't sure how time moved, now. It was slippery in her grasp.

"What is this place?" she asked. "I've never seen nor heard of its like before." And how could he have been here for a year, when she had seen him today, had been at his side since they left Esgaroth?

"It is a crossroads between realms," Legolas explained. It was a strange magic that felt older than anything he'd ever experienced in Middle Earth and felt foreign, slippery against his fingers. It was something he did not quite understand.

"This place seems to be neutral and safe enough but the pathways, the doors all lead to other places. You came here through a door, did you not?"

"It is quite unusual looking," she said. Then again, she supposed something that acted as a connection between realms didn't necessarily have to look familiar to her. Strange magic, strange surroundings.

Legolas calmed her somewhat; she found his presence solid, comforting, even though she was still confused. She slowly got to her feet. "I did," she said. "A doorway in Ravenhill. But when I looked back, the mountain had gone, and I was here."

"In Ravenhill...so you came from the same battle that I have just experienced, then." It was in his past and a memory he did not recall but an elf's memory was not infallible. Having lived so long, there were things bound to be forgotten over the years.

"You are uninjured, I hope? Come, at least let me get you something warm to drink and give you a moment to rest. It must be shocking to suddenly arrive here and not recognize anything."

Legolas was just confusing her now, more than ever. Yes; he should have just experienced the battle, because she had been there with him and was still dirty from its exertions, but it conflicted with what else he had said. "My lord Legolas, I'm afraid I don't understand," she said, carefully. "How can you have been here for a year?"

The query towards her injuries reminded her of the ache in her entire body, and somewhat ruefully shook her head. "I have not been paying much attention to them, I fear," she said, fingers touching her collar where Bolg had slammed his entire fist down, knocking her to the ground.

"I have much to explain," Legolas said, knowing that his words told a story that did not seem to line up with everything else going on at the moment.

"But you need to rest before I explain so much, I think."

Normally, Tauriel would not have accepted such a response. She was a Captain, she expected answers, she needed to understand and follow every situation. But this was Legolas, and she trusted him; if he felt she did not need to know everything, then she would trust in that, as she would expect him to trust her if the situation had been reversed.

She had not rested in many, many days, that was true. "Yes," she admitted. She cast her gaze at the looming building she had fled from. "Is there a place for me, here?" If not, she was fine with that. She was more than happy to stay outside.

"There will be a room for you," he said. If the hotel held true to how it had been when he originally arrived, there should be a key and a room set aside just for Tauriel. If not, she could tarry with him until such a time as room was made available to her.

"We will procure a key from the desk and go from there. I apologize that it is not what an elf would want in a room - too enclosed - but it is a warm bed and a place to be at ease for a little while."

Though it was true Tauriel preferred the open sky, her recovery mandated she be still, and unbothered, and a room would help enormously with that. She was not easily contained. "I am certain it will be more than enough," she said, with a faint smile. "If this place has served you well thus far."

"It has. When you feel up to it, there are other places you can get to from here, magnificent places that I fear no elf has ever seen before. I would like to show them to you," Legolas said, flashing her a brilliant smile.

"I hope that you will grow as fond of this place as I have. Though, I must warn you, there are no other elves here. I have seen only men and one lone dwarf."

The promise of adventure, at least, would always be a balm to Tauriel's spirit. She had to smile at that, and at the way Legolas delivered the news; their eagerness to run amok, at least, would never change.

No other Elves? Well, she would just have to get used to that. "They have no issue with us, though?" she asked. She assumed not, since Legolas seemed to enjoy this place so much.

"The dwarf keeps to himself. He is not fond of elves, mind, and especially not of my father, but he seeks no quarrel with me. We are cordial, anyway." Legolas longed for the sort of friendship he had with Gimli after being a part of the Company of the Ring but it was not meant to be. The enmity between elves and dwarves ran deep and spanned generations. It was not so easily repaired.

"The men seem to not mind my being here. I have had no experience with war save the battle you just came from. Not since arriving here."

Her smile was a bit tight, at the continued mention of dwarves. "They are an interesting people," she said, simply. Her involvement with them was more or less finished, she supposed; and even if that wasn't the case, she would do well to avoid them in future. Though it would be unfair to pin it simply on dwarves - in reality Tauriel had no intention in giving her heart out to anyone anymore, be they Dwarf, Elf, or Man.

"I have had my fill of battle," she added. "For now. Perhaps a skirmish, soon enough..." and she gave him a small, but teasing, grin.

"We would not want your blades to go dull or your keen eye to miss a target," Legolas teased back. It was good to have some of his own people back here in the Nexus. He had been adrift for a long while, both as a part of the Company of the Ring and now here in the Nexus and it had been too long since he had an elf to fellowship with. No matter how close he was to others, how dear he considered them, nobody would understand him the way one of his own people could.

"I have missed the company of my people. I did not realize how much I missed it until I saw you here, Tauriel."

"That would be a travesty, indeed; then what use would I have, then? We both know I would be useless at any other occupation." She smiled at him. Though things had been awkward sometimes, of late, she still considered his friendship to be very dear to her, and not something she let go of lightly. It was good he felt the same. "I am glad I can be of some comfort, then. Have you been going native without any of our kin to keep you in check?"

"Not as such, no. I fear I have become more comfortable in the company of men than I ever thought possible." Spending time with younger races made him feel young again himself. Though Legolas was not so terribly old for an elf, he still felt the weariness of age settle upon him as his ties to Middle Earth grew fainter and he felt the draw of the sea. Here in the Nexus, he had not felt such an urge.

"The younger races make me laugh and make my heart light and for that, I am grateful."

The elves of Mirkwood had always been rather secular, though they did healthy trade with the men of Esgaroth and other places. It pleased Tauriel to hear that Legolas had broadened his horizons slightly - not that she herself had accomplished it, but it was always something she wanted to do.

"You are not yet so ancient, mellon, that you should be immune to laughter," she teased. "But I am glad they lighten your heart. It has always seemed so heavy."

It was sweet music to hear the tongue of elves once more on someone's lips and sweeter still to hear mellon from a dear friend. Legolas reached for her hand and squeezed it lightly.

"It has been heavy. I feel that it is lighter now, with you here. I am glad for it."

Her smile grew even broader yet. Though he was older than her, and the son of the King, he had never failed to lift her heart and spirits. Though nothing like romantic love ever touched her, her fondness for Legolas was still vibrant and strong. And though she was happy she knew she must clear the air.

"I have failed you during these dark times," she said, her smile flickering, slightly. "I am sorry for it. I brought you out into the world and incurred your father's wrath because of it. But know that I am forever grateful for your help." And for his understanding, of course. He had seemed to know what was going through her mind long before she even realized it.

"My father's wrath was something boiling beneath the surface anyway," Legolas said, waving it off. "While I love my father, we disagree on some very important points and it took your guidance, among other things, to help me see that."

Leoglas touched her hand lightly. "Do not be sorry for that and do not think you have failed me. You could not ever fail me."

Tauriel had found difficulty with Thranduil as well, enough that she had disobeyed him when all she owed him was loyalty and even love for all he had done for her. She was still somewhat ashamed of that, though she didn't regret her actions; she just wished she hadn't had to commit them in the first place.

"I hope you settle with him, sometime," she said, gently. "The world is dim without family."

"Someday, I imagine we will. We have the luxury of time," Legolas said. It was one of the advantages of being an elf, he supposed, though he imagined that the younger races were lucky in that they patched up their differences quickly and spent their days caring for one another instead of fighting.

"We are also, unfortunately, both very stubborn."

Tauriel smiled, faintly, at the mention of time. The thing was, for the first time in a long time she had had the inkling she may not live forever, and it unsettled her. "That may be so," she said, "but I can't imagine any amount of stubbornness your father has would prevail at the aspect of going without his son."

"No, but I mean to make him work for it." Legolas' mouth tipped up just a tiny bit, just a suggestion of a smile.

"I am so glad you are here, Tauriel. My heart is lighter just knowing you are safe."

There is an ache in him for which his battered body cannot fully account. It sits beneath his skin, a sorrow and that sinks to the marrow and has in the space of a mere moment removed from him the bright naivete of his youth. He is worn, tired, but he could not sleep even should he want to, cannot even take Fili's advice and seek out the hot springs that lie beneath this strange shore death has washed him upon.

Upstairs he left his boots and tunic, and it's barefoot that he's wandering the cool darkness of the gardens. The give of the earth beneath his feet is familiar, and he tilts his head back to breathe in the night air. There is no scent of battle here, no cloying tang of blood, and he wishes that were more of a comfort.

His hand instinctively presses against the slash in his shirt over his heart, which is beating as steadily as ever beneath his fingertips. In the stillness of the garden he imagines that he sees Tauriel as he last saw her, weeping for him beneath the starlight. He sighs, watching her, but only realizes after a long moment that she is not his memory alone.

Fingers clamping against his chest, he feels his throat close, feet moving him towards her without thought.

It cannot be. She is only a dream.

"T- Tauriel?" he says, voice rough and uncertain.

Her body throbbed with pain, her tired muscles screamed from exertion, but they were distant to the tear she felt in her chest, blown open and raw, somehow more physical than the crack running through her collarbone above it. She could feel it, and the bruises, and the other fissures and sprains and pulls that laced through her entire body that she had attained through her fight with Bolg. A fight she hadn't even been able to finish – though she'd tried to take him down the mountain with her, it just hadn't been enough. She had not been enough, and she had found neither death nor solace.

His voice was already in her head, saying words that had both frightened and thrilled her, so for a moment she did not truly hear. Feet in the grass, though, alerted her, and looking away from her contemplation of the stars, she saw him.

In a moment, she was up – far less gracefully than she ever had in her life, encumbered as she was by her wounds. “What is this?” she whispered. She wanted to collapse back onto the earth, and weep. Was this some spirit that had come to greet her? Death was so much more final for the Silvan elves, who had not contemplated the mysteries of the West, and she feared she had not been able to accept it as she ought to. There was nothing fell about him, never that, but a vision was still at risk of being a lie, and Tauriel could not bear to watch him fade away with the dawn. She had lost him once already, and even that she did not think she could truly bear.

Perhaps later there will be some gratification to be had in knowing that he can elicit such a strong reaction from her, but in the moment it stings to see her so rattled and drawing away from him, not from a reluctant sense of obligation, but from fear.

"I don't-" he begins, faltering, and then blurts, "It's this place!" He's reached an instinctive hand out and feels immediately foolish for it, drawing it slowly back.

"I don't understand it, either," he continues, softer. "I've only just arrived, and I thought..."

He thought he'd never see her again, not even in death.

"Are you..." His voice wavers, his barely-controlled expression on the edge of breaking. "Are you real?"

Quite foolishly, for a moment, Tauriel questioned her own existence. Perhaps she really was nothing but a vision herself, a ghost; she had faded away from the land she knew and had appeared in this strange new one. But then she palmed the runestone still in her hand, firmly ran her thumb over the ridges of the engravings, and remembered herself.

Though tears still glinted on her cheeks, her face stilled beneath them. He looked battered and bruised, as much as she. He was there, and life pulsed in him, present and undeniable, bright as a star. Her heart contracted; she didn't know what to feel, could not understand how anyone could make any sense out of what was going on, and she was afraid. But, at the very least, the pain she had experienced had numbed her somewhat, and she was prepared now for a fresh onslaught.

"Yes," she answered, her voice a soft whisper, like wind in the leaves. "I am real."

Tense with hope, Kili's gaze caught on the flicker of Tauriel's fingers and held there, his eyes rounding as the breath pushed abruptly from his lungs. He jerked a baldly astonished look up to her face, the whisper of a smile fleetingly pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"You kept it."

He couldn't imagine what it meant, if she'd believed him dead yet still carried such a token. Return to me. Maybe the stone was more talisman than either of them could have known.

For the first time he noticed the cuts upon her cheeks, how labored her breathing, and his face fell as he took half a step forward.

"You're hurt," he quickly said, eyes soft with worry.

She followed his gaze to the stone still in her hand, and it took all of her power not to clench her fingers around it. Yes, she had kept it. She didn't know why. Perhaps because it was the only thing she could cling to, once they had taken him from her sight.

Except they hadn't, because he was here. She hesitated. How foolish she was being; she had cherished how freely she had been able to speak with him before, had been pleased and comforted and exalted by his presence. The unknown had always thrilled her, but she had begun to understand that she had never truly pressed herself with it. He was strange and different and suddenly he had become too close. Legolas had seemed to understand better what was occurring than she had.

"Would you like it back?" she asked. Maybe he did. She truly did not know. Her injuries were unimportant, compared to him, however, and she was almost surprised he brought them up. She angled her head, slightly, to the side, as she looked at him. She wanted to draw near just as much as she wanted to pull away, so she stood still.

"You are not," she observed, though her voice brimmed with enough hope that it made it a real question.

"No," Kili replied of the stone, and managed a slightly more substantial smile. "It's your promise now."

As she continued, he looked down to his chest, feeling again over the tear in the fabric of his shirt. His leg still ached and he suspected having several cracked ribs in addition to his bruises, but those injuries were not the ones she meant.

"I'm not," he confirmed, and glanced back up to her face. "But you need tending."

She must have come from shortly after he died, he realized then, and with a jolt it occurred to him for the first time that he might not be the only one of them dead. Fili did not remember falling, did not believe this to be the afterlife, but Kili had seen his brother's death with his own eyes.

"The orc—?" he began, suddenly tense again. She had been badly injured, and with no one left to aid in her defense.

It's your promise now. He might not have meant it to be, but it was another one of his little pushes that had her suddenly nervous, but not unpleasantly so. Just awkward and unsure, nearly blushing but not.

“Bolg is dead,” she confirmed, realizing what it was he was really asking as she spoke. If he remembered the orc, then he remembered that he had died, as well (and she was willing to put aside her confusion that he was alive now, for the time being). It had been only moments between his intervening in the fight and then his death, but they had been precious in that they had saved her. But he wouldn't know that unless she told him, and he deserved to know.

“He was brought down by Lord Legolas,” she explained. It still rubbed her raw, that she had not been able to avenge Kíli. That when she awoke, she had barely the strength to drag herself back to his body, let alone aid her friend. “He saved me. As did you,” she added, placing her hand to her chest (feeling, remembering, ignoring, her collarbone) and dipping her head. “I am grateful.”

Legolas. Of course. Kili knew he ought to be grateful, and on some level he imagined that he was, but it was difficult not to show his consternation. The Elf prince was always there, somehow, lurking right over Tauriel's shoulder like a nursemaid or jilted lover—

Ah. Kili quickly ducked his head and bit against the smile that wanted to make an entirely inappropriate appearance. They were talking about Orcs and death and very serious matters; this wasn't a time for smiling.

"I'm glad he was there," he said, and cleared his throat. Schooling his expression, he tipped a look back up to her. "I'm glad that you're not...you know."

It was so easy to think of himself as dead, but for her he couldn't say it, couldn't let himself even consider its possibility.

"But I'm sorry that you were injured on my account. I would never wish that for you."

Edited 2015-01-03 00:54 (UTC)

Tauriel knew that there was friction, but she saw no reason in trying to pretend Legolas was not involved. He was a part of her life; and when it boiled down to it, he had accompanied her up the mountain to warn Thorin and his company, just as she had gone with him to Gundabad. He had put as much into the dwarves as she had, and she would be forever grateful for that loyalty.

"He came with me, to try to warn you," she explained. Of course, that was just a reminder that she had failed in her task; a smile flinched across her face, trying to conceal her consternation.

"If I feared pain, then I would be a poor excuse for a warrior," she answered, instead. "But I am... sorry." Sorry, because she had not been able to take Bolg herself. Because she had saved Kíli three times, but on the fourth she had failed. Because even now she could not seem to act in a way that was right or correct and instead stood there with his runestone in her hand, acting like his return from the dead was not the joyous occasion it truly was. And because the only time she had kissed him had been in his death.

Perhaps it was their fundamental differences as Elf and Dwarf that made all of this so awkward. The stiffness sat upon Kili poorly, a suit made two sizes too small which he was nonetheless behaving as if fit him perfectly well. When had he cared about propriety? When had he cared about being polite? Had he been concerned overmuch with either of those things, they'd likely not be here to begin with.

"Here we are, both of us sorry," he quickly said, a tense attempt at levity, and took another step Tauriel's way. She was close enough to touch and he nearly reached out, the impulse a mad itch beneath his skin, but fear of her reaction stayed his hand.

"There are many things which happened that I'm not at all sorry for," he added, more quietly.

She didn't want to be this way. She wanted that easy freedom again, the ability to do whatever she wanted, held down by nothing and no one - what she'd had before the fear had crept in. When had it arrived? Why? There was no reason to obey it any longer. The danger was gone, now; the battle had ended. She was still, to her knowledge, banished from her homeland. All that was terrible had already occurred, and now it was just her. Uncertain, frightening, yes. But surely she could work through it.

She smiled at him, because she knew what he was trying to do. And also, because he just made her smile, even though he brought out that faint shyness in her. She glanced away from him, eyes dragging along the ground rather than meet his face, and then she looked up to the sky, still bedecked with constellations she had never seen before.

"Will you sit with me awhile?" she asked, lightly. She did not know how much he enjoyed the stars, but she would appreciate his company.

"Yes," Kili was quick to answer. "Of course." His gaze tracked her wandering eye and its reluctance to settle upon him, and he ducked briefly into her field of vision, brown eyes wide with curiosity and concern.

"Are you certain you wouldn't see a healer?" he pressed, but already having an idea of her answer. "They have them inside."

Not that he could claim much knowledge beyond that, having forgone them himself despite Fili's urging.

After a pause, in which Tauriel's eyes continued to track the heavens overhead, she glanced over at him again. Her smile was slight but genuine, for she recognized the worry in his questioning.

"I have suffered no poison, nor cut," she said, and momentarily touched her fingertips to the cut just above her eyebrow, remembering it and the small, similar wounds scattered elsewhere, "save these. I will heal with rest." Elves were hardy, more so than their slight figure suggested, and though she ached and throbbed with pain, she knew it would go away. While they could not heal from mortal wounds, others they could recover from with time.

She moved to sit back down, the grass soft and welcoming after having known only the mountainside. She would have inquired towards his health, if not for the fact she still marveled at the life still coursing through him. "I shall rest soon," she said, "if that would ease you."

"I forget sometimes that Elves heal more quickly than Dwarves," Kili offered by way of explanation, but the truth was that had this been anyone else, Elf or otherwise, he'd not have been half so concerned.

"It does make me feel a little better," he allowed, settling beside her as near as he dared, close enough to grasp her hand should boldness seize him, but with space enough that still she might comfortably draw away. The heart of her was easily enough read, but her Elvish self-composure remained a mystery.

"Might you want company while you rest?" he asked, his smile faint but self-indulgent as he watched her, clearly teasing simply for the sake of it. "I could fluff your pillows."

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why does it hurt so much?

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