why does it hurt so much?

[afeastofstarlight]

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.

Comments

[of_mirkwood]

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.

[line_of_durin]

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.