The Golden Ones

I - A Tale from Six Centuries Prior

    Grief is the deadliest of all sicknesses. It is silent, it is undetectable, and it can disable even the strongest of its victims. Unfortunately, grief also happened to be the only disease that could consume elves. Through all of her 68 years, the elf Tauriel had never experienced anything close to grief. She lived in a state of happiness. Books were plentiful, and creatures of all sorts roamed the woods. Her life was shared with two others: Camben, her father, and Elhael, her mother. Their position in the Mirkwood Guard allowed them a nice, pleasant life. When they were patrolling, Tauriel always immersed herself in the library. Her days generally went something like this: Tauriel would wake, and share a breakfast with her family. Her parents would go out for duty, and she would wander the halls of her kingdom, never bored, until they returned from the forest. Once they did, she'd either watch her mother play the harp or go shooting with her father. They would share a dinner and enjoy each other until it was time to rest. Her days always followed this pattern, until the day that they didn't.

    On this day of change, Tauriel's morning was as mundane as all of her previous ones. She ate and talked with her parents. They left much earlier for duty than usual, but this did not appear as unnatural - larger missions called for extended hours, and occurred every once in a while. Instead of immediately departing her home, Tauriel chose to stay and tidy a bit before engaging in any other matters. She took care in this task. Tauriel was intolerant of uncleanliness and held order at high priority. It wasn't until everything was in its precise spot that she felt comfortable journeying out to begin her day.

    Judging by the amount of elves in the halls, it was much later than Tauriel had anticipated. The paths were rather busy with foot traffic. Elves were returning to their homes after their day. Under the assumption that her mother and father were somewhere among the crowd, Tauriel turned to go home to await their return. This return did not come. For hours, she sat, staring at the entryway, hoping that they'd appear. Though she suspected they were merely being held over for a more important mission, something within her screamed that something felt different.

    The next morning, Tauriel awoke to find herself in a rather uncomfortable position in the chair she'd been sitting in the night before. Worry set in as she stood. Surely, her parents would have returned by now. Something was not right, Tauriel decided. Her heart sped. She ran for the halls. Disregarding the other elves in her kingdom, she ran towards the throne room. It was rash, but it was a decision made in the midst of a deep fear. She was certain to be stopped before she reach the Elvenking, but that was her exact intention. If anyone held any information, they would be found in that location. But no one stopped her. She found the throne room completely empty. Tauriel decided a new strategy. She would now go to the front entrance to the kingdom. Perhaps the guards stationed at the door would have word. Just as she reach her destination, Tauriel saw a scene that would consume her thoughts for the rest of her mind.

    There were eight healers, two for each body. Three of the cots were covered with blankets of leaves. They were preceded by one which was uncovered. Tauriel would've thought the first body like the three that followed it, except sobs wracked its entirety, while the others were completely still. Tauriel dropped to her knees. She tried to call out, but no noise would escape her throat. Even if anyone heard, it would be completely useless. Nothing would help her now, as she'd just identified two members of the party. The third cot carried an elf with brilliant red hair that spilled out from under the covering. It carried the one who had tried with all their might to teach Tauriel how to play the harp. The fourth, with the elf who was nearly too tall to fit on the bed, was the one who had laughed quietly while they watched the tedious task.

    These two cots carried the bodies of Camben and Elhael, the life and the love of Tauriel. Then, just like that, Tauriel first experienced the sickness called grief. No thought, no word, or no sound could express the terrible feeling that had filled her entire body. She felt as if she were going to explode. Amidst the sudden chaos, someone must have seen Tauriel pale and begin to sink, because she felt strong arms catch her as she began to fall towards the ground.

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    At a younger age, Tauriel was fascinated when she found that if she repeated a word enough, it lost all meaning and became a string of sounds. She hoped it might work now. "Wanwa. Wanwa. Wanwa. Wanwa." [1] She whispered over and over again. No matter how many times she said it, each time felt like another stab in an already deep wound. Besides, Tauriel had heard that word far too many times on that day already. The captain of the guard was the first to come to her in the infirmary. 

    The infirmary was a place that was not often used. Aside from the occasional hunting wound, it remained empty. Tauriel figured that she was most likely the first "injured" that had been in this room for years. It was a rectangular room. Ten beds lined down one wall, and shelves of herbs and bottles lined the other. She studied the labels of the medicines as the elf spoke. He looked truly pained, but Tauriel found it very hard to care. Only a few things from his speech mattered. Tauriel had condensed it into this:

    "I can't tell you any details about the mission... one other casualty.. your father attempted to save your mother... they both fought bravely..." The Captain had spoken for a long time. Tears filled his eyes. He apologized often, Tauriel had noted. She had toned him out completely, until he moved to pick up a package wrapped in brown paper that rested by his feet. She hadn't seen him carry it in. When he handed her the parcel, she knew what it was without opening it. Regardless, she tore the paper away to reveal her father's bow. Tauriel remembered helping him pick the weapon, favoring it for its appealing details. A sob ripped through her previously stoic body. She lowered the bow onto the mattress and brought her hands upwards to shield the tears pouring from her green eyes. The captain left. Someone came to offer her food later. She refused. They bent to pick up her bow, but her hand shot out to grab their wrist. Tauriel hugged the bow to her chest as she was consumed by the horrible, horrible emotion she'd only read about.

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    In a different place in the kingdom, the Elvenking stared out into the starry night sky. Cool wind whipped across the balcony that was connected to his chambers. His cheeks were wet with tears, tears that he knew that he had to disguise from his court. If anyone asked, they were told that there were three casualties that occurred during a Guard mission. They weren't told that there was a dragon and orcs and spiders, or that their king had been terribly burnt and almost found himself among the casualties. They especially were not told that the queen was among the fallen. Thranduil wanted no grave, no questions, and no memories of her. He wanted freedom from his despair. 

    One of the two large doors behind him swung open. He roared a curse as he turned around to face the instigator. It was one of his advisors. She recoiled from Thranduil, so much that she bumped in to the frame of the door. He was not sure if it was his yell or his wound that frightened her more. She turned to flee his presence. "No, stay." He ordered. She complied, planting herself midway between the doors of his chambers and the doors to his balcony. "If you came now, there must be something important. Share." He demanded.

    "My Lord," she began, approaching slowly. "Camben and Elhael..." 

    "What of them?" He snapped. Thranduil, though not close to the pair, had known them and rather enjoyed their presence when they were around. Unlike many of his subjects, they were some of the most calm around him. He sometimes enjoyed feeling normal, though he'd never admit it.

    "They have a daughter." She stammered.

    "What of /her/?" Thranduil demanded. He was growing more exasperated by the second.

    "My Lord, she is young. Still a growing child." She half-whispered. Thranduil's heart twisted in his chest, thinking of his own son. Legolas. He'd requested that he be looked after by his advisors while he recovered. It wasn't that Thranduil thought that he couldn't be there for Legolas. It was more that he did not want Legolas to see his father so weak - part of his face consumed by dragonfire. With work, it could be concealed, but the Elvenking found it hard to even think about moving, let alone devising some sort of glamour. "My Lord, I do not think I've completely made my point clear. This girl, Tauriel is her name, she has no other family. Camben and Elhael were all she had. What will we do with her?" 

    The answer came easily, instinctively. "I will care for her." He stated.