Hi guys! This is my first Middle Earth fic. Hope you enjoy it. You can tell that Bard the Bowman is my favourite character because I wanted a father like him. That hope was dashed to smithereens.

Epilogue

Such is the nature of elves that their hearts love fiercely when there is hope for love. They can love for thousands and thousands of years even ones who have passed when they know the hope of meeting again with their eternal companion in the world beyond the Undying Lands and this mortal world exist in their minds. But once that hope is dashed, put into ruins, that love will be forgotten. Maybe not in memory, but in deed.

That happens when Legolas sees how Tauriel, the one he was prepared to die for, pines for the black-haired dwarf even when he is clearly now a vessel. That fierce love he had for Tauriel is now gone. He leaves Tauriel not in anger, nor in resentment nor in frustration. It is just a forgetting of doing things. A forgetting of actions. He no longer waits, or contemplates what she thinks, or walks by her side. She is not his eternal companion. Tauriel's heart belongs to the dwarf, even in death.

But Legolas never forgets the fiery haired Silvan elf. Tauriel has said things that will forever be etched in his mind.

Since when we let evil become stronger than us?

Are we not part of this world?

Middle Earth is no longer a world without fault. Mirkwood is not a sanctuary unaffected by the troubles of the mortals. The time of the elves will end when Middle Earth ends. He knows that. It is no longer about Tauriel. He understands his place in the world. His kind is granted wisdom, longevity beyond mortal comprehension, and strength and endurance that put his kind above of all creatures on Arda.

He will no longer be a watcher of ages. Still in immortality, unthinking, unfeeling, without fear or compassion. There is no life in being dead in the heart.

Legolas walks on, out of the peak of the accursed mountain of death. There is much too look to.

The battle leaves ruins in stones and souls, and he has much to look to.

Saving the Saviour: Chapter 1

The horn blasts across the ruined city of Dale signalling the end of war, but Bain feels a quiet nagging in the pit of his stomach. He feels safe with the weight of his father's arms on one shoulder and the closeness of his sisters Sigrid and Tilda, to the warmth of their father's body should only makes him feel all the more secure. But Bain still feel that familiar tingle that is both the gift and the curse of his life. Some call it premonition, some call it instinct, some call it a hunch, or a gut feeling. It is the feeling that he got when his father was late from his trip to the mouth of the Anduin, collecting discarded from the elves. But, despite his worse imagination, his father came back. He wasn't all wrong though. Bringing a company of dwarves with him, the pinch at the pit of his stomach has proven that his gift is true and tested. The dwarves' coming led to the destruction of Lake-Town with many lives lost, despite the victory of ruins at the end.

Bain now confirms it in his mind that the feeling they call many names is a sign of something bad is going to happen. Still, he waits, as there is not much he can do with all gut feeling. At times he was able to act on it, only if he saw an opportunity. Most of the times, he was helpless, and was only able to make conclusions in restrospective.

Bain only hopes that this is the one that he can act on.

Neighbours, acquaintances, strangers and enemies shook hand with his father, the unofficially proclaimed King of Lake-Town. They owed him their lives. He understands that. But he also that understands that people who spied for the old Master of Lake-Town, his father's enemies, despite the good and the right thing his father has done are now his father's supporters. Well, at least they appear friendly now. But the situation is still the same. Only now, his father is more exposed. The crowd milling around his father thinned and they were finally as a family, the four of them, reunited.

"Come Da," said Sigrid, let us show you a room we've got for our family," guiding him, their father and Tilda away from the balcony that oversees the Old Market, underneath them the great hall.

"It used to be the residence of the Lord of Dale of old…" Sigrid's voice trails off.

"We're not going to stay there, Sigrid. I'm not Lord of Dale. But thank you, for finding a place for us to stay the night."

Bain sees his father caressing Sigrid's head, a sign of appreciation and regret, and his recognises tiredness in his voice. It is different from tiredness of long journey or longing or frustration. His father's voice is heavy and hardly audible.

"Yes, Father. It was Olga who found it for us. She knew you would need it to rest."

"That's thoughtful of her."

"She regards you highly, Father."

The room that used to be part of the residence was probably a servants' room. There were a few beds and a cupboard of old beddings and a fireplace. It is small, easy to keep warm and away from the windows and main entrance. It is perfect for them, at this hour. Bain goes to the fireplace and wastes no time to start a fire.

He smiles to see that Tilda launches her no longer so tiny self towards her father in utter relief and joy and gratefulness.

"I'm glad you're with us, Da," Tilda says.

The flint struck a piece of an old dried wood and the fire is started. His father does not return Tilda's exuberance, instead shields himself from her. Bard the mighty Bowman does not even say a word. Tilda shrivels away from her beloved father.

"Da? What's wrong?"

At that, Bain turns his head to the scene and sees his father falls to his knees. Sigrid who sees the same scene drops the beddings to the floor.

"Bain! Something's wrong with Da!" Tilda shrieks. Bain lurches to his father and supported his upper body and eases him to the floor.

"Da! Tell me what's wrong!" Bain says. His father is conscious, but his facial expression shows that he is confused, seemingly not understanding what is happening to him.

"I don't feel well," Da says.

"Are you tired, Da?" Tilda asks.

"You're right, little pea," Da says. Then Bain hears his father whispers to him, with pale lips and waning eyes.

"Get the girls out of here."

Bain turns to Sigrid and Tilda who are in each other's arms.

"Sigrid, Hilda. Could the two of you please find Da some warm food and wine? Da's feeling faint," Bain says to her sisters.

The two nodded and they go off.

"What's the matter, Da?"

Bain sees his father steeling himself and trying to get on his feet.

"Get me on the bed. I want the girls to think I'm resting," his father orders.

With difficulty, Bain manages to walk his father to one of the beds, for Bard the Bargeman and Bard the Bowman is a tall and strong man, and he is proud to be sired by such a mighty, resilient, honourable and courageous man such as his father. Bain has never seen his father weak, and this time he has no inkling but what is he going to see. Bain props his father's head with three, age-dried pillows.

With trembling hands, his father opened the front of his worn out coat.

"Let me help you, Da," Bains says and unhooks the chain mail underneath the coat. The chain mail Is now open and Bain sees what is the cause of the problem. Right in the middle of the opening of the chain mail, underneath his father's chest there is a bloom of crimson staining his father's shirt. He can see that the red bloom of blood is coming from a stab wound the length of his forefinger.

"Da," Bain says, swallowing his own spit.

"Son?" His father answers weakly.

"You've been stabbed."

"It feels like it now," his father says, grimacing and clutching his midsection. Bain can feel his father's body shaking, because of the cold and pain.

Bain opens the layers of mail chain and layers of clothing hindering him from seeing his father's wound. When he sees it, he feels tears running down his cheeks. He brushed them away quickly and grabbed the beddings that Sigrid has dropped to the floor. He tears them to the size of a large handkerchief and pushes the material on his father's chest. Da clenches his jaw.

It makes sense. Bain has seen elves, hundreds of them, die from battle wounds. Elves, who were trained to fight as warriors, with efficiency and skills unmatched by any other creatures in Middle Earth, who should have had thousands and thousands of years to live, were wounded and they died. What chance has his father to have, with his meagre chain mail, and tiredness and nagging hunger for he gave his food to those who were more in need, against the hoard of battle-hungry orcs, uruk hais and goblins? Yet his father made it to the end of battle and made it back to them. Their father didn't abandon them, lost and unfound among the dead strewn across the Old Market and paths and roads.

Their father, despite the gaping wound in his chest, has come back to them.

"You hold on, Da. Can you do that for me? I'm going to get help," Bain pleads to his father. Da smiles weakly, his eyes almost closing.

At that moment, Tilda and Sigrid barge in, with a basket of bread and sliced roast meat and water.

"No, not your sisters," Da begs in pain.

"They have to know, because I need all the help I can get to save you," Bain explains. Da is hesitant, but he nods.

"But don't show them the blood," Da says. Bain nods. He covers his father's chest with the layers of clothing before pressing on the bedding used to staunch his wound.

"Sigrid, Tilda. Come here. Da has something to say," Bains calls his sisters calmly. The last thing he needs now is Sigrid dropping the food that their father needs or Tilda screaming again.

Sigrid put down the basket of food on a dresser and sits with her sister next to Bain, facing their ashen-faced father.

"Girls, ugh," Da tries to speak but the pain makes it hard to be coherent. Bain can't see his father struggle like that and begins.

"Da is injured in battle."

"Da!" His sisters cry.

"It's not too bad, girls," Da finally says, lying through gritted teeth. Bain can see his blood soaking through the rag.

"I want you two to help stop the bleeding and bound the wound as I find help," Bain orders his sisters.

Sigrid and Tilda nod fervently.

"Put your hand on my hand, Tilda," Bain says to Tilda. Tilda does and she was told.

"Press here," Bain continues.

"Sigrid, prepare the bindings, quickly. Once you have bound Da's wound, give Da some wine to give him strength."

"And where shall you go, Bain?"

"I will find someone with nursing skills," Bain says.

"No!"His father says, summoning all his strength to convey his fears.

"I have enemies, Bain. Once they find out I've been wounded, the people will fall apart. And those enemies will hurt you three if I'm – " Da hesitates.

"Just stay here. I will wait this one out. I will be fine in the morning," Da says. But Bain can see that is far from the truth. Da can barely speak, he is a pale as a shroud. And they do know that most Morgul blades are laced with poison.

"I will find someone you trust."

"There are not many of them."

"Trust me, Da," Bain makes his pledge and holds his father's cold hand to his chest. His father nods.

"You stay alive till I get back," Bain makes his plea before leaving.

"Can you promise me that, Da?"

"I promise, son," his father says. But Bain knows that promises are made and kept only by the living.

"I'll see you, soon, Da," Bain says and runs to the door. He knows he if doesn't put speed into his steps, he will crumble at the sight of his weakening father.

Bains goes out into the cold, wild night, alone.