Admittedly, the idea for this came from something my dad said when he and my mother were watching BotFA for the first time. It's just a little something that's been wanting to get out for a while, not entirely sentimental or overly in-depth. This one-shot has mentions of Kiliel and subtle hints of future Bard/Tauriel. Please read, review and enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A LIKENESS

It had been the Elvan King who brought Tauriel to the healer in Dale. She was reluctant to leave Kili's side, but she was bleeding heavily and Thranduil outright refused to let her die alongside him. Now that Legolas had gone North and despite their grievances, Tauriel was the King's Ward and as such, the only child he had left.

"Where is the healer?" He demanded with Tauriel, unconscious and in his arms.

The young girl Tilda clocked the elves and ran toward them. Upon seeing Tauriel she gasped, "Follow me." she urged Thranduil who did so without question.

They happened upon a tent by the banks of Esgaroth and Tilda barged in, "My friend needs help." she declared, gesturing to Tauriel.

The healer beckoned Thranduil to place Tauriel on the bed, "Do what you can." said he, an expression of concern plaguing his features.

Both he and Tilda watched on in dread, hoping beyond their luck that the she-elf would live. Had they the luxury of time, Thranduil would've rode hard and fast to Mirkwood, for Elvish medicine and treatment would ensure that Tauriel would be all right. As it was, he wasn't willing to risk her life and decided to bide his time a little longer in the world of men. As soon as Tauriel was well, he'd take her and return home to the forest. There, he could shelter her from the ills of the world, fulfilling the promise he made to her father those 600 years ago.

"I need room." the old woman uttered.

Thranduil nodded, "Of course," he motioned to Tilda, "Come, child. We shall wait outside." but the girl refused with an ardent shake of her head, "I want to stay with her." certainly not intimidated by his towering presence.

On any given day, the King would've insisted, rather harshly, for the girl to do as she was told, but she had an oddly familiar look about her; a rebellious glint in her eye that reminded him of another - Tauriel. As an elfling she'd often refuse to obey his orders - likely to spite him, he'd wager. She was headstrong and wilful, and not half a dozen centuries could change that.

"Very well." he relented, not because the child wasn't his to command, rather, he couldn't bear to see a similar gaze of sorrow that would bring even the highest of nobles to their knees.

Later, as twilight dwindled dim, Bard is frantic as he searches for his youngest who had apparently disappeared again, "Sigrid! Where is your sister?"

"I think she's by the shore. I'll go fetch her." she assured, making her way down the expanse of the hill.

The youngest of the three had a terrible habit of wandering off at the most inconvenient of times. Sigrid knew from whom she had inherited it because she had adapted his infuriatingly stubborn resolve as well. "Tilda, you must come back to the City. Da wants us all together." Sigrid tells her sister who hadn't left Tauriel's side since the healer woman said she could wake at any moment.

Tilda shook her head as she tightened her grasp on the elf's hand. "She didn't leave us."

Sigrid placed a hand on her shoulder, "She will be fine. She will wake up and she will be fine." she explained in an effort to reassure her.

"And i will be here when she does!" Tilda persisted.

The elder of the two was growing impatient, "Tilda!"

"Go away!" she glared up at Sigrid.

"Fine." Sigrid huffed, "I'll tell Da." she left the tent and did so.

Five minutes later, Bard makes his way into the healer's tent. His eyes softened at the sight of his little girl staring wonderingly at the sleeping elf maiden before her. While Bain and Sigrid cared not for the world outside of their quaint water-home, Tilda had taken it upon herself to learn all that there was know beyond the boundaries of Lake-Town. She'd often ask her father if she could join him on his trips to the forest in hopes of catching a glimpse of a wood elf. Though, Bard would remind her that if he hadn't yet seen one, it was likely they never would. "King Thranduil is of a private sort. He keeps his elves locked away from the outside world." he'd tell her.

"Like you?" she'd retort, disappointed.

Bard approached them and knelt down beside his daughter. "Darling, it's late. It's past your bedtime." His voice was soft and coaxing.

Tilda turned to her father with pleading eyes. "But Da, I want to be here when she wakes up," she starts, "She didn't leave us. I won't leave her." Her gaze turned back to Tauriel who slept soundly, though her brow was furrowed slightly in grief from the day's turmoil and tragedy.

Although he had seen many elves that day during the battle, Bard hadn't noticed any females among them, less so those with red hair. The one before him was indeed a sight he could not easily forget.

"You may see her in the morning." He pressed, his voice gentle but stern, unyielding. It was one his children knew well enough not to argue.

Tilda sighed, defeated by a yawn, "Okay." She turned in the chair to face her father, "Will you stay with her then?" she asked, hopeful.

Bard opened his mouth to object.

"Please?" Tilda added, peering up at him masterfully with those eyes she knew he could not refuse.

He smiled softly, "Of course, I will."

Tilda offered him a brighter smile in return and leaned over, placing the lightest of kisses against Tauriel's bruised cheek.

Bard watched in wonder, marvelling at the sight. Never had Tilda taken to someone quite like she had this she-elf. It invoked a curiosity in him and he was content to remain there to pursue it.

"Good night, Daddy." Tilda mused, hugging her father's tough frame.

"Good night, my Darling." He countered, kissing the top of her head and escorting her out of the tent and to his other daughter.

A few hours passed and Bard remained by the Elf's side, eager to meet her eyes.

Finally when Tauriel wakes, the brightness offended her eyes; obscuring her vision, as though they had grown accustomed to darkness.

She attempted to sit up but the wound in her side wouldn't allow it. Instead, she settled for leaning back on her elbows. "Who's there?" She inquired into the shadowed area of the tent.

"My name is Bard." He announced, escaping the darkness and revealing himself to her elf-eyes. He had often wondered what it was that they saw so differently than the eyes of simple men. Of course, he'd never had the opportunity to find out. Perhaps he'd ask her.

The name was familiar and she remembered having heard it several times following Smaug's demise. "The dragon-slayer?" She wondered.

"The bargeman." Bard stated modestly. He had killed the dragon and saved those he could, but to him, he did only that which any man with enough courage and the means would do. He wasn't anymore special than the average man and he certainly didn't want to be treated otherwise. He was a humble and he would remain as such.

He reclaimed his seat by the cot she lay on, or rather, was trying to get off. "You should rest." He suggested. "The healer tells me you were badly wounded. Your King brought you down here and apparently you slept through the entire ordeal."

"Not entirely." Tauriel muttered regretfully, plagued with images her heart couldn't bear to remember.

"I'm sorry?"

Tauriel dismissed his question in favour of one of her own. "Where is he now?" she asked, curious as to what exactly was keeping Thranduil from his gilded cage. Surely it wasn't her - the rogue, lovesick elf he'd banished from her home not two days prior.

"He is tending to those of his kin who died today." he tells her. They were her kin too and Bard would've associated her blatant sorrow with their losses had he not known otherwise; that the regret in her eyes was borne of another reason; another loss.

"There are many?" she inquired further, forcing herself into a seated position, her hand on her side.

Bard nodded, frowning. "Too many." Although the enemy had been defeated, there was no cause for celebration - war is never kind; there are no victors.

For a moment, silence consumed the tent and the air around them, oddly, hadn't grown uncomfortable. After all, Bard mused, what comfort was there in all the noise? Following the seemingly endless battle, the silence was a welcome reprieve.

Though, he felt inclined to say something further. "My children are very fond of you; my youngest especially." was the first thing that came to mind. It was what brought and kept him there, in any case.

"Are they?" she said plainly with her eyes on the floor.

Bard nodded, craning his head slightly in an effort to catch her gaze. "You protected them when the Dragon attacked. I am in your debt." he vowed. If it weren't for Tauriel, it was likely he would be facing far different, less desirable, circumstances - his children would be dead and that was simply a reality he was unsure he could endure. He owed her their lives and therefore, he owed her everything.

Finally, her green eyes met the similar hue of his own. "You owe me nothing." she replied, seemingly having heard his thoughts. "Why are you here?" she asks promptly. Although his company had kept her mind from acknowledging the lingering pain in her heart, she wondered why he felt compelled to remain by her side. Surely he had a razed city to rebuild.

"Tilda insisted. Though, i wanted to thank you myself." he explains, not unreasonably.

He receives a nod in reply. He didn't know her, but he knew well enough she wasn't feeling partial to maintaining the conversation unless he did.

Tauriel shifted slightly on the bed, adjusting her previous position that had grown sore. She grimaced in response to a sharp jolt of pain. Bard would've reached out to help her but he was sure she didn't want to be touched. It was seldom he saw elves partake in physical contact, whether it was with one of their own or otherwise. He did however, keep a keen eye on her as she manoeuvred herself into a comfortable stance, far more graceful than one in her condition would've managed. His eyes focussed themselves on her face. Though she wore a shallow cut on her hairline, the rest of her skin was unscathed, void of any bruising. Although, they knew her wounds were superficial; they'd heal unlike the one crushing her already shattered heart; knew too that she'd have taken a dozen fatal wounds in his stead, if only to keep him - her dwarf prince - from dying.

The silence retuned, though this time it was daunting and Tauriel hoped Bard would speak again to keep her thoughts at bay.

Fortunately for her, he did. "And I see now why they are so taken with you." he uttered, his eyes bearing into hers.

"Oh?" she quipped curiously.

Bard nods slowly. "You have their mother's bearing." he explains, a depth in his gaze she couldn't quite reach, for memory was there; memory and sorrow. He swallows hard, as if absorbing his own words upon hearing them. "There is a likeness in your features that resembles her own." he notices.

Tauriel wasn't phased by his statement, rather she understood it. The way his daughters had clung to her during their descent out of Esgaroth, and again on its banks, hadn't gone unnoticed. She had been in their home for the better part of the night and their mother was nowhere to be found. Naturally, the elf had assumed she was dead and for quite some time given the youngest girl's incessant need to hold her hand. She'd be fooling herself if she claimed she hadn't softened at the child's desperate touch.

She nodded finally, empathising with his loss. "I am sorry fate was not kind to you." her voice was gentle, alike her gaze now, soft but not sympathetic - she would not pity him. It was the farthest thing from what she herself wanted in the wake of a fellow felt tragedy.

"And i, you." Bard consoled warily. "I learned what became of the son's of Durin shortly after the battle." And though he shared only strife with Oakenshield, he knew full well of the King's honour and that of his nephews - it was indeed a tragedy that they met their demise upon reclaiming their homestead and throne. "Sigrid tells me the young one felt very deeply for you." He continues, warier still.

Tauriel's head falls in memory; in regret. Had she kept her gaze toward Bard, he'd have been able to see her heart plummet in her eyes. She remembers now what Thranduil had told her over Kili's lifeless body, how he'd reverted back to speaking to her as if she were the young elfling he'd found in the darkling wood. "It was real," he had reasoned - it was real and the paradox was that it would weigh her down as if she hadn't lost anything at all; her heart would feel heavy with all that was gone.

Bard noticed her struggling to maintain her composure. "I am sorry. The wound is too new - i should not speak of it." he quickly moved to rectify his careless words. "I will leave you to rest." he tells her, inclining his head slightly before turning to leave the tent.

As he reaches out to pull back the tarp however, she speaks again, halting him. "I saved him." she starts, keeping her voice small - she didn't trust it not to break along with her waning heart.

Bard turns to acknowledge her words. He doesn't say anything when he approaches her once more.

Tauriel inhales, staring down at her hands. "Three times, i saved him." she whispered, though loudly enough for Bard to hear. "I suppose there was never meant to be a fourth." His mother had been right - he was reckless. And there was only so many times she could've saved him.

"You tried." He was sure.

She sighed heavily. "I should've tried harder." she laments.

Bard shakes his head. "It does no good to consider what if's and could be's." he explains, pulling his chair closer to her than it previously had been. And indeed it wasn't. She'd always feel the way she was feeling now, but to despair so desperately was to wish back something that had she had no hope of reclaiming. Should she continue to lament out of the love and loss of her Dwarf Prince, she'd prolong that which was already so unbearable. "I spent too long a time dwelling on something i couldn't change had i done something different."

He was right, of course. Tauriel knew it and for all her reputation as a Wood Elf, she was certainly wise enough to heed his pleas. Though she wondered why he dared to take such notice; why he made an effort to care. Was it simply in honour of his debt to her for keeping his children safe when he couldn't? Surely, it was. Why else would he bother to comfort her? Tauriel asked herself as his words registered true and honest in her mind.

After a moment, she decided their eyes had been locked in silence longer than they should've been and spoke. "You are wise as you are brave." she notices. "You will be a great King." During their hasty descent into Dale upon their return from Gundabad, she and Legolas had heard talk of the city's new King and that the Dragon-Slayer should be crowned within a fortnight of the battle, should he survive.

"I do not want to be King." he almost huffed defiantly. But what better man for the job, Tauriel mused though she kept it to herself.

She shrugged slightly. "I do not want this pain in my heart, but we all have crosses to bear." If only someone could take it from them.

Later, when dusk gave way to dawn, Tilda woke and ran straight to the healer's tent in hopes to find Tauriel awake. To her delight, she was and her father had remained by the elleth's side throughout the night, it seemed.

"Tauriel!" she greeted gleefully. "You're awake… and walking!" she noticed with a furrow of her brow. She turned to stare up at Bard in query. "Da, should she be walking?"

Tauriel managed a small smile in response to the young girl's concern. "I am well, Tilda." she assured. "And i will be well."

Tilda nodded and wrapped her short arms around the elf's middle, mindful of her wound."I was so scared - i didn't know if you would wake up." She pressed the side of her face to the fabric of Tauriel's green wear, clinging to her the way she had done when the Dragon attacked.

"But she did." Bard noted, patting his daughter's head adoringly.

"But i did." Tauriel promised, her eyes meeting his over the child between them.

Tilda leans back from their embrace but kept her arms around Tauriel. "When you're well, will you take me to Mirkwood?" she asked, hopeful that, having found friendship in one of its natives, she'd finally be able to visit the forest she so often read about.

Tauriel peered down at her, stroking her hair. "I do not think i will be returning to my home." It was an honest answer and quite frankly, the only one the child deserved.

"Why not?" she inquired, confused and disappointed.

"I fear it would not feel much like home anymore." It was true and Bard, having heard the sincerity within her voice, understood.

Tilda sighed against the elf, nodding. Maybe one day still, she told herself. Where then would Tauriel go if not her home? "Will you stay with us then? Here, in Dale?" she asked, hopeful once more.

"I…" Tauriel opens her mouth to object when she catches Bard's welcoming smile and the inclination of his brow, as if to reinforce his daughter's suggestion.

Tauriel considered it. She supposed she could live in Dale. It wasn't far from Mirkwood, should she ever feel inclined to return or visit. However, it was even closer to Erebor and seeing Kili's kin most days might just invoke too much memory to bear. And yet, she knew Kili's memory and their time together, however fleeting, would remain with her throughout her immortal life. She knew too that the fateful day on the mountainside with the Orc Bolg and how she was unable to save Kili that one last time would plague her thoughts alongside the fonder memories.

It'd be a long time coming, if ever she was going to feel gladness at ever having loved at all. And she wonders, where now is the love she had come to realise she was capable of supposed to go? She didn't know.

Looking down at the girl in her arms, regarding the hopeful glint in her eyes then finding the same in her father's, Tauriel decided that perhaps, she did know.

Meanwhile, Thranduil approached the tent to check on Tauriel in hopes that she was ready to return to the wood. He peers round the corner of the opening and the sight before him is enough to convince him that she, like Legolas, would not be returning home with him. It seems, after six centuries without a family, she'd finally found another.