Chapter 1: Exodus

Third Age 2770

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"This is intolerable," Tauriel hissed.

Legolas eyed her with hidden concern. Below their perch in the trees a long line of dwarf refugees snaked slowly through the Greenwood. They'd been keeping pace with the vanguard of the group for three days now, with many still to go, and Tauriel had been growing progressively more angry as time went by.

"Perhaps you should take a break," he suggested, no trace of his worry evident in his voice.

She glared at him. "There are children down there, babies! How can you show no concern?"

He resisted the urge to snap back at her; no good purpose would be served by giving into his own emotions. "I am as concerned as you, but you know my father's orders."

"Yes, yes," she muttered peevishly. "Watch them; ensure they stay on the path; do not approach them unless they stray off it; do not—" A baby wailed beneath them, sounding sickly and weak, and her voice wavered, "—do not render aid."

"Tauriel," Legolas said gently, "they'll make camp soon. Take a break, just for a hour." When she looked inclined to argue he made his voice implacable. "Now, Tauriel. Go."

She cast him one last furious look, then was gone in a swirl of red hair and temper.

Legolas slumped against the tree trunk and closed his eyes, listening to the whimpers and cries of the children and wounded beneath him. He was no admirer of dwarves, but Tauriel was right. This was intolerable.

0o0o0o0o0

Another day inched slowly by. The dwarves made camp on the path yet again, huddled miserably as they ate their meager rations and settled in for the night. Legolas and Tauriel watched in silence as King Thrór ranted about going back to Erebor, becoming more and more agitated, finally taking a wild swing at one of his counselors and being wrestled into submission by his son and oldest grandson. The latter looked barely out of childhood.

"How can that be what concerns him?" Tauriel murmured. "His people die all around him yet his only concern is for his lost gold?"

Legolas shrugged. "He is a dwarf. They all lust for gold and treasure."

She watched as Prince Thráin pressed his forehead against his visibly shaking son's and sent him off with a gentle push and instructions to: "Check on your mother, son. And see Dís settled for the night. Keep Frerin with you and stay with them so I know they're well-protected. Will you undertake this duty for me?"

The younger dwarf nodded jerkily and stalked away, swiping furtively at his cheeks.

"Not all of them," she replied, gesturing to the expression on Thráin's face as he watched his son go.

"Perhaps not all," he conceded reluctantly. "Not yet, at any rate."

They watched the young prince make his way to a campsite further back in the line. A tiny, weeping dwarfling ran to him and flung herself into his arms. He pretended to stagger under her weight until she giggled, then they joined an older dwarfling sitting by the pallet of a badly injured female dwarf.

"Mother," the prince said, gently touching her hand. "How are you doing?"

Her smile didn't quite cover the lines of pain on her face. "I believe I am better this evening, Thorin. How goes it with your father and grandfather?"

His pause went unnoticed by her, though his brother looked at him sharply. "All is well, mother. You just focus on getting better, yes?"

"Such a good lad," she told him, her voice so faint the elves in the trees could barely hear her. "All three of you… I could not have wished for better children…" She drifted back into a restless sleep and for a moment the siblings huddled together, a little band of misery.

Thorin squared his shoulders and said bracingly, "We should be getting to sleep as well. Have you eaten?"

The little one nodded her head against his shoulder. "We had some bread. It was hard to chew. Amad couldn't eat it."

He exchanged a tense glance with his brother, but only said mildly, "Remember what Father said, Dís: no Khuzdul until we're back under stone. Go clean your teeth and prepare for bed." He waited until she was on the other side of their tiny campsite to quietly ask, "She ate nothing, Frerin?"

"Very little. I tried to moisten it, but we have little water to spare and it was so stale…" his voice trailed off.

Thorin closed his eyes. "It's all right, brother. I know you did all you could."

"She's so tired," Frerin added starkly. "We tried talking to her but she kept falling asleep mid-sentence."

"Resting will help her heal."

His brother eyed him knowingly. "Doing lots of lying tonight, aren't you?"

"Frerin…" he started helplessly.

"Save it, Thorin." He quirked a smile, his face looking as if it once had been a merry one. "I know you mean well, but you don't have to protect me."

"You're only nineteen!"

"And you're only twenty-four. Dís is the baby; let's protect her together."

Thorin nodded reluctantly, looking horribly young, and Tauriel turned blazing eyes onto Legolas. "Your father is wrong."

"My father is our king," he replied repressively.

"That doesn't mean he cannot be wrong!"

"That is not what I said," he snapped. A tense silence stretched out between them. Finally Legolas sighed and said wearily, "Tauriel, I'm not disagreeing with you. I'm simply saying to remember your place. You have sworn yourself into the King's service."

"You believe me to be disloyal?" Tears sparkled in her eyes, belying the sudden lack of emotion in her voice.

"I believe you to be young." There was definite fondness in his voice and he bumped her knee with his affectionately. "Gwathel, your Silvan fire is no bad thing unless you allow it to overcome your good sense. The king is very kindly disposed toward you. Do not repay his goodwill with defiance. What he is requiring us to do is not unlawful."

Her eyes were drawn back to the sibling group on the ground. The younger two were now sleeping, draped over the eldest who was clutching them to his chest and staring bleakly at their mother.

"But it is unkind," she whispered.

His hand descended on her shoulder and squeezed (in comfort, agreement, or warning, she was unsure) but he made no other reply.

0o0o0o0o0

Early the next morning, the young ones' mother took a turn for the worse, her shallow breaths becoming gasps and her lips turning blue.

Prince Thorin had already left to attend his father so his brother ran for them while his tiny sister shook their unconscious mother's arm and wailed.

And Tauriel remembered.

She remembered her father thrusting her into a small niche under the seat of their wagon where she'd be hidden. How the orcs' screeches vied for prominence with the screams of her friends and family and just how horribly noisy it all was. And then the terrifying quiet… she'd stayed in place for hours, too afraid that an orc was waiting there for her to emerge from her hiding spot.

She finally came out as the sun was rising and at first all she could see was blood. Black and red, everything was soaked in it, and there were bodies everywhere.

Then she saw her mother.

She tripped over an orc while running to her, her foot caught in its dead hand, and she screamed… screamed and didn't stop, even as she fell down next to Nana and shook her and shook her and shook her…

"Tauriel?" Legolas asked anxiously.

She looked at him, her green eyes huge in her pale face. "No," she said, feeling like she was screaming still, though her voice was barely a whisper. "No."

And she dropped out of the tree.

0o0o0o0o0

The lady-elf falling from the sky startled Dís into silence. She watched in amazement as she dropped to her knees next to her mother and began to inspect her wounds.

"Do you have water, child?" the elf asked abruptly, and Dís jumped in surprise before running to get it.

The elf was rummaging in her pack, muttering about wishing she had fresh herbs, but took the water with a brief word of thanks.

"Are you… can you help her get better? Please?" Her whole life she'd been told that a dwarf should never beg, but Dís was desperate enough to do anything. She would beg on her knees if that's what it took. "Please, lady-elf?"

The elf's smile looked like one a warrior would wear into battle but her voice was gentle. "My name is Tauriel, my lady. And yes, I am going to try my best to heal your mother."

Dís sat next to her mother and held her hand tightly as Tauriel began chanting and pressing the herb and water paste into the ugly wounds. And then Tauriel began to glow and Dís was so astonished she forgot to be afraid.

Dwarrow from the nearby campsites were beginning to gather, and Thorin pushed through them with a shout.

"Don't, Thorin!" Dís cried, seeing him take a threatening step towards the elf. "She's helping, look!"

And she was. Amad was looking so much better already, and Thorin must have seen it too because his face changed. He came and sat down, and held Dís' free hand. Frerin finally shoved his way through and stood there looking completely confused for a moment, before coming to sit on Thorin's other side.

"Dís, what… where did she come from?" Thorin whispered.

"From the sky," she whispered back, drawing a snort of laughter from Frerin. She leaned forward and scowled at him around their brother. "She did!"

"Alright, alright," Thorin murmured reprovingly, but she saw the corner of his mouth twitch up and she settled back with a tiny huff.

Tauriel's chanting wound to an end and her glow faded until she looked like herself again, only more tired. She bound the wounds efficiently and presented Thorin with a leather pouch containing the remaining paste.

"Change the dressings once a day and apply a thin coating of this to the worst injuries while it lasts. I wish I had more to give you. And here, this is Lembas, a waybread—it will be easy for her to eat and a very small amount is filling." She glanced up at the branches above them. "I must go. Keep the wounds clean and she should recover well."

"Why?" Thorin asked, sounding bewildered. He cradled the ointment and Lembas close to his chest. "Why would you do this for us?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it without answering. "I really must go," she demurred.

"But we saw lots of elves, Lady Tauriel," Dís pointed out a bit resentfully. "Lots and lots of them, but they wouldn't help us."

"My king—" she began, then cut herself off. She dropped to her knees before Dís and looked seriously into her eyes. "Little one, sometimes people want to help, but they can't. And sometimes people are wrong. It doesn't always mean that they are bad, just that their decisions are bad. Do you understand?"

Dís frowned. "I think so." Her brothers were also frowning: Frerin in confusion, but Thorin looked as though he understood everything she was saying and more, and disliked every bit of it.

Tauriel hesitated, then pulled the clasp from her braid and pressed it into Dís' much smaller hand. "No race or kingdom is all good or all bad. Promise me to remember that."

Dís wrapped her fingers around the clasp, feeling the swirling design press into her skin. "I promise."

The elf smiled at her and her brothers, then vaulted up into the trees and was gone.

0o0o0o0o0

Tauriel watched Prince Thrain clutch his wife's hand in both of his and weep as his two younger children laughed and stumbled over their words in their haste to tell him what had happened. Only Prince Thorin was serious, frowning up at the trees in perplexion.

Legolas approached and sat next to her on her branch. She could feel his eyes on her face but didn't look away from the family on the ground. After a few minutes he nudged her into turning her head and silently fixed her unraveling braid, tying it off with a thread pulled from his tunic.

The dwarves below began preparing to break camp. The injured princess lifted her head to look around and a ragged cheer went up.

"I remember when we found you," Legolas said quietly. "You were lying across your mother and your eyes were open, unblinking. We thought you were dead."

Tauriel nodded. She had no memory of her rescue, but she'd heard the story before.

He continued in that same gentle voice, "It wasn't until I tried to move you and you wouldn't let go that we realized you were alive. You wouldn't speak to us, or couldn't, perhaps. It was apparent you had hidden in the wagon, so we thought it may have belonged to your parents. We brought as many of the belongings in it as we could, and we brought the jewelry your mother was wearing." He paused as though expecting her to say something, but she didn't say what he thought she would.

"You couldn't find my father," she whispered. "He, and some of the others we were traveling with, they weren't there."

Legolas hesitated. "No. They weren't."

"The orcs ate them."

She'd never said it before, but she'd always known it was true. There had been no body. If her father had been alive he would have come for her so she knew he was dead, but there had been no body.

He laced his fingers through hers the way she had liked him to do when she was small and squeezed her hand. "Most likely. I'm so sorry."

She watched the young princes carefully transfer their mother to the wheeled cart she traveled on. In another day or two she should be able to travel sitting up, perhaps even walk for short periods of time. The princess smiled up at her sons and Thorin pressed an impulsive kiss to her forehead.

"Are you going to tell the king what I did?"

Legolas scoffed and she was surprised enough to turn to look at him. "No, I'm not going to tell him. And if he somehow finds out, surely he will agree that it would have been extremely imprudent to allow Prince Thrain's wife to die in the Greenwood."

He sounded so ridiculously virtuous by the end of his little speech that Tauriel snorted. She bumped her shoulder against his. "Thank you."

He bumped her back, harder. "You're welcome."

The dwarves beneath them began a new day's journey down the path but neither of them moved from their perch.

"Tauriel," he finally observed, "that was your mother's hair clasp."

"Yes," she replied simply, her eyes on the slowly moving column beneath them.

"Why?"

She was silent a long moment. "In one of the last conversations I remember having with my mother she said we were prone to disparage or praise kingdoms or races as a whole, when in truth good and evil existed in each one. She urged me to judge individuals on their own merits."

Legolas waited, but nothing more seemed to be forthcoming. "Wise advice, but that doesn't explain why you gave her clasp to that child. I know how you treasured it."

"That child—those children are the children of kings," she elaborated slowly, as though trying to make sense of her own impulse. "They will grow and have children of their own. They need to remember that all Elves or all Men aren't the same. Hopefully the clasp will help remind them." She peered through the filter of the leaves, spying tiny Dís skipping along next to Frerin and farther ahead, Thorin walking beside his father. "They may never live in Erebor again, but they will always be leaders of their people. They need to remember."

A/N:

Translations:
Amad- mother
Gwathel- sworn sister (not blood-related)
Nana- mummy/mommy

I've read lots of different ideas for Dwarf aging and the only thing that they all seem to agree on is that Dwarves reach their full size by age 30. Whichever aging theory you like, Thorin was very young when Smaug took Erebor- at most in his early teens by human standards- and Frerin and Dis roughly the equivalents of a human preteen and four or five year old. They were babies, the lot of them. :(

This was posted on Ao3 for the 2016 Happy Hobbit Holiday gift exchange and I just realized I never posted it over here. The second/final chapter is (finally!) nearly finished and will be posted later this week. If you have a moment, please review!