in mist enrobed the twilight (hobbit movies | galadriel/tauriel + tauriel & thranduil)

[fiachairecht]

in mist enrobed the twilight. the hobbit (movies), galadriel/tauriel + tauriel & thranduil. thranduil has moved his people far from lothlórien and tauriel still wanders. 897w, rated t. for terrifyingtolkien week 2015.

There are things Tauriel remembers: the wind in her hair, the voice of the trees, starlight scattered across her skin.

There are things Tauriel knows she once knew: Lasgalen when it was still the Greenwood, the voice of her parents, neighbors who were elves rather than a necromancer.

These are the memories that creep half-formed along the forest paths with her as she walks, daggers at her hip and arrows at her back, memories that keep her moving as her people retreat deeper into the kingdom's walls.

You shouldn't walk alone, Thranduil tells her more than once, hard and uncompromising and her laugh echoes back at him the same. He means well, or maybe he just means to keep her from the forest that swallowed her parents.

Thank you, my lord, she says, and the mockery belies the words.

He bites back any possible expression of care in favor of ungrateful brat and it's kinder than any kiss.

She continues to laugh. The forest will have them both, sooner or later; not for them is Valinor. Tauriel, at least, intends to take memories with her.

So she walks, to friends half-remembered and lands out of songs. So she walks, and hunts along the way, and none follow but the stars circling across the sky.

So she walks, past trees and spiders and across the Anduin and south to lands she hasn't seen in thousands of years.

She is welcomed by light in Lothlórien. It is not, in the end, the comfort she would have expected after the shadows she left, but Galadriel kisses her hand and Tauriel says my lady with no devotion but a curiosity that makes Galadriel smile brighter than the moon.

*

I did not expect to see any of you again, Galadriel murmurs, clasping Tauriel's hands between hers. Long fingers trace patters on the insides of her wrists, and Tauriel shudders.

It's only temporary, she says, Thranduil would not have us roam this far for long.

Galadriel hums softly, and holds her gaze. True. But I think there is something rather different drawing you back across the Anduin.

Tauriel thinks Galadriel sees even more than the stories would say. Also true. Her mouth is dry. Light hovers around them, caught in Galadriel's hair and dress; shadows swirl at the edges and watch. I think, my lady — her gaze falls on the ring heavy on Galadriel's hand — that you know something about the ties between an elf and her forest.

Galadriel pulls her closer and then deeper into the trees; Tauriel allows herself to be led for the moment. The shadows are caught in the branches, and they watch with eyes unlike those waiting for her in Mirkwood. I do, she says, so I wonder why you of all your kin are here.

Surely — Tauriel wonders if her eyes are sparkling as much as Galadriel's — surely one so wise as you can guess.

I can guess. They're in a glade now, starlight and wisps of mist and still and always the possessiveness of the shadows. But I would rather you show me. Her smile is question and answer and benediction. Her skin and dress alike are smooth under Tauriel's hands as she surges forward to kiss her.

*

Later, naked in the grass with Galadriel beside her, Tauriel would swear the trees had shifted. This, too, is like home.

*

She stays rather longer than she means. Time moves differently here, caught in Galadriel's spell, and Tauriel is falling, falling. Here there is no one to tell her not to wander, here there are no spiders in need of her arrows. Lothlórien's monsters cannot be felled with her weapons. Lothlórien's monsters hardly exist except in the corners of her eyes, but they lack the familiarity of the ones she grew up with.

The starlight falling through the branches of Lothlórien is cold, colder than Tauriel remembers it being in Mirkwood. Odd, she murmurs to Galadriel one night when they're nestled together on a platform partway up the smooth polished trunk of a tree on the edge of the forest, how different trees can change the same stars.

Galadriel's laugh is soft and warm against the bare skin of her neck as she says, ah, Tauriel, surely you know it's more than just the trees here.

Yes, Tauriel replies, but she stiffens in Galadriel's arms anyway. She doesn't like thinking about the sea-magic here, the way it coils around the pieces of Mirkwood she carries with her and pulls. She needs to leave soon, leave the artificial safety of the artificial forest, but Galadriel's embrace is very real and much harder to leave. She twists around, runs her fingers down Galadriel's face. You keep Lothlórien safe, do you not, my lady?

I do, she whispers against Tauriel's lips.

Tauriel kisses her as the wind whispers through the branches around them and slides lower down Galadriel's body. And what price do you pay for that?

None that I would wish on any other, Galadriel threads her fingers through Tauriel's hair, holds her close. None that I would not pay every day until the end of this age.

Tauriel presses her lips to Galadriel's breasts, her stomach, lower. And that is why I cannot stay.

I know, she gasps, I know, but until then—

*

And still the shadows move. And still Tauriel walks under Lothlórien's stars. And still Mirkwood calls.