The throne room was chaos.
Thranduil stood before his council with an expression that could freeze fire, demanding explanations that no one could provide. Guard captains were questioned and dismissed. Servants who'd served the Dwarves their meals were brought forward and released without charge—they knew nothing useful.
Legolas stood in his usual position near the eastern wall, watching the interrogations with carefully blank expression. He knew exactly how the Dwarves had escaped. Barrels down the river, a hobbit's cleverness, and a ring that made its wearer invisible.
But he said nothing.
"Someone aided them," Thranduil's voice cut through the noise. "Thirteen Dwarves do not simply walk out of secured quarters without assistance."
"The locks were intact, my King." The master of keys spread his hands helplessly. "No signs of force. No signs of bribery. It's as if they simply... vanished."
They did, Legolas thought. One by one, following a burglar no one could see.
The council dissolved without resolution. Thranduil retreated to his private chambers, and the palace settled into the uneasy buzz of an unsolved mystery. Legolas escaped to the training grounds, seeking the physical exertion that might quiet his racing thoughts.
The Ring-craft knowledge sat heavily in his mind, impossible to forget. Every swing of his blade, every arrow he nocked, he was aware of the theory underlying power. The way will could be bound to objects. The way objects could amplify will.
Celebrimbor thought he was improving the world, Legolas reminded himself. He thought the Rings would help people. And Sauron used that idealism to destroy him.
"You're distracted."
Tauriel's voice came from behind him. Legolas turned, lowering his bow.
"The escape is... concerning," he offered.
"Is it?" She moved closer, her expression unreadable. "You don't seem surprised."
He should have expected her perception. Combat together had forged a bond that went beyond rank—she'd saved his life when his body failed to execute what his mind knew. She'd watched him stumble and recover. She knew when he was hiding something.
"I suspected something might happen," Legolas admitted carefully. "The Dwarves were not ordinary prisoners."
"Thorin Oakenshield, heir to Erebor." Tauriel nodded. "His quest matters beyond treasure. I've been... thinking."
She turned toward the eastern sky, where morning light painted the corruption-touched trees with deceptive beauty.
"I want to pursue them. Not to capture—not to drag them back to cells they'll only escape again. But to observe. To understand why this company matters enough to attempt the impossible."
Legolas watched her profile, remembering the outlines of a future that might unfold. Tauriel, drawn to a Dwarf named Kíli. Fighting at Lake-town when the dragon attacked. Watching him die at the Battle of Five Armies.
He could warn her. Could tell her to stay away from the company, to avoid the grief that awaited.
But grief was part of living. And Tauriel deserved the chance to make her own choices.
"Thranduil will refuse," Legolas said.
"I know." She turned back to him, something vulnerable beneath her captain's composure. "But you... you've changed, Legolas. You see things differently now. You understand that the world beyond Mirkwood's borders matters."
The request hung in the air between them. She was asking him to authorize what his father would forbid—to trust her judgment over Thranduil's authority.
Months ago, he would have advised caution. Would have deferred to the King's wisdom, maintained the hierarchy that had governed Mirkwood for ages.
But months ago, he hadn't learned how to make rings of power. Hadn't stood with Tauriel against coordinated spider attacks. Hadn't felt the weight of cosmic observation pressing down on his impossible soul.
"Go," Legolas said. "Learn what you can. Report what you see."
Tauriel's eyes widened. "You're certain?"
"The world is changing around us. The Dwarves' quest will shake kingdoms before it's finished. Mirkwood needs to understand what's happening, and you're the one I trust to observe it clearly."
And I'm sending you toward your future, he thought. Whatever that future holds.
She stared at him for a long moment, something unspoken passing between them. Then she nodded once, decisively.
"I'll leave within the hour."
"Take supplies for a long journey. The mountain is far, and what happens there will matter."
Tauriel's hand clasped his forearm—the warrior's gesture of respect between equals. "Thank you. For trusting me."
"Thank you for being worth trusting."
She released his arm and turned toward the armory, her stride already carrying the purpose of someone with a mission. Legolas watched her go, remembering a young prince who'd struggled to walk in borrowed flesh—who'd tripped on his own feet trying to mimic movements that should have been instinct.
He'd come far from that first desperate morning. But he still wasn't sure if the distance had made him better or merely different.
I just sent her toward her future, Legolas thought. I hope it doesn't break her.
But even broken, a person could still be whole. Grief could coexist with purpose. Loss could sharpen understanding rather than destroy it.
He returned to his training, driving himself through forms his body was finally beginning to execute properly. The Glorfindel bladework flowed smoother now—not perfect, not the instinctive mastery it would eventually become, but functional. Reliable.
Progress came slowly. But it came.
An hour passed. Two. The sun climbed higher, and somewhere beyond the eastern borders, Tauriel was running toward whatever fate had prepared for her.
A messenger arrived as Legolas was cleaning his weapons. The King requested his presence. Immediately.
Legolas's stomach tightened, but he kept his expression neutral as he followed the servant toward the throne room.
Thranduil knew.
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