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Legolas found her when she was an infant, merely 22. Red hair frizzed around her face like a halo, and his mother was utterly charmed by her.
His father took her in as a ward at his wife’s insistence, and she died nearly 30 years later. Legolas did not remember much of her, aside from her blonde hair that fell to her waist and blue eyes that shined with kindness.
After that, his father was cold. He was cold. Tainted by grief, his father only tethered to this plain by him. And he was tethered here by sheer force of will. Tauriel—as he named her— was untouched by grief, only upset that she no longer had a reliable source of lullabies at night.
Legolas played with her in fields of flowers and fallen autumnal leaves. He heard her laugh and cry and sniffle. He helped her master the how—as all endings were required to. He sparred with her when she started to train with a blade. He congratulated her when she was promoted to captain of the guard.
Then dwarves came.
Then he saw her sitting outside the cell of the dwarves, laughing and giggling like an elfling again. Legolas could see the changes. The spark igniting in her eyes. He hated that dwarf. A part of him hated her for falling for that dwarf.
They would sit through the night and talk, hands brushing and cheeks red. And he would stand above and glare at them. The choice to love a dwarf—as an elf—was dangerous. Dwarves were mortal, and they were not.
When they escaped (she helped, he was later informed) he felt saddened. She had followed them, and that was when he knew it was real. Her heart had chosen him. Nothing could ever compare to this dwarf not even half her size. Kili, he was told. The dwarfs name was Kili.
When in lake town, and he saw how they gravitated around each other he accepted it. Even if he did not want to. His sister had made a choice, and even if that choice meant he would lose her like he lost his mother—he would accept it. And remember her fondly. Even her skin and wrinkles and thinning hair, even in her old age. She would forever be his little sister—a vivacious elf woman who made a choice that banished her from one kingdom but allowed her love to her hearts content.
He would see her hair streak gray, then turn white completely, watch her eyes crinkle and fog over, and still love her the same. Even if she could only eat soft foods in the next century or two he’d love her.
But the the battle happened. The young blonde dwarf—Fili— was killed by Azog. And as his younger brother, Kili charged in a blind rage. Now, some years after the fact he could understand. If that were Tauriel, he’d do the same. But he also held some anger in his heart. Hadn’t he known that he held his sisters heart in his hands? And any reckless ideas could cost him his sister?
Hadn’t he know if he died she would too?
He doubted it, their ones were worlds apart and not taught the nuances of their cultures.
Kili died with Tauriel, staring up at her blankly. He found her sobbing over him later, when Azog was felt with and the line of Durin died with him. Her bow had been cut—likely by his father—and her blade was thrown beside her.
She turned to him, eyes firm, and when she saw him all of her strength left her. She went limp against Kilis corpse and sobbed. He came beside her like he had for years before and cradled her. Like always he sang to her the songs his mother would sing and unlike the times before she cried and cried until she vomited all over his boots.
Legolas didn’t say anything, only held her tighter. Now, as she rested in his arms hands straying to Kiliscild body, he could see her fading. Her body was paler, eyes sunken and her heart beat was slowly beating slower and slower. Fear consumed him, and he could not do anything. When she fell asleep, he took her away from the body. The hobbit approached and softly told him of the funeral, and went to notify the others of the young get Durin.
A line wasted by madness, he thought bitterly. If that stupid dwarf had not found that stupid Arkenstone what ever mental disorder that the Durins were cursed with would not have been triggered. Perhaps Erebor would have e been taken either way, but perhaps then Kili would have lived. And he would not be losing his sister.
——
Now in his chambers, alone and basking in darkness, he stared at the light that was casted by the fireplace. Silently he begged for it to turn into her shape. Her hair in the wind, bowing wildly. It wouldn’t. He still reached for it.
He reached for her, like she used to reach for him as an elfling. He let sobs bubble up from his chest and out his lips, crashing to the floor. His father entered at some point, awkwardly stroking his head. Anger surged through him, but was quickly tamped out by grief.
He awakened the next day at midday, with a meal on his bedside. His father must have tucked him in. “Tauriel, how do you fare? Are you with your dwarf now and forever more?” She did not reply. She never did. “Does he hold you tenderly and kiss you sweetly? You always said that was want she wished from a partner?” He tried to blink away his tears it did not work. “Does he smile at you brightly, lighting up the world for you and you alone? Does he shudder at the thought of parting from you? Clinging to your side and pouting at you to stay with him?” Tauriel did not answer.
And she never would again.
And Legolas would always have a Tauriel shaped hole in his heart, yearning for his sister. Even as time ticked on and all but him seemed to forget her.