Cast Thy Bread Upon the Waters

[igrab]

Tauriel/Sigrid • 4842 words • ao3

So it starts like this: a little girl in a house in a town you've never been to, with the boy who can't help loving you as you save his life - not because you love him, but because goodness and kindness does not and should not discriminate.

And after everything that happens, it's the little girl that you remember, because she was so small and innocent and free of conflict, but when conflict came, she fought back.

•
Tauriel hadn't seen the little girl for quite some time now. How long was difficult to say - long enough for Thorin Oakenshield to take a hobbit as consort, long enough for the aftermath of the Battle of Five Armies to fade, long enough for the little dwarf prince to be no longer a suitor, but a friend.

"Taur," he said, because he was a friend and thus allowed to call her whatever he liked, "I don't think I ever said thank you."

They were sorting sacks of grain in the storerooms; not a very prestigious action, but a necessary one, even though it had been a decade since the battle. Supplies were still precarious enough to need careful documentation. Tauriel had her long hair tied back with a clumsy knot; Kili's was braided, unevenly.

"For what?" she asked, genuinely confused. He had thanked her many times for her efforts to help the restoration of Erebor, and many times had she told him that she was doing no more than duty bound her to do. She couldn't think what else she might have done.

"Well, you saved my life," he said, in between huffs as he lifted the heavy sacks. "You know, back in Lake Town."

Lake Town. The little ramshackle place had finally moved back in to Dale, now that they had the manpower (rather, dwarf-power) to do so. She hadn't been back yet, aside from picking up supplies - it hadn't seemed to matter, all things considered. But now she remembered the young girl, protecting her siblings, throwing things at the orcs - she remembered how completely their home had been destroyed, and it would be easy to blame the orcs, but Tauriel and Legolas had certainly done their part. Never mind that they were defending them; fighting was still fighting, still brutal and messy and traumatic and home-wrecking. She had never thought to see if those children were all right.

"Well," she said, suddenly realizing that she'd gone quiet and still after Kili's statement. "I do not think I - it was the right thing to do."

Kili rolled his eyes, he'd heard her say that countless times before. "Yes, but you still deserve to be thanked for it, as I'm still grateful to be alive." His voice was dry with humor and she hid a grin, because he was still amusing, and she was more than glad that they had grown into such good friends.

"All right then. I accept your thanks, and you are very welcome." Tauriel could match him tone for tone, and he got it, now, his face lit up with a laugh that could bring down mountains of darkness.

Not for the first time, Tauriel wished she could love him. She really did. But something had always held her back, and now, ten years after the fact, she wondered about the little girl in the house in the town, with the wreckage of her safety all around her, but who fought back, in any way she could.

•
"I'm going to marry an elf," Tilda informed them all loftily as she sat herself down for Sunday dinner.

"Is that so?" their father said, an amused, fond smile quirking his lips. He exchanged a look with Sigrid over the table; she matched it with equal disbelief. Tilda was seventeen and had yet to be interested in anyone for longer than a week.

"Yes," she sighed, completely missing the silent conversation going on above her head. "His name is Siriann and we're in love."

Sigrid was much too busy to give much thought to her sister's latest obsession. She had been cooking for their little family all her life, it seemed, but she still managed to outdo herself now and again, whenever Bain managed to get some time to come back to them. He was there now, all scruff and muscle and eating her out of her biscuits. "Bain of Dale, does your wife know how many of my baked goods you've been stealing?"

Bain went white as a sheet. "You leave Hanna out of this," he muttered, and Sigrid smiled.

"Never, brother dear," and with a deft hand, she rescued the last cheese biscuit and tossed it to her sister instead.

"See, this is why you can't find a husband," Tilda told her, even as she bit into it with relish. "You're always eating."

"Not with him around, I'm not," Sigrid countered easily, tipping her head back towards both father and brother. She wasn't sure which one she was talking about; but they were both prone to pastry theft, so she supposed it didn't matter. "Besides, dwarf lads like a stout miss, and one who can cook, all the better."

Tilda wrinkled her nose. "You don't really want a dwarrow husband, do you?"

Upon consideration, Sigrid had to concede that she had a point. "Not really. In fact, I don't want any husband at all, I'm much too busy. Tell me about your elven lad, though?"

As Tilda launched into the grand tale of how she'd met her latest paramour - all of three days ago, of course - Sigrid took her own seat at her father's right hand. He gave her a fond look and she squeezed his hand, though she had to turn away before it could linger and turn pitying. She wasn't lying and she wasn't lonely - she didn't much care for men that way, not like her sister did, and anyway she had enough of them in her life. Her father, Bain, Bain's guardsmen, the dwarves - really, she was just about surrounded by men at all hours of the day and she couldn't care less about finding a husband. But it pained her that her father thought she was lonely. She did not want him to think she only stayed with him out of a sense of duty.

And she didn't, she promised herself. She loved her father, and without her, Dale would surely have been the worst for it - the long nights she'd put into the calculation of provisions, of redirecting rebuilding efforts, of making sure all the workers had their needs met. One day - hopefully a long, long time from now - Bain would be king, and he would have his Hanna by his side to do these sorts of things, but their mother had died long ago. Sigrid was only doing what she could to try and fill that gap.

•
The next morning, Sigrid found herself alone again. Bard was off to Erebor, to speak with Thorin about something or other - Bain had left the night before, back to his wife and young child, and Tilda was simply nowhere to be found. Undoubtedly she was off to see her elven lover again, or perhaps she had gone with their father to the mountain - she had little tolerance for sitting still on the best of days, and would take any excuse to be out and about.

So it was that Sigrid found herself cleaning the small castle's kitchen. They had no servants, they were not and would never be that sort of kingdom, so the kitchen had simply grown into Sigrid's place, her home inside a home, where she could truly be herself and not worry about anything but what her hands made. She scrubbed the pots and pans until they shone, hung the dishcloths out in the courtyard to dry, then put on her apron and mixed up some dough, kneaded it with the heels of her small hands.

No matter what Tilda said, she would never stop baking, and it wasn't about eating the goods afterwards. She simply liked it, liked the feel of molding something under her hands and putting it in the oven and bringing it to life. She liked knowing that what she did was useful, not just for herself, but for anyone. Bread was universal.

She saw the elf before she even heard a peep, and the surprise made her put a hole right through the center of the dough.

"Oh! Goodness, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," she babbled a bit, as she pushed the dough down and pinched the tear together again. "Er - who are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

The elf girl - she was a girl, Sigrid could see that now - looked a little bit... disappointed, perhaps. As if she had expected to be recognized. "I apologize for startling you," she said, in smooth, even Westron. How was it that elves could do that? Could make even the language of men sound so beautiful?

Sigrid spared a moment to reflect that she did not blame her sister, not at all, for falling for an elf this time.

"My name is Tauriel," she continued, "and I do not blame you for not remembering. You were very young when last we met."

Sigrid frowned. Red hair... there was something about the red hair.

Hang on.

Was she....?

"...You were the elf that came back for him," Sigrid breathed. "The dwarf prince, the one with the injured leg. You and the blond elf came in and saved us."

Tauriel stood blinking in the morning sun, looking a bit dazed, now. "It - well. Yes. That was - Legolas and I, yes." She cleared her throat, still gentle and graceful even in such an act, and it was unspeakably charming, to hear one of the Fair Folk do so. "...I came to apologize for wrecking your house."

Sigrid laughed. She couldn't help it, it was just so funny to her - here she was, ten years after the fact and this beautiful elf lady, who hadn't even aged a day, turning up on her doorstep in a completely different house, in a completely different city, and she still felt she needed to apologize.

A smal wrinkle appeared between Tauriel's brows as she frowned, confused. "What is so funny?"

Sigrid didn't know how to explain it, so she just smiled. "You."

•
Tauriel tried to visit more often, after that. She had forgotten, you see, that humans aged so quickly - she had not expected to walk into that kitchen and find, in the place of a young girl, a woman, with the kindest of eyes and her brown hair escaping from its braids and plastered to her temples with sweat. She was suddenly afraid that she'd blink and Sigrid would be gone, and it didn't quite register, why she felt that way, until Kili found her staring off into space one day.

"Contemplating the complexities of the universe?" he said, by way of beginning the conversation, and it was Kili so she knew he wasn't serious. She rolled her eyes, but gently patted the space next to her, an invitation to sit.

"I was thinking about Bard's daughter again," she confessed, and Kili's face lit up with a wicked smile.

"The one you're always sneaking back into town to see? Sigrid, right?" At Tauriel's nod, he barreled on. "Well, if she's inspiring that kind of look on your face, she must be something special indeed.

Tauriel blinked, baffled. "What look?"

"You know." When she didn't appear to have any knowledge of what he was talking about, the dwarf prince sighed. "You do know, Taur, it was how I looked at you for a long time."

Oh -

Oh.

Tauriel stared into the distance, mildly alarmed at herself. Was that what she wanted? Did she... was this really about that?

She didn't know what it was about. She didn't know how to explain it, this feeling, this protectiveness and old echo of guilt bundled in with warmth, with a feeling of welcome and belonging, with the smile on Sigrid's face when Tauriel caught her leaving out fresh berry tarts and hoping some elf would come by to steal them. When Tilda had asked her for her honest opinion on how best to woo an elf lad, and Tauriel had sat there with a ridiculous look on her face until Sigrid had taken pity and sent her off to bother someone else. Bard, looking on the two women with a fond smile, as Sigrid taught her to sew and Tauriel taught her to fletch arrows.

She did not know when this human had become such an important part of her life.

"What do I do?" she asked Kili, because he knew everything and more importantly, he'd been in love with her, he would know those beautiful things inside a person that only a lover could see.

At first he thought she was joking, but he caught her eye and the smirk faded, and she reflected that she did really wish she could love him. He was very good for her. But when she thought of love, her heart took a leap in the direction of a small half-burnt castle in the foothills of the Lonely Mountain, of a small, well-cared for kitchen, and the simple girl who lived there, a girl who thought always of others and never of herself.

Tauriel didn't want to love her. She simply wanted Sigrid to know she was loved, to know that she was worth loving.

Kili sighed. "Take her out to see the stars," he suggested. "If she doesn't fall in love with you then, she isn't worth loving."

Tauriel thought about his words long into the night.

•
The worst had happened.

Tilda had noticed.

"Oh, you do, you do fancy her!" her sister said with a little squeak of happiness, and Sigrid felt her cheeks go red.

"For the last time, I just - "

"Yes, you do, you've got your nice apron on and you've washed your hair! I know these things, I'm your sister," she insisted, and Sigrid tried to brush it off.

"Really, Tilda, it's nothing like that! She's very pretty and I don't want to seem plain - "

"So you admit she's pretty?" Tilda leaned in close, batting her eyelashes, a wicked smile on her little face. "Sigrid, you're my sister and I love you, but I know the look of adoration." She patted her sister on the shoulder as if she were the older one, dispensing her wise advice. "And you most certainly have it. A lady elf!" and she shrieked a little, because she was Tilda and she did that, just couldn't keep her excitement contained sometimes. "You know, I don't think I'm surprised at all. In fact, I am the very opposite of surprised. I should have seen this coming. You tried to marry Greta when we were little, and you didn't understand when Da tried to tell you that it was supposed to be a boy. Now look at you!"

Tilda was far too happy about this.

"Oh, my little baby girl is growing up and falling in love!"

Sigrid sputtered. "I am not your - "

But at that moment, a knock came from the outside door, and Tauriel let herself in, peering around. She was not in her usual combat leathers or sturdy green linen, but rather, a dress - an honest-to-gods dress, in a warm, shimmering brown. "Er," she said, with a rather awkward smile. "Hello, Tilda."

"Hello!" the younger sister chirped. Sigrid wanted to kill her. Or just die herself, melt away into nothing at all because her sister had that smarmy know-it-all grin on her face and Tauriel was in a dress looking lovely and Sigrid was going to die, wasn't she? Just faint away from sheer embarrassment.

"I'll leave you two be," Tilda said sweetly, as she swept out of the room, and Sigrid had to tuck her awful flyaway hair behind her ears and try to calm her rampaging blush.

"Sigrid," Tauriel said, in that low murmur that always made her stomach do flips.

"H-hello," she whispered in return. "I - you look very nice today."

"Well, there's a festival tonight." Slipping fully into the room, Sigrid could see now that Tauriel's hair was braided all the way down, with tiny sprigs of white flowers tucked in at every other juncture. It was so pretty, and Sigrid couldn't tell if she wanted it for her own or wanted to unbraid every bit of it until Tauriel's gorgeous auburn locks spilled all over the place.

Goodness, her thoughts. She had better control than this... didn't she?

"A festival?" Do not squeak, don't you dare squeak, she told herself, very sternly.

Tauriel nodded. "The Festival of Stars is tonight. I... was wondering if you might be willing to accompany me."

Accompany... Tauriel? To the Festival of Stars? In the Woodland Realm? For a moment, Sigrid could do nothing but stare, her mouth a tiny 'o' and her eyes wide and uncomprehending. Tauriel looked a bit worried, then gently waved a hand in front of her face.

"Sigrid? Are you well?"

"Oh. Yes, yes, I'm. I'm perfectly well." She looked down at herself and bit the edge of her lip. "I'm afraid I really don't have anything suitable for a nice occasion." Whenever she'd had a bit of extra pocket change, she had ended up spending it on kitchen things, or books. She had never anticipated needing a nice dress.

"Don't worry about that, you look beautiful." Tauriel held out a hand, smiled, and Sigrid understood suddenly how the injured dwarf had been unable to speak of anything but love, looking up at her. She could only hope that this meant as much to the elf as it did to her; that she wasn't just going to make a fool of herself, the ugly duckling amongst the most graceful of people. She was nervous, but when Tauriel smiled like that, it was as if everything else melted away, and dear gods, Sigrid wanted that more than anything. "Come. Let me take you to the best place to view the turning of the stars."

•
They climbed, and Tauriel knew that Sigrid was no traveler - she hadn't expected it, of course not. But she found that despite this, her young lady was hardy and stubborn, determined to prove her worth against the elements, even when Tauriel was clearly ready to lend a hand. As such, by the time they made it to her favorite ledge on the very outskirts of the Woodland Realm, Sigrid was out of breath, her lovely hair in shambles as the twigs and branches had caught at it, and her knees were dirty from falling one too many times. Tauriel shed her cloak and spread it over the ground, then kneeling, offering her hands to her human lass. "Come here," she murmured. "Let me see your hair."

Pulling it from its mussed braids, Tauriel found that it was soft and fine - softer even than elf hair, and lighter, more prone to tangles. Tauriel regularly left hers down without fear of knots, but it was clear after a moment that Sigrid would never be able to do so - it was too unruly, too ill-behaved. With a bit of a chuckle, Tauriel carded her long fingers through it, gently working out the snarls with the delicate sense of touch, rather than simply pulling with a comb or brush.

Slowly, Sigrid relaxed under her hands. "That feels... really, very nice," she whispered, tipping her head back into the touch, and Tauriel felt her heart beat just a little bit faster.

"We're supposed to be watching the stars," she murmured, but Sigrid shifted and tipped her head to the side, to meet her eyes fearlessly, clear and bright in that most magical of lights.

"I'd rather watch you, if it's all the same," she said, and Tauriel couldn't help the small intake of breath that followed. Sigrid looked panicked for a moment - frightened, as if perhaps she'd scared her off, or said the wrong thing, as if Tauriel wouldn't -

"No, nín melui, it isn't that," she whispered, quick to dispel those worries in her eyes. "I don't - that is to say, I..." trailing off, Tauriel felt suddenly as if all the shyness and awkwardness she'd ever felt in her life came back and hit her all at once, at this most crucial of times. She opened her mouth, she closed it. Sigrid waited, a little confused look on her brow, and Tauriel's heart did something in her chest that could only be described as a wiggle.

Maybe if I say it in Sindarin, I will gain the courage to say it in Westron, she thought, and tried it out.

"Im milan elenath, dan melan tiriol na le."

A flush rose to Sigrid's cheeks - surely she didn't understand it, but she was nevertheless affected, and that bolstered Tauriel's spirit. She leaned in, placed her lips to the smooth roundness of Sigrid's ear.

"I like the stars, but I love looking at you."

She wasn't prepared for the way the human gasped, the way she pulled back and grabbed her face and dove in for a kiss like she was going to die if she didn't. Everything about humans was so brief, so focused on these few moments on earth, and Tauriel went weak at the thought that anyone would want to spend what little time they had with her. She kissed back softly and shyly, chased the stars down Sigrid's throat, down the curve of her shoulder, and laughed when she twitched and yelped in surprise. Then she was unravelling Tauriel's hair, and she just let her do it - let her sate her curiosity, her fascination, her need to be close and to touch and explore. Tauriel would let her do anything.

•
Sigrid didn't get home until the next day, and when she did, she saw that not only was Tilda waiting up for her - but Bard, Bain, and Hanna.

She made an exasperated noise. "Is this really any of your business??"

Bain looked as if he was trying not to laugh. "You've got something, you know, on your neck..."

A look of horror came over her face, and she clapped a hand to the spot in question, ears burning. "Will you all just leave me alone!" she shrieked, running for the stairs.

"We're really very happy for you, Sigrid!" her father called up after her, and she yelled down,

"I can see that!"

Later, when the others had gone, she came back downstairs (with a scarf 'round her neck, just in case) to find her father leaning against the table in the kitchen. It was, she realized, the table from their old house - the one she and Tilda had hid under, when the orcs had attacked and Tauriel and her blond friend had saved their lives. It had since been put to every sort of use - a sickbed, a chopping block, a supper table, but most importantly, it had been Sigrid's, the centerpiece of the kitchen that had become hers.

"Father?"

"I suppose you'll be moving out, then," he said, the palm of his hand running along the worn oak.

"Da," she began, then had to swallow past a knot in her throat. "Who said anything about that? Besides, Tauriel's as much a lady as I am, there isn't exactly etiquette for how to go about this." And that was assuming Tauriel wanted to... well. Wanted more than just... intimate friendship. Sigrid was surprised at how much the thought of not having it made her ache.

"I should think you'd be much happier in the Woodland Realm than a place like this," he said, and that was just about when her heart broke.

She came up to him and took his hands, squeezed them between her own - too small and too weak to be what she wanted to be, for him. "Oh, papa. How could you even begin to think that? I want to stay here, with you. Who's going to do the books, and make sure there's enough supplies when the winter comes? I," and she did, there was no denying it, was there? "I love her, but I shan't let that take me away from my life. I'm not going anywhere, Da. We'll work it out, I promise you."

Several things passed over Bard's face in that moment. Surprise, relief, regret. He had just realized that he had been trying to shove his daughter out the door for so long, thinking it was for her own good, when the only good she ever wanted was right here. But relieved, because he did need her, it was silly to think that he didn't. Really, the whole kingdom would fall apart if it wasn't for Princess Sigrid, and they may not have a grand throne room, or crowns, or a royal court - but they belonged here, leading their people. Love wasn't going to change that.

"Tell her she is welcome in our home any time," was what he said. "For as long as she wishes. Tell her she is family."

Sigrid felt her eyes tear up. "I will, papa," she murmured. "I will."

•
The next spring, Tauriel was in Erebor again, but this time it was for a wedding.

It wouldn't be legal by the standards of men, and Thranduil had all but banned her from her home for all the help she'd been giving the dwarves, but said dwarves were more than happy to wed an elf and a human lass, according to their customs, which did not care to specify gender.

Tauriel was in spring green, with flowers in her hair, and the leather armor she wore had been embroidered with the crest of Dale and the edges stitched in gold. Princess Sigrid was in blues, summer sky blues, and her hair was left free but for a golden coronet, a gift from the princes of Erebor for making a respectable elf out of their fiery captain. Kili stood at Tauriel's side, and Tilda at her sister's, and all in all it was a lovely ceremony, with more men of Dale than expected in attendance, and not nearly enough elves.

Tauriel didn't mind. She had grown weary of her king's closed-mindedness many years ago, and the only kings she wished to honor now were Thorin, King Under the Mountain - and Bard, King of Dale, who was now her father.

There was drink and dance and song after song after song. Tauriel was feeling more than a little tipsy by the time Kili and Fili came to try and dance with her - both at once, which was monstrously ineffective and quite hilarious. She was about to tell them that they'd have better luck if Kili sat on his brother's shoulders, when she saw someone across the way, someone she hadn't seen in a long time.

She went over, followed him out into the night.

"Hello, Legolas," she murmured, quiet and uncertain.

He looked about as nervous as she felt, and her heart went out to him - she had always known where her friend stood, and seeing him so often pulled between his father and his morals - it was a difficult dance, one she sincerely did not wish on him. "Mae g'ovannen, Tauriel."

They simply looked at each other for a long time. Legolas looked... older, and in a way wiser, and it made Tauriel's heart strong to think it. She just wondered if he saw even half of what the past year had brought to her.

"You look... happy."

"I am," she murmured, with a soft smile. "I am very happy."

"Good," he whispered. Then, in their mother tongue once again, "I wish you blessings on this day of your joining," and it meant something, that he would do that, that he would come here. An elf would never say such formal words to a marriage they did not recognize - Tauriel's heart leapt up, her smile growing ever brighter, and Legolas smiled in return. He was not his father, he was saying. He did not wish her ill, and no matter what he said - "You and your wife are welcome in the Woodland Realm," he insisted. "I do not care what my father thinks. It is your home, too."

"Gi hannon, Legolas. Thank you."

He did not stay to join in the celebration, but Tauriel did not expect him to. She returned with a light heart, though; enjoyed the feasting and the revelry, and knew that when all the merriment had died down, she would be left with her treasure, with her starlit lady love. It was all she had ever wanted, even without knowing it. She was happy.

"Tauriel!" Kili called out. "Your wife's a better dancer than you are!"

"Only because you do not let me lead!" she answered. And all was well.