Thranduil was not leading his army to war. They had been for show, a sign of power, a notion that they could defend themselves, but mostly that they all desired the same; they wished for peace. Gandalf had come up with a little plan and sent a hobbit to him and the race of Man, but it had not ended nicely. Thorin wasn't interested in speaking, not with the little thief and that stone. When the Dwarves in blind rage attacked that entire hope shattered.
This is not why he came here but neither he nor Bard would allow them to attack their people in such a manner. Men may be quicker to fight than Elves and Thranduil may be old, yet with raised axe and Thingol's slaughter still fresh in his mind... For all their own reasons, ransom and defence or hatred, they had been so hard to distract when the Wizard called out over them that they lingered in confusion for some moments after the reality of the situation had been laid out before them. The threat of dark forces is what united them at last.
Then the Eagles of Valinor came.
Bilbo. That little hobbit was somewhere on the battlefield. All eyes had turned to the sky when excited shouting pierced the air, and in that split second which felt like eternity Thranduil had turned and fled. Not from the darkness or twisted creatures, not the Warg left with blade through its collar. From the path of the Eagles; they came opposite the voice that spilled over the cries of battle and he would head for it.
That little hobbit was somewhere on the battlefield.
It was not only that which the Eagles marked for they clashed in air with the great bats. Sunlight spilled back onto the lands as they were taken, or as Eagle was swarmed, and he would not be caught close should one of the creatures fall from the skies.
Where was Thorin? In his sudden frantic search for Bilbo he had also began looking for the other king. Yes, it had been Thorin who leapt at him earlier, and yet he who the Elvenking most desired peace with. The turn of battle, when they united both Dwarves and Elves with Men against a common enemy, Thranduil knew the dwarf's attention would not be on assaulting him. But where...where were either of them?
Manwë's Eagles, great they may be, were no Valar. They were still outnumbered, still fighting a losing battle. What better than such majestic creatures to come to their aid? Why, a bear, of course! Not just a bear, Beorn himself. Nothing, beast or weapon, was of any use. And in that mere hour everything came to a sudden end. None yet found the hobbit who lay unconscious, veiled by the power of Sauron's ring, though they all quickly learned the fate of the King under the Mountain and how Beorn ripped a path to his body and carried him from the fight.
Thranduil since the First Age had been required to kill, and killing deprived Elves of their powers to heal. He wasn't without magic but he was not amongst those who could heal and Elrond was not here to aid him. There was nothing he or most the others here could do for anyone. With that knowledge Thranduil had turned his attentions to his own.
Carefully he wandered through other bodies, both alive and laying dead at his feet, stepping over the grounds which glittered of shattered steel and still fresh blood. He sought his guards, those with young children, yet they had all seen this before. Their meetings were brief and he stood still for none though acknowledged all in reach as quick steps carried him forth.
He had not wished to fight the Dwarves.
He had not desired for Thorin to lay dying in a tent by the end of the day.
The ill fate of the young Dwarves, the clear upset of Manwë, Gandalf somehow becoming injured.
And while Thranduil cared little to chase the evils that fled into his forest for they would never make it through or back out, there was something he found himself worried over more so than a crafty little hobbit. With battle not being the intention his chief of the guard had come with them. Yes, it was her job. Yes, they should have been prepared for this outcome. And yet...how young was she? It was not just war he lead her to, he'd let her witness an attack directed at himself from the same people that slaughtered the kingdom he grew up within, let her watch the friend she wanted turn to fight them, and, most importantly, placed her before true evil.
Thranduil regretted allowing her to lead her guard out here. She should have given orders and stayed where she could protect the woodland. To give orders if someone ran for aid. He knew she was strong, he knew she was capable, but she had never seen battle. She had never seen battle and had to face these beasts and a friend.
It terrified him most because he could not find her.
He had not seen her since the fight started. What kind of king was he to so blindly lead his people into this situation? Most of his hope had been in her for she had befriended one of the younger Dwarves who had been slain in battle. What could he do? What was there that he could do? Who was he to say he'd wanted to see the two of them walk out of this together..?
He searched and searched, turning cold eyes to any shimmer of green amongst the bodies, praying with everything he was that he had not gotten his youngest, greatest captain slaughtered. The Silvan Elves tended to be smaller than the Sindar, but they were built no more for battle than they. Skilled and graceful as they were, neither were born warriors such as the Noldor. But she was distant of that line, wasn't she? It was a small glimmer of hope which he would cling to.
Mid step the Elvenking froze when the odd red hair came into sight at last and it took him a moment to remember both how to breathe and walk. The steps were slow, cautious, for she was not facing him and he couldn't read her movements to judge how she may react if started. And he, without staff or weapon, would not be able to block a strike. "Tauriel?" Thranduil tried, "Tauriel, look at me, are you wounded?"
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