'Cornered'
By no means was Tauriel defenceless; she would not be captain if she were anything relatively close to helpless. She was brave as she was strong, clever and swift. None could claim title of 'all powerful' save the creator themself, and while that included this woman she, more often than not, could work her way out of tight spots even when overpowered or outnumbered.
Thranduil knew all this very well, and she had become one of his most trusted warriors. That said, when she did not lead her party back and make her appearance at the time given Thranduil took it upon himself to go after them. More often than not if they waited those late never returned. It was better to find wounded or fallen soldiers than none at all. With the others having retreated to the gates to seek aid he'd very early on learned their leader had been separated from them.
All gold and ivory Thranduil stood out like a ray of light in the darkened forestry, barefoot and white robes pulled into the belt around his waist. He'd not taken time to change, nor had he felt there would have been time enough, and left with nothing more than the heavy blade which now lay pressed atop the curved protrusion of an Orc's hyoid.
With Tauriel found cornered in the floor of a ravine having wedged herself against the steep wall, and the beast mid-motion, Thranduil seized them by their neck and heaved them backward in one swift motion, forcibly straightening their crooked legs. He thought it too risky to strike when he could not guarantee himself that the blow would prevent the Orc's weapon from cutting into the woman's chest, and in such little time to worry where blade needed to settle. When that arm finished its downward swipe Thranduil had jarred its owner far enough away that the only thing split was air.
No matter that he maintained the build of the Vanyar his grip was tight and unyielding, for though raised in Menegroth he may have been he had learned to fight and hold a sword under the Noldor and later served Gil-galad rather than his father. "Dare I wonder," the king spoke as he held the shorter, though much larger being in place as they struggled and swiped in vain at nothing, "how you managed to come stuck down here?" Rather than scolding his voice held a calmer air, similar to one he may use with her in fake challenge during one of their now common spars.
She damned herself beneath her breath as she sprinted through the woods, the pack hot on her heels. Billowing red hair and her textured garb that concealed her form against the trees aided her in no regards. She was trailing blood, splattering upon the leaves and soil - if every creature in Mirkwood couldn't taste her already, she'd be shocked. There was no solid count on how many drew after, snarling and screaming in response and when she turned to catch a quick glance over her shoulder, her feet left the ground.
She hit the steep hill that backed her into the Ravine; A kill zone. Down she went, crushing leaves, snapping branches and reaching out to clutch thorned brushes foolishly in a last attempt to yield her momentum. The arrow tip and broken shaft she couldn't risk removing, only shifted deeper as she continuously rolled upon it. Unable to gain a clear footing, her leg searing in pain. One moment she held her daggers, the next she held broken leaves and dirt. The captain drew no thoughts to this not at the moment, for her head made swift impact with a large stump before the kinetic energy of her fall still her form, dead weight on her back. Clumsy and hazed, she fumbled trying to regain her roving mind. Blurred images and sounds, she instinctively pushed herself up; surviving. Disorientated in the very least she caught sight of a familiar silver; her dagger but a black foot stepped in her path, snarling and biting before lunging at her.
Muscle memory brought her skilled hands to it's face where it snapped and snarled - working with adrenaline she snapped it's neck with ease as it's form went limp, however, her leg could not harbor the strength to support the excess weight she stumbled back against a hard surface; the ravines wall. Emerald optics blinked, the world still spinning and her mind screaming to focus but her body refused. Fevered and clumsy, she felt for her daggers in it's sheath and found nothing. Her eyelids fell, forcing herself to reopen her gaze - every instinct now blaring, her eyes fell closed once more as she slumped. "Dare I wonder how you manage to come stuck down here." -- Thranduil. The fear for her king being about the woodlands at this time made her reopen her eyes and refocus, if for only the moments time. Clad in no armor but the silks he wore amongst the halls, he stood regal and lithe, holding the orc by it's mangled through as the weapon in it's hand sliced at thin air. With fear for where the weapon would land, adrenaline still within her system, she became almost feline like in her swift action as she closed in amongst the airborne orc and it's blade, disarming the weapon and plunging it within body cavity. Panting and bleeding, Tauriel shot a glare to the male not wanting to admit how grateful she was. "Where is your armor?" The Captain's body was nursing her wound by alleviating any stance on that leg. She could confess, she was wounded while resounding the alarm that a raid was in the making; the still of the War for Mirkwood led them to use the utmost security in hiding where the Halls remained, at least to what creatures did not know of it's whereabouts already. Her blood trail a swift promise to another attack. That she was slower than the pack, because of her wound and lingered far from her kin who rushed to gain aid in arms. That she turned around and led the pack in the opposite direction, dispatching of what orc's she could along her way. But of course, her wound promised her backlash and here she stood mulling over in adrenaline and shame that her plan drew the one she wished to protect into harms way.