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“This is a disaster.”
Kili grinned and cast a sidelong glance at his brother, who had his arms crossed and a dour expression on his face.
“It certainly is,” he agreed, unable to contain his glee.
Across from the brothers, Thorin and Thranduil were attempting to stare one another into submission while each of their delegations stood tensely behind them. The two kings had been “negotiating” for the better part of two days and, so far, had gotten absolutely nowhere. Their arguments had become a bit of a joke for the people of a rebuilt Dale: any time a loud noise was heard, someone would inevitably chalk it up to the two of them. Someone heard a crash? The kings must be throwing things at each other. Was that a yell? The kings must be negotiating again.
Now, watching the assembled members of the temporary council from his spot against a stone wall, Kili couldn’t even pretend to be upset. It was all just too good to be true.
“Tell me, Fee, did you ever think you’d be alive to see this day?”
“No.” Fili was not enjoying this nearly as much as his little brother was.
Their current situation was all Gandalf’s fault, really. The meddlesome old wizard had suggested, in that way he had of making suggestions that were more like commands, that it would benefit everyone to construct a combined council of Men, Elves and Dwarves. When Fili had asked him why, Gandalf had said something about “strengthening relations between their peoples”, and then winked at Kili as if it were some great joke.
Which, Kili thought, it was. The relationship between Erebor and Dale had never been stronger, which was due, in no small part, to the fact that Fili and Sigrid had been married earlier that year. And if Sigrid was to be believed - which she was, being the Lady of Dale - then relations between Dale and Mirkwood were also thriving. Only Mirkwood and Erebor were still at odds, and even then, the majority of the animosity seemed to lay between Thranduil and Thorin themselves.
“You do not need three representatives,” Thranduil said tersely. “One should suffice.”
“Why should Erebor have only one, when you insist on having two?” Thorin demanded.
“And here I thought kingdoms were ruled by adults,” Tauriel quipped, stepping into place beside Kili.
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, my dear Captain,” Kili answered cheekily.
“You’re ridiculous,” Fili told them, glancing away from his uncle and at the two of them. “Both of you. You could at least pretend to care about all of this.”
“Why?” Kili retorted.
“We do care,” Tauriel said at the same time.
“It’s not our fault they’re acting like children,” Kili continued, shrugging and idly twisting a lock of Tauriel’s hair around his pointer finger.
“They’d be acting a whole lot worse if they knew what the two of you were doing in your free time,” Fili deadpanned. He looked pointedly at the pair, who seemed wholly unconcerned with what he was implying.
Fili didn’t blame them, really. The council worked perfectly for them, after all, since both Kili and Tauriel had been the first pick of their respective leaders; as chosen representatives, they would be taking up residence in Dale and finally have a valid reason to be constantly thrown together.
Not that they seemed to need a reason. Mahal forbid their mother found out; Dis had had a hard enough time accepting Fili’s decision to wed a Daughter of Man. Fili thought it likely that his mother would put the wrath of Smaug to shame if she knew her youngest son was consorting with an Elf.
“Enough!” Gandalf bellowed suddenly. “Arguing is getting us nowhere. Each kingdom is allowed two representatives. Decide amongst yourselves, and I will expect an answer in the morning.”
Thorin turned away from Thranduil’s scowling visage immediately, and was halfway across the large room when Bard called out a reminder of the evening’s festivities. Dale was hosting another grand dinner that night, this one in honor of the Dwarves; last evening’s had been in the honor of their Elven guests.
Kili let the smooth strands of Tauriel’s hair slide through his fingers as he pushed off the wall. His uncle would undoubtedly want to retire to their rooms before the dinner, and an idea had come to Kili while he was observing the day’s negotiations.
Fili was already striding off to rejoin their kin, so Kili gave the elf a wink and a grin as he brushed his fingers over the back of her hand.
“See you at dinner?”
“It would seem that I don’t have a choice,” she retorted, but her sly half grin took the sting out of the words.
Tauriel had never spoken directly to Gandalf, but as she made her way back toward her Elven counterparts the wizard caught her eye and smiled. Though she considered him a generally kind and good natured person, the smile seemed odd.
“Captain,” Gandalf called, drawing her attention as well as Thranduil’s. “Walk with me?”
Confused, Tauriel glanced at Thranduil, who raised an eyebrow but nodded his consent. She stopped where she was and turned her full attention on the wizard, who seemed content to let everyone leave before standing and crossing the room to stand next to her.
“I’m afraid we haven’t had much occasion to speak to one another,” he said as he led them outside. His expression was serious, but Tauriel had the feeling that the blue eyes beneath his hat were laughing at her. “I understand that you’re something of a favorite with Thranduil, and a friend to his son.”
“I am honored to call Legolas a friend, my Lord, but I do not consider myself a favorite of anyone’s.”
“No?” Gandalf answered, and his gaze flickered down to the curled ends of her hair.
Only the strictest discipline kept the blush from Tauriel’s cheeks.
“And please, do not call me ‘Lord’,” the wizard continued, swinging his staff out in front of him as he walked.
“What should I call you then?”
“Gandalf, if you like, or Mithrandir, as I’m known to your kin.”
Tauriel noticed that, though the streets of Dale were busy and full of life once again, the people seemed almost deferential toward the old man. Adults moved out of their way as they wandered down the street; children, on the other hand, seemed drawn to him. Gandalf had kind words and smiles for them all and appeared especially fond of the children, although Tauriel doubted he knew them all.
“I have it on good authority that the line of Durin owes you a debt, Captain, for saving the life of a prince.”
Gandalf watched the elleth closely as he said the words. Though elves were a notoriously difficult people to read - he’d even heard them called emotionless, on occasion - he liked to consider himself something of a scholar on the finer points of elven expressions. As limited as their acquaintance was, he genuinely liked Tauriel, and that warmth only grew as he observed her reaction.
“There is no debt,” Tauriel assured him. “I did what my conscience demanded of me.”
“Good, good. It is decided then. I would call you friend, Tauriel of Mirkwood, and offer my support if ever you should need it.”
“I am honored, my … Mithrandir. But I do not understand.”
His grey cloak billowing in the slight breeze that swept through the city streets, Gandalf stopped to give the elf a knowing smile. “I do not know you well, but I have traversed much of this land in the company of a certain dwarf prince, and believe that you will do well by each other. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I must speak with someone who owes me a cask of Dorwinion wine.”
Stunned, Tauriel watched her companion disappear into the crowds before she could think of a response.
“Oi!” Fili hollered as Kili swept passed the open door. “Where’ve you been?”
A few seconds later his brother’s dark head popped into view, quickly followed by the rest of him. His cheeks were flushed, which was not unusual considering how he’d hustled by, and Fili thought he saw him hide something in the fold of his duster as he stepped into the room.
“Out,” Kili answered evasively. “Had some business to take care of.”
Fili would have thought the answer strange enough on its own, but then he caught the way Sigrid smiled at his brother out of the corner of his eye and instantly knew that something was up.
“Alright, you two, out with it,” he commanded as forcefully as he could. His wife, who was standing behind him, just laughed and tugged on one of the strands of hair she was plaiting.
“I hate to say it, Fee, but y’sound like an old mother,” Kili replied. “It’s a bit ridiculous, really.”
Fili threw a dirty sock at him in retaliation, which Kili dodged with a horrified expression. “Where’s uncle?”
“Last I saw him, he was stepping into his room,” Sigrid answered, putting the finishing flourish on Fili’s braids. “I’m finished, love.”
“He’s probably still there, cursing Thranduil’s name.” Fili didn’t bother to look in the mirror that Sigrid offered him, trusting to her skill and pulling her in for a quick kiss as a thank you. “He has decided on a second representative, and sent word to Erebor. Your council counterpart should arrive before morning.”
“And? Who’s it to be, then? A member of the company? Bofur, perhaps? I should like to have him around, I think.”
“Well if you’d shut up for two seconds, I’d tell you,” Fili groused, which drew a chuckle from his wife.
Kili made a show of closing his mouth and pressing his lips together, but that only made his brother roll his eyes. Kili didn’t care; nothing would dampen his good mood. He would spend the evening making merry with his kin over ale and good food, Tauriel by his side, and in the morning Thorin would announce him as one of Erebor’s council representatives; where he would spend his days working closely with a certain elf maid.
To top it all off, Sigrid had allowed him to use her title as Lady of Dale to gain him entrance to a smithy so that he could fashion the perfect gift for Tauriel.
No, nothing would ruin Kili’s high spirits on this night.
“And now you’re not listening.” Fili was glaring at his brother.
“I am!” the younger Durin insisted. “You haven’t said anything!”
“Oh, honestly, children,” Sigrid finally puffed in amused annoyance. “Gimli is to be your second on the council. Now, shoo. You smell, and your uncle will tan your hide if you show up looking anything but your best.”
“But I always look my best!”
Fili shook his head as Sigrid pushed his brother out the door, closing it behind him before going to sit in the spot that Fili had just vacated.
“What’s wrong?”
Fili sighed, all the worry he felt escaping in the small rush of air, and Sigrid reached out to tangle one of her hands with his.
“I am worried for him,” he admitted. “It is a hard road he walks, and Kili does not always consider the implications of his actions.”
“His actions toward Tauriel, you mean,” Sigrid clarified, pulling him into the space between her knees so that she could wrap her arms around his waist. “You’re worried what will happen when people find out that the second in line to the throne of Erebor has thrown in with an elf.”
“Yes. There will be outrage, Sig, on both sides. Or worse. And mother … Mahal save us, mother will tear the mountain down when she finds out. An elf and a dwarf - it’s unheard of. Unnatural, some people would say.”
“What is unnatural about love?” Sigrid countered. “Never mind what others will think. What do you think?”
Fili rested his forehead against his wife’s and took a breath, rubbing his hands up and down her arms as he considered her question. “I think that you have the right of it,” he finally answered. “I know nothing of love where elves are concerned, but I know that my brother is in love with her, and I believe that she feels the same.”
“Then what else could matter? Kili loves, and is loved in return. Do you not wish that for him?”
“Of course I do. But I fear the cruelty of others that would try to separate them, and what such cruelty would do to him.”
“I’m afraid it’s out of your hands, love. Kili’s heart lies where it will.”
Fili knew that his wife was right, and prayed that when the time came, people would show the same forbearance in the face of such an unlikely match.
Meanwhile, Kili bustled about his rented room down the hall from that of his brother, undressing haphazardly as he went. The small trinket, that Fili had indeed seen him hide, he set out upon the only table in the room. He was very pleased with the finished product and could hardly wait to bestow it on a certain elf lass. He hoped she would approve. Granted, the idea of actually giving her the gift made him fiercely nervous: he didn’t know if there was any cultural significance assigned to the giving of gifts amongst elves, but it certainly meant something to his people - to him. Though Fili liked to think otherwise, he and Tauriel had done nothing more than exchange a few secret kisses and many, many conversations; in spite of that, they had avoided discussing any of the more difficult matters - like what they were doing, or the depth and nature of what they felt. Giving Tauriel the gift - well, gifts, really - would be as much a declaration of feelings as actually saying the words. At least, it would be for him.
Enough of that, Kili told himself. Hiding the name of the sentiment did not hide the emotion itself, or change the fact that he felt it, and that was that.
Kili was, as he’d often been accused, somewhat brash and reckless, and so the doubt was easily put from his mind as he cleaned himself up with cold water and redressed carefully. Brooding was not in his nature, after all.
He picked up his bow and quiver automatically, only to realize that he didn’t need them. Being completely unarmed was unacceptable, however, so he made sure to tuck a pair of knives into his tunic, where they would not be visible. Though a tenuous state of peace had been reached after the battle was ended, Kili found that the idea of being unable to defend himself in a pinch was an unwelcome one.
The first sounds of the evening’s festivities billowed up to his window on a breeze then. Men were cajoling each other, although Kili couldn’t hear their words, and then the sound of feminine laughter followed. The young prince grinned as he gave himself a once over, then pocketed Tauriel’s gifts and zipped out the door.
Fili and Sigrid were just stepping out of their room as Kili approached. Thankfully, his brother was smiling and seemed to be in better spirits.
“You look very fine this night, brother!” Kili said, mostly serious. “The credit for which goes to your wife, no doubt.” He tossed a wink at Sigrid.
The Lady of Dale chuckled. Fili tried to hide his grin behind a swift swipe at his brother, who paid the sibling abuse no mind. The three of them made their way toward the inn’s staircase, stopping to knock on Thorin’s door as they went.
Their uncle was scowling when he opened the door. His kin barely marked the expression.
“Unbearable,” Thorin grumbled as he stepped out and shut the door behind him. “Another evening spent in the company of elves.”
Preoccupied as he was with his displeasure, the King under the mountain missed the way his eldest nephew grinned and jabbed an elbow into his brother’s side.
Thorin spent the short trek from his room to the door of the inn muttering irritably to himself about the arrogance of elves; just before he stepped outside, however, his expression smoothed over into something akin to pleasant indifference.
Three dwarves and a Daughter of Man stepped out into a street full of would-be partygoers, all making their way to the city center for the feast. The laughter and general good cheer of the masses was infectious to Kili, who grinned widely as he moved alongside his kin.
“Oi! Kili!”
He turned at the sound of his name, searching for the caller and momentarily unable to find them. Then the group of Men behind him dispersed, and Kili found himself looking on a familiar mess of red hair.
“Gimli!”
Gloin’s son was pushing his way intently toward the small of knot of dwarves, who had stopped to wait for him out of the push and press of people.
Kili felt a harsh jolt of surprise when his mother’s face appeared just behind Gimli, and reached out to smack his brother in a bid for his attention.
“Mother’s here!” he hissed at Fili. “Did you know she was coming?”
“Nope,” Fili answered.
The dwarves greeted each other heartily, Fili and Kili exchanging hugs with their mother before the group started off again. Kili’s heart gave a nervous sort of flutter as he stole a glance at his mother, wondering what had brought her down from the mountain and how her arrival might complicate his plans to spend his evening in the company of a certain elf.
They reached the city center, where several rows of long tables and mismatched chairs had been erected. People milled about in large groups as children chased each other through legs and under tables; above them, the sun had begun to set and was reaching over the land with long fingers of red and gold.
Bard waved at Thorin, who was scanning the crowds, and waved them over. He was standing behind the only table that was arranged perpendicularly to the rest, dressed in a fine tunic and looking every bit like a Lord. The former bargeman greeted the dwarves warmly, but none more so than Fili and Kili. The former had worked hard to earn the respect of Sigrid’s father, and the going had been rough when he and the Lady had first announced their intentions; for his part, Kili continued to be profoundly grateful for the help the man and his family had given when he’d been at Death’s door.
As Gimli and Dis were introduced, Kili’s attention wandered. The youngest Durin cast a critical eye over the table, trying to discern how the seating arrangements had been worked out; when the study was fruitless, he took to covertly searching for the delegation from Mirkwood.
“I don’t think she’s here yet,” Sigrid whispered kindly.
“I’ll never get her attention in this crowd!” Kili answered. The sheer number of people was unbelievable, and his previous plan of getting Tauriel alone long enough to give her the gifts seemed impossible. “How’m I s’posed to surprise her now? We’ll never be able to slip away now.”
“Don’t despair. The night is young yet, and much can happen. I’ll help, if I can.”
Kili broke off the search for his elf to give Sigrid a lopsided grin, which she returned. “And what would my brother think of that, I wonder?”
“Let him think what he wants,” she teased. “He does not need to know.”
Kili laughed, overjoyed with the idea of his brother’s wife helping him behind his brother’s back. “I like you more and more, lass.”
Sigrid had always liked Kili and found his guilelessness refreshing, but what she really enjoyed about the young dwarf was his nearly unyielding good humor. Kili was slow to anger and quick to forgive, a welcome trait in anyone, but especially appreciated since Sigrid spent much of her time around men like Thorin and her father. Fili was a loving and often playful husband - especially when he was around his brother - but Sigrid had found that Kili had a knack for bringing out her childish side; it was hard not to like someone who smiled as often as not.
“Don’t let your brother hear you say that, he’ll get suspicious.”
“Who’ll be suspicious?” Gimli queried, popping up next to them. He was loud, unfortunately, even for a dwarf, and so his question carried easily to where their kin stood a few feet away.
As one, Thorin, Dis, Fili and Bard all turned to look directly at them with varying expressions of concern. Kili was nearly able to keep a straight face as he gave them his most innocent expression in return, but then Sigrid snorted behind her hand, and the two of them dissolved into laughter.
“Should I be concerned?” Fili asked.
“Oh, undoubtedly,” a new voice answered.
“Gandalf! There you are.”
Wary of the trouble his brother could be thinking up at that very moment, Fili pulled him and Sigrid back into the knot their growing group had formed. Sigrid seemed to find something about that funny, because she smirked at him as she leaned in to give him a kiss. Kili had not stopped grinning.
Engrossed as they were, they did not immediately realize that the elves had arrived.
The large square was abuzz with loud and enthusiastic conversations, but Tauriel could easily make out the laughter of dwarves as she followed her king across the city center. She walked a few paces behind Thranduil, with Legolas to her right, and so was not able to actually see them; she could only listen to the swell of their voices and a certain full, familiar laugh.
Only when Thranduil had stopped before the long table and inclined his head in proud greeting was she allowed to look upon them at last. In unison, she and Legolas stepped out of Thranduil’s literal shadow, moving to stand beside - if still a little behind - their patriarch. Truthfully, it was a bit of a show that Thranduil had insisted they perform for its symbolism, especially as it concerned her: their friends (at least, Tauriel called them friends) at the table knew that Tauriel was one of the chosen council members, and Thranduil wanted to impress upon them the importance of her position. Not only was she a Captain of the guard, she was favored by the king himself; it was no mistake that she mirrored the prince’s position.
Tauriel had recognized it for the political maneuver it was and, though she could neither nay say her king nor do anything about it, she did not like it.
She could feel Kili’s gaze on her, though she was unable to turn her head directly and look for him; she kept her expression neutral as they greeted first Bard, then Thorin, and then Gandalf.
The elleth was caught by surprise when Thorin introduced the dwarf next to him as his sister, Dis, and momentarily forgot about Kili. Though at first glance Tauriel would not have taken the dwarf for a woman, it was easy enough to see when she paid attention: Dis had her brother’s dark hair and fair skin, and a thick beard decorated with beads in varying shades of blue. Her expression, while pleasant, gave nothing away, and the elf almost laughed at the familiarity of it: Fili often wore the same one.
Interestingly, Kili looked more like Thorin than he did his mother. The elleth wondered what his father had looked like.
Despite her awareness of his gaze, Tauriel didn't actually see Kili until people began to take their seats. He appeared somewhat suddenly in front of her, one corner of his mouth upturned, and her heart felt lighter for seeing him.
“Beautiful,” he said for her ears alone.
Kili thought it a paltry word for what he was seeing: Tauriel, backlit by the vibrant sunset that turned her long hair into a waterfall of molten flame, and radiant in a silver-white gown. Still, it was a true description, and he supposed that he would deem any word mediocre in such an instance.
“Indeed, the sunset is quite remarkable this evening,” Tauriel answered, a small grin ghosting over her lips.
“The sun is setting?” he shot back. “Truly, I had not noticed.”
Kili was so pleased with himself for the rosy spots that spread over the elf’s cheeks and across her nose that his smirk morphed into a full blown smile, and he silently congratulated himself on his way to his seat.
How about that, he thought. Even elves blush.
Tauriel spoke at length with Gandalf, who smoked happily from his pipe and filled the air with perfect rings of smoke all the while; Bofur, who had refused to leave his hat behind and told increasingly cheesy jokes; and Sigrid, who answered her every question about what to expect from a life in Dale, and would occasionally smile at her in a way that Tauriel didn’t understand.
“I’ve come to understand,” Dis addressed her, quite unexpectedly, “that I owe you something of a debt, Captain.”
Tauriel masked her surprise at the statement - the words were almost the same as the ones Gandalf had spoken earlier - feeling somehow as if the venerable lady would disapprove such a display, and carefully studied her before offering an answer. Dis’ expression was polite, even curious, but Tauriel sensed an underlying immovability. A strong woman, certainly, and undoubtedly as proud and stubborn as her brother.
“You owe me nothing, Lady Dis.”
“You saved the life of my youngest,” Dis answered, as if Tauriel had forgotten. “More than once, if the stories are to be believed.”
Were Tauriel another elf, she might have been offended by the words; but she was not another elf, and easily picked up on the truth of them. Kili’s mother had probably never met an elf, and drew her knowledge solely from stories she’d been told; it was disbelief, and not derision that colored her tone. Why should an elf care enough to (repeatedly) save the life of a dwarf?
“I did,” Tauriel agreed, aware that those seated closest to her had fallen silent. “Both before and after I acted as his jailer.”
Amazingly, Dis smiled, and her relation to Kili became startlingly clear.
“Yes, there is that.”
Anything else that Dis might have said was cut off by Bard, who chose that moment to stand up and declare an end to dinner, and the start of everything else.
Tauriel was not at all surprised when Bofur leapt from his seat, flute in hand and lopsided grin fixed on his face. Within a few short moments he’d recruited several pipe players, and the little band immediately struck up a lively tune.
She was surprised when Kili stood and dragged Sigrid into the crowd of dancers, and even more so when Fili appeared before her with one hand outstretched.
“Oh, I -,” she started.
“Must dance,” Fili cut her off, grinning. “I insist.”
Dancing was not new to her - in fact, Tauriel had often been told that she was an exemplary dancer, on the few occasions that she had been inclined to do so. That was amongst her people, however, and far from the scrutiny of Men and Dwarves. If there was a method to the dance that was currently taking place, then Tauriel did not understand it, and she did not fancy making a fool of herself. When she tried to express as much to Fili, however, she found him unsympathetic.
“You’ll do fine,” he told her. “Just follow my lead.”
“I do not ‘follow’ well.”
“I’ve noticed,” Fili answered dryly, earning a glare from his partner. “Relax, Captain. This’ll be fun.”
Tauriel tried not to be nervous, but it was difficult when she felt like the table full of people they’d just left were staring at them; not only was she the only elf in the crowd of dancers, she was also the only elf with a dwarf as a partner. She wondered if Thranduil and Thorin were having death spasms yet.
Her nervousness evaporated soon after they started dancing, however. Fili was wonderfully quick on his feet and sure of his movements as he guided her through the steps; the tempo was quick and he commanded her attention through teasing quips, so that Tauriel had little time for things like nervousness.
“I feel obligated,” Kili called out at one point, as he and Sigrid whirled around to them, “to tell you that your wife is a much better dancer than you!”
“Aye! And she puts you to shame!” Fili retorted.
The song did not end, as Tauriel had thought it would; instead, the tune tripped into something that was only a beat or two slower. She entertained the thought of sitting down for a moment, until, in a whirling blur of color, the brothers switched places. Tauriel found herself quite suddenly staring into the face of an almost obscenely pleased Kili.
“Surprised ya, didn’t we?” he teased, waggling his eyebrows at her. “May not be up to your elven standards, but we dwarves can be quite nimble, when it suits.”
“Oh? I hadn’t noticed,” she replied archly. Tauriel only gave in to her smile when Kili glared at her.
Tauriel had enjoyed dancing with Fili, but dancing with Kili was like being weightless. She did not think about disapproving kings or stoic mothers as the youngest Durin spun her through the crowd of dancers with the same zeal that he did most other things; she didn’t wonder what sort of looks they might be drawing from the other people assembled. Nothing mattered outside of herself, and Kili, and the energy they created between them. She laughed freely at the insults the brothers threw at one another whenever they passed close enough, and, for that small span of time, knew nothing but joy.
When Kili finally pulled her away from the crowd, Tauriel was momentarily confused to find that they were on the side farthest from their table. Indeed, there was no one around whom she recognized, and few people in general. It was quieter here, farther away from the laughter and din of the festivities, and she tried to catch her breath as she wondered why he had brought them here.
“C’mon,” Kili said, tugging lightly at the hand he still held. “Before we’re noticed.”
“What?” she questioned, even as she let him lead her to the tree line.
Kili pulled her into the trees and away from the crowded city, the noise falling away as they went, until there was nothing but the sound of their footsteps.
“Our absence will be noted,” Tauriel told him quietly, although she didn’t feel the proper level of concern over such an eventuality.
“We won’t be gone long.”
When he was satisfied that they were far enough away to not risk discovery, Kili stopped and turned to face Tauriel, who was watching him interestedly. He smiled, unable to help himself; he doubted that there had ever been a dwarf alive that found an elf attractive, and yet he did. Tauriel was not just attractive; she was beautiful - well and truly beautiful, with her hair of red silk and wide smile that lit her face like the purest light. She was not considered beautiful by the standards of his people - nor would he be considered such by hers - but that did not change the fact that Kili found her so.
Tauriel did not ask why he was staring at her. Instead, she reached out to run her fingers over the scruff on his chin and then leaned down to press a series of kisses against his lips. She smiled when she felt him smile.
“I, uh,” he stammered when she’d pulled away. “I have something for you. But … well.”
Had Tauriel possessed less than an iron will, she would have teased him for his obvious nervousness. Kili was not as assured as he often presented himself, she knew, but this anxiety felt different; it carried a different sort of weight, one that she didn’t understand.
A few feet behind Kili, she spied a wide stump that would suit perfectly as a seat. She nodded in that direction and waited for him to glance over his shoulder before crossing over to it and sitting down. With the hand of his that she still held she pulled Kili into the space between her legs to face her. Like this he was an inch or two above her, so that he had to angle his head down to look at her.
“Y’shouldn’t be sitting,” he protested, even as his hands came up to cup her jaw. “You’ll dirty your dress.”
“It’s just a dress.”
“Aye, and I like it. Y’look beautiful.” He kissed her again, trying to ignore the frantic pace of his heartbeat and the spot where her gifts were burning a hole through his pocket.
“You have something for me?” she reminded him gently. As much as she wanted to stay here amongst the trees with him, she knew that their absence would be questioned, and they had to be careful.
Hesitantly, Kili pulled the small wrapped package out of his pocket and held it in the space between them. He studied the scrap of material where he’d grabbed it in his fingers, ready to reveal the gifts, and stalled.
“Do elves give gifts?” he asked.
“Sometimes,” Tauriel answered with a small nod. “Mostly to family or close friends, or the one you intend to marry.”
Though his hands didn’t shake, she could see that her words had struck a chord for him; he stared resolutely down at the cloth in his hands, and Tauriel thought it was the first time she’d seen him afraid in a long time.
“Kili?”
He took a breath and then pulled open the folded fabric to reveal its treasures: three beads, in blue, and green and gold; and a hair clip with a design carefully carved into it that was silver and unlike anything she’d ever seen before.
“These are … well. They’re meant to go in braids,” Kili explained of the beads, feeling strangely embarrassed and unable to look at her. “Braiding hair is intimate for us. Dwarves, I mean. Beads are a … mark, if you will. They have a lot of meaning, and aren’t given lightly. And, anyway, you don’t have to wear them, I know it’s different for you, but I just thought … I wanted you to have them.” He finished in a rush, doggedly ignoring the flush he felt creeping up his neck. That had been a terrible explanation, and he hadn’t even mentioned the hair clip.
Tauriel was struck more by what he wasn’t saying, and the almost shy way that he wouldn’t meet her eyes, than she was by his words; she thought of Dis and Thorin, and the other dwarves she knew, but mostly she thought of Fili. She recalled the braids he wore, each adorned with at least one bead, and how they seemed to never be out of place.
Whatever else they were, the beads that Kili offered her now were no small thing.
“And this?” she prompted, running a finger over the design carved into the beautiful clip. It struck her as familiar, and she said as much. “I have seen this design before.”
Kili wanted to groan and turn away in embarrassment. He hadn’t properly thought this plan through! The idea had seemed perfect when he’d first thought of it, and even while he was crafting the clip into being; he’d carved that design carefully, with all the skill and precision he possessed. Now, though … now, he could not bring himself to explain what it was - what it meant.
The realization of where she’d seen the design came to her swiftly. “Turn around.”
“What?” he exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise.
Tauriel didn’t wait for him to listen. She leaned around him, her hair cascading over her shoulder until the ends brushed the ground as she trained her eyes on the silver clip in Kili’s hair. Sure enough, it had the same design as the one he held in his hand. The only difference between the two clips seemed to be in the metal itself: the one in his hand reflected the moonlight differently.
“What is it?” She wasn’t sure if she was referring to the design, or the metal.
“It’s mithril,” Kili replied. “Rare, and more precious than any jewel.”
Tauriel took the beads and hair clip from where they rested in his palm and studied them carefully. The blue bead had a single strip of silver through its middle; the green one had small veins of a darker shade running through it; and the gold one was unblemished and polished to a high shine. She didn’t need to grasp the finer nuances of dwarven customs to understand that all of these things had been carefully chosen for her, and held a certain meaning.
“Beads are a mark,” she repeated, the same words he’d used only moments ago. Now she understood. “These are betrothal gifts.”
“No!” Kili almost yelled. “Well, I mean, yes, but - I don’t - I’m not - you don’t have to wear them, I just … thought you might like them, and wanted you to have them.”
Kili pulled away from her then, pacing agitatedly in the space in front of her as he quickly tried to think of a way to make the situation better. He should have known that his idea was going to backfire; Fili was always yelling at him to use his head and think things through before just jumping in, and once again Kili had displayed his knack for doing just the opposite. Only this time was worse: he’d truly just wanted to give Tauriel something beautiful, and while he wanted nothing more than to see her with his beads in her hair, he would have been perfectly content to know she had them, even if she never wore them.
And the clip! Of course she would notice that it was his crest.
“I cannot wear this,” Tauriel said softly, running her finger over the clip again. Her heart fluttered as she considered her next words. “I do not think we are ready to face the consequences that would come with such a declaration. But I will keep it until we are.”
Kili stopped pacing abruptly at her words, his eyes snapping immediately to hers and finding that she was as serious as she sounded.
“These,” she continued, fingering the beads, “these I would wear, if you would quit worrying long enough to braid them in for me.”
Tauriel waited patiently for her words to register with him, and knew they had when his face was split by a huge grin. She answered with her own smile, holding the beads out for him as he crossed the short distance to her side.
“Where should they go?”
“That’s for you to decide.”
Kili ran his fingers through her hair for a few seconds as he tried to decide the best place for them. In the end, he pulled a few strands away from the base of her neck and worked them expertly into a braid that was thin enough to blend in, and thick enough to support the weight of the beads. When he was finished, Tauriel pulled the end of the braid over her shoulder to study his work. He had tied the beads securely into her hair, and the braid was shorter than the surrounding hair, so that they were hidden to anyone who did not where to look for them.
“For now,” he told her, explaining their concealment. “Until we’re ready.”
Tauriel reached for him, kissing him almost desperately. She knew that the road they walked was perilous, and perhaps had better chances of ending in heartbreak than in happiness, but she did not care. Kili wanted her, and she would have him for as much time as they were allowed; her heart had decided, and would not be swayed.
“We must return,” she pointed out when she could bring herself to stop kissing him. She rose to her feet. “We have been gone too long already.”
“If we must.” Kili sighed, truly resentful that it was necessary. Still, his heart felt untethered and weightless in his chest as he laced his fingers through Tauriel’s and considered their new position. Except … “Tauriel?”
“Hmm?”
“Did I understand you right? We are betrothed?”
“Yes. Why?”
Kili grinned wolfishly. “Fili’s gonna be so angry.”
“I don’t imagine he’ll be the only one.”
Another thought occurred to Kili then. “Where’s the hair clip?”
Tauriel arched an eyebrow, cast a quick glance down to her bodice, and then winked. Kili laughed his way back to their table.