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Fíli found this the best work he had ever done: shaping mountains, delving riverbeds, cutting the deep fjords in the north, smoothing the gently sloping plains to the south.
It was the One’s work, for which Fíli and all his dwarf brothers had been born, and it made him happy.
His father was with him, his uncle, his brother, and many more relatives whose time in the Arda-That-Was had been long over before he had been born. Fíli had even met the great Durin himself. It had been a great honor, all the more so because Durin hadn’t set himself above any of his descendants, but welcomed them as his equals.
Fíli knew his brother was happy, too, but he could see that Kíli clearly waited.
On the day the first elves had been seen wandering through the unfinished lands, Kíli had been visibly delighted, and he’d spent many of the years since then in their company, preparing the land for their plantings, the trees and herbs that were quickly making this new world alive and beautiful. (Kíli had had quite a few suggestions of his own for green places, planned with one particular elf in mind.) The other dwarves often joined him—yes, even Thorin—for the old animosities were done and long forgotten.
Fíli was with the elves today, digging holes for a series of saplings on the soft western slopes of the foothills. The task wasn’t very creatively challenging, but he found it pleasant, nonetheless, to exert himself in wholesome labor, particularly since the work was in the service of others.
He was just starting on another hole where the elves had marked out the place on the grass when he heard distant shouts of greeting. The elves who were to bring the rest of the saplings must have arrived. Fíli paused in his digging to watch them. He really liked the joyful greetings that were becoming so common these days, as more of the Allfather’s children woke to the new Arda. Often, long-sundered friends found each other again for the first time, and these meetings were his favorite to see.
Kíli, who was wheeling a barrow filled with soil, had also stopped to watch. His stance was idly relaxed at first but then Fíli saw a thrill of tension run through him. Fíli looked back to the group of elves.
Yes, there was one whom he might recognize, a woman with flowing copper hair.
Tauriel was setting down a bundled sapling when she heard a shout behind her.
It was a dwarven voice.
For a moment, her heart stopped—all time stopped—and then her pulse pounded as if eager to make up the time, not just of that frozen moment, but for all the years she had spent waiting for it.
She turned, and Kíli was already running towards her.
A few swift strides of her own closed the space between them.
They collided, his head meeting her heart and knocking the breath from her lungs. It was wonderful, as it always had been, to be breathless in his arms.
He looked up at her, and Tauriel felt she could surely die, if such a thing were yet possible, at the joy in his face.
“Tauriel, amrâlimê,” he said.
“Meleth nîn...”
She could not be sure if they were her tears or his that wet his upturned face. She drew her fingers over his rough cheek: of all the things she had dearly missed over the years, the feel of his bearded face was what she had thought of the most.
“You never grew your beard,” she remarked. The trimmed beard, she understood, was a sign of waiting, of unfulfillment.
Kíli nodded, knowing she knew the reason without his explanation.
“I was waiting for you. But I forgot,” he shrugged, as if the idea had only just now occurred to him, “that you liked seeing my face.”
“And truly, I have never seen a fairer sight in all my life than your face now.”
As Kíli caught her round the neck and drew her down to kiss him, Tauriel dimly noticed a cheer go up around them.
Kíli simply smiled at her for a few moments after he released her. Finally, he said, “You taught me to plant trees once, but that was a long time ago. You’d better make sure I’m still doing it right.”
Tauriel nodded, and he took her hand and drew her with him back to their work.