Chapter Text
The studio lights glowed warmly as the camera zoomed in on the poised newscaster seated behind a sleek glass desk. Her voice was smooth and measured, laced with the perfect mix of curiosity and admiration.
“Good evening, and welcome to Evening Spotlight. Tonight, we delve into the enigma of Tauriel Greenleaf—the star who has captured hearts and imaginations across the globe. Known for her extraordinary lineage as a descendant of the Mirkwood elves, Tauriel has proven herself to be far more than just a relic of ancient Middle-earth. A virtuoso violinist, an acclaimed actress, a philanthropist, and an advocate for environmental preservation—she’s a force of nature.”
The screen transitioned to a montage of Tauriel in action. First, a sweeping shot of her on stage, playing her violin with an almost otherworldly intensity. The camera panned over an audience, silent and entranced, as the haunting melody filled the air. Then, a clip of her accepting an award in a shimmering green gown that seemed to flow like water around her, her fiery red hair catching the light. Finally, a candid moment: Tauriel laughing with children in a sunlit garden during one of her many charity visits.
“But despite her fame, there is one question that no one—not the media, not the fans, not even the most dedicated investigators—has been able to answer: who is Tauriel’s husband?”
The screen cut back to the anchor, who leaned forward as though she were about to share a tantalizing secret. “Five years ago, in a rare and fleeting interview, Tauriel confirmed that she was married. But that’s all she said. No names, no details, no hints. Since then, the world has been on a relentless quest to uncover the truth.”
The screen split to show two commentators—one a clean-shaven elf historian with sleek hair, the other a rugged dwarf journalist with a beard that looked like it could tell stories of its own.
“Let’s be real,” the elf began, his voice lilting with amusement. “Whoever this man is, he has to be someone extraordinary. Tauriel’s beauty, talent, and legacy put her in a league of her own. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s married to another elf of high station, perhaps a descendant of Elrond or Thranduil’s court.”
The dwarf chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t buy it. If he were an elf, wouldn’t someone have seen them together by now? No, no, my money’s on him being a dwarf. The fiery lass always had a soft spot for our kind, if the old tales are anything to go by.”
“That’s preposterous,” the elf retorted. “Do you honestly think—?”
The newscaster interjected before the debate could escalate. “Gentlemen, the theories don’t stop there. From kings and warriors to ordinary men leading secret lives, the possibilities are endless. But whoever he is, he’s managed to remain completely invisible—a remarkable feat in this age of constant surveillance.”
The segment shifted to a montage of paparazzi footage, showcasing Tauriel moving gracefully through airports, slipping into luxury cars, or gliding through throngs of fans. In every clip, she was alone, her expression serene and unbothered by the chaos around her.
“Notice how she’s never seen with a companion,” the commentator continued. “No tell-tale wedding ring, no whispers of lovers’ quarrels or clandestine meetings. It’s as if her husband exists in a different dimension altogether.”
The program then cut to a more serious tone, showing archival clips of Tauriel speaking at press events. Her voice was calm and firm. “I’ve shared what I’m willing to share. My private life is mine, and it will stay that way.”
The screen faded to black for a moment before returning to the newscaster. “So, the mystery endures. Is her husband an elven prince, hidden away in a palace? A wandering ranger, too ordinary to attract suspicion? Or, as some speculate, is he someone so unlikely, so impossible, that the world cannot fathom their union?”
The studio lights dimmed as the newscaster delivered her closing line. “One thing is certain: whoever he is, he must be extraordinary, not only to capture her heart but to keep it safe from the relentless gaze of the world.”
The segment ended with Tauriel’s face frozen on the screen, her green eyes staring back at the audience, as if daring them to uncover the truth.
Meanwhile, somewhere far from the cameras, Kíli leaned back in his chair at the bar, watching the screen with an amused smirk.
A Bar in Ered Luin
The bar was tucked away in the heart of Ered Luin, a cozy spot frequented by dwarves who wanted to unwind after a long day’s work. Its stone walls were adorned with faded tapestries and mounted axes, and the air was thick with the scent of spiced ale and roasting meats. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows over the room, while a soft hum of conversation and laughter filled the space.
Kíli sat at a weathered wooden table near the back, his boots propped casually on an empty chair. A half-finished pint of ale sat in front of him, the foam clinging to the edges of the glass. His dark hair was tied back loosely, but a few strands had escaped, framing his face. He watched the muted television above the bar with an amused smirk as the latest segment about Tauriel concluded.
His older brother, Fíli, sat beside him, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. He looked equally entertained, his blond hair glinting in the firelight. Across the table, Dáin, their stout and boisterous cousin, was mid-laugh, his voice booming over the din of the room.
“So let me get this straight,” Dáin said, wiping a tear from his eye. “They think she’s married to some elven prince who spends his days composing poetry and staring at trees?”
Kíli raised his pint with a grin. “Apparently, that’s what it takes to match her perfection.”
Bofur, seated beside Dáin, leaned in with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. His leather hat was tilted slightly askew, and his cheeks were already flushed from the ale. “Tell me this, Kíli—how does it feel to be married to someone the whole world thinks is unattainable?”
Kíli shrugged, his grin widening. “Like a perfectly normal Tuesday.”
Fíli snorted, nearly spilling his drink. “Normal? You’re married to Tauriel! The woman they call ‘Middle-earth’s most untouchable treasure.’ And here you are, drinking ale in a dusty old tavern, looking like you haven’t shaved in a week.”
“Hey,” Kíli protested, rubbing his stubbled jaw. “I’ve been busy.”
“Busy keeping the biggest secret in the world,” Bofur chimed in, raising his glass in mock salute. “You’ve got to tell us, Kíli—how do you pull it off? No one knows. Not a whisper, not a single slip-up. It’s like you’ve vanished from the world’s radar.”
Kíli leaned back in his chair, resting his arms behind his head. “It’s not about ‘pulling it off,’ mate. It’s about knowing what’s important.” He paused, his tone softening. “The world doesn’t need to know about us. They don’t need to dissect our lives or turn what we have into a spectacle. Tauriel deserves to be herself, without anyone trying to define her by me.”
Dáin took a swig of his drink, his brows furrowing as he considered Kíli’s words. “You’re a braver dwarf than I am,” he said after a moment. “If I were married to someone like her, I’d be shouting it from the mountaintops.”
“That’s because you’re an idiot,” Fíli said with a laugh. “The whole point is to not shout it. Let the world think she’s married to some mystical elf prince or whatever. Meanwhile, Kíli gets to sit here with us and enjoy his pint in peace.”
“And,” Kíli added with a sly grin, “I get to see the look on their faces when they go on and on about how she must be married to someone extraordinary. If they only knew it was just me.”
“‘Just you,’” Fíli repeated with mock incredulity. “Listen to this one, pretending he’s not the most annoying, reckless, impossible-to-kill dwarf in all of Middle-earth.”
“Reckless? Impossible to kill? That’s what won her over, you know,” Kíli said with a wink, raising his glass. “She couldn’t resist my charm.”
The group erupted into laughter, the kind that drew a few curious glances from other patrons. Kíli joined in, but his laughter faded first, his thoughts drifting.
The TV above the bar was still showing highlights from the Tauriel segment: her radiant smile, her graceful movements, her effortless poise. To the world, she was an untouchable star. To Kíli, she was the woman who argued with him over who got the last slice of pie, who teased him about his snoring, who fit so perfectly into his arms at the end of the day.
He took a long sip of his ale, his grin softening into something almost wistful. “You know,” he said, his voice quieter now, “it’s not about stumping the world. It’s about us. What we have… it’s ours. No one else gets to touch it, twist it, or turn it into something it’s not.”
The table fell silent for a moment, the weight of Kíli’s words settling over them. Then Fíli raised his glass, his grin returning. “To the greatest secret in all of Middle-earth.”
The others joined in, their glasses clinking together with a cheer. Kíli couldn’t help but smile as he tipped back his pint, the warmth of the moment spreading through him.
As the laughter and conversation resumed, Kíli’s gaze drifted back to the TV. Tauriel’s image flickered on the screen, her green eyes glinting like emeralds. For all the world’s curiosity, for all its guesses and speculations, the truth was right here—in this quiet, unassuming corner of Middle-earth, where secrets were kept safe, and love was as steadfast as stone.