Disclaimer: I own none of these characters or ideas – I am simply playing with ideas presented by Tolkien & P. Jackson, meshing them with my own to make a fun story. I hope you enjoy it. Big thank you to my beta reader/grammar checker BookWorm624 for keeping me in line. And a second thank you goes to my cousin Victoria who beta-read to make sure this story is an enjoyable read.
Chapter 1
"Kíli!" Tauriel shouted for the dwarf prince, spinning in a circle, seeking physical confirmation of his whereabouts. Her fresh orc kill lay twitching at her feet.
She exhaled a breath of air that frosted over in the cold. Above were the vicious snarls and guttural growls of orcs fighting with others. The clanging of metal swords parrying each other, the creak of wood from Legolas's longbow, the whistle of his arrows as they sought a mark could be heard. But where is Kíli?
He was here. She just couldn't pinpoint where - neither by sight nor sound - above the other din. It was maddening to be helped and deterred by her senses all at once.
He could be dead already.
He could not be dead. She did not save him so many times only to fail this time. Stomach churning, panic flared creating a rapid oscillation in her heart.
"Kíli!"
"Tauriel!"
Relief and hope blossomed through her as she turned towards the sunlight of his voice coming from above her head. She turned her face to the sound. His name left her lips in a whispered prayer of relief that was over before she could even thank the Valar for sparing him until she could get there.
Dimly she heard the roar to her left, but Tauriel turned an instant too late. The cumbersome weight of Bolg, Azog's son, slammed into her, heaving her upon the steps that led to Kíli.
Stupid! Stupid!
Chiding her inattentiveness would have to wait until later. Tauriel felt herself being dragged backwards by Bolg's grip on her hair. She had lost one of her daggers on the stairs, but she still had the other in her hand. As soon as he pulled her about to face him she cut.
Two quick slices to his knees did not deter the giant orc. It did loosen his grip and she took the advantage to slice his front. Her dagger did little damage against the metal plates Bolg had macabrely welded to his own skin. Her second swipe was caught in his meaty grip before she could inflict another wound.
She cried out involuntarily as he twisted her arm trying to make her lose her weapon. She would have done the same to new trainees assigned to her in the Guard. Twisting her own wrist with the motion, she broke his hold. Tauriel slid under his other side, spinning around and slicing her blade down his back.
Still Bolg persisted, unfazed by Tauriel's attack as he turned, his arm lashing out to smash her. She ducked the blow, slicing him as she spun under his reach, bringing her dagger around overhead. Her free arm she used to block another blow. She arced the sharp point of her blade downward.
Bolg caught her wrist before the dagger struck; wrenching her shoulder, pain radiating down her arm. Her grip on the handle slackened, the dagger clattering to the snow-covered ground. The brief flare of pain in her shoulder quadrupled as he brought his solid, metal endowed fist upon her face.
Stars exploded in her vision. She dropped to the ground, subdued momentarily as a black haze threatened to engulf her. There was not one moment's relief from the orc's assault as Bolg picked her up by the neck. It was as if she weighed no more than a leaf to him, her legs dangling. His grasp around her neck tightened, cutting off all the air to her lungs.
Fear pooled in her hazel eyes, shaking her body as he pulled her in towards him. Blood, drawn by the metal on his fist, dripped down her face. Bolg's bestial eyes were filled with the promise of pain and torture before he was done with her.
Valar help me!
Choking back her fear, even as Bolg choked the life from her, Tauriel drew back her leg and placed a well-aimed and strong kick to the inside of his thigh, bringing him to his knees. His fingers slackened momentarily and the Captain punched down upon his arm, freeing herself from the hold. As he lunged at her, she brought her arm about in a backhand, only to be ensnared by Bolg's massive arms as he threw her away from him into the stone parapets.
Pain ruptured all over as her back met the rock, her ribs cracking and a sharp jab from two points on her spine making it worse. She dropped to the ground, once again overcome by the strength of the massive orc. As her body convulsed from the shock it had received, she watched helplessly as Bolg approached, unsheathing the massive mace-blade upon his back.
I am dead. I am sorry Kíli. I cannot save you this time... Tauriel lifted her head, unable to stop the oncoming blow.
And then suddenly he was there. Like a ghost, he appeared in the fog, dropping into her vision from above. There was a war cry upon his lips as he drove his sword towards Bolg's head.
Kíli!
Elation immediately turned to horror. His sword had missed its mark and he landed on Bolg's shoulders. As Kíli struggled to stay out of Bolg's grip, he brought his sword around Bolg's neck, strangling him in the process.
Tauriel's shock receded as she got her breath back. Her back ached from the throw and those two sharp points kept digging into her spine as if to torture her already tender flesh. She reached behind her, her fingers brushing across a forgotten item tucked into the back of her belt.
The slingshot.
It was the scholarly dwarf's weapon. His gentle face skipped across her memory, one of the company of thirteen. Ori. She had learned the names of the dwarrow during the few weeks they stayed in the Mirkwood dungeons. Ori had been polite and well mannered, thanking her for each meal and he never threw it back at her as some had done.
They had stripped the dwarrow of all their weapons before securing them in their cells. Ori's slingshot had caused some sneering amusement amongst her guard. That he had faced down the giant spiders with what was considered a child's toy, had furthered their belittlement of his weaponry.
Tauriel knew from a brief conversation between herself and Ori one night on duty, that the slingshot had familial sentiment to the dwarf. Kíli had been sleeping. The only two dwarrow awake were Ori, scribbling away on a piece of parchment he had been allowed to keep, and the grunting dwarf with the axe buried in his skull. That one never spoke a word - just grunted. The axe buried in his skull alone was enough to unnerve even the most detached guard. Tauriel's curiosity had been piqued that night by the hushed scratch of Ori's writing.
She had chanced to ask him what he wrote. At first, he was reluctant to speak - hesitant and timid in her presence. Tauriel had waited patiently and eventually he opened up. As Ori spoke of the company's journey, the scholar had become more animated - only sometimes stuttering over his tongue as he tried to keep certain details secreted away. Eventually she had asked him about his choice of weapon, an odd choice for a dwarf.
"It's the only weapon my brother Dori will let me carry. He thinks I'm going to poke my eye out if I use a blade. When I was younger, I got into loads of trouble trying to pick up my brothers' weapons and use them. Finally my father decided to give me the slingshot during my twelfth winter. He told me to practice with it and that if I could learn to hit the wings off a bee, then I would be ready to learn another weapon. It was his last gift to me. He died before I could show him that I did what he asked; I stunned a bee midflight. I know everyone laughs, but when I use it, I think of what he told me - no matter the size, no weapon is useless when handled properly and efficiently."
The afternoon Tauriel had fled from Mirkwood to chase after thirteen barrel riding dwarrow; she had stopped by the armory to stock herself for her journey. Ori's slingshot had been placed haphazardly on top of the pile of dwarrow blades, axes and bows. Little care had been provided for their prisoners' weaponry. Tauriel had made a mental note to lecture her men upon return. There was no excuse for sloppy inattention.
What had possessed her to take the slingshot for Ori - was she a soft heart or just familiar with the pain of losing a sentimental family treasure? She didn't like to debate much about the reason for her decision. It would not do to admit she had a fondness for any dwarf, let alone her king's prisoners. Thranduil would think her mad. Perhaps she was, as her hand had reached out, grabbing the tiny catapult from the pile and tucking it into her belt with the intent to return it to its proper owner.
Now, Tauriel palmed it into her hand quickly, half a second after her memory of taking it. She blanched as Bolg threw Kíli upon the stone steps, tossing him as he had tossed her. Kíli was clothed in mail armor, the links of metal taking the brunt of the blow. Her dwarf proved strong as his race rumored, leaping to his feet, turning and charging back at Bolg in fury.
Her eyes glanced away for a moment seeking a weapon of her own. Her daggers were trampled under Bolg's fetid feet, useless to her from this far away. She had only Ori's slingshot and the snow covered ground which revealed no ammunition to arm the trebuchet.
The rune stone.
Kíli's rune stone - the one he had given to her in haste of the dwarrow's departure at Esgaroth. It had come with his confession of love. The giving of his gift had been a confusing mix of mingled grief, abandonment and idolatry at the lakeside. There was too much going on in the wake of Smaug's destruction; it had left her little time to ponder her own affections for the dwarf.
The spherical oval of scripted stone, hidden in Tauriel's sleeve, began to heat up as if the very thought of it caused it to burn. She shook her wrist to release the stone into her palm, wincing when her arm protested the movement. Bolg was so much stronger than she or Kíli and the wall he had thrown her against had been equally unrelenting. She lifted her gaze to see Kíli duck a strike and make one of his own. Bolg blocked the blow, pinning Kíli down.
"No!" Tauriel launched herself forward, her body screaming in agonized protest. She ignored her pain as her arms locked around Bolg's arm restraining him momentarily. The giant warrior flung her away once more. Tauriel was ready for it this time, tucking her body and flipping. She landed in a crouch, arms readying Ori's weapon in front of her. The rune stone fit snug in the launch, giving her courage it was the right choice.
Bolg lifted his mace blade high over his head, poised to strike his final blow. He turned towards her at the last moment, likely to enjoy her agony over Kíli's death. Tauriel drew the stone back in her shot, taking aim.
Oromë give me strength and true aim.
The stone left the sling a heartbeat after her prayer. Time slowed down, standing still around the periphery of her vision as she poured all her focus into following the path of the rune stone. It found its target, striking Bolg hard in one eye, momentarily blinding him.
The pale orc let out a great roar, his head tossing back. There was a quick flash of a blade as Kíli's sword arced upward and found a home in the unguarded flesh below his jaw. With a final yell, his sword pierced through bone and skull, only stopping when the blade split the other side of Bolg's skull.
Time sped up again as the compacted thud of his mace-blade combined with Bolg's death pitch, shook the ground beneath Tauriel's feet. His massive form fell forward, burying Kíli beneath the orc. The silence left in the wake of Bolg's death was nearly as startling as his attack on Tauriel had been.
"Kíli!" Tauriel cast herself towards the newly dead orc and the dwarf under him. Her ribs were on fire, her breathing shallow - a sure sign she had cracked or broken a few of them in the fight. None of this deterred her from trying to free the dwarf. Grimacing in pain, she bent over the putrid body of the orc, swallowing down her nausea caused by both her motions and the smell of rotten orc flesh. She grasped Bolg's shoulder and summoned a prayer for strength as she rolled him off of Kíli.
Joy surged through her breast, clamped just as suddenly by dread as she revealed the dwarf prince. Kíli lay still and unmoving, blood flowing freely from a wound on his temple, staining the snow red under his head. Judging on the angle she found his position, it appeared Bolg's fused metal armor claimed one final victim before its master was slain.
"No!" Tauriel flung herself to her knees next to him, her ribs screaming in protest at her position. No! Do not be dead Kíli! Salt tears stung her hazel eyes, unchecked sorrow flooding her soul. She shook his shoulder. "Kíli!"
"Kíli! Kíli!"
He remained unresponsive to her cries. Tenderly she lifted his head, cradling him against her. Tauriel's chin settled atop his head. "Please. Please you cannot leave me," she whispered to Kíli. "You made a promise. You must keep it." Her vision blurred as tears escaped, mixing with the blood on her face, to drip in pink drops to the snow underneath her.
Do you think she could have loved me?
Kíli was audacious and feckless. He wore his heart on his sleeve and spoke without thinking most of the time. He had made her laugh, made her smile and had turned her entire world upside down since the moment she had first set eyes on him. She had been changed by him although she had not known how to name the feelings he inspired within her.
Tauriel had never answered his question, but the answer had been there the entire time she had known him.
"Your smile put the stars and sun to shame. It blinded me Kíli, and I was too late to see you." Tauriel told him in Sindarin. She lifted her head to look upon him, cradling him gently in her arms. His eyes were closed peacefully, almost as if he were simply asleep. Her hand gently stroked the strands of his hair away from his forehead. "My heart is yours." Her acceptance of her own feelings served to deliver a fresh wave of hurt. It constricted her chest, gasping sobs escaping her lips. Fresh tears erupted in her hazel eyes and she clutched him closer, weeping openly.
For those precious few moments she was lost in her own miserable mourning. But it would not last. Above the sound of her tears, Tauriel could hear the familiar noises of a battle ongoing. The orcs did not care if she lost something so cherished as the innocent life of the dwarf prince. They only desired for carnage, destruction and death. Her body began to warm as anger simmered in her chest, replacing the cold grief that gripped her.
She wanted to cling to Kíli's warmth, hold him until his body began to turn cold, but she knew she could not. The vulgar utterance of black speech was quickly coming from where Kíli had descended above. Orcs were fast approaching and she was defenseless in her current position.
Tauriel laid Kíli back on the ground with a gentle hand. With one final caress to his cheek, she got to her feet. She retrieved her dagger that had been lost during her fight with Bolg, checking to make sure it was serviceable. The other dagger she found on the stairs where it lay after spinning out of her hand. Just as she recovered it, the first orc appeared at the top of the stairs, thundering down towards her.
Fury and grief could be powerful allies or the greatest enemy in a fight. Tauriel knew this from experience. She also knew how to harness those emotions into a blind rage that lent strength to her combat. She used this skill now, evading the first swipe of the orc's chains and delivering a strong uppercut slice that slit him from navel to nose.
There were five of them in this group. They were not as fearsome as Bolg had been, but their purpose was just as deadly. Having already dispatched the first of them, Tauriel leapt up the stairs, intent on keeping the other four away from Kíli's body. They would not defile him as a trophy as they were wont to do.
She met the second orc at the top of the stairs. It was nearly the same height as she. Instead of waiting for it to attack her, Tauriel went on the offensive making a fake swipe with her right hand. As expected the orc moved to block her attack and she delivered a deathly blow to its left, twisting her daggers to maximize the damage to it. Pulling them out just as quickly, she leapt to the side sending the orc in a rolling spill down the stairway.
Delaying no time, she faced the last three who were snarling and growling in their filthy tongue. She did not need to understand their dark words to know the intent behind them. Tauriel readied her daggers expecting the attack from all three sides.
The first of the three to draw upon her had a sword longer than her dagger's reach. She used her dagger to block the impact of its attack, metal bitterly clashing a protest as they met. Her elf ears heard the sound of the air being disturbed from behind her. She bent backwards, her ribs crying out in agony, as the second orc's spike club buried itself into the skull of his unlucky companion. The pressure of the sword on her dagger quit immediately.
Black blood sprayed upon her; a squelching sound as the second orc pulled his club free of his crony's head. Tauriel had only a moment to right herself, anticipating the next blow. She spun as she came up and then ducked again, a near miss as the second blow swung above her head. In her crouched position, she sprang at the second orc, her daggers crisscrossed before her as she slammed them into the exposed flesh of its belly. Separating her knives, she flayed the filth open, its tainted innards spilling onto the stone.
Tauriel warily surveyed her last opponent as the orc she gutted dropped to the ground. It held a long spear in its hands, meant to keep close combat to a minimum. Her daggers would only be useful if she could get close enough to cut. If only Thranduil had not cleaved her bow in half, she'd still have it and the odds would not be against her.
But wishing for her bow couldn't help her now. Her knives rarely failed her and she must trust in her skills and experience. Her opponent circled around her, seeking an opening. The orc possessed mandibular fangs that when paired with its thin, beady eyes, gave it a permanent grumpy look. She kept pace with it, arcing one dagger defensively at her shoulder level and the other held steady before her, prepared for the first strike.
At the first thrust, Tauriel blocked with her leading dagger and slashed at the orc with her other dagger. Her opponent jumped back the same time as she. With a snarl, it attacked again levering the spear towards her breast. Tauriel danced sideways inverting the knife in her right hand. At the next strike, she blocked again with the left, stepping in to deliver a swift slice to the orc's arm. Without stopping, she spun under that same arm ducking behind and striking.
The orc turned to face her but not before she managed another slice to its shoulder. Tauriel found herself on the defensive again as it used the weapon to push her out of her daggers reach and charged its own blade in forward momentum. She reverted her right blade, crisscrossing both blades to stop the spear before it could pierce her chest. With a yell she pushed the spear up and away from her, her dagger meeting the metal a second later as the orc brought it down upon her.
With every thrust and parry, every push and pull, the orc forced her closer to the rim of stone overlooking the tableau where Kíli and Bolg lay dead. Tauriel feinted to the left and struck in a roundhouse kick, forcing her assailant back. Tauriel followed through, stepping in for another cut. She caught the blunt end of the spear's shaft to her side. There was a flare of pain as the orc twisted the spear on the withdraw, her armor and the top layer of her skin sliced by the blade.
Tauriel leapt back landing on the edge of stone once more. She could feel blood flowing from her wound. If she survived, it would heal. The same could be said of her ribs and the wound on her head from Bolg's fist. But not her heart. Her heart would never heal from Kíli's death. For half a second she glanced away from her enemy to look upon her fallen prince where he lay below.
Gentle brown eyes, the color of rich warm chestnut, stared back up at her.
Startled, Tauriel barely managed to block the orc's attack, the edge of the blade not three inches from her face. She pushed back, using her leg strength to throw it off and back away from her. With renewed fervor and an anxiety to confirm that what she had seen was true, she aimed three quick, strong slices to the shaft of the spear, slicing the blade head completely off.
Leaping back, she turned her head to glance back down at Kíli, hardly daring to believe his eyes were open.
It is just a dream.
His eyes were closed and he lay where he had been. The hope that had flared in her chest died a quick death. The folly of her mistake cost her the advantage as the orc wielded his broken spear shaft like a club. It hit her directly in the chest sending her flying off the rim, thrown twelve feet below to where Kíli lay.
She hit the ground, her skull cracking against the snow-covered stone. She let out a cry as her ribs suffered once more upon impact. If any of them had been cracked, Tauriel was positive they were broken now. Each breath felt heavy and laden with hardship. Black dots and stars danced across vision, her ears were ringing with a high pitched sound. She watched helplessly as the orc began to descend the stairs. It had picked up the sword previously wielded by another.
It is just a dream.
From beyond her field of sight, arrows appeared out of nowhere, striking the orc in its chest. One. Two. Three.
Her vision faded in and out. One moment the orc was halfway down the steps, sword raised in its hand. The next, it was crumpled on the next to the last step near the first of its group that she had slain. Multiple arrows pierced its body.
Tauriel heard her name being called but she couldn't respond. Every rib hurt. Her lungs were burning with the effort just to draw in each breath. She knew that voice. It sounded as if it were shouting from far away, calling her name.
Legolas.
Her friend had come to save her. His face obscured her vision for a moment as he paused over her. He was speaking to her but she could not hear him clearly. Then he doubled and there were two of him. Both Legolas's looked up at something in the distance before aiming their bow and firing in twin shots. He leapt out of her sight a moment later. Both of him.
It is just a dream.
Tauriel's head rolled to the side, the effort of staying conscious becoming too great a burden. Her vision blurred, obscuring all details until she became aware of two sets of chestnut colored eyes looking at her again.
It is just a dream. This cannot be real.
Kíli's face came into a single point of focus for a brief instant. His face was turned towards her, his beautiful dark eyes watching her. Her sight doubled again, darkness blackening her peripheral. Through the murky haze that tried to pull her under, Tauriel saw his fingers move, his arm lifting and reaching out towards her. She could see a word forming upon his lips but could not hear his voice over the cotton that had become lodged in her ears. She would know that word, having heard it once before from his very lips.
Amrâlimê
Her eyelids fluttered closed without her permission to do so. Even as the blackness engulfed her, Tauriel screamed out against the dark, berating it for taking her away from the dwarf prince.
A few weeks earlier…
He was staring at her again.
Ever since his capture two days ago, the young dark haired dwarf was always staring at Tauriel. Even Legolas had questioned her on it. She had no answer for him that she was willing to speak of. The Prince would not take kindly to news of the overt advances the prisoner had made to her.
Tauriel stood straight and tall on the bridge that overlooked the Woodland Realm's dungeons. From this vantage point she could hear and see all the cells occupied by the company of dwarves. This was her second night overseeing the watch. The first night had been relatively loud from a number of the older dwarves as they cast insults and various curses at her person. Tonight there had been grumbling from some of the cells, but they were not nearly as boisterous about their dislike of her. Or their hatred of elves in general.
It was quieter now, the hour growing later. Most were asleep or giving the pretense of being asleep. The rotund, short dwarf with the balding red head was snoring so loud, Tauriel did not doubt his slumber was real.
"What is your name?"
The question had come from the dark haired one. Of course it would. His eyes had been burning holes into her face ever since the start of her shift. Tauriel turned her head to look at him. His face was pressed against the bars of his cell as he peered out at her.
A slender brow lifted upon her pale countenance. "Is it not customary to give one's own name first?"
The corners of his lips quirked as if he found her question amusing although she could not see how. She looked upon him, waiting for answer. As the silence stretched out between them she couldn't help but note that he was not at all like the other dwarrow. His jaw, while not clean-shaven, lacked the full braided beards that most of the others beheld. From what she knew of his race, either he was very young or he had recently been in mourning.
"Kíli."
His voice held a pleasantly deep timbre to its resonance of his name. It echoed in the alcoves momentarily until it was swallowed into the waterfall at the back of the cavern. Tauriel shook herself out of her reverie over his lack of beard and turned towards his cell to address her prisoner.
"Tauriel." She inclined her head as it was considered a polite acknowledgement of his presence. She should have turned back to her watch but found herself viewing his personage much as he looked at her. He was tall for a dwarf, the top of his head meeting her breastplate when she had escorted him into his cell. He was not as broad as some of his companions and the longer she took inventory of his countenance, she became convinced his lack of beard was due to youth instead of grief.
He dropped his gaze from her face, to her chest. The tips of her ears started to burn indignantly until he lowered his gaze further to her waistline. "Your daggers are magnificent Tauriel. You handle them expertly." His eyes glanced from either side to the twin blades on her hips.
The tips of her ears began to burn again, this time with embarrassed pleasure at the compliment. She took pride in the way she handled her weapons, and her rank. Not many Sindarin elves could claim the titled position she held at such a young age, but Tauriel was a Sylvan elf which made it even more unique.
There were some who speculated Thranduil had assigned her the position in a fit of nepotism, favoring an orphaned Sylvan elf out of pity. Tauriel knew that not to be true; her own hard work had gained her title for her. She had dedicated herself to the guard; never begging off a training session nor missing a shift once she had been placed on the guard. Under her Captain's tutelage she had volunteered for extra shifts, taken on additional duties and worked her way up the ranks until she was able to command her own team.
For all that hard working devotion and the time she committed, the only acknowledgement Thranduil had ever given to her skills and experience was appointing her Captain. A rare chance at her age but other than granting her current title, there had been no verbal praise or approval from her king in a long time. Not since she was an elfling. And his was the approval Tauriel sought most.
"Thank you," she vocalized, turning her head back to resume her watch. Tauriel thought that would be the end of the conversation but she was incorrect.
"Did you make your blades yourself?"
Since he seemed to want to carry on a conversation, Tauriel stepped away from her post taking the few steps away from the bridge and up the stairs to arrive in front of his cell. Standing before him, Kíli had to incline his head up to see her.
"I did not. Master Oldhinor crafted my daggers for me." Tauriel unsheathed one of her daggers. She did not put it within Kíli's reach - she knew better than that - but she turned it towards the light so that he could have a better look. "He is a true master of crafting fine weaponry." The blade was crafted from a sturdy type of metal that gave off a hue of golden sunshine in the right light. Oldhinor had cut design holes into the metal, making it lighter and easier for her to spin. There were small grooves in the stout wooden handle, created over time by her handling of the blade.
"They are well made," Kíli agreed after looking upon them for a few minutes. "Are you so skilled with any other weaponry?"
Tauriel put her dagger back in its scabbard. "I am an expert with a bow." Her voice was not bragging, just matter of fact.
Kíli grinned at her, his teeth stark white set amidst the dark stubble of his face. "That's my weapon. I'm an archer."
Tauriel's brow lifted again in question. "Truly? Is that not an unusual choice for your kind?" Her voice was not scornful, merely curious.
"Not so unusual," Kíli disagreed. He leaned against the cell wall, crossing his arms in front of him. "We all use bows to hunt for game, but there are some dwarrow who find they handle a bow better than an axe or blade." He grinned again, his voice warm with pride and bragging as he stated, "I'm one of them."
"It is a short bow is it not?"
Tauriel's question led to a conversation on the types of bows each of them preferred. She didn't recall when she sat down on the steps to listen to Kíli talk. She also didn't recall when the conversation turned from preference on weapons to sharing stories of battle. Tauriel spoke to Kíli of other spider nests the guard had destroyed. In return, Kíli regaled her with tales of his days as a hired guard on the Greenway, protecting the goods of merchants from the hands of thieves. It wasn't until nearly three hours had passed that there was a lull in the conversation, both of them having run out of stories to share.
"I suppose we're not so very different."
The thought slid past Tauriel's lips before she could stop herself from speaking it. She glanced down at the ground, scuffing the toe of her boot upon the stone floor, engaged in contemplation of what she meant. Kíli's enthusiastic mannerisms and easy smiles clashed with all she had been told of dwarrow's secretive and underhanded nature. The king himself was of the opinion that all dwarves were untrustworthy, deal breaking werth. Had she grudgingly accepted these assumptions as fact without questioning why?
"I suppose not," Kíli agreed. "In fact you and I have quite a bit in common; I'm also an expert master of my own weapon."
Tauriel's head whipped up as she caught him grinning in the most rakish manner at her. The double entendre laced in the tone of his innuendo was not lost on Tauriel's ears. It was not the first time he had flirted so unashamedly.
"Are you indeed?" Tauriel's lips twitched for a mere moment as she struggled to control the laughter that suddenly bubbled up inside of her. He really was incorrigible. She had experience with putting him in his place and she did so once again. She stood to her feet, affecting a placid tone, "Self-taught no doubt."
Kíli's infectious laughter over her teasing taunt let Tauriel know she hadn't offended her cheeky prisoner in the slightest.
After the battle...
"-don't care if you think a healer is not needed. I say she needs one! Send for your elves at once!"
Dimly Tauriel heard a voice she had thought to never hear again. Joy surged through her body knowing whom it belonged to, hastening her awareness as she woke.
"The healers are not mine to command Pe-channas. They are here to assist the most serious injuries of those that cannot heal themselves." Legolas was not even bothering to disguise the tone of his annoyance with Kíli. "She heals quickly as we all do. There is no need to bother a healer who would be better serving another."
"Oh fine job they are doing!" Sarcasm laced Kíli's voice. Why did he sound insulting about elfish healing? "Fíli is up dancing a jig over how well they have done! Gandalf is with him now, celebrating their skills! And here I come to check on Tauriel and look - she too is rejoicing in good health!" Kíli's undignified rant was cut short when Legolas spat a very nasty curse at him in Sindarin.
"Will you two stop arguing? Dôl nin..."
The sound of Tauriel's weary voice startled both the dwarf and the elf. They turned to face her. Identical masks of worry and concern decorated their faces. Tauriel might have laughed if she wasn't feeling every bit of the beating she had just taken in her ribs and head. Her ribs were still tender and bruised, but the bones had healed themselves and she could breathe easier. Contrary to Kíli's words, she could feel cloth bindings on her chest indicating someone had seen to her health. Her head ached at the back where her skull had cracked against stone.
She pushed up on her forearms, struggling to sit up, with the need to gain her bearings. She was obviously in a tent, one set up by Woodland elves if she had to guess from the furnishings. She lay on a long cot that was typically used for the wounded. The table to her left was filled with instruments and herbs for healing. Two elves bustled by the entrance carrying armfuls of bandages. Beyond the doorway, she could see more tents. Past that Tauriel could make out the shadowy skyline of Dale, indicating they were on the outskirts of the battlefield between the city and Erebor.
"Tauriel." Legolas was at her side in an instant. Behind him, Kíli was glowering at the back of his head. The elven prince offered her a skin of water that she drank from until it was nearly empty. Tauriel slid it back into Legolas's hands when she was done, shaking her head when he would have given more.
"How long was I out?" Tauriel lifted her hand to touch the back of her head. It ached where her fingers pressed into the half healed wound. Another day or two and it would be completely gone.
"A day and a half too long, my friend; you worried your idiotic dwarf." Legolas's tone in Sindarin left little doubt he had no patience for Kíli. He set the water skin aside.
Tauriel was glad in that moment, that Kíli did not understand Sindarin. But she understood, and that was enough to upset her. "You are right, Legolas. I do heal quickly." She frowned. "But Kíli is not an idiot. And you insult me when you call him such."
Legolas lifted a brow at her fierce tone, his eyes dilating the only sign her words bothered him as his sky blue eyes bored into hers. She didn't break the stare even though his status demanded she should look away first, lowering her head in deference. Legolas was the Crown Prince of the Woodland Realm. But she was no longer a welcomed member of that realm as ordered by Thranduil.
"You have changed Tauriel."
"War changes all people, Legolas," Tauriel switched to the common tongue, transitioning easily enough. She chose her words carefully, not wanting to start an argument with her friend. Their relationship had been precariously different since she left Thranduil's kingdom to chase after thirteen dwarves.
No, that wasn't true. The changes between herself and elf prince had started when Thranduil had voiced aloud the feelings his son had for her. Tauriel's chest tightened in memory of that uncomfortable meeting in which the elven king had ordered her to give his son no hope to have his feelings returned.
"No," Legolas objected in Westron. Her attempt to placate him had his mouth pulling down in a frown. "You were changed long before Orcs attacked the gates of the Woodlands." Legolas gestured towards Kíli. He switched back to Sindarin. "He changed you!"
The gazes of the two elves locked again. Tauriel didn't deny Legolas's charge. How could she deny the truth? Kíli had changed her, but not as Legolas seemed to presume. The urges had already been there, she had simply lacked the courage to defy her king and stand alone, against the darkness. But that had all changed when thirteen dwarrow fell out of the spiders' nest.
Kíli had opened her mind to the world beyond the borders of the forest. Long had she dreamt of seeing it before she even set eyes on the dwarf prince. When the forest had turned dark, wretched and wrong, Tauriel had petitioned the King's help to prevent its spread - to no avail. Thranduil wanted only to endure the ever growing darkness, while Tauriel longed to fight it back to nothing.
Kíli may have been the spark that ignited her certitude, but now that she had found it, Tauriel refused to put it out.
When she did not respond to his vehement charge, Legolas made a noise of disgust and abruptly left the tent. Tauriel let out a shaky breath she didn't realize she'd been holding in. She swallowed around a suddenly dry mouth, tears blurring her vision again.
Her friendship with Legolas had been tenuous the past few weeks, and now she wasn't sure if it was broken entirely. How laughable that King Thranduil had gotten precisely what he wanted, when there had been nothing romantic between them in the first place. At least, not on her part. Legolas was her friend and a brother in her heart. Tauriel dropped her head, eyes closing as she tried to compose herself.
"Are you alright?" Kíli's gentle question sounded from right in front of her. Tauriel opened her eyes to see he was standing before her.
"No." She shook her head. Those stupid tears wouldn't leave her eyes. Everything had been off kilter for her since the dwarrow company invaded her homelands. The ellon she considered a father figure had thrown her out, her most trusted friend was disgusted by her choices and she had nearly lost Kíli - twice. Too much had happened in what seemed the blink of an eye. Which it was to an elf like Tauriel, with her numerous years ahead of her.
"Is it because of him?" Kíli scowled, looking towards the entrance Legolas had departed from.
"Some of it." Tauriel took a calming breath trying to resist the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. "And because of you."
"Me?" He blinked and looked back at her.
"I thought you were dead," Tauriel told him. From where she sat, Kíli was now the taller of the two but only by an inch or so. It was she who had to tilt her head slightly to speak to him.
"So did I." Kíli's warm gaze met hers. "Rather, I had thought you were dead when that orc threw you off the side." He took a step forward, crowding her space, his hand reaching up to tenderly cup the back of her head where it hit upon the rock. He pulled her head forward to examine it, his fingers sifting through her fiery strands. "Amazing," he breathed. She pulled her head back.
"How fast you heal," he explained at her questioning look. "Only hours ago you had a gash right here." His fingers pressed into her hair drawing a line to demonstrate. Tauriel's breath hitched at the intimacy of his touch, his palms brushing the tips of her ears. Although it was not on purpose, his caress had the effect of warming her from the top of her head, to the tips of her toes. His hand in her hair was entirely inappropriate. She should object. She really should.
"When I rolled Bolg off of you, I thought the worst had happened," Tauriel confessed instead of scolding him for touching her so intimately. It was completely un-elf like and she was a bit embarrassed to find she liked it.
"Squashed by an orc," Kíli mused before nodding his head. "I do believe you're right. There is nothing worse."
Tauriel could not contain her peal of laughter. "Your mother is right Kíli. You are hopelessly reckless."
"Then I suppose I am fortunate to have you around." Kíli's dark eyes twinkled with mirth. "Otherwise what would I do?"
They stared at each other; unspoken relief at each other being alive shared in that moment. Kíli's levity faded, replaced by an affectionate stare. "I guess this is the third time I'll thank you for saving me." He had not replaced his grip on her hair, his fingers now gently caressing the skin of her neck.
Tauriel's face warmed in response to his touch. "Fourth." Tauriel's heart leapt in erratic beats in response to the heat that flared in his eyes as she licked her suddenly dry lips. Yes, quite inappropriate. She decided that she quite liked inappropriate.
His eyes flicked down to her lips, back to her eyes. Kíli moved his hand, releasing her hair to cup her cheek. His large thumb brushed away the track of a tear that had escaped her eye earlier. "The arrow only counts as one," his voice was husky as he corrected her, leaning in closer.
"My mistake," Tauriel murmured. Her eyes shifted to his lips as his face descended, her eyes fluttering closed at the last moment. Her skin tingled in anticipation of feeling his lips on hers.
A loud, forced cough sounded from the entrance of the tent.
Or not.
Both elf and dwarf heads swiveled towards the sound. There stood a wizened old figure with long gray robes, a silver scarf, full gray beard and a tall crooked hat. "I do beg your pardon. I hate to interrupt such a pleasant sight after yesterday's horrors." His gruff voice conveyed a gracious apology. "But, I have finished my initial examination of your brother, Kíli, and we need to discuss it." The apologetic tone had slid from his voice, grave seriousness replacing it.
Kíli went rigid in front of her. Tauriel reached up to take his hand away from her cheek, squeezing it in her own. "What is wrong, Kíli?" She glanced between the dwarf and the gray cloaked man. She could sense a large source of magical energy radiating from him that commanded a healthy, wary respect from her.
Wizard. Mithrandir.
She had heard stories of the gray wizard with his silver scarf and crooked hat. Tauriel had never met him, but there were not many elves who could claim to have no knowledge of him whatsoever. There had been rumors of his presence seen in the south of the Woodlands near Dôl Guldur, but it had been many centuries since that gossip had graced her ears.
"It is my brother, Fíli," Kíli turned away from Gandalf to address her question. His brow was heavy with worry as he said, "When they found him, he was still alive but barely. Your elfish healers have tried their magic and healing skills, but there is something wrong. I asked Gandalf to help him. I came to check on you while he saw to Fíli."
Tauriel's lips lifted in a tiny smile. "I thank you for your concern, Kíli." She rose to her feet. "But, you should be with your brother. Shall you attend him?"
"Come with us," Kíli tugged gently on her hand, the one he still held. "There is nothing Gandalf will tell me that you should not be privy to."
Tauriel glanced at Gandalf who gave no indication one way or the other of his approval or disapproval of her company. She inclined her head at Kíli. "Very well."
Reluctantly, Tauriel let go of Kíli's hand before they left the tent, Gandalf leading the way. She had enjoyed the contact of their linked palms, but outside the tent there were many eyes that would disapprove of the sight of an elf and dwarf hand-in-hand.
Fíli's tent was not far from where Tauriel had woken. Kíli went in first, Tauriel following him as Gandalf held back the flap. Inside she recognized the healer dwarf from Esgaroth, his flattened trumpet hanging from a cord at his neck. Óin. Óin was sitting by Fíli's side, using a soaked cloth to wipe the prince's face and neck. There was another dwarf with a long white beard and dark red robes standing at Fíli's head. She did not recall his name.
To say Fíli looked unwell was an understatement. His countenance was waxy, his skin pale and bloodless, as if death held him a breath away. Tauriel would have suspected he was dead, if not for a very subtle movement of his chest rising and falling. The Crown Prince's upper chest was bared, a very long, heavily stitched, jagged black suture pronounced from his sternum to his hip. His right leg was bound in a splint as was one of his arms.
"What has happened to Fíli?" Tauriel nearly choked on her question. Inside the tent, the air felt heavy, thick; clogging her throat in its stagnancy. She moved to the side of the entryway, staying close to the outside with its fresher air. Gandalf ducked in and removed his crooked hat. The wizard followed Kíli over to Fíli's side where he was laying on a cot similar to the one Tauriel had woken on.
"Azog," Kíli ground the name out on a growl, sitting in an empty chair across from Óin. "Before he killed my uncle, he found my brother. His blade sliced through him and then Azog threw him off the ramparts, breaking his bones." Kíli reached out for his brother's uninjured arm, taking his hand and holding it.
Tauriel sucked back a gasp at the news of Kíli's uncle. "Thorin Oakenshield has fallen? Truly?" She could recall the regal bearing and fierce glares given to her as she walked past his cell in the dungeons. She crossed her arms in front of her, a chill racing down her spine that had nothing to do with her memory of him. What she knew of Thorin, from the mouth of his kin, the king would not have easily fell.
"It is true," Gandalf's solemn confirmation answered her question. The aged wizard shifted and then settled down into a chair next to Óin's. His gaze turned to Fíli. "And I fear that another son of Durin may fall."
Tauriel turned her gaze on Fíli, making a quick diagnosis on what she could see, smell and hear. The sound of his heartbeat in his chest was faster than it should be, spiking every few seconds. She could smell rust and salt, mixed with sweat that indicated a fever. It was odd to think he had a fever, which should have pinked his skin, instead of his deathly pallor. Her sharp eyes zeroed in on the source of the rust and salt smell. Blood. His sutures were saturated with blood. Fresh blood.
"Why is he still bleeding?" Tauriel glanced between the three males, her brow puckered in consternation. Elves had better healing magic than what she could see had been managed of Fíli's wounds.
"He still bleeds from his sutures even though they are stitched tight. His wounds don't respond to the best elvish healing and there have been quite a few in to see him." It was the red-robed dwarf who answered her question, a short silence punctuating his words. "Eighteen at my last count. Not one of them has been able to knit his bones back together. They come and leave within five minutes of coming near him, pale and exhausted of all attempts to heal him."
"That is why I asked Gandalf to help him, Balin. Just as he helped Thorin." Kíli's dark, worried gaze landed on Gandalf. "Can you heal him?"
"That, my friend, is exactly what I have been asking myself. And I find myself unsure of the answer."
"What do you mean Gandalf? Can you not heal him?"
"I don't know, Kíli. After my initial examination, I find that there are forces here that may be beyond my capability. Certainly beyond that of the elves."
Tauriel met Kíli's glance, her confusion over the wizard's statement mirrored in his.
"Somehow this is all tied to Dôl Guldur." Gandalf's brow wrinkled as he puzzled it out. "I found your grandfather Thráin in that tainted place."
Kíli's jaw hung slack as did Balin's and Óin's. Tauriel did not know the reason for their mimicked expressions until Balin exclaimed, "But he is dead!"
"He is," Gandalf agreed. "Now. He was not dead when I found him there." He let them absorb that fact before continuing. "When I arrived at Dôl Guldur there was an enchantment concealing the evil within. A powerful necromancer had taken residence within the cursed city and he held Thráin hostage."
"I did not recognize your grandfather at first, nor did he know me. He was like a wild animal, in the thrall of a dark sickness that poisoned his mind. He fought me until I cast the sickness away." Every now and then, Gandalf paused to take a breath, his slow, deliberate voice pained as if dreading what he had to say. "We were to escape Dôl Guldur together but the shadow of the enemy blocked the gates and consumed Thráin before I could save him."
Tauriel paced in front of the door, wishing nothing more than to step out into the night air, agitation stirring her blood. The wizard was confirming every suspicion she had of the evil plaguing the Greenwood, tainting it into the murky darkness that had caused men to call it Mirkwood. It spawned from that southern tip as she had thought, but she hadn't known the true depth of the poison that resided there.
Kíli looked disconcerted. Balin had tears in his eyes at the news of his cousin's death.
"I have been thinking upon Thráin's state of mind - how he had been tainted with the dark one's evil," Gandalf continued. He looked directly at Kíli. "I also asked myself how it is that morgul poison spread through Kíli when none of Aulë's children had ever been affected by it before?"
Kíli's brows drew together trying to figure out the importance to Gandalf's question. Balin was rubbing his face to his arm, wiping away tears. It was Óin who answered Gandalf's question as he continued to wipe down Fíli's head. "Dwarrow do not fall to the corruption of Mordor as elves and men do."
"Three sons of Durin have now been touched by it. And I am trying to understand why."
Tauriel sucked in a shocked gasp. Gandalf's knowing gaze met her horrified one. "You can sense it can't you?" He nodded his head towards Fíli. "Even now, you shy away from him as all your brethren have."
"Sense what?" Kíli looked lost between the wizard's statement and the way Tauriel paced like a caged animal in front of the door.
It was getting harder to breathe the longer she stayed near Fíli and now the elleth understood why with Gandalf's inference. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to stand still, for Kíli's sake. Tauriel was sure her eyes looked as apprehensive as Gandalf's as she turned to face him. "There is a shadow of malevolence hovering here with your brother's fea. It poisons his body, leaching his spirit and robbing him of his soul."
Tauriel winced as his beautiful, brown eyes widened in shock. Kíli's gaze snapped to his brother's face, disbelief and grief replacing all other emotions.
She watched helplessly as he reeled from the heavy blow she had just delivered. She longed to run to him. To hug him and to console him. Instead she was pitifully inert, locked by long held prejudices and her own weakness against the oppressive sorcery that charged the tent.
"If this is some evil from a Morgul blade, then let the elf heal him!" Óin was looking at Tauriel as he said this. "She healed Kíli. She can do it for his brother."
It was Gandalf who answered the healer. "It is not the same. The venality is strong; and it is not like the morgul poison shaft that pierced Kíli." The wizard's gaze fell upon the young prince, speaking directly to him. "Whatever has hold of your brother is..."
"Old." Tauriel supplied the word when Gandalf seemed speechless to name it. "The air in here is foul with corrupt magic, sucking in all that is bright." She turned her face to the side, trying to breathe in the fresher air from outside as her stomach began twisting. Óin had said her kinfolk had been in and left in less than five minutes. Tauriel wasn't sure how much longer she could stand to be near Fíli.
"Is there nothing you can do?" Tears poured from Kíli's eyes as he stroked his brother's palm. "Am I just to sit here and watch my brother die, Gandalf?" He lifted his gaze to look at the wizard.
Gandalf chewed on his lip, considering Kíli's question. Several tense minutes passed in which the only sounds that could be heard were muted conversations from outside the tent and the splash of water as Óin continually wet and wrung out the cloth he used on Fíli's fever.
"I will try," Gandalf finally said. "I shall need you to stand back." He rose to his feet.
Kíli smoothed back a lock of hair from Fíli's forehead. Leaning down he whispered something in the dwarvish language to his brother before reluctantly letting go of his hand. He stepped away from Fíli's body and joined Tauriel near the entrance. Óin tossed his cloth into the bucket of water, moving it and himself to another corner of the tent. Balin heaved a great sigh before joining Kíli's other side.
Gandalf put his hand out over Fíli's body, closing his eyes and muttering in a strange, mystical language. Tauriel heard every enunciation with her keen ears, but she did not understand the words he spoke. She could feel the gathering of power behind the spell he was casting. It was pushing against the onerous energy that came from Fíli.
Fíli lay still as death until the third repetitive incantation, when suddenly his whole body jerked. She felt a jolt next to her, Kíli reacting to his brother's movement. As Gandalf continued, the great wizard's voice increased from a quiet murmur to a modulated edict. Fíli's body responded to Gandalf's magic, violently jerking and thrashing with each invocation, popping sutures open. Blood oozed from the newly opened wounds, running in rivulets down the Prince's sides.
"What are you doing?! Stop! You're hurting him!"
Tauriel caught Kíli's shoulders before he could run to Fíli, wrapping her arms around his neck. He fought her hold, clawing at her hands with desperation. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, holding on as tight as she could. She would have lost him if not for Balin throwing his arm across Kíli's chest and harshly commanding, "Be still! He is helping your brother!"
Kíli stopped struggling. Tauriel eased her grip only slightly on him. They watched as Fíli continued to toss, turn and jerk upright. Kíli trembled beneath her arms and she squeezed his shoulders to let him know she was there for him. His hand reached up to squeeze her forearm locked over his collarbone.
Gandalf's spell reached a raucous crescendo, every word that left his lips an austere command, demanding an answer. He now held two hands over Fíli's flailing visage, a brilliant glow captured between his palms. The pulse of power and light increased as the wizard's voice did until it was almost blinding.
Tauriel became aware of a sound that started like a soft, but annoying buzz. She thought it came from the wizard, but the sound changed, swiftly becoming a penetrating, shrill cacophony juxtaposed by the wizard's voice. The din gained in volume, shrieking and whining in a high squeal, painfully drowning out all other sound. With a soft cry, she let go of Kíli to cover her ears.
Kíli whirled to face her, concern etched across his face. His lips moved but she could not hear him over the noise. He tried to move her hands and she jerked away from him so that he could not. Not that it mattered. Even with her ears covered, the discord continued to swell, overwhelming her senses with its frenzied cadence. Tauriel's knees buckled and she fell to the ground, a shaft of pain ripping through her head, like someone thrust a burning blade into her skull.
Kíli knelt next to her, shouting something to Balin she couldn't make out above the clamor that ruled her senses. Pain flared through her, her ribs feeling as if they were re-breaking from where she had recently healed. Kíli turned towards Gandalf and she knew he was shouting but she still could not hear his voice. The dwarf prince blanched and shot to his feet. Bleary-eyed, Tauriel followed his line of sight seeking the source of his shock. She reeled upon seeing Fíli's mouth open; a thick, shimmering, black mist curling outward from his lips. The harsh dissonance resounded from him!
Gandalf made one final flourish and released his spell. He cupped his hand over Fíli's mouth and pushed the bright, white light inside the dwarf. Abruptly the jagged symphony fell silent. Tauriel collapsed as the sound quit, her taut body releasing like an arrow from a quiver. Her breath came in ragged gasps, body trembling as she tried to recover.
Silence. Blessed silence.
Brief silence.
An explosion of hellish harmony burst forth from Fíli in a screaming composition of malicious mist. It surged over Gandalf, hurtling him away from the Crown Prince. Óin quickly caught Gandalf before he fell, the wizard as gray as his moniker, as he sank to his knees.
Tauriel cowered on the ground, curling up in a fetal position, screaming as she was bombarded once again by the sound. She pressed her fists to her ears. Nothing she could do would stop the incessant frenzy invading her head, pain erupting everywhere the sound touched. Warm wetness spurted through her fingertips,
She would do anything to make it stop - gouge out her eyes, tear off her ears, rip her skin from her bones. Anything. To die would be more pleasant than to live in this agony.
And just as she wished for death, all was silent once more.
Translations:
** werth - Traitors
**Pe-channas - Idiot
**Amrâlimê – Beloved
Author's Notes:
**Weta is the manufacturer/designer of Tauriel's daggers. For fun, I put their company name in one of those online "Get your elfish name" translators and it translated their name to Oldhinor. I liked it and decided to use it in this fanfiction as the maker of Tauriel's daggers.
**A wonderful fanfiction author by the name of Gefionne from AO3 directed me to elfish and dwarf language websites along with words collected from a Sindarin dictionary to create the dialogue in dwarf and elf for this story. . & . ?name=Khuzdul#family