A/N: Look at me, going fast! Plus, this one's really long, which I'm really proud of. :) Anyway, hope you enjoy it!
I lifted my hood over my head to protect my face from the slowly falling snow, knowing I must find somewhere to stay for the night soon. The heavy clouds overhead threatened a full-out blizzard. I pulled out my worn map, checking one last time that I am still headed to Imladris, and nodded in satisfaction. I should be there before too much longer. I could only hope that I reach the Hidden Valley before the blizzard hits.
My mind wandered as I replaced the map. At first, I managed to keep it on safe paths, remembering all my journeys over the past year, but then it made its way, as it always did, to him. I made an attempt to return my thoughts to my visit to the Shire and the Hobbit who had welcomed me into his hole. It failed miserably. He plagued my thoughts, refusing to let me forget my guilt and pain. I couldn't escape, no matter how hard I tried. So, instead, I allowed myself to sink into the memories, the sorrow. It was a day that would always be fresh in my memory.
: :
I finally located Imladris as the gentle flurry became a fierce blizzard. As I descended into the valley, the air grew warmer and the snow turned to rain, sweet and refreshing. Looking around to make sure no one was watching me, I tilted my head back and opened my mouth, feeling the raindrops hit my tongue. My mother used to take me out of the forest whenever it rained, and we'd stand like this together. That sweet memory made me smile. Hearing approaching footsteps, I quickly snapped my mouth shut and my head forward, hoping whoever it was hadn't seen that. His face looked completely composed as he came approached, and I couldn't tell what he thought of me. Then I shrugged mentally. I wouldn't be staying long, so it didn't really matter what one servant had seen me do.
As he approached me, I threw my hood off so that he could see my face. He asked who I was, and I replied calmly, trying to act normal, "Tauriel of the Woodland Realm."
There was a brief flash of surprise on his face as he bowed. He probably wasn't used to seeing Elves from Mirkwood. Most of us stayed in the forest. But his composure was completely regained by the time he straightened, saying, "Lord Elrond would speak with you."
Once I had been deemed not dangerous by the Lord of Imladris, the same servant who had greeted me earlier led me to my chamber. The room was small, but graceful, decorated with stone carvings and murals. The colors all seemed muted, faded. It had a sense of solemn melancholy about it. It was the sort of place that one was very quiet in, out of respect. I hoped I wouldn't scream that night.
: :
I lay on the rough stone, my body racked with pain. The gigantic Orc, nearly twice my size, looms over me, raising his mace to deliver the killing blow. My knives are gone, my bow broken, my arrows spent. I am completely defenseless. Somehow, the knowledge that I am about to die does not fill me with fear. Thranduil was wrong. I am ready to die for love.
But then a small, stocky figure leaps from the rocks above onto Bolg's back, stabbing at him with a short sword. Bolg roars, grabbing my savior and throwing him onto the stone steps nearby. As the mace comes crashing down upon him, he quickly twists out of the way, getting to his feet. He makes a heroic effort to defeat the undefeatable, but in seconds, the Orc has him by the throat, his torso exposed. Bolg raises the pointed end of his mace, ready to impale my rescuer.
But I can't let it end this way. I haul my broken body up once more and leap onto the Orc's back, fingers and toes scrabbling for purchase, fingernails searching for anything soft to dig into. Adrenaline surges through me, giving me strength. But I can't beat him, not without a weapon. He rips me off of his back and tosses me as if I'm weightless to the edge of the cliff. The impact drives the breath out of my body, and I lay there a moment, unable to move for the pain. As I look up, I am just in time to see the stake plunge into his chest. I cry out, feeling as though a stake has been driven through my own heart. Our eyes lock, and a tear rolls down his cheek as the last breath he will ever take slowly leaks from his body. I have failed to save him.
: :
I woke up screaming, tangled in the bedsheets. Tears were freely streaming down my face and I was breathing hard. I had to leave. By then, I'd probably woken half the Elves in Imladris. I was reminded of why I had tried to stay away from people during my travels.
So I gathered my things quickly, throwing my cloak over my shoulders, clasping it at my neck, feeling it settle around me like an old friend. As I shouldered my pack, an Elf of Imladris, the one who had guided me to my chamber, entered my room. He looked rather alarmed and flustered.
"Are you injured?" he asked, looking me over. "You were heard screaming."
"Yes, I'm all right." I replied, hoping the lie didn't show on my face. "But I feel I must depart the valley."
Though he made a show of protesting, insisting I remain, I think in truth he was relieved to see me go. He probably thought I was mad. Or dangerous. Or both.
In any case, I was determined to get out of there, so I brushed past him and followed the path leading east out of the valley. It was a relief in a way for me as well. I don't have to pretend when I'm alone. I can grieve without fear of condemnation. So I moved on, deeper into the Hithaeglir.*
: :
I rested that night underneath a little cleft of rock, my knives in hand. The Hithaeglir are not safe, especially for a sole traveler. I drifted off slowly, uneasily, sitting upright against the stone. I expected the nightmare again. I dreaded it. But it did not come, for the first time in nearly a year. At least, it wasn't the same.
The dream began after his death. I am holding his body, tears rolling down my face as I gently tuck his rune-stone into his gloved hand and press it to my chest. Then I see the first time we talked, in the cell; I hear his voice telling me what the rune-stone represents to him. A promise to return to his mother. I see him give it to me on the shores of the Long Lake. A promise to return to me.
And he kept his promise, in a way. He saved me from Bolg. And when I gave the stone back to him, I was promising to return to him. I owed it to him to keep that promise.
I woke slowly, with the sunrise. It was time.
: :
It took just under two enquië** to reach Erebor from my camp in the Hithaeglir. As I traveled east, underneath the shadows of the mountains, across the Anduin at the Carrock, along the Forest Path, through the Desolation of Smaug, I realized that this was the very same path that Kíli had trod on his journey to reclaim his homeland. And I felt a connection to him, as if his spirit was watching over me. Which was very possible. Only the Valar know what becomes of the Naugrim after death. They may have Halls of Waiting, like Elves, or they may wander Arda until the Dagor Dagorath at the end of the world. I thought about this much during my weary journey.
Traveling through Taur-en-Daedelos† was strange. The trees seem to loom over me, as they had never done before, reproving me for my long absence. The branches seemed to drip with memories. I recalled many a battle against the spiders, Legolas at my side. I recalled my mother showing me how to climb the trees to reach the sweet, fresh air above the close air of the forest. I recalled climbing them many times on my own after she died. And I recalled meeting Kíli. I had thought him beneath me at the time, with his short life and evens shorter stature. Not worth my attention. How wrong he showed me to be. His death has taught me to have a greater appreciation for life.
The land surrounding Erebor is very flat, so I could see the Mountain the moment I came out of Taur-en-Daedelos. Its name is very apt. I could see the once ruined city of Dale, now bustling with life and growth, as it was before the dragon came. A time which I still remember. I could see Ravenhill from where I stood. The very place where he lost his life. Where I made my promise to return.
The stone doors towered above me, intimidating and unyielding. I had no idea how to open them. If I remembered right, some Dwarf doors could only be opened by certain words. I stared up at these particular ones, intricately decorated with Cirth and frowning Dwarves. Tentatively, I reached a hand out and touched the stone. To my surprise, they opened, groaning and grumbling. Beyond, I could see flaming torches and busy Dwarves. I could hear clanging and tapping from deep inside the massive caverns.
A Dwarf dressed in red with a forked beard white as snow approached me. He looked vaguely familiar. One of Kíli's companions perhaps? I couldn't be sure.
"I'm here-" I began, but he interrupted me.
"To see the graves. Right this way, lassie." He turned and walked away from me, deeper into the caves.
"Yes." I replied, hurrying to catch up with him. "How did you know?"
"I remember you." He replied. "You're the lass who Kíli fell for?" he asked with a wink.
I winced at how terribly true that statement was. "Yes, I suppose."
"I wondered when ye'd return." He said, leading me onward. We came to a small doorway, simply adorned. Inside, I could see three rectangular shapes wreathed in shadow. He paused to face me. "After ye've had a moment with him, I don't suppose ye'd be willing to tell us all how he died?"
I was silent for a moment, uncertain of my answer. I suppose he was worried I'd say no, so he rushed on. "You know, none of us were there when he passed. And you were the only one that was."
"I would be willing to do that." I replied before he could say more to convince me.
He smiled, relieved. "Thank ye, lassie." He said, clasping my hand briefly before moving aside to allow me into the chamber.
I took a deep breath, unsure if I was ready for this. Then I steeled myself with the memory of my promise. If I didn't have the courage then, I never would. So I stepped forward into the cavern. It was open and spacious. I could almost forget I was underground, it was so well-lit and large. My eyes rested on the three graves, and I moved forward to the first.
It was very simple, with only a few words in Cirth inscribed on the surface.
Fíli
Son of Víli
Heir of Durin
That was his brother. I remembered he spoke of him often. I would have liked to meet him; he sounded like a good person. Briefly, I touched my fingers to the stone as a sign of respect to him.
The next one was much more ornate, with the image of the king it held within carved on the surface. He was dressed grandly, with a proud, noble face and long, flowing hair. Orcrist was laid on top, his hands clasped over it, and a great jewel was set on his chest.
Thorin II Oakenshield
Son of Thráin
King under the Mountain
Kíli had spoken of him as well. He said that his father died when he was very young, so Thorin, his uncle, became a father-figure for him. He sounded like a proud, but good-hearted Dwarf. I wondered if all of Kíli's family was dead.
That answer came sooner than expected. The third grave I knew must be his, so I approached it slowly, dreading the moment when I would see his name engraved in stone. It felt so final. But I knew I could put it off no longer. I stepped up to the tomb, trying to prepare myself as best as I could. It was still painful.
Kíli
Son of Víli
It was even simpler than his brother's. It said nothing of his bravery, his cheerfulness, his innocence. I found the tears leaking from my eyes as I thought of how he had been in life. Selfless, loving, loyal. And the way he looked at me like I meant everything to him. I could see his face in my head, a small half-smile on his lips, his eyes shining.
After a few moments of standing there, the words came to my lips. "I'm finally keeping my promise." I began haltingly. "I've come back to you."
The stone was silent.
"I came here to tell you something I should have said long ago." I continued after a long pause. There was an even longer one before I spoke my next words, my voice choked by tears. "Gi melin. I think you know what that means." My chin trembled as tears pooled in my eyes, but I refused to cry. Not yet.
"I am so sorry, Kili." I managed through my throat closed with pain. "I failed you."
My legs gave way beneath me, and I knelt by his grave, crying my grief out onto it. I could hardly believe myself. I had only known him for a few days, and yet his death hurt me more deeply than anything in a long time. Since my mother's death.
The sound of a boot scuffing the stone floor startled me from my thoughts. I looked up, turned to see who was behind me. I thought it might have been the Dwarf who had brought me here, the one dressed in red. But it wasn't.
The Dwarf was dressed in deep blue, almost black, ornamented with precious jewels. The face was open and kind, although worn by grief. There was a light fuzz of hair around the jaw. I wondered if this was one of the fabled Dwarf women.
"Are ye all right, lass?" she asked. Her voice had a pleasant, lilting accent, and it was deeper than I had expected.
I hurriedly attempted to wipe my tears away and replied, "Yes, I'm fine." I looked away, hoping she couldn't see the lie in my face.
She put a hand under my chin and lifted my eyes to hers. They were kind and understanding. Sad, too, and full of wisdom. "Ye don't need to lie to me." She said. Ashamed, I found the tears streaming down my face again. She just put her arms around me and held me to her. And I just cried.
When the tears had finally dried up, I lifted my head from her bosom. She released me and looked me in the eye.
"Now, lass, how 'bout tellin' me what's wrong." She said.
"I miss him." I replied shakily, forcing the tears back.
"Aye, I do too." She said sympathetically. "He was a fine son."
Son. Oh. "You're his… mother?" I asked, surprised. And embarrassed. She nodded. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I'll leave you alone." I stood, feeling awkward. But she caught my hand and held me.
"If ye don't mind, I'd like ye to stay." She said. After I had hesitantly knelt once more, she continued. "Balin told me that ye were the only one who was there when he died. Could ye tell me how it happened? And how ye met him?" Her blue eyes look anxiously at me.
"Of course." I replied. What else could I say? After pausing a moment to gather my thoughts, I began with the first time I had seen him, in Taur-en-Daedelos. I told her how our hunting party captured them and imprisoned them. I told her of my conversation with him. Tears came into her eyes when I mentioned the rune-stone. Then, somewhat self-conscious, I told her how I had saved his life after he'd been shot.
"That was when I realized that he meant so much to me." I said. "After I almost lost him." Then I continued with our parting on the shores of the Long Lake, how he'd given his rune-stone to me. I told her how much I regretted not going with him. Perhaps I could have saved him if I had done differently. Finally, I reached his death. I paused for the first time, the terrible memories resurfacing. I didn't think I could tell her, see the pain in her eyes. I couldn't face it again.
She noticed my hesitation. "Is it too difficult for ye?" she asked.
"No, it's all right." I replied, but I wasn't so sure. Then I looked at her. She wanted to know. She had already been waiting for a year. Though she knew it would be painful, she had to find out. That gave me the courage to go on.
"I returned from Gundabad with Legolas, then left him to find Kili. He was fighting for his life atop Ravenhill. I fought my way to him. We had almost made it to each other when Bolg attacked me. He was large, nearly twice my size, and I only had my knives to defend myself with. He was about to kill me when Kili leaped in and saved me. He fought Bolg bravely, but couldn't defeat him. I tried to save him. But I failed." The tears choke my throat. "He died because of me." I couldn't look her in the face, afraid that her expression that had been so kind and sympathetic would be angry and unforgiving.
I flinched when I felt her hand under my chin, expecting her to strike me. But she merely raised my eyes to hers. I was confused at her face, still so full of understanding.
"I don't blame you." She said quietly, holding my gaze steadily. "Ye did the best ye could."
Wonder filled me. How could she forgive so easily? I had taken her son from her, but she wasn't angry or hurt. Not even cold. Tears pooled in my eyes at her unexpected kindness, and once more, I find myself crying into her with her arms wrapped tight around me. But I felt different. This was not the distraught, ashamed crying of just a few minutes ago. I was lighter after telling her. The guilt was gone. Her forgiveness had healed me as I thought nothing could.
That night, there was no nightmare. Nor the night following. I never dreamed of his death again. The one woman who I had thought would hate me for what I did was the one to set me free. Not from sorrow or grief over losing him, but guilt and shame. She had taken them from me with those simple words so many years ago. Now, she lies buried in the mountain next to her sons and her brother. And, although I do not know for certain what becomes of Dwarves after they die, I believe they are together. Someday, after Dagor Dagorath, I may even see him again. Only time will tell.
*Misty Mountains
**A 6-day period, like our weeks
†Mirkwood
A/N: There it is, folks! My first published one-shot! Please R&R, I love feedback as always!