Perhaps it was how elvish she was, how different she was from this kingdom of dwarven gold, that kept Kili going. It could not be magic; she had long since told him that the only thing she used was what could be used in her own two hands. Or maybe it was the way that she was better than gold; he had seen his uncle fall under the gold sickness, and he knew that gold just could not compare to what actually mattered.
She did not age, did not change. There was no curse tied to Tauriel. If he gave her his love then she returned it.
Gold, he knew, could not. The cold coins could only weigh down your pockets or dig into your hands.
If she realized what she did, she did not admit it; she quieted the gold's cry with only the sound of her name. Instead, she woke him up in the morning and asked him to shoot with her. She butted heads with Dwalin and made rude jokes with Nori. Yet, even when she did all those things, she was clearly different.
There was something to the way that her name was said, something to the way that she walked. Or was it how she held her bow?
All he knew was that she kept him from sinking into the hole that had nearly taken his uncle.
For that, he would fight against the gold for her. The battle was over and the kingdom reclaimed. No dwarf would have ever imagined an elf's aid.
That made her all the more valuable.