Author's Notes: Something I wrote whilst still writing the third chapter to my other Kiliel fic, which will be soon updated. Thank you for reading.
Tauriel's shift in the Mirkwood Armory shop ends and she now has a full hour to spend the remainder of the festival as a spectator before it closes. She is dressed as an elf, with prosthetic ear tips elongating her already somewhat large ears, and strands of her auburn hair plaited and pulled back in the center of her hair, the rest of it cascading down past her hips. A forest green dress and brown bodice made out of vinyl she wears, an outfit she designed and fashioned herself and took long hours of labor to complete. Her hard work has paid off in the compliments she's received throughout the day, but mostly in the confidence it gives her in embodying her favorite mythical creature.
There are other folk dressed in costume as well, and not limited in clothing pertaining solely to the renaissance period. Among the thinning crowd she spots Link and Dumbledore and other fantasy or sci-themed cosplays of fictional or original characters. There are faeries with wire wings and witches in risque dresses and other elves wearing clothes varying in simplicity and elegance. Other attendees are dressed as peasant folk or royalty of different time periods, but the most common sight is that of women wearing gypsy raiment. Often a gypsy belly dancer hip scarf is the only accessory they wear, mismatched and thrown in with the rest of their regular civilian clothing, the most minimum of efforts.
The annual opening day of the largest and oldest renaissance festival in the states is always hectic, and as much as Tauriel enjoyed her first day of work at the faire, Tauriel thirsts for a drink of the alcoholic sort, preferably of the wine variety, to unwind. The crowd is thinning as the faire draws to its end, the last of the stage performances are bidding the audience goodnight and the vendors tend to the last of their tentative customers. On her way to the nearest mead shop, Tauriel stops by Bowman's Tavern, where Bard, or Bard the Bartender as many of the ren-fest geek contingent call him, is serving up the last of his customers. He acknowledges her with a nod from his post behind the bar, his handsome face showing vestiges of the day's toil. His daughter, Sigrid, is wiping the counters, her mouth drawing into a smile when she sees Tauriel approach.
"How was your first day?" Sigrid asks, pausing from her dutiful chores as a bar maid. A pretty young girl in a steel-boned corset and layered skirt, Sigrid does well in tips that compensate for the minimum wage she earns. Tauriel herself gets paid by commission, as is the case for many of the faire employees who work in merchandising. But Tauriel is not here for the pay. She is here because she feels she belongs in this world wrought by history, industry, and folklore, even if it only lasts for ten hours a day, two day a week.
"I sold a fair amount of knives, some swords," Tauriel responds. "Busy day?"
"Yep. It was good except for when a drunk guy was hitting on me. Dad kicked him out before things got worse, or he would have kicked him out in the literal sense. Would you like a beer? I can sneak you a premium draught, but you'll have to come around in the back."
Tauriel shakes her head. Beer is low on her list of beverages of any kind. "I'm going to get mead. When are you off?"
"Till close. I have to clean the taps," Sigrid says with lament. She is not yet twenty, but has license to serve alcoholic beverages. Tauriel is eight years her senior. " I brought an extra sleeping bag in case you change your mind about camping and partying with the rest of us nerds."
Tauriel is unsure but says her thanks for her consideration, and sets again to the mead bar, her brown pleather boots padding softly on dirt. The line to the mead is relatively short, thank the gods, and as she advances two of the folk in line stand out from the rest. One has blond medium-length wavy hair and mustache that drops down on either side of his mouth in braids that are the length of his neck, four other braids running down from his temples. The other is a brunet, his hair a similar length but with no adornment, his hair half way down and slightly messy. She couldn't be entirely sure, but she thinks they might be the Durin Brothers, a popular comedy/musical duo she read about in the festival's official web page.
The one with the dark hair stops whatever he's saying to the other and gawks at her, turning to her when she gets to the foot of the line. "Good evening fair elven maiden! That is mighty fine battle attire that you wear. Did you tailor it yourself?"
In a regular setting, his greeting would have been outlandish, but on the grounds of the festival, it is common for goers and performers to be in character while in costume.
Tauriel returns his smile. "Why, yes, I did, and thank you. You have very nice attire as well. Both of you."
Despite the August humidity, they are both dressed in layers of clothing, the dark-haired one in a blue undershirt and darker blue vest with gold trimming, lending him a warrior-like appearance, the blond one dressed similarly in a hooded undershirt and mauve vest. They both wear brown pants, heavy leather boots, and carry weapons about their back and waist, which are secured with safety ties in accordance with festival policy.
"Thank you, my lady. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Kili, at your service," he says, bowing swiftly and with great flourish.
"And Fili," the blond says, mimicking the gesture with less grandiosity.
"Tauriel," she says, curtsying clumsily.
"Lovely name," says Kili, his teeth white and straight as he maintains an unwavering, high-spirited smile.
"Do you work at the armory by the games area?" asks Fili. Of the two, he seems the most reserved. His hair and bearing are almost lion-like. He might be older by a year or two.
"Yes, how'd you know?"
"We saw you on my way to the stage. I was going to introduce myself then but you were busy with clients and we needed to get to the stage," Kili responds. That confirms they were indeed the Durin brothers. Like his brother, Kili has a thick Irish accent. Whether the accent is authentic or part of the act, Tauriel is uncertain, because there are ren-fest folk who fake accents, inclined in rendering poor imitations of British accents. For that matter, she is unsure if they are really brothers. They do not resemble each other much, except that they are both equally and ruggedly handsome. They are also shorter than her by about half a foot. Standing at 5'8', Tauriel is not exceedingly tall but it is also not rare for her to stand as tall as other men. These two, however, are shorter than most men she encounters, yet better-looking than most.
The duo are next in line, and as they are handing the bar maid their I.D.'s Kili turns to her. "What would the lady like to drink? On me, of course."
"Which do you recommend? I have only ever had sack mead," she says, surprised but grateful or the offer.
"Hmm," he says, his fingers wrapped around his chin and stubble in mock-thoughtfulness. "Forest green eyes, forest green clothes, a sweet smile. I think Forest Fruit will be the one for you. It's sweet but not cloying."
Tauriel's smile widens, finding the line about "a sweet smile" sappy yet charming. Little wonder that most of their fan-base are women of differing age-levels."Very well, Forest Fruit it is."
"A Forrest Fruit and two Troll's Blood, please," Kili orders for the three of them.
She hands the bar maid her I.D. and Kili hands Tauriel her drink once the bar maid serves it.
"Thank you, you didn't have to," says Tauriel as she takes it. The mead is a carmine red and it smells like berries.
"It's your first day working her isn't it?" asks Kili before she can take a sip.
"Yes. And how'd you know that?"
"I would've remembered you if I'd seen you before, Lady Tauriel. Cheers." his smile is almost impish as he raises his cup and then takes a pull of mead.
Tauriel takes a sip of her own drink to hide what she sure was going to be bashful smile. She is not usually one to take to honeyed words, and she is fairly certain that him being a stage actor has influence on his comportment, but she nonetheless cannot help being charmed.
She utters a grunt of delight that is beyond her control as the rich liquid touches her taste buds.
Kili laughs a laugh that is like nectar itself. "Told ya it was good."
Embarrassed yet again, she says nothing and takes another pull of mead.
He is flirting with her, and she knows it, and his brother knows it because he raises an eyebrow and a there is a hint of savvy, feint amusement on his lips. Fili dismisses himself, patting Kili on the back. "I'm going to find the others. I'll wait for you at the campsite. Nice to meet you, Tauriel."
"So, what are the rest of you plans for the evening?" Kili asks her as Fili merges with the rest of the crowd.
"I was just going to sip the rest of this fine mead and wander around for the last half hour before going home and watching British dramas with my cat."
He gives her yet another infectious laugh."You're not going to the after-party? They're quite fun, and as your first day it is nearly mandatory that you do."
Tauriel had been angling more towards ending her day as the usual social recluse that she is but now she is really, and not just sort of, considering to stay for post-fest shenanigans.
"I might change my mind," she says with a degree of measured flirtation and challenge.
Kili's eyebrows raise higher on his forehead and he grins lopsidedly, a grin that would surely has felled many a proper lady. Tauriel does not want to start a summer fling, and casual dating is not her forte, but for the first time in quite some time, her belly is swirling with proverbial butterflies.
"Well, leave that up to me. I'll be your guide for the remainder of the evening, should you do me the honor. I know my way around the grounds quite well. Course, there's not much time left before everything closes but at least the lines are shorter."
"A guide would be nice," she responds, and follows him.
They visit a few shops along the way, but mostly, they just talk. She learns that aside from their stage performances, the Durin Brothers also have a crafts and jewelry shop of eponymous title set near the Mermaid Cove area, which is the direction they are heading, taking the long way so that she may look at the other shops and attractions around. He reveals that he is indeed Irish and Fili is indeed his real brother, and that they followed their uncle to the states to be involved in his business endeavor.
"The Lonely Mountain Brewery," he says with pride, "I brought some with for the after-party if you'd like to try some."
She nods her head despite her disfavor for beer. He looks so enthused, she has no heart to refuse his offer. When she tells him she has Irish ancestry and recently moved to the state from Alberta, he is surprised and delighted. His smile falters, however, when she adds that she is living with her ex high-school boyfriend and now best friend Legolas, who was the one who introduced her to Bard and Sigrid and several of the other ren-fest team months prior to her employment.
"The crowned prince," he says, referring to the festival's custom of appointing royalty. Legolas is the festival's prince, and his father, Thranduil is the beloved and wise king. His tone suggests he is a bit disappointed at the news. "Is it odd? To live with an ex?"
"Not if he's a good friend," Tauriel says, wary of where the conversation is veering.
"Yes but... Guys tend to have a harder time completely getting over an ex. There's always that little bit of hope they may win the girl back." he says, dropping his old period dialect.
"It's not like that," she says, getting somewhat irritated at his presumption.
"Are you sure? He might still have feelings for you." He speaks with doubtful intonation.
Tauriel halts in front of a clothing shop, where headless manikins display detailed corsets over peasant dresses and skirts and gowns in just about every color. She feels her face go hot with anger. "Excuse me, but we just met. And I'm sure if you knew Legolas well he would have mentioned you by now."
He looks at her with a regretful, wounded expression. "I meant no offense. Forgive me. I will leave you alone if you want."
"I think I do." His kicked puppy-dog eyes almost sway her to say reconsider, but she will not fall for such an act. She retraces her path back to get another round of mead before the closing ceremony begins, deciding that she will not go to the after-party after all.