Summary: Many have given their life in the great battle. Those who survived will be forever changed by what happened. Grief, guilt, but also love drive the survivors to some unexpected decisions. A Kíli/Tauriel story. Post BotFA. AU.

Characters: Kíli, Tauriel, Thranduil

Genre: Drama, Romance, Angst, Adventure, Family

Rating: M for mature themes in several (but not all) chapters.

Author's note: I have been working on this for a long, long time and have given up on it more than once (mostly from a lack of time). I keep coming back to it though and recently decided that the time has come to finally share it here. This will be a long story - more than 10 chapters with over 40,000 words are already written and there is no end in sight. I am excited about everyone who is willing to come along for the ride :)

This is a Kiliel story first and foremost, but it will also explore the relationships of both Kíli and Tauriel with their friends and family. Many things that happen are highly improbable - but hey, isn't that what fanfics are for? Please bear with me as I try my best to explain each character's motivation and make their actions appear plausible. Of course I'm always open to constructive criticism if you feel that I've taken my love for unexpected plot twist a little too far.

Disclaimer: The Hobbit and all of it's characters are not my property. Some of the dialogue in Chapter 01 is borrowed from "The Hobbit:The Battle of the Five Armies."

The Gift

Chapter 01

It felt as if this was it – the end of all things. Her body bruised and broken, Tauriel stared numbly at the sky above, its color an icy, grayish white that made it indistinguishable from the ground below. No, not quite indistinguishable after all, for she knew that if she dared to look – cared to look – she would see the plains stretching out at the foot of the lookout they called Ravenhill stained with the blood of those who had given their life in battle.

As feeling slowly returned to her limbs, the ground hard and cold beneath her aching back, Tauriel was reminded with a cold, cruel certainty that of course this was not the end. Not for her at least; her relief from the agony she felt inside would not come so swiftly, so easily. While for a mortal a fall as deep as hers might have been fatal, the gifts bestowed upon her by the Valar had protected her from any kind of damage that could not be repaired. She would live and her body would mend.

Her heart, however, was another matter entirely. It had been crushed into tiny shards as she had watched - only moments ago when it seemed as if hours had gone by since, time slowing itself grotesquely in the face of complete and utter despair - a blade being plunged into the chest of the one she had come and failed to save. And now those sharp little splinters were digging themselves into her innards, setting her whole being on fire with pain, causing her to believe that her heart could never be transformed into something whole again. She knew that with the same certainty with which she knew that her outer shell would continue to exist, no matter how broken she felt on the inside.

Almost listlessly Tauriel turned her head to the side, feeling strangely detached from the chaos that unfurled all around her. Down below, her eyes caught Legolas' twirling green form. Clearly he had taken over where she had given up and was now fighting the beast called Bolg with every trick he had up his sleeves. And those were many, Tauriel remembered when she watched him outsmart the creature with his skill and agility. She knew that she need not worry about Legolas; he would deliver Bolg his well-deserved end before too long. This knowledge had curiously little impact on her. One might have expected satisfaction or something similar, and yet she could not find such a feeling anywhere inside of her. For she knew that nothing, not even the death of the brute, could undo the damage he had already done.

Letting her gaze trail away from the dance – for that was the word most apt to describe it – Legolas was performing below, Tauriel settled her eyes on the steep, rocky wall above, the knowledge of what she must do heavy in her chest. And so, with every fiber of her body protesting against the exertion that was too much, too soon, she began her painful ascend back to where she had fallen from before.

When her fingertips finally curled around the icy, jagged edge of the small platform that was her destination, she paused in silent prayer. What she prayed for, she did not know. Only once she dragged herself over the edge and took in the sight before her did she understand what it was that she had begged the gods for in her mind. That somehow, against all odds, Kíli would be waiting for her, alive, his eyes twinkling with the intensity of feeling she remembered from each of their – too few, too short – encounters. She wanted to feel that stirring inside her belly once more that she only felt when he looked at her, his soft brown eyes waking something she had hitherto not even known to lie asleep in the deepest, most secret corners of her soul and for which she had yet no name.

But if the gods had any influence over such things at all, they would surely not pause in their doings to concern themselves with the affairs of one young dwarf and one lowly Silvan elf. And so Tauriel's wish remained unfulfilled, her prayer unheeded, as she came upon a scene unchanged from how she had left it, Kíli resting on the ground, his face ashen, the mark of the single tear he had shed when, together, they had watched all possibilities, all promises the future might have held for them fade away into nothingness, glittering silvery on his cheek, frozen in the biting cold.

She could smell his blood, could taste its metallic tang on her tongue, and for a moment she was overwhelmed with the terrible reality of it all. And then she was moving, crawling rather than walking across the icy ground, crouching on her knees beside his lifeless form, her hand reaching out to take his, even though she knew she would not feel a responding squeeze, no soft caress of her bruised, bloodied knuckles.

His eyes were closed, but she was thankful for it, knowing that the gaze she could have found there would have been empty and cold. Still, she needed something, anything, and so she took the glove off the hand she held between hers, so that she might remember the feeling of his skin upon hers, might recall how he had touched her, briefly but gently, both in Bard's house and on the shore of the lake where they had said their goodbyes.

There was still a trace of warmth left in his flesh, but it was fading quickly. Feeling the last traces of life seep out from between her fingers like stardust was what finally tore through the odd numbness inside of her and, with the cry of a wounded animal, Tauriel leaned over Kíli, her body wrecked with sobs. Once her tears had begun to fall, she found herself unable to stop crying, and so when Legolas appeared at the edge of her vision minutes or possibly hours later, his form blurred by her haze of tears, she did not even lift her head or acknowledge his presence in any other way. Still, she felt him hover there, clearly struggling with the view that presented itself to him.

"Tauriel," he said eventually, his voice less steady than usual. "You cannot know—" he began, but then broke off.

She knew though the things he had been meaning to say. You cannot know if you would have had a chance. If what you feel now could have grown into something stronger, firmer. If he would have felt the same. If he could have made you happy.

But she shook her head at those unspoken words of her friend. "I do," she said simply, her voice much firmer than his, despite her tears. Gently she brushed a lock of hair from the dwarf's pale face. "Amrâlimê," she whispered to him, knowing that Legolas would not understand the word. It was her and Kíli's secret.

Then Legolas was suddenly at her shoulder, reaching out to brush his fingers against the fabric of her sleeve. In a gesture quite unusual for the prince in its intimacy, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her lowered head. "Farewell then my friend," he whispered, still close to her. "For I cannot stay. Not after—" Again, he did not finish.

Tauriel looked up at him as he stepped away from her, her eyes hurting from her tears and the whiteness which engulfed them. Legolas looked back at her as if he expected her to say something, something to make him stay. But she found that she had no words to offer him. There was nothing she could give him, after all, and so maybe it would really be better for him to take himself away from here, where all that remained was death, and grief, and more death.

And so, reasoning through her own pain that maybe this was the one service she could do him, she nodded at her oldest friend. "Novaer, Legolas," she said, trying her best to keep her voice sure and steady.

The flicker of hurt she saw in his eyes was the price she knew she would have to pay for his chance at something akin to happiness. His features hardened, he took another step back and then turned around, retreating to the edge of the platform where Tauriel knew he would find the stairs leading him down and away from her misery. She was strangely relieved when, after a moment of hesitation, he took that necessary step and disappeared behind the remains of a stone wall.

Alone once more, Tauriel returned her attention to the still form of the dwarf in her arms, the crease that had formed between her brows during her exchange with Legolas softening instantly. Kíli was so young, his life just a mere spark in comparison to the flame of her existence that had burned steadily for more than six centuries on this earth. Other elves might consider his youth a sign of insignificance in the larger scheme of things, but not she – she knew better.

For it had been Kíli and his innocence, his youthful boisterousness, and his confidence in her, in them, that had given her own life meaning, even if only for the briefest of times. And, if she thought back to the promise his words, his eyes and the soft touch of his hand had held upon their parting at the shore of the lake, she thought that maybe she had been able to do the same for him, that what he had felt for her had given him something to look to beyond his kin's quest for the mountain and the treasures that lay beneath.

Whether that was the case or not, she would never know. All that was left to her was what she had now, those last precious moments alone with him before the inevitable would happen and his kin would claim his body, unfeeling to her need to remain at his side. She did not resent them for it, because, really, how could they have understood, how could they have known?

Remembering something, she took the stone Kíli had given her from a small pocket in her tunic and pressed her lips to it one last time before placing it in Kíli's palm, wrapping his cool fingers around it. She felt that she had no right to keep it now that the promise it symbolized had ceased to exist. Instead, she made a new promise, namely to keep him in her thoughts for as long as she walked this earth and, when the day finally came when she was allowed to move on, be it through an injury sustained in battle or some other way, it would be with his name on her lips.

Moments later, those final, sacred moments with Kíli were disturbed once more by the appearance of another figure in the exact same spot where Legolas had just vanished from view. And while Legolas had been somewhat expected, this new visitor came as a surprise.

Thranduil. Habits ingrained in her very being over centuries sparked in Tauriel the impulse to rise and bow to her king, but she found that her legs would not obey her and that she did not have the strength to rise from the ground. Also, she reasoned, he was not exactly her king anymore, so what was the point in showing him physical deference? He had made it all too clear before that not only had she lost her place at his side, but also in his heart.

Still, her eyes widened slightly when she recognized him. His gaze did not reflect any kind of feeling at all, but was hard and cold instead. With a small gasp, Tauriel was hit by a realization. He had come not by accident, but to deal her her punishment. For her initial betrayal she had been banished from her homeland, but then she had gone and surpassed that first offense by far. Not only had she stood in his way, but had openly insulted him and even gone so far as to point her weapon at him. He had snapped her beautiful bow in two as a consequence, but Tauriel knew that her transgression had been too grave to not be followed by a more severe punishment.

She noticed the Elven King's hand rest lightly on the hilt of his sword underneath his magnificent cape and felt a powerful calmness wash over her like soothing balm for a burning wound. He had come to kill her – and she realized she was grateful for it. Because where was she to go now that she was not welcome in her own home anymore, now that the only hope that had helped her bear the pain of her banishment lay dead in her trembling arms? And even if she found a place for herself in this cruel, cruel world, how could she live with the constant pain of knowing what she had lost?

The awareness of what was to come eclipsed any fear that confronting her king might otherwise have inspired in her. The fact that it would be him to take her life made her experience a strange sense of intimacy with the ruler of Mirkwood, a feeling of personal closeness that even the many centuries under his tutelage had failed to inspire.

"They want to bury him," she found herself saying, the fact that not even in death they would be allowed to remain at each other's side her only regret about what was about to transpire. She had not phrased it as a question and so did not really expect an answer from her former king, but was surprised when he spoke nevertheless and, more than that, she was shocked at the quality of his voice. For there was no hatred in it.

"Yes," he stated and a subtle change in his stance made her look up at him again. His gaze had softened and her eyes filled with fresh tears when she saw some of her own pain reflected in his features.

And she understood then something about her former king she had failed to comprehend in all the time she had known him. Maybe it was her own grief that made her see what before she could not, but it was obvious to her now that many of the things she had despised him for, the decisions she had violently even if silently disagreed with, really stemmed from his own pain and the paralyzing fear of further loss in his life. This did not make some of his actions right, for many of them had been cruel and selfish, but it brought Tauriel a previously unknown sympathy for her king. And, as complex as her feelings towards him had always been, sympathy had not been among them as of yet.

This new clarity about Thranduil's character coincided with him taking another step closer, his hand sliding away from his weapon. And with what should have been relief but came in fact much closer to disappointment, Tauriel realized that that he would not see it through and end her torment with the sharp blade of his sword.

Desperate now, she pleaded with him, hoping to rekindle some of his anger. "If this is love, I do not want it," she cried. "Take it from me."

Her sad attempt to change his mind had the opposite of its intended effect and she watched Thranduil's eyes soften even further, the recognition of her grief written all over his royal features. He pitied her.

She bowed her head in resignation, salty tears spilling onto Kíli's lifeless face. "Why does it hurt so much?" she asked.

It took Thranduil a few seconds to reply. It seemed that he, like his son, was speechless in the face of her despair. When he found his voice again it was soft and went straight to the hollow place where once her heart had been when it had still been whole. "Because it was real."

Her former king's acknowledgement of the bond that she and Kíli had shared caused a pain to flare up in her chest so intense that she felt she might faint from it right then and there. It was too much. Not caring anymore that she had a witness, she acted upon an impulse she had felt before, back at the lake, when Kíli had still been alive, but had sadly been too much if a coward to give into it, and leaned forward and pressed her lips to Kíli's, trying to memorize the feeling.

She lifted his hand to her cheek when she pulled away and her sobs grew heavier once more so that tears fell against Kíli's bare skin, her desperation growing as her time with the dwarf dwindled. Thranduil hesitated beside her, stepping closer but quite obviously not knowing how to give her comfort.

With her body trembling the way it did, Tauriel nearly missed the feeble twitching of muscle beneath her palms, the manifestation of a spark that had against all hope been almost, but not entirely extinguished.

When her mind caught up and she understood the source of the tremor she had just felt, she jerked upright, inhaling the icy air so sharply that it burned in her lungs. "Kíli," she breathed, incredulous. And then to Thranduil who was looking on with a frown of deep confusion, "I just felt him stir. He is not yet dead."

Her mind raced, panicked. What to do? She did not have anything with her that would allow her to perform a healing ritual. And even if she had, she doubted she would have had either the strength or the power that was necessary to heal injuries as grave as Kíli's.

Her frenzied thoughts were suspended abruptly when Thranduil sank down on his knees beside her, his cape billowing around him. Gently but firmly he removed her hands from Kíli's, pushing her backwards and away from the dwarf. Tauriel wanted to protest, but something in his eyes made her remain silent and so she sank back on her heels and watched uneasily as the Elven king leaned over Kíli's still form. He frowned before swiftly but gently removing the outer layer of the dwarf's armor, so that he might have a better view of the damage done to Kíli's body.

Tauriel then watched, mesmerized, as Thranduil lowered his palms until they were inches away from Kíli's upper body and began to murmur words so old she barely understood them, for they were not words used in day to day conversation. She had heard rumors of Thranduil's magic and while she had never doubted that he was, in his own right, very powerful, she had not believed half the things the other members of the guard had sometimes proclaimed he could do.

Now, as she looked on with wide, fearful eyes, she had to reassess her judgment. Those words Thranduil murmured held magic that was different from anything she had witnessed before, be it from the king himself or others. The words were both light and dark, they contained power over both life and death, they were good, they were terrible, they were dangerous and yet safe.

There was no glow radiating from either Thranduil or Kíli, not like when she herself accessed her gift of healing, but instead she could feel a force radiate outward from the elf king and the dwarf, washing over her like an invisible tidal wave.

Thranduil straightened up, casting a look in her direction over his shoulder. She anxiously stared at Kíli's still unmoving body, not daring to ask the question that burned on her lips. Thranduil answered it nevertheless.

"He lives, even if barely so," he said.

Tauriel felt a breath rush out of her, leaving her feeling dizzy and weak with relief. "What do we do?" she asked, her voice shaking.

If Thranduil was bothered by her implication of him and herself acting as one in that matter, he did not let it on. His gaze returned to the young dwarf before him, his lips a hard line. "I merely bought him some more time. He has to be taken to Dale quickly. There, with the right kind of resources and the help of our healers, he might still have a chance."

Might still have a chance. It was not much, but Tauriel was willing to let herself hope one last time. Looking down at Kíli with her heart racing in her chest, she contemplated whether she would be able to carry him. Her thoughts were rendered unnecessary when, to her complete surprise, Thranduil swept down once more and lifted the young dwarf's body against his chest, careful so as not to increase the damage inflicted by his wound.

The pieces of armor Thranduil had unclasped and removed from Kíli's body fell to the ground, but neither the king nor Tauriel paid them any heed. Kíli would not be needing them where they were taking him. Then, without another word, the Elven King headed back the way he had come from, Tauriel stumbling along behind. There was no time to lose.

They descended the steps of the old fortress, going down and down and further down. In her rush to find Kíli, Tauriel had not realized how far up her search had taken her.

Finally they reached the bottom of what was left of the watchtower, a large plain covered in ice stretching out before the unlikely trio. Thranduil immediately went to continue their descent for it was still a certain distance they had to cover until they would reach the relative safety of Dale.

Tauriel, however, was stopped in her tracks by a movement to her right. Squinting against the white glare of the icy surface, she discerned a bulky figure lying on the far edge, a smaller form hunched over it. Her stomach churned when she recognized the lifeless form. Thorin Oakenshield, his eyes staring into nothingness, empty and unseeing.

As she looked on, shocked, several figures converged upon the huddled pair. She saw one member of Oakenshield's company, the fierce one with tattoos covering his skull, drop to his knees when he understood what he was seeing. Another dwarf, very short and very grey, made the sound of a wounded animal, clutching the shoulder of one if his brethren for support.

Then, from somewhere beneath the ruins of the fortress, more figures appeared, walking closely together. They were carrying yet another body in their midst, Tauriel realized. She could not see his face, but the yellow hair, now matted with dark blood, was enough to confirm who this was. The brother. Fíli.

An unexpected wave of pain hit her when she remembered how the blonde dwarf had looked at her back in Bard's house, like he did not quite know what to think of her, but was willing to put his brother's life into her hands nevertheless. The brothers had shared a bond unusually strong and tears sprang to Tauriel's eyes when she wondered if it was even possible for one to survive without the other.

"Tauriel." Thranduil's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Come. There is no time to be wasted."

Tauriel hesitated, looking at the group of dwarves wrecked by grief for the ones they had lost. "They should know..." she began, glancing at Kíli who was mostly hidden under Thranduil's cloak.

The Elven king tensed. "It would be his death," he said harshly. "Those dwarves would rather sit by and watch him die than let us take him where he might still be saved."

Tauriel bit her lip. Aside from the two living dwarves who had been with Kíli and Fíli at Laketown – who indeed would be willing to trust her or the king and let them do what needed to be done? Thranduil was right, even though she still could not fathom why he would want to save Kíli in the first place. So she nodded briskly and followed her former king, away from what was left of Oakenshield's company.

She silently promised though that she would return later and inform them about Kíli's fate. Either way, it was maybe better not to give them hope now in case it would turn out to have been futile later. In case that Kíli did not have the strength to pull through after all, but followed where his brother and uncle had already gone.

* Sindarin for "Farewell"