So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their ending.
-JRR Tolkien
This time of the year is spent in good cheer,
And neighbours together do meet
To sit by the fire, with friendly desire,
Each other in love to greet;
Old grudges forgot are put in the pot,
All sorrows aside they lay;
The old and the young doth carol this song
To drive the cold winter away.
-"In Praise of Christmas," traditional
To Drive the Cold Winter Away
The wind whipped loose snow crystals across the ground and into Fíli's face as he watched his brother go on alone across the white hillside. The icy powder nearly topped his boots, and the low grey skies promised more. Fíli drew his fur-lined hood closer about his face and shifted impatiently from foot to foot. This was no weather to be outside in—it was bitterly cold, with a blizzard coming on—but that fact had only made Kíli more determined to come.
Kíli had been seeing the exiled wood elf every sennight for the last month; nobody else seemed to have noticed that he slipped away for an afternoon now and then. Fíli had been ready to cover for him, and had even accompanied him once, ostensibly scouting the mountainside. He hadn't liked the idea of Kíli going out today, with the storm looming, and so he'd insisted on coming. Though, really, what was he going to do if the snows broke over them but keep his brother company while they both froze in a snowbank? And what about Tauriel: where was she going to go when the storm hit? Fíli had half an idea, but he didn't want to pursue it to the end.
Kíli squinted up at her through the blinding wind. She seemed taller than he remembered. Glancing down to her feet, he saw that she stood above the snow, not sunken down in it as he did.
"You came," he said. "I wasn't sure you would, what with this storm. But I had to try..."
"I thought you'd worry if I didn't. Besides," Tauriel glanced up towards the head of the valley. "I thought I might shelter in the old tower on Ravenhill. No-one would notice me there in this storm."
"About that..." Kíli began slowly. "You shouldn't be out here in this weather. It's bad; I haven't seen a snow like this for years, not since the Fell Winter when I was a lad. And we were safely indoors for that one."
Tauriel smiled, gently amused. "You forget I have seen far more snows than you, young Kíli."
He shrugged, embarrassed but not apologetic. "Yes, well, that doesn't mean I can't tell this one is especially dangerous." He tugged off a glove and reached for her hand.
"Your hands are cold," Kíli said as his fingers found hers within the long knitted cuffs that she wore. He regarded her with brows drawn.
She shook her head slightly. "I assure you, I am not troubled. We elves are less concerned by the needs of the body than are mortals."
Kíli did not believe her; he might be no elf, but his kind were hardy in their own way, and his toes were already beginning to ache in this cold. He was sure it could be no different for her.
"Maybe," he said gently, and then flashed her a grin. "But that doesn't mean you can hibernate like a bear. Indeed, I think all the bears have already found far cozier places to sleep by now than you're going to get. Besides, Ravenhill is so...ominous." He still didn't like going up there; the place reminded him of how close he'd come to losing the people he cared about most: his uncle, his brother, his cousin Dwalin, and Tauriel, whatever she was to him. He'd not had time to think of their danger till the battle was ended, and then he'd been almost sick for several long moments when he realized how he'd nearly lost them all at one sweep. They'd been vastly outnumbered, and it was really only good luck, or fate, that they'd prevailed until the eagles had come.
"Come with me into Erebor. We have more than enough room for you," he insisted.
"Kíli, you are very kind," she said, stooping so that her face was even with his. "But I cannot cause you trouble."
So that's what held her back. He was both delighted at her concern and impatient to overcome it.
"You won't." He smiled, acknowledging his own wild optimism. "Well, maybe you're right. But that doesn't matter to me!" He pressed her hand briefly. "Besides," he added almost argumentatively, "We owe it to you. I'm still the king's nephew, you know, and while being third in line doesn't make me the most impressive figure, you saved my life! At the very least, that merits a show of hospitality."
Tauriel's expression softened somewhat, and Kíli thought he could see hints of both weariness and relief in the fine lines about her eyes.
"You'll get a lot better to eat with us," he said, sensing his victory. "I could smell the wassail when I passed by the kitchens on my way out. And I think there is a roast boar for tonight."
He lips curved up in a smile. "You are most persuasive, my dear dwarf. I will come."
"Good." He shoved his glove back on, and then wrapped her hand in his and led her back up the hill towards his brother.
Fíli had been afraid this would happen. He didn't disapprove of bringing Tauriel back, really: he wouldn't have wished any friend of his out in that storm that was now tearing itself against the mountain peaks above them. But he hadn't been eager to see what his uncle would say about Kíli's inviting an elf, one of Thranduil's folk, into the mountain. Fíli liked her, and even more, he cared that his brother liked her. But this didn't seem like the best way to announce that fact to Thorin.
"You welcomed an elf into Erebor," Thorin was saying.
"You remember Tauriel. She fought with us on Ravenhill."
"I remember." Thorin's tone was curt and perhaps barely amused. How much did he guess, Fíli wondered?
"I also remember that her people declared war on us," Thorin went on, impassive again.
"She wasn't part of that," Kíli countered. "She was exiled for following us against the command of her King."
"I'm hardly responsible for the results of her own insubordination," Thorin noted.
"No. But she's a good woman and my friend."
Thorin regarded him inquisitively.
"You do remember she saved my life in Laketown," Kíli said pointedly.
"I was not aware your friendship went beyond that," Thorin claimed, as if asking to be told differently.
"Does it need to? I would not cheapen her deeds by claiming to pay her for them, and yet... I want to return her kindness, now that I can."
Thorin sighed and looked away. Fíli was sure his brother had their uncle now: Thorin had regretted his harsh return for the help of Bard and the people of Laketown, and Fíli did not believe Thorin would force the same response on his young nephew, distasteful as it was to admit an elf to their halls. There had been a nominal peace made with Thranduil after the battle, but past grievances were not easily forgotten. While Thorin had relinquished the white elvish gems, he had done so more out of repentance from his own madness than from any friendly sentiment towards the Elvenking.
"You are right," Thorin said at last. "We cannot forget our friends. Tauriel may stay until the snow clears." He looked up and met his younger nephew's gaze. "Surely then she will want to seek her own people. This is hardly her place."
"Thank you, Uncle." Kíli bowed and went out.
Thorin glanced over at Fíli, as if remembering again that his elder nephew was present. Fíli wondered if he was supposed to say something, either in his brother's defense or in explanation. But if Thorin had doubts or questions, he kept them to himself.
"Thank you, Kíli," Tauriel told him when he had shown her to her room that night. "I would rather be here than up on Ravenhill." She could see her words made him happy.
"Can I get you anything else tonight?" he asked.
Tauriel glanced into the room. A fire was already lit, the bed was made up, and a pitcher of water stood on the wash stand. "I appear to have been well-provided for."
Kíli nodded. "You know, this will be the most time we've ever had together."
"Yes." She touched his hand briefly, wondering if he saw the color she felt burning over her cheeks. It was hard to know what to say to him. Tauriel was not accustomed to speaking her feelings, and here, standing in his ancestral halls among dwarves who mistrusted her, she felt how out of place their affection was.
She added after a moment, "I will see you tomorrow."
"Good night," he said.
"Mae losto."
Kíli smiled as he turned away and went down the hall towards his own rooms.
Tauriel sat on the edge of the bed and let the heat from the fire sink into her bones.
It felt wonderful to have a place that was warm and welcome, prepared just for her. Exile had been like the creeping numbness of cold limbs, slowly but steadily spreading its ache through her.
A home, somewhere to belong: that was what these dwarves had fought to reclaim. But where was she to find those things again? It was not Thranduil's sentence alone that had changed her; when she had chosen to care about the fate of thirteen dwarves from Erebor, she had stepped into a larger world than she had ever known before. Her place in it would have been unclear, even had she been welcome back to the Greenwood. She could not turn her back on the world and on these people she had known, though briefly. She could not turn her back on Kíli.
Just what was Kíli to her?
What you feel for him is not love.
Thranduil's words had angered her at first. Who was he to know? He had forgotten what it was to put someone else's good above his own. But even more, his claim had frightened her. What did she know of love? She had never loved anyone, not in that singular way one cherished a lover or a spouse. Was this tenderness, this bold and inexplicable desire, truly love? Or was it simply frustration with what she knew and curiosity for what she did not? Was there something she needed to prove by believing she loved Kíli?
Would you die for him?
She had more than half expected to meet death at Kíli's side when she had defied her king and charged up the cliffs of Ravenhill.
Dying for someone was easy, she had realized later. You made your choice and that was the end. The consequences were for others, not for you.
But living for someone—that was more complicated. You had to go on choosing to give yourself for him, even when it was painful or you wanted something different. You had to live with the consequences.
You make me feel alive, Kíli had said.
Alive, you could still be hurt. And yet you could also give. You could love.
Tauriel believed Kíli was worth loving.
She undressed and put on the loose robe that had been left for her. It was a bit short, but served well enough for a nightshirt. By lying slantwise across the bed, she was just able to fit without her feet dangling off the end. She didn't care; it was the first proper bed she'd slept in for weeks.
As Tauriel tugged the heavy blankets up over her shoulder, her eyes fell on Kíli's runestone, which she had taken from her pocket and laid on the bedside table. She caught it up and held it clasped in her hand as she fell asleep.
"Thorin's not a fool," his brother said when Kíli returned to their rooms. "And you're not exactly subtle. He's going to figure it out."
Kíli flopped down into a chair beside the fire. "Maybe I'll get lucky and he'll banish me, too."
"Kí," Fíli admonished, though he was smiling. He took the second seat by the hearth.
"Na, I don't want that," Kíli agreed. After a moment, he added, "Do you think he'll forbid me from seeing her?"
"Do you think he'll sanction it?" Fíli countered.
Kíli shook his head. "I wish there wasn't this grudge between Erebor and Mirkwood. We're all supposed to hate the elves. And now she can't go back home, either." He tugged his hair loose and dragged his fingers through it. "This whole situation is a mess." He looked up at Fíli through disarranged bangs. "I thought getting our home back was supposed to fix all our problems, not create more."
"You might have one fewer problem if you weren't fond of an elf," Fíli noted kindly.
Kíli groaned and fixed his brother with an accusatory look.
"Sorry. I know what you mean. It all sounded a lot simpler back ho—err, back in our old halls: journey halfway across the world, kill a dragon, retake a mountain." He snorted. "As if even that was going to be easy."
"Did you see Daín's face when we came into the dining hall?" Kíli muttered, slouching down in the chair and glowering into the fire. "I didn't think he was going to stand for having an elf at the same table."
"Be patient, brother! I'll be at your back when the time comes, but till then just... try not to deliberately step on anyone's toes."
"Thanks." Kíli glanced up at Fíli, a half-smile on his face.
After a few minutes of silence, Fíli said, "You know, she's only here because of you. I mean, she wouldn't want to be here, snowstorm or no, if she didn't care more about you than about a whole mountain full of unfriendly dwarves."
"Do you think so?"
Fíli shrugged. "All I'm saying is you couldn't pay me to be the Elvenking's guest."
"I guess not." Kíli smirked in spite of his frustration.
Fíli pushed up from his chair. "Well, I'm off to bed. Don't brood too long or you'll break your face."
"It can't end up any worse than yours!" Kíli called after him. He thought he heard Fíli make a noise of mock derision before the door closed.
Kíli settled down into the chair cushions once more and gazed into the flames, which burned low and red, like the color of her hair. No, things weren't sorted, by any means. But they had all lived through the battle; Tauriel was here; and somehow—if she loved him, if she wanted it to work—they might be together. If there was anything he'd learned from this whole terrible, wonderful adventure, it was that things had a way of coming out good, even if you didn't understand at first.
Author's note:
Oops, I started a new post BotFA AU fic. Mostly, I blame the fact that I really wanted to write something with Fili in it this time. This started as a daydream, but I daydream in words, so it got written down.
The Fell Winter is a real event on the timeline in LotR. At T.A. 2911-12, it occurred about 30 years before the Quest for Erebor, so Kili would certainly have remembered it. I think it's mentioned in Bk 1 of LotR? I don't even know why I remembered it, to be honest.
Chapter title is from the English ballad "In Praise of Christmas."