Tara sighed as she set aside the pair of strappy silver heels. With their glittering rhinestone accents, they were the perfect match for her green satin gown that she had bought for tonight's Autumn Ball. She had been looking forward to the seasonal dance, even if she took more pleasure in hiding in the back of the ballroom, drinking champagne with Leo and watching the other aristocrats parade themselves, than she did actually dancing. The live band this year had promised to be particularly good.

But no, Edmunds had been injured in the security scuffle earlier that day, and she'd been chosen—at last minute—to take his shift on guard in detention. She swore under her breath as she shoved her feet into her trusty black combat boots. I look like I'm making some kind of adolescent punk rock fashion statement, she thought as she took in the effect of boots plus sleek ballgown. But she wasn't giving up hope that maybe she'd be able to make the tail-end of the ball. Besides, it wasn't like she was going to have to chase anyone down tonight in that sheath skirt; she just had to sit at the security desk and make sure nobody caused a row. Maybe the pistol would make her look more serious, she thought as she tossed gun and holster into her oversized purse. She followed them with the silver shoes and tugged on her jacket, allowing herself one last moment of petulance as she slammed the door on her way out.

"I'm guessing that's not the standard-issue uniform."

Tara looked up from the bank of security camera monitors, hoping—too late—that her expression was not a glare. Her mood had not been improved when she had realized, upon arriving at the detention area, that the young man who had come on to her earlier had been placed in the cell nearest the security desk. She had hoped he would leave her to herself, and he had thus far.

"You look pretty, is all I mean," he said, placatingly.

"Err, thank you," she responded in an awkward attempt to make up for her momentary rudeness. It wasn't his fault she'd drawn the short straw tonight. And even if his too-tight jeans and over-long hair did annoy her—obviously he knew he was gorgeous—she supposed she couldn't blame him for that, either. His night was still worse than hers, right? At least she had the prospect of smuggling home a few leftover bottles of Moët & Chandon at the end of the night, if nothing else.

He flicked his gaze back to the cinderblock wall opposite him in a show of nonchalance, but even so, he was a moment too late to hide the admiration in his eyes. Tara sighed. What was she supposed to do? It wasn't her fault his attraction was completely hopeless. She really ought to use his feelings against him, she realized. She'd heard how little information they'd been able to get out of Tobin, the leader of this whole ill-advised...what was it meant to be, a coup? Nobody had quite explained the full situation to her, but she knew it had to do with the succession dispute in Erebor, and that fact alone proved things were more serious than anyone in Greenwood wanted to admit.

He had taken a coin from his pocket and was tossing it, completely oblivious to her. Ping. He flicked the coin with his thumbnail, it danced through the air, he caught it again. Ping. It landed in his palm. Ping.

Ping.

Ping.

Finally, more to make him stop than for any other reason, she said, "That's hardly enough to bribe your way out."

He looked at her sidelong, the edge of his mouth barely quirked in a smile. "I'm just testing my luck," he said, then looked away again.

Ping. This time when he caught it, he examined it carefully, as if impressed. "No matter how many times I toss it, it keeps coming up heads. With luck like this, I figure my odds of escape look pretty good."

Tara laughed momentarily in spite of herself. "Well, your luck must have improved drastically since this morning." Seriously, he was trying too hard. She and King Andrew's private guard had saved this young man and his friends from near certain mangling at the hands of mafia working for the usurper of Erebor; that wasn't merely bad luck, it was disastrous planning on their leader Tobin's part.

He shot her a deliberate cheeky grin. "Oh, it took a turn for the better about the same time your shift started."

Tara smiled. He was audacious; she'd grant him that. "Well, you'd better not piss me off, or you'll be stuck here forever," she said, not unkindly.

He nodded appreciatively. "Let's see how I'm doing."

Ping.

"Still good."

Ping.

"You know, that could get on my nerves," she suggested teasingly.

He tossed the coin once more, his eyes on hers, and this time, fumbled the catch. The coin clattered to the floor, and before he could stop it, rolled out between the bars on the cell door.

As it passed her, she stopped it under the sole of her boot. After a moment, she stooped to pick it up. It wasn't a coin after all; it appeared to be a religious medal, with a figure stamped on either side.

"You can't toss a tails on this," she noted, amused.

"It's Saint Christopher, the patron of journeys," he explained as she inspected it. "Also archers, bachelors, and toothaches. Mum gave it to me when we left; she said not even Tobin and Phil could keep an eye on me all the time. That's my uncle and brother," he interjected. "I promised her I'd come back."

So he was the exiled king's nephew. That made him, what, a prince? He didn't look one, she thought. She smiled softly at the thought that he had a mother at home, worried about him. That was one thing she could envy him, even in that cramped cell. Her own parents were both memories, grown indistinct with time.

She rose and crossed the few paces to the door of his cell. "You'd better keep it safe; you shouldn't be careless with a mother's love." She held it out to him, and their hands met between the bars. His fingers were graceful, like a scholar's or a musicians, though as they brushed hers, she felt calluses and knew they were strong, as well.

"Sounds like they're having one hell of a party up there." He nodded towards the door of the guardroom. The thumping sounds of drum and bass were echoing down from the ballroom two stories above. "I'm sorry you're stuck here with me." His tone wasn't so self-satisfied now; he meant what he said.

Tara relaxed slightly in response to his honesty. "Everybody who's anybody is at the Autumn Ball tonight. It's more fun to watch, really, than to mingle—you've got to be on your best behavior with the creme de la creme, and then, really all they want to judge you on is your foxtrot."

"Don't you dance?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes, but strictly for pleasure," she returned. "No, my favorite part of the Ball is the end, after all the guests are gone and the band is done. I like to walk in the gardens, in the quiet with the lanterns burning down like dying stars. It reminds me..." She paused, not really sure why she was telling him this. "It reminds me of when my parents used to take me out to the country on holidays; we'd stay at this little B&B in a village out away from the city lights, and at night we'd watch the stars."

He smiled, the expression completely artless now. "That sounds lovely. At least you won't miss that tonight, will you?"

"No, I'll be out of here by then." She thought his face betrayed a hint of envy at the thought of her escape. He really was quite charming—sweet, even—now that he was no longer trying to impress her. Now would be the time, with his guard down, to flirt and inveigle information out of him. And yet Tara felt that wasn't fair. It'd be betraying his friendliness.

"My dad's family's from a small town on the edge of nowhere," he continued, his eyes on hers. "We lived there, after he died. There wasn't much to do, 'cept hike. And read. I always wanted to go back there after university, but now—" He stopped himself, as if realizing he was about to let something slip that he shouldn't.

Tara felt the edge of her mouth lift in the beginning of a smile.

He slipped his hands into his pockets and said, "My name's Kyle."

Did she really want to tell him her name? He was her prisoner and, if not quite her enemy, someone who didn't care about stirring up trouble for her and her king.

Kyle regarded her with an amused expression as she hesitated.

"I'm Tara," she said at last.

His smile broadened. "You know, with your name and that ginger hair, we should be countrymen not, well..." He shrugged, indicating the bars.

"You're Irish," she realized. "I should have guessed." She had noticed his closed vowels and the slightly foreign rhythm to his words, though the differences had been subtle enough that she hadn't consciously registered them till now.

"Half," he confirmed. "Phil never picked up any of the accent. He was too old by then, I guess."

"Too bad for him; I think it's charming." What was she saying? Surely she wasn't flirting back at him. She'd decided not to be unfair, right?

Kyle simply smiled back at her, visibly pleased with himself. He wasn't, she realized, quite as short as she'd first thought. Yes, she had a few inches on him, but then that wasn't surprising, given her height. But his proportions were well-balanced, so he didn't look stunted. She'd dated blokes who didn't stand taller than her before. Though what that had to do with anything—

"Tara."

She jumped slightly and turned to see Leo just inside the guardroom door. The tall blond with his bespoke tux and crisp upper-class accent was very much the opposite of the dark young man in jeans and plaid who spoke with the soft lilt.

"Hey, what am I missing?" Tara greeted her prince with the easy familiarity of friendship.

Leo grinned. "Oh, nothing more than the usual. Overdressed aristocrats and under-appreciated wine. I can't believe Dad's serving his latest import; it's far too nice for this crowd." He saluted her with the glass in his hand and took a sip.

"Leo, did you just come here to torment me?" she teased.

"Well, no," he returned, in a humorously defensive tone. "I came to tell you that I talked Anders into taking the end of your shift. He's quite bribable, when it comes to vintage LPs."

"You shouldn't have," Tara scolded him half-heartedly. "I only have an hour left."

"Don't worry, it's not like I needed two copies of Rubber Soul. Besides, I was bored." He snorted, and corrected himself. "You must be bored. By the way, you look gorgeous tonight."

Tara felt Kyle's eyes on her. "So I've been told," she said archly.

Leo laughed. "Maybe you believed him, if not me."

Kyle, Tara noticed, shot Leo a curious—and not entirely warm—glance.

"Anders will be down in a few minutes; he had to go home to change." Leo drained the last of the wine. "I'll see you upstairs." He turned with a sweep of sleek gold ponytail.

"Cheers," she called after him.

Tara turned back to Kyle. He seemed a touch disappointed, though not really surprised.

"Well, you got your wish," he said kindly, if a little resignedly. "Enjoy the party. And your lanterns."

"Thanks; I—" What could she say to console him? It wasn't as if there was anything she could be expected to do for him. "I wish I could wish you the same."

"Oh, tonight hasn't been so bad after all," he said, that cheeky smile emerging once again. "Good night, Tara." He said her name so deliberately, making it his most pointed flirtation yet.

For one mad moment, she wanted to lean down and kiss him. He really was a reckless idiot for thinking he could talk to her like that, and she was tempted to reward him for his boldness alone. What would it hurt to leave him with one moment to enjoy for the rest of what promised to be a very dull night?

But there were the bars between them, she realized with a surge of gratitude at being saved from her own stupidity. She would have to see Kyle again tomorrow, or the next day, and how could she have faced him then? It would be awkward enough having shared what they had. A kiss would have made things impossible. And how could she have forgotten that they were still watched by the security camera? She'd never have been able to explain herself.

"Good night, Kyle," she said, hoping only she heard the unsteadiness in her voice.

An amused, slightly satisfied smile remained on his face as he stood watching her return to her seat. It wasn't till she her back to him once more as she faced the security monitors that she heard him sit down again.

Images flickered across the bank of monitors—empty halls, cells holding the rest of the prisoners, Anders descending the stairwell to the detention area—and Tara tried to focus on them, to shut out the only image in her mind: that of Kyle's sweet, audacious, hopeful face. What was she doing? She couldn't go letting her prisoners affect her that way. It was the stress of the past few weeks, she told herself. She was not losing her edge. She simply needed a night off, a dance with Leo, a glass (or two) of champagne.

When Anders came in, Tara saluted him and left without glancing back.

Author's note:

I'm partial to the idea of a contemporary Hobbit AU. I imagine it set in an alternate-history version of our world, where England is still a collection of small kingdoms, like in Anglo Saxon days. Thorin is the exiled heir to the kingdom of Erebor, who, with a band of loyalists, sets out to reclaim his throne from the usurper.

I've never liked the love triangle with Legolas, so in this fic, he and Tauriel are platonic best friends. But poor Kili doesn't know that.

You can find the post-Battle of Five Armies conclusion scene for this AU in my fic "To See Again the Stars." I don't really plan to rewrite the entire quest, but I may add a few more scenes along the way because AUs are darn fun.