this is a love i cannot undo (eyes open, i burn in hell)

by Landwerda

In which Thorin, Fili, and Kili survive the Battle of Five Armies and have to deal with the fallout. (There are Durins on the throne of Erebor for the first time in two centuries. Middle-Earth shudders in anticipation.)

1. Arc 1: deeper than the bones of the sky

So. I know I've got a bunch of other WIPs that I'm supposed to be working on that haven't happened, but the Hobbit's been eating my head since January and... life's been busy. And so, here we are! This is finished, though it is the first in a series of three. Keep in mind that there are frank discussions of asexuality and relationships- for more information on the intersection of asexuality/aromanticism just check it out on . Enjoy!

...

Kíli watched his brother carefully.

Thorin was still pale and Kíli himself still limped- but the first caravan of dwarves from Ered Luin were to arrive in the morning, and so the entire Company had trooped out at dawn, waiting at the gates.

Fíli had taken over the duties of ruling while Thorin recovered. He had spent as much time beside Kíli as he had dealing with matters of state, but then Tauriel had stalked inside one afternoon, a livid bruise across one cheekbone, and had not left him; Fíli had avoided him after that, and during the rare times when he was there and Tauriel was not, he did not mention her at all.

And his Uncle- no, his King- did not yet know that Kíli had found his One, or that Kíli wished to keep her beside him. Kíli wanted to keep that little tidbit of information with him for as long as possible.

But. Kíli watched his brother carefully, because he was worried.

While Thorin and he slumbered in a healing sleep, Fíli had been working. Erebor was cleansed of dragon-sickness by Gandalf, the treasure inside divided between the members of the Company, and a deal struck with the Mirkwood elves such that they would finally leave. Fíli'd then treated with the men of Laketown, and he had secured grain for assistance in rebuilding the town.

He had done his duty as Prince an eternity over; the question was at what price.

For Fíli had not been uninjured, Kíli well knew- Azog had taken a steep toll on his brother, and had Thorin not charged him when he did the whole affair might have been a different, sadder tale. But Thorin's charge had resulted in Fíli tumbling down a mountainside. It wasn't a death sentence to dwarves in the way it was to men, but Fíli had a myriad of other injuries, and he had been found hours after the end of the battle, according to Óin's mutters.

And he had not been resting, as Thorin or Kíli or even the rest of the Company. Kíli had seen the naked relief on his face when Thorin woke for good and took the reins of kingship back. If his brother's reaction remained that straightforward, Kíli would count his blessings, but he doubted Fíli would stay like that- he was, unfortunately, a Durin, and there was nothing their family did better than dramatics.

Leaning against cut rock, looking as theatrically brooding as their Uncle at his worst, Fíli was staring out into the fog-ridden fields. Kíli limped over to him and nudged his shoulder.

"Looking forward to seeing Amad?" He asked.

Fíli twitched, though he then leaned back and smiled at Kíli- "Aren't you?" He asked. "After all, you always ran after her skirts when I beat you at swords, so you spent far more time with her-"

"Shut up," Kíli growled and punched him in the shoulder. "Anyways, if I'm remembering rightly, I used to beat you at wrestling, and that's when you went crying foul to her. Old age catching up to you, brother?"

"I'm five years older than you!" Fíli protested.

Kíli watched his shoulders loosen from a burden too heavy, and grinned inwardly.

It was all for naught, however- the heavy horn of Durin's line blared, announcing their mother's arrival, and Fíli went stiff next to him. Kíli frowned, but left it alone; there was little enough he could do.

They'd heard Durin's horn, but it seemed to be farther-carrying than any of them expected, because it took over an hour for their mother's caravan to finally arrive. When Dís' horse crested the hill, Fíli threaded his arm through Kíli's shoulders and supported him as they half-ran, half-limped towards her.

He felt Fíli brace himself, and so he lunged forwards, angled so he took his mother off the horse. Dís toppled backwards and landed on the earth, rolling; she came up wrapped around him, knocking her head against his and folding her arms so that he could barely move. A moment later, Fíli had joined them, and they were closer than they'd been in years, and it was perfect for one long, unbroken moment.

Kíli inhaled the scent of his mother: clean iron, mint, and smoke. He could imagine himself a stripling still, holding onto his mother's warmth, unheeding of the outer world. It was the safest he knew to be.

"Two years gone," said Dís, herding them up and resorting to shoving Kíli when he wouldn't budge. "Oh, boys, look at your scars, injuries-" Her hands rubbed over the ropy scar over Fíli's shoulder, the stiff bark surrounding Kíli's leg. She looked caught between relief and anger, though in the end relief won. "Your father- if nothing else, you ought to know this- Vili would have been proud of you."

Both of them froze, and Kíli said, "Proud of the scars or injuries?"

He was damn proud of himself when his voice didn't waver in the slightest, and he sounded only flippant. It also gave Fíli a chance to bury his head in Dís' side; to hide the slight sheen of tears in his eyes.

"Oh, the injuries, surely," said Dís, eyes twinkling. "He always thought them so dashing, particularly in dams- I could tell you about when I had a slice down my leg from an orc, and he-"

Fíli groaned loud enough to cut off her words. Dís laughed, loudly: from deep in her belly, rising until it echoed out her throat. Kíli realized that he'd almost forgotten what that sounded like, and he felt something very much like guilt rise up in his throat.

"That's right, Dís," said a voice in front of them. Kíli looked up to see his Uncle frowning down on them. "Everyone knows how that story ends, and nobody ever wanted to see your damned elvish ankles, not even Vili- no matter what you drugged him with."

"Only person I ever needed to drug was you, Thorin," replied Dís. "Unless you've forgotten who decided to blame whom for Amad's copper beads?"

"No comments about your ankles?"

Dís snorted and rose to her feet, reached out and gripped his Uncle's arms. They slammed their heads together- Thorin looked a little shaky, but then he just brought her close and held her.

"How is Erebor?" She asked him, almost too quiet to be heard.

"Cold," he said. "Empty. But still-"

"-home," said their mother.

The rest of the Company were waiting in the distance, not-quite-patiently. Kíli thought that if Bilbo hadn't been there, they'd likely have abandoned all propriety and just leapt on the royal family.

"Amad," said Fíli, "you need to meet the Company."

Their mother nodded and shifted away from Thorin. She knew Dwalin and Balin already, from Erebor; she had heard of Dori, Nori, and Ori; she was good friends with Glóin's wife, and so likely knew Óin as well. Bombur, Bifur, and Bofur were likely the only ones she did not know- and Bilbo, of course.

But before they could, there was a shout from the caravan, and a blur of red erupted from a horse and headed directly to Glóin.

"Gimli?" Glóin breathed, hugging the blur tightly. "What the-" he bit his tongue and continued, a little calmer, "-what are you doing here?"

"When we heard that Smaug was defeated," called a dame behind Kíli, "we could not very well stay behind, could we?"

Glóin looked up slowly, as if in a dream, and said, "Freyis."

Freyis moved forward, and so did Glóin, and when they met it was with the crack of two boulders meeting; Kíli found a sudden urge to look away.

Then Dwalin and Balin were there, and Dwalin cracked his head against Dís', before slinking to the background as was his wont. Balin stayed beside her, however, as she met the rest of the Company.

Bilbo swept a bow when it was his turn. "You'll forgive me if I don't welcome you in the dwarfish manner," he said politely, "Mistress Dís- but I'm afraid my head's not quite as hard as yours, and I personally wish to head back to the Shire without a concussion."

"Thorin mentioned that he had hired a burglar, but certainly not a Hobbit," said Dís.

Fíli arched an eyebrow. "When did Uncle have time to send news, Amad?"

Thorin reached out and gripped their shoulders, one hand on Kíli's and the other on Fíli's. "In Bree, and Rivendell, and then Laketown. Perhaps you ought have done the same?"

"You could have told us," Kíli grumbled, and felt Thorin's hand tighten to the point of pain, before retreating. Fíli elbowed him in the stomach.

"Diplomacy," he hissed. "Or are you forgetting the news you have for Amad and Uncle, Kíli?"

Kíli flinched. It was true, or at least true enough; but why on earth did Fíli have to say it out loud?

"Shut your gob," he muttered back and straightened his coat; glanced over and saw that Díswas busy greeting some other people. "Maybe we should go look at the caravan? Mahal, they probably brought nebaguabanu- Fíli!"

Nebaguabanu: brush of stone. A weed that grew in Ered Luin's highest steppes, tasting of wild rosemary and thyme. It was the only weed that Kíli ever smoked, and he'd been missing it- they'd run out of it before even arriving at the Shire.

Fíli, however, wasn't responding. He stared at the caravan with eyes too large and face too pale; he looked like he'd seen a ghost.

And then: "Sifa," said with emphasis and an odd sort of fear.

Kíli looked around, and caught sight of what Fíli saw- a dame moving between the horses carefully, dark hair braided neatly. His breath caught; before he knew it, Fíli was moving forward, sliding through the fog. He cursed lowly and followed.

A moment later, he saw that Fíli had, indeed, been right.

Fíli was a little slighter than the average dwarf, but he was big enough to match Sifa- his brother was wrapped around her, hands pressing against her shoulders, crushing her to his chest. Sifa had her arms up, as well, and she looked somewhere between startled and- relieved.

"It's good to see you," she said, muffling it into his shoulder.

Fíli nodded, and whispered something to her. All Kíli heard was a ragged -missed you in Khuzdul; Sifa swallowed, reaching up and tracing his face with a careful hand.

They had known Sifa since they were too young to remember. She was the same age as Kíli and had been betrothed to Fíli since Dís had arrived at Ered Luin, bearing a three-year old son and a newborn. Kíli remembered her as a quiet shadow behind them, playing when necessary but mostly content to sit in the same room as them and be left alone.

A week before she reached her majority, however, it was revealed that her father had stolen the Pearls of Kartul, and in the space of a few weeks they had gone from tentative friendship to never seeing each other. The betrothal contract had been cancelled almost immediately.

For some reason, Fíli had gone looking for her after that. They had struck up a friendship and stuck through with it, though Kíli never knew what had happened. His brother was a little proud and a lot loud, and what Kíli knew of Sifa was that she was a lot proud and a little loud; he did not know what they had in common.

Kíli had known they had become friends, and that they remained close even when he and Fíli left, but he had not known they'd gotten this close.

Little wonder that Fíli had refused to do much more than flirt on the quest.

But then she pushed him, slightly, and stepped away.

"There's much I've to tell you," she said.

Fíli blinked. "I bet I have more," he told her. "Giant spiders, and trolls, and shape-shifting man-bears, and more."

Sifa said archly, "It's not a competition, Fíli. Though I think you're a bit more invested in the Kubis betrothal than I am in trolls you've already defeated?"

In the space between two breaths, Fíli went from teasing to bright red to scheming.

"That bastard is still hanging around?"

Sifa grinned. "He offered to ignore my heritage, too, last time. I told him that was quite unnecessary, and joined the caravan soon as I could."

"So I have Kubis to thank for your presence," grumbled Fíli.

"I told you he wasn't all bad," she chirped. Then her eyes caught Kíli's, staring at them awkwardly, and her face lit up.

"Kíli!"

He stepped forward, but then her entire bearing shifted, grew formal: shoulders rising, head tipping back. All levity faded from her face. Deliberately, she swept a curtsy, and held it. Kíli glanced back and saw his mother behind them, eyes grim.

"Meeting the others?" She asked evenly.

"Just doing our duty as princes," said Fíli, and he said it with a straight face, too.

Kíli kept his as innocent as he could.

Dís arched her eyebrow. "Princely duty?"

"Aye," Kíli chimed in, "princely duty, Amad! You ought to be glad, almost having their heads bashed in's done wonders for your sons!"

Kíli couldn't help the way his eyes dragged to Sifa, after that, but he sorely regretted it; Dís' face went stone-like again, and she turned to her.

"You did not say you were close to my sons, when you asked to come."

Sifa rose from her curtsy dignifiedly. She stood very straight, and very stiff. "I was not asked, Your Majesty," she said. "And I did not believe it important. After all- would you deny me a place in Erebor simply for a childhood relationship?"

Dís frowned thunderously. "My sons are-"

"-adults," finished Sifa. Her eyes flicked to Fíli, and then Kíli, and then back. "Heroes, even, according to the lays still being written. I am sure they know what constitutes a proper companion." Before anyone could say anything, she disappeared into the bulk of the caravans, still hidden with morning fog.

Kíli offered his mother a vague smile.

They had defeated Smaug just over a month previous, and their Uncle had woken less than a week ago, and already they had trouble brewing. Kíli glanced back at Fíli, who mouthed "Tauriel," at him, and he felt his mood drop.

…

"When'd you guys become- close?"

Fíli finished drying his face and beard, and turned to look at his younger brother.

Kíli was always laughing, and when he wasn't, he was fighting. The age difference was little, and Fíli was used to treating him as a mix of friend, twin and second set of eyes- but Kíli was his younger brother, for all that he rarely acted it.

He was sure he wasn't imagining the threads of hurt in Kíli's voice.

"You know we became friends a few weeks after the betrothal was broken off," he said cautiously. Sat down on the bed, and waved Kíli to the washing area while he dug through one of his bags for a comb. "I didn't know she was my One until I wasn't seeing her everyday. I missed her- and pitied her, when I found out why our betrothal was broken off." He laughed. "She set me straight on that!"

"Yelled at you?" Kíli asked curiously.

"Kicked me out," said Fíli. "Told me she didn't need my pity, not for all the gold of Ered Luin. And barred her rooms to me. It was the loudest I'd ever seen her."

Which truly wasn't that loud, now that he thought about it. She had lifted her chin, clenched her jaw, and told him to get out in a voice that sang of lightning and old fury.

Kíli snorted and came out of the wash area. He took the comb and began hunting the tangles, grimacing- his hair had grown coarser over the past months, and recovering in the healing tents after the Battle had only made it worse.

Fíli rolled his eyes and leaned forward, snatching the comb out of his hands.

"No patience," he said flatly, twirling his finger. Kíli's face grew darker for a moment, and then he turned, surrendering to Fíli's hands.

"So you fell in love for that?"

"No. Not- quite." Fíli wrestled with a knot, and heaved a huge sigh. "But it did not hurt. I just- sat with her. When she was very hurt. And then, when Uncle asked for us to go, and Amad was refusing, and it seemed like everyone was just crazy- Sifa stood by me."

Kíli twisted to look at him. "And me?"

Ah, Kíli- Fíli thought, it's nothing against you. I've loved you, and cared for you, and my heart is ever yours. But as you have Tauriel, I have Sifa.

"You were sulking about being passed over by Uncle," Fíli pointed out. "Sifa had little to do with the whole… issue. She was very calm about it, too."

Those months, when Thorin had wanted to reclaim Erebor and battled their mother over taking them or not, had been the worst that Fíli knew. He had wanted to scream, had wanted to go with the deepest pits of his soul- and he did not know if he could have borne leaving his mother.

"Your mother loves you," Sifa had told him, when he told her what was going on. "And so does your Uncle. They just have different ways of showing it- what is left for your mother, after all, if you die? She worries; your Uncle worries. But Fíli- we do what we must. What can you live with? What can you live with losing? Choose, and stand."

"You never told me," Kíli murmured.

Fíli sighed. "It wasn't… like that. We didn't have anything between us, Kíli- just, I don't know, an arrangement? We didn't talk about it. There was something- but it isn't like Amad would ever accept us, and we never talked about it."

"Why not?"

"Because I wanted to talk to her right before we left with Uncle, and when I told her I was leaving she told me I would die." He winced at the bald-faced statement- but it was true.

Fíli didn't say that he'd been rather glad that they'd fought, particularly after the trolls, and the goblins, and Mirkwood- when he was sure he wouldn't survive, and he'd break his mother's heart. At least there was one person who would not pause to mourn him, even if she would remember him.

It was the most selfish thing he knew to be.

Kíli's hair finally unknotted, Fíli finished tying off his own.

The vast majority of the rooms in Erebor were still being cleaned. Fíli and Kíli, as royalty, could well have taken their own rooms, but with the arrival of their mother's caravan space was in short order, and it wasn't like it was an issue, sharing with Kíli. At least it gave them some privacy.

"If she was unhappy about that, why'd she come to Erebor?" Kíli threw out.

Fíli snorted. "I don't know. But first guess? Kubis annoyed her, and she couldn't get away quick enough."

"Mmm. Sure she isn't here for the gold?" Kíli flapped his hands at Fíli's outraged expression. "It's somethin' we have to think about, nadad."

"Yes," Fíli said bluntly. "We have a kingdom to think about, now. Speaking of-"

"No, don't-!"

"-what will you tell Amad and Uncle of your elf?"

Kíli fell back on the bed, groaned into a pillow. He looked like he regretted it a second later- the Company had cleaned up, but the pillows weren't as dust-free as Bombur'd assured them. Fíli knew the sensation of dust in his nose, and it wasn't pleasant.

"D'you disapprove of her?" Kíli sniffed.

"I-" Fíli faltered. "She saved your life. When Uncle didn't believe it to be in danger. I don't like her, Kíli: she threw us in prison. She's a Guard to the pretty elf-king, and I hate him. If I could kill him, I wouldn't stop for a moment."

"She saved my life," Kíli repeated.

"Yes," he said, after a long pause. "She did. And for that- I'll be in her debt. Forever."

Kíli looked startled. "Fíli-"

"What you decide, nunur'amrâb, I will follow." Fíli offered him a smile. It was a little strained, he knew- but then, his little brother yearned for an elf. Kíli's One was an elf, and-

Deep breaths. He'd get through this. Head held high, teeth gritted, swords protecting Kíli's back as he'd done since long before he could remember.

He did not do it for loyalty owed, or seeing Kíli's love for the elf- though that did not hurt.

It was for the love Fíli had for his younger brother, and what he would die for. How many times had Fíli dreamt it? Kíli would dive into danger, and Fíli would dive after him, and Fíli would spend his last breath protecting his younger brother.

No price too high, nunur'amrâb. None for you.

"Thank you," Kíli breathed.

Fíli nodded once, brusquely, and gestured to the door. "We should get going. And I don't know where you've stashed Tauriel- but better get started on a plan to announce her, Kíli. It'll be worse if they find out on their own."

"It'll look like I'm ashamed." Kíli nodded. "Fine, then. Tonight sounds good."

He walked out.

Fíli blinked, choked, and decided that he would strangle Kíli as soon as he could catch him. Damn it all to hell, he had to catch up to the idiot now-

…

"Amad's going to kill us both," Fíli moaned.

It was true. And if she didn't, Thorin would. If he didn't- there was a host of dwarves who wouldn't hesitate to draw a knife over Tauriel's neck, if they didn't do it to him first.

Too many ifs. What was that saying of Balin's? Ah, yes: no use crying over possibilities when reality's punching you.

Tauriel stood beside them, wearing a pale green robe that reminded Kíli of fog through mountain shrubbery. Her long hair hung free, and she had a wickedly curved knife sheathed at her waist. By the way Fíli had winced seeing her- she must not look very peaceful.

"Why will she kill you?" Kíli hissed back.

Fíli rolled his eyes. "I'm supposed to keep you out of trouble. Idiot. She'll roast you first, sure- and I'll be next."

Tauriel arched a delicate eyebrow. "Is this about me?"

"Yes."

"No!"

They glared at each other, until Kíli spun away and told her, sincerely, "It's just that you're a… delicate topic. To everyone."

"And their mother," muttered Fíli.

Kíli glared at him until he threw up his hands and stalked to the other end of the hall. Fíli was a wonderful brother, but sometimes he didn't think. Tauriel deserved kindness, not contempt. Though Fíli never had been one for being nice to everyone- he was polite, certainly, when necessary, but never charming.

And now, he and Tauriel could talk, alone, for probably the first time in weeks.

"I'm not sure I understand why we're waiting," she said.

Kíli swallowed. "It's 'cause we're waiting for everyone to come in, that will. We're dining as- as family, so it's pretty informal, and there won't be too many people there. Just Mother, and Uncle, and the Company, and the Company's close-kin."

"And in this group, you wish to- what?"

"Declare you."

Tauriel's eyes flickered a dangerous, fey green. "Declare me as what?"

"Ah." Kíli hadn't thought this through. Which Fíli had tried to tell him, but it wasn't like he'd paid attention… Time to backtrack. "Well. Tauriel- it's just, you don't have a home, you know, the jumped-up elf-king's gone and banished you, and I just thought-"

"I would like to stay with you."

"Yes." He swallowed.

"That is a dangerous assumption," she said quietly. "I saved your life, and I paid a price for that. Have I ever said I would offer more?"

He could feel the hurt bubbling up, in his face. "Then- what will you do?"

"I've always wished to see the world."

"So you're not going to stay."

Tauriel sighed. "Well. I sacrificed a lot for you. I do not intend to let that go to waste- and I do not wish to leave, yet. But if I stay, it will not be as your lover, or- anything else. When I wish to leave, you will not stop me."

"I can declare you?" Kíli asked, smile starting to light up his face.

"Is this the only way I can stay in Erebor?"

Kíli nodded.

"Then, yes- I shall stay." Tauriel reached forward and flicked his forehead. "But heed my words. I do not stay where I do not wish. Not any longer."

He reached forward, gripped her hands. The fingers were so long, and thin, and fine, and he was clumsy, and awkward, and nothing like the elegance of elves, but she wanted him- and he'd nearly ruined that, because he didn't use his head-

"Alright. Let's go." Kíli glanced into the peephole- the room was filled with everyone, it seemed- and breathed deep. "And, Tauriel? I am sorry. I should have considered that- it is your own life."

"Yes, it is," she said plainly. Her eyes had softened a little, though: flashy forest green to a quieter, calmer moss. "But we are all allowed one mistake, are we not? Worry not, Morwinion. I will not run in the dark, like a coward."

Fíli stomped back, looking like a miniature thunder-cloud for all his golden hair.

"Are you ready?" He growled.

Tauriel pressed a hand to his shoulder. "And you say he supports us?"

Kíli snorted. "Fíli's all bark and no bite." A sharp smile. "Or maybe some bite. But he likes you. You don't have to worry about him, really." They turned to head inside, and he said, "Morwinion?"

Tauriel smiled thinly and gestured to the door, which Fíli had already disappeared behind.

…

Kíli stepped forwards, hand in Tauriel's.

It took a moment for the dwarves to notice, but they surely did- silence spread radially outwards from the door. Dís and Thorin, at a farther table, took time to notice. When they did- Fíli winced.

His uncle went red.

Kíli either didn't notice, or didn't care. Knowing his brother, it was didn't notice and wouldn't care either way if I had, and that had worked when they were young; to a lesser extent on the Quest. But now Fíli was sure it wouldn't, and he didn't want to see Kíli's temper when that was revealed to him.

He made directly for their mother's table, chin lifted, and gestured to Tauriel beside him.

"I wish to introduce Tauriel, Amad," he said clearly. Dragged her forward a little and stepped back, though he didn't stop talking. "She saved my life in Laketown, when I was struck by a Morgul arrow. And afterwards, in the Battle- without her, I would not be here."

Dís' face wasn't ever as dour as Thorin's, and so Fíli wasn't sure if she was just as angry about this as Thorin looked; he was just sure that someone was going to burst, and he couldn't let Kíli's heart break like that.

Plus, he'd promised.

"Amad," he murmured, stepping forward. Hands clear and calm and empty, no matter how much he ached for a sword while seeing Thorin's face. "Sh- Tauriel is a good person." Careful, careful; he didn't know her well, and he dared not lie- stick to truths, let his mother draw her own conclusions. "Saved Kíli's life when I couldn't." Quick glance to Thorin, who was drawing breath to speak. "And Uncle wouldn't."

That still burned. They were blood, and blood cared for blood. Thorin had, for so very long, been Uncle and Father; the first time they'd met with Thorin the King- he'd abandoned them. Lost to dragon-sickness, yes, but still him.

Something must have shown on his face, for Thorin suddenly deflated. Dís turned to him incredulously, and he grimaced.

"And in the Battle, she was very brave." Shallow breath in; make sure you're balanced and you know what you're doing, and then leap off the cliff. "Without her, I'd have an Orc axe in my head."

Silence. Dís' face was softer, and Thorin looked- tense. Dwalin was frowning thunderously, Balin was stroking his beard, and the rest of the Company looked horrified.

Fíli nodded, once, and stepped back. He'd done what he could- said his piece. If Kíli ruined it, he had only himself to blame.

Kíli- who could only look more surprised if he'd been propositioned by an Orc.

...which wasn't something he needed to imagine, not ever.

"She is my One, Amad," said Kíli, and Fíli would smash his brother's head into a damned Oliphaunt if he thought it would help matters. Did he ever think before opening his mouth?

No. Obviously not.

"Your One?" She asked, dangerously quiet.

Kíli, once more displaying no common sense, said, blithely, "Yes. I might have asked a little later, but- I was a bit too injured to talk to Uncle until now, and then you were here, and it was perfect!" He shrugged and barrelled on, and Fíli could only watch the wreck with horrified eyes.

"Perfect," said Dís.

"She wants to stay here," he continued. "So I wanted to get approval from you, and Uncle."

"Approval," said Dís.

"Yes! If I am to court her, then it is necessary, is it not? Anyways, she's been-"

"I think," broke in Tauriel- and it said something when it took an elf to save them from that- "that perhaps I might explain?"

Kíli nodded, a bit too eagerly.

So he'd felt the awkardness, then, at least a little. Fíli did not bite his lip- a bit hard to do with all the hair- but he did shift a little, just enough to balance on the balls of his feet. Not threatening, not yet-

"I met your son when he trespassed in Mirkwood," she began. "Perhaps not by design, but trespass nonetheless, as stated by King Thranduil. He was very kind, and spoke to me as no prisoner ever had. Elves- we so rarely feel strong emotions, but he made me laugh, as I hadn't for centuries. I followed their escape, kept the Orcs from their backs. I was- delayed, getting to Laketown. I saved him, as a healer. And then, I saved him, once more, during the Battle." Fíli saw the lines grooving her mouth deepen, just for an instant, and then she turned to him. "My apologies, to Prince Fíli: I do not remember the Orc I saved you from."

Fíli nodded once, sharply, in response.

Tauriel's chin jerked down, once, as if she'd decided something.

Then she turned to their mother, and her voice softened. "Your son offers me the chance to laugh, and live. He is a very kind dwarf; he is a noble, brilliant one, as well. We have stood together in the heat of battle. Will you offer me a chance to stand by him in peace?"

It was a good speech. Good enough to convince everyone? Fíli sighed, inwardly. The rage of dwarves and elves was old, for good reason. It would take a lot, to bank it.

"I care nothing for elves," Dís said bluntly, and Kíli flinched. Tauriel, however, remained impassive. "And less for my son to love one. But for all that- you have saved my son's life. You have saved both my sons' lives." She pursed her lips unhappily. "We would be poor hosts indeed, to force you away after being in your debt."

Thorin looked steadily angrier as she finished speaking. He made a quick motion with his hands to Balin, who shook his head, and another to Dwalin, who nodded slowly; the Iglishmêk too fast for Fíli to see.

"It is binamsâl to turn away one you are in debt to," said Balin, and fell silent.

"Amad," began Kíli, only for her to wave him back.

"Thorin?" She asked.

Uncle was still a faint shade of pink, but he looked- calmer. He looked over the gathering, took a breath, exhaled, and breathed in once more.

"You'll be placed under guard," he said.

Fíli felt a smile grow on his face. Kíli was staring between Tauriel and Thorin like he couldn't believe it. Tauriel folded her long frame into a bow, and said, "Hantalyë, Aran'Erebor." Straightened, stiffly, and said, "I thank you, King of Erebor."

"You saved my sister-son," Uncle said gruffly. "I may not like it, but Erebor needs no more bad luck. You may stay, but you'll be under guard."

"I ask for no more," she said, lifting her chin.

"Good," growled Uncle. "Now." He raised his hands, black hair glittering in the lamplight. "Let us feast!"

Their cheers could have been heard in the Blue Mountains.

…

"You didn't say you were banished," said Kíli.

Tauriel refrained from rolling her eyes, though it was a close thing. Kíli was a kind person, and she thought they could forge something more- but she wasn't fool enough to base a lifetime on a single battle.

"No, I did not."

"Why?"

"Because I will not live here on their pity."

She remembered cold air whistling through her fingertips, the sting of an arrow across the inside of her wrist, the long nights spent staring at the stars. Thranduil had accepted her out of pity; he'd raised her when her parents were slaughtered.

Tauriel paid him back with every ounce of duty she could manage. A thousand years as the steady, unflinching shadow beside the King of Mirkwood.

No. Not beside- behind. She owed much to Thranduil, certainly, but she'd never bargained her soul, or her heart. When he claimed it, when that king dared-

Tauriel left. She kept her head high, and hands unshaking, and she saved a dwarf who allowed her to laugh. She walked into battle, and she'd been sure she wouldn't walk out. When she did…

"I have lived such before," she elaborated, when Kíli only looked confused. "I have asked for shelter and bargained freedom for it. But I cannot- I will not- do so again. And it is not as if I've nowhere else to go. Your people would mistake freedom for homelessness, and I'd rather see distrust than pity."

He inclined his head, slowly. "Alright. Is it a secret?"

"No," Tauriel said plainly. "It isn't. You know, your brother knows; I cannot return to Mirkwood. But that does not mean that is my reason for staying- so, tell whomever you wish."

"Okay." Kíli paused, and rubbed a finger over a dusty surface; screwed up his face and scrubbed it on his leather jerkin, and looked up at her, awkwardly. "What do you- want to do, now?"

She was graceful, and she knew it. But dwarves did not appreciate grace. They liked warriors, and hair- that she would never understand- and food, and-

Tauriel did not know what else.

If she was to live with a dwarf, she damned well better learn what they did for fun. Perhaps more specifically: what Kíli did for fun.

"What do you do? When you're not fighting?" She asked curiously.

Kíli's face lit up, and she knew she'd asked correctly.

"Well, we have this game that Fíli and I used to play in Ered Luin…"

…

The next morning, Fíli found Sifa.

Or rather, she found him, by the simple expedient of walking into his chambers unannounced. Before he could react, she'd stalked up, staring straight into his face, and hissed, "Have you lost your mind?"

He pushed her away, and stepped back. "No," he said warily. "Though you might have."

"Are you joking?" Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not the one who supported an elf as- as the khi'nututredel! And certainly not in front of nunur'aklum!"

"Sifa- you're not making sense."

Her face paled, side-beard standing out. "You are the redêl, Fíli- how can you not see what you've done?"

Fíli frowned. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Clearly." She dropped onto the couch, and then turned to him. "Crown prince of Erebor. Did you just think it a title?"

"...yes?" He said.

Sifa threw up her hands. "People watch you. They think of you in terms of them, and you just gave them fodder that couldn't be better bait if you tried!"

"If you won't explain-" Fíli began, feeling the first twists of impatience.

Sifa eyed him like he was a particularly tricky mining vein. A moment later, she tilted her head at the sofa, and waited for him to sit down.

"Last night, you spoke to your Uncle on behalf of your brother. More to the point, you defended your brother's choices to your Uncle, the King Under the Mountain." She paused. "In front of a gathering of dwarves, who are not royalty."

"Yes," said Fíli, dragging out the syllable.

Sifa made a violent gesture with her hands, before consciously stilling them. "Fíli. You must know that your Uncle is in a dangerous position, right now. He has no army. He took Erebor with a company of thirteen dwarves and a Hobbit, and while nobody disputes his courage- he has no army. Dain's men are… present. But they are loyal to another. And while your Uncle has no army, he has no way to protect what he has taken. If anyone marches on Erebor, it might not fall- but it might, and that's what's important."

"Nobody's invading us yet," he said dryly.

"Because you've got treaties. As long as you honor them, you'll be fine." She spread her fingers, shrugged. "And nobody wants to make the first move, and take the full brunt of the Lonely Mountain's alone."

"Still don't see why I'm a problem."

"Kíli's the younger prince, and the reason why he spoke to your Uncle was obvious," said Sifa. She saw his confusion, and smiled sardonically. "He called the elf his One in front of a lot of people. But you- aren't as obvious." Held up a hand when he tried to speak. "To those who know you, it's clear, but there are a lot of people who don't. And they're assuming you knew what you were coming off as, which might be untrue- but it's what they're thinking, and- oh, Fíli- they saw you defy your King, in a place you knew not to be private. They think you don't support him."

Fíli felt outrage rise up from his belly, thick and heavy, like Bombur's red-pepper stew.

"I am loyal to my Uncle," he said, low and dangerous.

Sifa arched an eyebrow. "I know that. But you need to know the consequences of your actions, Fíli. Who you talk to, what you do. Because you're sending out messages to your people, and we have long memories, and when you take that throne they'll remember it all."

He deflated. Sighed. "I'm not watching everything I say or do."

"I'm not asking you to."

"What are you asking, Sifa?"

"For you to be aware of it." Her eyes, dark and clever, swept over him. "For you to know why. Do what you wish, Fíli, but know what others see of it. Your people- they deserve better. And I know you can do it, as well."

Fíli snorted. "I ran from Balin whenever he tried to teach me anything," he reminded her. "What makes you think this will be different?"

Sifa looked at him steadily. "You're not a fool, no matter how much you try to look like one," she replied coolly. "Don't insult me by asking idiotic questions that you know the answer to."

"I'm not acting," said Fíli, not sure if he was insulted or not.

"Yes," she said flatly. "You are."

She bowed, perfunctory and precise; none of the loose grace of Tauriel, all of the rooted strength of dwarves. Sharp and cutting and still, for all that, a little sardonic. Sifa had never been over-awed by titles or gold, as many others were- Fíli'd heard her scathing opinions on gold-encrusted Iron Hill Lords too many times to be fooled by her manners now.

"You are the redêl," she repeated. "People will watch you. Perhaps you ought to learn to use it."

A small smile that looked gentler than it was, and she left.

Fíli looked after her bemusedly.

…

Tauriel smiled thinly at the dwarf who stood by her door.

The dwarf bared unpleasantly yellow teeth back.

She slammed the door shut and stifled the urge to start screaming.

Six hundred years old- four centuries more than the damned King of this land- and she was being treated like a child! The guards were the most disgusting corpuscles of fat that Oakenshield must have been able to find, and they were just- just rude.

When she'd gone to speak to Kíli yesterday, they'd stayed a foot behind her the whole time.

Perhaps dwarves could bear staying inside, but Tauriel longed for the stars, and the forest damp, and the faint smell of mint that lingered on oak leaves.

In essence, she was going mad.

Her rooms were neatly done, though smaller than she was used to: beds made for dwarves were perhaps three-fourths of her height, and while they'd fixed that problem by slotting two beds together, the blankets weren't as quickly altered. For the past days, she'd occupied herself by sewing the sheets together, and when it became clear her stitches weren't as neat as possible, re-doing them multiple times.

Fine. If I am not to be allowed to use my hands in freedom, I shall do so under supervision. Her jaw firmed. I cannot bear this.

She strapped her double knives to her back with quick, deft movements, and slid her other, smaller one into her boot. She'd shed most of her armor when she was healing in the first days after the Battle, and after that- when Thranduil announced her banishment formally- she'd headed to Kíli's bedside, and not left overlong, ever after. Her armor had been lost, and likely she'd never get it back.

Tauriel was as ready as she'd get.

There was no hesitance when she left her rooms, though she did pause to give her guard time to follow her. No point in making unnecessary enemies, after all.

"Where are the practice grounds?" She asked politely.

The guard eyed her dubiously. "'M not sure you're allowed to use weapons," he said.

Manwë save me from dwarven bluntness.

"I shall never know if I don't try," Tauriel pointed out. "If the Captain of the Guard has any issues, I shall address them directly." Retreated as courteously as she could, and waited.

"Fine," said the dwarf. "Though why a tree-hugger wants to practice with us doesn't make no sense, I guess-"

Tauriel spun on one foot, and pinned him in place with a look that she had learned from Legolas: proud, but not cold.

"I was, not very long ago, the Captain of the Guard of the King of Mirkwood," she said. "I am used to sleeping with three knives and a bow, Master Dwarf. And when I was not battling old terrors in the forest, I was healing. It is not in me to lie silent." She paused. "Is that enough of an answer for you?"

The dwarf's hands tightened on his spear, and then he spoke, slowly. "Aye, I'll take you to the grounds. Mind, Dwalin's Captain, and he's not a tree-lover." A fierce smile took over his face, and Tauriel blinked. "Talk to him like that, lass, and you'll get a spear shoved down your throat."

"I've had elves and Orcs and dwarves try before, Master Dwarf," Tauriel said wryly. "I'm sure I'll survive this one."

He guffawed, and started walking. Tauriel followed him at a sedate pace, content to hold her tongue. When they finally left the tunnels, they came out into a large, open area, lit brightly and filled with dwarves.

Not precisely, surmised Tauriel a moment later. Her first look had given her an impression of a bustling area, but that was not quite true; the area had dwarves sparring, practicing, sharpening weaponry- but there were spaces that were not filled, and she could see, with a Captain's practiced eye, the exact number of what these dwarves had lost.

"What are ye doing here?"

She inhaled sharply, suddenly brought back to herself.

"Captain," she greeted, and made sure she didn't turn to look at those gaps that stared up at her accusingly-

Varë and Lalan, Rhontá and Glie, sins she will never pay for. A scream under dark forest canopies.

Cold breath on her neck: "How does an immortal lie, in death?"

-"What's a tree-hugger doin' here?" He growled.

Gracelessly.

"I hoped to practice my swordsmanship," she said levelly. "It has been some time since I last bore weaponry, and I can scarcely bear idleness- so. To you, Master Dwalin, I ask: may I beg of a blade?"

The courtyard had fallen silent, listening to her speech. Dwalin's great bald head shone under the lamplight, and he eyed her; Tauriel held her position with all the years of practice under Thranduil and waited.

"You're a guest," Dwalin said, finally, grudgingly. "Wouldn't be right to stop you. Go 'head, you can take a sword from the armory o'er that side. Dummies're set up in the back corner."

Tauriel nodded her thanks. She knew others were staring at her, but she didn't let that stop her- years of being Captain allowed her a smooth gait. When she arrived at the armory, the area was empty.

She picked up a sword and hefted it. Heavier than she was used to, but well-balanced; she would have to remember to correct for that weight. Her eyes narrowed in thought. Perhaps not so much correction as a lack of the flowing elegance that elven battle followed, and more of a grounded stance.

There was a dummy set up in a corner, and she took to stabbing at it.

Tauriel frowned. She was not moving fast enough. It need not be graceful, she knew, but speed was her advantage over the strength of the dwarves. If she was sacrificing it so greatly…

Ah. Tauriel felt the puzzle slot into place: moving around the sword. If she was air, with a bow and two knives, and the dwarves were rooted earth- with a sword she would be water.

She held it aloft, and for a moment she could see the cold sunrise a month previous, glinting off a dark-bladed scimitar, carving down onto a body made small-

Lift your sword. Curved sword flashed over hers, pale Orc bearing down. Drop. Hold.

Hold.

Hold.

A scream from across the battle- the barest shift of stance, of the eyes.

Move.

Kick outwards, slam upright. Slash across the chest. Keep away from fallen dwarf. Flow. Heel of foot on instep. Orc flinches away, bury dagger in right, upper half of torso. Twist and remove.

Cut neck open.

Tauriel ended the movement with both blades crossed, the sword half-resting on her other forearm, the lone dagger unsheathed and held in her left. Her eyes had been closed, she realized distantly- not surprising for her, who had dreamt that exact sequence too many times to believe, but certainly unexpected for those watching.

"Not bad," a voice said behind her. Tauriel turned and saw Fíli standing behind her. His long mustache shone with pale beads.

"Prince," she murmured, dipping into a half-bow. She waited, as he stepped closer and, with a short glance, took the sword.

"Good weight," he said neutrally. Then, hefting it: "Do you spar?"

"It's been many years since I last used a single sword," said Tauriel. "But I am not a beginner." A rueful glance at the dummy, which was almost ripped in half. "If you wish to, it would be my pleasure."

Fíli's eyes were a very light blue, almost grey. His entire coloring was different from either his brother or uncle- she wondered whom he took after, then, if the rest of the family was dark-haired and pale-skinned. He was still staring at the sword, and when he looked up, those blue eyes were dark with some emotion.

"I know not what my brother sees in you," he said bluntly, stepping forward. "He has always flirted as he breathes, but never has he gotten so infatuated that he keeps with a lass past a week. And an elf!" Fíli looked, for a moment, infuriated. "An elf of Mirkwood! Uncle would rather accept an Orc."

"King Thorin has allowed me to stay in his halls," Tauriel said mildly.

Fíli waved it away. "But you make him happy. I've stood by three vows my entire life, Lady Tauriel. First, to support my Uncle, and my Mother. Second, to serve by the people of Erebor, be it in exile or not. And last- and most important- to stand by my brother as long as I am able. I do not like elves, and I do not think I ever will. But as long as you bring a smile to my brother's face, I shall stand by you." He said it quietly, soft enough that not even the closest dwarf heard. Then, a little drier, he said, "If you turn on us, I claim your head."

She cocked her head to the side and faced him. "I am banished." It was calm, but he must have heard the thrum of emotion underneath; his eyes widened. "I've no home to betray you to. As to your brother-" Here, she hesitated. "-I am an elf, Prince Fíli. I do not move as quickly as most mortals. I believe I may grow to love Kíli, but that is… still some time away. Until then- I wish to stay, here, to explore what may happen, as it will."

"You understand why I can't believe you?"

"Yes," Tauriel said.

He paused. "You have offered my people as the price for trusting you."

"Your people are not mine to offer," she said levelly. "I have none to betray you to. No land-"

"No honor," growled a dwarf behind Fíli.

"-to loose my arrows for." Tauriel folded her fingers against the inside of her wrist. "I killed Bolg. I healed you, and your brother. What more must I do, to gain your trust?"

Fíli eyed her, and she refused to flinch: he'd pushed, perhaps, but she was the one to lose her temper. And she was the one in a delicate position.

The silence continued, until a lesser person would have twitched. Tauriel, instead, retreated inside of herself and went still.

Then, he laughed. Handed her the sword back, too- unexpectedly- and called something in Khuzdul to the dwarf who'd spoken, who tossed him a pair of swords.

"Would you like to spar?" He asked.

He was going to ignore everyone else, then. Tauriel felt a smile tug at the corner of her lips- she had more practice at superciliousness than the best dwarf. Vala above, she'd been best friends with Legolas, who could be an arrogant idiot when the mood struck him. She could play this game with both eyes closed.

"As I said, I'm not in practice. But- yes."

They stepped into the middle of the ring, and Tauriel felt the outside world fade- there was only Fíli standing before her, and the weight of the sword in her hands. She did not smile, or react- but there was a cold satisfaction in finally bearing weapons, and she knew it showed in her face.

This was home, as close as Tauriel knew. Steel in her hands, blood running hot, danger a hairsbreadth away.

She whirled away when Fíli's sword crashed against hers- stepped to the right and used her height to force his other sword from hers.

In the cool blue of Fíli's eyes, she saw laughter.

No home save the steel in your spine, a monster had spat when she was scarcely old enough to bear a knife. Traitor, it had prophesied.

For so long Tauriel had thought herself cursed. But now, in a mountain she had walked into of her own free will- now, there was something lodged in her chest, and it tasted like freedom.

…

A week later, Fíli went hunting for Sifa.

She was in the Outer Wing- the chambers she'd picked out were of middling size, but she'd managed to decorate the sparse furniture in the two days since she'd arrived.

Dark red, burnt orange, pale yellow; the room was lit with dawn-light, and looked peaceful, in a way his own chamber's opulence would never be able to achieve. Sifa stood before the unopened balcony door, looking outwards.

"You've been avoiding me," he said, loudly, breaking the calm- and knew it sounded like an accusation.

Sifa whirled around, knife in hand. Fíli stumbled backwards, and she growled something out; the door slammed shut behind him, and he had nowhere to run, threat with knife coming towards him-

She froze.

The faint smell of ozone that he'd tasted on the back of his tongue faded, slowly.

"You are lucky I looked," she said flatly. Didn't let go of the knife, but her posture softened a little. "I could have killed you."

"No, you couldn't have," he said.

"No," she agreed grimly, "but I would have tried. And then your mother would have killed me. I quite like my head on my shoulders, redêl."

She called him redêl, as if they'd never known each other. Formal, proper- what had happened?

"I'm not sure I understand," said Fíli.

Sifa's mouth twisted. "Erebor is known- was known- for its magic. Dwarven magic. I used some of it to shut the door. A person entering another's rooms without permission? I could have pinned you down and taken blood for that."

"So that's how you slammed the door shut," he said dryly. "But I was talking about how you look- horrible."

She exhaled loudly, and it sounded like a half-laugh; inclined her head and strode to the couch, where she sank into the cushions.

"Sit down," she said, waiting until he had before continuing. "I'm sorry. But you don't know- everything. Or anything, really."

He spread his hands. "Then explain."

Her dark eyes met his, dipped away, and returned. For a moment, she looked sad. "It's not quite simple."

"You sure?"

"I-" Sifa faltered. "Fine." Her posture stiffened, once more. "You know about Kubis. He asked for my hand, for the first time, years ago; he tried again last year; he attempted once more after you left. And then, as I told you, I left Ered Luin."

"That's not the whole story, though," Fíli realized. He saw the way she kept her neck stiff, trying to hide something- and wondered if he could have misread the situation any more than he had.

Sifa looked miserable.

"No," she agreed. "Kubis had many friends, and I- did not. There was one time when I was in my chambers, and- someone entered. I've no idea who; they put a knife to my throat and told me it was no less than an honor for me to be chosen by such a Lord."

"I will-"

"Shut up," she said calmly, and his jaw snapped shut. "I've never told this to anyone. It is difficult. But if I am to tell you, I will speak, and you will listen."

Fíli swallowed, and nodded.

She breathed in, and said, "I got used to being watched. I got used to being threatened. Years- Mahal, Fíli, it was going on before you ever left!" Fíli did not flinch, at that. But he did shuffle a little. Sifa might not blame him, but if it had been going on for years-

"Did everyone know?" He asked lowly.

Sifa shook her head, and he breathed out slowly. "You were- busy. I don't blame you for that, Fíli. But there was nobody I trusted to help me. So… I trained. As you never knew- as I never told you- but I'm a fairly deft hand with knives, and give me a halberd and I won't embarrass myself." Her face grew hard. "When he asked for the third time, I knew there would be no other chances. I'd either agree, or he would act. I begged for some time, and then packed what I could and left with your mother." Lips twisting, she added, "Had to wait a week, though, for everyone else, and hiding in Ered Luin? Not the best idea."

"I bet," muttered Fíli. Ered Luin had few areas to hide. It was what made it a good place to go if one wanted to be on the side of the law, but otherwise- not so much.

She nodded. "I got used to people bursting in my rooms. And on the way from Ered Luin, I swore that I would not allow it to happen here- I was going mad, in those halls. I could not have stood it, here, if it continued."

"I- don't blame you," Fíli said haltingly, trying to find and avoid the sharp edges of the conversation. "Is that why you're so thin? I mean. You're in Erebor, now- you don't have to worry. About him, at least."

"Perhaps." Sifa shrugged. "I am… used to it. It is difficult to let that paranoia- go." A quick frown. "You never felt such, Fíli? On the Quest- you never thought, after seeing what you'd seen- I'll never sleep again?"

"Mostly we were too tired to think, by the time we slept," Fíli said wryly and snorted. "But. You know that after the Battle- the last one- Uncle and Kíli were both injured? Badly, too. And there were elves, running around the place, and Dain's men, and then there were the Men- everything was in a damn bloody mess. And we'd taken Erebor, but nobody was doing anything, and I- had to act. As King."

Sifa looked faintly sympathetic, and her lips turned up, slightly, at the edges.

"I got a whole treaty drawn up, and then Gandalf cleansed the mountain of dragon sickness- let me tell you, we all felt lighter coming in after that- and, you know, I send in carts of gold to help Laketown, I'm still trying to make sure Dain's men don't kill the Mirkwood elves 'cause they're the only ones with food when it comes down to it-" he broke off. "Anyways. It was a long month. A longer two months before it, and a longer year before that- but. As I was doing it, I still didn't know if Uncle or Kíli are going to survive."

"You didn't know what would happen to them for a month?" Sifa asked, looking surprised.

Fíli grimaced. "Kíli was awake in a week. Uncle took… longer. And even then, they had to stay in the healer's tents. So. My dreams are of- of them. Them, dead."

Specifically, Kíli beheaded, and Uncle speared under Azog's blade, but there was no reason to go into such detail. Sifa's eyes, alit with pity, said enough already.

"But I'm doing better," he hurried to add.

"Mmm. I am- not." She sighed. "Not that I was expecting to, but it was a good hope, I suppose." Sifa saw the look in his eyes, and said, "I am still trying."

The bite to her voice told him to back off. I never thought I would be the one giving emotional advice, he thought, and folded his hands in Iglishmek for formal-apology. Sifa's cheeks turned a faint pink, and she looked startled.

"Yes. Well." She coughed. "I'm sure you came for something other than- this."

"Yes," said Fíli. "But I don't rememb- oh. Um. It's just that- well- you've been avoiding me."

"No, I haven't-" she paused, and looked slightly guilty. "I had my reasons." Sifa looked more flustered than he'd ever seen her. "Not that I think you'd accept them, but there are things I've- found out. Coming to Erebor was not just to escape Kubis, I assure you."

"Will you tell me?"

"No." She winced. "Well- if it is necessary that you know, I shall tell you. I came with four secrets, and you know of one of them, now: Kubis. And I suppose you deserve the next one, as well."

He blinked. "I do?"

"Mmm." A sharp, secretive smile that faded into a look of faint worry. "I learned much, as you might know- some of Erebor, some of my blood; mostly, however, of myself. Do you remember what I told you, when you left?"

"Apart from you're an idiot for even trying?" Fíli asked dryly.

She arched an eyebrow. "Yes."

"...something along the lines of 'stand firm,' yes?"

"Something along those lines." She laughed, softly. "Learn what you can stand. And what you cannot bear. And stand." Her eyes darted away from his. "I offered that to you, but took my own advice, Fíli."

"What is it, then, that you cannot bear?"

Sifa's spine straightened, and she faced him firmly. "I cannot- I will not- lie in your bed." Grimaced a little, and corrected, though her cheeks turned a faint pink: "I will not have sex with you."

Fíli frowned. "Why?"

"Because I've no wish to. Because I do not feel what other dames feel; I feel only disgust, when the acts are described." She shrugged easily. "Or even if there is no disgust, I do not wish for someone to do such to me. And I do not wish to do it to others."

"Have you not sworn to the path of khabbûna?" He asked, and felt a flicker of grief for futures untold; but if such was Sifa's choice, he wouldn't stand in her way.

Sifa swallowed. "I am selfish," she said. "And I've always been so. I have not sworn to that path, because I- while I've no desire for the warmth of flesh, I've always wanted a partner." She bowed her head and confessed, voice just over a whisper, "I could not bear to be alone for a lifetime."

"Sifa," said Fíli. It was plea and question both: she understood it.

"I've not sworn to that path, and I never will," she said, the vow curling around the both of them like a chill wind. "Even if you do not wish to stay with me, even if you've decided on someone else, my choice remains the same."

"I… shall not claim to understand," said Fíli. "But even I know that the only thing that would be your duty is to bear a child, Sifa. That might be a bit difficult without sleeping with me, but-"

"I like children," interrupted Sifa. "I've always wanted some. For such a purpose, I shall bear it- and yes, Fíli, that was a pun, I'm learning-"

"-I'm sure we can figure something out," finished Fíli. Sent her a smirk. "But good, at least your sense of humor's improving."

Sifa rose, and stepped forwards; placed the knife carefully on a bone-carved table and knelt before him. This close, he could see the grief lining her shoulders; the age, where there should only have been laughter.

"You deserve a dame who can offer you what- pleasure you desire," she said. "I don't- I don't soften, Fíli. I am not going to change; or if I do, it will be by my own choice, and none of yours. You deserve one who will place you first."

Fíli swallowed, hard, and thought, you will not kneel to me, and that is more precious than mithril. As you ought to know.

"Do you know whom they will place first, Sifa? Redêl, or myself?" He asked quietly.

"You are the crown prince of Erebor. There is no difference."

He winced. "There is. I am not always- prince. I would go insane, if I was. I am Fíli, brother and son and nephew and friend; I need time to remember that. Or I'd go like Uncle- old and brooding and- old. Did I say old?"

"Yes," she said. Laughed, a little, and then sobered. "But this is the rest of your life, Fíli. And I tell you this: I will not be your friend alone. If I am to marry you, I shall be the only one in your heart. I cannot accept you lying in another's bed. Call me selfish, call me- whatever. If you walk into a life with me, you will do so knowing what you lose."

He nodded, slowly. It was fair, what she said; it was honest, and just, and offered him a way out of something he'd promised. Fíli looked, steadily, at her.

Sifa was- was- was dark-winter-nights-candles-stone. She was heather on storm-beaten hillsides, and coldly flickering stars, and quiet shadows that never left. She was duty, and honor, and pride.

He owed it to her to understand what she was telling him.

Fíli rose to his feet, and stepped past her. Sifa turned to face him.

Her face was limned with firelight, all gold and shadows. The dark strands of her hair that framed her face looked gilded. For just a moment, she looked exhausted, and then grief-struck; it faded, when she met his gaze, replaced by a sort of soft kindness.

I owe you nothing. I am the prince of Erebor, and you are the disgraced daughter of a thief. You could have waited until I'd bound myself to you, and then refused me your bed- you could have used me, and you have not.

"As you have acted, I shall match you," he said formally, and sketched a bow. "Sifa, daughter of Glifa: I know what I will lose. And what I shall win. Upon the fortnight, I shall give my answer to this."

One hand was pressed to her mouth; the other gripped the table.

"Honor for honor, kindness for kindness," she breathed, and then stood. Curtsied, precisely, and said, "May Mahal shine down on you, redêl. Your request is granted."

…

"I'm not sure what you're waiting for."

Dís waited, as Thorin glared at her. She was not going to lose this battle to Thorin's idiocy, that much was obvious.

"It's- complicated."

She didn't move.

"He's not a dwarf."

"That's why we have the position of Consort," she said dryly. When Thorin puffed up, she continued blithely. "And also why it's not lesser to any other title in our country. Thorin- what are you thinking? Master Baggins is liked by everyone who's met him, he's admired by everyone else- he likes you- so what is the problem?"

Thorin tugged at the lapels of his coat, straightening them compulsively. The look he levelled at her through the mirror had, at one point, made a guard in Ered Luin spontaneously burst into tears.

Dís was made of sterner stuff than that.

"If you don't talk I'll take the offer to him by myself," she threatened. "I'm sure I can get Balin to draw up a contract-"

"I don't know if he wants to stay."

And… to that, she had no words. Mahal's bones, what had she done to get stuck with a brother so impossible dense? This was punishment for something. It had to be. Nobody could be so oblivious.

Aware that her jaw was hanging open unattractively, she snapped it shut. "You think the Hobbit that- no. No."

"No?" Thorin asked slowly.

"No, I cannot handle your moronic tendencies to-" Dís broke off and rubbed her temples. "Did you lose what little brains you had when that Orc smashed your head?"

"Dís." He looked honestly insulted.

Which was good. But Dís would drill it into his head, because- well. Because Thorin was her brother.

"I'm going to say this in little words, so I'm sure you understand." Dís stared at him until he nodded. "Bilbo Baggins could have left for his home before you woke up. He could have left any time after you woke up. He can pack his bags anytime he wants, and leave!" She pushed her chair back with a screech and forced herself into Thorin's space, until he turned around to face her. "If you don't tell him, Thorin, I will, and it's not because I think you're an imbecile."

He arched an eyebrow. "Then what is it?"

"Because your love deserves better," Dís said, flatly. "And- Thorin, I know you. You'll wave goodbye to the Hobbit from the battlements, and you'll watch him go, and you'll spend the rest of your life miserable because you couldn't believe you deserved that tiny bit of happiness."

Thorin was a romantic. He certainly enjoyed looking majestic and brooding and unhappy, and Dís could accept that- had accepted it, for such a long time- but she would not allow him to drag an innocent person down into his own hole of misery just because he thought it added to his character.

...which was probably unfair, but in all honesty, not by a lot.

"Fine. I'll talk to him tomorrow."

Dís gaped at him for a moment.

"Master Baggins has changed you," she said finally. "I don't think you've ever given in so easily, not even when you were ten."

"Oh, shut up," Thorin said irritably. And then, as she was leaving the room: "You weren't alive when I was ten, Dís."

"No, but Frérin was, and he gossiped," she said, and slammed the door behind her.

…

Kíli was sparring with Tauriel- this was now a thing that they did, when he wasn't too busy. And he was winning, damn it all to hell. He threw himself back, dipped forward, took the blow from her sword on his left vambrace and was going to swing around-

Next thing he knew, he was flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

It was a very pretty ceiling. All dark green with gold veins and the odd silver one shot through. The whole thing was shiny, as well, and all dwarves knew shiny things were the prettiest things. Maybe he could just- lie here, and marvel at the beauty of Erebor's ceilings. Yes. That would be very, very good.

"-Kíli. Kíli. If you can hear me-" Kíli twitched, and saw a red-bearded dwarf lean back with a sigh of relief.

"He's alright," he said.

Tauriel came into his view, and she looked so worried that he nearly lost his desire to stare at ceilings for the rest of his life.

"I thought you were balanced," she said. "I'm pretty sure I gave you ample time to react, too. Kíli-" She leaned forward, ignoring the hisses from the other dwarves. "-what is going on?"

He stared up at her, and then scrabbled for purchase on the ground for leverage. When she realized what he was doing, her face twisted, but she offered her arm for support.

"Thanks," he grunted out.

Dwalin was glaring at him, but Kíli just shrugged unrepentantly and allowed her to pull him to his feet. When he reached for his sword, though, Dwalin snapped.

"You've done enough damage to that thick skull of yours for today," he growled, and snatched the sword out of his hand.

Kíli accepted that with a grump, and left.

Tauriel followed him.

"Kíli?" She asked, voice turning a little sharper.

"Mm?" He offered her a grin and continued walking to his rooms.

Inside, he looked about- but, no. Fíli wasn't there. As he hadn't been for almost three days. The only times Kíli'd seen his brother had been during official sessions and the night- the rest of the time, he'd buggered off to bother someone else.

Which didn't particularly bother him. But. Fíli was his brother.

If there was something wrong, surely Fíli would tell him? Or, maybe not. Kíli was the loud one, while Fíli was- the responsible one. Not really, though. Kíli could always tempt him into pranks and all, but without him Fíli'd probably have hung out with Ori of all people.

Again, not a bad thing. Still. He'd probably be obsessed with parchment and quill-cutting competitions or whatever the scribes did. Ori was so weird. What did he do for fun, curate historical records?

Kíli shuddered.

And was pinned in place by a pair of eyes that could outshine emeralds. Ah, if only Fíli had someone like that-

He does.

Bugger, that. He really could have done better.

"I am losing my patience," Tauriel said flatly.

Kíli grinned at her and shook off his worry. It probably wasn't anything, anyways.

"You should probably talk to Mother," he said.

"What."

"The Lady Dis. My mother." Kíli shucked off his mail overcoat and slumped into a seat. "She wants to meet you."

Tauriel looked like she was one step away from forcibly shaving his beard. "You couldn't have told me this before?"

"I found out at breakfast," Kíli replied defensively.

"It's been three hours since-" Tauriel made an inarticulate sound, and strode away sharply. It was the angriest Kíli'd ever seen her, and he thought temper quite suited her: the flush high on her cheeks was so alluring.

"Kíli," Tauriel said, a little desperately, "please tell me she doesn't want to meet today."

"She doesn't want to meet today," he repeated dutifully, because he couldn't help the small part of him that was still twenty. "But, she does."

And dodged the blow that was almost too fast to see.

He threw up his hands, shielding his face. "Mercy!" He cried, and then lowered them slowly, peeking at her. "After dinner. Probably a couple hours before supper. You don't have to dress up, Tauriel. She just wants to talk."

"Oh, like you just wanted to introduce me?" She asked, and sounded on the verge of hysteria. "Excuse me if I've little faith in your definition of other people's intentions!"

"Is Mother really that scary?"

Tauriel's eyes went flat, like a fish. She levelled a look at him that might have made him cringe, had he not been Kíli.

"Your Uncle follows what she says, and he is the most stubborn person I know." Tauriel shook her head. "If Lady Díscan cow him- I'm afraid I've no chance."

Kíli arched both eyebrows comically. "Ah, but Mother's got a century and more under her belt, beating back Uncle's hopes. She's been working on you for only- a couple days, right? You'll be fine."

Tauriel stared at him for a long moment, before he finally saw the faint twitch of her lips- he grinned at her, making it grow.

"Dwarves," she said exasperatedly, though there was faint laughter there as well. "You'd stand in Morgoth's own lair and call him a little cruel."

"You know us too well."

"I-" Tauriel sighed. "You know, in Mirkwood, one only speaks to the parents of their betrothed or more after marriage. It makes all kinds of things easier." She tugged at a sleeve. "And, I don't like talking to your- family. They make things so dramatic, all of them!"

Kíli smothered a laugh in his sleeve. "You served under Thranduil for half a millennia."

"Point taken," she said, after a moment.

There was a long pause, and then Kíli tipped his head to the side and asked, "Are you really worried?"

Because if she was, he could do something. There was little enough laughter from everybody- the Company were too busy to actually relax and have a good time, and Dain's men were just all sticks in the mud. If he blew up some part of the mountain, would anyone really care?

...Uncle would.

"No," Tauriel said, firmly. He looked up at her, and she arched an eyebrow. "No, Kíli. I will go and talk to your mother." She hesitated for a moment, but then unfolded her hand, so he saw the dark stone she held. "Your runestone. I have- I did not know how to return it. But this is yours, so."

"So," Kíli echoed.

"It is from Erebor, is it not?" She ran a finger over a soft gold vein right beneath the lettering. "The coloring- it is rather unique."

He held very still, and allowed the words to burble up like water from a spring, more solemn than previously. "Aye. It's from my father, actually. See, he was a miner, in Erebor- and when Smaug came he ran, but his pockets were filled with the stone he was mining, 'cause he just kept them there. And later, he died, and Mother would only ever take the Erebor stones out on- special days. She- when she heard we were going, she made that for me."

"Then how could you give it to me?"

She sounded angry, and a little shocked. Kíli looked up at her, and he thought, you don't know what you are to me.

"I knew you could keep it safe." Kíli paused, and then said, deliberately, "And I thought- if anything happened to me- and you needed to stay somewhere- Mother would see that, and she'd help."

Tauriel was silent. Frozen, like a statue. After a long moment, she turned to him and said, almost too soft to be heard, "If you ever try something like this again, I will gut you like a fish."

"Tauriel?" He asked slowly.

She moved, then, almost a blur: pale skin marred red by her hair, like blood on ice. Fast and ethereal and terrifyingly not-dwarf.

She had unsheathed her knife, and the cold expression in her eyes scoured something in his chest. Her eyes glittered a little in the firelight.

"I have seen my family slaughtered before my eyes," she said. "I have seen friends driven to madness, and I have ended their pain. I have seen my kinsmen and my king turn their back on me." She swallowed, hard. "I want- I wanted to- I wanted to be free, for once. But you've already taken that, haven't you?"

Kíli didn't dare move a muscle.

"If you ever give me a token of your death," Tauriel said, lifting reddened eyes, "I will ensure you die in the most painful way I know. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he whispered.

The moment spiralled on, but then Tauriel turned away sharply and swore under her breath, before rising to her feet.

"I'll cancel your meeting with Mother, then," Kíli muttered, only for her to shake her head.

"No, I'll go," she said wearily. "But do not think this conversation finished, Morwinyon. Not tonight, I do not think; but tomorrow. We shall speak of this later."

…

Tauriel was numb. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest, but it did not seem to translate. She was not shaking, though she thought she should be; it all just ached.

Mostly, she wished to leave Erebor and head for the nearest oaken trees, breathe in the cool air, stare up at the stars and beg them for the peace she'd fought for so many years. How many times had she heard it?

Her love is poisoned. Captain of the Guard in a forest set aflame with darkness, family killed, who bears daggers to the throne room?

Her love is as a dagger to your heart.

And, in the quietest part of her mind: if you live, it shall be as you wished you had not.

But Kíli had said he did not believe such curses. Or as good as, in the damp earth of Thranduil's dungeons. He'd smiled at her, and she had smiled back, because dwarves were known to be hardy to curses, and even if he was not she could have survived his death.

"Araran fool," she hissed at herself, and then bit her tongue, when she saw the dwarf following her.

Of course- she had forgotten. She yet had a guard.

Back in her rooms, she dressed in a soft blue tunic and brushed her hair neatly. She still had only the three knives, and she was visiting Kíli's mother- she discarded the paired ones and slid the other knife into her boot, where it was hidden.

And then she stared at her face in the mirror.

Pale skin, with an aquiline nose and high cheekbones, stared back at her. Her lashes were thickened just slightly from the tears she hadn't allowed to fall; there were two red spots on her cheeks, likely from the same thing.

Tauriel was just so tired. All she wanted was the quiet to allow her to sleep. Where she didn't see Kíli dead, where she was too slow, not good enough- she hadn't been, all her life, to save those she loved, and now when she was, how dare her mind replay what hadn't happened? She just wanted to run hard, run fast, feel the fear in the back of her throat like a live, pulsing animal- she knew how to deal with that.

This quiet, slumbering terror dug into her soul with implacable steel.

"Ah, meldir, if only you could see me now."

Legolas would laugh, she thought, and did not know to call it bitter or wry. Legolas would laugh, and his eyes would soften, and he would not fear to place a hand on her shoulder. Starlight dancing over their heads, the air cold and thin-

"I miss you," said Tauriel, and felt the nameless surge of horror across her face, like a slap: now you've done it, screamed a voice that sounded like a young elf, see how they turn away in fear, in pity, in rage.

But she had faced that, had she not? Levelling bow at Thranduil, on a battlefield. And then, in the tents, as he proclaimed her etementa, banished.

Tauriel had seen her nightmare, and she had met it. There was nothing left inside her, only the love Kíli offered, and the steel in her spine.

(a girl sees her mother dead, blood on cloth once lit gold- she sees her father turn dark, curl in on himself-)

If you live, it shall be as you wished you had not, a monster promised, once upon a time.

Tauriel, fifteen and shaking, saw death in her father's eyes and swore, I shall never Fade.

She kept her promise.

Now, six centuries later, she felt sick with it. Because she had kept her word, but the monster had kept his. Some nights she felt so empty, Manwë help her, as if someone had cut out her heart and left only iron in its place.

And Kíli loved her.

It was what she returned to, every damn time. Kíli loved her. It beat in time to her pulse, and felt raw, forged in heat of battle and fear of death. He loved her, and she wondered if she had anything inside her to answer that.

I do not know. But I shall find out.

Eyes closed, half-reaching, she whispered, "Aran'Valinor, give me the strength to continue."

And then folded everything away, into herself, as she'd done for long years. Brushed water right under her lashes, so there was no clumping, and studied her expression until she was sure it could remain impassive.

An hour later, in the formal sitting room of Princess Dís, she was holding to that mask with both hands and a prayer, because there was no way anyone could be that insulting without meaning it, and she would not give anyone the privilege of seeing it crack. It helped that the low light tinted the room red, allowing her to flush without giving anything else away.

"So, I suppose one couldn't expect any better from elves, but it served us well until we arrived in the Goblin Mountains," Dís was saying. "Then it broke, of course. Became some chewtoy, I think." She wrinkled her nose. "Pity. I think that moss-king would have traded for it."

Tauriel inhaled through her teeth and said, in a voice that was sharper than she'd like, "If a true elvin-made sword broke, it was likely because the user was using it at an incorrect angle." Don't say it, don't say it, don't- "Certainly, they were made with someone a little bit taller in mind."

Oh, well. Diplomacy was out, and had been since Kíli's mother opened her mouth. Hopefully this wouldn't make her too angry.

"Certainly," Dís agreed amiably, smile like a shark. "Made for someone with arms like wet noodles."

"Or for someone who has finesse instead of brute strength," Tauriel said off-handedly, before going painfully still.

Dís, however, only arched an eyebrow. "You're a blunt one."

Tauriel felt her left hand tighten, and she forcibly relaxed it. "I've never been one for diplomacy," she said.

"No?" Dís steepled her fingers. "I thought all you elves were made for it."

"Most are… patient," Tauriel said slowly. "And so, can approach statecraft with an open mind. I- have never learned to be so subtle."

"Indeed. Then let us cut to the chase." Dís tipped her head to the side. Her voice turned grave. "My son is a trusting figure, Tauriel, and he loves deeply, without thought for himself." Her eyes looked straight at Tauriel, and she felt flayed open: like everything of her was laid out for Dís to see. "Fíli knows this. Thorin does, too, though he acts like he doesn't. And so, my question to you: what do you intend to do with Kíli?"

"I intend to find out whether or not we are compatible," Tauriel said evenly. Then added, with a touch of asperity, "As I've been telling everyone who has asked. Princess Dís- I have nothing else, right now. I am banished from my home, and I've no family. So I shall stay here, until we are certain one way or another, and then I shall act accordingly."

Dís' voice turned rhythmic, half-chanting, like a prayer or an old song. "What are words, to the steel-breasted? Naught but the stray wind." Her eyes held Tauriel's, old and dark and as bright as her son's.

"But even the stray wind may dislodge the path of a true-thrown weapon," Tauriel replied.

"My people do not trust those who have no allegiances," she said.

"'Cruel done in the name of good is yet evil,'" quoted Tauriel. "And even so: I do not ask for trust, and I never have." Abruptly, she felt exhausted- things moving too fast for comfort, and revelations too meaningful in so short a time left her numb, her thoughts in disarray and limbs trembling. "I've no wish to debate ethics, Princess Dís. We are separate races; we will always have our differences. If I, suddenly, had the approval of Thranduil tomorrow, you would not trust me anymore than you do now, and, indeed, I think you would trust me less.

"I have no wish to beg on bended knee for your trust, or your people's trust. I've saved your children- Kíli, twice over- and then, been banished for it." She straightened her shoulders. "Clearly, there is nothing more I can do to gain your confidence. So I shall keep to my vows, and if you do not trust that- there is nothing more I can do for it."

Dís stared for a long minute, before a smile stretched over her face. Strangely, it felt more real to Tauriel than anything else in the entire conversation.

"Very well," she said, and rose to her feet. "Lady Tauriel. Your vows have been heard. Now, let me say this- if you break these promises, I claim your head."

Tauriel was weary, and worn ragged with it, and she had never had a good idea of her own mortality at the best of times. Now- threatened by a dwarf who had spent the better part of an hour insulting everyone from her ancestors to herself- she only felt a dull sort of incredulity.

More to the point: she laughed.

"Is this some sort of a dwarven custom?" She asked, dry as dust. Dís frowned, and she explained: "Prince Fíli's already claimed my head, if I ever stop making his brother smile."

Dís' face went purple. From a coolly delivered threat to an incoherent fury in the space it took for Tauriel to breathe- it was startling. Tauriel blinked, and Dís hissed, "That is my right."

"Very well," she said bemusedly.

"I am his mother," she snarled.

Tauriel offered her an awkward smile, wordless.

Dís turned away, stalking over to a side room. She came back with a broadsword, and an expression that looked grimmer than if she were to go to war.

"You'll see yourself out, I hope," she said, and did not mean it as a question. "I must go speak to one of my sons, who is an idiot, and-" she started speaking in Khuzdul, then. Tauriel thought swearing might have been a better descriptor.

She left.

Tauriel looked out, over the cool stone room, lit in shades of red and yellow. For a moment, she allowed herself to tremble, finely, before forcing it down. Another ten minutes or so, and she could go to her rooms, or outside, or somewhere else-

Outside. Perhaps, if it wasn't cloudy, she could see the stars, and allow their gentle light to soothe her fëa for a few minutes. It was only just past dark, she knew- so the sky might be tainted with twilight colors yet, but it was a rare pleasure indeed for her to have the time to see the stars glitter into view, from dusk to midnight.

Heart already lighter, she left Dís' rooms.

…

Sifa was half-asleep in her quarters when she remembered that she'd left candles lit in the library.

For a long moment she considered just leaving it.

But- damn it all to hell- if she did, there was a chance something would tip over, and even if nothing actually burned, the smoke damage to such old paper would surely render it illegible. Sifa loathed those who allowed such to happen to precious information.

She threw on a loose overcoat, and slipped outside.

A few minutes later, she became aware of a faint sound, like a muffled crash- she frowned, and followed it.

Only to turn the corner to see a guard, crumpled on the stone.

"What in the world-," she cut herself off, and knelt, pressing a finger to the guard's neck- but there was no pulse. "Mahal have mercy," she breathed.

No blood, either, so his neck was broken. It must have been done very quickly, and quietly, for she recognized the guardsman and knew him to be competent. If he suspected something, this wouldn't have been so easy a job.

A sound from further down the hall alerted her to the fact that there might not have been only one target. Heart pounding, she drew the dagger she always kept sheathed at her waist and ignored how paltry it felt- undid her loose overcoat and laid it gently over the guard; followed the sounds.

Inside, she saw a dwarf shielding from a taller, leaner figure.

There was only one person who could be that inside Erebor's walls.

Sifa swallowed, hard. She could turn away, run, ask for guards; but there was something strange in the tableau, some detail that she couldn't make out-

She spoke.

"What is going on here?" Voice clear, sharp, steady; pitched to cut away battle-haze.

Both dwarf and elf froze, but then Sifa saw the way the elf stumbled back, and the dwarf- followed. Only a moment, nothing more; but enough for her to make out, enough for her to see the relief in the elf's eyes and tension in the dwarf's back, enough for her to see the knife in the dwarf's hands, gleaming red.

The dwarf stepped back, and half-turned to her, so he was poised to see both Sifa and the elf.

"She attacked me," he said flatly.

Sifa breathed in and out, slow and cool. The elf was shaking, moving backwards, hand scrabbling against the wall. There would be no help coming from that sight.

"There's a dead guard in the hallway," she said. Careful, careful- he wore two bone-beads in his beard, and they were the yellow-brown of Orc bones. He was a warrior, and his blood was up- he was more dangerous than she could hope to be on her best day.

"Yes," said the dwarf roughly. "She killed him."

"But- why?" Sifa asked, widening her eyes. "She was announced to the King Under the Mountain, wasn't she? She's the khi'nututredel, I don't understand-"

As she spoke, she extended her foot back, precisely a half-length; with the dagger in her hand, she twitched it to every sconce in the room.

"Enough," snarled the dwarf, stepping away from Sifa towards the elf. "If you will not help, I will avenge my brother myself."

"Wait," Sifa said, and he turned around, and she felt the cold heat of electricity tingle up from her feet to her scalp.

I want this, she thought, and pulled, and for a moment there was a storm sitting inside of her lungs.

"Zagr," she said, and every lit lamp in the room flared brighter than the sun.

It was brief, but long enough: Sifa, ready, leapt forward and slammed her fist into his throat as he yelled in sudden pain, and while he was still choking she shoved her open palm up, into his nose.

He was still trained, however, and strong. Before she could do much more, he had a hand around her throat, and the dagger pressing close, held back only by her own arm. Sifa bit her tongue, and spat blood up into his face; it did not do much to silence him.

A maelstrom of rage ballooned inside her, like so much hot air.

I have not travelled the length of Arda to die here, she thought furiously.

"Bitch," he panted.

She clawed her left hand- the hand not keeping his dagger from slicing into her chest- and dragged it down the dirt, forming three long furrows. Then she sent up the fastest prayer she had to Mahal and released her right hand, instead drawing it down his face as quickly as she could.

His dagger slid across her chest in a shallow cut as he suddenly, forcibly, slept.

Sifa let him fall and wished, viciously, that he hit his head hard. Then she stumbled to the side and took long, deep breaths, and did not think about Kubis' rage, or those two weeks in which she hid across a mountain built to keep people from hiding, or the feel of a knife to the throat and a hoarse whisper-

Wait a minute.

The dizzy edge to her thoughts, the haze at the periphery of her vision, her heart pounding in sudden desperation- Sifa knew these symptoms. Nausea curdled in her gut as she stumbled over to the fallen dwarf, and scrabbled for his knife.

It was coated in a pale pinkish-blue substance.

Damn it all to Morgoth's lair.

Sifa glanced around, and then back to the elf, who had gone even stiller, head tipping back slightly. Closer inspection revealed that the assassin had slashed at the insides of her elbows, likely at the veins.

Smart dwarf- make her own blood carry it to the heart, make her slow, make her stumble- and then you can cut her head off.

There was an easy enough solution to being cut with the gumdrop plant: tea made from firemoss leaves.

She had firemoss in her quarters. The question was how to get there.

After a moment, she made her decision- she bore the elf on her shoulders, and hunched over, hurried back to her rooms. There, she laid her out on one of the low couches and made the tea; by then, her vision was wavering.

The fumes brought her back a few minutes later, and Sifa was glad for it- though she had a terrible headache, the pain was enough to hone her thoughts, and she'd need her wits about her to get out of this mess. But she could have skipped the actual drinking of the tea: firemoss was bitter, and no amount of sugar could affect that distinctive flavor.

She poured a little bit of tea down the elf's throat, massaging it until she swallowed, and then headed out to the assassin and guard. The assassin she brought back to her quarters, where she tied him up with torn-out linen strips, in the strong braided fashion that Ered Luin weavers favored. The guard she placed on a low-lying table in a nearby room, and covered him with a black weave she'd found in her rooms.

Then she sat down at her study table, and began making notes on what she had to do.

...

Tauriel awoke with a throbbing head and a pain across her elbows, and fear leaping in her throat like a live animal.

She awoke sharply, without a distinctive flinch, and did not hiss at the sudden pain; instead, she reached for her dagger- it was not there, however, and she let the fear claw at her insides for a moment longer before forcing it all down. Terror would not help here, but if she addressed things calmly, perhaps she could survive.

A look around revealed that she was laid out on a couch too small for her body, and her calves hung off the edge; a rough blanket was unfolded over her, and on the side table next to her a cup of something that truly smelled horrid rested.

Tauriel shifted, gingerly testing muscles and weight. Her head still ached, but far less than even a few moments before, and when she looked down she saw that her elbows had been bandaged neatly, if hastily.

However, when she got up- the world spun like a water-wheel, and she had no choice but to grasp the back of the couch lest she fall over like a newborn colt.

A moment later the world resolved into proper shapes: the dwarf who'd attempted to kill her last night was bound tightly and shoved in what must have been a perfectly uncomfortable position, which Tauriel was surprisingly agreeable to- and another dwarf was seated at a desk and writing.

"What-" she winced at the scrape to her voice, "-happened?"

The dwarf turned around, and Tauriel realized that it wasn't a he but rather a she; the severely cut braids around her beard revealed a more delicate set of features than Kíli, and the clothes she wore were clearly feminine, even if the body was more androgynous than expected.

Though Tauriel had seen Dis- she really shouldn't have been surprised.

"You were attacked," the dame told Tauriel, bluntly. "I don't suppose you remember overmuch?"

"No," said Tauriel.

She nodded, and waved her back to the couch, where she followed her and sat, on a nearby armchair. "The guard you had was taken care of first, from what I could infer, and then he moved onto you. I suppose you had realized something was the issue and attempted to hold him off, for you'd moved some distance away by the time I arrived."

"I… was trying to run," Tauriel recalled, slowly. "But he followed, and seemed to know precisely where I'd gone."

"Stone-sense," she said. "It is something all dwarves have, though miners more than most." Abruptly, she looked startled; her lips twisted into wry amusement before she said, "Apologies, but we haven't been introduced. My name is Sifa, daughter of Glifa and last Heir to Ferya."

"Tauriel," she replied, with a perfunctory nod. "Daughter of Tirnel and Randaer."

Sifa bowed her head in acknowledgement. "Well met, then, Lady Tauriel. Now. There is much we must speak of, and little enough time; it is not yet dawn, of course, and guards don't often patrol the Outer Wings, so the damage done to the hallway won't have been noticed yet." She winced, a little. "And your guard is still there."

"Ah," Tauriel said quietly. "I- wondered." When Sifa did not start to remonstrate her for daring to care for a dwarf, she relaxed a fraction. "So, is he-"

"He is dead," said Sifa, still with that peculiar dwarf bluntness; another might have tried to soften the words, might have couched it a little differently, but these people seemed to think that there was comfort in the bare truth. "He did not suffer- his neck was broken before he was aware of the danger, I believe. And he does not have any children, or a spouse- his braids said he'd devoted himself to his craft." She sighed. "He will be buried with honor."

"Thank you." Tauriel sought for something to say, something to offer-

"Drink the tea," Sifa ordered.

She looked at her. "What tea?"

She inclined her head to the cup that stank worse than a spider corpse left to fester for weeks.

"That is not tea," said Tauriel.

"It is made from steeping firemoss leaves," said Sifa, sounding amused. "The assassin- when he cut you, the dagger was coated in gumdrop milk. It causes dizziness, blindness, vertigo; let it affect you long enough, and it will make you go unconscious. It's also a shrub, and it grows in great number on the slopes of both Ered Luin and Erebor, so it's easy to extract and use which is why the assassin likely used it-" She pursed her lips ruefully. "And, rather beside the point. Lady Tauriel, the only known cure for poisoning via gumdrop milk is firemoss tea. I assure you it tastes better than it smells."

Tauriel took the cup, and tried not to gag as she brought it close. She sipped it, and heard Sifa say, in a voice almost too low to be heard, "But only slightly."

A moment later, the taste flooded over her tongue: acrid, bitter, with a sickly-sweet edge. She glared mutely at Sifa and swallowed, and then couldn't repress the shudder as it worked its way down her throat.

"That was horrible," she bit out, and stopped. Because the heat-haze surrounding the edges of her vision had faded as if they'd never been, and the woolly effect on her head had gone as well.

Sifa arched a knowing eyebrow, and rose to her feet.

"Drink the tea," she repeated. Then, retrieving a sheaf of papers: "And tell me about your guards. When do they change rotation?"

"Noon," Tauriel said promptly.

"More time yet," Sifa muttered. "Very well. So. We'll have to find a way to get either Fíli or Kíli here, as soon as possible, and we've a little over seven hours to do so."

"Why can't we just present the assassin to the King? Surely he will find out, anyhow, and we can just get it over with."

Sifa paused. "It is a little more complicated than that."

Tauriel waited, but no; Sifa did not seem inclined to elaborate.

"How so?"

"A bit too long an explanation for right now, I'm afraid," she said, and sounded truly regretful, enough to let Tauriel put aside her wariness for the moment. "We shall have to speak to the Princes before anything else. And- we do not know who else is a part of this plot, so we shall have to continue without knowledge of whom to trust beyond the royal family."

Tauriel frowned into her cup as a thought occurred to her. "What, precisely, is your relation to the royal family?"

Sifa, scribbling something into the margins of a sheet of paper, looked up at her, and said, wryly, "That is a longer story than the entirety of the Lay of Thorin Oakenshield and his Company, and that song is by far one of our race's longer. Rest assured, I do not wish any of them dead, or overthrown."

"Am I to simply take your word for it?" Tauriel demanded.

"I see the resemblance," Sifa told her, "between you and Kíli. Heaven knows you must have nothing else in common, but that protectiveness- and, I think, your ability to find danger even as everyone else is safe." Her mien softened a little, and she reached forwards, as if to touch her knee, before retreating. "I will not tell you everything, Lady Tauriel, for there is more to my relation to Fíli than can be told in a single evening; and, indeed, it is not your business whatsoever. But I've known both of them, and the Princess Dis, since I was too young to remember. So- I wish to keep them safe, and the only way for such is to tell them what has happened."

Tauriel studied Sifa, closely. Then, she asked, mildly, "Only your relation to Prince Fíli?"

Sifa froze, and her eyes widened the tiniest fraction.

Tauriel nodded, satisfied.

"Please," she said, "call me Tauriel. Now: how do you propose to approach them?"

…

Fíli was still asleep in his bed when he was poked in the side.

He jerked upright, but before he could yell a hand was slapped over his mouth. A moment later it retracted, and he reached for the knife he kept in the side of his bed.

"Fíli," said a voice he knew all too well, "put the damned dagger down."

"Sifa?" He asked groggily.

The image of Sifa appeared, then, slowly: she was lit from behind in the dying embers of the fireplace, and so her face was still shadowed; but there was enough ambient light for him to see her.

"I can't stay for long," she said, speaking very low and very fast. "Do you remember what I said, of your Uncle not having an army? It appears that some have decided it does not matter, for there are easier ways to topple a kingdom than to lay siege to it. Can you leave these rooms without others knowing?"

"...what?" Fíli asked slowly.

"Fíli," said Sifa, and he saw the way she gripped something in her hands, knuckles gleaming white. "I. Do not. Have. Time. We have to act. You are in danger. So. Can you leave these rooms?"

He rubbed at his eyes. "Yes," he said. "There's a second passage into- it doesn't matter. Nobody knows about it."

"Good," she murmured. "I'm a runner, according to the guards, it's how I got in. Ignore the page I've left behind; it's useless information for you. Just leave your rooms, and keep your head down, and go to the polished-rocks storeroom in the Outer Wing, as soon as you can." Sifa paused, and he stared at her; she reached out and brushed his jaw, lightly, before retreating. "Will you be missed?"

"...no," Fíli said slowly. "Not for another four hours."

"Good. Then get ready. And take your time, coming to the storeroom- make sure there's nobody following you." Sifa stepped back. "Where's Kíli?"

He grimaced. "Something about horses in Laketo- Dale. He left last night."

"When will he be back?"

"Today," Fíli said.

Sifa nodded, once, and then pulled a hat on. With the bright blue tunic and characteristic hat of runners across Erebor, there was nothing distinctive in her appearance.

"You remember where to go?"

He nodded. Sifa's face looked pinched tight, tense with something that spoke of true fear- which lit a lamp in his own gut- but before he could ask exactly what happened, she left.

As Fíli walked down the hallway she'd directed him to, he felt tense and unhappy. The halls echoed as they'd done when Smaug still lived, and the stone walls took up the sound so it sounded like a thousand timorous ghosts curdling through the air.

The rooms Sifa had chosen were storerooms that held the dross of mining. With so few dwarves in Erebor, they were mostly abandoned. In a slightly-smaller one such as this, it was likely nobody even remembered it existed.

Sifa was on her knees in the room, writing on a piece of paper, head bent. Beside her, tall and grim, stood Tauriel.

Fíli stopped in his tracks. "Sifa," he said warily.

Sifa looked up, and some tension broke away from her face, though the rest of her still looked stiff.

"Fíli," she acknowledged, and waved him over to the ring of chairs.

"Lady Tauriel," he murmured as he passed her.

She bowed her head, and he was going to ask why she was here, how she was here- but Sifa laced her fingers together, and said, "Last night, Lady Tauriel was attacked."

"What?" Fíli couldn't process, for a moment, and then he felt white-hot pinpricks behind his chest that spoke of fear. She stood right there, and he could not see any injuries on her, but she was still his brother's One and- "When? How?"

"I went outside the mountain after speaking to your mother," Tauriel said calmly, but he thought he saw a tremor in her hands. "It was late evening when I went outside, and well past midnight when I returned. On our way back, the guard assigned to me was attacked, and then I was, as well." She shot a look at Sifa, who was gripping one of the stone pieces like she wished to break it. "Had Lady Sifa not arrived when she did, I would certainly be dead."

"Gumdrop milk," Sifa said succinctly. "She's fine, now, and so am I; but he was- is- dangerous."

"Is he dead?" Fíli asked.

Sifa shook her head. "I- subdued him."

"Good job," he said, surprised, and Sifa rolled her eyes.

"Yes, yes, it's all very startling," she said impatiently, and turned to the pages she held once more, picking out a few and shoving them at him. "But more importantly, there's something going on here, and it isn't just one dwarf with a grudge against elves. There's something deeper here, Fíli- I checked up on clan records, and he has only two family members stated, one from Ered Luin and the other from the Iron Hills, and moreover, there's nothing high-ranking about either."

"Clan records don't say everything."

"But they do give criminal records," she shot back.

Fíli exhaled. "Kíli's coming back tonight-"

"Coordinated as to when he was not in Erebor," Tauriel said lowly.

"-and we can talk more about this then." He tugged on his beard. "Though that's a good point."

"Fine," Sifa said briskly. "But we still need to talk about the killed guard, and what to do with the assassin, and-"

"The guard was killed?"

"Yes," Tauriel and Sifa said together. Then, Sifa continued, "He was killed quickly: broken neck. No family on his end, either- just a few distant clan members in Ered Luin."

Fíli's jaw clenched tightly. "It's different if someone's been killed," he said.

"I know," said Sifa.

"I want to see where it happened," he said, and didn't wait for her nod.

He heard her say something to Tauriel, who followed them quietly; apparently there were dirt tunnels under the stone ones that he'd come through, and these didn't echo at all. Sifa led him to a dark room that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and then she stepped back, allowing him to see what she'd seen.

There wasn't much he could identify that she hadn't said already.

The guard clearly hadn't been aware- the angle was of a chokehold from the back and a swift wrench; before he'd realized anything was wrong, he'd been killed.

"Mahal guide you," Fíli said quietly, placing a hand on the guard's beard. "May his Halls be bright and laden with food."

"May you find peace there that you have not known in Endoré," said Tauriel, softly. Fíli looked up at her, sharply, and she said, "He returned home, after centuries, and was not given peace. He was killed in the name of power." Her hands spasmed for a moment, before forcibly stilling. "I am many things, Prince Fíli, but before everything else I've been a protector. This dwarf died for me- he sacrificed himself for me. I will bring those who killed him to justice, or I will die trying."

Fíli looked between her and Sifa, who was looking carefully impassive. "Can you hold to that?"

Tauriel flushed angrily. "Do you question my honor? I hold to it as I do all my other vows!"

"And how do you hold those?" Sifa asked, head tilted at such a precise angle- Fíli knew, suddenly, that she was both irritated and interested with the conversation.

"I am beholden to Manwë," said Tauriel quizzically. "As are all elves who swear such vows." Her eyes glittered a pale green. "I take it it isn't the same for dwarves?"

Fíli sighed. "No. To us, the only vows worth anything are those sworn by warriors- oathed, liegesworn warriors. For if they do not hold to them, one can speak to their lord. Why should anyone trust the words of anyone who isn't beholden to another?"

"In the eyes of elves, those who break such vows are unworthy of the gift of immortality; very likely, they will not be allowed to enter Valinor, when the ships leave. I believed dwarves swore oaths in such a manner, as well: only, on Aulë, and not Manwë."

Sifa relaxed a fraction. "What use have we for the Vala, in our daily lives? Mahal may, indeed, watch us; but surely there are too many for him to watch over us all. So we say he sees the lords, and theirs is the only honor beholden to him."

Fíli said, quietly, "And I am one such lord." Dismissed the entire topic, after Tauriel nodded, and addressed Sifa. "We cannot tell Uncle."

"No," Sifa said. "He is bound by duty." She looked weary for a moment, exhausted and worn down with it. "If we tell him, he will send you-" she spoke to Tauriel, who looked startled, "-away, for he has no choice to keep someone proven to turn kin against one another. And if you go, Kíli will follow."

Tauriel didn't say anything.

"Then I'll have to act, won't I?" Fíli asked. "As crown prince. It's my duty."

"What are you talking about?" Tauriel asked carefully.

"Kíli cannot leave," Fíli replied. "If he does- the royal family is in trouble, as is. We can't afford to allow one of our number to just disappear."

"Dwarves see strength in numbers," Sifa interjected.

"Yes," he acknowledged. "We do. If Kíli goes away, people will see him as unsure of Uncle's claim on the throne, or as there being a fight between Uncle and him. So. He can't."

"It appears the line of Durin is yet beholden to you," Sifa said wryly. Fíli felt a spurt of irritation, but she only arched an eyebrow in response. "Fíli will never get up the humility to actually say it, and we don't have time to waste, so here it is-"

"Sifa!"

"-he wishes you to stay, in Erebor, until such a time as there is stability." Sifa finished with a flourish, smiling at Tauriel, and then turned to Fíli. "Don't be an idiot. As long as you have someone who's able and willing to talk on your behalf, why would you let it pass? " She didn't wait for him to sputter up a response- Fíli felt quite beyond words, at the moment- and continued, in a topic shift that was nowhere near subtle: "There is one thing that's strange, however."

"What is that?" Tauriel asked, arching an eyebrow.

Sifa laced her hands together. "Why now? Why act now, when there's still so much uncertainty? Wait a few weeks, a few months- let people finally start to see Thorin Oakenshield as the only king, and then attack. Then, people are actually worried, because they trust him. They see him as their king, not just a king." She looked frustrated for a moment, before meeting his eyes. "It's strange, isn't it, Fíli?"

He winced at her accusatory look.

"Not… really," he offered weakly. Sifa looked unimpressed.

He withstood it for a full thirty seconds before giving in: "Not if you know that there's to be a diplomatic meeting in a month's time."

Tauriel went still. "A diplomatic meeting- between who?"

"Dale," Fíli said unwillingly. "Mirkwood. It's taking place here."

Sifa had turned a shade that bordered on white- no easy feat with her dark coloring. The look she levelled at him could have- should have- turned his knees to jelly.

"Why does nobody else know?"

"I can't tell you," Fíli began, and Sifa's face turned cold, eyes hard as flint.

"If you don't," she said, low and sharp as a dagger in the dark, "we cannot stop the next people to do this. Innocent dwarves will die, and their blood will be on your hands."

"They want it kept secret for reasons, Sifa," Fíli said heatedly.

Sifa suddenly slapped her hand against the table, hard enough to make a crack appear in it.

"Reasons?" She snarled. "Reasons? We can't tell anyone what's happening. I'm the only one here with any knowledge of politics, Mahal knows you never paid attention to Balin's lectures- there is nobody else who can tell you what will happen! We need information. I know you have it. There are people out there who are willing to kill dwarves, and I need to know why, I need to know how, I need to know when and where and what! And I cannot do that if you do not speak!"

It was the loudest he'd ever seen her. Not even him leaving for Erebor had driven her to shout. But now she stood in front of him, flushed and furious, color high in her cheeks and side-beard quivering.

"Uncle's going to declare his courtship to Bilbo in a week's time," Fíli said finally, softly. "And during the meeting, he's going to declare marriage. I do not know why, for sure, that he's not spoken of the meeting otherwise- only that it took this long for him to even reconcile to the idea."

"If someone wishes to wreck relations, that would be an ideal time," Tauriel said neutrally.

Sifa looked at him, steadily. The flush faded from her cheeks, but there was still irritation along the corners of her eyes. "Perhaps," she said, eyes still hard. Then she flicked a finger across her wrist: sorry.

Fíli sketched a sign in Iglishmêk, quickly: forgiven.

"Do you wish to see the assassin?" She asked.

"Yes," murmured Fíli. "Let's."

The assassin was in her quarters, and he struggled not to remember his last memory of them: Sifa, gilded in lamplight, looking like she held a broken thing in her hands. When he looked at her, though, she was shuffling through some papers on her desk while mumbling something under her breath; she did not seem to care much for what they saw.

"He is still asleep?" Tauriel asked, stepping forwards and brushing a hand over the assassin's forehead, as if searching for what was wrong. She shot a look at Sifa. "What did you do to him?"

Sifa looked up, and bit her lip. Her eyes flicked between the two of them for a moment before she deflated.

"It's a long story," she said, and when Fíli snorted, she glared. "It is, Fíli."

"You saying we don't have time?"

She traced something on the table. "No," she said reluctantly. "Do you know what Iglishmêk is?" She asked Tauriel.

Tauriel frowned. "A- sign language, according to Kíli. Dwarven sign language."

"Leave it to him to reduce it to that," Sifa said wryly. "It is, I suppose, but there is far more to it. Three dialects, actually."

"Three?" Fíli asked.

"Yes, three," Sifa said. "Miner's, battle, and ritual. Miner's Iglishmêk is geared around mining- yes, Fíli, I know how stupid that sounds-" she rolled her eyes, "-meaning that there's a lot more gesturing with hands, and facial features. Battle Iglishmêk is a little bit more facially dependent, because hands aren't always free in battle. And then there's ritual Iglishmêk."

Fíli made a twisting motion with his shoulders. "What, like that?" He grinned at her, and waved his hands above his head.

Sifa's lips thinned and she turned away, but he saw the smile curling around her lips.

"Ritual Iglishmêk is used in our dances." Sifa arched an eyebrow at him. "Not tavern jigs, Fíli, as much as it might be interesting to see robed mages jumping on tables- I'm talking about the formal court dances." She paused for a moment. "Though these aren't as-"

"Ostentatious?" Fíli asked dryly.

"-I didn't think you knew such high vocabulary," she replied. "And yes, I suppose. The dances use large, sweeping movements. But the actual rituals- to get what you need, you must do the correct sign in Iglishmêk, and want whatever it is, very badly; the magic pulls at you, once you do it, and you just- let it out." At their blank faces, she grimaced. "Not the best explanation, perhaps, but the only one I have."

Tauriel was still kneeling beside the assassin. "It takes much training for any elf to be blessed enough to have such- energy. The Lady of Light- Galadriel, of Lórien- does not use her energy for anything less than the most dangerous tasks. Even those trained for thousands of years, if not prepared, cannot do as you did."

"I know not where elves get their power, but we dwarves get it from the stone," said Sifa. Quoted, voice turning rhythmic: "'From the stone you have come, and to the stone you will return.' Our lives are lived under stone, and under mountain, and this gives power to the mountain. I could not have done anything were we outside Erebor. But within, there is a- magic, you could call it- in the walls, that those who are educated can use."

"Show me," Fíli said.

Sifa turned to him. "What do you want to see?" She asked.

"You put him to sleep, didn't you?" Fíli asked archly. "Can you wake him?"

It was a challenge, and Sifa knew it: her eyes glittered, like sunlight flashing off granite- dark, almost black, until the correct angle was hit and ribbons of green and gold and silver were revealed.

"Step back," she said, and he did; Tauriel tested the dwarf's bonds and then followed. She had loosed a knife, he saw, and gripped it grimly.

Sifa closed her eyes for a moment. She flicked her fingers in a pattern, twice, too fast for him to follow, and then placed a hand right above the dwarf's chin, three fingers clawed, and dragged it up. At the same time, she said, "Ibkin."

The dwarf woke at once, gasping.

Tauriel stepped forward in one smooth motion, knife pressing into the soft skin under his chin.

The dwarf went still.

"Where am I?" He asked, blinking wildly. His hands yanked at the bindings, testing them, and when he felt their firmness he went limp. "What-" Then he caught sight of Sifa, and memory flooded back onto his face: his eyes narrowed, lips twisting. "You," he snarled, teeth flecked yellow. "How dare you."

"Me," Sifa said, remarkably calm for someone with knuckles that white.

"She killed her guard," he said, jerking his chin at Tauriel before freezing as the knife pressed deeper; he went on, however, with nary a hitch in his voice. "So all of you are traitors to the crown. I ought to have slit your throat while I had the chance."

"Give me one reason not to gut you," Tauriel breathed, the handle gleaming in the firelight.

"You don't want information?" He asked. "Because dead dwarves don't speak."

Fíli stepped forward and gripped Tauriel's shoulder, when she went to speak. The dwarf looked up at him, and recognition stole over his face like a fearful fog.

"Redêl," he whispered.

"Aye," Fíli said. "Do you see now? There are no traitors in this room that aren't you. And we've no need for information from the likes of you- information we've no way of confirming."

"Do you think I fear her?" The dwarf hissed, hands clenching into fists.

"You should," Fíli told him. "Your fate lies in her hands. She has proven worthy of accepting werguild." Then he turned to Tauriel and said, "You may indeed gut him, but blooded warriors rarely fear such pain. If he is killed he will simply enjoy Mahal's halls all the faster. No, my Lady: do not kill him, but rather allow him to see what he might have done to you, had he succeeded in driving you out.

"Let him feel the weight of abandonment," Fíli continued, "and the taste of loss. Let him try to arrive at dwarven homes and be turned away, let him never be allowed to see kin again."

Tauriel was still for a long moment, and then she rose, unfolding her limbs gracefully. "Death is not enough," she said coldly. "This- might be. Very well, Prince Fíli: I shall do as you bid. How does one achieve such a thing?"

"Take his beard," he said.

The dwarf looked up at him, shocked. Then the surprise seemed to disappear, all of a sudden; he struggled away from Tauriel and shouted wordlessly for a long moment.

After that, he spat, in rolling, gravelly Khuzdul: "So Durin's line is as spineless as they say. Tell me, does your Uncle truly enjoy the attentions of a halfling? An elf, a halfling, a traitorous worm- tell me what is next, for you-"

Sifa struck him. Or maybe she didn't; Fíli wasn't sure. He only saw the surprise across the dwarf's face as his mouth shut- he'd been so concentrated on not beheading him that he hadn't even seen her move.

"If you're going to do it, then do it quickly," she snapped. "He's silenced: there will no longer be a sound coming from his throat. We've other things to do if we're to conceal this disappearance." Her eyes caught Fíli's, and then she slipped away to another room.

"Very well," Fíli said, and moved so he was behind the dwarf, gripping his skull.

Tauriel, too, nodded; she knelt, once more, and began cutting through his beard.

It was quick work, in the end, and clean. Once he was fully shaved, Fíli took his signet ring and placed it in flame until it burned white-hot. He passed it to Tauriel, who looked at it, and then him, and then moved so fast she blurred; in a flash, the dwarf was branded on the side of his neck.

He screamed soundlessly.

A moment later, Sifa returned, holding a piece of paper carefully. She handed it to Fíli, and looked disdainfully at the dwarf.

"Give him gumdrop milk," she said. "Tauriel and I will go dump him outside after you leave."

Tauriel slashed the insides of his elbows with the knife that had cut her earlier that morning. She handled it carelessly, grimacing, and when it was over she tossed it into the fireplace.

"I've no desire to keep such a thing," she said, seeing Sifa's arched eyebrow.

Sifa shrugged and said, "Fine. I'll be back in a few minutes; it will take that long for the gumdrop milk to take effect, anyhow." Tauriel nodded, and then Sifa gestured for Fíli to follow her out of the room.

She stopped in the hallway out of her rooms, and turned towards Fíli.

"Make sure it's in his paperwork, but he doesn't read it," she said quietly, nodding to the paper. "We cannot afford missteps now, so early in this."

"And what is this?" He asked.

"A game," Sifa replied. "A chess game." She looked exhausted, and then sardonic; like she'd thought of a joke but was too tired to laugh. "I'm being overly dramatic today," she said.

Fíli leaned back, shoulder fitting against the smooth stone wall, and laughed. He'd missed this, between them, in the past weeks and even more on the quest- Sifa's tendency for irreverence, her ability to drag him back from self-pitying spirals, and just laughing with someone who did not treat him with the stifling respect due a prince. Kíli could make him laugh- did make him laugh, oftentimes more than Sifa ever did- but there was something in her independence that soothed him in a way entirely unique.

"You've earned the right," he said.

Sifa snorted. "You mean I've stolen it from you?" Her eyes widened, and then she began, almost gleefully, "'The Line of Durin's got a monopoly on brooding majestically like over-grown pathetically-'"

"Is that a quote?" Fíli yelped.

"It's all over the kitchens and mines," Sifa said, and it was absolutely gleeful, this time. "I think it's the 'Ur brothers who're the ones who wrote the damn thing, but it took off. Everyone's heard it by now. The Lay of Thorin Oakenshield and his Company. Mahal, it's a mouthful."

"Ha," Fíli said weakly.

Her face softened the tiniest fraction. "Yes. Well." She paused, and then shrugged almost fatalistically. "I don't mean to push," she said, tone far graver than before, "but have you- made a choice?"

"On what?"

Sifa looked at him, unimpressed, and he wilted.

"No," he said. "I- I need some more time. The rest of my life is a- long time."

"And neither of us are Kíli, to jump in such a relationship," Sifa said dryly. Fíli took it for what it was: acceptance of his request, and shift of topic, simultaneously.

"He's an idiot," he agreed, and when she laughed he joined her. After a long moment, he knocked his fist into the wall and said, "I- have to go."

Sifa tipped her head to the side. "Yes," she said amusedly. "You do." The levity faded from her face suddenly. "Fíli- don't tell Kíli what happened in public. Make sure you've got time, as well. In fact, better if Tauriel tells him herself."

"I'm not the idiot," Fíli said, insulted. "Everything'll be fine, Sifa. No need to worry."

"If you're sure," Sifa said, and stepped forward, so she could have reached out and touched his face if she so wished.

Only now, so close, did he realize that Sifa had kept a careful foot between them the entire morning. She'd been subtle enough that he hadn't even noticed it.

"Be careful," she said softly, and pressed a hand to the side of his neck, where he knew there was a scar from falling down a hillside, one that hadn't been there when he stood before her in Ered Luin. "And come back." Her eyes looked over-large in the dim light. "I didn't tell you that when you left, and it's all I dreamt of, for months. The last words I had for you- nothing of kindness, only anger."

"You said you wouldn't mourn me," Fíli remembered.

Sifa exhaled. "I wouldn't have. It wasn't my place." She pressed closer, hand so tight against his neck he thought he could feel her pulse in her fingers, slow and hard like dragonfire-lit-cauldrons. "But I would have missed you," she confessed, as if it was a great secret.

Fíli remembered the desolate look on her face when he stood to leave her rooms, and the stiff way she bowed to his mother upon reaching Erebor, and the carefully hidden gratitude when he'd spoken to her in the aftermath of her father's banishment. For more than three decades Sifa had pruned herself into steel and fire and stone- she'd curled in on herself and fought off an entire mountain that hated her very blood.

Perhaps it wasn't so much a stretch that she kept feelings secret: indeed, how long had she been alone?

"I did miss you," Fíli said quietly. "In Rivendell, and then Mirkwood, and then Laketown, and then Erebor. The quest would have been a better place had you been there."

"I'd not have the patience," Sifa said, but she relaxed, and the heavy emotion in her eyes lightened. A little sharper, she warned, "We know not what this danger is. So keep your eyes wary and ears listening, Fíli: it will be a poor fate indeed, were the redêl to disappear from the halls he's yet to rule."

Fíli nodded, and for just a breath he pressed his forehead to Sifa's, close enough to feel her damp exhale on his cheeks. Then he stepped away, and said, "I do have to go," with what was sure to be an idiotic look on his face.

"Go," Sifa said, with a smile.

Fíli went.

…

"Fíli said there was something you needed to tell me," Kíli said.

Tauriel decidedly did not shift uneasily.

"I spoke to Princess Dís," she said. "She is… very blunt."

"Like a hundred-year old axe," Kíli agreed, with a smile that looked like it bared more teeth than entirely necessary.

Tauriel nodded, calmly. "Afterwards, I needed some air. So I went outside. And it was a bit late when I returned." She'd moved herself so she was between Kíli and the door, and he was boxed between a desk and the wall. "Kíli," she said, gentle as she knew how, "I was attacked."

There was a moment, when she thought he hadn't heard. Then his face hardened until she could scarcely imagine it was the same, fun-loving dwarf she'd spoken to just a few days previous.

"When?" He asked.

"Last night." Tauriel hesitated, then sat down, and gestured for him to follow. He refused with a jerk of his chin that trembled slightly; it was the only sign of how close he was to losing control that she could see. "I am fine. However, he killed the guard that Thorin had placed on me." Kíli went even whiter at that, but she did not stop. "Lady Sifa saved me."

"Sifa?" Kíli asked, looking startled. "The same-"

"-the one who has a thing with your brother," Tauriel said.

That, at least, seemed to break the tension a little. Some measure of color appeared on his cheeks.

"Were you- injured?" He asked haltingly. "I mean- what did he want?"

"We do not know," she said. "Kíli, sit down. Please. I am fine; the dwarf has been taken care of. I'll tell you what happened, but-"

He looked at her steadily, and she saw the same cool fury in his eyes that she had seen in his mother's. Tauriel felt just as laid bare under his gaze as she had under Dis'.

"Give me one reason not to walk out of Erebor, right now," he said, low and fierce. It tangled in her gut like thorned vines. "Give me one reason not to walk out with you. How dare anyone think that they can do such a thing? You are the khi'nututredel and that means something. Tell me, Tauriel, why should I not walk out?"

Tauriel looked at him, and she cursed her heavy tongue, not for the last time. She was not a diplomat at the best of times- she could not find the words to say no, stay, I have a rage in my soul like a starless night and think the world will break if I-

And then, suddenly, she knew what to say.

"Because if you walk out," she said, quiet as moonshine on winter snow, "I will not go with you."

Kíli recoiled. "What?" He asked numbly.

"There is a dwarf who was killed," Tauriel said. "There is a guard who was meant to protect me, and he is dead, and I owe him my life. I do not walk away from such debts." She held his gaze, however hard it might have been. "This is the beginning. Can you not feel it, Kíli? It is like the morning before a battlefield: everything is still, but blood hangs in the air."

She paused, but he did not look ready yet to answer that. She continued, shifting paths of attack: "I called you Morwinyon. Do you know what it means, to elves?"

"No," he said, hoarsely.

"It is the name of a star."

"I-" Kíli hesitated. "I thought as much."

Tauriel smiled, small. "It means-" she felt her brows furrow. How to translate such a word? "Light," she decided, in the end. "Light in the dark, it is sometimes said, but most commonly light in twilight; in the time when all is possible." She saw his face, and decided to say more- Kíli was not educated in the way of elves, to hear the unsaid. "It means hope, and change, and it is a reminder of daylight, when all else is lost. It is also," she added, a little lighter, "as dark in color as blood fresh spilt."

"Why would you name me that?"

"Because I've seen the way your people see you," Tauriel said. "Your Uncle was the soul, and your brother his heart; but you were their hope. All of them. When you were dying of Orc poison- you should have seen your brother. You should have seen the others."

"They left me behind," he said.

Tauriel spread her fingers wide, on her lap. "I do not speak for them. I do not know what your Uncle faced, or your brother. But I know what I saw: fear, and love, and something even deeper than that." She shrugged, delicately. "There is no other word for it, I think, than hope."

Kíli looked stricken. "I don't," he said, and then, "I can't," almost helplessly.

"They love you," Tauriel said. "They need you, Kíli. I will not run from Erebor; I ask you, now, to stay as well."

No home save the steel in your spine. Little-One, did you think you could escape me?

Tauriel kept her hands open, face relaxed. I am done running, she thought, cold and fierce and furious. I am done being afraid.

"They tried to kill you," Kíli whispered.

"One tried to kill me," she said. "And another tried to save me. Another did save me. I am not one to tarnish an entire race simply for one's sins."

"Others will try."

"And for fear of that I should run?" Tauriel asked archly. "I'm not running. And, I think, neither are you."

Kíli inhaled sharply, and stumbled over to a chair; slumped into it heavily and dragged a hand down his face. "I cannot keep you safe."

"I can keep myself safe," she said evenly.

"Someone else had to save you!" He barked.

Tauriel sighed. "Yes, but I didn't know they were coming for me, then. I'll be more careful next time."

"Next time?"

"Yes," she said firmly.

For a long moment, they looked at each other. Tauriel felt cold, but it was the cold of thin air at a mountaintop, and not that of a barren wasteland.

Kíli moved forward then, more gracefully than Tauriel had thought possible. He stopped right in front of her and slowly reached upwards, until he rested his hand in the hollow of her collarbone.

"We've faced four armies together," he said lowly. "Is that not enough?"

"We are both warriors," Tauriel replied, just above a whisper. "Our lives are not measured in years, but in battles. I will not run from debts owed, or death, or destruction." She felt the scrape of his calluses against her neck, rough against the soft skin. "You know this. If you think you cannot bear it, then go: but I will not follow."

Kíli's eyes were bright, shining; like stars on a moonless night.

"If you will not come with me," he said, "what use have I, to leave Erebor? Let us face it together."

Tauriel leaned forward, so she rested her forehead on Kíli's. They were so close- she could feel the sweep of his lashes across her cheekbones. She felt something rise inside of her chest, like a laugh but darker; deeper.

For six centuries, when she took a stand- people left. When it got tough, they walked away. Tauriel had held her father's corpse, once, when she was fifteen. A hundred years later she walked back into that cave and slew a monster, and she had done it alone.

Thranduil had never understood her need for vengeance. Legolas had never tried.

"Twinned blades cut deeper," Tauriel murmured.

And then, she kissed him.

It was soft: a press of lips against lips, as close to a promise as Tauriel could give. She pulled away after a moment, though their foreheads still rested together. Kíli didn't seem to be breathing.

She breathed in, let courage flutter down her lungs. "I do not know much of love," Tauriel confessed, softly. "And I am not used to things happening so- quickly. But- but a lot of things, I suppose, happened." She laced her fingers together, resting them on his shoulders; they were almost comically overlong for it. "I would have mourned you, had you fallen in the Battle."

"You saved me," Kíli whispered. Then: "I dreamt it, I thought. I was knocked down, and half-dead; Bolg was after me, with his club, you know? And then there was red, like blood, and after that nothing. I woke up, a week later, and- it was all very confusing."

"It was." She paused; maybe he hadn't gotten the point of what she'd said. "I know very little of love," Tauriel repeated. "But maybe I can call this-"

"Love?" Kíli asked, and it only partially sounded teasing.

Tauriel huffed out a laugh. "Yes," she said.

Kíli looked startled, for just a moment, as if he hadn't expected her to admit it. Then he stepped back: just enough to frame her face with both hands comfortably.

"May I?" He asked, eyes on her lips.

Tauriel inhaled, exhaled, and said, as forcefully as she knew how, "Yes."

…

Translation of Khuzdul, Sindarin, and Quenya (Sindarin and Quenya marked with an S and a Q):

Amad: mother

Nebaguabanu: brush of stone

Nadad: Brother

Nunur'amrâb: other-one; of-my-soul

Morwinyon (Q): Arcturus; glint in the dark

Binamsâl: Bad luck

Khi'nututredel: One of the last heir; more specifically, Kili's One, or Tauriel

Nunur'aklum: other-royalty; those not of royal blood

Redêl: Crown prince

Hantalye, Aran'Erebor: Thank you, King of Erebor (Q)

Khabbûna: Forge-lady

Meldir: Friend (S)

Araran: Kingless (S)

Etementa: Banished (S)

Aran'Valinor: King of Valinor; Manwe (S)

Fëa: spirit/soul (S)

Harasul: Flame

Ibkin: Awake!