Title: like I've never seen the sky before
Author: boswellonthestreet
Rating: K+
Fandom: The Hobbit
Disclaimer: Not mine but I WISH IT WEREEEE
Summary: As Captain of the Guard, Tauriel has a lot of duties to fulfill. Delivering supper to the dwarf prisoners isn't one of them, but she does anyway, because she's just that dedicated. Teeny Kiliel oneshot set during DoS, cross-posting to AO3!
Tauriel left the dark-haired one for last. She found him curled in the dark, in the far corner of his cell, knees to his chest and chin resting on his folded arms. Wedging the tray in through the small space at the bottom of the bars, she slid it across the floor. "Your supper, dwarf," she announced.
The dwarf lifted his head and glanced at the flask of ruby-red cordial and the Greenwood apple. Then he eyed the loaf of bread suspiciously. "It's not anything like cram,is it?"
Despite herself, a small smile crept onto Tauriel's face. "I am not sure," she replied. "What is cram?"
"This sort of biscuit we use for long journeys. We get it from Men." The dwarf uncurled himself and edged forward a little, into the light. He reached a hand out for the bread—his fingers were like a child's, Tauriel noted with amusement, and yet she remembered the deft way he had fired arrows at the orcs back in the forest. "Can't complain about it too much, as it does keep you filled up, and you're grateful for it when you've been journeying for days on end, as we have. But it doesn't taste of anything, and it has this funny way of sitting in your stomach, cram does."
Then he stopped, as though realizing he had said too much, and tore off a large chunk of the bread to stuff into his mouth. Chewing and apparently finding it satisfactory, the dwarf took another bite. "S'not bad," he admitted thickly. "For Elven food, anyway."
Tauriel silently watched as he polished off the bread and washed it down with the cordial. The apple he polished on his (grubby) sleeve and tossed into the air, bouncing it off his elbow. It landed on his other shoulder, and he rolled it down the length of his arm, finally knocking it into his upturned hand and presenting it to her through the bars with a flourish.
"For you, milady," he said, grinning, and she took a startled step back.
She had never seen a smile like his before. All of the elves she knew smiled and laughed with grace, in appreciation of a beautiful song or a good cup of wine. But him—the corner of his mouth quirked upwards unabashedly, and his eyes brimmed with mischief as though he had discovered it. She wondered if all dwarves were as bold as he, or if she had merely been saddled with one of the more troublesome ones.
Her forehead creasing, she realized she had lifted her hand to take the apple without thinking. She lowered it. "You do not care for apples, then?"
"They're all right." He noticed her hesitation, coughed awkwardly, and set the apple down on the floor by the bars. "I, erm, was told I have the honor of addressing the captain of the guard." The dwarf peered up at her through the hair that now hung matted from his forehead. "Does the captain of the guard have a name, that I may call her by it?"
Tauriel's eyes narrowed. "Uin gelir beren gi, mîw nad," she said heatedly in Sindarin, more out of reflex than anything.
The dwarf blinked and rubbed the back of his neck. "Rather long name, that," he mumbled.
Somehow, it made all her annoyance evaporate at once, and despite herself a laugh escaped her. "Tauriel," she said finally, relaxing. "My name is Tauriel. And does the insolent dwarf prisoner have a name, that I may consider whether to use it or not?"
He puffed up his chest. "I am Kili, a prince of Ered Luin and a son of Durin."
"This is a fine place for a prince of Ered Luin to have wound up in." Tauriel raised her eyebrows.
"I'm getting out of here." The dwarf—Kili—shrugged confidently.
Tauriel froze. Turning her head slowly to look him in the eye, she leaned closer until her nose was nearly touching his through the bars. He drew in his breath, his eyes widening.
"What makes you think I'll let you?" she whispered.
Then she let fly the apple she'd picked up from the floor when he hadn't been looking—it hit him right in the middle of his stomach, and he made a very satisfying 'oof' sound when it did—and with a smile, turned on her heel and ascended the staircase.
Happy Valentine's Day!
Title is from the Moulin Rouge song, which is now my Kiliel theme song (actually it's my theme song for pretty much all my star-crossed OTPs, sue me).
Also I know there are experts in the Elvish languages out there on the Internet, but I'm not one of them; I just cobbled a phrase together from a dictionary and guessed at the grammatical rules based on what little I know of Sindarin. I meant it to be something like, "Your insolence does not amuse me, small one." Sorry if I got it wrong!