Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, etc from The Lord of the Rings or the Hobbit-books or movies. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only, and is not intended for any kind of monetary gain, ect.


Chapter 1: A Dream, and an Unexpected Visitor

Tauriel raced up the ancient steps. She had to find him, had to reach him before it was too late. An Orc charged her, but her mind was so far away that she'd dispatched him almost before she even thought about it. She sensed another one behind her, and she whirled, slaying this second enemy almost as quickly as the first. She looked around quickly. She could hear the sound of metal clashing against metal, but where was he? The tower was huge, and he could be in any of its many levels. But what if she were too late? What if he were already…no, she refused to consider it as a possibility.

"Kíli!" she cried. To her intense relief, almost immediately, she heard him reply,

"Tauriel!" He was on the floor above her she could tell, by the proximity of his voice. But just as she was climbing the stairs, she was assaulted by an especially large and hideous Orc. The veins bulged in his thick neck, and she could see there was metal imbedded in his head. His left eye was milky-white; he must be blind in that eye, she realized, but in the other eye, she saw malice, and—even worse—hunger. And it wasn't just hunger for victory or bloodlust. She knew very well that orcs and goblins sometimes had cannibalistic eating habits, and that this monster would have even fewer reservations about eating her if he killed her.

She had time for only one more thought before he slammed her into a stone wall. Bolg, his name was Bolg…though how she could possibly know that, she had no idea. She cried out in pain as her body made contact with rough stone behind her. She tried to fight back, but she seemed to be only dimly aware of her surroundings through her searing pain. She knew she was fighting a losing battle and it was only a matter of time before Bolg completely overwhelmed her.

Through the haze that seemed to shroud her, she suddenly heard Kíli calling her, and looked up to see him fighting his way toward her. Bolg flung her aside against a wall as easily as though he were tossing a ragdoll, and moved to engage Kíli. Tauriel lay were she'd fallen; struggling to get the breath back in her lungs, trying to force away the blackness that was threatening to envelop her. She could do nothing as Kíli fell, nothing as Bolg finally imparted his fatal stab into Kíli's chest. She tried to call his name, to struggle to her feet, to run to his side, to save him—but she could do nothing. She could only watch as he turned his head toward her, his face etched with pain, but also something else. Love. He loved her, and she saw it in his face in those last moments as clearly as if he'd said it aloud. He loved her, so much, that he'd been willing to die trying to defend her. And she loved him.

These were the thoughts swirling confusedly in her mind as she awoke from her dream, sobbing, and gasping for breath, clutching Kíli's runestone. It was the same dream. The same dream she'd had every night since Kíli had died. Night had fallen hours ago on the city of Dale, and the ruins of the ancient structures were deep in shadow, but the stars were shining as radiantly as ever in the sky.

For a moment, she was angry at the stars. How can they shine so brightly? How can they, when he is dead? She thought. But she knew that the stars had been there before the Elves had awakened in Middle-Earth, and that they would continue long after all the Elves were gone.

She looked down at the stone in her hand, and at the inscription carved there. Innikh dê—Return to me. She ran her fingers over the runes as she thought of the first time Kíli had shown it to her. He'd joked that it was cursed…but suppose it really had been? What if he'd doomed himself when he'd given it to her? Friendships between the Gonnhirrim* and the Quendi** were rare, and love—as far as Tauriel was aware, had never happened before between these two races in all the history of Middle-Earth.

Tears welled in her eyes, and in a sudden surge of sorrow and anger she flung the runestone against the opposite wall. It fell to the ground, intact and unscratched.

Why, why did he have to die? She thought bitterly, as she turned away and buried her head in her hands. It isn't fair…

At that moment she heard the soft padding of slippered feet behind her. She turned quickly round to see one of the women of Lake-town. It was Hilda-Bianca who, for a human, had a vast knowledge of healing herbs and plants, and insisted upon looking after Tauriel's injuries—and the injuries of anyone else who could show her any blood, for that matter. The woman's eyes were red and swollen from crying, and Tauriel felt ashamed of herself for forgetting that she was not the only one who had lost someone in the battle.

Despite her tear-stained face, Hilda-Bianca smiled bravely and said, "Oh, you're awake already, Miss. There's a Lady here to see you." A glint of moonlight shining off the runestone caught Hilda-Bianca's eye. She stooped and picked it up. "What's this?" she asked, turning it over in her hands. "A Dwarven talisman?" she guessed, studying the runes.

Tauriel hurried over to her, as quickly as she was able, wincing from her numerous, still-healing injuries. "It's mine," she said. "I…dropped it."

Hilda-Bianca looked at her with a gleam of amusement in her teary eyes. "Indeed," was all she said as she handed the stone back to Tauriel.

Tauriel took the stone and slipped it into her tunic. "You said someone was here to see me?" she said, both because she wanted to change the subject, and because she was curious as to whom her visitor could be.

"Yes, she's waiting for you out there," Hilda-Bianca said, gesturing down the passageway.

Tauriel stepped into the passageway and walked along its length. It had once opened out into some sort of great hall or dining room, but the roof had fallen in long ago, and only three of its walls had remained at all intact. Standing in the middle of the ruins of the room was a tall woman with very long golden hair and a kindly, ageless face. She wore a long, grey, hooded traveling robe, but where it was open at the neck Tauriel could see the pure white fabric of the dress beneath it. She wore no circlet upon her brow, but Tauriel could tell simply by looking at her that she was a very important person—one of the Noldor, the High Elves. Tauriel bowed her head and knelt.

"My lady," she said.


*Gonnhirrim- This is an Elvish name for the Dwarves meaning "Masters of Stone"

**Quendi- This is what the Elves of Middle-Earth call themselves according to The Silmarillion.