A/N I hope you enjoy this. It's been a while since I've written anything for The Hobbit so it was nice to come back to it. As always, any feedback is appreciated :)
Disclaimer - I own nothing.
The stable-owner is a rather lenient dwarf, much to Tauriel's relief. Despite his initial qualms about serving an elf, even if only for an evening, he is easily swayed by the bag of coins she promises and his fascination with her stunning silver mare, who has earned her rest after the long trek from Erebor to the Blue Mountains.
Some had called Tauriel a fool for embarking on such a trying journey for the sake of such a small task. At times she had even been prepared to believe them. However there had been a gnawing sensation in her heart that prevented her from simply giving up and the ghost of Kili's promise to his mother still haunted her memory like a fitful dream.
Tauriel had promised him something in turn, many months ago as a battle raged around them and their hopes of survival dwindled. She is to take him home somehow, even if performing this small task is the only way to do so.
As she wanders through the small town, using the memory of Kili's stories as a guide, she is unsurprised to catch the occasional loathing stare or distrustful expression thrown her way. Most of the dwarves refuse to even acknowledge her; she finds she doesn't mind them so much. She expects it would have been even worse before the news of the Battle of Five Armies (a laughably romanticised title for such a brutal event, she thinks) spread far and wide. If they know of her at all, they'll know she fought. They'll know that she had a small part in ensuring their victory. And most will not care, for it was a hollow victory indeed and one that she has never found much cause to celebrate. At least their grudges have lessened, however, and she is able to walk through their town to the little cottage on the outskirts with no trouble.
When she finds herself arriving at her destination, she is almost surprised by how humble the house is. Kili's childhood home lacks both the grandeur of the lonely mountain and the presence expected of a royal abode. In fact, the cottage differs little from the cosy shacks found in the nearby town, despite the impression that is has been more lovingly tended to than most. Vegetation grows neatly on a small patch of land surrounding the house and smoke rises from a chimney, its source flickering visibly from an open window.
The notion that she will not be greeted by silence and an empty house is somewhat comforting – she does not want to drag this out any more than necessary – but that does not stop Tauriel from hesitating before knocking lightly on the sturdy wooden door.
As the resounding silence stretches for a few moments, Tauriel's grip tightens on the precious talisman. Its dark surface is cool in her palm and she lightly traces the rough engraving with her fingertips, the action calming her as she takes in the lettering of a language she does not know.
The time for quiet comfort does not last, however, as there is a faint scrabbling and the click of a lock before the door slides back with a creak, revealing the house's only remaining occupant.
Dís is almost identical to her elder brother, with long dark hair tied back in an intricate braid and striking blue eyes still stony despite her grief. Her robes are a dark, regal blue against a black cloak and she looks every inch the dwarven queen, despite having never sat on a throne.
The dwarf stares up at Tauriel in mild surprise. The elf doubts that visitors are an unusual sight here. If Kili's stories were true, his mother was quite the storyteller for the younger dwarves and often had a house overrun with children who were not her own, and fellow mourners must be fairly common as of late judging by the slight weariness in her manner as she'd opened the door. However, it is unlikely that an elf, especially one whom she has never met, was on the woman's mind when she heard the knocking and her surprise at this particular visitor is evident. Tauriel is struck with a need to introduce herself quickly so as not to stretch the awkwardness any more than she has to.
"Forgive the intrusion," she begins, because it seems polite to do so and she cannot quite tell if she's walking over hot coals here or whether the dwarf is willing to be as open-minded as her son. "My name is Tauriel. I've come from the Lonely Mountain."
There is a beat in which Tauriel expects some trepidation, but to her surprise Dís does not seem to mind the presence of an elf in her home. Instead she simply regards her visitor with a slight encouraging nod and leans slightly against the doorframe in wait for more. It would seem that the name is familiar enough from the news that Dís has already received, and perhaps this visit is not as out-of-the-blue as Tauriel had initially feared.
She supposes the lack of tension makes sense. The grudge between their species' has brought naught but pain and strife to both parties and there is no point in continuing a petty feud that has long lost its venom. Not here and certainly not now.
"Your son-" And here she stops, because the dwarf before her tenses at that very word and while she does her best to remain still, the slight shudder that runs through her frame is unmistakeable. The wound is still fresh after all; it will be for some time. Tauriel can only imagine the pain of losing one child, let alone two, and for them both to have never even reached a century in age must only deepen the wound.
The pause fills the air with a thick tension and the stone in Tauriel's hand suddenly feels very heavy, crying out for its purpose to be fulfilled. At last she holds it out for Dís to take. "I was entrusted with this. Kili wanted me to return it to you if he could not do so himself."
The dwarf sags slightly at the sight and releases a choked sob; not wholly out of grief but also a slight sense of relief. Her trembling hand takes the talisman from Tauriel's open palm and she clutches it to her chest as if it's the most precious thing she could possibly own. It probably is.
"I expected him to lose it," she whispers almost to herself before releasing a weak laugh. "He was always losing things when he was a boy. I imagined-"
She halts and gathers her composure before facing Tauriel with as calm an expression as she can muster. Now is not the time for open grief; the elf knows that will come later. She is in the presence of a woman who has lost her brother and her only sons but she is also a Durin. If the common tales hold any speck of truth then Dís's stubborn nature will be enough to ensure her survival. The same will be true for Tauriel if she allows it to be so; she misses Kili with a painful intensity but she has lost friends and acquaintances before in the heat of battle. It has happened before and will happen again, so she crushes her grief before it can consume her. After all, Kili was present for a few months in a lifespan that may last millennia and she has no other choice but to move on.
Dís has been studying her – the quiet intensity in her gaze so reminiscent of her kin that Tauriel feels like she's staring at a ghost - and she shuffles unconsciously as if debating whether to invite her guest inside. She stops in her movements though, hand tightening around the stone in her hand, and she addresses the taller woman as strongly as she can given the circumstances.
"Were they… at the end, were they together?"
Her voice trembles only slightly, the question rehearsed as if she can't imagine her sons going any other way. Tauriel does not know the details; she has heard nothing but stories and rumours surrounding the prince's deaths. Having last seen Kili when he entrusted the stone to her before seeking out his kin during the battle, she cannot truly provide an honest answer. They were found together, that she does know, having fallen defending their uncle in an act that only bought the king a few hours, but any details surrounding the exact circumstances at the end are shady at best.
Tauriel nods regardless. It is likely that the affirmation is the truth anyway, and even if it is a lie it is a comforting one. And then, because that's not enough and never will be, she adds, "You should be proud of them."
"I am," Dís replies without hesitation. "I always was."
And it's here that Tauriel can see the woman Kili spoke so fondly of as he reminisced of home. The woman who raised two mischievous boys to be loyal heroes; who berated them for their pranks before teaching them how to improve specially for Thorin's visits; who had a temper to match her brother's but a more welcoming heart.
The woman who waved her boys off while holding back tears and waited for good news that never came.
Tauriel thinks she would have liked her, if circumstances between them had been different and the possibility of knowing each other properly was ever an option.
At that, there seems to be a mutual agreement that the visit has reached a natural end. Tauriel must return home and Dís must work on moving on now that she has this scrap of closure and the world must keep on turning because that's what it does. So with a final, grateful smile, the dwarf returns to the warm comfort of her home and Tauriel wraps her cloak a little tighter around her body in preparation for the long journey home.
The sky has darkened without her realising it. The bustle of activity has silenced and instead her surroundings descend into an almost eerie silence as the town residents settle for the night. For a brief moment she feels the temptation to stay; to see more of this different world that Kili had spoken so fondly of. The Blue Mountains certainly are beautiful – her journey here taught her that much – and she tries to imagine how differently things might have gone if the dwarven king had abandoned his pride and remained here and called it home.
She wonders whether that would have been better.
She doubts she'll ever be able to tell.
After she is reunited with her silver and pays the stable-owner twice what he's owed, she rides off in the direction of home without looking back. It is better, she thinks. Better to leave this place behind than to cling to a world she can never truly be a part of. The town vanishes from view quickly enough and is replaced by sprawling fields and distant forests, and Tauriel allows herself to smile as she takes in the stars beginning to crop up over the vast mountains.
They seem curiously closer here than they do in the forests of home. So much so that she can almost pretend she truly does walk among starlight.