Author's Note: This follows the story arc of the movies to some extent, but several things have been added, altered, or omitted in the interest of suiting my purposes here. So, yeah. Don't hate me! :)
By the time they had reached the crest of the mountain, both elf and dwarf were slightly out of breath, but as they climbed up and over the edge of the bridge, Kili motioned for his companion to stay behind him and keep walking. Lord Dain and his army were already stationed at the southern face, along the base of the Lonely Mountain, and King Thranduil of Mirkwood's elven forces lined the opposite edge of the valley. Only the dwarven king and his small band of adventurers remained before the gateway to Erebor, gazing out over the vast expanse of a land that would soon be stained with blood.
The dwarves heard Kili's footsteps, and several broke their watch, coming forward to meet him with relief written across their faces. But when they saw the former woodland captain following closely at his heels, many expressions turned angry and confused, and a cacophony of mumbled curses in both Westron and Khuzdul ensued.
Not even breaking his stride, Kili unsheathed his shortsword, and with an absolutely menacing and dangerous glare, headed for the entrance that would lead them into the mountain.
"What is the meaning of this!?" Thorin Oakenshield addressed his nephew. "You mean to bring an elf into my kingdom!?"
The young prince ground to a halt, and bowed his head respectfully to his king, but the fury that was radiating off him only intensified.
"Tauriel is with me," he growled. "And if anyone," his eyes raked across the group, "has a problem with that," a pause hung in the air, "...then I suggest you take it up with the end of my blade!"
The madness still sparkling in his uncle's eyes had a way of making Kili feel physically ill, but even Fili's features contorted in fear at the harsh and formidable words his younger brother had spoken. Surely the mountain monarch, now derranged with gold lust, would call for his banishment, or even worse, his head. But just as Thorin was about to loose some vengeful words upon him, the dissonance of a blaring horn echoed across the valley.
"That was not an elven war horn," Tauriel ran to the edge of the bridge and started anxiously scanning the lowlands.
"Orcs," Fili growled, pointing to the southwestern hills just past the treeline.
Horrified, the elf stepped back to follow the orientation of his finger, and sure enough, there marched a contingent of black scouts, followed close behind by a massive sea of darkness. There were thousands.
"My armor," Kili looked to her with urgency, resheathing his weapon.
The dwarf king's attention had been stolen in the interim, and he was now leaning silently over the wall at the edge of the terrace, seemingly engaged in some type of internal struggle. His nephew cast a worried glance in his direction, but knowing there was very little time, he didn't linger.
"Do not let him out of your sight!" he called back to his brother, and the elf followed him into the bowels of the mountain city.
Through a maze of winding corridors, Kili led his beloved with haste towards his quarters, flinging the door open with the carelessness of necessity before tossing his coat down and removing his spattered shirt. As he searched, bare-chested, through the wardrobe beside his bed, Tauriel quickly snatched up the torn tunic and ripped a long, thin strip from its lining, coming up behind him to wrap and tie it across his shoulder.
"It's just a scratch," he turned to her with a comforting smile as she knotted it.
He was well aware that now, having seen the wound, she must feel incredibly guilty for having inflicted such an injury upon him, even though it was short and shallow, and had already clotted and begun to close. Briefly, he forgot about the elves and orcs, about his uncle, the war closing in on all sides, and the blood of his kinsmen that would so soon be spilt. Gazing intently into her eyes, the world fell away, and his deepest and most aching desire was to slow time down. Just one more moment to bask in the bliss of being surrounded by her comfort, her scent, her love; he craved it more than words could describe or thoughts could allow. And he realized that he would do just about anything to protect the irrefutable bond that existed between them. How perfectly right she had been. Only together, did they stand a chance. If they wanted a future, they would both have to fight for it.
Her nimble fingers tied the laces of the clean tunic he had chosen, and when she finished she stood still, eyes gliding over every inch of him in turn, trying to commit each tiny detail of him to memory.
"We are coming back," he said reassuringly, taking her hand. "Tomorrow, in two days, in three days, in ten ...whenever this is over, we will be standing together again, right here."
She forced a small smile, caressing the side of his cheek with her silky palm, and bent to press her lips to his with a slow and gentle pressure. He returned her kiss, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her closer and gasping into her mouth, as he tried to force the gravest and most torturous thoughts from his head. The fear that these would be their final moments together was threatening to overtake him, but he beat it down, losing himself in the motion of their bodies as he held her tight against him and melted into her arms.
When he finally pulled back, she could barely draw a breath, and they leaned together letting their foreheads meet, finding a sort of strength in the affection that hung between them.
"Armor," he finally swallowed, with a renewed sense of urgency.
And in minutes he was properly outfitted and prepared, leaving the city of Erebor behind as they emerged into the daylight side by side.
As Kili and Tauriel approached the edge of the bridge, the jarring screech of an uruk-hai war horn swept the valley below once more, and King Thorin's men looked on in blind terror as the great mass of orks stormed the battlefield before them, heading full force for the front line of the dwarven army. But as they clashed against the shields of Dain Ironfoot's mighty forces, a series of unexpected and miraculous things happened. An unwavering and harmonious warcry resounded through the chaos, and a thousand elven arrows darkened the sky, plummeting to earth over the heads of the uruk army. Thranduil of Mirkwood had ordered an attack on the orks, and not the dwarves.
Then, with such evidence of strength and valor unfolding before his eyes, Thorin Oakenshield raged against the darkness in his veins, and beat back his dragon sickness to regain his senses. When he stepped away from the wall to rejoin his loyal kinsmen, every face among them immediately brightened. The maleficence in his glare had vanished under his iron will, and for the first time in days, his nephews recognized their uncle.
And finally, the lake men rallied from the edge of Dale's eastern battlements, and pushed the orc forces back to the foot of the watch tower at Ravenhill, forcing them into a funnel between the dwarves and elves, to be slowly beaten down from all three sides.
"I know I have no right to ask," the dwarf king stood tall, addressing his company, "but will you follow me into battle, one last time?"
Swords flew into the air, raised appreciatively overhead with raucous yells and chants, all but the weapons of young Kili and his beloved, who stood a few paces behind the rest of the group, transfixed as they stared into eachother's eyes.
"Kili?" Fili called from beside their uncle, and suddenly all eyes were trained upon the couple.
Kili knew he shouldn't touch her, or even look at her this way in front of them. This was hardly the time to create further conflict among them. But as he gazed upon her awe-inspiring beauty, peering through into her strong and vibrant warrior soul, holding back became more excruciating with every passing second, and if he didn't taste her lips just one more time, he was afraid that it might just drive him insane. He quickly glanced toward his brother, trying to will his rising passions to fizzle, but in the end...
"Oh, fuck it," he stretched up and assailed her mouth with a deep and intense kiss that she couldn't help but return in kind.
Their indiscretion lasted just a few tantalizing seconds, but when he turned back towards his kinsmen he was met with a sea of open mouths and impossibly widened eyes.
"So," he began breathlessly, meeting the awkward stare of his brother, "I stay next to you, she stays next to me, and we send some filthy, hideous orcs to their graves."
There was a short pause, followed by Fili's silent, uncomfortable nod, and an unreadable expression shot in their direction by Thorin, which appeared to dictate that an unpleasant conversation was in order once the melee of a multi-faceted bloodbath dissipated.
"For Erebor!" their king roared, leading the first charge down the mountain, and shortly their entire group had spread and was in the thick of it, slashing and stabbing left and right as they pushed their aggressors back towards the narrowing field.
Kili and his elf brought up the rear of Thorin's pack, expertly beating back straggling orcs who harbored the intention of a cowardly ambush from behind. The forces of elves and men, along with the dwarves of the Iron Hills, were making short work of their enemy's first battalion, and as the wave of their onslaught began to diminish and recoil, newly freed attentions became focused on the unusual pair. The dwarf king and his eldest nephew looked on in awe as a band of orc mercenaries surged forward from just a few yards behind, their kinsman and the elf warrior the only two still engaged in battle, for the moment.
Back to back, they slashed and lunged in rapid succession, making quick work of every darkling that dared come within reach. Watching them was almost like viewing a ceremony, somehow secret and sacred, the unparalleled skill of each practiced motion unfolding as if it had been choreographed. Like magnets, they drew strength and momentum from eachother, moving as if connected by an invisible force. And the longer the two continued in their haunting synchronicity, the harder the absolute perfection of their pairing became to deny.
Kili knowingly ducked the backswing of one of Tauriel's twin daggers, bending down and flattening his back for a single second, just long enough for her to roll across to his other side, burying a blade into the skull of her next opponent. They changed direction, swiveling gracefully a hundred degrees, and he gutted two orcs with a single stroke, never faltering as a lock of her fiery hair swept back across his shoulder, gliding briefly over his swordarm.
In a matter of minutes, an entire troupe of thirty or more lay piled around them, black blood pooling beneath their feet. And as the last of their advancing foes fell under the elf's deadly steel, for the first time, they realized that they'd been entertaining an audience.
Breathing heavily from the exertion and their dwindling waves of adrenaline, they looked across the field noting several anxious and stunned expressions, then simultaneously refocused their attention on eachother. Kili couldn't help but smile when she met his gaze, pure contentment sweeping over him in the warmth of her adoration, even covered in tarry plasma and overwhelmed by the stench of death. He could lose himself in those eyes, shining brilliant like a sun that lit his own private universe, but he forced himself to look away. They needed to concentrate, and now was not the time.
Thorin Oakenshield stood speechless, jarred by what he had just seen. He had lived through many battles, known a great many of the most fearsome and respected dwarven warriors, but never before had he witnessed such a spectacle. His young nephew's prowess in battle had become downright terrifying and dangerous, and his mouth dropped open, realizing that the preceding moments had contained what could very well be the greatest display of lethal mastery that he'd ever had the pleasure to behold. The way Kili moved spoke of impossible speed and dexterity; never before had he seen another dwarf possess such agility and acute, concentrated power. He was unbelievably adept, almost graceful even, with a fluidity of skill far beyond his short years. And to engage in such brilliant combat alongside an elf and never fall out of step was equally unnerving, particularly as it would have appeared to an outsider as though the two had been companions for a very long time.
"Kili," his brother approached, staring into him with disbelief, "that was ...amazing."
"I told you she'd be an asset in battle," he grinned, entirely unaware that it was his own skill his brother had been referring to.
"The way you swung, the way you moved," Fili continued in earnest, "I've never seen anything like it before. It was almost like ...watching someone else."
Kili resheathed his swords as understanding dawned, stepping forward to place a hand on his apprehensive brother's shoulder.
"It's different now," he said assuredly, glancing back over his shoulder at Tauriel, "because I have something else to fight for."
Fili responded with the hint of a smile and an accepting nod. Seeing the pure love and admiration in his sibling's eyes as they fell upon the elf was both comforting, and unsettling, at the very same time. He had been there when her magic plucked Kili from the jaws of darkness, the white light of creation emanating from her every pore, and he suddenly found himself wondering if perhaps, at that very moment, the two had become entwined on some mysterious spiritual level. No matter what the cause, the outcome was patently clear. Whatever was between them had grown incredibly strong, and was likely to be the final stroke in turning the tide of this war.
As the orc army's second wave surged violently against the dwarven front line, Thorin finally spied the one he'd been searching for since they advanced. Azog, The Defiler, the general of the dark army, and a longtime foe with whom he had a painful and tragic history. If he could dispatch this vile and malicious enemy, it was likely that both orc and goblin forces would retreat, or at the very least, fall easily and quickly in the chaos of a rudderless final charge. The king glared into the distance, seething with contempt, and pointed toward the watchtower at the tallest slope of Ravenhill.
"Fili, Kili, Dwalin, with me!"
They all followed the arc of his scorching stare to a fluttering black flag perched at the highest level of the tower's ruins, and immediately understanding his intentions, followed him in a blitz up the hill to claim his vengeance. It wasn't until they reached the base of the stone sentinel that Kili realized Tauriel was not behind him there. A sinking feeling gripped him immediately, and he considered turning back to collect her, but his brother grasped him knowingly by the arm, and gestured with his eyes towards the upper levels. We need you, his expression read, and Kili nodded in agreement, forcing the dread that had risen in him down deep. It was time to finish this.
Their uncle stood motionless a moment, surveying their surroundings, a foreboding in his bones beginning to scream that something wasn't right. He orders his nephews to search the tower, making it stringently clear that they were not to engage any adversary they may find there, and turned away towards the frozen plane of the plateau that looked out over Erebor. Fili and Kili did as they were instructed, entering the crumbling halls as cautiously as possible.
Meanwhile, below, Tauriel had been assisting her beloved's company with a new barrage of orcs, turning around just in time to watch him disappear into the lonely tower's ruins. She made for the base of Ravenhill, which was littered with the small skirmishes of lakemen and goblins, but just as she was about to make short work of the impending climb, a familiar voice behind her stole her attentions, with words that left a dizzying discomfort as they hit her ears.
"A second force presses on to Ravenhill from Gundabad. They are planning an ambush," the voice was thick with worry.
"Legolas," she ran to him, watching his features distort with panic at the mere sight of her.
He'd been addressing the grey wizard, Mithrandir, and the dwarves' tiny companion, the ginger haired hobbit. After she'd been banished the elven prince had hoped to find her, but never here amid the danger of an ever-escalating fray.
"Another battalion will converge on the hill?" she asked anxiously, eschewing politeness and patience in the urgency of her fear.
"They come to destroy the entire bloodline of Durin," the wizard answered, gazing uneasily toward the watch tower. "It is a trap. Somebody needs to warn them."
"Kili," she whispered, devastated, raising her eyes to the crumbling structures above.
Immediately, she took off in a sprint up the slope, praying urgently under her breath that she wouldn't be too late to reach him.
"I will come with you!" her prince called out, scrambling up the hillside after her, as the wizard and the hobbit began to formulate their own plans.