Chapter 2: Doubtful Counsels

Elrond was in his library when the elf and her dwarf came looking for him. The lord of Rivendell had expected they would; they had been most gracious guests, and today they were leaving, after a stay of half a year.

When the attendant who had shown them in left, the pair approached Elrond, where he stood reading at a lectern, and bowed. Despite the disparity in their heights, they made the motion in graceful unison.

"Thank you for your hospitality," the dwarf prince said. "We have been very happy here."

Elrond smiled; it had been a pleasure to see them so happy in each other. Their youth and eagerness had breathed a welcome air of newness into Rivendell's timeless sanctuary. "You are most welcome to return whenever you wish," he answered. "You shall be missed."

The red-haired Silvan elf ducked her head lightly in acknowledgement. "We have one last favor to ask of you," she added.

"I shall gladly give whatever is in my power."

Tauriel said no more, but looked to her husband to speak.

After a moment, Kíli explained, "We want your advice. We know we're a strange pairing, and we wondered if, in all your years, you had ever heard of a match like ours."

Elrond nodded; he had indeed cast his memory over this very question more than once since the pair's arrival. "Matches between the Eldar and mortals are rare, but not unknown." He felt his lips twitch into a smile at this mild jest at his own unusual parentage. "Though I have never heard of any between an elf and a dwarf."

"No, we supposed not." Kíli laughed, a little self-conscious. "But what of a dwarf and a human? That may have happened."

"If it has, word has not reached my ears. Your people are very secretive, Master Kíli."

Kíli flushed. "I know. It's just—" He swallowed, then tucked a stray lock of hair back behind one ear. "Well. We wonder if we are right to hope we might ever have a child together."

"I see," the half-elf returned calmly, as if he had not guessed from the young dwarf's embarrassment precisely what Kíli had been going to ask. "I confess this is a question I have not considered deeply, or indeed at all, before now."

Elrond gestured towards a grouping of seats in one of the windowed alcoves of the library. As he took a chair with a stately, practiced sweep of his robes, Tauriel and Kíli settled together on the love seat opposite him.

"You know that the Eldar and the Khazad were not made by the same hand," he began.

Tauriel met his eyes. "We know. It is the chief reason for our doubt."

"As the elves give the account, Aulë made the dwarves in imitation of the coming Children of Ilùvatar. It is said they are his attempt, imperfectly realized, to anticipate the All-father's crowning work. Aulë's impatience and the secrecy of his project account for all that is strange and, perhaps, seemingly unlovely about them." Elrond glanced towards the dwarf, whose dark eyes were unreadable. "Forgive me, young Kíli; I acknowledge that the elvish version of the tale is not without prejudice. The Khazad have their own story, and the elves should not try to speak for them. But I think the wise should dismiss neither account offhand."

Kíli said nothing, but he nodded, apparently understanding.

"What does this mean for us?" Tauriel asked.

"Because Aulë consulted no one when he made the dwarves, they are his singular creation, a reflection of the things he loves and limited by his own mind and talents. And so it may be likewise that they are limited to their own kind in procreation."

"I understand... But surely Kíli is proof that not every dwarf is limited in heart or mind. And does an exception not disprove the rule?" Her green eyes flashed as she voiced this last question.

"Indeed, it is a hopeful sign." Even Elrond himself had never expected to see these two very different peoples reconciled as closely as they were in this young pair. "Tell me, Master Kíli, even in your people's account of their beginnings, it was Mahal who shaped the Khazad and Ilùvatar who gave them true life, was it not?"

"That's right."

"It follows that the ability to bear new life of their own was part of Ilúvatar's gift. Mahal, loving as he was, could not grant it to them, when he could not give them life apart from his own thought."

"Then you think we might—" Kíli demanded eagerly.

"It is one reason that, despite your differences, I would not consider it impossible that you might conceive a child."

"So you do not think we are wrong to hope?" The Silvan elf's voice was soft, cautious with the very hope she spoke of.

Elrond smiled at her; something in her innocent sweetness reminded him of his own daughter. "My dear, I would never advise against hope. All the same, I caution you both to remember that all of what I have said is uncertain, merely my own first musings on the subject. I would be sorry to see you break your hearts with too much hope."

Tauriel said, "I know." After a moment, she added hesitantly, "I've one last question. Do you suppose, if we did conceive... Would our child be mortal?"

"Ah!" Elrond smiled kindly at her. "Now that, I would hardly dare to answer. It is true that my own half-elven line have been granted the choice of elven immortality, if we wish it. But such was the special boon of the Valar, granted my parents when they journeyed to the Farthest West. It is beyond my wisdom to guess what fate would be allotted to children of your union."

"Yes, I see." Tauriel caught Kíli's hand and pressed it. "In truth, the answer makes little difference to my desire."

Elrond nodded, wondering if she would feel the same when she held a babe in her arms and knew that, whether by fate or choice, she might not get to keep that dear one with her forever. But perhaps that was the realization of all parents, elven or mortal: the understanding that, much as they desired to protect a child, his or her fate was ultimately in other hands.

"There is one other in Imladris whom you may speak to, if you wish," Elrond added then. "Saruman, chief of the Istari—those known as wizards—arrived here last evening. He has wisdom beyond my own, and may be able to tell you what I cannot."

Kíli glanced to his wife, and finding assent in her face, said to Elrond, "Thank you; we would like to."

Elrond stood. "Come; I will introduce you."

Elf and dwarf likewise rose and stood waiting, but Elrond did not move yet. These two, who were at first glance so utterly unlike, had a rare kinship that was unmistakable when observed carefully. The lord of Rivendell knew less of the Khazad than he did of Tauriel's woodland people, yet he would have readily asserted that they were each more vibrantly alive than any other dwarf or Silvan.

"I truly have never met a pair like you, among elves or men," he said. "You are like twin flames, each feeding the other to burn ever brighter. Do not let your uncertainty over this matter dim that fire."

Tauriel blushed as at the mention of something deeply personal. "No, my lord."

If Saruman had been surprised to be disturbed by his host so early in the morning, he was doubly so to see the strange pair who followed Elrond into the wizard's personal chambers.

The first was an elf, a pretty young woman, if not so elegant as the Noldor of Elrond's own lineage. Her deep auburn hair and large, leaf-shaped ears proclaimed her to be from one of the Silvan clans, those untutored woodland tribes who had always played a less prominent role in the history of Middle-earth than their wiser kin.

Beside her stood a dwarf, a little tall for his kind, perhaps, though still stunted by comparison to an elf. He had the dark coloring and sharp features of Durin's royal line, and Saruman guessed him to be one of those dispossessed dwarves whom his colleague, Gandalf, had aided in that ill-conceived yet surprisingly successful quest a few years back. But if the young man were a prince, what was he doing here so far from his kingdom? Unless—the wizard's eye quickly spotted the matching gold bands on the fingers of elf and dwarf—he had been exiled for marrying outside his race. Yes, it was quite evident, now that Saruman had noticed this physical sign, that there was a spiritual bond between them. He had not recognized it at first, for it was unlike any such bond he had observed before.

Before the wizard could muse further on this surprising observation, Elrond spoke.

"My apologies for the early hour. My two friends wished to speak with you before their departure today."

Saruman bowed his head in acquiescence; he was now, at the least, intrigued.

"The wizard Saruman," Elrond said, gesturing to each figure in turn, "It is my honor to introduce Prince Kíli, nephew to King Thorin Oakenshield, and his bride, Tauriel of the Greenwood."

So the dwarf retained his title—he was not exiled, then?

"We, too, are honored to meet you," Kíli returned, and then he and his unusual wife bowed.

"Of course," the wizard said, flattered in spite of himself at the thought that they had surely never been in the presence of someone as imposing as he. Certainly Gandalf, Istar as he was, did not command much awe by his bearing. "And how may I be of service to you?"

Tauriel looked to Kíli, who seemed likewise lost for words before such an important figure.

Elrond spoke for them. "My two friends have asked my counsel on a subject beyond my knowledge. As the matter is of great personal importance to them both, I suggested they ask you, in the chance you might be able to supply what I cannot."

Saruman felt all the honor of this application. There were few matters past the understanding of Rivendell's lord, who had lived in Middle-earth nearly five millennia beyond the White Wizard himself. Masking his eagerness to discover what had perplexed the half-elf, he said, "And what is this matter?"

The young dwarf prince answered. "Do you believe it possible that a dwarf and an elf might conceive a child between them?" His face colored slightly at such a blunt and humble question, but his bold dark eyes never left the wizard's face.

Ah. Of course if they had been daring enough to wed, they would hope next even for a child.

"I confess I had believed the enmity between the Eldar and the Khazad prohibited such a pairing," Saruman mused. "Yet clearly there was no such obstacle in your case." And indeed, the wizard did wonder how these two had overcome the gulf that had existed between their races since the creation of both.

"It is a wonder even to us," the red-haired elf woman confessed. "Yet if we are like enough to love, might we also be like enough to..."

"Perhaps." But were they truly so alike? The bond between them felt charged with some tension, as if drawn between the mismatched poles of a lodestone. Such a link should have been characterized by harmony. And if their spirits were so at odds, was it not a sign that they were no more complementary in body?

"I can recall no precedent for a match like yours," Saruman began. It was best to deny them gently. Their youthful naïvety was charming, in its way, and yet pitiable, too, when it led them to long for the impossible. "While elves and men have produced children, they are nearer in kind, both having the same maker. But an elf and a dwarf— The physical difference alone is quite great." He frowned, perplexed that two such different creatures could find one another desirable mates. Even beasts without reason knew better than to pair outside their kind.

"You think too great?" the dwarf prompted, his look serious.

"Surely if Eru had meant Aulë's creation to pair with the other Children, He would have amended the dwarves to be more similar in body."

"You believe such mixed offspring impossible, then?" Elrond put in. "In my own opinion, the chance is uncertain, surely. But I would not say impossible."

The wizard shook his head, pondering. "No, perhaps not impossible. Yet unlikely and probably not... advisable."

Kíli's gaze sharpened. "What do you mean?"

Saruman sighed, knowing he was about to offer reasons that would be little to the liking of this eager young pair; but surely it was kinder to tell them than not or, worse, to leave them to discover such truths by their own painful trial.

"While I have never heard of a match between a dwarf and an elf,"—and the wizard was certain this ignorance was because such a match had never occurred before—"the nearest examples I can find do not augur well.

"You know that a donkey and a horse, while seemingly like enough, produce offspring that are themselves incapable of breeding. I fear that the child of a dwarf and an elf might even be the same."

The pretty young elf woman's countenance went pale, and Saruman felt genuinely sorry for her. How was it possible she had not considered this very likelihood when she took a dwarf for her mate? But of course, the Silvans were a sheltered, uneducated folk.

"And consider the risks of bearing such a child," he went on, knowing that now he had begun, it was best to deliver the worst of his pronouncement. "I fear you would endanger both the babe and the mother."

A little color flowed back into the elf's cheeks now. "I am not concerned for myself; I am strong."

Saruman smiled sadly. "I do not doubt that; but can strength perform that which nature and Eru never intended?" He sighed. "I do not speak merely from conjecture. I know of several cases which validate my concern.

"Forgive me; I know the comparison I am about to make is a distasteful one. I mention it now only because I do believe it has its relevance here."

The wood elf and her husband regarded the wizard with subdued, apprehensive attention.

He continued, "There have been rare instances of a half-orc begotten on some unfortunate human woman. Such offspring are not carried to full term or do not survive the birth."

The dwarf prince greeted this information with an apparently involuntary glare, quickly though imperfectly smothered. "I'm not—" he began, and then snapped his teeth shut with an effort.

Saruman said, "Again, you must forgive me. I mean no offense. I mentioned this because, in my opinion, the difference between an orc and a human is surely no less great than that between a dwarf and an elf. I am thinking merely in terms of generative compatibility. I meant to suggest no other likeness between the two cases."

Kíli glanced to his wife, whose face still bloomed red as she stared back at the wizard; though what thoughts were hidden behind her impassive elvish expression, Saruman could not guess.

Elrond interjected thoughtfully, "While such examples ought not be thoughtlessly dismissed, I do believe there is one crucial distinction between the cases you mention and what we consider today."

Both Kíli and Tauriel turned expectantly to him.

"We are not considering the possibility of a child gotten as the result of some savage abuse, but of one willingly conceived. This condition would, I believe, make a great difference even in a human woman's bearing, and much more so with an elf. Furthermore, the women you speak of were likely compromised in strength and spirit as a result of such misery."

"You are right," Saruman acknowledged with a shallow nod. "We should not disregard the circumstances. Yet if it is my opinion that you seek"—Saruman paused here to draw attention back to his own authority—"I believe that the dangers of an unsuitable pairing remain. Little as the conclusion satisfies us, we should do poorly to disregard the pronouncement of Eru Himself, when He declared strife between the children of His choice and those of His adoption. Do not His words confirm the fundamental incompatibility of these two races in every regard?"

He turned back to the particular elf and dwarf in question. "While your own love is noteworthy, it must be seen as the rare and individual exception, commendable but not a rule."

Tauriel's face had returned to a normal hue. "We understand. You must forgive any apparent disrespect. The subject is not indifferent for us, I am afraid."

"You need not apologize, child," the wizard returned, feeling a comfortable, sympathetic warmth. "I wish I had kinder advice to offer you; but as it is, I would not withhold the truth."

"We appreciate that," Kíli said then, his tone flat, but not disrespectful. "Thank you for your time."

Saruman bowed graciously. "I wish you well on your travels."

As he watched them go out after Elrond, the wizard mused on the significance of this peculiar meeting. An elf and a dwarf, in love and apparently legally wedded? He had never expected to encounter such an oddity. The world truly was changing. What he had seen today was one of the more inconsequential effects, certainly, and yet it was one more sign that the order of things need not remain as they were. And when greater changes came, he knew someone wise would be needed to direct them.

Kíli had great pleasure in showing Tauriel his boyhood home in Ered Luin. There had been times during the quest when he had wondered if he would ever see the place again, and to be here now with her, Kíli felt all the warmth of nostalgia joined to the excitement of the new life they were beginning together.

He'd begun by giving her a tour of Thorin's old dûm, those stately halls and dwellings that were rich even by the standard of comfort and wealth in Rivendell, paling only in comparison to Erebor itself. They were inhabited now by a new lord and his family, who had been astonished to see the Longbeard prince return with his elven bride, but nonetheless gracious in admitting them both. Kíli had shown Tauriel his and Fíli's old chambers, and the room where he and his brother had been born, the workshop where he'd first learned the jeweler's craft, and the forge where he'd watched his father and his uncle bring the glowing steel to life and shape it.

In the training yard where he had first learned to handle bow and sword, he and Tauriel had drawn quite a crowd to watch as they sparred, sword against daggers. Afterwards, Kíli had taken her swimming in the cold mountain stream where he and Fíli had played as lads. They'd stalked game together in the aspen woods where Kíli had taken his first solo hunt half a century ago, and Tauriel had laughed when he offered to carry both her and their doe back to the settlement on his shoulders.

They returned more than once to Thorin's forge; it was one of the places Kíli had missed the most. He was happy that a new family had taken it over; he'd have been sorry to find the furnace cold and the anvil quiet. And still it felt odd to see strangers' hands work the bellows or draw metal from the coals.

"One of my earliest memories is of my dad here in the forge," Kíli told Tauriel one day as they'd watched the smiths at work. "He was so strong; even the most unwieldy piece of iron seemed light in his hands."

Tauriel's eyes flicked from the workers to Kíli. "What did your father look like?" Her gaze was sharp, intent, as if seeking traces of that other dwarf in Kíli's own face.

"Like Fíli: gold hair, blue eyes, such broad shoulders. He used to take me up on them, let me ride about behind his neck. I loved that." He laughed. "I'll do so someday with our children, before they get too tall. They will be ridiculously tall, I'm sure of it."

"Yes, Kíli." From her slightly strained smile, he knew she was acutely conscious that he had mentioned the topic they had both carefully avoided in the six weeks since they had left Rivendell.

When Kíli glanced to her several minutes later and found that her brows remained tense, he caught her hand and drew her out the back door of the forge to where the little family bath house leaned up against the furnace chimney. Here, in the shade of the vine-grown cistern was still the stone bench and table where he and Fíli (and sometimes Thorin) had often come for a mid-day meal, away from the heat of the sunny training ground or the stuffy forge. There was always a good breeze here in the summer, and the place offered an unobstructed view of the wooded slopes at the far side of the mountain valley.

Kíli handed Tauriel to a seat atop the table—the bench was too low for her—and then climbed to her side. He caught her hand and caressed it.

"I suppose this is as good a time as any to talk about this. About our children."

He had meant to bring up the subject dozens of times before now—while they rode or hunted or shared a meal or loved—and still he had never quite been able to, afraid to discover that Tauriel had given up hope. From what she had explained regarding elven conception, he suspected that if she believed a child impossible for them, it would indeed prove so.

She squeezed his hand. "You are not yet disheartened by the counsel we were given?" Tauriel asked.

"Well, I can't pretend it has me brimming with joy, but I don't think it's so very bad as it seemed at first."

"No?" Kíli thought he detected a faint note of relief in her tone.

"For one thing, I'm not an orc. I might not be so pretty as an elf, but I'm not some misbegotten hell-spawn!" He spat in the grass. "You've slain them and seen their foul, black blood! Mine's as red as yours. It's the blood of kings!"

Tauriel drew his arm against her. "My poor Kíli! I was sorry to hear him say that; though no offense was meant, it pained me, too." She pressed her lips to his cheek for a long moment. "As for your not being as pretty as an elf, that may be so, but I have never seen an elf as handsome as you."

"Haven't you?" Kíli said, the remark more an affirmation than a question. He loved the way she made him feel that she was quite as lucky as he considered himself.

"Tauriel, what I mean is: of course we're not perfectly alike, but I'm not worried that a child of ours would not survive. Dwarves and elves are both hardy folk, and what's more, we're good folk. I'm not surprised orcs can't breed outside their own cursed kind. But I don't think the comparison holds for us."

His wife sighed and drew her fingers down his arm, over his hand. "I'm not afraid for myself, Kíli. I am immortal and surely strong enough to endure even a difficult birth. But if the babe is mortal..." Her hands tightened on his for a moment.

"Dwarves are sturdy as stone, and the babes are no different. I think our child would be in no more danger than you."

She tucked her chin against his shoulder for a moment. "I would like you to be right."

Kíli chuckled gently. "Taur, which of us is the dwarf? I should know what I'm talking about."

The mountain breeze lifted his hair off his face and tugged at her skirts.

"I believe you," Tauriel said.

"Good." He brushed her hand and played with the mithril ring on her finger. "But something else bothers you?"

She nodded against him, but did not speak for several minutes. Kíli watched the shadows of clouds drift over the trees in the valley opposite them and waited for her.

"I am grieved to think our children might never have children of their own," she said at last.

"Ah."

"Would it not be unkind for us to bring them forth to such a fate?" There was a faint hitch in her voice, and Kíli guessed she spoke from her own unhappiness at the possibility she and he might be denied a child.

Kíli shifted on the edge of the table so that he faced Tauriel more directly, and she turned to regard him. Her green eyes were very deep and serious. "Even if they couldn't make children... Just to be alive and loved—wouldn't they still have far more things to be happy about? I'm not saying it wouldn't matter if they weren't fertile, but—" He reached out to cup her cheek. "Tauriel, it would have been worse never to have lived to meet you than to find I can't give you children. Don't you think so?"

She smiled a little wistfully. "Until I met you, I did not want children."

"Amrâlimê, I think we can. We're, well, so good together." He brushed his thumb over her cheek, then set his hands on her knees. "And I don't just mean at making love, though surely our aptitude there is a favorable sign." He flashed her a teasing look, and finding the slit in her skirt, laid one palm against the warmth of her calf.

"That wizard," he continued. "I'm sure he knows a lot, but he's never seen us together. He couldn't think we were so incompatible if he knew how you'd gotten a dwarf to care about stars and trees and green things. And you," he tickled her behind the knee so that she smiled involuntarily, "drinking ale and wearing my gems and calling my name in Khuzdul because it's the best way to say you love me."

He drew his touch further up her thigh, because it was nearly summer and she wasn't wearing leggings and, oh, she felt lovely.

"And not just those things. Oh, Taur, with you, I know I'm more the dwarf I was made to be. I want to be him for you: more thoughtful, more strong. Honorable, kind, gentle." He leaned closer and kissed her. "Worthy."

She smiled fully then. "That you are, meleth nín."

"And so I think that if the question is simply whether we suit each other, body and soul, we very clearly do."

Tauriel leaned into him now, and he felt her fingers comb through his hair. "Oh, Kíli," she said, her brow against his. "You know that Lord Elrond cautioned us against too much hope."

"I know." He felt her tension ease as he stroked the top of her leg. "I'm not going to hold my breath, or put all my eggs in one basket, as Mr. Baggins would say. I'm going to go on loving you as wildly and fully as I ever have, so if we can have a child, it will be sure to happen. That's all." And he kissed her again, holding her lower lip between his teeth for a moment before pulling away.

Tauriel's cheeks were warm as she smoothed her skirt back into place. Then she stared at him, and Kíli could not guess what she was thinking.

"My love?" he prompted. "Could you be happy with such a resolution?"

"Yes, Kíli," she said tenderly.

"Tauriel?" he said, when she continued to watch him with a peculiar expression.

Her lips quirked up in mischief now. "I wonder if there is anywhere in your old home that you would like to sweeten with the memory of having made love there to an elf."

"Oh." He breathed a swift laugh. "Yes, I think I do know just the place." And catching her hand, he drew her away.

Author's note:

dûm - "excavations, halls"

In my headcanon, Nandor/Silvan elves like Tauriel are distinguished by their large ears or "leaf ears," as the elves call them. I got the idea from the fact that Evangeline Lilly's ears were the largest of the elf ears from the films. The term "leaf ears" is, of course, a reference to one of Tolkien's few descriptions of the shape of elvish ears. Tauriel explains about leaf ears in chapter 4 "Scars" of my fic Beneath the Moon, Beneath the Sun.

More thanks are due to my wonderful beta reader, That Elf Girl, for helping this chapter come out right.

We'll get to catch up with Bilbo in the next chapter, and I'm excited! I actually wrote the opening of our hobbit's scene months ago while I was still midway through SCSAF!