Chapter 3: A Meeting of Friends


This was a beautiful evening, there was absolutely no doubt in Bilbo's mind. Though the sun was down, the fragrance of warm grass and blossoms still drifted gently through the windows that opened out on the garden. Amidst the sound of cricket song, conversation punctuated by merry laughter carried up from the road below as two last walkers made their way home in the fading glow of the sunset. Bilbo smiled; he liked the sound of people enjoying themselves.

He was just preparing a pot of floral herb tea when he realized that the voices had come nearer, indeed, seemed to have stopped at his front door. He hadn't been expecting callers, though of course that sort of thing flustered him rather less than it once would have. As he was making his way down the entrance hall, whoever it was rapped on the door.

"I know he said not to knock, but I have to use what few manners I have," Bilbo heard someone say. He recognized that voice, though he had not heard it in several years. One of the young dwarf princes, Fíli, or was it Kíli? To his surprise, there came an answering murmur of female laughter. One of the Bracegirdle lasses from down the lane, taken by a likely stranger asking the way? For all of their dwarvish oddness, Bilbo imagined Thorin's nephews would have little trouble winning the interest of even some shy hobbit maid.

He opened the door, and the dark-haired prince—Kíli, it was—stood grinning at him, and beside the young dwarf was someone who surely was no hobbit lass: she stood head and shoulders over Kíli, and long, unbound red hair fell down about her slim, green-clad figure. Bilbo knew her for the elf who had fought beside Thorin and his nephews on Ravenhill. He had wondered back then if there was anything between her and Kíli, and was not surprised to find now that his inkling had been right.

"Bilbo!" Kíli cried, catching the hobbit to him in an enthusiastic, if somewhat ungentle, hug. "I suppose you never expected to see us again so soon."

As Kíli let him go, Bilbo noted that the lad had gained a new scar on his cheek and braids in his hair since their last meeting.

"No, I— That is—" He cleared his throat, remembering what was more important than whatever he had or hadn't been expecting. "Welcome! Do come in." Bilbo stepped back to make them room.

Kíli caught the elf woman's hand and drew her forward. "Tauriel, this is my friend Mr. Bilbo Boggins," he said with a wink to Bilbo.

Tauriel cast the dwarf a doubtful look. "You've told me it was Baggins all this while."

"It is," said Bilbo, chuckling at the memory of the first time this young dwarf had stood on his doorstep. "Really, you shouldn't believe everything he says."

"Oh, I know," she returned, flashing a mischievous look at the dwarf, and Bilbo knew then without a doubt that she was quite in love with Kíli. Then turning back to Bilbo, she swept a graceful bow. "Mae govannen."

"And well met to you," the hobbit returned. "Now, please come in. I was just making some tea."

Bilbo led them into the parlor and invited them to sit down, while he went for two more teacups and extra helpings of shortbread and fruit jellies. He knew firsthand about the appetites of both dwarves and elves—he remembered several very lavish feasts from his stay in Mirkwood, though he'd never been bold enough to take more than the easiest, peripheral offerings for his own burgled meals.

Once he'd poured tea and seen that his guests had helped themselves to the sweets, Bilbo said, "I needn't ask why you're here. It's plain you've eloped." Indeed, he felt rather clever for having noticed their wedding rings as he had handed them their tea. There would be no awkwardness about asking whether or not they needed separate rooms for the night, thank goodness.

Kíli laughed heartily, his head thrown back, and Bilbo was gladdened to see that the hardships of the quest and a war had not changed him from the bright-eyed, carefree young fellow who'd last sat in this room.

"We had a proper royal wedding before we left," the young dwarf explained.

Bilbo very nearly splashed his tea. "Oh, so Thorin, he—" He had believed the dwarf king had a good many years left; it was a shock to find he'd been wrong. But Kíli would never have been permitted such a wedding unless his brother were king. "I'm sorry, Kíli. Your uncle was my frie—" he began, his voice harsh with unfeigned grief, then stopped at Kíli's own confused look.

"Uncle is quite well," he said, brows knitted in confusion. "He sends you this." And he produced a letter from his coat and held it forth.

Yes, that was certainly Thorin's hand—Bilbo recognized it from his burglar's contract—as well as Thorin's seal.

"I'm sorry; I thought that, well." He felt his cheeks flush. "It's just that she's, ah, and your uncle didn't— Right." He nodded and stuffed a slice of shortbread in his mouth before he said anything else foolish.

Tauriel's mirth, which had been contained till now, burst out in bright peals of laughter. "You thought Thorin would be dead before he saw Kíli marry an elf."

"Yes," Bilbo admitted, mouth full of shortbread. He had seen the heated confrontation between Thorin and the Elvenking after their capture in Mirkwood and found it quite impossible to imagine the same dwarf would permit his nephew to celebrate a wedding to one of Thranduil's people.

"Thorin and I had quite a row when he found out about us, and I very nearly did elope with Tauriel: I packed my satchel and was gone most of a day before I realized running wouldn't solve anything. But Thorin came around in the end."

Bilbo chuckled. "Well, he did change his mind about me. What was it he said? I looked more like a grocer than a burglar."

Kíli smiled, evidently remembering. "You'll never guess who else was at the wedding."

"Gandalf?"

The dwarf shook his head, grinning.

"Radagast." Didn't the odd fellow live under the eaves of Mirkwood?

"No."

"Bard."

"Well, yes, he was there with his family," Kíli admitted, "But that's hardly surprising after Tauriel saved his children from a bunch of orcs."

"Hmm... Elrond?" The lordly and ancient half-elf seemed just the sort one ought to have to a wedding.

"Not he," Tauriel returned, equally amused as her husband.

"What about the elf prince, the one who—" Bilbo caught himself just in time. He had been about to say, the one who the king said admired you, but then he would have been forced to an awkward confession of having eavesdropped on a private conversation while in the Elvenking's palace.

"Not Legolas, no. He was too far to come."

"Beorn, then." Bilbo had not supposed the solitary shapeshifter was one for large gatherings, but perhaps he had taken an interest in the lives of the dwarves he had aided more than once.

Kíli shook his head once more.

"Well, then who— Wait. Surely not Thranduil."

"He is my guardian." The elf smiled teasingly. "We couldn't forget him."

"Bless me!" Bilbo took a long, slow swallow of tea. "I think you had better tell the story from the beginning for me."

The young couple happily did so, taking turns and interrupting one another to add a detail or, just as often, to tease the other fondly for something said. They were an utterly charming pair, lively and artless with youth, and as their story drew on, Bilbo felt very grateful that they had overcome Thorin's prejudice and the demands of politics to be together. They were just the sort of people who made others happy with their presence, and separating them would have denied a blessing to those beyond themselves.

"I wish you could have come to the wedding," Kíli was saying now. "So many of our friends were there. And, oh, you should have seen her. She was like a dream, far too beautiful to belong in this world. I think I'm dreaming yet." He leaned close and kissed her cheek once.

Instead of being shocked by such an open display of affection, Bilbo merely smiled.

"And you've been married how long, now?"

"A year, come June ninth," Tauriel said.

"Aha! That's barely a fortnight away! We must have a feast for your anniversary."

"Thank you, Bilbo; we would like that."

"And now tell me, how are all our friends? Is Bifur still speaking Common again?"

And so they had finished the rest of the evening (and several more plates of sweets) as Kíli and Tauriel had told how the rest of Bilbo's companions had spent the years since the quest: how Fíli was marrying soon, and Bombur had a new daughter; of how Bofur and Bifur's toy business thrived as it never had in Ered Luin; of how Bard had become king of Dale, and Dwalin still terrorized Bain and Tilda (though Tauriel insisted the two acted more from humor than sincerity now).

At last, when everyone was comfortably tired, Bilbo rose. "You must stay with me," he said as Kíli and Tauriel stood, too. "I won't hear of anything else."

When they had gathered their things and followed Bilbo down his hall and into his finest guest room, Bilbo was forced to confront the one oversight in his offer as he stared at what had once been his own parents' marriage bed. Its handsomely turned wooden frame was quite comfortable by hobbit standards, yet hobbits were precisely what his guests were not.

"I suppose there is one minor inconvenience," he began apologetically. "Kíli, you aren't very much taller than a hobbit, but I'm afraid you" —he glanced to Tauriel—"are tall enough for two. You may be more comfortable in your own rooms. If you want, I can put one of you in the second-best room across the hall."

Kíli laughed. "Don't trouble about us. We don't need much space."

"I'm sure we can make ourselves quite comfortable here," Tauriel agreed.

Bilbo nodded; he ought not be surprised they did not wish to be separated. "If you need anything in the night, make yourselves at home, or better yet, ask."

Then he bid them goodnight and went to bed himself.


Kíli woke knowing something was wrong, though several moments passed before he understood quite what. The feather mattress and pillow felt luxurious after weeks on the road, but something else was uncomfortably out of place, like a root that he hadn't noticed when he'd lain down but that had now left a sore patch in the middle of his back.

He shifted and realized that he'd lost his blanket in the night; it was no wonder he felt cold and exposed. And then reaching blindly for the coverlet, he discovered the greater problem: where was Tauriel?

By now, he was used to waking with her beside him, or sometimes atop him, a soft, substantial warmth both comforting and sweet. But this morning, he was quite alone in bed; the sheets beside him were cold, and when he opened his eyes, he saw only a blank stretch of mattress.

Ah, but there was the corner of the quilt, caught on the edge of the bed. He lifted himself on an elbow to reach for it, then stopped: raised higher like this, he could see the floor below.

There, in a patch of sunlight, lay Tauriel, snuggled in a nest of blankets.

She slept peacefully, her rich, dark eyelashes dusting her cheeks and the graceful curves of her lips relaxed. The sunlight slanting down over her set a fire in the loose halo of her hair and glowed through the curl of her long, pretty ear.

Kíli lay back down on the edge of the mattress, perfectly content to watch her. It really was amazing that, changeless and immortal as she was, she continually astonished him with new beauties. How could he ever get his fill of her?

A loose piece of hair lay fallen over her cheek, and with light fingers, Kíli lifted it back from her face. Careful as he was, her quick senses registered even that feather touch. Her eyes drifted open, though the keen focus of her irises belied that lazy movement; he had no doubt she was entirely alert.

"You've abandoned me, my love," he said. "And you took every blanket."

She smiled, the look sweet and self-conscious.

"Kíli. There was not room enough for you and me and a pile of blankets."

He sighed. "It's no good up here alone."

"Then come down here, silly dwarf."

He did, nestling inside the cocoon of quilts with his back to her.

"Hadhodeg," she whispered against his ear and folded her arms around him.

"Apparently not little enough," he teased in reference to her use of the diminutive Elvish form, which roughly translated to "my little dwarf."

Tauriel's breath tickled his hair as she laughed. "Have you considered that I am the one who is too big?"

"That can't be. Last I checked, you were just right."

"Then we shall have to find another bed."

Kíli chuckled. "You mean sleep outside."

She nuzzled up under his hair and placed a kiss at the back of his neck. "The summer weather is very mild, and the country here so green. Wouldn't you rather sleep outside?"

"I would rather sleep wherever you do, amrâlimê."

"That's easily settled."

Tauriel tucked her hand inside his shirt and drew her fingers over him once before settling back into a light doze. Kíli lay still, simply enjoying the feel of each breath she took against him. He didn't need more than this to be happy.


After breakfast, Tauriel accompanied Bilbo into market on errands to the grocer and butcher. Not surprisingly, she found herself the object of many a curious stare, but while some glances might not have been entirely approving, no one was anything but polite to her and her host. Mr. Baggins, it seemed, might not be entirely respectable after his adventure, but he was wealthy and generous, two traits that made up for any eccentricities.

After ordering a roast, the two stopped at the baker's, where Tauriel chose a loaf studded with candied fruits for tea later that day. As the baker's wife wrapped the loaf in brown paper, Tauriel tried not to stare. The young woman's figure was rounded by more than hobbitish plumpness: she was with child, and well along, by all that Tauriel could tell from the full swell of her skirt. The elf had seen few pregnant women in her lifetime, and before, they had never roused more than a passing curiosity for her.

What is it like, she wanted to ask now, to carry a babe? Can you feel that little soul nestled close to your own? Does it fill you with joy?

Despite Tauriel's caution, her interest must still have shown, for the hobbit woman's full, freckled cheeks went red as she handed over the loaf.

"Forgive me; I do not mean to be rude," Tauriel said. "It's just that I do not often see new mothers among the elves."

"No new mothers?" the young woman echoed, her blue eyes round. Tauriel imagined she would have gotten much the same response had she asserted that elves did not eat or sleep.

"Not in these days. Still... I should very much like to become one."

The hobbit smiled then, as if this admission had transformed Tauriel from a foreigner and a stranger to a kindred female. "Becoming one's easy enough. I imagine it's being one that's more the challenge." She laughed at herself. "But then I'll find out soon enough! Oof, it's time this little one arrived. Carrying him round in front of me has me that tired by the end of the day."

"Is he your first?" Tauriel ventured, encouraged by the woman's friendliness.

"He is. And we're right proud, aren't we, Freddy?" She looked to her husband with a smile.

"So we are," the baker affirmed, glancing up from the elaborate cake he was icing to give Tauriel a curious, somewhat uncertain look.

Tauriel bowed her head lightly. "The Valar bless you," she murmured, and followed Bilbo out of the shop.

"I've never seen so many kinds of bread!" she remarked as she and her host crossed the busy market square, back towards the lane that would take them to Bag End. She did not, she realized, care to discuss her exchange with the baker's wife. "And that cake! I didn't know you could do so many fine things with a little sugar frosting."

Bilbo laughed softly. "That must have been the wedding cake for Daisy Greenburrow. She's marrying the Miller lad tomorrow." After a few more paces, the hobbit added, "Do you mean you didn't have a cake at your wedding?" From his tone, Tauriel guessed this oversight was hardly pardonable.

"No! Though we had plenty of other good things to eat and a wedding ale, which I understand is a very important dwarvish tradition."

"Ah, well in that case, we shall have to order a cake for your anniversary," Bilbo said, sounding quite pleased.

"I would be delighted!"

Coming down Bagshot Row to Bag End, Tauriel could hear the steady, rhythmic crack and thud that told her Kíli was still at work in Bilbo's back garden. Earlier that morning, her husband had offered to split some logs the hobbit had purchased for firewood.

As she and Bilbo reached the front gate, Bilbo gestured for her to hand over the parcel she carried. "I can manage from here. You'd best see if Kíli needs any help." With the faintest smile, he nodded to the garden gate, which was just visible round the last bend of the lane. Clustered there was a trio of hobbit lasses, apparently caught between curiosity and shyness as they peeped over the vine-covered fence.

"Oh!" Tauriel laughed, realizing that her husband, as a stranger and a dwarf, must be the object of their interest.

The young women did not notice Tauriel until she was a handful of yards away, when the tallest, a pretty lass with honey-colored ringlets, glanced up at Tauriel and gave a little gasp of surprise. The others turned then, their eyes going wide when they saw the elf. Then with a chorus of nervous giggles, they scampered off and disappeared into a neighboring garden.

Tauriel smiled to herself at the thought that she appeared such a strange and formidable figure, even in her simple elvish gown, with not a weapon on her person. Then, glancing over the gate to find what they had seen, she had to press a hand to her mouth to stifle her laugh.

Directly across from the gate, at the bottom of the garden, Kíli worked on undistracted, standing a cross-section of log on the block with one hand and then dividing it with a few easy, well-placed strokes of the axe. He had his hair pulled back and was stripped to the waist, and the movements of his work combined with the gleam of his body in the heat showed off his figure to uncommon advantage.

Tauriel stood still, pleased with this chance to admire him. She was hardly annoyed to suppose the neighbor girls had done the same, if they had not merely found him strange; surely they had been just as curious and astonished as she at her first sight of Kíli like this. Elves did not have such defined musculature, and neither, she believed, did hobbits. As for the dark hair that shaded his arms and chest—she would not venture to guess for halflings, but elves certainly did not sport such. Perhaps another elf would be displeased by such shaggy skin, but she enjoyed how rough and rugged he both looked and felt.

After a minute, she went in the gate. Kíli, intent as he was on his task, did not see her till he turned back from stacking his latest load of split wood to season with the rest and found her standing by the block.

"Hullo, love," he said, brushing crumbs of lichen and tree bark from his arms. "Did the errands go well?"

"Yes." She felt herself smirk. "Did you know you had an audience just now? A few lasses down at the gate."

Kíli shook his head. "Maybe they came back for the kiss I offered them last time I was in the Shire," he said, eyes crinkling in amusement.

"Kíli! You are hopeless."

He grinned. "It was just a tease. A few of them were watching Fíli and me loading our ponies outside the Green Dragon, so I said if they wanted a nearer look, I'd even let them kiss me. They ran away then."

"I'm not afraid to kiss you." And gracefully, she leaned forward to do so. His lips were soft and sweet, and she felt them quirk into a smile against hers.

"Not even begrimed and sweaty as I am?" He laughed, putting a hand to her waist as if preparatory to pulling her against him. "You are brave."

"Until you are washed, I shall not have the courage try anything else."

"Don't worry; I shan't dare anything more till I have." He let his hand slip off her hip.

"I like your hair this way," Tauriel said. Kíli had drawn it back, even the betrothal braids, into a tail high at the back of his head. She rearranged some of the loose pieces around his face. "It's quite becoming."

"I'll remember that." He brushed a finger down the back of her arm. "Now, if you go help Bilbo with luncheon, I'll finish this and then get washed up."

"Yes, my sweet," she said, and bent to kiss him once more before she left.


Grignar snarled and spat into the graveled floor of the mountain cleft. He was tired of watching the High Pass over the Misty Mountains day in and day out. The sun reflected off the barren stone path below burned his eyes and the cold, clear mountain air seared his lungs. He'd been here nearly two moons without finding either sign or scent of the dwarf prince, and his troop of raiders was growing restless. Soon he wouldn't be able to restrain them from attacking the next trade party that used this road, and once they revealed themselves, they risked scaring off their true quarry. Not to mention the elves from the valley of Rivendell, just to the west, might decide to come clear the pass if they heard of orc bandits menacing travelers.

Besides, he began to suspect the dwarf wasn't crossing back through this pass when he returned east. Grignar hated idling here, especially when he had a better idea of where to watch. Intelligence from Gundabad said that the prince traveled with an elf, and Grignar thought it likely the two made for Moria. The dwarves who had once lived there had been friendly with elves, it was said. Mayhap this prince hoped to retake the place with elven aid—and that was an alliance and a conquest that the orcs could little afford. Yet there was reason to think Durin's folk would try for such a step: no doubt losing their ancient home still rankled, just as the defeat at Erebor stung every orc who'd fought at that cursed Mountain.

But now there was the chance to make the ones who were responsible pay for that defeat, he mused, clawed hand seeking the haft of his blade in anticipation. Grignar would be damned if he let someone else get to the prince before him. It wasn't the bounty from Gundabad he wanted. It was revenge for having been forced to flee like rats before those smug, so-called "free peoples" who were so high and mighty as to claim Middle-earth belonged to them alone. He'd been there, leading one of the last battalions set to march on Ravenhill, before the dwarves and all their damn allies had converged and turned the ambush into a rout, and by the black abyss, he would not forget that shame.

The orcs would prove their right to rule soon enough. In the meantime, Grignar relished the thought of venting his rage on this pissant dwarvish princeling. The little maggot probably thought himself some kind of war hero, but there'd be no one—certainly not the elf bitch—able to save him from what Grignar had planned. The dwarf would regret he'd ever seen the Mountain; Grignar would be sure to make him admit that, before the end. Not that it would do the bastard any good. And then when they'd finished with him, they could send his head to Erebor. Grignar licked his lips, imagining this last gesture: it really was all too delicious.

That settled things. Tonight, once the sun was down, he would order his troop south.


Author's note:

An alternate title for this chapter: "In which there is fanservice and it is apparent the authoress watches too much Poldark." A mostly fluffy little chapter for you all, though Grignar is doing his best to make sure things aren't all sweetness.

My headcanon is that Kíli, as a dwarf, feels most comfortable sleeping buried under a heavy pile of blankets regardless of the season, so the poor guy really doesn't feel right waking up to find Tauriel has made off with every. single. blanket. One of these days, I'm going to add a chapter to Beneath the Moon, Beneath the Sun explaining how Tauriel figures out this preference of his.

Thank you to everyone who has favorited, followed, and reviewed! And a warm thanks to That Elf Girl for her kindness in beta-reading.