To Sit By the Fire
"Can you smell the earth warming?" Tauriel asked.
Kíli inhaled deeply. Yes, the air was definitely beginning to smell green. Winter was more of a blue smell.
He and Tauriel stood on one of the lower mountain ridges, looking out at the valley entrance to the mountain. A few last patches of white clung to the highest vales, but for the most part both valley and plain were dark from melted snow.
"Mum always told us Mahal was stoking his furnaces," he said, remembering late winter mornings when she had shooed him and his brother outdoors to blow the stink off, as she said.
As Tauriel smiled, he went on, "Mum will be joining us as soon as the weather holds for traveling."
"Then she knows you're all well."
Kíli nodded. "We sent word by raven. Our royal line still remember how to speak to the birds of the mountain."
"What is that one saying?" She pointed to a raven that had been watching them from atop a stone a short distance away. It croaked, as if in response to her request.
Kíli watched the bird thoughtfully for a moment, his head tipped slightly to one side.
"He says the world is likely ending, since an elf and a dwarf have become friends." He gave her a teasing look. "Sometimes they do just say nonsense."
Tauriel's eyes narrowed. "Kíli, did he really say that?"
He grinned. "No. I think it was something about a dead rabbit... Really, it is nonsense most of the time." He shrugged. "Raven has about twelve different words for 'carrion,' and I've never bothered to learn them all."
She laughed.
"What?" Kíli asked.
"You dwarves are quite surprising," Tauriel explained. "I never expected you to speak to birds."
"Do you mean we're not as strange as you thought?" He liked being able to surprise her. There must be so much she had already discovered in the world, but he could give her something she had not yet found.
She flushed. "I confess, I do still find you strange. But not in a bad way. You have your own beauty."
He looked up at her happily. Not long ago, he had wondered if she, this lovely creature from a world so far from his own, could see anything to admire in him, in mind or body. Now, he even dared believe she felt drawn to him as much as he was to her.
Tauriel reached out and caught his hand, her expression both eager and shy at once. Kíli thought she often seemed overwhelmed even by that simple touch, though he wasn't sure if it was because of who he was, or because what she felt for him was new to her. Surely, with as long as she had lived, she had been in love before? He had not, not truly. Oh, he had chased a few girls back in Ered Luin, lasses who'd been perfectly willing to kiss him because he was persuasive (and a prince), but luckily they had never taken him any more seriously than he had wished. Yet Tauriel— Well, he now understood why so many dwarves never moved past a first love, even if they had been refused. It was in his people's nature to love unwaveringly, when they did spare their attention from the forge long enough to care for something other than their own work.
The two of them continued to walk along the ridge. Some brown, scrubby grass was all that showed of last year's vegetation. Kíli hoped that soon he would see the mountain slopes as his mother and uncle had always described them, covered in pines that roared in the wind. That new growth might begin soon indeed, with the dragon's influence gone. The earth felt softer under his boots than it had all winter. Yes, spring had nearly come.
And that meant she would leave.
Kíli had been reminding himself of that fact for the last week. He understood that she could not stay. As much as he hoped she might one day belong wherever he did, he knew he could not yet convince his uncle, much less Daín's folk from the Iron Hills, to accept her. And he suspected Tauriel still felt displaced after losing her own home. He would wait, if he had to, till they both found where they fit into their new lives.
"Where will you go, after this?" he asked.
"Dale, and thence perhaps to Esgaroth," Tauriel told him. "The elves will be driving the evil things from the forest, and the creatures may flee here. The lakemen will need to protect themselves, and I can help with that. If they'll have me."
"I don't know if it will help, but you can tell them the Prince of Erebor vouches for you."
She laughed. "Let us hope they believe you unbiased."
"Why didn't you go to Dale before?" Kíli asked presently. He had often wondered over that question this winter. Surely Bard's people would not have refused her, after the aid her king had given them.
Tauriel shook her head, as if she did not quite know how to explain herself. "Penance? Or perhaps stubbornness. I brought this exile upon myself, and I needed to understand what I had done."
"Then why did you come with me?" He believed he knew the answer, but he needed to hear it from her.
"Because..." Tauriel drew him to a stop and looked down at him, her lips parted to speak, though she found no words for several long moments. "You asked me once to follow you, but I could not. This time, I had no duty to oppose my desire."
Kíli remembered the way she had looked at him on the lake shore: her eyes had been troubled, as if opposing emotions struggled within her. Then, he hadn't been sure if she had wanted to give him a different answer, or if she had merely been sorry to disappoint him.
There was no reluctance in her answer today. Her eyes met his, steady and warm and free.
"Kíli, I intend to go after a day or two more. I will not overstay my welcome. But I promise I do not leave you."
"I know," Kíli told her, and they began the walk back to the mountain halls.
After everyone had retired for the night, Tauriel joined Kíli in one of the small, side rooms at the far end of the common halls. They had tried to be more discreet in their meetings lately, knowing they already drew enough attention by their public interactions. Kíli, Tauriel thought, had also seemed anxious to avoid Thorin lately, though she had not asked his reasons.
The fire had burned rather low, and Kíli had only relit one of the lamps in the room, so they sat close in the ring of firelight.
Kíli was describing the renovation project he had been given to oversee with his brother, but Tauriel realized, with only a mild flush of guilt, that she was but half listening to him.
In the dim light, his coloring showed especially dark, though every now and then the fire would flare in his eyes and in his hair. His hair wasn't truly black, she had discovered, but a rich brown with hints of auburn that showed in the sun. When she had first met him, she had shocked herself by thinking that if he hadn't had his hair full of spiderwebs, he might almost be handsome. She did not doubt that he was now, though whether she saw him with the eyes of an elf, a dwarf, or simply a lover, she was not sure. He somehow undid her with his smile, with his presence, in a way that delighted as much as it surprised her.
She noticed Kíli had stopped speaking and seemed to be waiting for a response. After a moment, he pronounced, "Tauriel, you weren't listening." His tone was amused.
"No; I'm sorry," she confessed.
Because he watched her but said nothing, she reached out and drew her fingertips over his cheek. His beard was rough, a little prickly, but she did not mind. She had been half afraid she would, and how would he have felt then, knowing she found him unpleasant?
"Am I very strange?" he asked softly, as if guessing her thought.
In answer, she leaned close and pressed her lips to his cheek. She breathed a single, soft laugh—yes, he was definitely prickly—and then she kissed him again at the edge of his mouth, and again, full on the lips.
Kíli leaned closer to her and caught her gently by the neck; and for a moment they paused, her brow pressed to his. Tauriel closed her eyes, suddenly deeply self-conscious: she had never kissed anyone before. Yet before she had time to feel truly embarrassed, Kíli met her lips again and continued where she had left off.
Repairs would go more quickly once the remaining dwarves from Ered Luin arrived, but Thorin was happy with the progress that had been made in these last short months.
He had felt a fresh pain at seeing the ruin of his childhood home, but his own resentment and anger seemed to heal as the dwarves repaired shattered metal and stone. For the first time since he had been driven from these halls, he felt content, settled.
Today had been another full one of work and planning, and Thorin was looking forward to bed, but he wanted to have one more glance at the outline he and Gloín had drawn up for repairs to one of the larger galleries. He thought he might make a few minor alterations before the stonecutters went to work tomorrow. The plans were not in his room, however; he must have left them in the quiet study where he and Gloín had met earlier tonight. It was a bit of a walk back to retrieve them, but Thorin would rather do it now than tomorrow on his way to the work site.
The halls were quiet and only partially lit at this time of night, and Thorin met no one as he walked. He did not expect the room itself to be occupied, and so it was not until after he had entered that he noticed he was not alone. On the bench beside the fire sat the red-haired elf, and with her could only be Kíli—Kíli, whose hands were full of her hair and who returned her willing kiss.
Thorin's first instinctive feeling was simply embarrassment for having intruded on such a private moment. Then frustration at his nephew, who had promised to forget his feelings for the elf, flared through him. Thorin could not remain watching them, nor could he pretend he had not seen.
He took another step, deliberately scraping his boots across the stone floor, and Tauriel, at least, heard him then: he could see her back stiffen. A moment later, Kíli finally caught sight of his uncle over her shoulder.
At any other time, Thorin would have felt sympathy at the look of horror on his nephew's face. But Kíli had made this disaster for himself and could hardly expect to escape it.
"I came for this," Thorin said brusquely, taking up the plans from the table with a crack of shaken paper.
"Of course," Kíli answered easily, if a little unsteadily. Tauriel had turned her face aside.
After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Thorin turned and stalked out. He was hardly going to berate Kíli in front of an elf, even if she was the cause, and he had no words at the moment, anyway.
"What happened?" Fíli asked as his brother came into their shared rooms. Kíli looked very much like he wanted to slam the door, but he closed it softly and deliberately. He hadn't slammed doors since his twenties.
Kíli said, "Thorin came in on Tauriel and me while we were in the far study; you know the little private one with all the tapestries?"
"Oh?" Fili prompted. That fact alone did not seem cause enough for the raised voices he had heard from Thorin's rooms.
"I— Um. I was kissing her."
"Oh," Fíli said again. Just what had his little brother been thinking? "Well, that explains why her face was as red as her hair and she didn't say anything to me when I passed her in the hall just now."
"You know that end of the halls is always empty this time of night!" Kíli said with sudden vehemence. "How was I to know Thorin had forgotten the construction outlines in there?"
Fíli nodded placatingly; his brother's reasoning was sound enough, as far as it went. It really wasn't safe kissing an elf anywhere in this mountain, unless maybe you found a forgotten mine shaft somewhere. Not that Fíli would exactly have recommended doing that, either.
"Was it worth it?"
"What?" Kíli asked, slightly exasperated.
"Kissing her, of course."
"Err, yes..." Kíli's expression lightened somewhat. "I'll probably never be able to face Thorin again in my life, but at least Tauriel wants me," he said self-deprecatingly.
"What did you say to him?" Fíli asked cautiously after a moment.
"More like what did I yell at him..." Kíli corrected miserably. "I told him he isn't my father. And that if being a Durin had to mean more than the people I loved, I didn't want my heritage any more." Kíli slid down the closed door and propped his head up on his hands. "Also I'm leaving tomorrow."
"Kíli, you don't have to—"
"I know. But I don't think I can ever look him in the face again. Not after everything I said. What he said..."
Fíli waited.
"He said I'm a fool," Kíli went on. "Which is true. But I'm not— Not faithless. I— I told him, before, that I would act by the truth with Tauriel. He thought that meant I'd let her go. I let him think that. But it was the only thing I could say! I'd do anything for him, Fíli! I was ready to die for him on Ravenhill. But I can't deny the truth. I can't undo my love for her out of love for him." He gave Fíli a pained look.
Fíli took a seat against the door at his brother's shoulder. He sympathized with Kíli's frustration; he himself had been torn between faith and honor when Thorin had held them all inside the walls while their friends and allies fought and died. He had wanted to offer his kinsman and king unswerving obedience, and yet felt it was impossible.
"Would you give that all away for her? For an elf?" Fíli asked.
"Is that all she is to you? An elf?"
"No. You know she's not," Fíli corrected. "Just... Give it time. I said I'd back you up, and I will. Just let Thorin get used to the idea. Show him you're sure about her, that it's not just a whim." Kíli had always been one to consult universal principles before considering the particular circumstances. His principles were good ones—he was brave and loyal—but that didn't mean they couldn't get him into trouble.
Fíli nudged his brother's boot with his own, and went on, "Kíli, you're my brother. I don't want you to leave. We need you here. Thorin does; and Mum will, too."
"I know," Kíli said softly. "That's why I can't lie to you all."
"No-one's asking you to."
"Thorin is." Kíli's tone revealed how much the idea hurt him.
"Thorin doesn't understand yet. Give him time," Fíli reasoned.
"I can't. I've ruined everything now."
"Kíli—"
"Don't," Kíli interrupted. Then, less harshly, he added, "You don't understand. You've done everything right; you always have. You don't know what it's like to need to do something nobody else wants."
"Kíli, I—" Fíli sighed. "I'm sorry. Just don't do anything you'll regret." There was more he wanted to say, but he knew his brother wouldn't hear any of it right now. When it came to what he believed, Kíli could be as stubborn as Uncle. Or Mum.
"It's probably too late for that," Kíli admitted with a weak laugh.
Fíli sat with his brother in silence for a few more minutes. Then Kíli pushed to his feet with a resigned sigh and made for his bedroom.
"Good night, Fí," he said and turned back to regard his brother for a moment before he closed his door.
"It'll look better in the morning," Fíli returned. He hoped it was true.
Author's note:
I know that in the book, the ravens of Erebor speak Westron. But I was remembering it this way, for some reason, and I rather like the twist that the dwarves speak raven. And after all, none of the birds in the films (including the raven who shows up on the wall in the extended BotFA) speak the languages of men. It's my fanfic and I do what I want, Thor(in)!
Chapter title still from "In Praise of Christmas." If you've never heard the song, go listen to it! Loreena McKennit has a good version, or if Celtic folk rock is more your thing, Horslips does a version called "Drive the Cold Winter Away." I picked the ballad for this fic because the song is about how Christmas is a time for forgetting old grudges and renewing love and good cheer. I wanted to tie that idea into the line from the Hobbit, "so comes snow after fire." Bilbo was referring to literal snow, of course, but I wanted to suggest the more metaphorical snow of hostility and unresolved grudges that linger after the dragon's fiery rage.
