A/N: I am just blown away by all the support and love this story has gotten. I can only hope I don't disappoint in the chapters to come. I would apologize for the cliffhanger buuuut… well, you'll see. :D Every chapter following the first has been for you, oh wonderful readers, reviewers and favoriters, and are likewise dedicated to you. And for all those I have managed to convert to Kíli/Tauriel… sorry I'm not sorry. ;)

Disclaimer: I own neither the works of Tolkien nor the films of Peter Jackson.

The Heir Apparent

Chapter Four: The Parting of Ways

"So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

The large tomb was as silent as its namesake, the living occupants within holding their collective breaths as Kíli stared into the glittering Arkenstone with blatant wonder. The faces around him ranged from awe and satisfaction to condemning disdain. Tauriel felt sick, her stomach coiling and tightening into dread filled knots as she questioned whether she had misjudged the young dwarven Prince entirely. Kíli's eyes glowed like sapphires whose depths were unfathomable, his fair face bathed in silvery light that was akin to the stars. His expression, however, was one filled with greed and ownership that clashed violently with the beauty he beheld.

The silence was broken by approaching footsteps and echoing voices. Alarmed, Tauriel and Legolas both turned with weapons drawn, he with taut bow and she with her glimmering Elven blade. The dwarves followed suit. Shadows bounced and rebounded off stone walls from approaching torches which were long and seemed deeply menacing. Tauriel, convinced it was a wayward pack of Orcs, or worse, cursed the enclosed halls of dwarves just as the two figures came into view.

One bore a gnarled wooden staff, a pointed gray hat and was very tall, his silvery scarf shining softly in the fire light of the torch he held. Beside him walked a creature diminutive and child like in stature with a mop of tousled brown hair and bare feet that scraped lightly on the dusty floor. Legolas let out a puff of air in relief and relaxed his bow. Tauriel followed suit and sheathed her sword, internally trying to calm the rapid beat of her heart.

"Ho now," said Gandalf the Grey, known to her people as Mithrandir, "I am deeply sorry we are late. It seems we were not given the correct hour." Bearded and aged, the wizard stood at the base of the steps and he shot a knowing, condemning look at a suddenly discomfited Dáin of the IronHills.

Balin pressed forward, "We had wondered where you'd gone Gandalf."

The wizard moved up the steps, his long robes travel stained and his boots worn, with the nervous Halfling at his side. Tauriel had developed a sort of fondness for the small creature after he had brought her King the Arkenstone to appease tensions between their people and the dwarves in Erebor. He was a simple thing with a kind and courageous heart that she admired. She offered him the slightest of smiles as their eyes met and he seemed to relax somewhat, giving her a nervous smile in return.

"Not far my friends, not far," he placed a hand on the old dwarf's shoulder in stoic companionship then turned to bow before Thranduil . He said in Sindarin, "Greetings Lord Thranduil, I am gladdened though rather surprised to see you here."

The Elven King inclined his head in kind, "I am pleased you could make it, Mithrandir, I thought perhaps you and the Halfling had already departed for his journey home."

Tauriel wondered if she were the only one who caught the slight twinkle in her King's eye or the not entirely forthcoming turn at the corner of his lips. She looked then to the Chieftain Dáin who had shifted imperceptibly behind two of his brethren as though hoping to be forgotten. Whatever plan the Dwarf Lord and Thranduil had concocted, they had not intended for the wizard to be present, that much was clear.

"I would not part before bidding Thorin and Fíli farewell," Gandalf said in the common tongue, "I had thought Bilbo and I might accompany you and your people home for a span."

Thranduil smiled graciously. "But of course, you and the Halfling are most welcome."

Gandalf nodded and the company parted so that he and the Hobbit might approach the tombs of their fallen friends.

"Ah Kíli, you've the Arkenstone I see," the wizard said, his tone light and unaffected, as though he were merely commenting on the weather or a stretch of particularly ordinary road. Tauriel, recalling the events preceding Mithrandir's arrival, cringed and turned to face the dwarven prince with trepidation in her heart. Kíli alone had not moved forward at the wizard's arrival but instead stood resolutely over the body of his Uncle, the Arkenstone held in one hand, casting bright light over Thorin's lifeless features. There was a peace and beauty to the fallen King's countenance that he had not possessed in life and Tauriel felt a twinge of pity for all that the stubborn King had suffered, even those devices which had been of his making.

"Gandalf," Kíli whispered, and there was a sort of painful pleading in his voice. Tauriel noted the tension in his face and understood the war that must have been raging within him. She found her hope rekindled.

Gandalf came round the great golden coffin and stood at the Prince's side, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and looking with sorrow upon Thorin's form.

"He did not want you and your brother on this quest," Gandlaf said, as though the dwarf next to him were not pleading for salvation, his tone calm and soothing, "But I insisted that you two should come. You and Fíli reminded Thorin of his youth, of better times and his hopes for a brighter future. To him you two were the future. I had hoped," he turned his gaze to meet Kíli's as everyone else stood in watchful silence, "That you and your brother might bring him back from the edge, curb the gold lust I knew lay dormant in his heart, and in the end, you did, Kíli. In the end his honor was restored."

Kíli looked away, tears fresh in his eyes and his gaze flickered from his Uncle's face to the Arkenstone. "Do not let him have died in vain," the wizard murmured so low she suspected only elven ears might have overheard.

The young dwarf let out a long, shuddering breath and, with a steady hand, placed the Arkenstone upon his Uncle's still chest, covering the great gem with the fallen King's battered hands. Tauriel felt relief and pride fill her so fully and so quickly that she could not hide the bright smile that bloomed on her face, and it was she whom Kíli turned to when his tasked was completed. In the glow of her smile, the doubt in his heart was lifted.

"Now lad," Dáin said, emerging at last from behind his guard, "That is the emblem of your line, the greatest of all treasures in Erebor."

"Aye, lad," said Dwalin in agreement, though he shot Dáin a withering glare, "Thorin would want you to have it."

"Aye, Thorin would wish you to keep it," agreed another dwarf who was wider than he was tall with a very intricately braided red beard.

"Aye," agreed yet another of his kin and Tauriel resisted the urge to knock their stubborn dwarven heads together.

Gandalf, looking perturbed and as if he might wish to do some head knocking of his own, opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by another.

"My Uncle used to tell Fíli and me such wonderful tales of this place," Kíli said slowly, his voice wavering with sorrow." He would fill our heads with stories of our people and our forefathers, of all they had built and made here beneath the mountain. But when he spoke of his grandfather, our great-grandfather… he would do so with grief. He would tell us that, when Erebor fell, Thrór's greatest concern was not for his people but for their treasure and most of all… for the Arkenstone. He would tell Fíli and I… that it had corrupted Thrór's heart and mind, leaving him but a shadow of himself. And in the end… it corrupted Thorin's also."

Kíli held them all in rapt attention and when he looked up to survey his kin, his tears had dried and there was a strength in him Tauriel had long perceived. It warmed her heart in a way little else ever had.

"I do not know if I am fit to be King Under the Mountain, but I will not curse myself or any of my line to such a fate. The stone will remain with my Uncle and brother in the halls of our forefathers until the end of days. When the Lonely Mountain itself comes crashing down around us and the stars fall from the sky."

There was a deeply prophetic tone to his words as they echoed through the vast room and a chill crept up Tauriel's spine.

The dwarves seemed subdued, their heads bowed in reverence, save for perhaps Dáin, whose face bore an ill disguised resentment but he remained silent. Tauriel glanced at Thranduil, who merely looked serene, to Legolas who seemed confused and rather surprised. She tried not to feel smug, and failed.

"Well," Gandalf said kindly, breaking the spell, "Let us say our final farewells and allow Thorin and Fíli their well deserved rest."

And so, with heavy hearts, the dwarves set to the task of covering their kinsmen beneath finely carved gold. Each of the dwarves paid their final respects, several of them weeping in loud unashamed abandoned which seemed outside their character but she could hardly begrudge them. The Hobbit also said his goodbyes with bright tears on his youthful face and when he had finished he stood crestfallen and withdrawn beside the wizard who set a comforting arm about him. Kíli was the last to bid his farewells as he kissed first the head of his Uncle, murmuring something in his own tongue, and then stood staring with a bottomless sorrow at the visage of his elder brother. His pain and loss were so acute Tauriel found she was unable to watch and tears welled in her eyes. She bowed her head until she heard the telling scrape of shifting metal and the soft clang as the tomb was sealed, the sound of which reverberated into the accompanying silence like the final lingering note of a tragic song.

"And so end the days of Thorin, King Under the Mountain. Goodbye, my friend," said Gandalf in a gruff whisper that was filled with sadness and regret.

Tauriel welcomed the touch of sunlight like a healing balm as they at last stepped out from beneath the shadow of the mountain and into the winter wind. They walked through the remaining destruction of the great battle and Tauriel was grateful it was not she who would have to attend to its removal. Behind them trailed most of the dwarven company, though a few had stayed behind to quench the funeral fire and seal the ancient tombs. Gandalf and the Halfling walked side by side, the little Hobbit's face dismal and sad. All were silent. Near the ruins of Dale, Bard of Laketown awaited them with a company of rough looking men in tow. She wondered why he had not attended the funeral as well, but the man seemed ill at ease in the shadow the mountain and she thought perhaps he could not bear to step within. She could not blame him.

Bard bowed first to Thranduil and then to Kíli and Dáin. "I offer my sincerest condolences for your loss."

Kíli, his face stern said, "Thank you Bard, and we are sorry for the damage done to your town and for the loss of many human lives. I would offer you half the treasure of Erebor in recompense."

This response was met with astonishment and then outrage, specifically from his dwarven kin, whom he silenced with a hard stare that impressed even Tauriel. She had to marvel at the adaptability of the 'lesser' races at times as there was little sign of Kíli's previous hesitation or uncertainty.

Bard, for his part, was stunned and then deeply touched. "That is very generous of you… King Kíli," he bowed again, deeper this time and the Men around him followed suit. So much treasure would easily rebuild not only Laketown but Dale with much left over, she knew. She approved of the gesture whole-heartedly and knew it would go a long way in mending the ties between Man and Dwarf.

"We must depart now," Thranduil said airily, granting the human leader but a brief nod.

"I have a gift for you, my Lord," Kíli said as the Elven King turned his back with Legolas and the other guards behind him.

Thranduil turned and raised a brow, a sardonic sort of smile on his face. "What, Master Dwarf? Do you intend to gift me the remaining half of the treasure? It will not unmake the errors of your kinsmen nor return the dead amongst the living."

Kíli lifted his chin and drew from his cloak a magnificent emerald necklace that caught the faint winter sunlight like enchanted green fire. There was a chorus of indrawn breaths as they studied what could only be the famed necklace of Girion. Thranduil's eyes narrowed perceptively and he approached the stalwart dwarf imperiously.

"You offer me that which your Uncle denied, young dwarf, but for what intent? Seek you to placate ill deeds and harsh words with jewels and gifts?"

Kíli smirked and there was a challenging, mischievous glimmer in his eye. "I seek only to offer what should be given for services rendered, from one King… to another."

Thranduil scoffed a little and sneered, "Your Uncle allowed that which his grandfather suffered before him and you will be no different, Kíli son of Fínor, better that you let others rule the halls of your forefathers than allow them to fall once more into the hands of greed and deception."

There was an angry hiss from the dwarves at these words, and despite her misgivings on the matter, Tauriel took a protective step toward her King with her hand on her sword. But Kíli appeared unperturbed and held the necklace firmly between them as an unwavering peace offering.

"I made a promise, my Lord Elf, that I would endeavor to solicit a friendship between our two peoples, a promise that, being a dwarf, I am too stubborn to ignore... despite thinking better of it." Tauriel felt her face grow hot and her pulse quicken at his words, recalling all they had said the night before.

For the first time that day, Thranduil looked surprised, though his expression quickly turned to mistrust and apprehension. "To whom did you make such a lofty promise, master dwarf?"

Kíli's eyes did not stray from the Elven King's as he spoke, saying, "To one whom I owe everything, my Lord, least of all my life."

Tauriel did her best to compose her features into something akin to disinterest but inside a war waged between equal parts happiness, embarrassment and uncertainty. She could not bear to look at Legolas or the others for fear they would somehow know of whom he spoke. Thranduil, for his part, seemed unconvinced.

"Well, we shall see if your word is worth more than that of your forefathers'. Though I have little doubt to the contrary," he said and turned his back, refusing to take the necklace himself and it was instead accepted by one of his guards. Legolas followed after his father without a word or a glance, not even to her. Tauriel cringed inwardly at the fury plastered on the other dwarves faces as she stepped after her King and Prince. If Kíli truly meant to kindle a friendship between their people he was in for a long hard battle. Dwarves were not known for being forgiving, or understanding. Neither, apparently, were Elves -despite all their lofty airs.

"My Lord Thranduil," Gandalf interceded quickly after they were several yards from the dwarves and humans, "might I have a private word?"

Her King looked like he wished to refuse, eager to be away from the mountain and its occupants no doubt, but said, "Certainly Mithrandir, we can speak there under those hanging rocks." They stepped away, leaving the other elves awkwardly to one side, until they were out of even their keen earshot.

Tauriel turned back toward the ruins of Dale and realized suddenly that this might be the last time she ever saw the dwarves. One dwarf in particular. She noted that he was also turned toward her, a little apart from his obviously arguing brethren, and she could feel his eyes upon her.

She clenched her jaw and squared her shoulders, as though she were about to head into a hard wind or perhaps a skirmish. With a steadying breath, she moved back up the rise.

"Tauriel," Legolas called after her sternly but she ignored him. Whatever she might have felt, she would not part from Kíli in such a manner. Her heart would not let her.

He met her halfway and they studied one another for a silent heartbeat.

"I'm sor-"

"Safe trav-"

They spoke simultaneously then stopped short, both offering small embarrassed smiles and flickering, uncertain glances. Once again, she knew not what to say to him.

He bowed sharply, his manner rather awkward. "My lady," he allowed.

She took a breath. "I... I just wanted to say how… proud I am of you. For your words and actions today, I can only imagine your pain and sorrow, but I wanted you to know that I believe your Uncle and brother would be proud too," she said haltingly feeling decidedly inelegant. Something about his presence made her feel like a gangly elfling, all long limbs and rash words.

His grief, held just beneath the surface, swam in his eyes for a raw moment before he forced it aside with a sigh. He offered her a shaky smile. "Thank you Tauriel, for everything. I owe you my life and much more besides. I only wish-" he hesitated, and rubbed anxiously at the back of his neck in a disarmingly sweet gesture, "I only wish we need not say goodbye." He met her gaze and held it, a question lingering there that was of yet, not entirely formed.

Tauriel felt a telling flutter in her stomach and a lightness of her heart that she could not deny, accompanied quickly by a responding sadness for everything she knew could not be.

"I-I wish the same… Kíli," she said. His eyes softened then filled with something deeper, something that called to something similar within her. Her people revered song and light, and she felt that both lay between them, perhaps tentative and wavering, but real and bright.

"But, I'm afraid I must bid you farewell," she forced herself to say, though it pained her greatly to do so, and Kíli's face closed to her as she watched him set his own wishes and desires aside in perhaps the most Kingly display he'd shown all day. She had her people, her King, and he had his Kingdom and kin.

"I bid you safe travels… Tauriel." He bowed and she did the same, though everything within her cried out against it.

"Farewell, Kíli… I wish you all the happiness and strength of the Valar and hope that you will not forget your courage or might. I… I know I will not."

Their eyes met again and the silence was once more heavy with emotions that could not be voiced and actions they could not take. Tauriel had a suspicion that if she left him now, here in the shadows of the Lonely Mountain, she would regret it all her life. But what could she do? Her King, her Prince, her people would never accept him, and neither, she suspected, would his.

Tauriel broke their gaze when she could bear it no longer and, feeling more cowardly than she ever had prior, she fled from him before she could do something foolish like confess her feelings to him or, worse, kiss him before his kin and hers and all of Arda.

I will not cry, she told herself even as her eyes stung traitorously, this is for the best. We can never be. Go home, forget, live on. He will marry one of his kind and his line will live on as it should. There is nothing for you here save sorrow and pain.

She reached Legolas's side, his body language disapproving and he would not look at her. For which, for once, she was grateful, despite the ocean of distance that lay between them. There was no one who could comfort her now, she knew, not this time. She kept her eyes on the horizon, toward home, until Thranduil and Gandalf parted at last. The wizard looked upset and he did not speak to them nor look their way, she noted, and watched as he moved toward the waiting dwarves and Hobbit. Frowning, she turned to her King who waited for them under the shadows of the hanging rocks, his hair and robes glinting in the sun.

As they neared him, her King caught her with a binding, piercing stare that sent a strange, portentous chill through her blood.

"Tauriel," he said callously when they stood before him at last.

Confused, she bowed her head slightly, and said, "Yes my King?"

"I have just spoken with Mithrandir concerning our relationship with the dwarves of Erebor. He insists that we maintain a stronger, closer knit bond and forgive the errors of the past, despite their enormity. It seems the old wizard believes we may have need of one another in the years to come." His speech was riddled with thinly veiled contempt and condescension. Tauriel was at a loss as he looked at her pointedly.

"So?" he questioned forcefully.

"I do not under-"

Her King narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to her in one swift, disarming movement, his fair face nearly overwhelming at such a slight distance. The light and shadows cast by thousands of years danced beneath the placid blue of his eyes, and within them he held many secrets taken from the days when Thingol and Melian had lived in Doriath, before the Great War and all he had lost. If she had felt old previous to this moment she felt now lifeless before him, an infant in the ancient majesty of his presence. She saw now that his distrust of the dwarves, which seemed malicious to her, was bred from awful deeds, though long in the past, were no less terrible.

"Do you believe we ought to befriend this would-be-King and his wayward clan of exiles?" he asked her, so close she could feel his breath on her face and practically taste his displeasure.

Faced with his great knowledge and terrible memory, she nearly denied the affirmation in her heart. In his timeless gaze she was nearly taken by memories and deeds that were not her own but resounded through her like the great songs of the Valar, weaving through her entire being until she hummed with it. But then the smiling face of a young dwarf came to mind, followed by the gentle, yet strong pressure of his warm hand against hers and she closed her eyes in resignation.

"Yes my King, I believe that we should," she said, barely aware she spoke at all, and then opened her eyes once more.

There was a pause as Thranduil searched her gaze so deeply she thought he must have found every secret part of her heart, everything which she would have kept from him, laying her mind and heart bare before him. He jerked suddenly away and turned his back to her, leaving her shaken and dizzy. Legolas looked to her with a now familiar expression of hurt and betrayal and when her eyes met his, he turned aside in condemnation.

Valar, she cried internally, must I chose between the truth in my heart and the love of my family and people?

"Then Tauriel, you shall remain here," Thranduil said ominously and Tauriel was stunned, staring at his stern, emotionless back in utter disbelief, "And serve as ambassador for our people in Erebor until such time as I deem necessary." He looked back over his shoulder at her, his eyes cold, calculating and uncaring. "You will report to me everything you learn and everything you see. I do not trust this King any more than I trusted the last and I will not offer my friendship to a foolish child unfit to lead sheep much less a race of people." And so saying, he turned aside and departed. Legolas moved to follow after, turning to her for a brief moment with undisputed longing and pain, before he too, left her behind.

If Tauriel had felt torn prior to this moment she now felt split in half and lost did not even begin to describe the sudden division of her heart. She felt as though she had been cast out and left bereft, and for the first time she truly appreciated the fact that Thranduil, though her King, was the closest thing she'd ever had to a father since the death of her own.

Valar help me, she prayed, but they too seemed to have forsaken her.