The tunnels of Erebor have reached some approximate of familiar to Tauriel's eyes and as much as she longs for trees about her and the crunch of leaves beneath her feet, she can appreciate the beauty of Erebor's halls, ores and gems glinting from the least likely of passages, great hewn gates and arches, and the gargantuan caverns of the central city. That she can now at least find her way most places without having to stop and ask a resigned-looking dwarf for directions has had no small part in this realization of beauty.
She walks with more confidence the closer she gets to the training rooms; she's spent more time in there than her rooms over the time that the elves have been stranded in Erebor. As skilled as elves can be on walking over the surface of the snow, there's no similarly convenient way for them to bring the trading wagons back with them through the snow drifts that still remain from the storm that arrived on the heels of the hunting party and so the Mirkwood elves remain in the mountain. There have been more fights to break up than Tauriel cares to think about over the past few days as the dwarrows are not sanguine about the continued elven presence and her fellow warriors are chafing at not being able to set out on their long-awaited return journey to the Woodland halls. Tauriel prefers to stay out of the way of both groups as they try to get her to resolve their issues for them and relieve her frustration in the elaborate training rooms that the lady Dís had mentioned to her when Tauriel first brought up the issue.
Tauriel slows her steps as she approaches the first of the training rooms which sounds occupied already, judging by the distinctive twang of arrow leaving bow and the thud of arrows into targets. She pushes on the door, left just a bit ajar, heart speeding up at the prospect of someone else in the practice room, intruding on the small space that Tauriel has gradually become comfortable in. The first thing she sees though is a broad back and a distinctive hair clip and Tauriel relaxes, fears put to rest. She has missed Kíli in the days since their hunting expedition ended and the dwarrowdam was swept up by her mother to help organize the housing and feeding of the influx of former refugees.
She lets the great door close behind her, slowing the heavy swing in order to muffle the sound as much as possible. It doesn't seem like Kíli heard her come in and Tauriel leans against the back wall for a moment, admiring both the accuracy and rapidity of Kíli's shots. Kíli has an entire basket of arrows resting by her right foot which Kíli steadily depletes as she fires at the opposite wall, covered in targets of varying height, size, and angle that can even be triggered to move by the levers set in the wall next to Tauriel. The training rooms are a great feat of engineering and Tauriel marvels every time at the intricacy and durability of the mechanisms for the system works as well as if the attack of the dragon was only yesterday.
The rhythm of the dwarrowdam's bow is steady and the thrumming of the bowstring vibrates off the smoothed walls and shudders its way into Tauriel's bones. The moment stretches on and Tauriel belatedly realizes that the dwarrowdam has fired her last arrow when she turns around, bow arm hanging limp and exhausted at her side.
"That was beautiful shooting," Tauriel blurts out. Kíli's eyebrows shoot up into her fringe, whether from surprise or confusion Tauriel cannot tell, and Tauriel curses her treacherous tongue as silence falls between them, awkward and uncertain. Compliments and delicate conversation have never been her area of expertise and Kíli makes her feel like she is less than a century old again, stuttering and fumbling in the high company of the Elvenking and his son.
"Only because I've finally worked the stiffness out of my side," Kíli says, grinning up at her. Tauriel smiles back, still unsure around the tentative boundaries of their relationship. "You should have seen me the first time I tried to pick up a bow after the Battle of Five Armies. I moped around uselessly for a week until Fíli threw a boot at my head and told me to get back to practicing." Tauriel is startled into a laugh, high and short, joined by Kíli's rougher chuckle.
"Nevertheless, it was impressive," Tauriel says, heat in her cheeks and a smile lingering on her lips. The dwarrowdam ducks her head in response and the glow of the lamps studded along the walls glints on the clip in the back of Kíli's hair, the hair beside her face pulled back in the same loose style that she wore during the quest.
"From you, a fine compliment indeed," Kíli says, shaking her unbound hair back from her face and walking towards the back of the room. She sets her bow against the wall and angles herself towards Tauriel, barely a few feet away now. "Were you looking for me or have I gotten in the way of practice of your own?"
"I had been planning to practice, but there is no need to stop on my account. I simply wished to avoid being called upon to break up another brawl," Tauriel says. "My kin are impatient to be gone and it makes them more quick to resolve a dispute with violence."
"Are you?" Kíli asks. "Impatient to be gone?" Her voice is harsher now and the depth of emotion in her eyes is too chaotic for Tauriel to understand, even guess at. She does not know what Kíli wants her to say, does not know how to say what lies in her heart. She feels the hum of the bowstring between them again, with Kíli even closer than before, some undefinable tension that she does not understand how to resolve.
"I have missed the forest halls dearly," Tauriel admits and she can see the dismay in Kíli's face now, the dimming of her features. Tauriel's own heart falls and she curses herself again, searching for the words to tell her mind and make this right. "But I have found that mountain halls have their own kind of beauty that I had not known to look for." Kíli looks down now and Tauriel cannot speak anymore, her heart has curled up in her chest and the tightness constricts her throat. Words are not her tools but her body always has been and she uses it now, reaching down to cradle Kíli's rough face in her archer's hands, callused but delicate in comparison to the dwarrowdam's, tilting Kíli's face up and leaning down to knock their foreheads together, as precise as the nock and release of an arrow, gentle as the touch of healing hands on a wound. She closes her eyes and does not watch Kíli, does not allow herself to regret her actions. Only when the twinging of her back becomes urgent rather than ignorable does Tauriel move away, eyelashes damp from welling tears sliding open for her to look at the dwarrowdam.
Eyes full of wonder look up at her and Tauriel opens her mouth to apologize, to ask forgiveness, to explain, to question, but Kíli has already dragged her back down and pressed her lips to Tauriel's, stubble scratching along the side of her face. It's overwhelming and not enough at the same time and Kíli's wide palms cradle her jaw as delicately as if she were the Arkenstone itself and Tauriel's hands slip beneath the heavy surcoat, feeling the radiating heat of exertion. Somehow they end up like this, Tauriel slumped against the wall and Kíli sprawled over her legs and arms pulling closer and lips touching and hands carding through disheveled hair. Words are for later.