Tauriel was no longer surprised that her parents had received her with so little comment on her love for the dwarf. If they believed, like Silwen had, that she had pledged her troth and lain with him, then there would have been nothing for them to say that could undo what she had chosen. They would not have remained silent for long, she was sure, but she imagined that seeing her had been something of a shock. They had certainly known of her love for Kíli from her actions alone, but even so, they would not have expected to find a visible bond between her and the dwarf prince. The truth would be no more comforting to them, Tauriel knew, but she could not allow them to believe her relationship to Kíli something it was not.

Tauriel had been grateful when she found both of her parents at home, though now that she stood before them, she felt nervous to learn what they truly thought of her.

Within the pocket of her skirt, she held Kíli's runestone in one hand; touching the same runes that had once fit into his palm was almost as good as clasping his hand.

"Silwen told me what you see in my eyes," she said, meeting her parents' gazes in turn. "But there is no pledge between Kíli and me. I have given him only my heart. Did you think I had..." Tauriel did not finish the thought, not really wanting to know under what circumstances her parents had imagined she would have offered herself to Kíli.

"I could not be sure," Gilfaron said, his voice somewhat strained. "I supposed that what you did to save his life could have been enough to account for what I saw. And yet, you must forgive me for wondering, when I knew the uncertainty you both had faced, whether you looked to each other for happiness without heed for the future."

Tauriel felt her face burning. It was true that she had acted impulsively in leaving the Greenwood in pursuit of Thorin and his party. And what her father had guessed was perhaps no more mad than what she had done to save Kíli on Ravenhill, for she had forged some kind of bond to him, in soul, if not in body.

Gilfaron smiled self-consciously. "I see I was wrong to think you would have given yourself to him out of despair."

"Then it isn't done," her mother, Calimîreth, broke in softly. "You may still let him go."

Tauriel gazed at her, not sure how correct her.

The elder elf woman approached and took her daughter's hand. "You have given Kíli a precious gift, and you need never forget him. But can you truly be happy with him?"

Tauriel let go of the stone in her pocket and held her mother's hand in both her own. "Nana, is that all that troubles you? My happiness?" Tauriel replied. "I know it is...unexpected, but I assure you: Kíli does make me happy."

Calimîreth traced her daughter's fingers tenderly. "I see what you feel for him. I do not doubt he has given you joy. But will it last? He is..." She left the last word unspoken, but still it hung in the air between them. Mortal.

Tauriel nodded. "I watched him dying once, and I know I shall have to again, when I am powerless to stop it. But I believe..." Her mouth lifted in a wistful smile. "I believe there are some things worth loving, though we cannot keep them. Maybe those things are more worth loving than all the rest."

"Oh, Tauriel, I never would have chosen this for you." Tears fell down her cheeks, and she drew her daughter to her. Tauriel held her tightly.

"What your mother says is true," Gilfaron added after the two women had embraced. "His folk and ours were never meant for each other. The dwarves were made by a different hand than the first children of Pânadar, and the two are suited to each other in neither body nor mind."

So, he thought Kíli was not good enough for her. Tauriel sighed. "It is true: we are different in many ways. But not in all. Kíli has given me something beautiful: with him, I feel part of something greater than I ever hoped for. I am not sorry I fell in love with him."

"Then love him. But do so in your memory, were he shall remain unfading, the valiant young prince whose life you gave back to him," her father said gently. "Keep him as an image in your heart, and it will not matter that he is a dwarf: he shall never lose what you saw in him."

"Father, I cannot love an image," she said, with a gently ironic smile. "You must know that."

"You would rather have a dwarf," he returned, his words resigned and disbelieving.

"I would." Her father, she realized, could not imagine her happily matched with one who, to him, must seem so graceless in manner and appearance. "You are wrong if you suppose I could love him better if I could think of him as a beautiful yet distant figure, like some elven lord from a ballad. He is beautiful just as he is."

"Tauriel," Gilfaron sighed, clearly restraining himself from arguing with her. "Consider, before you make a choice you cannot change, what it is you truly want, and what he can and cannot give you."

"I promise," she breathed, and bowed her head to let him kiss her brow. While not the blessing she wished for, his patience and hope would have to be enough for now.

Yet Tauriel found unexpected support in her grandmother. A woman from one of the elder generations in the Greenwood, she remembered the forest when it truly had been green, and Thranduil's father had established his rule there. She had lost her husband in the Battle of Dagorlad, though not before bearing Tauriel's mother.

"You know that your grandfather died not many years after we were wed," she had reminded Tauriel during one of their visits. "But I do not regret my choice. Nor would I trade the years I spent with him for a lifetime with another fated to live longer."

Tauriel smiled. Her grandmother had been a happy woman, as far back as she could remember. And her husband's loss, rather than embittering her, had only seemed to increase her joy in those she loved who surrounded her.

The elder woman continued, "And we had fewer years than you may hope to share with young Kíli. I find nothing to fault in your choice to follow the one you love. As for his being one of Durin's folk, his is an ancient line of kings, and if that isn't good enough for you, then not even our prince deserves you."

"Thank you, Grandmum," Tauriel had said with a laugh, though she brushed something from her eyes. "I would have Nana and Ada see that, as well."

"They'll know because you are happy. Now, are you going to tell me about him?"

Author's note:

This chapter is about as far along the angst scale as I intend to go!

Panadar is my best rendering of "all-father" (Iluvatar) into Sindarin. If anyone has a better translation, let me know.