A/N: Welcome aboard to the new readers who added this fic to their follows and/or favorites since last week's update! I'm so glad to have you along for the ride. :) And continued thanks to those of you who review! I always appreciate your interest and your encouragement. :D

Guest 5/29: Good guess! Scroll on down to find out if you were right . . . ;)

A Promise Kept

Chapter 14

A Sign Received

"Confound it! Where's the doily I used to keep under this basket? The red one?" Bilbo muttered to himself.

Although Tauriel was in her bedchamber rearranging the new cradle, rocking chair, and changing table for the sixth or seventh time, her elven ears perked up, and even carrying the additional weight of her full, taut belly, she entered the dining room so quietly that the hobbit startled when she asked, "What is a doily?"

"Oh, you know. These!" He waved a few of the circular, white knit scraps worn full of holes.

Her green eyes widened, and for the first time since she'd been in Bilbo's home, Tauriel bit her lip like an elfling. "Those rags?"

"Rags? These— No. These are my mother's doilies, knit by my Grandmother Took."

"She made them full of holes?"

"Yes! I mean, no, they're doilies. They're supposed to look that way. They're family heirlooms!"

"Oh." The Silvan Elf may not have known what a doily was, but she certainly understood the significance of an heirloom.

"And I can't find the red one that was on the serving table!" He went back to poking around in search of it.

"Oh, dear. Bilbo, I'm afraid I—"

But there was a knock at the door.

Tauriel stayed in the dining room while Bilbo answered and soon recognized the wheeze and malted barley smell of their next-door neighbor, Daddy Twofoot, who appeared on their doorstep whenever he got wind of any "funny business."

According to Bilbo, Daddy Twofoot had always thought his younger neighbor a rather strange chap for living alone even though Twofoot himself was neither married nor a daddy. But the balding, bespectacled hobbit's suspicions had multiplied tenfold the night a parade of dwarves and "other disreputables" had marched by his window on the way to Bag End, followed by Bilbo's unexplained disappearance the next morning. In fact, Bilbo thought it was Twofoot who'd spread the word about his elven visitor to Bell, Peony, and Lobelia that first day when they'd shown up to tea uninvited, but the elf herself was secretly happy he'd done so, at least for Bell and Peony's sake. It was good to have friends in her new home!

Still, Tauriel didn't much care for their neighbor's nosiness since then. When she was gardening, she often caught him peeping out his kitchen window at her, and once she came upon him at Bilbo's kitchen window, his big, hairy ear pressed to the opening the better to eavesdrop. He'd thought twice about doing that again after she'd closed the casement so fast it nearly took his ear right off, but she couldn't keep the windows closed all the time.

For example, today was a mild, cloudless afternoon in Narbeleth—October, by the Shire calendar—and it would've been a tragedy not to let the fresh air in. Undoubtedly, Old Twofoot had overheard the commotion about the red doily and was now here to see if someone was being robbed, beaten, or murdered.

"G'day, Baggins! Some funny business in town today. They say there's an elf goin' round askin' after the one what's livin' with you—"

Tauriel flew to the nearest window overlooking the village. This wasn't the first time she'd been grateful for Bag End's advantageous location at the top of Hobbiton Hill, from which she had an unobstructed view of anyone who approached the smial.

"Just thought you'd like to know lest another one of them disreputables tries to hole up with you and that she-el—er, ah, Mistress Tauriel! G'day to you!"

But, taking no notice of either Twofoot's attempted slur or his clumsy recovery, the so-called she-elf slipped through the door past Bilbo and his visitor and fairly sprinted down the lane, prompting Bell Gamgee, who was watching from her parlor with Peony and another of their friends, to declare that it was only by elven magic that Tauriel didn't waddle like a fat goblin's chin, after which her older son asked if she'd ever seen a fat goblin or any goblin at all, and she had to admit she hadn't.

"Glaewen! Guren linna a chened le, mellon nín!"

"Muin nín Tauriel! Oh, thank the stars you're still with child! I was afraid I wouldn't be in time."

The raven-haired elleth, who was halfway up the narrow path with her horse in tow, pushed back the hood of her traveling cloak and held out her arms to her friend. They embraced awkwardly due to the expectant mother's girth, then drew back and laughed at themselves.

"Elo! I can't remember the last time I saw you out of your King's Guard uniform!" Glaewen exclaimed, holding Tauriel at arm's length.

"I am in the guard no longer, and those uniforms were not designed with mothers-to-be in mind." In actuality, Tauriel found the uniforms more comfortable and practical than the legless garb most females favored and would probably wear them again after the babe arrived. But for now, she wore a mint green gown in the Elvish style, scoop-necked and bell-sleeved and, most importantly, waistless.

"Well, your new attire becomes you," the other elleth smiled. "How do you feel? Are you well? You look as though motherhood agrees with you."

"I've never felt better. My neighbors, Bell and Peony, are forever telling me how envious they are that I haven't any nausea, indigestion, backache, shortness of breath . . . Well, I've given up trying to remember their litany of complaints! My feet are a bit swollen, I find myself overheated on occasion, and I'm certainly clumsier than I used to be—yesterday I walked into a door instead of through it—but otherwise I feel ready to conquer the world."

"And you may mean that quite literally, mellon nín, but let us start by conquering childbirth," the healer said to the warrior maid, only half in jest.

"Oh, Glaewen," Tauriel sighed, "how thankful I am that you are here! I sent the signal early to give you ample time to make the trip, but I didn't know if you would be able or willing to travel so far."

"Willing? For thee, mellon nín, always. As for able, I didn't know at first that I would be, but I got leave to visit my father in Imladris and asked for his help— No, do not worry, I told him only that I wished to visit an old friend in the Grey Havens before she sailed. He arranged for me to travel with some other Noldor heading West, and when we came to Bree, I told them I wanted to rest there for several days and could find my own way after that. It was easy enough to inquire at an inn for direction to Hobbiton, and so here I am!"

The redhead clasped the other elleth's arm. "Thou art a true friend, Glaewen," she said, using the familiar form reserved for when elves wished to show great affection. Then she lowered her eyes. "A better one than I fear I deserve."

The brunette knit her brow, mystified. "Muin nín, why ever would you say such a thing?"

Remembering how distant she had been prior to her departure from the Woodland, Tauriel said, "I wasn't much of a friend in the months before I left."

"Then neither was I." The healer clasped the warrior's arm in return. "If I had been, I would've seen that you were ailing long before you told me. Goheno nin. Forgive me, my friend."

"Only if you will forgive me."

"Done."

The two friends smiled at each other, their mood light enough for Tauriel to quip that all she needed now was for King Thranduil to be so forgiving. "Oh, I fear he has banished you for good this time!" Glaewen bemoaned, making a sympathetic face. But the redhead was quick to reaffirm that she had no intention of darkening Thranduil's door ever again. Then, as if instinctively aware that she was about to touch on a delicate matter, Glaewen lowered her voice.

"Tauriel, how came you to be here and not at Erebor? When I received your sign in a parcel bearing the mark of Hobbiton, I must admit I was greatly confused."

"We will speak of it later." Tauriel also dropped her voice and leaned in, though for a different purpose. "Regarding that sign, do you have it still?"

"The cloth rag?"

Tauriel winced. "It's called a doily. Thank the Valar you still have it! I really do need it— Oh, but don't give it to me now!" And she whirled around to smile at Bilbo, who was ambling toward them.

The hobbit heaved a sigh of resignation too exaggerated to be taken seriously. "More guests, I suppose?"

"Just one."

With a wry smile, he offered his hand. "Welcome to Bag End. Bilbo Baggins, your host for the night. In the morning, we'll find a place for both of you to live."

A moment later, the trio ducked inside, just in time for afternoon tea. But as they did, none of them noticed the particularly sizable thrush that alighted on the hedge bordering the hobbit-hole.

"You are truly content here?"

Tauriel smiled softly at Glaewen's question, pausing to relish the cool, burbling brook that soothed her swollen feet; the sunlight that dappled her upturned face; and the autumn-scented breeze that lifted the hair off her neck as gracefully as it did the leaves of scarlet and gold, whirling them through the forest clearing like dancers taking their final turn at a ball. "As much as I can hope to be without my meleth e-guilen? Yes. I am," she said.

It surprised her too sometimes, but she was more content here than she'd ever been in Thranduil's Halls. The land was unspoiled and far from the shadow of Dol Guldur, and the life was simple and pleasant. She and Bilbo had fallen into an agreeable routine of gardening together morns and cooking together noons and eves, and in between they went about their own pursuits and were responsible for their own meals. Bilbo often took advantage of this time to work on his book, while Tauriel went riding or walking in the woodlands, sometimes practicing her archery in one of the Shire's many open, uninhabited fields.

The people, too, were as warm and welcoming as she could've wished, and she was especially thankful for that now that she was too unwieldy to sit a horse and spent more of her afternoons taking tea with Bell, Peony, and their friends.

"I wouldn't have thought you'd get on so well with halflings. Or that they would get on with you."

"Oh, it took some adjustment on both sides, certainly. I'd been here only a few days when I realized most of the villagers had never seen an elf, much less an expectant one. Of course I got my share of stares and whispers in the beginning, and anyone who thinks elves can gossip should try living among hobbits!" Here Tauriel stopped to share a chuckle with her friend, who was intimately familiar with the gossip of elves. "But, with one or two exceptions,"— Lobelia Sackville-Baggins and Daddy Twofoot came to mind—"none of it was mean-spirited, merely curious, and I appreciated that they were forthright enough to ask their questions rather than let them ferment into wild half-truths. Their younglings in particular do not mince words!"

And she recounted the story of a spring afternoon during her first week in Hobbiton, when a group of children had ceased their play on the village green to surround her and her white stallion as she walked him to the smith's to be shoed. Questions had poured out of them as freely as milk from a spilled pitcher: Was Tauriel really, truly an elf? Were there lots more like her or only a few? Was it true that elves never slept? That they could see the hair on a hobbit's feet from a mile away and hear an acorn drop? That they could do magic, and would Tauriel show them some tricks? What about her horse? Couldn't Elvish horses fly? And later, when they saw her expanding waistline, they wanted to know all about elflings, though if their mothers were present, they got their elbows pinched for not minding their manners.

"In truth, Glaewen, I've never known what it was to be part of a community. To have friendships that weren't muddled by superiority of blood or inferiority of rank. In Hobbiton, some have more means than others, but they all live and work alongside each other. Even their most distinguished personage, the mayor, does little more than preside at holiday feasts to which everyone is invited! This is exactly the sort of place I imagined raising a child, and I've no doubt they will accept mine as they accepted me."

She felt the gentle press of the healer's hand on hers. "Then I am happy for thee, mellon nín. I only wish thy melleth were here with thee so that thy joy could be complete!"

Tauriel bowed her head and said nothing because she couldn't. Gandalf had forbidden her to tell even her nearest and dearest that Kíli lived. Glaewen knew only that the warrior elf had loved a dwarf from Thorin's company and lost him at the Battle of Five Armies. Tauriel had been forced to admit that much to her friend when she left Thranduil's Halls intending to raise her child among the Dwarves of Erebor, but she'd told Glaewen nothing more since then.

The brunette blushed. "I must confess, though, I can't begin to picture the couple the two of you would've made. When you first told me you'd fallen in love with a dwarf, I was so astonished I thought you must be jesting."

"Oh, now, it can't be that astonishing. You told me yourself there were certain rumors that I was a dwarf-loving traitor."

"Well, there's love and then there's love. I dare say no one guessed the latter." Then she bit her lip and said tentatively, "I don't want to give offense, but may I ask how you came to choose such a one? I've heard they are a brave, strong race but so ill-tempered!"

"No offense taken," Tauriel reassured her, but she didn't answer right away. The minutes passed as she allowed herself, for the first time since she'd arrived in Hobbiton, to reinhabit the mind of the elf she'd been in Laketown nearly a dozen moons ago. To recall those mixed emotions and sensations in their full intensity without shifting, as was now her habit, to less complicated thoughts of the babe and their approaching life together. Finally she said, "He was like fire. And I had been so cold for so long. The light in his eyes . . . I wish you could've seen it!" She shook her head, unable to do justice in words to the image she saw so clearly in memory. "He wasn't fair of face perhaps, but he was so bright of spirit! He was brave and strong, as you said, but it wasn't an ill temper that burned within him; it was a passion for life and love and the things he believed in."

"He does sound bright of spirit! But . . . even the brightest mortal spirit is still mortal. How could you—? I mean, how did you know you would be able to bond with him?"

"I didn't. If anything, I might've hoped we wouldn't bond, not in the way you and I understand it. I knew it was likely I would lose him one way or another, and maybe I was selfish enough to think that because he was mortal, I could love him as mortals do, for one moment in time."

"But why would you want such a love?" Glaewen blurted in confusion.

Tauriel's eyes glazed, lost in memory as she watched the sun ripple over the stream like melted gold. "After my family was taken from me, I forgot what it was to mean something to someone, to have significance beyond my rank and race. To see myself reflected in their eyes instead of just a captain of the guard. In an army of elves as numerous as the stars, Glaewen, I dedicated my life to distinguishing myself among them. But he is—he was—the only one ever to make me feel as though I was the only star he saw." As she continued, her voice rose with fervor. "How could I not take hold of what little time was granted us to feel something so bright and so pure? I thought then it wouldn't be love as elves know it, but that was simply because I did not know love! Now I know it has no bounds of race or rank or age; it is not limited by time or space or even by mortality. It transcends death itself."

The dark-haired elleth's hand was on hers again. "Forgive me, Tauriel, I didn't mean to upset thee with my foolish questions."

The redhead gave her friend a wane smile. "Thou hast not." It was her own thoughts that upset her, the flood of images of what was once hers and would never be again, the reminder that her love for Kíli had survived death, but his for her had not.

"I think I do understand. What is harder to grasp is how the dwarves could turn you away from Erebor after you risked your reputation and lost favor with your king for their sake!"

Once more, Tauriel was at a loss to explain without explaining too much. Finally, she said, "There are many different kinds of love, Glaewen. The dwarves, I think, love duty best. Harboring an elf under the mountain would've conflicted with that sense of duty, I think."

Her friend was indignant. "But your child is half-dwarven! Have they no sense of duty toward it?"

"I did not tell them of the child. There was no opportunity. It soon became plain how they felt about me, and what life could the little one expect in a place where its mother was so unwanted? So I left. And that was when I met Gandalf. When he told me about Hobbiton, I decided to make a new life, to take the love I'd known for but a moment and give it to the babe forevermore."

Glaewen sighed, and her violet eyes took on a starry light. "Oh, but surely such a love was worth experiencing, if only for that moment! I wish I too could know a love like that, but alas, a healer is married to her work."

"So was I, I thought, until I met my melleth. I would not abandon that wish for yourself. Not yet."

The brunette ducked her head. "You know, I must confess I was one of those who always thought you fancied Prince Legolas," she said sheepishly. "And in the last ten or twenty years, I was beginning to suspect you'd caught his eye, as well."

Tauriel's smile was tolerant, but she shook her head. "How is Legolas? Have you heard word?"

"More than word. I've seen him myself."

The other elleth stared, unsure what it was she felt at this news.

"He came back to call on his friends and say a proper farewell shortly before your signal arrived. He was still there when I left for Hobbiton, but I was given to understand his visit would be brief. He's traveling the Wilderland, you know."

"I did not know."

"He . . . he asked after you. I told him nothing, of course. Only that you'd left for parts unknown." Glaewen paused, perhaps unsure if she should say more. "He looks well, Tauriel. But . . . there is a shadow about his eyes. As if something haunts him."

The former captain lowered her own eyes. She hoped she wasn't what haunted him. Still, she wondered what he would've said to her if she'd been there for him to say it. She was grateful when Glaewen changed the subject.

"So have you chosen a name for the babe?"

Tauriel brightened. "I have."

She'd known the little one's sex for some moons now. It was a sense that came to an expectant elleth as her babe grew and asserted its individuality, just as she sensed that the little one was invigorated by long walks, rested better at night when she hummed in tune with the stars, and had a fondness for Bell's lemon drizzle cakes while sharing Bilbo's distaste for Peony's pasties.

However, it was a strange task for her to choose a name given that elves bore up to four names throughout life, and the first, bestowed at birth, was traditionally chosen by the father to reflect the child's heritage. An elfling would receive a mother-name, too, but not until he or she was old enough to develop a distinct personality on which to base that name. Since Kíli was not present, it would fall to Tauriel to bestow both names, but it pained her that her child would grow up without this rightful gift from a father.

She consoled herself by remembering that the name she'd selected was one that honored the traditional purpose of a father-name as best she could. Besides, her own name didn't follow tradition in more than one way, and she was none the worse for it.

"Not telling, hm?" Glaewen teased. "I suppose we won't know whether it's an ellon or an elleth before the birth, either?"

"I will let the babe surprise you himself . . . " the expectant mother smiled, and when Glaewen gasped at her friend's imagined slip of the tongue, continued, " . . . or herself!"

"Sea and stars, you are a wicked tease!"

"I won't deny it," the redhead returned. "Come, mellon nín. The sun is low, and there is a thrush above us singing its evensong. Bilbo will be starting dinner, and we should be a-bed early so we can find ourselves another place to live in the morning!"

"Did the halfling really mean that?"

"Oh, he says it every night!"

And, with that, they linked arms and strolled home to Bag End, placing a friendly wager on whether Bell and Peony would be there with soggy pasties when they got back.

Guren linna a chened le—My heart sings to see you

elo—stars

A/N: What do you guys think? Will Tauriel have a boy or a girl? Any guesses what she'll name the baby? :)