Chapter Fourteen: The Spaces Between
Oh, all of these minutes passing, sick of feeling used
If you wanna break these walls down, you're gonna get bruised
Now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it
Already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it
I'm headed straight for the castle
They wanna make me their queen
And there's an old man sitting on the throne that's saying that I probably shouldn't be so mean
I'm headed straight for the castle
They've got the kingdom locked up
And there's an old man sitting on the throne that's saying I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut.
Castle, by Hasley
"How long will it take to dig ourselves out?" Kíli asked, staring up at the wall of glittering ice that had once been the opening to the fortress. There was a hint of sunlight at the top, a teasing glint of warmth and clear skies that managed to illuminate the hall.
Gloín grunted, leaning on an old shovel they'd found in a closet off the main hall, sleeves rolled up to his elbows despite the chill. "Half the day at least, must have been a snow drift off the mountain."
Kíli ran a hand over his face, frowning. He looked tired and worried and Tauriel had to resist the urge to reach for him. It felt like ages had passed since last they'd touched or had a moment alone. Even glancing at his face made her blood sing, made her head spin and her judgement cloud.
She looked at Bofur instead, who was prodding at the snow with interest and scratching at his rear with his other hand. She grimaced, though it was certainly a much safer place to look.
"The Princess says the others ought to be nearby, perhaps they'll find us first," Dwalin said, a pickax slung over his shoulder.
As if in response, the frozen wall rumbled ominously and a shower of snow rained down toward them. Tauriel stepped deftly out of the way, but the others were not so lucky. Bofur was half buried and Kíli stumbled backward, shaking a frozen dusting of white from his hair. All of them were cursing.
"Oi!" came a voice and the shape of a head peeked down at them from above, the glare of the sun behind it so they all had to shield their eyes.
"Mahal's balls! Durth, is that you?" Dwalin called, a massive grin spreading across his face, his blad head gleaming with melted snow.
"Aye, last I checked anyways," said the new dwarf happily. "Been searching all damn night for you lot. Is the Princess down there with ye?"
"Aye, you great lump of goblin dung, she's safe and sound thanks to us," Kíli called, also smiling, which of course made her smile. She quickly looked at Bombur instead, who was wiping his running nose on his tunic sleeve. She suppressed a shudder of disgust, wondering if she would ever grow used to the hygienic habits of dwarves.
"Bless me, is that young Kíli?" Durth whispered in awe, though it managed to echo down to them.
With her eyes adjusted Tauriel could see the dwarf more clearly, his ragged crop of graying red hair and his long red beard tucked between his chest and the snow. There were angular tattoos on his face, marking forehead and temples in stark angular designs that managed to be fierce and oddly flattering at once. He was staring down at Kíli as though he couldn't quite believe he was real.
"Of course it is," Kíli called back, his tone playful. "Now are you lot going to help dig us out or are you just going to gape down at us?"
"Right, right, I'll just –Mahal's beard, is that an elf with ye?"
Tauriel felt a bit itchy about the collar.
"Aye, tis a long story," Bofur chimed in, having finally been able to extricate himself from the snow, and raised his oddly shaped hat in greeting. "Don't worry though, she won't bite." He shot her a wink and Tauriel raised a brow, not quite able to fight back a smile.
"At least not hard," Gloín muttered with a smirk and Bombur elbowed him.
"Focus Darth," Dwalin admonished. "Are the others with ye?"
"Oh aye, not far off. A few of us were sent to scout around. We'll have you lot out in no time." The dwarf began to wiggle backward, edging his way free of the snow and the fortress gate. "Ah, stay here," he called in parting and Tauriel hid a snort with a cough and couldn't help but think, Dwarves, with a hint of fond exasperation.
"Should have asked after the Orcs," Gloín said, frowning suddenly. He was clearly still worried for his son, not that she blamed him.
"There will be time for that once we're free of this place," Dwalin said then turned, distracted. "I'll tell the Princess."
The others smirked as their friend hurried away and Kíli scowled. Tauriel thought his obvious protectiveness of his mother –who was clearly able to look after herself- was very adorable.
"Come on Bombur," Bofur said, clapping the other dwarf on the back. "Think there's time now for a real breakfast."
After packing her things, and feeling generally useless, Tauriel began to wander.
The others remained in the entryway or near the campfire, talking or eating as their would-be-rescuers attempted to dig a way to freedom. The fortress was still, the air stale and tinged by decay, but like the ruined halls of Erebor, there was the weight of history. It littered the halls and hung on the walls, the remains of a people long gone caught in the tapestries and carvings, in the broken toys and tattered clothing. It made her sad, but it also made her hopeful. Someday, perhaps, these halls would be cleaned and refurbished and dwarves would come to live again.
She could hear his footsteps long before he caught her. She let him stalk her, let him creep through the shadows as her heart thundered in her ears. His hand found her, sliding from one hip to the other until he caught her hand, fingers threading through hers. It was dark, the light of the entry hall all but gone in the recesses of the old keep.
"It isn't safe," she whispered, a tremble of hot longing pulsing through her. It was impossible to control her reaction to him, she couldn't even bring herself to try anymore.
His eyes glinted in the darkness, pupils large and almost predatory.
"We'll be very careful," he said, voice pitched low as he tugged her into a nearby alcove.
It was so dark that even her eyes could only make out the faint shape of his face and the curve of his shoulders. But she could feel him -his heat, his need, his love. Her breathing hitched and her skin prickled with anticipation. She wanted to touch him, she wanted him to touch her. The desire had banished all reason and thought as her hands instinctively grasped for him as his caught her gently by the face and tugged her lips down to his.
The kiss was insistent and demanding -a question, a challenge- and her body roared to meet him on the battlefield of questing tongues and fevered hands. Every moment they were together some terrified part of her whispered that it could be the last. That every kiss, every touch, was a moment stolen out of time and reality. It all felt so terribly precious and fragile and she couldn't be close enough to him, couldn't hold him tight enough.
Kíli, as though he were caught in the same manic spell, dragged her body firmly against his, drawing a gasp from her throat that he caught between his lips, echoing it with a low rumble in his chest. She bent at the knees, which were already weak, and half sat on a ledge that ran along the wall so that he was pressed between her legs and they were chest to chest, breath to breath, and heart to heart. She felt as though she were being consumed, as though she were transforming into someone or something else entirely.
He pulled away, his hands framing the bones of her neck and smoothing down her shoulders. "Sometimes," he croaked, their lips inches apart so that she could taste every word. "Sometimes I feel I'll go mad if I don't touch you."
His words made her belly clench and her thighs slacken, and she gripped as his shoulders, fingers searching till they dipped beneath his tunic and feel his skin. He was wickedly tempting, the muscles beneath her hands rippling as he leaned into her, into her touch, and she longed to explore the planes of him somewhere bright and safe where they could be alone for hours, possibly days.
"We should stop, this… this isn't the place," she said, though her body continued to betray her as she arched into the delicious trail of his hands down her spine.
"You're right," he muttered into the skin of her neck as he drew his lips up the tendons there. She had to bite her lip to silence the moan bubbling in her throat; nothing had ever felt so wonderful, so perfect. "But I wanted to touch you, just for a moment. I needed to."
Valar, his voice and words were unraveling what little self-control she had. Her people were a private, demur race when it came to physical intercourse and sexual desires. They mated for life, connections that ran deep enough to span eons, and what happened in their beds wasn't meant for the ears or eyes of anyone else. But Tauriel understood enough to know the mechanics of it. She knew enough to understand the dampness in her underclothes and the coiled pressure low in her gut that begged for more. For him.
She also knew that they were walking a dangerous, dangerous line.
As if sensing all her thoughts, Kíli's touch gentled and slowed and his body moved a little from hers till his head rested on her shoulder and his arms lightly caged around her, as though he was afraid to hurt her.
After a moment he said, "I'm sorry, that was dishonorable of me. I should not treat you like this."
The guilt in his voice was strong enough that she wrapped her arms about him, letting her head fall to his shoulder as well, and huddled with him against what lay beyond their stolen moment.
"Hush now," she said. "You did nothing I did not want." Which might have shamed her if it wasn't true and if it wasn't him. He made her feel safe, welcome, and wanted.
Kíli drew away, urging her up as well, and she could feel his eyes searching for hers in the dark. "I ache for you, Tauriel. And I know it is shameful and wrong of me, but some days I feel like I'd die to touch you. To kiss you… to hold you in my arms."
Feeling at a loss, wishing she knew the right words to say, she touched his face, running her fingers along his jaw, beard rasping. Valar, how she cared for him, how she desired all the things he did, but found they all hovered just out of reach.
"I-I don't know what to do," she confessed.
He caught her hand and pressed a firm kiss to her palm, like a gift, like a promise –her own sort of runestone. "I will find a way for us to be together, I swear it," he said as though something was tearing at his heart.
"Kíli-" she began, but was interrupted by the sound of voices calling down the hall. They jumped apart and she shivered against the loss of his warmth.
"I love you," Kíli said firmly, fiercely even, and then turned to stride down the hall.
Tauriel wrapped her arms around herself, and sat in the dark for a time, trying to preserve the feelings inside her and the memory of his touch just a little longer.
After hours of waiting, during which time Tauriel talked with Orí and Bofur and tried very hard not to look at Kíli, the dwarves from the Blue Mountains finally dug them free.
The veneration that the four dwarves, emerging from the icy tunnel shivering and snow dusted, showed for Kíli was heartwarming, as was his awkward unease as they bowed low to he and his mother. Tauriel had grown to understand how important his family line was to his friends, but it was even more apparent now. Kíli was the revelation of a dear dream that they had long thought beyond possibility. In him they saw the dawn of their future, and something selfish and sad twisted in her gut that she forced aside.
Things moved quickly after that. They grabbed their belongings and carefully made their way out through the tunnel one at time. Tauriel was all but crawling flat on her belly and was the last to vacate the mountain, not oblivious to the curious and rather hostile stares from the gathered dwarves outside.
"Princess," a heavily armored dwarf said, stepping forward and falling to his knees. "We thought the worst…" he choked, lowering his head.
Dís moved forward and drew Kíli with her. Tauriel could sense his reluctance, his discomfort, but he followed dutifully after.
"We're fine, I assure you. My son's companion, the She-elf, arrived in time to save us from the Orcs," she told them, and motioned Tauriel forward.
Feeling a little more than uneasy herself, she came to the Princess's side as several dozen eyes scrutinized her. From the corner of her eye she could see Young Thorin sneering.
"But where did the elf come from?" one dwarf demanded, she didn't know which.
"She was traveling with us," Kíli said immediately. "She guided us through the forest. Her King named her Ambassador after the battle and has been welcomed into our halls with my blessing." There was a hint of steel to his words. A hard edge that dared anyone to question him.
Tauriel lifted her chin and clenched her jaw, meeting the dwarves' stares straight on.
"As you say," said a finely dressed, gray bearded dwarf. "My King." There was, however, a lingering sense of tension and uncertainty. Orí, Valar bless him, stepped protectively to her side in a clear show of solidarity.
"Where are the others?" the Princess asked, drawing their attention.
"Further up the pass, my lady," said the first dwarf who'd spoken, rising to his feet.
"Was anyone other than Rune injured?" Kíli asked. The injured guard in question leaned against Dwalin and looked much better than he had the previous morning, but likely couldn't walk for long.
The dwarf shook his head. "No, my lord. They were clearly in pursuit of the Princess."
"How bad is the pass?" Dwalin interjected.
The dwarf shook his head and several of the other dwarves muttered darkly amongst themselves. "The main pass is all but impenetrable, the smaller may be clear enough though. We sent scouts to check this morning, they should have returned to the main party by now."
"We should hurry," Kíli said. "It's already past midday and it has been a difficult few weeks of travel."
"Troubles on the road?" the white bearded dwarf asked. His eyes were sharp and shrewd, and he was slimmer and lankier than most of his people. Tauriel was reminded of Balin, but his eyes were not so kind.
"Some," Kíli admitted. "But we've had little chance to rest and recover since the battle."
"Of course," the dwarf said, clever eyes darting and narrowing briefly in her direction. Tauriel looked away, perturbed.
A litter was made for the guard and the company of dwarves began the trek up and around the gates of the keep in short order. Tauriel fell behind, as Kíli and his mother took the lead, feeling oddly listless and untethered, a dozen of his people between them. Tauriel imagined there would be only more and more between them in the future.
He did not look back at her, and she tried to cling to the words he'd whispered to her in the dark in the harsh brightness of the day, but they almost seemed to evaporate from between her fingers.
Tauriel found that Orí, Bofur, or Bombur were never far from her side. Gloín, who had been joyfully reunited with his wife and son, was generally absent.
They talked with her as the dwarves made camp after rejoining the main company later that day. They shared a fire with her, laughing and jesting, and inviting those who passed to join them –most did so with wary glares thrown her way, but settled near her nonetheless. Every conversation seemed to require her attention and input and Tauriel thought it was all terribly kind of them, even if their intentions were almost painfully obvious. Without them she knew the presence of a several hundred wary, distrustful dwarves might have overwhelmed her. Especially as she did not see Kíli except in passing, always surrounded by others.
"They'll grow used to the idea," Bofur said quietly, and Tauriel wasn't certain if she caught a hint of mischief in his eye, as though he wasn't entirely referencing just the fact that she was an elf. It was possible, she reasoned, that she was merely reading into things too much.
"I hope so, I've only just gotten you lot to stop glaring and cursing at me," she said with weak humor, warming her hands against the flames of the fire as the sun set fully and the stars began to wake.
"Well, aside from Young Thorin, I reckon" Bombur said from across the flames, chewing happily at a leg of meat.
Tauriel flinched, and flushed. "I never quite had a chance to apologize for my behavior. I know he's your kinsmen-"
"He's a right spoilt prat," Bofur croaked, lighting his pipe, the smoke obscuring his face. "The lad needed a good scare. I've been tempted to give him one myself."
"It wasn't my place," she mumbled, poking at the fire with a stick. The other dwarves had drifted away to their beds, and Tauriel knew it was going to be a very long and lonely night. It was funny, she thought, how often one could be surrounded by people and still feel terribly, terribly alone.
"Perhaps not," Bofur said ruefully, "but Kíli will have to do something about him soon and I don't right trust his father."
"You don't?" Tauriel pressed, watching his face carefully.
Bofur was frowning, expression uncharacteristically serious. "Oh, I trust him to step down when Kíli returns. He won't risk a civil war, not with at least half his people loyal to Kíli's line, but that doesn't mean he'll make things easy."
"Or that he won't exploit Kíli's weaknesses," she said and Bofur met her eye. She didn't have to guess what he knew any longer, it was clear as the winter stars.
"Aye," he said and looked away.
Tauriel said nothing, that feeling of guilt pressing in closer around her.
The following morning dawned bright and clear and Tauriel made herself useful by helping tear down campsites and pack belongings. Most of the dwarves watched her warily, a few, however, seemed merely curious. Especially the children.
While bending forward to help lift some baggage atop a pony, a small child darted forward and touched her face with little preamble, stunning Tauriel and her caretakers.
"Soft," the child proclaimed with an adorably perplexed frown. Tauriel couldn't be sure if it was a boy or girl, its cherub like face already carrying the wisps of a reddish beard.
"Valria!" A young dwarven woman called and hurried forward, but Tauriel was already enchanted. The elves so very rarely had children of their own and it had been decades since she'd been in the presence of one.
"It's alright," she said smiling down at the curious little face. The small hands moved up her face, along her sharp cheek bones, and up to her ears, pressing against them delicately.
"Pointy," the child, Valria, said with slight wonder. Tauriel could feel the tension of the dwarves gathered, as if they were waiting for her to lash out or be offended.
Instead, Tauriel reached out and tapped the little one lightly on the nose with a bright grin. "Cute," she anointed and the child –she was fairly certain it was a she due to the pinkish ribbon braided into her already long hair- scrunched it with a giggle.
Valria flashed her a big grin, some of her teeth not quite there yet, and dashed back to her mother with an excited squeal.
"She is very sweet," Tauriel said to the woman, taking a chance at kindness.
The woman, stout, red haired and plainly dressed in a rough wool gown, looked her up and down for a moment before offering an uncertain smile. "Thank you, takes after her father. A little too curious for her own good… I hope she did not offend you."
"Not at all," Tauriel said as Valria rubbed her head affectionately against her mother's hand and arm. "It has been many years since I've seen a child."
The woman frowned, perplexed. "Do… your kind not have children?"
Tauriel could feel the smile on her face fade, and her words sounded wistful, even to her. "Not for a long while, I'm afraid. Thank you for letting me meet yours, Lady…?"
The woman shook her head with a slight flush. "Oh, I'm no lady. My name is Felenis, I serve the Lady Thira."
"It is nice to meet you, Felenis. I am called Tauriel."
"Are you truly from Mirkwood?" the woman asked, bending to pick up her daughter and rest her on her hip with the air of habit.
"Yes, I remained behind after the battle to serve as an Ambassador," Tauriel said, the words feeling oddly hollow, but the woman didn't seem to notice.
"So you've seen it? You've seen Erebor?"
Tauriel smiled at the obvious eagerness and awe on the woman's face. "Yes, though I had little time to explore. The halls were wondrous and Kí- the King, has already begun renovations."
The woman shook her head, looking a bit dazed. "My mother used to tell stories of its great halls, but even she was only a little girl when the mountain fell… if only she were alive to see it."
"Well, now you can show your daughter, tell her your stories," Tauriel said.
The woman blinked and a soft, almost thankful look passed across her face. "Aye, that I will."
"Is there… is there perhaps anything I might help you with? I confess I feel rather useless," Tauriel said hopefully.
Felenis hesitated for a moment before saying, "Well, the other women and I could use some help packing our things. Most of us have little ones that keep getting under foot-"
"I'd be glad to help, if you wouldn't mind."
"Some of them might be nervous, we aren't exactly used to seeing elves about, but they'll warm to you. Especially if you're helping to ease their burdens. I don't wish to impose, however-"
"I'm happy to help, I assure you," Tauriel insisted and with another small smile, Felenis led the way.
The dwarves were cheerful as they traveled.
The main pass was indeed too difficult to travel, but a second, less used path proved manageable, and they went on their way. According to Orí, five hundred had made the initial journey, with several thousand more planning to travel over the next several years as they put their affairs in order and Erebor became more hospitable. Those with the most useful trade skills had embarked on this first journey along with their families.
Despite the ever present distrust most of the dwarves clearly maintained, Tauriel began to enjoy herself. The days were clear and crisp and the children took to darting playfully between the adults in wild games of chase, their laughter echoing off the mountain side. The women chattered and the men joked, while Orí remained close at her side, telling her stories and inviting several of his friends into conversation. It was surprisingly pleasant, even if she said very little. She was content to listen and watch and learn, taking note of the interesting cultural dynamics.
The women were surprisingly dominate. The men offered them clear, almost worshipful difference, and even those of the lowest caste were catered do. It was charming if not a little difficult to understand. Tauriel would have hated to be treated like a breakable object, but women like the Princess, and the Lady Thria, seemed to have learned to circumnavigate it well enough. Felenis had introduced Tauriel to the imposing noble woman who had given her a once over and immediately put her to work; work which the woman had no problem participating in.
The Lady Thria's apparent indifference to any lingering racial grievances seemed to subdue the other women, until, slowly but surely, they began to grow comfortable enough around her to ask timid questions and talk amongst themselves again. It was honestly better than Tauriel could have hoped for.
She saw very little of Kíli over the next few days. He caught her eye once or twice in passing and she could read his longing and apology, but there was no room for words or stolen moments. She always gave him a smile in response because she understood, even if she missed his easy presence and the warmth of his smile, that now was not the time for dalliance. Things would be different now, of course, she only wished she understood what he was thinking, and if perhaps he knew where she might stand in this foreign world she'd been thrust into.
It wasn't until the fifth day of their return journey that she began to feel uneasy. The pass led began to lead down into a small valley between two ridges, with many overhanging ledges that threw the world beneath into shade and shadow. Passing beneath them made her shoulders tense and her skin crawl.
The feeling of dread only grew as they moved through the pass, and her eyes scanned the white, glaring ridges above. She let her hand drift to the hilt of a knife, feeling the chilled leather against her palm so that it might offer some comfort.
"What is it?" Bofur asked her with a frown, walking suddenly to her side. The others were laughing and jesting, still caught in the joy of being reunited with friends and family. The atmosphere was like the shakily released sigh after a close scare.
"Just a feeling…." she said, silently chastising herself for being overly paranoid, and forcing herself to relax a little. She's spent too much time jumping at every shadow, she reasoned.
Bofur, on the other hand, seemed to share her concern. He was frowning, scanning the ledges with narrowed eyes.
"You're right…" he said after a moment. "Something is wrong, the scouts should have been back by now."
He turned to say something to Dwalin, who was laughing at something Bombur had said, just as an arrow whizzed over his head and struck another dwarf in the eye. There was a bright spurt of blood, a strangled groan as the dwarf fell to his knees, and chaos erupted.
"Ambush!" Dwalin roared, hefting the axe off his back as more arrows rained down, striking several more dwarves as they cowered.
Fear burned at the back of her throat as Tauriel drew her knives, eyes already scanning the crowd for a familiar dark head, the situation sickeningly familiar. Valar, she wished she had her bow. She pressed forward, fighting back the urge to scream his name as dwarves rushed forward to escape the arrows, the guards and warriors attempting to shield the women and children as best as possible. With panic mounting she spotted him at last, a bow in hand with his mother at his side, looking furious.
Kíli caught her eye. "We must get free of the pass!" he hollered.
She nodded and ducked as an arrow skittered off the rocks near her head, when she looked again, Kíli was surrounded by guards.
"To the King!" Dwalin cried as Tauriel helped a frantic mother sweep up her child and another woman up as she stumbled.
"Quickly!" Tauriel cried. "We must clear the valley!"
"Tauriel!" someone cried, and she twirled just in time to catch the bundle Orí had tossed to her. It was a bow and arrows. She quickly sheathed her long daggers and shook the bow free of its bindings.
She knocked an arrow, dashed forward, and leapt up a boulder. She had made herself a target, but she could also spot several orcs. Drawing the bow, which was heavier than she had expected, she managed to shoot three of the foul beasts before leaping free, a shower of arrows landing where she'd stood.
"I count thirty," she called to Dwalin, who was shielding a woman. He nodded grimly.
"They mean to bottleneck us in the pass ahead, we'll have to scatter them," he said as Tauriel darted to his side.
"Is there any other way out of this valley?"
"A small path cut into the rock ahead," Bofur interjected. "We won't be able to get everyone through it, but we should be able to get enough men up to deal with them."
Dwalin nodded grimly. "Some of us will have to stay with Kíli, but the rest can-"
"Ah, about that my lord," a dwarf interrupted, clearly hesitant to relay the information. "The King has already headed for the path, though he took most of his guard with him-"
Dwalin cursed fervently in Khuzdul and pushed through the running mass of dwarves. "Tauriel, Bofur, you two come with me, let the others protect the main party. Damned boy is just like his Uncle."
Tauriel hurried after him, but was stopped momentarily by a familiar pinkish ribbon fluttering in the wind-swept hair of a crying child. Valria was huddled over her mother's motionless form, an arrow protruding from Felenis's red stained chest. Tauriel's throat constricted and she made a dash for the little girl, who was clearly in danger of being trampled. Her mind tugged at her, whispered that Kíli was also in grave danger, but she simply couldn't leave the little girl whose mother had been so kind.
Tauriel snatched Valria into her arms and the little girl, her face tear streaked and pale, buried her head immediately into Tauriel's shoulder. "Mama! Mama!" she cried over and over again.
With a shaking hand, she reached out and felt for the woman's pulse… and found nothing but cold flesh.
"Aa' menealle nauva calen ar' malta," she whispered, voice choked, and turned with the child in her arms, her little body trembling.
She caught sight of Orí and rushed to him, depositing the child into his arms. Valria wailed and reached for her, but she had to help Kíli and the others, though it tore her heart asunder to let her go.
"Look after her, Orí," she said. "Her mother…." She trailed off, unable to form the words.
But Orí understood, and fit the wailing child to his chest. "I'll guard her with my life, I swear it."
Tauriel could only manage a brief nod, before running after Dwalin and the others.
They were in the thick of things when Tauriel arrived. The Orc's had closed ranks, and were making to surround the ten or so dwarves with Kíli at their center. She was surprised to see that Young Thorin was among them, snarling and slashing with his sword and hand axe.
Tauriel knelt in the snow and methodically shot into the horde of Orcs, effectively discouraging them from circling the dwarves in. There were at least fifteen more than Tauriel had counted, but she knew enough of dwarves to know that the odds hardly mattered. They fought with the sort of ferocity that had to be admired as much as it was to be feared.
When she ran out of arrows, she joined the fray, a deadly whirl of blades and flaming hair.
"Took your time, lass," Dwalin said panting, a shallow gash along his temple and sweat glittering on his shinning head.
"I figured I would give you dwarves a fair chance with a head start," she grunted, stabbing through shoddily made armor, black blood staining her hands.
"Ha!" Bofur cried, happily cutting an Orc down. "That's a challenge if I ever heard one!"
All humor was lost, however, as four Warg mounted Orc's cleared the rise and came barreling toward them with death glinting off their crude blades.
"Reform the line!" Kíli called, sprinting to her side with a wicked grin that made her want to throttle and kiss him simultaneously. Did he always have to be so cursedly reckless?
"I swear, if we live through this, I'm going to strangle you," Dwalin said, echoing her thoughts. Well, at least partially -Kíli did not look perturbed.
Thinking of Felenis's cold, lifeless body, Tauriel dodged an Orc's blade, leapt into the air with a ringing cry, and tackled the first of the Warg riders. The foul thing spat, and hissed and struggled, but she merely stared into it's eyes as she slowly sank her blade through its chest.
"Mereth en draugrim," she whispered darkly as the life left its eyes, and some part of her was disturbed by this uncharacteristically brutal behavior, but the rest of her was thinking of the little girl who would now have to grow up without a mother. Her blade was Valria's pain and Felenis's loss, and it would never be enough.
It was over quickly after that, though several things happened at once: the last Warg fell –Kíli's arrow through its eye and Dwalin's axe in its throat – and Young Thorin managed to kill the final Orc. But the momentum of his swing sent him stumbling, his feet sliding out from under him until, between one breath and the next, he was slipping down the mountainside. No one had noticed but Tauriel, who'd risen shakily to her feet, wiping her blade clean in the snow, and his cry was lost in the ringing cheers of the other dwarves.
With only a second's hesitation, tired bones protesting, Tauriel gritted her teeth and threw herself forward, sliding across the snow after him.
"Tauriel!" A familiar voice cried in clear alarm, but it was too late.
She watched with mounting terror as the cliff neared and Thorin's feet slid over the edge, followed quickly by his legs and torso. Their eyes met across the distance as the ground beneath them pitched forward, she saw the fear, the desperation, and the streaks of blood as his fingers scrambled for purchase on stone and ice. A split moment before he was lost, he reached for her and she dug her knife into the ice and gripped his hand in hers.
Pain laced through both of her arms, her recently injured shoulder protesting, but she forced everything aside in favor of survival as they both pitched over the edge and her blade caught. They dangled perilously and her knife slipped a bit further, tearing a groan from her lips. For an endless moment they hung there, stunned beyond words.
"I-I can reach the ledge i-if you swing me," Thorin croaked at last, his face deathly pale. There was no malice in his eyes now.
"Hold tight," she called back and began to sway, very aware that her blade might slip free at any moment and send both of them to their deaths several hundred feet below where the river was little but a silvery snake.
His grip was hot and slick on her forearm as she watched him swing below her, trying not to notice the height or hear the distant rushing of the water. Her blade shifted suddenly, jerking down several inches more, and she cried out in pain and fear, her back and shoulders burned with strain. The hand on her knife hilt shook dangerously.
"I can't hold you!" She cried out, feeling her fingers weaken on his sleeve, but he was close, so very close to a slight ledge on the cliff face.
"Just a little further!" Young Thorin hollered back, not looking at her but at the rock so close to his outstretched fingers.
With all her strength she swung him one last time, a cry ripped from her lungs. His fingers grappled manically for an awful second then caught, his boots lodging as he clung and, by some miracle, stayed. A wave of relief struck her a moment before her knife slipped entirely free and she was weightless. She couldn't even draw a breath, the world oddly motionless for one aching second.
Young Thorin reached for her with a terrified gasp, nearly falling himself, but she was already too far. She was falling and falling, time stuttering back, and the wind rushed like howling wolves in her ears. Too dazed to scream, she looked up to see a petrified face staring down at her, the bellow of her name echoing through the valley.
Notes:
Every story needs a literal cliff hanger, right?