Dís was already awake when Kíli returned to their rooms early the next morning. Had she actually slept either? he wondered momentarily. Then she had swept him into a hug.

"Good morning, my jewel," she said. She had always called him and Fíli that, her jewels. He still liked it that she did, as long as it wasn't in front of people.

"Did you rest?" she asked, smoothing his hair.

"I'm fine, Mum," Kíli said gently. "I was— I was with Fí."

She nodded, understanding. "You've a big day, love," she said, and kissed him before letting him go.

Kíli sat down at the table, not really sure where he wanted to start on all the things waiting for him. Perhaps washing his face...

Dís returned a few moments later and placed a mug of tea in front of him. It had just the right amount of milk in it. Kíli sipped at it, grateful.

Behind him, Dís began tugging the braids loose from his hair, then combing it. Kíli relaxed under her touch. He had always liked having his hair combed, though his mother hadn't done it for him since he was a boy. He had let her braid it then, too, because he liked the feel of her fingers in his hair. Eventually, he'd realized that he was old enough to comb it for himself and had stopped coming to her, more out of a sense of propriety than anything else. He'd never bothered with braiding his own hair, though—that had been too much trouble. Kíli was happy that she did it for him today, that she had known, without asking, what would make him feel loved.

When she had bound off the last braid, she kissed the top of his head. "I laid your clothes out in your room," she said and left him.

Kíli finished the last swallow of tea and went to his chambers. His coronation suit was there on his bed: the blue tunic with ornate silver embroidery and the matching leather surcoat, a shade of darker blue and heavy with ornamental silver scales. Blue and silver, those were the colors of his house. Thorin had worn them, and Kíli often had, too, though never in so elaborate a fashion as this.

He went to the washstand and splashed cold water on his face. He could have got hot water from the bath tap, but he needed something bracing: today was for doing things that might be uncomfortable but were good for you all the same. As Kíli was toweling his face, one of his braids fell forward and he noticed the bead that fastened it. It was one of his father's; he knew it from his mother's jewelry casket, though she had never worn them. He checked the other braids, and all were finished with the matching beads. Kíli's throat momentarily constricted with emotion at being unexpectedly found worthy of the man he had always loved, but had hardly known.

He put on the tunic and matching trousers, though he saved the surcoat for later: he wanted to ease into the role of king. His new boots were already carefully broken in. Stiff and uncomfortable shoes would have made him feel like he was pretending, playing a part that wasn't really his own and that he would take off at the end of the day, along with the unfamiliar clothes.

Tugging on the boots, he checked the hidden sheath on the outside of his right ankle for Fíli's throwing knife, though he knew it would be there. It was.

Kíli paused for a moment before strapping on his belt. Beside the buckle that went with the rest of his ceremonial outfit, his mother had laid the enormous jeweled belt clasp his uncle Thorin had always worn, and which Tauriel had recently returned with the rest of Thorin's things. Kíli had always been so impressed by it as a boy, imagining that he'd get to wear something like it when he grew to be a man. Now he felt slightly presumptuous clasping it on his own belt, as if Thorin would see him and ask what he was doing with it.

He shook the foolish thought out of his head. Hadn't Thorin said once to their mother that Fíli and Kíli were as good as the sons he would never have? Thorin would have wanted Kíli to wear it. He smiled slightly as he fastened the buckle at his waist.

They were all here with him: Father, Fíli, Thorin. He was glad.

Glancing in the mirror, Kíli decided he was sufficiently regal for a soon-to-be king who hadn't eaten breakfast yet. Yes, breakfast—bacon, toast and maybe some eggs, if he were lucky—seemed the most logical next step. He left his rooms and headed for the kitchens.

"What do you think?" Frey stepped back so that Tauriel might have an unhindered view of her dressing table mirror.

"It's beautiful." Tauriel surveyed the intricate braids that swept back from her face and were looped into a loose knot at the back of her head. "Thank you, Frey."

The dwarf girl beamed. "You're welcome. You have such amazing hair," she said appreciatively. "It's like spun copper."

"Is that what Kíli says about me?"

"No!" Frey giggled. "At least, not around me. But it's true, anyway." She carefully adjusted a braided strand. "Kíli will think you're beautiful, too. Just—" She grinned. "Try not to break our new king before we've had him a full day yet."

"What?" Tauriel mirrored Frey's smile.

"That is his courtship gold, isn't it?" She gestured to the combs that lay on the dressing table.

Tauriel nodded. "Yes." If Frey had guessed so quickly, others would, too.

"You will make him very happy by wearing it," Frey explained. "It's a lucky dwarf who wins his lady's heart. There are so few of us women, you see, so we get to choose the man we like best. Or take none at all."

"Have you ever been courted?"

"Oh, no," Frey said dismissively, but Tauriel noted the faint smile on her lips. Was there someone she fancied?

"What does a lady do when the man she favors hasn't paid her the attention she wishes?" Tauriel prompted, intrigued.

"Well, she could always just tell him. But where would be the fun in that?"

"Agreed!" After a pause, Tauriel went on. "Thank you, Frey, for your kindness to me. I know I am an outsider and Kíli—he's not just any dwarf, he's your king. I would not have blamed you for resenting me."

A sudden smile of amusement lit Frey's face. "Hammer and tongs, Tauriel!" She tried to stifle her laughter, but gave up. "Kíli isn't someone I— He's very nice and I like him dearly, but—" She finally managed to gain control of herself, though she said no more.

"I know that, now," Tauriel explained, amused as well. "But can you blame me for worrying, at first?"

"No." Frey shook her head. "I am glad you make each other happy." She regarded Tauriel thoughtfully. "Kíli has been very brave. To lose half his family and then have to learn to be king on top of that— Well, it's good he has someone to fill his heart.

"Sometimes I think my Da forgets that. He does care for Kíli, but he wants so much to help make him a fine king that he forgets Kíli needs other things, too. So forgive him if he seems harsh. Da means it kindly."

"I will," Tauriel said. "And I am grateful Kíli has the support of his friends."

Frey smiled. "Well, we shan't be much help today if we don't get dressed! I'll see you in the ceremonial hall, if not before!"

"Thank you again," Tauriel said earnestly.

"Of course! I'm glad you asked." Frey bowed and left.

Tauriel lifted the golden combs and studied them once again. The details were so meticulous, from the veins on the oak leaves to the dragon's scales and the feathered fletching on the arrow. Was it meant to be the arrow that had slain the beast or the one that had nearly claimed Kíli's own life before she found him in Laketown? Perhaps it was both. She smiled gently. The images told her and Kíli's story, what there was of it so far: the young archer prince wounded in pursuit of the dragon's gold, and she, his silvan savior, the two of them linked by fate, by love. And what might be to come? Her heart overflowed to find out.

Author's note:

Well, it appears the angst was successful in the previous chapter. :D Good to know I can manage it when the occasion calls for it.

Hey, lookit! Thorin's recovered gear turns out to be plot relevant! *pretends she planned it that way all along*