Set Me to the Stile
Tauriel pushed open the door to the royal library and stepped through. She had always liked this room, with the sunlight slanting down through high windows upon the dark walnut shelves and the plush, mossy green velvet chairs. As a child, she had always felt it a treat to come hide in here and read for the odd afternoon.
Midway across the room, she realized she was not alone. In an alcove to her left someone stood reading, his face hidden as he leaned down over a book. The flaxen hair falling over his shoulders, however, was unmistakable. Tauriel froze, wondering briefly if she might yet retreat without being seen. The last time she had faced her king, he had looked at her with such sorrow and pity in his face that she had wanted to run from him. Then in the next moment, the figure turned, and she saw it was not the king but his son.
"Tauriel!" Legolas regarded her with surprise that swiftly became pleasure.
"I came to return a book I borrowed of you some years back," she said as soon as her breath returned. "I found it on my shelf last night and supposed it was high time I read or returned it. I did stay up half the night with it."
She held up the book as she neared him, and the light glinted off gold letters on blue leather binding: The Lay of Leithian, the tale of an elven princess and her mortal lover.
"Did you enjoy it?" Legolas asked.
"Yes, although I think perhaps the poet did not understand all that Tinúviel gained in the end." In truth, Tauriel had wanted to shake that ancient writer by the shoulders and tell him he was quite the fool if he did not understand why a woman might readily trade an eternity in a walled wood for one mortal lifetime to know the world beyond, at the side of the man she loved.
"Maybe he wrote as he did because he was losing her, too," Legolas said with a knowing smile.
Was he talking about her now? Whatever he had felt for her, surely it must have seemed he was losing her when she abandoned her place in the guard to follow after Kíli. Yet she thought Legolas knew, now, that the love he had wanted then had not truly been hers, but his father's. Not knowing what to say, she turned aside to place the book on a shelf.
"I promised to bring Lord Elrond a few histories from our archives," Legolas said behind her. "He wishes to compare them with his own records."
Turning round again, she said, "Legolas, after the battle, you asked me to come with you to Imladris. Does your invitation still stand?"
"Of course, Tauriel! You are one of my dearest and most trusted companions. Why should it not? "
She disregarded his question, not wanting to say, Because I chose him.
Instead, she went on, "I very much want to see the lands to the west of our forest, the Misty Mountains rising in their splendor, the sun shining down into Imladris' mist-filled vale and turning the air to gold." Kíli had described that last scene once to her, and she had longed for the place ever since. "And I would rather make the journey with a friend than alone." Alone, it would be impossible to forget who was not with her.
Legolas stepped forward and placed his hands on her upper arms. "I promise, you need not fear to find yourself alone," he said warmly.
Tauriel closed her eyes momentarily and sighed. "Thank you for not thinking I am looking for a way to die. I'm seeking a way to live."
His look was sympathetic, but not pitying. "I know how it is to be unable to stay in the places you once knew. Or among the people..." He regarded her for a few more moments, then added. "But know I am very glad to have you join me now." He let go of her then.
"I very much need a friend, Legolas," she said.
His manner changed from solemn to fondly encouraging as he said, "Eriador is quite wild, fully a match for the young captain who was never content to leave dangers unchallenged. I know Father never let you act to your full potential. I assure you such will not be the case among the Dúnedain."
"Dúnedain?"
"The remnants of the kingdom of Arnor in the north. Elrond's sons ride with them, patrolling the borderlands beyond the dwellings of men and other free folk."
Tauriel nodded, feeling the excitement of the adventure call to her already. "I see you will have much to tell me on our journey! And when do you leave?"
"I plan to go in a fortnight, by the time this moon has faded to the new," he said.
The last new moon of Autumn. The signal of Durin's Day, and the dwarves' new year. The time she had met Kíli and first left her forest, two years past, and now, a time so fitting to leave and begin a new journey.
"I will be ready."
Until he watched Audha bidding farewell to her father and the rest of the Blacklock ambassadorial party, Kíli had not realized there was a small, hidden part of him that was still hoping for some way to escape this marriage. Now that the Council was ended and the last of the visiting clans was leaving, there was no denying the reality of what he had chosen: Audha was now part of his life in Erebor. He would court her for perhaps a year, and then another year after that, marry her. No one would step in and save him, and he surely could not run away to save himself without betraying his uncle, his brother, and yes, even Audha herself. A sickening dread settled in his stomach as the great gate to Erebor closed behind the departing Blacklocks, and it was only by good fortune that he managed to make it back to his own rooms before he truly was sick.
Over the next month, he saw little of Audha, an outcome that took almost no contrivance on his part. He was often at Ravenhill, and once Dale. When he did return under the mountain, he sequestered himself in the family workshop, trying to craft the courtship gifts he was required to offer Audha.
Yet on this night in late September, he found no more inspiration than he had all the past month. Neither metal nor stone spoke to him to suggest new and clever forms to challenge his skill. And he surely had not the heart to take up any of the designs he had once imagined for Tauriel, and which now lay as a pile of papers, like so many dead leaves in winter, at the side of his drawing desk.
Kíli sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, and then picked up the charcoal pencil and began sketching the outlines of a jewelry casket. He'd never planned such a thing for Tauriel, who wore little jewelry of any sort. Of course, a wealthy dwarven lady like Audha had many personal ornaments, and the casket would be a very practical gift.
Yes, practical, he thought sourly some minutes later as he stared at the shape on the paper before him. Practical, and conventional, and utterly boring. It was not something he had any interest in crafting, nor would a girl be very impressed to receive it. He tossed the pencil down with a soft curse, and then froze as he looked up from his desk to see Audha herself standing under the lamp at the entrance to the workshop.
"Forgive me; I didn't mean to sneak up on you," she said quickly.
Kíli shook his head, trying to change his irritated expression for a warmer one. "I'm having trouble with the design, that's all," he said.
"I was looking for you," she confessed. "Fíli said you might be down here."
Kíli felt a stab of guilt, knowing that, busy as he was, he should have made time to visit his own intended. Sif and Fíli had taken care that Audha felt welcome to Erebor, and he was deeply grateful for their kindness. He, too, wanted Audha to feel comfortable here in her new home, but between his despair at his unavoidable fate and his fear of encouraging her love, it had been easy to let his own work claim all his attention.
"I'm sorry; I should have come to see you," Kíli said. "Please, come in."
He rose and offered her the stool upon which he had been seated.
She did not sit, but strolled over to the work tables at the far side of the room.
"So you are a smith of gold and silver," Audha said, eyeing the tools neatly organized on the wall. On the tables below lay a number of projects in various stages of completion: a pair of scissors shaped like one of the long-billed birds of the lake, a small crystal vial embellished with golden tracery, a gold lamp set with panes of russet glass shaped like leaves, a finely chased silver canister for storing tobacco or perhaps tea. Nearly all had been begun for Tauriel.
Audha picked up a silver circlet, turning it to admire the interlaced diamond motif carved along the band. "This is very beautiful." She looked back at Kíli. "Your work is every bit as fine as that produced by the craftsmen of my father's famed work halls."
"Thank you," Kíli said. "I was apprenticed under Rúni, who, while he lived, was the best jeweler in Ered Luin. Uncle paid him very well to stay at our halls; Durin's heir must be a master of his craft."
"You must have worked long and often," Audha remarked, finally coming to take the offered seat.
"I spent mornings on the training ground and evenings in the shop," Kíli affirmed.
Audha regarded him, clearly impressed by the rigor of such a routine. Many dwarves would have found either occupation—the craftsman or the warrior—a fully consuming pursuit.
"The jeweler's intricate work, well, it was a way to relax for me," Kíli admitted. And yet, it hadn't been so lately, a fact Audha had surely noticed upon her arrival.
"What are you making now?" she asked.
"Err, nothing." He shrugged. "Not yet. I—" He paused as she studied the sketched jewelry casket on the table.
"I don't think it's so bad," she ventured.
"Maybe not for a foreign market. But I wouldn't give it to you."
"Oh." She glanced over to the stack of designs at the end of the desk. "May I?" she asked, reaching towards them.
The designs were all relics of his courtship of Tauriel, and Kíli did not want her to see them, yet he still said lightly, "Yes." He felt he owed Audha this kindness, and much more besides, after how little he had done for her in the past weeks.
Audha drew the stack towards herself and slowly leafed through the pages. Some of the sketches were pieces he had already made—a pewter flask, a jeweled spider, a knife—and others were fancies he'd been saving and never would execute now.
"These are wonderful," Audha breathed. "If you weren't a prince, you could make a name by your work alone."
She turned another page, lingered over the next series of sketches. Looking over her shoulder, Kíli saw the design she had found and his heart faltered: it was a ring, with a vining filigree band and set with a single faceted stone. He'd meant to craft it of mithril and diamond, and offer it to Tauriel when he asked her to be his wife. A betrothal gift had to be one the recipient could wear.
"Have you made any of these? You should," Audha urged kindly, raising the stack of designs, with the betrothal ring still at the top.
Kíli knew she meant to be encouraging and that she could not know the significance of the plans. And yet he could not bear to see her admire this work that should have delighted Tauriel first; he could not hear her speak of it as simply a task to prove his skills or save him from boredom.
"No," he snapped, so sharply that he surprised even himself. "I'm never going to make those, now. Leave them be!" He was nearly shouting.
Audha glanced up at him, her face blank and eyes wide, so clearly surprised and hurt by his outburst.
Just as suddenly as his anger had flared, it faded, replaced by a deep and painful guilt. Here he was, already ignoring and rejecting his future bride, just as he had feared he would. He was pushing her to become the affection-starved, miserable woman he had glimpsed once in a dream, and he hated himself intensely for it.
Tears glimmering in her eyes, Audha carefully set the sheaf of paper down on the desk.
Kíli caught her arm. "Audha, forgive me!" he sobbed. "I didn't mean— I'm sorry!"
Audha gazed at him, astonished anew.
He drew her hand awkwardly against his chest. "Audha, I want to care for you as you deserve. And you do deserve far better than what I've given. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want you to feel that I don't want you!" Kíli felt tears fall down over his face.
"Kíli," Audha gasped, shifting her arm in his grasp so that she might press her hand against him, a gesture that was somehow both comforting and desperate.
"And yet, the truth is," Kíli went on shakily, "I can't want anyone but her. I'm trying, oh, Maker, I'm trying to give myself to you. But I can't! I don't know how! Audha—"
"I know that you love her," Audha said softly. Her tears fell now, too. "You don't have to pretend otherwise. It will be easier for us both if you don't pretend."
"Easier?" Kíli demanded miserably. "Easier to ignore you, to injure you? Easier to hold another woman forever between us?"
Audha stared at him, unable to answer.
"I'm going to be your husband, Audha. You'll bear my children." Kíli let go of her arm and took her face gently between his hands. "If we are to be together, I wish I could make it better than this. I wish—" He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them to look directly into her own. "I wish I didn't love Tauriel." It hurt to say it, and yet everything would hurt so much less if he could disregard the feelings he couldn't change.
Audha looked back at him for several long moments, her expression clearing as if he suddenly meant something new to her.
"No; you mustn't say that," she said, her voice soft but firm.
"What?" Kíli asked, wretched. What was wrong with her that she wanted him to marry her while admitting to loving another?
"Kíli," Audha said, drawing his hands down from her face. "Your love for Tauriel is a precious thing. You must not wish it away."
"But it will only hurt us both," he protested weakly.
"Hush," she said, clasping his hands. "It cannot. Listen: I have seen how devoted you are to her. If I were loved as she is by you, I would want to know. I would want the chance to live with such love." Audha sighed, seemingly in relief. "Kíli, I release you."
Kíli thought his heart would stop from shock.
"What—" he stammered again.
Audha smiled slightly. "Yes, Kíli. Go marry her." Because he continued to stare, speechless, she added, "You don't believe I would care about love? It's true, I did once think love was at best, a luxury, and at worst, a foolish fancy, opposed to all honor and duty. But you and your family have taught me to think better."
"But your clan, the treaty—" Kíli protested out of a last sense of duty.
"I will tell my father I found we would make each other unhappy," she said reasonably. "Ambitious as he is, he is too good to force me against my wishes."
Kíli breathed deeply. Was this the end? Was he truly spared from the fate he had dreaded, the loveless marriage that would have forced him simultaneously to betray Tauriel and Audha both? He was free, suddenly and astonishingly free. The realization made him feel light, as if the weight of the mountain had been lifted from his chest. He could return to Tauriel, beyond all hope...
"Thank you, Audha," he said.
She smiled a little wistfully. "You know, if you'd ever truly been mine, I might be sorry to let you go."
"Um..." Kíli murmured. Should he apologize?
"It's just a compliment," Audha said warmly, as if guessing his confusion. Then she stood up on her toes and kissed his cheek above the edge of his beard, which had grown full and dark in the past few weeks. For once, he did not feel the urge to flinch away.
"May Mahal find you someone who deserves you far better than I," Kíli told her.
She flushed and looked aside. "Now, if you'll come back to my rooms, I'll return your first gift."
Kíli took her arm and moved with her to the door.
"Oh, and perhaps you should call one of your trusted friends. I've my Kára to witness, but you should bring someone, too."
"I will," he said, and then they went out from the workshop together.
Thorin was not surprised when, after the evening meal, Kíli asked to speak with him privately. Earlier in the day, Dwalin had off-handedly asked if Thorin had spoken to his nephew, though regarding what, the stern warrior had not specified. Thorin might not have thought any more of the matter, had he not noticed over dinner that Kíli seemed especially restless.
Now, in an empty parlor in the royal suite, Kíli was unguarded enough that Thorin could easily tell his nephew had not been this unsettled since that first sacrifice of Tauriel nearly two months earlier. He knew Kíli had been suffering Tauriel's loss since then, but it seemed something new distressed him now.
"Thorin, I don't know what to do," Kíli said as soon as the door had shut behind them. His furrowed brow clearly reflected his indecision.
"How so?" Thorin prompted. Not knowing what to do was seldom Kíli's problem; the impetuous young man usually seemed quite sure of what he wanted, whether or not his desire was one that could (or should) be followed. Thorin wondered if the truth were no different in this case.
"Audha refused me," Kíli said, watching his uncle keenly.
"Did she, now." The news was unexpected, but not, in fact, disastrous.
"I didn't ask her to do this," Kíli protested desperately.
"I know you did not," Thorin assured him. Kíli's dilemma was perfectly clear now: he wanted to return to his first love, yet felt that doing so would betray his word.
"Did Audha give a reason?" Thorin asked.
"She says I ought to be with Tauriel," Kíli admitted, sounding almost guilty.
"That, at least, does not surprise me."
"What?" Kíli's raised brows indicated that it surely had surprised him.
Thorin almost smiled at the knowledge that he had noticed what his nephew had not. "Oh, I did not foresee that she would turn you down, but... She seemed quite taken with the idea that your mother married for love and got two honorable sons out of the match."
"What should I do? Our marriage was the condition for securing her father's vote."
"I don't suppose there is much you can do if she won't have you," Thorin said thoughtfully. "The vote cannot be changed, and you've held true to your side of the agreement. I should think the far greater scandal would be for her father to defy the Khazad's eldest laws and traditions and force her to have you against her will."
Kíli swallowed, his face impassive as if he did not yet dare to hope. "You don't think..." he began. "I swore before the Council to take a dwarven bride, but I can't bear the thought. Would it be permissible for me to remain unwed?"
Thorin studied his nephew, impressed and not a little surprised that Kíli did not yet ask to be allowed to return to Tauriel, when it was quite certain he wanted nothing else. Was Kíli still afraid of endangering his brother's position by pursuing her?
"I don't mean to ask you to marry. You've already made your point to the Council," Thorin said.
Kíli nodded, the tension relaxing perceptibly from the set of his shoulders. "Thank you." His expression was still subdued, but for the first time in months, the desperation was gone from his eyes.
You've said nothing of Tauriel, Thorin was about to say, and then stopped himself. If he had been the only one who would have to defend Kíli's marriage to an elf, he would offer Kíli his sanction here and now. He had been sure for some time that Kíli deserved her and that losing her had broken his heart. Let the other clans complain and be damned; Thorin was ready to argue that he saw the good of his kin and kingdom more clearly than they.
But Kíli was not only Thorin's heir; he would be Fíli's heir, as well, not only until such time as Fíli had sons of his own, but afterwards, should Fíli's line falter. Thus it would not be fair to leave Fíli the difficulty of defending his brother's unconventional marriage without Fíli's own knowledge and consent. Almost certainly Fíli would support his brother in this, as he did in nearly every other case; yet Thorin knew it was right that he speak to Fíli first.
"We can announce Audha's refusal at the next meeting of my council," was all Thorin said. "The news will travel fast enough from there."
Kíli said, "Dwalin witnessed her return of my betrothal gift."
So that was how their cousin had known of this development. "I'll make sure he is present," Thorin affirmed.
"Thank you, Uncle," Kíli said again, and then after a few moments' silence, moved for the door.
Thorin caught Kíli's shoulder as he passed. "You needn't thank me, lad," he said. "I know I've done many things wrong, but I have always wanted good for you."
"I know," Kíli answered and returned his uncle's embrace.
"She refused him?" Fíli started up from his chair and stared at his uncle, incredulity and relief surging within him. He had hardly expected such news when he'd been called to Thorin's rooms tonight.
"I understand she took pity on his broken heart," Thorin said, a smile quirking the edge of his mouth as he stood facing his nephew.
Fíli laughed for sudden joy. "Kí always did have that look to melt your heart," he said. "And he can't hide his feelings. Audha would have needed a heart of adamant to resist him."
Thorin chuckled. "I imagine so. I know my own is not so hard."
Fíli's own laugh died in his throat then. "You mean you—" He paced towards Thorin, then stopped, afraid to hope too far. It was enough that Kíli was saved from an unhappy match.
Thorin said drily, "It's quite clear to me that your brother will never be fully himself without Tauriel."
"No," Fíli agreed, feeling more astonished by the moment. He knew Thorin felt sympathy for Kíli, but he had not expected to hear such sudden support for a match with Tauriel when it had recently been the cause of so much contention.
"Fíli, do you think I can't see how much he loves her?" Thorin returned, a hint of amusement coloring his tone now. "I'm not going to deny Kíli this new chance to have her. I love him too well to wish him such a disappointment now."
Fíli said, "I never thought you wanted this for him. But I'm still surprised—"
"That I take his side now? Don't be. I've seen quite clearly in the past month that I'm losing a nephew. And if your brother remains this downcast, then the kingdom will soon lose its prince, as well. Kíli's strength is serving those he loves. Force him against his loyalties, and he'll do no good for anyone."
"No," Fíli agreed, relieved that Thorin, too, saw how much Kíli's sacrifice was hurting him.
"Before I give Kíli my sanction, I had to be sure you approved. I'm not the only king who will have to explain why he allowed his heir to marry an elf," Thorin said.
Fíli grasped Thorin's arm. "Of course I do! You know I don't want to see Kíli like this for the rest of his life," he protested with a wry smile. "The person he's been since all of this started— That's only half of my brother." The honorable, strong, persevering half, but not the lighthearted, eager—yes, sometimes reckless—half. That part of Kíli had disappeared along with the bright young woman who had called to it. "And so you'll just disregard the Council's concerns and tell him to marry her?"
Thorin caught his nephew's smile. "The dragon is dead, and I am King Under the Mountain. I know the good of my own people better than some lords from the Orocarni Mountains, and I may countenance what I choose in Erebor."
Fíli laughed and released Thorin's sleeve. This was the uncle he had followed and would readily have given his life for, if it had been asked: a man assured of his authority and undaunted when it came to acting on what was right. In this last respect, Thorin was very much like Kíli.
"You don't think we'll lose the Blacklock's friendship over this?" Fíli added after a moment. Lord Andvari's displeasure was the only real obstacle he could see.
"I'll honor our agreements no less than before," Thorin returned. "If Andvari is upset, it must be with his daughter, not with us. Yet I've a sense she's strong enough to hold her own against him."
"Audha is confident when she knows what she wants," Fíli said. First with himself and then with his brother, Audha had fully proven mistress of herself.
"Fíli." Thorin's expression grew mildly troubled. "When I asked you to marry Audha, I didn't know about Sif."
"I didn't mean for you to."
"I've always wanted to give you and your brother what you deserve: a kingdom, a home. For you, a crown. You were born to be a king." Thorin's face softened in a wistful smile. "I told your mother so the first time I saw you with your little golden head against her breast."
Fíli flushed. He knew what they'd sometimes said about him, back in Ered Luin: that the color of his hair foretold a crown. The thought seemed so fantastical back then, a distant, romantic hope, not a reality.
Thorin said, "I've been chasing this kingdom all my life, fighting to regain what my father and grandfather lost. I didn't have the heart for a wife or a family, not of my own. And so while I knew you must choose them one day, your mother was right: I did not understand how much they could matter."
Fíli nodded, momentarily unable to answer. He'd known his uncle did not mean to disregard his nephew's own hopes, but it was good to hear Thorin's words now.
Thorin added, "I'm well aware that if I had kept my pledge to Branca, you would not have been in the position you were, nearly forced to give up the girl you love. Forgive me."
"I do," Fíli managed.
"And thank Mahal he shapes our lives better than we do ourselves."
"Indeed." Fíli had been thinking much the same thing. His life and Sif's had been quite unexpectedly redeemed from disappointment and loss once already, and now with Audha's choice, Kíli, too, was freed. It was almost too much to take in.
"You know I couldn't care more for you if you'd been my own son," Thorin said.
"I know." Fíli bowed his head, and Thorin touched his brow to his nephew's.
Then Thorin smiled slightly, the beginning of the mischievous smirk that mirrored Dís and Kíli's own.
"Now for Durin's sake, send your brother to see me."
Author's note:
And the tide turns at long last! Thank you for sticking with me for a good six solid chapters of angst. I've been setting up for this chapter all that time, but it couldn't be rushed. So what do you think of this development? I'd love to hear! I know some of you predicted this turn, in whole or in part.
Massive thanks to That Elf Girl, who was brave enough to tell me that the first draft of Audha and Kíli's scene wasn't interesting enough. She was right, and I completely rewrote it.
Response to my Guest reviewer from 8/14 who asked if this fic has Kiliel as the endgame: Thank you for your kindly-worded question and your praise for my fic. I really wanted to respond to you earlier, but couldn't because it was a guest review. I hope this chapter gives the hint you wanted about whether there's any hope for our leading couple to be together! I sympathize with your concern; I love Kili and Tauriel as a couple, too, and wouldn't want to invest a lot of time reading a fic that ends in tragedy. There may be a bit more drama to come, but a tragedy this story ain't. Thank you for reading, and I'd love to hear from you again!
Bonus Meta Nonsense
As I was writing this chapter, I realized that poor Kíli has had to be physically ill quite a few times in my fics (twice in this one, once in my Modern Quest series). I was joking with the Lone Knight that I was expecting a letter of complaint from Kíli any day, and we both thought that was such a funny idea that I actually wrote the letter, along with a response. The honeymoon fic referred to is "Beneath the Moon, Beneath the Sun." (Yeah, even I needed a break from writing angst.)
Dear Authoress and her Muse,
I am writing to protest working conditions in So Comes Snow. My contract clearly states this is to be a Romance with Happy Resolution. However, recent chapters have left me very Discouraged. I have attempted to keep my spirits up, but you can appreciate how Difficult that is when the text frequently calls for me to be violently Ill. And please do not make the mistake of thinking the Affliction any less Distressing for me because it occurs off-page or in the past. It is not. If you could at least see to it that I do not empty the contents of my Stomach in chapter 22, I will do my best to Persevere through the other Trials of Love which have been set for me.
Yours humbly,
Kíli, Prince of Erebor
###
Dear Kíli,
I'm very sorry about the miseries, both physical and emotional, that you have endured for my tale, and I assure you that I admire the courage you have shown in the face of overwhelming narrative conflict. I can tell you, without risking spoilers, that the plot will not require any puking from here on out. I know this is a difficult time in your plot arc, which is why I have written you two minor standalone fluff scenes with your future wife that should cheer you up while we continue producing SCSAF. Hang in there.
Love from,
Moonraykir and her Muse, Dream
P.S. If you need to rant to someone about the star-crossed lovers gig, Dream is your man. He's been through it in his own story, too.