When Kíli accompanied Tauriel home in the fall, there had been no question of slipping unannounced past the forest borders. For one thing, Kíli had brought a small group of his nearest kin with him: elvish betrothals were a celebration between the two families about to be joined. But more important, he wanted to prove himself a respectful and courteous neighbor king. Kíli could hardly sneak in and steal away with his elven bride. First, he would have to formally present himself to the Elvenking.

Kíli had never met Thranduil. After the Battle of Five Armies, Kíli had been too hurt to see anyone for some days, and Balin and Daín had managed things in his absence. And before, when he and his companions had been held captive in Mirkwood, only Thorin had been given an audience with the Elvenking.

Afterwards, his uncle had said little of the meeting, a fact which was sure enough proof of how badly it had gone. All Kíli knew was that Thranduil had refused to acknowledge Thorin's kingship. But if Thranduil had treated Thorin with haughty scorn, Thorin was more than capable of matching it. Doubtless, the meeting had resulted in bruised pride on both sides.

Kíli was glad he did not know what had been said then. He felt the meeting could be awkward enough without remembered insults between him and his erstwhile captor.

"What if he laughs in my face?" Kíli had asked Tauriel when she came to find him in his guest rooms. He had a sudden fear that Thorin, even half-covered in spider webs, had presented a more imposing figure than he could.

"Then you must stand up to him," Tauriel said. "But I do not think he will laugh."

"I'd teach the poncy elf how he's to treat the King Under the Mountain," Dwalin growled behind him, and Kíli smiled, grateful for the sentiment and mostly sure that his cousin didn't mean to act on his words, much as he might have liked to.

"You look quite fine," Tauriel assured Kíli, tucking a piece of hair back behind his circlet with its seven jeweled stars. "And your manners are handsome, as well. Thranduil could not scorn you without dishonor to himself."

Tauriel was grateful Thranduil had chosen one of the reception rooms for the meeting, rather than the grand throne room. It meant he did not intend to overawe his guests. Given his pleasure in an imposing presence, Tauriel took his choice as an encouraging sign.

Thranduil was alone when she and Kíli entered.

"Majesty." Tauriel dropped a graceful curtsey. "May I present his majesty Kíli, King Under the Mountain."

Kíli gave a half bow which was respectful but not overly deferent, a fitting gesture from one king to another. Thranduil returned the courtesy.

"Welcome to the Woodland Realm," the Elvenking said, and though his eyes showed that the irony of the moment was not lost on him, there was no mockery in his tone.

Thranduil was the tallest elf Kíli had ever seen, or at least he seemed it with his long white-gold hair and trailing silver robe. He held himself tall and proud, fully capable of looming over one without seeming to try. Kíli wondered if he would have had the courage to set his eye on any elf maid if the first elves he had met had been anything like this woodland king. But Tauriel was nothing like him, he thought, save perhaps in her unconscious grace.

"I am honored," Kíli returned.

"I trust you find our hospitality somewhat mended of late," Thranduil continued, and this time there was humor in his voice.

Kíli smiled, both relieved and amused that the elf had acknowledged the less than ideal nature of their past relations. Emboldened, he admitted, "It may be more than I deserve. I'm afraid I took no care for the order of your kingdom when I subverted the loyalty of your captain."

Tauriel felt her cheeks burning.

The Elvenking regarded him stonily for a few moments, and Kíli feared he had gone too far. Then the elf laughed, not unkindly. "I have found that loyalty is not to be commanded, but given." The suggestion of a smile flitted over his lips. "Let us call our debts even and speak no more of it."

Kíli nodded. "I will do so happily, with hopes of greater friendship between the Wood and the Mountain than there has been."

"You speak in accordance with my will."

Kíli went on, "I must ask your pardon on one count, however." If the Elvenking had taken the jest, he could not be offended now, when Kíli spoke in earnest. "I have no intention of dismissing your captain's loyalty. In fact, I have come to claim it fully for myself."

Though he was never afterwards able to explain it, Kíli thought that the Elvenking's expression was momentarily wistful.

"How should I prevent you?" Thranduil said, his tone unreadable. Kili did not know how to answer, and it was Tauriel who broke the silence.

"Thank you, my lord."

"That is fine work," the Elvenking noted, his eyes falling on the green jewel that glinted from her open collar. "A king does not give such gifts lightly."
Tauriel nodded, remembering the gems Thranduil had sought so eagerly from the dragon's treasure hoard. Their return had been the hobbit's final act of reconciliation between her people and the dwarves after the battle had been won. What had been their significance to the king? she wondered.

"I wish you a peaceful stay," Thranduil said, turning to Kíli once more.

Kíli thanked him and returned the Elvenking's bow. It was not till Kíli and Tauriel stood outside the audience chamber that he noticed his hand had found its way into hers.

Kíli and Tauriel had laughed, afterwards, at how awkwardly the betrothal feast had begun. Everyone had been on their best behavior—indeed, painfully so. At first, neither her family nor his had known what to say to the other, and there had been a lot of awkward staring and bowing, as well as small-talk that seemed largely at cross purposes. The dwarves had not known how to answer remarks about the color of this autumn's leaves and the elves had been equally perplexed by the dwarves' observations that the mineral content in the forest hills was quite promising.

Nonetheless, Tauriel's parents had very politely introduced themselves to Balin, Dwalin, and Daín, Gloín, and Ori, whom Kíli had brought to represent his family at this meeting of their houses. Thankfully, no-one had seemed offended that his mother had remained at home according to the customary protectiveness which the dwarves showed their women.

Formal greetings concluded, Tauriel and Kíli had declared their intention to be wed and exchanged the silver rings that symbolized their troth.

The atmosphere had relaxed somewhat once the feast had begun and the wine was passed. Tauriel was grateful for Silwen, whose easy familiarity had helped lead the interactions between the two houses. There had been a confused moment when Gilfaron had wondered if the toast "May your ears grow ever longer" was meant as an insult or not, but on the whole, things had gone off rather well.

"Thank you for doing this for me," Tauriel told Kíli when they were alone. "And now you needn't pretend you're not relieved it's over." She smiled conspiratorially. "You're not the only one."

He chuckled. "I think our families will get along, as soon as they stop being confused by each other." After a moment, he added, "You know, we're twice betrothed, so I think that means we have to be twice married, don't you?"

"I suppose it must. Make me your dwarf bride and I shall have you my elf lord," she agreed. "You realize that as my betrothed you have the right to escort me to the Feast of Starlight tomorrow. Will you?"

"Proudly."

Tauriel felt the new weight of the solid silver ring on his hand as he caught her neck and drew himself up to kiss her. She knew Kíli had once been embarrassed that he had to reach to meet her lips, as if doing so had made his desire all too obvious, but now the action seemed as unconscious as breathing. She found she liked the way he had to pull her to him, for it made the gesture somewhat urgent, immediate, a reminder to value each moment they had been given.

"I love you," she whispered, and he echoed the words back to her.

"So this is what it's like for you every day in Erebor." Kíli gazed around the vast halls, which were crowded with elves wearing their finest. "I don't think I've been giving you enough credit for courage."

"If it's too overwhelming, I'm sure your old cell is still open," Tauriel suggested teasingly.

"Would I get you all to myself?"

She shook her head. "I'm staying here, but I'd send you a minstrel to keep you company!"

"Well, in that case—" Kíli linked his arm in hers and let her lead him down into the hall.

He had never seen so many lanterns. There were amber and green ones strung among the carved pillars of the hall, giving everything a warm glow. Higher, in the far vault of the ceiling, smaller lights shone in blue and silver and red.

And the people! He thought he had seen all there was to know of elves during their stay in Rivendell. Elrond's folk had been quiet and reserved before their dwarven guests; they had spoken little—though they had been generous and polite—and had left Kíli and his friends mostly to themselves. Kíli had supposed elves must always be so aloof even amongst their own kind, but here he saw he had been mistaken. These people were talking and laughing—indeed, making quite as merry as any dwarves or even the humans that he had seen. They were maybe a little more refined about it, but Kíli could not doubt they were having a very good time.

There was plenty of good food and drink, as he soon discovered: little game pies, roast venison, and smoked salmon, some mushrooms that Kíli was not quite sure he trusted the look of, and lots of acorn bannocks to mop up the juices and wash everything down. For desert, there were candied nuts and apple tarts topped with pastry leaves. And of course, there had been wine, and crisp cider, and a mead brewed with the summer's last crop of blackberries.

Kíli was finishing a third apple tart when the music, which had filled the hall since they arrived, clearly changed from subtle background notes to a more insistent dancing beat. Tauriel gave him an eager smile. "Are you ready to learn some elvish dances?"

"Of course!" He brushed the last pastry crumbs from his fingers and took her hand.

Tauriel found Silwen already partnered with Voronwë on the dancing floor, and she and Kíli joined them to make the set of partners that the dance required. The dance's balanced, parallel figures proved rather less intricate than they had first looked, and after several repeats of the pattern, Kíli had grasped the basic movements well enough to take his attention off his own feet and flash Tauriel a smile.

Her answering look of happiness told him how much it meant to her that he was at her side to celebrate this festival among her own people, and Kíli suddenly stopped caring what anyone would think if he missed a step or forgot a figure. Let the rest think him a fool if they wanted; he had all the approval he needed from her eyes alone.

They danced a second set with another couple, and then Tauriel had traded him to another partner, a young elf woman who regarded him with silent curiosity, but who proved an excellent lead in the unfamiliar dance. When it was over, she favored him with a shy smile. "Your majesty dances quite well," she said with a curtsey, and then, blushing, had let her previous partner claim her again.

Kíli chuckled to himself, remembering how he had spent the whole of his stay in Rivendell trying to elicit a smile from the dark-eyed harpist, who had resolutely ignored him to the end. He'd told himself she was too embarrassed to acknowledge his charm, which was better than supposing she had found him thoroughly repellent. If anything, his failure then had prompted him to take a more proactive approach with the lovely red-headed guard captain of Mirkwood. He wasn't sure if this maiden now had found him pleasant or just unusual, but her self-conscious courtesy had reminded Kíli just how monumentally audacious he'd really been to try for any elf-girl's attention.

He had danced next with Silwen, and then the two of them had agreed they needed a drink. As they were turning back to the dance floor with their glasses, Kíli noticed that Tauriel was partnered with the blond elven prince.

The dance was a slower one, and Legolas was speaking to her as he led her through the steps. Their earnest conversation and their ignorance of the people about them gave their dance an unusual intimacy. Kíli noted unhappily how Legolas's hand rested at her waist, then on her arm.

Tauriel had said Legolas was like the brother she had always wanted, Kíli tried to tell himself. And yet, that thought only made him more annoyed because it reminded him that Legolas had already known Tauriel longer than Kíli ever would, and that the elf would still be there after Kíli was gone. That was what really nettled him: it was not enough that Legolas should expect to have the rest of eternity with her, but he had to be at her side now, as if he were mocking Kíli with that fact. If Kíli weren't supposed to behave like a king, he'd show that smug prince just what he thought.

He sighed and finished his glass of cider at a single draught. Looking up, he saw Silwen watching him, her expression slightly concerned.

"Um, I'm fine," he said awkwardly as she glanced past him at her friend and the prince. He felt, then, how unreasonable he'd been. "Let's get another drink." He took her arm in his and lead her back to the taproom.

"I'm glad I could see you tonight," Legolas told Tauriel as he turned her under his arm. When her eyes met his again, he continued. "I'm leaving in the morning, and I can't say when I will be back."

Tauriel nearly faltered in her next step. "Leaving the Greenwood? For where?"

He could only nod before she turned aside to weave about the other couple in their set.

Where will you go? It was the question she was grateful Thranduil's pardon had saved her from asking. Though for her, there had been someone who would have given her the answer she needed: Kíli had already asked her to follow him. But Legolas had no-one to follow, and she was half afraid he was running from her because he could not bear to see her with someone else. The thought bothered her, though she could not say if it was from guilt, or sadness, or some other reason.

Legolas had said nothing about her betrothal, though Tauriel knew he had noticed her ring immediately. Indeed, each time their hands met, his hand seemed awkward in hers, as if the slender band of silver had changed the feel of her hand or made it belong to someone else.

"I'm riding for Imladris," Legolas explained when she rejoined him. "I want to make it before the snows close the mountain pass."

Why? she wanted to ask, but was afraid to know the answer.

He smiled slightly, as if reading the question in her face. "You showed me there is a world beyond our borders and that it matters what passes there. I can't stay here any more than you can."

Tauriel flushed; so he admitted it was to do with her.

"Surely your father does not approve," she said when the dance next permitted.

Legolas's smile was complete this time. "Surprisingly, he sends me with his blessing."

Tauriel regarded him wonderingly. "Your father has changed since that day on the battlefield."

"Have not we all?" he asked tonelessly.

Tauriel dropped her eyes from his, hurt as if by an accusation.

They parted to allow their partners to take a turn between them.

"I give you joy on your betrothal," Legolas said as he moved to her side. When he took her hand again, he held it with a gentle, steady pressure so that she looked back to his face at last. His eyes were clouded, and she could not guess if his earlier remark had been an intentional gibe or not. "I do not think I shall see your wedding, but I wish you a happy one." She could tell the words were hard for him.

"Thank you," Tauriel managed after a moment. She wanted to believe he was not merely making up for the offense—of course he meant what he said now—but she was still stung by his words that had been carelessly or clumsily spoken.

They had reached the end of the dance pattern and the music faded, but Legolas did not release her hands.

"Forgive me, Tauriel," he said, and still he held her as the couples about them broke up. "I l— I leave you now." She did not think that was what he had begun to say. Then Legolas bowed over her hand and left her without looking back at her face.

Tauriel stood for a moment in the confusion of the dance floor, watching Legolas's retreating back and wanting to scream.

After a few moments, she turned about, somewhat bewildered, and looked for Kíli. He was no longer among the dancing couples, and it took her some minutes to find him and Silwen near the taproom drinking cider. Kíli's expression lightened noticeably when he saw her approaching, and he left his glass and came to her, taking her hands.

"Tauriel, you look miserable," he said sympathetically.

"I— Legolas—" She sighed, exasperated, not sure she wanted to explain. Kíli's eyes were so warm as they met hers. "Well, he's an ass," she finished impulsively.

Kíli breathed a laugh and then looked embarrassed.

"What?" Tauriel prompted, curiosity momentarily overcoming her frustration.

"Oh, nothing, I—" Kíli began evasively, then catching the true distress still hiding behind her look, he went on, "I was feeling jealous of him just now."

"Oh, Kíli!" A smile broke over her face. "You mustn't!" She squeezed his hands. "No one else will ever have what I am giving you."

He smiled up at her, self conscious. "I know. I'm afraid we dwarves are prone to be jealous without cause."

Tauriel nudged his cheek fondly. "You do no worse than any elf."

The night had ended in singing. The lanterns of gold and green which had lit the hall suddenly faded and went out, leaving the smaller lights in the high vaulted ceiling twinkling like a sky full of stars. The revelers had all fallen silent, listening to the voices, sometimes single, sometimes in chorus, that now drifted through the halls from somewhere unseen.

Kíli had never heard elvish voices in songs quite like this, haunting and clear and filled with images he could almost, but not quite, glimpse. Tauriel had whispered to tell him what the songs were about: the elves' earliest memories of a lake and a sky both filled with stars, the long years of their youth in twilight before the lighting of sun and moon, and a mariner who sailed with a sacred jewel on his brow. Kíli had listened, entranced and overcome by the fair voices that told of beauty from a time before his own forefathers had woken beneath the stone. He remembered stories from his own childhood, of the dangers to folk who chanced upon elvish singing and were caught by its spell, never after to find joy in their own lives. There was little exaggeration to the tale, he decided; he did not think he would ever forget this music.

The elves all around him joined their voices in the final song, which he later learned had been a hymn to Elbereth, the kindler of the stars. Kíli had gazed on Tauriel in wonder and delight. Her upturned face reflected the soft glow of the distant lanterns, though her eyes seemed filled with some other, fairer light; and Kíli felt, more keenly than ever before, how little worthy he was to aspire to a creature so lovely and so high above him. She walks in starlight in another world, he'd said once, and he knew it was true.

And then she glanced down at him, and when she sang, he knew it was to him. He still did not understand the words, but he felt them lift him to that place where she was and include him in the vision of sacred light.

Kíli felt tears on his face, but he did not brush them away.

The two of them had made their way back from the feast in silence. Near Kíli's door, they had paused, hand in hand, and after some time, Kíli had said, "I feel quite drunk on elvish magic."

Tauriel laughed gently. "Tonight was a heady vintage."

"Thank you."

"Happy birthday," she said, and kissed him, long and soft.

"Good night."

Author's Note:

Thanks for waiting for this chapter! This one gave me so much trouble; I think I started it two or three times before I managed anything I liked.

I really hope the extended BotFA resolves the whole subplot about the white gems Thranduil wanted to recover. The idea that Bilbo would have returned them was inspired by The Tolkien Professor's podcast review of BotFA; Dr. Olsen suggested that it would make sense since in the book, Bilbo gives the Elvenking a necklace as thanks for the "hospitality" of the elves while Bilbo was invisibly burgling them during the stay in Mirkwood. (I really recommend said podcast; Dr. Olsen is a very well-read Tolkien scholar and a medievalist, and his commentary on Tolkien is thoughtful and insightful. I'm listening to his Silmarillion seminar right now and it's pretty great. He also has a book called Understanding JRR Tolkien's The Hobbit, which is fantastic. Yes, as a literature grad student, I get pretty nerdy about really good secondary literature and criticism.)

I've slipped in a little traditional faerie lore regarding the elves; I think it's appropriate, since the wood elves in The Hobbit actually very much resemble their faerie antecedents, what with their magic midnight feasting and their forest with its enchanted river and snow white hart.