Author's Note: By request (as if I needed an excuse), the wedding of Kíli and Tauriel. I had a lot of fun (and took a lot of liberties) in designing the Elvish and Dwarvish wedding traditions. I wanted it to feel familiar, but also as though it could fit into Middle Earth, and I've drawn inspiration from my own heritage as well as from the designs of the Lord of the Rings films.

An additional note on language: I will not claim to be fluent in either Silvan or Neo-Khuzdul, though once again, I had a lot of fun researching it. I've used words in those languages only where I felt they were accurate and necessary, and otherwise wrote in English. The translations are:

Amrâlimê, Khuzdul, my love.

A'maelamin, Silvan, my beloved.

(If any of you reading this are fluent, or more fluent than I am, and at any point notice a mistake in my grammar, spelling, or syntax, please do not hesitate to let me know.)

The Wedding of Kíli and Tauriel

Part One - Preparation

Kíli had thought that the hardest part of arranging to marry Tauriel would be getting Thorin and Thanduil to both agree to allow it, but those negotiations are nothing compared to the politics of reconciling Elvish and Dwarvish traditions into one ceremony.

"We shall have a few rehearsals," Balin tells him, "to go over the vows and the order of the service and such." Suddenly Kíli regrets asking him to officiate. Balin is a stickler for tradition, and his sense of honor and duty to Thorin and Dís, not to mention Erebor at large, will not allow him to make this occasion anything less than perfect.

"I don't see why we need to rehearse it." Kíli drags a finger through the fine dust settled on the table, practicing the Tengwar characters of Tauriel's name. In the next few days, he will engrave them onto a delicate ring for her, since this is what Elves exchange to symbolize their vows, and although he is not a jeweler himself, he does not trust this last detail to any other Dwarf. "They're just vows."

"Ah, and I suppose you've become a Khuzdul scholar since we've settled in." Balin gives Kíli a stern stare over the contract he is finalizing; Thranduil has sent it back four times already, over disagreements in wording. "This would be an awfully embarrassing occasion to forget your syntax, lad, and you still mostly speak it in the dialect of the Blue Mountains."

Appropriately chastised, Kíli stops drawing and sighs. "I will practice," he says. "And I'll help Tauriel with the pronunciations."

"That is absolutely out of the question," Thorin growls, speaking up for the first time since they'd sat down to start discussing arrangements. "Traditions be damned, Balin, we'll be doing that part in Westron anyway."

"I can learn it!" Kíli insists. "And so can she!"

"This isn't about either of you, it's about the hundred or so others of her kin who will be in attendance." Thorin runs a hand through his silver-streaked hair distractedly, and his next words are somewhat softer. "There are a lot of laws that I am willing to bend for you lad, even a few I would break, but that is not one of them."

Kíli chews his lip for a moment, wondering if he should tell his uncle that Tauriel is already starting to learn some Khuzdul simply by nature of hearing it spoken. She surprises him nearly every day with a new word or phrase, and though her accent is, at times, atrocious, he is fairly certain that she is becoming fluent in the Dwarves' secret language faster than he is.

"Then the last thing we need to discuss," Balin says, bringing Kíli sharply out of his thoughts and back to the present company, "is your bridal gift. Or are you considering those rings to fulfill that part?"

"No," Kíli answers, "a single ring wouldn't be wealth enough, even Fíli would laugh at me."

"It is a fine thing you've designed for her, lad." Balin is obviously trying to make him feel better about not already having this completed. Most Dwarves who plan to marry complete their gift long before they even have a Dwarrowdam in mind, and with only two weeks to go before the ceremonies, Kíli is running out of time to make any of the traditional crafts. "And as long as you have a hand in it's making, technically it can qualify."

Kíli hesitates for a moment, then blurts out, "I did have one idea, but I have no idea how I would go about executing it."

"Alright, let's hear it then."

Kíli glances between his uncle and Balin and back, then outlines his plan. Thorin nods approvingly.

"It's a grand scheme, to be sure. But if you can make it work, I shall of course give you what you need."

"You should talk to Bofur," Balin adds. Kíli turns to him with raised eyebrows.

"Bofur?" he asks. "Why?"

"Because he is a toy maker, and it's made him quite clever with mirrors."

#

There are nights when Kíli wakes in a tangled pile of sweat-soaked bedding, from nightmares where he is back on Ravenhill, but his arrow does not strike the pale orc in time to save his brother's life; or else he in the wrong place entirely, in a tunnel far below while Fíli is dangled off the edge above him. He closes his eyes, the hiss of Black Speech echoing inside his head, and when he opens them again it is to the sight of his brother's lifeless body, blue eyes cold and staring, almost accusing, calling out to Kíli against his better sense to be avenged. These are the nights he goes to Tauriel. She understands him better than the others. It's unusual for Dwarves to have dreams like these, especially recurring ones. When he confides to Fíli about them, his brother simply laughs (which does make him feel better, in it's own way) and tells him that he is spending too much time among the Elves, that their magic is affecting him.

Tauriel's small room is sparser than most in Erebor. There is a desk with a few books in one corner, and windows leading to shafts cut into the walls high above, designed to let in what little natural light can be found inside the mountain. Her weapons are hung neatly on the far wall, and a single silk tapestry covers the bed. She is frequently awake, regardless of the late hour, but tonight she is stretched languidly on the mattress, looking for all the world like she is asleep, except that her green eyes are open and alert. She pushes herself up on one arm to better look at him.

"I thought you were on guard tonight," she says, as he makes his way across the room to her. Her eyes roam his body, taking in his loose tunic and bare feet, and she smiles, shifting on the bed to make room for him. "Obviously I was mistaken. Were you having dreams again?"

"No," he answers, climbing up beside her. "I mean, yes, I did, but that's not the trouble." He tries to explain about his meeting with Balin and Thorin, and the newest complications, without giving too much away. She frowns at the mention of a bridal gift.

"You do not have to buy my love with gems," she tells him, pushing a stray lock of hair out of his face. "You have always had it."

"I know that. But I'm expected to. And I do want to," he adds hastily, not wanting her to misinterpret his first excuse. He sighs and settles his head into the crook of her arm. "It's just… the more I find out we have to do, the more tempted I am to run off with you on the next caravan that comes to Erebor, and get married far away from here."

She laughs lightly and settles back against the mattress herself. "Then it is a good thing no caravans are due until after winter," she tells him. "Though I won't say I'm not tempted by the idea."

"We could have a nice simple wedding somewhere like the Shire," he murmurs sleepily. "I bet Hobbits know how to throw a good party for something like that. Bilbo certainly did."

#

The day before the wedding is to take place, Tauriel disappears, going into seclusion with the women of her people. This is not a surprise to Kíli, but her absence does make him somewhat anxious. There was no one, though, who had expected his mother to go with her.

"I don't get it," Kíli mutters, pacing across the sitting room. "She doesn't even like Tauriel."

"I don't think that has anything to do with it." Thorin is just as perplexed as the rest of them, but at least somewhat calmer about it, having spoken to his sister before her departure. "Her exact words were, 'I won't leave any future daughter of mine alone with a bunch of Elves.'"

"But Tauriel is an Elf."

"That's what I said." Thorin reaches out and grabs Kíli's arm, forcing him to stop walking and meet his uncle's gaze. "Don't try to make sense of it, lad. Women will always speak a different language than the rest of us. Get your mind off it. Go finish your gift."

#

They have done everything they can to bring Kíli's plan to fruition, he has checked and triple checked every measurement, every angle… but this is beyond any of their control. Kíli glances at the sky, full of roiling clouds, and lets loose a colorful string of Khuzdul swears.

"It's a good thing you settled on having the ceremony underground," Bofur, ever the optimist, says, following Kíli's gaze. "Imagine having an Elvish wedding with this storm blowing in. Didn't they want to have you two standing in a clearing in the forest? Don't see how they can do it."

"Elves are always married in the light of the full moon," Kíli explains. "If you put off your ceremony for rain you'd have to wait another month. I think if I had to wait another day with these nerves I'd go mad, never mind four whole weeks."

"Well, it's definitely a full moon," Bofur replies. "Somewhere up there."

Kíli sighs and lifts a hand to run it through his hair until Fíli slaps it away.

"Stop that," he says. "You're going to mess up your braids, and mother is going to have my head if you don't look as perfect as your She-Elf." He too glances up at the sky, and claps Kíli on the back with a joking smile. "Maybe you'll get lucky and they'll get caught in the rain coming in. Mahal, but I'd love to see the Elvenking show up to your wedding with his pretty hair all mussed and mud on his robes. He'd never hear the end of it, not from three generations of Dwarves."

Kíli tries to laugh at his brother's joke, but finds that his throat is too tight. He lowers his gaze from the sky to the horizon, and as if on queue sees a host of tall, graceful beings appear over the crest of the hill, making their way towards Erebor. They carry lanterns that glow with a soft, blue-white light, and their voices are raised in whispering song that still manages to carry across the plain. Somewhere in the middle of that procession, Tauriel is veiled in silver lace, walking under a canopy of green silk, hidden from all eyes until she will come to stand before Kíli. His mouth goes dry.

A flash of lightning illuminates the landscape, throwing everything into sharp relief. Kíli mutters another choice phrase he learned from Thorin. This isn't the kind of light he'd planned on having.

"You never know," Bofur says, unfazed by Kíli's language. "It's coming in pretty fast, might blow over by the time we actually finish the ceremony."

Kíli doesn't respond. Fíli shakes his head, grabs his brother by the shoulders, and turns him forcibly back toward the passage into the mountain.

"Come on then, lover boy," he says, pushing his brother forward. "You've got to be down there before that procession gets in, and you just had to pick a chamber that's part of the mines, didn't you?"

"I swear it will make sense before the night's over." Before Fíli can drag him off the ledge, Kíli twists around to look at the sky one last time. A single boom of thunder rolls across the plain. He grimaces. This is not going as he planned at all. "At least, I hope it will."