26: 'Til We Meet Again

By the time they made it back to the dilapidated warehouse, the moon was already high in the sky. As the four of them burst through the door, Ruari jumped up from what looked like a distinctly uncomfortable position to sleep in and looked around with wild eyes.

"Mahal, give an old Dwarf a bloody break! First you let me think that you've probably perished in whatever hell has been going on in the town earlier, and then you just waltz in here with the clear intention of giving me a heart attack!"

Ingolf limped over to the Dwarf and clapped him on his shoulder. "Come now, you are not that old."

Ruari glared up at him from underneath a mop of ginger hair that was even messier than usual after his nap. "You are not even going to deny the other two things, then?"

"No," Ingolf grinned. "It is good to see you though, my friend."

Grumbling a few more complaints into his beard, Ruari crossed over to the side of the cart where he pretended to check the fastenings of the tarp covering it in a poor attempt to hide the smile tugging at his lips.

While they had been gone, Ruari had evidently not been idle. The back of the cart had been loaded with a modest number of provisions as well as a couple of tattered but warm looking blankets. Also, the symbol of a sun carved into the wood just above the wheel had been modified and was now part of a larger carving of a dragon. The tarp, once green, had been replaced with a nondescript, gray one.

"I never expected you to be so housewively," Kíli commented as he sifted through the provisions Ruari had gathered.

"Shut up or I'll have you pull the cart instead of Bertha and Nibbles."

Kíli's face lit up. "Bertha and Nibbles? Seriously?"

If Ruari's reply was an actual word and not just a threatening growl it had to be one in their own tongue, for Tauriel could make neither heads nor tails of it. Kíli could, apparently, and fell quiet after a few more moments of stifled laughter.

Tauriel looked around their small group. For the first time, they were all in one place without any bars to separate them.

"Are we doing this, then?"

Her question was met with smiles which betrayed the same sort of giddy anticipation currently sending her own nerves aflutter. Kíli reached for her hand and squeezed.

"Aye, it would appear that we are."

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Despite their delay, the night was still young enough for the streets of Riavod to be empty. A few hours later, traders would be flocking to the markets in the town center and down by the harbor, but as Bertha and Nibbles pulled their cart across squares and through the wider alleys, they encountered barely a soul.

Ruari had taken up the reins once more, seeing that he had already familiarized himself with playing the part of a Dwarf of the Stonefoot clan transporting goods between Riavod and the clan's dwellings further east. Kíli had offered to join him up there, but had quickly been convinced that his face would be too recognizable. It was better this way, Tauriel thought, since Ruari and Kíli would inevitably end up squabbling over something. However, that meant that now not merely two but four individuals were squashed together underneath the tarp covering the cart, plus the provisions that had been added to the already rather small space since Tauriel's and Kíli's last journey on it.

It was, to put it gently, a rather cozy affair.

"Look at us," Ingolf commented, "like a handful of ducklings just waiting to fully hatch."

That image was so incongruous with the reality of the four tired captives, all of them covered in a variety of bruises and layers of grime as well as ill-fitting clothes, that it kept them amused for quite a bit, distracting them from the discomfort of their current mode of transport. Eventually, Ruari knocked his fist against the tarp, catching Kíli in the side of his head.

"Oi, quiet now, children. Not much further to the gate. If you mess this up, I have no scruples to hop on one of those ponies and leave you lot behind."

They were silent after that, even though Tauriel could tell that Kíli desperately wanted to make another joke about Ruari and the ponies. She distracted him by slipping a hand underneath his tunic where he lay with his back pressed against her front. Perhaps this wasn't quite so uncomfortable after all.

With bated breath they listened to the conversation between Ruari and those on duty in the guardhouse, Ruari's contributions mostly consisting of grunts and monosyllabic words. To Tauriel it seemed that the guards, too, were not overzealous in their questioning and rather in a hurry to get Ruari out of their hair. Perhaps they had Kíli's surprise fireworks display from earlier that night to thank for that—in all likelihood, the guards had a very stressful night behind them and were eager to reach the end of their shift without further incidents. Tauriel remembered those kinds of nights all too well from her years in the lower ranks of her king's guard.

Either way, before she had time to flesh out all the horrible ways in which this stage of their escape could go wrong inside her mind, they were moving again, the rattle of cobbled streets replaced by the grinding noise of a well-trodden dirt road leading away from Riavod.

"I can't believe this," Ingolf muttered once they could be certain that they were safely out of earshot of the tired guards. "That was almost too easy."

"Well, getting here was not easy at all, I would say, so perhaps we deserved a little break." Tauriel was craning her neck to catch a glimpse of their surroundings through a small gap in the tarp. Her eyes found only trees, and rocky hills, and the sky above them, vast and endless without the buildings of the city looming over them. They really had made it out.

"Agreed." Kíli had wriggled around in his spot next to her, so that he, too, could peek at the visual evidence of their newly acquired freedom. "Still, the fact that this went quite so smoothly makes you wonder why we didn't get the hell out of this place much sooner."

"We couldn't have, though, could we? Not without all those people we met along the way, who helped us without expecting anything in return." Tauriel thought of Nesrin, Oleg, Olov, Naima, Adis, Batu. . . "I hope they, too, will find their own freedom eventually."

The interior of the cart was silent while they each thought back to those they were leaving behind, brief as those acquaintances had been. Kíli's hand slipped into Tauriel's between their bodies, their fingers entwined.

They drove for another hour or so, watching the lights of Riavod grow smaller and smaller in front of the shimmering surface of the Sea of Rhûn on the horizon. With no signs of other travelers or anyone following in their wake, the tarp on the back of the wagon had soon been pushed back so that it was possible to sit up and find other places to put one's elbows instead of the ribs of an unsuspecting neighbor.

With dawn still a good few hours away, they stopped by a small stream, concealed from the main road by a copse of trees. It was too risky to catch up on the sleep everyone except Tauriel, who didn't need it, and Ruari, who had caught some hours while he waited for them at the warehouse, lacked. Still, a couple hours of rest and the chance for a meal as decent as their current circumstances allowed would restore their strength and hopefully help them avoid unnecessary mistakes on the difficult journey ahead of them.

Ruari caught three fish with admirable swiftness and they roasted them over a small fire, careful to keep the flames as low as possible. With their bellies stuffed with fish, and bread, and sweet apples, they huddled around the dying embers of their fire and puzzled together the story of their escape and the days leading up to it.

It felt good to be together again, to be talking quietly without really needing to say much, and to take comfort in the knowledge that the concern one carried in one's heart over the well-being of one's companions was returned in equal measure by them. Despite her general fatigue and the various aches in her body, Tauriel found that she did not want this night to end.

In the pale light of morning, while they loaded the back of the cart with their sparse belongings, she understood where that strange desire had come from.

Kíli had just returned from the stream with a few flasks of fresh water, which he stowed away behind a bag of apples. Turning around to look at the rest of their group, he raised his eyebrows.

"Well? What are we waiting for?"

The silence which descended over the five of them was interrupted only by the chirrups of a flock of birds that had settled in a nearby bush. Suri shuffled her feet, while Ingolf's eyes had taken on a strange gleam.

Tauriel's lips formed a tight smile even though she, too, rather felt like crying. "They're not coming with us."

"What? No, that's not—" Kíli's eyes widened as his head whipped back and forth between Tauriel and their two friends. "Oh. She's right, isn't she?"

That last part was directed at Ingolf, who nodded gravely. "Aye, she is." He glanced at Suri, silently asking permission for whatever he was about to say. At a nod from her, he continued. "Suri's sister is still out there, somewhere. She wasn't on the ship with us, and neither was she in Riavod. But we heard rumors of slave markets further south where traders returning from the west sell the 'goods' they acquired on their travels. Perhaps that's where she ended up. Anyway, it's a bit of a gamble, but one we're willing to make."

Tauriel stepped forward, a lump in her throat. "I wish we could come with you."

Suri was at her side in a split second, warm, dry fingers slipping between hers.

"We know that," Ingolf said. "But you have your own journey ahead of you. And one that is no less dangerous than ours."

Kíli was staring at the ground in front of his feet, his forehead creased in a deep frown. Tauriel was certain that he would try to argue with Ingolf and Suri about their decision. He surprised her by turning back to the cart instead.

"Take some provisions, at least. As much as you can carry. And—and weapons. We don't know if they'll not still come looking for us and if you stay in Rhûn you'll be much closer than we will be. . ."

Ingolf was smiling at Kíli's turned back where he was digging through their humble stash of improvised weaponry. "I have an inkling that perhaps they'll have realized by now that we are more trouble than we're worth and won't put too much effort into finding us. But yes, we shall be glad for some food." At a small shove from Suri, he conceded, "And a weapon each. No more, though."

Tauriel pulled Suri into a firm embrace. "I know you must, but still I am sorry to see you go. I would gladly have gone to the end of the way with you." She reached out a hand to lay it on Ingolf's elbow. "Both of you."

While Suri's arms tightened around her waist, Ingolf's large hand covered hers. "Our paths may yet cross again further down the road."

"I hope they do." Tauriel's throat felt tight, but despite her agony over parting with her friends so soon after they had been reunited, a soft, enduring kind of joy settled somewhere behind her breastbone. A handful of months ago, simply speaking the things that were in her heart in front of those she cared about, holding them close while she did so, would have been all but unthinkable. She had come to learn since that those things did not have to be hard at all—not with the right people, at least. Her people.

Releasing Suri and Ingolf so that Kíli and even a suspiciously shiny-eyed Ruari could give their farewells to them, Tauriel stood back and tried to commit the image of the four of them together to her memory. It would be one of the brighter things to turn to in the darkness which likely awaited them in the North.

And so it came to be that, after more heartfelt words and promises to meet again, Tauriel found herself on the road north in the company of two Dwarves. After parting ways with Ingolf and Suri, their spirits were rather subdued. It was not merely the pain of watching their two friends walk away which dampened their mood, though. Now that the playful banter, which always came so easily to their group as a whole, was a thing of the past, the uncertainty of what awaited them in the future loomed over their heads even more ominously than it had before.

With Tauriel not requiring much rest, they decided that they would stop as seldom as possible en route to the Iron Hills, Ruari and Kíli taking turns to keep her company up on the coachman's seat while the other rested in the back of the cart. Not knowing when the armies Gansukh had boasted of would arrive at the Lonely Mountain, they had no real time frame under which they might operate, but with Durin's Day less than a fortnight away, they deemed it best to conduct their journey as swiftly as possible.

"Why Durin's Day?" Tauriel asked during one of the rare proper breaks they took for the sake of the ponies.

Once again, they had risked a small campfire over which Ruari was currently roasting a rabbit Kíli had caught earlier. Tauriel herself was busy trying to alter the jackets she and Kíli had stolen from the traders in Riavod to an approximation of their own sizes. She had washed them in the river since their escape from the city and while they still carried faint traces of unfamiliar spices and sweat, she reckoned that they would be glad for an additional layer of clothing in the days (and nights, more importantly) to come. Some days, the air seemed to be growing colder by the hour.

"That's when Thorin and the others will attempt to open the mountain. 'Stand by the gray stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the key-hole.'" As Kíli quoted those lines to her, his expression was one of barely concealed awe, and Tauriel could easily picture him as a much younger Dwarf, eagerly absorbing the tales and legends of his forefathers. That everything pointed towards the fact that he would not be there when that door of legends was opened, tugged at her heart.

"If Thorin knew that you just shared this top secret information with an Elf, he would personally feed you to the dragon," Ruari spoke into the wistful silence which followed in the wake of Kíli's words.

"He, too, will be forced to revise his opinions when we come to his aid against armies of goblins and whatnot." The set of Kíli's jaw when he snatched the flask of mead from Ruari's fingers was stubborn. And yet the small frown creasing his forehead betrayed the fact that he was not as certain of that as he would have liked to be.

It was a thing they did not speak of much. What would happen once they reached the mountain, hopefully with Dáin Ironfoot and his men in tow. How Tauriel would fit into the new life at Erebor Kíli had been missing out on during their captivity. Or, for that matter, how Kíli would fit into the one she had left behind in Mirkwood, at not such a great distance to the Lonely Mountain, if one came to think of it. Thranduil, she knew, was at least as unlikely to alter the opinions which centuries of prejudice had fortified in his mind as Thorin Oakenshield was.

But even if those unspoken questions coiled into tight knots of anxiety inside her gut at times, she refused to let them gain a hold over her. Right now, this—their mission, their chance to save many innocent lives—was what mattered. And until that mission was fulfilled, Kíli would remain at her side and she at his. What came after, only time would tell.

Even as her insides were often in turmoil, their journey northward progressed rather smoothly. In her mind, Tauriel had somehow always pictured the lands they were now journeying through as a blank space, influenced, no doubt, by the maps she had studied as she dreamed of adventures far away from home. Just because there weren't any cities or settlements did not mean that there was nothing, of course. They usually found a small stream or a copse of trees for their infrequent stops. Beside the gurgling water or beneath branches swaying in the breeze, it was easy to pretend from time to time that they were somewhere else entirely, somewhere closer to home.

From the Red River and the broader roads running alongside it, they mostly kept their distance. The journey between Rhûn and the Iron Hills did not seem to be one people undertook with great frequency, but still they deemed it safer to remain out of sight when they could. Two Dwarves traveling with an Elf were bound to draw curious looks from any party, be it Human, Elven or Dwarven.

Once, they found themselves hiding behind a set of large boulders from a party of Dwarves traveling in the opposite direction. Their beards were long, black, and shiny, and they wore colorful scarves in both their hair and around their waists.

"Dwarves of Rhûn," Kíli muttered once they had passed their hiding place. "Blacklocks, I should venture to guess. Trading with the Iron Hills."

"If we explained to them what we are going to tell Dáin, would they be sympathetic to our cause? Might they even help, perhaps?" Tauriel was looking after the shapes of the Dwarves as they disappeared around a bend in the road. If what Gansukh had claimed was true, they would soon need every hand that was willing to pick up a blade.

To her other side, Ruari chuckled darkly. "You've just spent a few pleasant days in Rhûn. What makes you think this lot would be any different than our beloved captors?"

"Out of the two of us, you are the Dwarf. You tell me."

While Ruari grumbled something about insolent Elves into his beard, Kíli seemed to give the matter some more serious thought. "It's too risky," he finally said. "Among my kin, the Blacklocks don't exactly hold a good reputation. If they were to attack us, all chances of delivering our message to Erebor in time would be lost." He turned his gaze northward. "Our hope continues to rest on Dáin, I'm afraid."

So north they went, the lands growing rougher and less hospitable with each day. If the Iron Hills were anything like the harsh, rocky landscapes they struggled across, Tauriel deemed the name quite suitable. Everything was so. . . gray. And cold, too, the temperatures dropping lower and lower with each day.

It was during one particularly uncomfortable night, icy gusts of wind forcing their way through even the thickest layers of clothing, that Ruari turned his head over his shoulder to growl at Kíli, who had spent the last hour trying to get comfortable on the back of the cart.

"If you don't stop your teeth from chattering right now, I'll climb back there and knock them out for you."

"Touchy tonight, are we?" Kíli's muffled reply was punctuated by a few shuddering breaths. He had already gathered all the available blankets around himself, but clearly they, too, could not stave off the cold.

Worry niggled at the back of Tauriel's mind. The last few days had been miserable at best, with their provisions starting to run low and the harsh weather tearing at their already meager resources. Ruari's temper was even fouler than usual, and the dark shadows underneath Kíli's eyes were slowly beginning to resemble bruises. Durin's Day had come and gone, with Kíli sitting up on the coachman's seat all night, his gaze fixed on the horizon where, miles and miles away, his brethren might just be about to step into a dragon's lair. That had been two days ago, and Tauriel did not think he had slept since. If only he could rest properly for a few hours. . .

Ruari nudged her with his shoulder, jerking his head towards the back of the cart. "Go on, get back there before he bites his tongue off or something like that. I'll be fine up here by myself for a while."

Tauriel knew better than to do something as outrageous as thank the Dwarf for this unexpected bit of kindness and merely gave Ruari a small smile as she climbed over the backrest of the coachman's seat. Kíli, oblivious to their exchange, looked at her with questioning eyes as she lifted the pile of blankets to slide swiftly underneath, pressing herself against his side. With her chin on his shoulder, she pressed her face into the side of his neck and inhaled his scent.

Their mode of travel did not afford many opportunities for closeness and even now, this was mostly for the benefit of shared body heat. That did not mean she couldn't enjoy it.

Tracing the shell of his ear with the tip of her nose, Tauriel noted with satisfaction that already Kíli's tremors had quieted down to the occasional shiver. She pressed closer, still, willing as much of her own warmth to seep into his chilled limbs as she could.

"I thought you Dwarves were used to harsh weather," she teased. Her breath formed a pocket of heat against the side of Kíli's neck.

"We are. But we have thick blankets and lush furs to keep us warm at night. A cheerful fire burning in the hearth, a large tankard of hot mead. . ."

From up in the coachman's seat, Ruari gave a strangled sound of longing. Tauriel willed the image of a crackling fire to the forefront if her mind, tried to imagine the heat sinking into her skin.

"Sounds cozy," she said, surprised that her tongue had grown heavy with drowsiness.

Beside her, Kíli lay on his back, gazing up at the sky. The reflections of the stars were tiny silver specks in his dark eyes. "Sounds like home." He turned onto his side to face her. When he spoke again, it was in a whisper. Ruari could still hear them, most likely, but it felt more polite to pretend, at least, that they were not purposefully flaunting their mutual affection in front of him. "I'll show you, someday. Once all this is over. And then I shan't let you out of my bed for a week at least."

And wasn't it curious how quickly one could go from almost freezing in place to feeling very, very warm.

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"Not much further now. Better make yourselves presentable."

As Ruari peered at them from his position up at the front of the cart, Tauriel blinked in surprise. It seemed that, for once, she had been rather deeply asleep. Where the sky had been an inky black the last time she had beheld it, it was now a pale, pearly gray which stung her eyes. Morning, and not the early hours of it either, from what it looked like.

"You should not have let me sleep for so long," she reprimanded Ruari. "You need your rest as well."

"I'm fine. I just want to be done with this."

She could not fault him for that—they were all anxious to arrive at their destination. Which, it seemed, would soon be the case. Sitting up, Tauriel found a chain of mountains looming into the sky ahead of them. They were nowhere near as sublime as the high, snowy peaks of the Misty Mountains, their jagged silhouettes lending them a harsh, almost inelegant appearance.

"The Iron Hills."

Beside her, Kíli had managed to untangle himself from the nest of blankets and was now on his knees, taking in the view. He looked pale still, but the tired circles underneath his eyes had faded at least a little bit thanks to a few hours of proper sleep.

With her attention divided between Kíli and the hills they were approaching, Tauriel was caught by surprise when Ruari pulled the cart over to the side of the road and turned around in his seat.

"Alright, let's talk strategy."

It was Kíli he had addressed, for the most part, but Tauriel who spoke first.

"Do we need a strategy? Either Dáin will make up his mind to come to Thorin's aid or he won't, right?"

Ruari lifted a hand to his chest. "I'm touched that you believe a leader amongst our people capable of coming to a decision purely based on reason. But anyway, that is not what I was talking about." He looked at Kíli. "Does he know who you are?"

Kíli squirmed a bit under the two pairs of eyes now focused on him. "He knows of me. The last time he saw me, I was a child, though. Don't think he would recognize me."

"Perhaps we should leave it at that, then, for the time being."

While Kíli appeared to weigh that suggestion, Tauriel's eyes were flitting rapidly back and forth between the two Dwarves. "Wait, I'm not sure I understand. Surely the plea to come to Thorin Oakenshield's help would be most convincing if it were delivered by a close kinsman of his? Why conceal your identity, then?"

To her surprise, Kíli looked a bit guilty at that.

Ruari chuckled darkly. "Ah, he's not just a kinsman of Thorin, though, is he?"

Again, Tauriel's gaze returned to Kíli, her eyebrows raised. Clearly there was something here she was missing.

"Well." Kíli still bore that guilty look upon his face, even though Tauriel could not fathom what he would have to feel guilty about. At least not until he, reluctantly, began to speak. "When I told you about Thorin, about Fíli, about Erebor and our quest, I may have omitted the tiny, totally irrelevant detail that, since Thorin has no children of his own, in the unlikely event that he and Fíli should not make it. . ."

"You mean in the not all that unlikely event that they should be consumed by dragon fire," Ruari interjected, earning himself a glare from Kíli.

"Yes, thank you for that very helpful image." Kíli's tone was dripping with venom. A fortnight on the road stuck in a small cart together had not exactly helped the Dwarves' friendship to blossom. He cleared his throat, glancing apologetically at Tauriel. "Anyway. If I were to survive both Thorin and Fíli—"

"You would be made king." It had taken her mind a few moments to catch up with what had just been revealed to her. Come to think of it, she could have connected the dots earlier, but somehow the thought of Kíli, her Kíli—young, and impulsive, and reckless—with a crown upon his head underneath a mountain stuffed with treasure was so very foreign, so very wrong, it simply had not occurred to her. And yet, according to Kíli, it was not an image altogether unlikely to become reality.

"Aye," he now said gravely. "And after me, Dáin would be next in line to the throne. Now, I don't think he holds any aspirations to the title—neither do I, as you can probably guess—but Ruari is not entirely wrong to wonder how Dáin will react to my presence at his halls. Especially in case the worst has already come to pass."

He did not have to spell out what he meant—the pallor of his face and the hard line of his mouth gave his thoughts away. Should Thorin and Fíli already be dead, killed in the attempt to open the long lost kingdom of Dwarves and free it of its usurper.

Pushing aside her own, conflicting feelings over the fact that, some day, not merely the difference between their people might stand in the way of their happiness, but also Kíli's responsibility as an heir to a whole kingdom, Tauriel reached for his hand and held on tight. "How do you think we should proceed, then?"

Kíli shot her a grateful look. They would need to discuss those things eventually, but not here, not now. "I don't think Dáin would take well to being deceived on that matter. Or any matter, for what it's worth." He squared his shoulders. "We'll tell him the truth. It's a risk I'm willing to take. For Erebor."

Tauriel squeezed his fingers. "Perhaps it is not a risk at all. You may be his potential rival, but you are also his kin, aren't you?"

"Let's hope he sees it that way."

She would not have needed the evidence of the frown on his face to be able to tell that he was not entirely convinced of that.