So Comes Snow After Fire

12.i None Will Allow of Solitude Now

Kíli unfastened his mail shirt and shrugged it off his shoulders. It was always a pleasure to shed it at the end of a guard shift. Though its weight lay perfectly balanced over waist and shoulders so that his movements felt easy and free enough, once it was off, he felt so much lighter that it seemed he might actually bound through the ceiling of his room if he were not careful.

He arranged the mail carefully on its rack, and then refastened his belt and tugged on his long leather coat, its fur lining especially welcome on early winter nights like this. He took up a small bundle from his wardrobe and tucked in in a pocket, then went out the door.

In Ravenhill tower's central guard room, several dwarves sat together at beer and cards. Two or three of them looked up as he entered, and recognizing him, stood to salute.

"No need for that," Kíli protested with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm off-duty, too."

One of them smiled at the special emphasis Kíli had put on the words. "In that case, you'd really best not keep her waiting," he said meaningfully.

Kíli nodded, grateful that, despite the teasing, no-one seemed to hold him irresponsible if he spent his few nights off in the exclusive company of an elf. It was hardly unreasonable that he did. She was, after all, the object of his suit, and she deserved his time.

Tauriel was waiting for him along the battlements, her figure cut dramatically against the last embers of the sunset sky. She wore a long coat of green wool with the hood thrown back so that her bright hair pooled in it before tumbling down her back.

She turned at the sound of his boots on the stone and as her eager eyes met his, he felt his heart try to leap from his chest, as it always did. "Good evening, hadhod nín," she said.

"Oh, it's very good, now," he agreed, tucking her arm in his and walking with her down from the rampart and out along the shore of the tarn below the tower.

"Thorin's council has agreed to make me spokesman of an alliance with your king," Kíli told her as they walked.

"Oh," she murmured. "That was a swift decision."

"They want it finalized before the big meeting of my people this summer. We look better if we have already made peaceful connections with another kingdom. Particularly one we have been at odds with in the past."

"I see." She sounded amused. "Politics truly do rule our lives, though perhaps not always for the worst."

Kíli gave a frustrated laugh. "Everyone wants the alliance, but some say it makes my connection to you a danger. They think Thranduil will try to control Erebor through me. It's ridiculous, but some people believe it," he finished, annoyed.

Tauriel sighed. "I'm sure my people would say the same, were our positions reversed. Dwarves, elves—we're both very stubborn, are we not?"

Kíli laughed in true amusement then. "I'll mention that at the next council meeting as proof that you and I are perfectly suited to one another."

They paused as Tauriel silently directed Kíli's attention to the stars that were clearly mirrored in the lake's surface. There was no wind tonight, yet the air was still cold for all that.

"Some day," Kíli said after they had gazed for some time, "I would like to look on Kheled-zâram, the Mirrormere, that lies outside the eastern gates of Khazad-dûm. It's said you can still see Durin's crown reflected there, even during the day."

"Indeed?" Tauriel returned, fascinated. "I have heard of the place, though of course I have never been there myself. We name it Nen Cenedril, 'lake looking-glass,' in my tongue, though I had never heard the reason why before. I assumed it was merely because any lake may reflect the sky, even as this one does."

"Oh yes, Durin looked in and saw the crown above his head and knew this would be the seat of his kingdom," Kíli said, swelling with the chance to tell her something she did not know. "You'll come with me when I go there, and we can see it together."

"Yes, we will," she said warmly. After a few moments, she went on, "Kíli, the great Durin, your patriarch... As his direct descendent, you must be one of the most important dwarves alive." She sounded awed.

"Oh, goodness, I suppose," Kíli mused. "I mean, our whole Longbeard clan traces back to him, some way or another. But you're right that I am, after Thorin and Fíli, the most direct in descent." It was an honor, surely, but one he had grown up with and gotten used to. But Tauriel's reverence made him reconsider the significance of that fact.

"Kíli, you realize that I am not at all worthy of a prince of your station," she told him with ironic amusement in her voice. "A Silvan, such as I, is considered lowly indeed, hardly worthy of my own Prince Legolas, and he can claim no such high lineage as you."

"Pfff," Kíli dismissed her with a laugh. "The All-father crafted your kind with his own hands. Next to that, I'm just a journeyman's work. And you think you're beneath me! Why you even dared to look at me, I'll never know."

"Hush!" Tauriel placed a hand gently over his mouth. "Since you think so highly of me, you cannot suppose I would love you if you were unworthy."

Kíli smiled against her fingers. "I'm lucky I am a prince, then, or I'd never have been good enough for you," he mumbled as best he could.

"I'm not removing my hand till you promise to stop uttering nonsense," Tauriel noted with mock sternness. Kíli nodded solemnly.

After a few more moments of his silence, she took away her hand.

"This doesn't count as nonsense, I hope," Kíli said then, and grasping either side of her coat collar, he pulled her down to meet his mouth with her own.

"Oh, it's the very worst kind," she whispered, nipping his lip gently, and he laughed. Her kisses were no longer shy or unsure, though they still carried the freshness of her lips unused to the task.

As Kíli let her go, he said "I was going to remark on the cold night, but I hardly notice it now. Still, I have something for you, for tomorrow, when you are on patrol and I'm not there to warm you."

He reached in a pocket of his coat and produced a pewter flask, curved to fit in a boot or a bodice. Kíli took a swallow from it and then handed it to her. It held whiskey, finer than what she had been drinking when she had bested Freyr.

She drank as well, smiling at the indirect kiss he had offered her. After she had replaced the cap, she turned the flask to let the pale starlight pick out the design embossed on its surface: two blossoming trees, their limbs and roots intertwined.

"You can't quite see it in this light," Kíli noted, "but the one on the right is gold. They're your two elvish trees, Laurelin and Tel—"

"Telperion," she finished for him. "Kíli, it's wonderful. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I love you, you know."

"Yes, I know," Tauriel said. She tucked his gift into her coat, and took his hand once more.

~*~

Note on the Elvish: 

hadhod nín - "my dwarf"