Chapter Text
Kíli had never spent much effort on diplomacy before. Surely it was Fíli's responsibility as heir to know how to handle sensitive or potentially awkward political situations, but Kíli had always supposed that it would fall to him merely to follow the examples others had set. In the last few months, he'd been learning, of course, to navigate the social complexities created by his own decision to woo an elf, but even that had seemed a sort of exception due to personal circumstances. But Kíli was quickly coming to see that even being the younger prince held far more authority and responsibility than he had ever envisioned before.
Standing now in the Elvenking's chambers as Thranduil himself welcomed him and Tauriel, Kíli felt very distinctly out of his depth. A friendly meeting with their neighbors was far beyond anything Thorin, his uncle and king, had achieved since their return. With no precedent to follow, what was Kíli supposed to say and do?
The best place to begin, he supposed, was to remember his manners.
"Please accept my thanks and my service," Kíli said, sweeping the practiced bow that, thankfully, his mother had drilled into him till it was effortless. What was it that Tauriel had said was a proper elvish greeting? "Mae govannen," he added as he straightened, hoping he had remembered right.
Thranduil's look of approval—it was not quite a smile—seemed to indicate that he had.
"I see you are not entirely untutored in our ways," the Elvenking remarked with a quick glance at Tauriel that Kíli could not read. Was he pleased or amused?
"I am more ignorant than I should like," Kíli admitted, supposing honest humility was to his advantage here. "But I hope to mend that defect with Tauriel's help." He glanced at her and saw she was blushing.
"I trust you shall," Thranduil agreed, and Kíli was sure, just for a moment, that the elf king truly was amused. Then Thranduil's expression became serious once more. "I suppose you find my invitation unexpected," he said. "I know my relations with your kindred have not always been cordial."
"Tauriel tells me you wish for friendship with my kingdom," Kíli returned. He was glad that Thranduil did not expect him to pretend that their prior meetings had been anything other than strained.
"I confess that I think of my own interests, but then, is not an alliance to your advantage as well? None of us would stand here today were it not for those who fought beside us."
Kíli had a sudden vivid memory of the fight on Ravenhill and of Tauriel backstabbing an orc that had nearly kept him from his brother. Thanks to her, he had been able to turn to Fíli's aid, and even, perhaps, saved his life.
"Our people have not always been at enmity," Thranduil went on. "Surely you know of the great concord between your ancestors of Khazad-dûm and the elves of Eregion? There was even trade between Erebor and the Greenwood in your great-grandfather's day."
Kíli remembered the history lessons of his youth, though he had certainly not imagined then that elf-dwarf relations would ever have any particular relevance to him. And yet it had become clear that, if Tauriel was ever to be accepted by his own people, he would need to win friendship between her kingdom and his. As much as he felt that all that should matter was the courage and honor of Tauriel herself, he could see that their success as a pair depended on the fate of their respective kingdoms. The realization was truly daunting.
Kíli answered, "I would gladly see that friendship restored. Though it may be some time before Erebor is able to fulfill that hope. We have matters of our own to set in order." He supposed this was what diplomacy meant: telling things not quite as they were, but as they needed to be seen. The real reason for patience was the newness, not of Thorin's rule, but of any hope of reconciliation.
"I understand. And yet I believe that you have a personal interest in realizing a connection between our people," the king said.
"I do," Kíli acknowledged simply, at a loss for how to answer such a pointed remark. Of course Thranduil would know of his former captain's affection for the dwarf prince, and yet Kíli nonetheless felt somewhat uncomfortable to hear him speak of their affection so readily. Kíli knew, more or less, what else the Elvenking had once said about Tauriel's love.
Kíli glanced at her again: she seemed even more embarrassed than before, though he did not think she was actually worried. He supposed a retraction of Thranduil's previous judgment was perhaps the nearest to an apology they could expect from the proud and impassive elf king. He would try not to take offense.
Thranduil must have sensed Kíli's discomfort, for he went on almost warmly, "I would be pleased to acknowledge an alliance between the Prince of Erebor and one of my own people."
"Thank you," Kíli stammered, both surprised and relieved that the king had voluntarily offered his approval of their courtship. Despite his assurance to Tauriel, he was not sure he could have brought himself to ask for it. He still felt conflicted about this man who had managed, at some point, to injure all those Kíli cared for: his family, his comrades, even his beloved Tauriel.
Remembering himself somewhat, Kíli added, "I dearly hope to be granted such an honor." So long as nothing had been fully settled yet between him and Tauriel, Kíli could offer no stronger assurance, regardless of his own optimism.
"Your Majesty," Tauriel cut in then, sounding nearly as flustered as Kíli felt. "We have had a long day's journey. Perhaps I might show the Prince to his rooms so that he can refresh himself before dinner?"
Thranduil's mouth crooked up slightly. "Of course. Forgive me; you must wish to rest."
Tauriel bowed, and then, taking Kíli's arm, towed him from the room.
Tauriel did not get a chance to speak with Kíli alone until she came to collect him for dinner. It would not have been proper for her to enter his rooms, and so she had found a retired balcony along their route where they might pause with relative privacy, though still in sight of those who passed. If they were to win respect, among her people as well as his, they must offer no place for criticism in their behavior to one another.
"I am sorry for interrupting earlier," she began. "I was only thinking how very much this must all be for you." Indeed, it was still rather too much for her to take in, though she had guessed her king's intentions months ago. She had only just acknowledged the devotion that she felt for this dwarf, and to have her king now openly promoting her marriage to Kíli was more than she knew how to manage.
"I'm glad you did," Kíli assured her. "I was beginning to panic a bit, myself. I've never been an envoy before."
"You did very well. My king can be... overwhelming."
"I felt that he wanted something from me," Kíli admitted.
Tauriel nodded. "He does; he wants you to argue his good intent to your uncle. But I do not think he means his assurances to you any less for all that."
"You're not afraid he's just using us?"
"I asked myself that, at first. But I believe he knows we truly love. I doubt he fully understands, but he has given me hope he knows the value of what we share, you and I." She wondered if Kíli had seen the way Thranduil had watched them earlier, as if they were the greatest enigma he had ever encountered in all his years.
"You're sure?" Kíli asked. Tauriel could see he was still somewhat troubled.
"I suspect this may be the only way he can find of helping us pursue something no-one has ever dared to want before. He cannot see why I would love a dwarf. But if my love for you can begin to bridge this gulf between our peoples, that is something, at least, that he can understand."
"Somehow, this has become so much bigger than us," Kíli said. "I wish it could just be you and I and nothing more." He glanced aside, tacitly acknowledging the palace and the elves passing on the walkways around them, even the unseen Elvenking himself.
She smiled, sympathetic. "Kíli, we will never escape our duties. But would we truly want to? And now we hope to be rewarded by a place to love."
He sighed. "You're right; of course you are. Just..." His expression became roguish. "When this is over, and we've proven ourselves, I intend to run away with you. Only for a perfectly responsible amount of time, of course."
Tauriel laughed gently, knowing she longed for and yet willingly awaited a time when she might truly be alone with him. Being near him this summer, she had felt more than perplexed to find how much she could want him. He merely touched her hand, and something unknotted itself inside her in a way that both thrilled and terrified her. Before she acted on any of these mad desires, she wished to understand what she felt or she knew she would be undone by him entirely.
"In the mean time," he went on, "I have something for you." He produced a small bundle from a pocket and placed it in her hands.
Tauriel unfolded a scrap of velvet to reveal a comb of fine silver. A delicate flowering vine had been carved along the back, and as she turned it in her hands, the light sparked on tiny blue stones.
She murmured appreciatively.
"We're officially courting, now." Kíli said.
Tauriel looked to his face, curious.
"I've your guardian's approval, and I've given you a gift."
Her gaze sharpened. "Your runestone..." Had it meant more than she had known even then?
Kíli chuckled. "That wasn't a proper courtship gift; it has to be something made by my own hands."
Tauriel turned the comb in her fingers, admiring the flawlessly set gems and the clean, delicate line-work of the carving. "You are very skilled," she declared. "How long have you practiced your craft?" She did not know what else he could make, or whether he considered such dwarvish skills one or many arts.
"I don't remember the first time I was in a forge; like any dwarf, I more or less grew up there. But I started learning metalwork when I was still in my teens," he told her.
"Kíli, how old are you?"
"Seventy-something." He squinted, mentally calculating. "Seventy-seven, now."
"I could not guess. I know so little about your people!" And yet she had known she loved him, no matter how few or how many years he had to give her.
"Well," he smiled. "What do you want to know? We're babes when we're born, and considered grown at fifty. People will be slightly shocked if I marry you before I'm ninety, which I fully intend to do. We generally live two and a half centuries, sometimes more. So you can look forward to at least a hundred-seventy odd more years of my trouble."
He spoke lightly, though he watched carefully for her response.
"That will be enough for me," Tauriel said, answering his unspoken question. Indeed, she had been ready to be content with less. Humans, she knew, lived less than a century, and, knowing little of dwarves, she had not allowed herself to hope very far beyond that.
"And you are entirely too much for me," Kíli told her. Her answer, it was clear, had overwhelmed him.
"Hush. You are far more wonderful than you imagine," she said.
He paused, apparently considering this. "Tell me," he said at last, "How do I say I love you in your own tongue?"
"Le: that is 'you.' Melon: 'I love.'"
"Le melon," Kíli said softly, experimentally. "Le melon, Tauriel."
She beamed, unexpectedly touched to hear those words none had spoken to her and meant as he had. From his look of answering delight, she knew he understood what he had given her.
He went on, "It doesn't matter what everyone wants from us. I'm very happy."
"As am I."
She looked down at him for another long moment, drinking in the sweetness of his gaze.
Kíli spoke first. "We shouldn't keep your king waiting," he said, tucking her arm in his.
Tauriel nodded her agreement, and let him guide her back onto the main hallway they had been following.
"Now, you have to point out to me which pool you and your friend went swimming in," he instructed her as they made their way back through the palace.
"You visited Thranduil?" Thorin demanded, realizing too late that the anger in his voice would seem to be directed at his nephew. Was the Elvenking truly trying to suborn Kíli through his feelings for Tauriel?
"I thought it prudent to accept his gesture of friendship," Kíli answered, his tone barely defensive.
Thorin sighed. "Yes, you did well," he said, doing his best to swallow his annoyance.
Kíli nodded, visibly relaxing.
"What did the Elvenking want?" Thorin asked, evenly this time.
"To prove he regrets the grudge between us and that he wishes to be an ally once more."
Thorin snorted. "And why does he think I should care?"
"I think," Kíli said carefully, "he knows that we need one another."
Thorin nearly protested then, but Kíli cut in quickly, saying, "He knows he did not come when we needed him, and that we are rightfully angry. But—" He stopped short, clearly afraid of saying too much.
"Go on," Thorin said after a moment.
"We should not let past mistakes breed new ones."
"No. And so perhaps we shall not make the mistake of relying on him again."
Kíli very obviously bit back a protest.
Thorin waited. The lad was a full lieutenant now, and as such it was his duty to speak his opinion.
At last Kíli said steadily, "Surely you acknowledge that we could not have defeated Azog's armies without all of our allies. Daín's men would not have been enough."
It was true, and something Thorin found deeply troubling. Evil grew, and their own strength as the Khazad dwindled in the face of it.
"I know," was all he said.
"Distasteful as it is, shouldn't we consider his offer?" Kíli asked after a few moments.
Was there a choice? Short of regaining Thrain's ring, Erebor's best defense, besides the mountain walls themselves, would be allies. And yet Thorin still could not quite stomach trusting in the king who had abandoned him and his family in their devastation.
"What did you tell him?" Thorin asked.
Kíli seemed to know that his answer was important. "I told him that I, too, hoped for friendship between our peoples, but that I did not know when it might come to pass."
"A fair answer," Thorin acknowledged. For all his youth and impetuosity, Kíli began to prove already that he could grow into a thoughtful envoy. So long as his feelings for an elf did not cloud his reasoning... Yet Thorin respected Kíli for not bringing her into this now.
"I shall bring the matter to my counselors," Thorin admitted finally. He knew what Balin, at least, would say to it. But they ought to consider how an alliance would appear to the envoys of the Seven Kingdoms next year. The decision would certainly rely on more than Thorin's personal feelings.
"Thank you, Kíli. You are dismissed."
The truth was, Fíli was jealous. Not in that mean, begrudging way that would have traded his brother's happiness for his own. But still, Kíli had something Fíli had always hoped he would find, and now supposed he might well have to give up.
It had always been understood that at least one of them was to marry and continue the royal line. While as the eldest, Fíli felt such responsibilities more strongly than his younger brother, he had always expected that in this instance, Kíli would come through. Kíli always seemed to be flirting with some girl or other; he would choose one some day, and then Fíli would be free to settle his own choice when he wished.
It wasn't that he disliked the prospect of marrying. His own parents, though he had known them together only briefly, had proven how happy a union could be. But that was just it: Fíli had always looked to them, and hoped that he might find something just as meaningful someday. But theirs had been a match made in exile, with no concessions to politics. As the king's heir and with his brother pursuing an elf, Fíli knew he had to think of doing as he was expected.
And so, as he drafted invitations to next summer's council of the Seven Kingdoms, he tried not to be annoyed at having to imply, politely, that the Crown Prince would be happy to make the acquaintance of any unmarried maidens of the noble families. It had been Thorin's suggestion, and Fíli had been reasonable enough to acknowledge that the advice had been kindly meant: his uncle was offering him a chance to find someone whom he truly cared for. And yet Fíli still felt they all were somewhat constrained by Kíli's unconventional choice, and that no-one would be so hurried to see the eldest prince wed if there was not the alarming possibility of half-elven sons looming on the horizon. It didn't matter if Kíli gave up his right to the throne; everyone, Fíli suspected, would feel relieved if more than one unmarried prince stood in the way of the bloodline.
Fíli was sorting out the multiple official seals for diplomatic letters when Kíli himself burst into the room.
"Hallo, brother," he said, striding energetically up to Fíli's writing desk. "Looks like your work has been harder than mine."
"I'm almost done. Here; hold this." Fíli thrust a small crucible of golden wax into his brother's hand. "...don't know how you're s'posed to do this with only two hands."
As Kíli melted the wax over the lamp at the table, Fíli readjusted the ornamental ribbon holding the letter closed. "Ready," he said, holding everything in place as Kíli dripped wax over paper and ribbon. "Make sure that's the right seal!" he blurted, as Kíli grabbed for one of the three on the desk.
"Relax; I did pay attention when Balin taught us all this." Kíli slapped a seal down over the cooling wax, and Fíli saw with relief that it was the right one.
"Really? Because I remember you drawing dragons in your notes. Wait—" Fíli caught his brother's arm as Kíli drew it back. He recognized that studded vambrace. "Where'd you get that?" Fíli demanded, his voice eager.
"Tauriel."
Of course. When they made their hasty escape from the Elvenking's dungeons, they had abandoned what gear hadn't already been confiscated.
"She sends a gift to you, as well," Kíli continued, whipping something from his belt: Fíli saw it was his own matched knives. They settled comfortably into his hands as he took the offered handles. After giving them a few easy twirls, Fíli inspected them, running his fingers lovingly along blade and hilt. The steel was as bright, the polished wood as smooth as when he'd last had them. Whatever else he might have said about his erstwhile captors, they respected a fine weapon.
"Should I give you three some time alone?" Kíli teased.
"Shut it; you know you'd be as happy to see your old bow again."
Kíli nodded, not disputing that. "She's sending the rest of our things by the river route to Dale."
"So how was your visit to the Elvenking? Did you get to sleep in your old cell?"
Kíli snorted. "They gave me a guest room so big I nearly got lost trying to find the necessary."
"And what did Thranduil say? He's glad you're taking his troublesome captain off his hands?"
"I suppose!" Kíli laughed, still incredulous. "He's the last one I ever expected to encourage us. Remember how our cousin Onar used to try to convince us that if we did what he wanted, we'd get something out of it, too? That's what it felt like. But Tauriel believes him, and I believe her."
"I'm impressed with you, playing the diplomat."
"So am I! But I told myself I'd never be any good to you or Uncle or Tauriel if I couldn't do it."
Fíli nodded, sympathetic; he knew all too well the feeling of acting, not out of confidence, but from necessity. And yet the confidence usually came in time.
"Did you give Tauriel your gift?"
"Yes. We're official now," Kíli announced proudly.
His brother laughed. "You've been very unofficial for some time."
"I know." Kíli shrugged. "But I knew she was the one I wanted. I couldn't just let her get away."
"No," Fíli agreed, thoughtful. He doubted that Kíli's sureness was simply an effect of his general impetuosity; if it was, Kíli would likely have settled with one of the handful of girls he'd noticed before now. What must it be like to feel so sure of someone? In spite of Fíli's own hopes, he could not fault his brother for pursuing Tauriel so earnestly.
"Well, I'm glad for you, Kí," he added. "Now, if you'll help me seal the rest of these letters, we can catch a drink or two before dinner."