Notes: It had to be written guys, it just wouldn't leave me alone.

Well, some things everyone ought to know going into this fic: Smaug never happened and Thorin is King Under the Mountain (yay). Another small, but notable cannon divergence in Thorin's father dying not in Dol Guldur, but in an ill-fated attempt to reclaim Moria (in cannon, it was Thorin's grandfather who died there), and who then lost the last of the seven dwarf rings to the Orcs before they retreated into the lost dwarven city.

Beneath Stone and Sky

Chapter One

In Which Plans are Set into Motion and Hearts are Broken

One evening, during a modest festival in honor of the winter solstice, Thranduil, Elvenking of Mirkwood, found himself in a very difficult position.

He watched with mounting trepidation as his son, Prince Legolas, crossed the room and asked the Captain of his Guard to dance. Tauriel, whom he had adopted into his household after the tragic deaths of her parents long ago, smiled warmly and agreed, but it was the look in his son's eyes as she turned away that made Thranduil's stomach coil and his heart fall; he knew that look. He knew it all too well.

It was a delicate problem to be sure, and he knew his headstrong son would not take kindly to his interference, but something had to be done -and soon, if Legolas's sudden interest in running scouting patrols almost nightly was any indication.

Tauriel, at least, seemed not to have noticed Legolas's increasing deference, behaving much as she always had, for which he counted himself grateful. As much as Thranduil loved his adopted daughter -for he truly did- the match was simply beyond question. His son would marry someday, certainly, but it would be a match arranged for political and economic purposes and not to a Silvan elf of his own kingdom, even one he held so very dear. There was darkness afoot and foul days ahead, and so he had no time for personal strife amongst the members of his family.

For months he sought an adequate solution, watching the pair carefully from a distance, but could think of nothing that wouldn't turn entirely disastrous, that is, until one fateful morning over tea.

"A missive from Erebor, my lord," his steward said and Thranduil knew instantly that his day had been ruined. Nothing perturbed him quite so much as the King Under the Mountain.

Dwarves, he thought and bitterly tore open the letter, scanning its contents.

It was, much to his shock, an invitation to a ceremony that would officially name the King's nephews as his heirs; a very great affair, apparently. Near the bottom of the missive, a note had been added indicating that the Dwarven King was also interested in facilitating a stronger kinship with the elves of Mirkwood while he was in attendance. The gesture might have been laughable -Thranduil had not visited Erebor since the days of Thorin's grandfather, and that had not gone well- but a plan began to formulate in his mind which gave Thranduil pause.

After another moment of consideration, he called for a scribe and began to lay the foundation for a resolution to his son's ill-fated fixation that would certainly stir things up a bit –provoking Thorin would, of course, only be an amusing side effect. He felt a momentary pang of guilt, not only for his son's impending disappointment –something he was certain Legolas would recover from - but for his adopted daughter's unknowing involvement. He was king, however, and sacrifices had to be made for the good of his kingdom. And who knew, perhaps things would work to everyone's advantage. He certainly meant to convey it to the dwarves in such a way.

By the time Thranduil was satisfied with his response, forcing his scribe to draft several letters, his tea had grown cold and he cursed the Dwarven King, who was clearly at fault.

Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, stormed into his sister's private solar like an angry troll. He brandished a thick bit of parchment at her as a room full of noble-women stared at him in horrified alarm.

"DIS!" he roared, voice reverberating off the walls and echoing down the hall. "What is the meaning of this?!"

His sister looked up calmly from her stitching and surveyed him slowly up and down as though inspecting a disappointing bit of merchandise.

"Leave us," she said at last, and the women all but bolted from the room.

Though they typically presented a unified front before the public, the increasingly frequent fights between the Crown Princess and her brother, the King, were legendary, and no one was eager to be caught in the crossfire. Though talk of it would spread quickly and ruthlessly, Dis knew.

"What in Mahal's name have you done?" he demanded, shaking with poorly concealed rage.

The princess set her stitching aside and rose gracefully to her feet. She was dressed richly in the dark blues of their house, with many jewels adorning her hair and beard and glittering from her dress and fingers. They looked much alike; the same strong brow, and thick, dark hair, but it was their temperaments which were most alike. It was almost universally agreed that the only dwarf in all Erebor who stood a chance against the King was his sister, who was undeniably a child born of Durin's steel and fire just as surely as he.

"You have had years in which to make peace with the elves and you have failed, brother. Spectacularly. Thus, I took matters into my own hands," she said, folding said hands carefully and lifting her chin.

Thorin stalked toward her with murder in his gaze. "What you have done, sister, is betray me and our people. How could you do this?! Did you think I would not know? That I would not discover your plot-"

The princess's temper snapped with an almost audible crack and she strode forward till they stood chest to chest. "You discovered my plot because I wanted you to, because I thought it might bring you to your senses! To the north, orcs amass in great numbers," she hissed between her teeth and lightning flashed in her eyes, "guided now as they have not been in centuries. To the east, Dain treats with the southern dwarves who have long since turned toward darkness, and his people have grown hostile, belligerent, already they have begun to test our strength. And in the ancient forests, in the fortress of Dol Guldur, shadows stir and fester and the elves draw further into their kingdom. Shall I go on, Your Majesty? Shall I speak of the recent strain with Dale and how our trade has faltered and our friendship has begun to spoil?"

Her lips pulled back into a sneer. "I see how you fawn over the Arkenstone, how you leer over piles of gold and our stores of mithril like a dragon over his horde. Like our grandfather once did and as our father began to before he died. It is not I who have betrayed our people, it is you, Thorin Oakenshield. Your mind is no longer your own and you know it."

Thorin stumbled back from her as though physically struck, his face ghastly. "H-how dare you speak to me thus! I could have you thrown in the dungeons, exiled from this kingdom-"

"Do it," she said and lifted her chin higher. "For you are not the brother I knew, and if you think Fíli and Kíli will remain once you have cast their mother out, you are sorely mistaken."

Still shaken, Thorin managed to gather himself enough to lift the parchment still clutched in his hand and held it between them like a ward. "And this is your solution? An unnatural alliance that breaches the very foundations of our traditions and culture?"

"An alliance that might spare us the darkness that is to come," her tone was softer, calmer, and there was regret in her eyes. And a deep, lurking sorrow. Once they had shared a kinship that knew no boundaries or conditions, but those days had ended when their father's head had been hewn from his shoulders and Thorin had been named king.

There was a long silence, and when Thorin lifted his gaze there was little but malice and contempt. "There is nothing now that I can do that could unmake this treachery and not shame us all irrevocably, so I will embrace your traitorous plot, under one condition."

His smile made the blood chill in her veins.

It wasn't until he left her much later, and named her no family of his, that the Princess Dís allowed herself to cry tears which she'd held secret for many long, terrible years. Her only hope for their people now lay in an elf-maid she had never met.

Tauriel, Captain of Mirkwood's Guard, stared at her new collection of fine gowns while several women carefully packed them away, and frowned -deeply.

"You're certain the King ordered these for me?" she asked for the third time since the horde of seamstresses and servants had arrived at her rooms.

Felaris, the King's Lady of Chambers, smiled with clear indulgence. "Of course, my lady."

"And he wants me to wear that?" she pointed at a fine dress hung on a sewing bust that was made of dark blue silk and velvet, meticulously edged with glittering jewels, and bearing long gauzy sleeves that trailed nearly to the floor. It was completely impractical for her role as Captain of the King's Guard.

"Yes, milady," Felaris confirmed again, a patient smile on her pretty face.

Tauriel was terribly confused.

Normally she accompanied her king clad in blades and armor, not in fine dresses and jewels. She knew that in some technical way she was in fact a princess, had been since Thranduil had formally adopted her when she was still a child, but few had ever treated her as such. The King had been more than happy to name her Captain nearly two hundred years ago and never had he called on her to behave as anything other than his protector, something she had always been more than happy and honored to do.

She had always been much more suited to fighting and hunting foul beasts than she had wearing fine clothes and displaying courtly manners.

"Did he say why?" she asked, aware it was neither of their places to question the will of the King, but she couldn't help it. It was all so very strange.

Felaris's smile wavered a little and Tauriel knew her patience was waning. "I'm afraid not. Only that you were to dress appropriately for your presentation to the Dwarven King."

The entire kingdom had been abuzz with gossip and speculation since the King had announced they would be attending a ceremony in Erebor nearly a month prior. Their people had little love for the dwarves, or they for them, but Thranduil had informed them, almost casually, that a new, stronger political relationship was on the horizon. Tauriel had thought perhaps the King meant to ally with the dwarves in response to the darkness growing in the southern wood, but that seemed highly unlikely and very out of character. It was not in her king's nature to ask for help from outsiders, no matter often she urged him to.

The darkness was creeping ever further from Dol Guldur and their kingdom was ever shrinking from its growing shadow. The spiders had grown almost unmanageable, and orcs crept in closer from the mountains invading the wood as they had not dared to for a millennia. But Thranduil merely drew them further north and sent her and her men to handle the problem, slowly closing themselves off to the rest of the world. Though she respected and loved her king, his utter lack of concern beyond their own walls and caverns had long bothered her.

She looked at the dress again, considered, and reached out to trace a finger over a line of jewels. Perhaps her king had finally taken her advice to heart and now meant to present her as a member of the royal family, a united front to the dwarves. Whatever his intention, it was clearly political and carefully plotted. Everything Thranduil did was in service to some higher purpose and often was designed to achieve several things at once.

She would simply have to trust him.

Steeling herself as best she could, Tauriel let Felaris help her dress and then sat dutifully as her long, fiery hair was carefully brushed and braided. Despite her sputtered protests, a fine circlet was set upon her brow, followed by glittering strings and rings of silver that dangled from her ears dripping with more gems. The only time she had ever worn a crown of such finery had been the day Thranduil named her daughter before all their people - and she had hoped to never have to do so again.

All this, she thought grumpily, only to spend most of the day riding in a carriage.

While Felaris fussed over her, her new things were swiftly packed away and taken from the room, until they stood alone before a full length mirror. The elleth of her reflection was like a familiar acquaintance whose name she could not quite recall and she couldn't seem to decide what to do with her hands. Her normal attire of sturdy leathers, usually in shades of muted browns and greens, hid much of her figure, which the dress now seemed designed to reveal - hugging her from breast to hip, and dipping low down her chest. At her waist she would have worn a wide, sturdy belt with her beloved daggers near at hand –gifts from Thranduil the day he'd named her Captain—instead Felaris hung a lovely silver belt that looped together and hung nearly to the floor.

"You look lovely, Your Highness," Felaris said with perhaps the first true smile she'd given all afternoon.

"Captain," Tauriel corrected habitually, hardly aware she'd spoken. There had been a few years after her adoption that people had insisted on referring to her as 'Your Highness', but her tireless efforts at correcting them had eventually worn down even the most staunch observers of decorum. The symbolism of Felaris's use of her title was lost on her, too caught in her own worries.

There was a knock on the door, jolting Tauriel out of her reverie and instantly making her feel foolish for fretting over such a foolish thing as her appearance. Felaris opened the door and Prince Legolas stepped inside, looking dashing in silver-gray robes with hints of blood-orange.

"Tauriel, Father is waiting for us-"

He looked at her and stopped short, a strange expression on his face that made her insecurities come rushing back with a vengeance.

She ducked her head, feeling a traitorous heat rise from chest to cheeks. "Your father insisted I wear this foolishness. Apparently he means to have Curial and Delethrían as his guards and-"

Legolas startled her by tilting her chin up softly with a finger, and his eyes were intent. "You look… beautiful, Tauriel, truly."

Tauriel looked down again, oddly fidgety under his scrutiny. "I feel ridiculous. I wish I knew what your father intends by all this," she said waving a hand vaguely down at herself.

"Perhaps we can find out together," Legolas mused, his voice kind, but there was a guarded quality to his expression when she raised her head that had not been there a moment before; one she'd encountered increasingly more often for reasons she couldn't fathom. She and Legolas had always been very close, even before her parent's deaths, and the sudden suspicion that there was something wedging itself between them was deeply upsetting. She'd wanted to mention it to him several times, but simply couldn't find the words to give it voice, praying it would eventually sort itself out.

"May I?" he asked, almost shyly, and extended a bent arm toward her with genteel grace.

Tauriel nearly smiled despite herself, but lifted her chin instead and composed her face into an impartial mask. "I suppose you may," she said, her façade breaking at the seams as the grin slipped free.

Legolas took her arm as Felaris tied a lovely cloak of deep silver edged in white fur about her shoulders.

Tauriel clumsily lifted the gown as they started down the hall and said, "Promise you won't let me fall?"

"Always," he swore with an almost strange sincerity, his arm tightening in hers so that she could feel the warmth of him even through the thick clothing.

Thranduil was waiting for them in the outer courtyard, a venerable army of elves ensuring that everything was in order. Twenty elves would be making the journey, the King and his family as well as their guards, and several of his most trusted councilors. Such a journey had not been made outside their kingdom for nearly four hundred years, and the anxiety of those gathered was almost palatable.

The King turned and his smile faltered for a moment when he spotted them, but was firmly in place again as they met him near a large carriage formed of intertwining branches and gleaming silver. Thranduil, who was always well dressed and meticulously manicured, looked even more resplendent than usual in elegant robes cast in shades of silver and gold, his coat a deep crimson that shimmered in the muted sunlight. His formal crown of branches and silver graced his golden head.

He took Tauriel's hand, drawing her away from Legolas's steadying embrace, and surprised her –and likely everyone else- by placing a brief kiss along her knuckles. "You look lovely, daughter."

Tauriel's heart skipped. She could count the times he had addressed her in such a manner on one hand and the certainty that something was afoot intensified.

"Thank you, my lord, for the gown… and everything else," she said, not quite able to keep the question out of her voice.

Thranduil's mouth curled into an almost devious smile. "I wanted my daughter outfitted in a manner befitting her rank for her introduction to the Dwarven King. You need not be so anxious."

Tauriel flushed, feeling vaguely annoyed, as though he were mocking her somehow. "I would feel more comfortable with a blade at my hip and a bow at my back."

He laughed at that, the sound like the tolling of a distant bell. "And for that you have my love, but humor me on this day, and perhaps a few more?"

Tauriel's misgivings eased and she chastised herself for being so foolish. What was fussing over a fine gown and a small crown worth in the face of her king's pleasure? Very little indeed.

"Of course, Your Majesty. It was a lovely present. I would be honored to be presented at your side."

A strange shadow passed over Thranduil's face, but he turned quickly away to address his steward, who informed them that all was ready for their departure.

"Shall we ride a span and save the carriage?" Thranduil asked, all gracious smiles again, but there was a sense of adventure about him, of eagerness to be on the road.

"An excellent idea, Father," Legolas agreed, clearly catching his father's mood and three fine horses were brought towards them. Tauriel's horse, Minuial, a fine mare named for her pearly beige coat, nudged eagerly at her hand, and her concerns evaporated with the sudden knowledge that for the first time in her life she was leaving the forest to which she'd been born.

For many long years she had climbed into the great bows of the ancient trees that made her home and looked out over the world, longing to see more of it. She'd dreamt of finding the sort of adventure and valor spoken of in song and story, a deep pervasive desire to do more held close to her heart. And here now was her chance. Perhaps not in the manner she had imagined, but still set before her all the same.

Tauriel had heard many tales concerning the majesty of the halls of Erebor and of the great riches it held, treasures that were almost beyond imagining. The dwarves had proven to be reclusive and uncouth in their dealings, trade having evaporated over the last several hundred years until only contention of past grievances remained. But, despite her own personal misgivings about the journey, and dwarves for that matter, she was eager to see their infamous city beneath the mountain.

A maid helped Tauriel with her gown and cloak as she mounted Minuial, arranging the train artfully across the horse's hindquarters, and found her trepidation was momentarily forgotten. She turned and found that Legolas was watching her intently, seated upon his own white stallion, but when she tried to share her sudden eagerness with a smile, he turned abruptly away and moved toward his father at the head of the party.

Pushing the odd behavior aside in favor of excitement, Tauriel followed after, certain that things were about to change for the better.

Kíli, son of Dís, second in line to the great Dwarven throne of Erebor, stood atop the table of his favorite tavern in the more unsavory sector of the mountain, and stared down his competition.

The other dwarf was older, bigger, and far hairier, but Kíli had always relished a challenge.

"You lads know the rules now," Bofur said, his hat askew and his voice slurred. "Pretty simple I should think; last one standing wins and any regurgitation is grounds for forfeit. At the mark of three, drain your glasses!"

Kíli lifted his mug to the general cheers and wolf-whistles of the dwarves gathered and his competitor did the same.

"One!" Bofur called over the ruckus.

"Two!"

"Th-"

The door to the tavern banged open and Kíli turned with the rest. He groaned long and loud at the sight of his brother silhouetted in the burning torches with a company of guards at his back.

Fíli did not look pleased.

"Welcome, brother!" Kíli called, relying on sarcasm and charm in the face of his brother's obvious wrath. "Have a drink won't you? We were just about-"

"Mother summoned you over three hours ago, Kíli," his brother interrupted, clearly having none of his younger sibling's antics.

Kíli flinched and felt very like a whipped child. He leapt from the table and attempted to ignore the mocking smiles of the tavern goers. In truth he hadn't known of his mother's summons, intent on enjoying a morning of merriment before the long arduous ceremony of the afternoon and evening -he had avoided anyone who appeared even vaguely official.

"I, uh, hadn't heard. Got an early start and all. I suppose she's angry then?" His mother's temper was a force to be reckoned with and he didn't relish the thought of willingly subjecting himself to it.

Fíli smirked and it was a tad malicious, as though taking personal satisfaction from what he said next. "Now the King is angry."

Kíli's stomach fell somewhere into the vicinity of his boots and without a second thought he downed his flagon and swept up his coat, flinging the empty mug at a dazed Bofur. His mother's wrath was upsetting, but his uncle's was terrifying.

Feigning indifference he raised a hand in farewell. "Sorry, lads, duty calls. Have a round on me!" He drew a purse of gold from his pocket and tossed it to the bartender, allowing him to at least depart for a certain doom to a chorus of cheers.

Hurrying after his brother down a narrow hall and toward the main causeway, Kíli asked, "How bad is it, truly?"

Fíli glanced at him, obviously annoyed and angry, but it was the hint of uncertainty that really caught Kíli's attention. Something serious was bothering his brother who, while often disapproving of his behavior, was usually far more accommodating.

Hell, once upon a time Fíli would have been on the table in a tavern with him. But then, a few years ago, Thorin had begun to involve Fíli more and more in the running of their kingdom and his brother had gone from being fun and carefree to being a serious, overbearing nursemaid.

"Bad enough. These next few days are important, Kee," his brother reprimanded, almost pleading with him.

Kíli soured and muttered, "Maybe for you it is."

Fíli came to a sudden halt and Kíli, who was more than a tad tipsy, nearly crashed into the heavily armored back of the guard before him. His elder brother took him firmly by the shoulders, his blue eyes intense and jaw hard.

"This isn't a joke, Kíli. Dain will be here soon, not to mention a delegation from Ered Luin and elves from Mirkwood, which has not happened since the days of our grandfather. Tomorrow Thorin will name us his heirs, with war brewing in the north Uncle will need us with him, and if something were to happen to either of us, you would be-"

Feeling faintly ill at the implications, Kíli cut him off, attempting to look contrite. "I'm sorry, Fee, you're right. I promise I'll be on my very best behavior today."

Fíli's eyes narrowed, clearly skeptical, and Kíli gave an exasperated sigh, thudding a fist against his breast. "I swear on my honor that I won't do anything reckless or foolish."

Another moment of concentrated scrutiny, then his brother's face smoothed and his hands loosened. "I'm not sure you know the meaning of the word honor, little brother, but it will have to do."

There was a hint of a smile playing on his brother's lips and he knew he was forgiven.

Kíli threw an arm around Fíli's shoulders, smirking. "Come on, better not keep mother waiting any longer or you might soon be an only child."

"Ah, a dream I've held dear since the day you were born," Fíli shot back, nudging him off with obvious affection, and they went on their way, all while Kíli attempted to wrestle back a sinking feeling of dread in his gut.

Tauriel sat with Legolas and the King in the carriage not long after leaving the protective shade of the forest. It was pleasant enough as Legolas read and Thranduil worked his way through a foreboding stack of missives, she was content to simply stare out the window, watching the world pass by, imagining what their journey might hold for her.

They swept past River Town near midday, a town with which they frequently traded goods, and she eagerly took note of the sprawling buildings built almost precariously on the shore and reaching across bits of land that stretched across the placid face of the Long Lake. Inviting trails of smoke rose toward a clear winter sky and she had an odd longing to visit. Perhaps she would be able to convince Thranduil to make a stop on their return journey.

In the afternoon, as the Lonely Mountain drew ever closer, Dale came into view, bright flags snapping in a cool breeze from high towers. Their party skirted around the city, and she craned her neck to stare up along mighty walls that had been made decorative with lovely bits of mosaic. She could see faces staring down, watching their progress with interest, before they were eventually stopped at the crest of the valley below and the road that would lead them to the Gates of Erebor.

Thranduil set his papers aside as the coach came to a full stop and peered briefly out the window. "Perhaps we ought to stretch our legs, and I thought we might finish our journey on horseback."

"Is that safe, Your Majesty?" Tauriel asked immediately, the Captain in her rankling at leaving her king so exposed in the lands of such reluctant allies.

Thranduil smiled. "We mustn't let the dwarves believe we are afraid of them," he said, his tone rather teasing. "Besides, though I am loath to admit it, the gates are truly a sight to behold and I think you'd enjoy the view."

Her eagerness to be free of the confines of the carriage drowned out any further protests she might have had, and she followed Legolas into the sunlight.

Ahead, Curial was speaking with two human guards, the frowns clear on their faces. Taking a moment to stretch her back, she approached. Dressed in finery she might be, but she was still Captain, and her men stood immediately at attention under her scrutiny. Delethrían saluted and Curial turned as the human guards looked to her with wide eyes, muttering something to each other.

"Is there a problem, Lieutenant?" she asked Curial in Sindarin, keeping an eye on the human men.

Curial was perhaps her closest peer among the guard, his sister was also a dear friend, and she trusted him implicitly, even if she would have much rather seen to the King's safety personally.

"The men of Dale were not informed of our passage, but they have sent word ahead to their Marshal, Princess- ah, Captain" he said, clearly frustrated, his hand inching towards his sword hilt.

Aware that the situation could easily spiral into conflict, Tauriel smiled at the watching guards and inclined her head. "Greetings," she said in the common tongue, "I am Tauriel, Captain of the King's Guard, how long until we might proceed?"

One guard nudged his flushed companion forward and he cleared his throat with a nervous cough. "A-ah, not long, m-milady. We are sorry for the inconvenience, but orders are orders, you see…"

"Of course, we understand, we thank you for your efforts," she said, secretly quite proud of her attempt at diplomacy. She'd always been a tad too blunt for her king's tastes, but it had always served her well. Today, however, she would at least attempt to be genteel.

"Delethrían, you and three others stay by the King at all times," she said in Sindarin, keeping her tone mild. "The rest of you, maintain a wary eye on the humans."

They all saluted her in perfect unison and she bowed slightly to the guards who returned the gesture awkwardly, still watching her with rather dazed looks in their eyes. She considered, perhaps, that these men had never actually seen an elf before, and felt a tad more inclined to be patient with them.

After reporting the situation to her king, she went after Legolas, who stood at the apex of a slight rise, staring down into the valley below. Intent on not tripping over her dress or her own two feet, she did not look up until she reached his side, and drew in a sharp breath as she took in the sight before her.

The Lonely Mountain rose skyward, its peak stained white with snow, and she beheld the Gates of Erebor. Towering statues of armored dwarves stood on either side of intricately carved gates where banners waved cheerfully in the breeze. The great mountain river flowed out from beneath a massive bridge to make a natural moat of fiercely rushing water, and even from their distance she could hear its mighty roar.

"I reacted much the same, the first time I saw it," Legolas said quietly, the light warm upon his fair face, turning his hair to pure gold.

Tauriel turned to him, surprised. "You have been here before?" He had certainly never mentioned it to her.

A smile, soft and sad, graced his face. "Once, long ago… before my mother died."

Legolas almost never spoke of his mother and a stab of pain for his loss lanced through her heart. It was a loss they both shared, a ghostly memory of the women who had born them and had long ago departed. She took his hand with little thought, and his fingers closed over hers with only a brief hesitation. Turning again she watched as the sun began to dip in the west, setting the sky to flames.

Shortly thereafter, the guards of Dale informed them that their passage was granted, and Thranduil caught her as she made to fetch Minuialfrom her handler. He was wearing the same odd look on his face from earlier that day and he momentarily seemed at a loss for what to say.

"My lord?" she queried, concerned. The night was falling fast, the first stars already winking down at them, and they had little time to make the Gates before full dark.

The King searched her face earnestly for a moment longer before saying at last, "I want you to know how very much you mean to me, Tauriel. Your father was a very dear friend and your mother was as lovely an elf-maidthat ever lived. It has been an honor to care for and look after you."

Deeply touched, but also profoundly confused, Tauriel frowned a little. "I am forever in your debt, my lord, but what-"

Thranduil shook his head slightly, cutting her off and drawing her into a surprising embrace. His arms were warm and strong about her and she could not recall the last time he had held her in such a way, surely not since she was a child. She had forgotten how much she liked it.

"I only hope you know that I love you as my own daughter. Always," he said into her hair, his voice thick with emotion.

Tauriel returned his embrace hesitantly, wondering why it felt as though he were saying goodbye.

"Stop fidgeting," his mother snapped in irritation as a long cloak of rich blue velvet and fur was clasped to Kíli's ceremonial pauldrons.

The damned things were heavy and his back was already straining in protest. Mahal's balls, how he hated dressing for pomp and ceremony -by the end of the night his poor back was going to be on fire. And never mind the blasted circlet that pressed down horribly behind his ears.

He reached up a hand to scratch at his temple but his mother slapped his hand away. "Don't touch it. Mahal bless, Kíli, you're little better than a child."

Kíli glowered, his mood dipping further as he looked to Fíli who seemed completely at ease, gleaming in his own freshly polished golden armor and bright red cloak.

His uncle stormed into the room a moment later, looking fierce and regal in his own ceremonial armor, the crown of the king fitted securely to his brow with his sword strapped at his side. He glared at Kíli and he looked at his boots, hoping his uncle would forget his anger in all the political wrangling that was about to begin.

Tonight their guests would arrive and there would be a grand welcome in the throne room followed by a great feast. The following afternoon the official ceremony would take place followed by more feasting – it was the promise of endless mead that kept him from bolting for the deepest tunnels of Erebor. Just a few more days, perhaps a week at most, and everything would go back to normal.

Thorin drew Fíli aside, where they spoke in low voices, and his mother stood before him, adjusting the fall of his cloak. The expression on her face was oddly sad, almost sorrowful, and Kíli frowned.

"Mother? What is it? Are you still angry? I'm sorry about earlier, truly. I didn't-"

She shook her head and, if Kíli hadn't known any better, he might have thought she ducked her head to hide the tears glittering in her eyes. He had never seen his mother cry, not even the day they had brought his father's lifeless body home.

"No, no, of course not," she said, fluttering a hand at him. "It's no matter, it's only… well, I worry about you sometimes. I won't always be around to look after you, Kíli, and your brother-"

Not entirely sure where this emotional outburst had come from, he took his mother gently by the shoulders and craned his neck till she was forced to look at him. He gave her his best, most charming smile, and sure enough it tugged an answering one from her.

"You don't have to worry about me, Mother. I can take care of myself, I promise. And stop talking as though you're going to die. You're not that old," he teased with a wink.

His mother rolled her eyes a little, but rather than appearing truly irritated as she usually might have, she looked indulgent, soft almost -and soft was not a word he typically would have used to describe his mother. But she looked it now, and it made him uncomfortable, made him feel as though he ought to do or say something, but he had no idea what.

"I hope you understand," she said quietly, reaching out to take his face gently between her hands, "that everything I have ever done has been for you and Fíli. That I have only ever wanted what was best for both of you and our kingdom."

Before he could even think of anything to say in response, Balin arrived to announce that Dain and his party were ready, as was King Bard of Dale, and the elves from Mirkwood had just arrived. Kíli almost immediately forgot his mother's odd melancholy in the face of acute dread.

"Very well, let's get this over with," Thorin grumbled and they all followed after him. Kíli was too distracted by his own discomfort to notice how his mother lagged behind or the shadow upon her face.

The Great Hall was full to bursting with dwarves and even some men who had traveled from Dale and perhaps River Town to partake in the historical event. The long room, which had been abuzz with laughter and chatter, fell silent as Thorin entered the chamber and strode toward the throne where the Arkenstone blazed with light.

His uncle stood, staring out over them as first his mother, then Fíli followed lastly by Kíli himself took their positions. His mother sat on a fine chair, a step below and to the right of her brother, looking regal and commanding in her finery. Fíli took his place at the left hand of the King on the same step as his mother, and Kíli sat near him, one step lower.

When they were all settled, Balin nodded to a servant who then nodded to the royal herald, who then took up his brass horn and blew a single long note.

"I present Dain Ironfoot, Lord of the Iron Hills, accompanied by his son, Thorin the Third!"

The great doors across the hall opened and the Iron Hills' dwarves made their way toward the throne.

Kíli could almost taste the tension in the room. Only a few weeks prior, word had reached them that supply wagons heading south had been attacked and apprehended in Dain's lands. When Dain had been questioned he'd feigned ignorance, but then it had happened again a week later, and a third time the week after that. Many of the King's Council had called for war or, at the very least, swift retribution and Kíli had quietly agreed with them. The King, however, had erred on the side of caution.

As far as Kíli was concerned, Dain Ironfoot had forgotten to whom he owed his allegiance and clearly needed reminding.

"Kee," Fíli warned under his breath as Thorin stood prompting everyone, save his mother, to stand as Dain and his son stopped at the brink of a lush red carpet below the steps.

Kíli stood last, gripping the hilt of the axe at his side. Dain was a large dwarf, tattooed and battle scarred, with a shock of red-gray hair and a long beard braided in a warrior's fashion. He wore battle armor, heavy and unpolished, with a massive axe at his back. His son, Thorin –how dare the man name his son after the King!- looked like a smaller, uglier version of him. Both looked up at the King with expressions bordering on sardonic.

After a very long and exaggerated pause, the two dwarves bowed. A gesture which Thorin and Fíli reflected and Kíli avoided. Hang decorum, he thought, it is an outrage! He took pleasure in imagining how it might feel to punch the smirk off Thorin III's snide, pinched face.

"Welcome, cousin," Thorin said, wearing his formal smile with the same ease as he wore his crown and it somehow managed to convey warmth and warning simultaneously.

"It's been too long, Thorin," Dain drawled, his posture relaxed, bored even. The Lord of the Iron Hills then turned his attention to Kíli's mother, a smirk twisting his lips. "You're looking lovely, Princess," he said, close to sneering.

His mother tilted her chin and looked at Dain as though he were little more than a bug she meant to smash. There was no sign of softness in her now. "Welcome, my lord, we are so pleased you could make it for the ceremony. It is comforting that you would travel so far to show your loyalty to the King and his heirs."

Amusement glittered in Dain's eyes, as if he knew something they did not, and he bowed again. "I will let you see to your other guests. There will be plenty of time to catch up later."

Thorin nodded sharply, eyes narrowed, as Dain and his son departed into a nearby antechamber. The interaction had been odd, but Kíli set it aside, certain it would sort itself out, whatever it was.

Next came King Bard of Dale with his Queen, the Lady Sera, and their three children -two girls and a boy. Bard greeted them cordially, offering his congratulations and support, but there too was tension. For reasons Kíli did not understand –he rarely paid attention to anything political if he could help it- things had become strained with Dale. The eldest daughter, a pretty thing despite the lack of facial hair, looked upon Fíli and flushed, which at least promised Kíli some later amusement when he could tease his elder brother about the human princess's affections.

At last, the elves arrived. Night had fully fallen, the stars glittering outside and the torch light battling for dominion with the bright light of a full moon. Kíli, who had never before seen an elf, found himself strangely eager.

"I present Thranduil, the Elvenking of Mirkwood, and his children, the Prince Legolas and the Princess Tauriel!" the herald cried, and there was an expectant hush upon the crowd.

The doors opened again and the elves began their trek to the throne, a wave of excited and anxious murmurs following in their wake. They were very tall, was his first thought, and his second was that he could not tell which of the Elvenking's children was the maid and which was a lad. He nearly laughed aloud and fought the urge to nudge Fíli.

It was impossible to deny that the elves were very fair, with luminescent faces and graceful gestures, but it was the princess –once he was indeed certain she was in fact a she- who drew his eye. She seemed… uncomfortable, eyes darting through the crowd before finally alighting on Thorin, bypassing Kíli completely. She, he determined reluctantly, was indeed lovely –though the lack of a beard was rather unsettling. Her hair, long and flowing down past her waist, reminded him of molten copper and her eyes were bright and green like leaves caught in sunlight. She was unlike anything he had ever seen.

"Greetings, Thranduil of the Woodland Realm. We welcome you and your family to Erebor," Thorin said, his tone polite, but decidedly cold.

The Elvenking, with his crown of wood and silver, dipped his head slightly, his children mimicking the gesture. He was the tallest and most imposing of the three elves and, if the tales were true, also many thousands of years old – it was a hard thing to believe. His son looked much like him, though his features were softer and his gaze more kind. The daughter clearly had taken after her mother for she looked little like either of them.

"You honor us with your invitation and generous welcome, King Thorin, and I hope this day might herald a new age of friendship between our peoples," Thranduil replied, his deep voice resonant and pleasing to the ear.

Thorin's jaw clenched briefly and he looked to the Elven Princess. "We were shocked to learn you had a daughter, my lord, for we had only ever heard of a son. I bid her special welcome."

The elf-maid colored prettily, lips pursing, and eyes dipping away.

Thranduil smiled, unperturbed. "She is my ward, adopted officially after the terrible deaths of her parents many years ago. I apologize if you were unaware of the occurrence, but I assure you all the formalities were attended to."

At least that explained a few things, Kíli thought, though the exchange seemed... strange.

Something odd passed between the two kings, something Kíli certainly didn't understand, a sort of silent battle of wills, but then the moment passed.

"Please, allow my steward to show you to my personal antechamber where we can converse with one another more comfortably," Thorin said, words dripping with innuendo, and Kíli saw his mother flinch mysteriously.

Something was going on, something that had so far gone completely over his head. Glancing up at his elder brother, Kíli saw the same question painted clearly on Fíli's face.

The elves departed with another round of polite bows and the princess briefly caught his eye before moving to follow her king. The Elven Prince walked closely at her side and whispered something in her ear that made her smile a little.

She had a lovely smile.

Kíli shook his head, banishing the thought, as his uncle addressed the room.

"Feast now, my friends, feast now in honor of my nephews and the enduring line of Durin! Enjoy this night, for great change is coming," Thorin said loudly, then softly as though in anxious prayer he added, "May Mahal bless us all."

They left the hall, following after the elves amid cheers from the crowd, and Kíli ducked his head toward his brother to whisper, "That was odd."

Fíli's face was grave as he stared at Thorin's back. "Very odd indeed. Something isn't right, Kee… I don't like it."

Moments later Kíli stood slightly apart as the Elvenking greeted Thorin in the royal audience chamber, an opulent room that he hated to frequent because it usually meant he was uncomfortable or in trouble –usually both. He took up a space near the back of the room, as close to the door as possible, and attempted to appear attentive and interested, hoping that maybe he could make a break for it. A headache was pulsing in the back of his head and, as expected, his back was aching fiercely from the weight of his armor. He thought wistfully of how he'd soon be able to return to his rooms to change, then maybe he could sneak down to a tavern and play some dice, get his mind off of things for a few hours.

Yeah, that sounded great.

"Kíli," Thorin called suddenly, tone hard, snapping him away from his pleasant imaginings. "Come here."

Frowning, and sharing a confused glance with his brother, Kíli came forward, watching with interest as the Elvenking gracefully motioned his daughter forward as well. The elf-maid looked equally confused, her bright eyes catching his again before shifting away. There was something about the way she moved, something that spoke of more than grace and beauty, something that warned his warrior's mind of danger. But he couldn't quite help also taking note of the gentle swell of her breasts beneath the gleaming silk of her gown or the pleasing sway of her hips as she walked, and wondered if perhaps he were still drunk -she was nearly half a foot taller than him!

His mind was clearly not his own as further embarrassing thoughts briefly consumed him; her dress looks like stars cast across a night sky and her skin, clear and flawless, gleams as though touched by moonlight.

Mahal's balls, man, pull it together, he internally chastised himself. Clearly it had been too long since he'd last enjoyed the company of a woman.

Thorin did not even look at him as he came obediently to his side, his uncle's burning eyes fixated on the Elvenking. Again there was the inexplicable tension that Kíli still could not account for, but he took his uncle's cue and elected for a hard glare.

The elf-maid stood at her king's side and her mannerism was oddly protective, her fingers clenching and unclenching at her side in an anxious tick that he immediately recognized; her hand was searching for a blade.

"Shall I announce the joyous news then?" the Elvenking asked at last, a pleasant smile not quite reaching the icy gray of his eyes. "I think it probably best to get it over with."

Thorin's eyes narrowed to slits, his whole body taut with acute strain, and said, in a startling bark, "Kíli, meet your bride-to-be, the Princess Tauriel."

Stunned silence fell in the echo of this declaration and Kíli felt the world shift beneath him.

When he'd been very small, Kíli had once climbed a very high wall in the lower forges. It was a game all the dwarf children played -who could climb the highest without getting scared. Fíli hadn't let him climb because he was too small, but even then Kíli hadn't appreciated being told what to do. So, when the other children were distracted, he began to climb without the usual safety rope attached to his waist. After all, he was a son of Durin, he was tough and brave. He hadn't made it very far, fortunately, when his foot slipped out from under him while reaching for the next hand-hold, and he would never forget the sickening sensation in his gut as he fell into open air.

Meeting the startled eyes of the Elven Princess induced a very similar reaction, and he was too stunned to register the cry of outrage that erupted from both sides of the room.

Notes:

Whew, here we are, thoughts anyone?

Basically I felt the need to write this fic in parallel to my other fic, The Heir Apparent, for several reason, a) I wanted to write a REAL everyone lives fic, for obvious BotFA reasons, b) I really enjoy the arranged marriage trope and Kiliel just felt kind of perfect for it, and most importantly c) I wanted to write smut in a way that THA's pacing kind of won't allow and yeah... don't judge me!

The dress Tauriel wears in this chapter is heavily based on the cosplay by Starparticles, it's amazing and you should check it out on her tumblr (user name: starparticles)

-Sindarin Translations-

Minuial: Dawn

Elleth: elf-maid