A/N: Yeaaaaaah, this was supposed to be just a cute, short little one shot, but I got to 11,000 words and said 'Eh, maybe we'll make it a two or three shotter. Well, this fic was written for the lovely Irrel (who did the artwork for the cover of my fic 'The Heir Apparent' and it's seriously the most beautiful thing EVER. Go check it out and then go check her out on Tumblr; user name 'Irrel').

Prompt: What would happen if Smaug had never taken Erebor and Kili had grown up a Prince while Tauriel was still the Captain of the Royal Guard? How would events unfold if they met and were attracted to one another?

Disclaimer: I don't own nothin'.

Reckless

Part One: In Which Kíli Eats His Words

"Kee, if we're late again Uncle is going to kill us." Fíli said dryly, tapping his foot and scowling from the open doorway of his younger brother's messy bedchambers.

The impatient Heir Apparent was dressed in shining bronze armor and a cascading red cloak trimmed in ram fur that flowed proudly across his broad shoulders to brush the stone floor. His flaxen hair and beard had been braided with gems and beads and a golden circlet graced his brow, highlighting his fair features and his deep scowl. It was common knowledge that the young Prince, heir to the great dwarven throne, was the most sought after bachelor in both Erebor and the Iron Hills.

His younger brother was a close second.

Kíli fumbled with the clasp of his heavy blue cloak as he managed to finally get his feet into his boots. His hair was sticking up in all directions and he sported a fading bruise under his left eye with an angry red scrape under his chin, remnants of a mock duel gone too far. While Fíli was golden and pristine, the picture of what everyone expected a Son of Durin to be, Kíli was dark and rakish, always getting into mischief and never behaving as he should. The women of Erebor swooned over Fíli it was true, but they whispered to one another behind closed doors about the 'reckless' younger brother.

Kíli cursed violently under his breath as his fine mithril broach snagged on the collar of his tunic. If he hadn't been wearing his thrice damned ceremonial armor, getting dressed would have been so much easier. Someone had polished the fine steel breast plate to a high shine -certainly not him- and it was half blinding him in the bright torch light. He suspected his mother was to blame.

"He wouldn't murder us in front of the Elves, Fee," he said lightly as he finally managed to close the clasp and whirled in search of his crown.

"He'd wait until they were gone at least, giving us plenty of time to escape. Ahah!" He leapt across the room and snatched his crown from its place of honor atop an old wooden training dummy that he'd managed to sneak up from the yard. He'd painted Dwalin's face on it, complete with shaggy bits of old fur for hair and beard. He'd spent hours getting the scowl just right.

"Now where is my bloody sword!" He cried, spinning in a mad circle and shoving his crown onto his head.

"Here, you giant pain in my arse," Fíli said and threw the sword, sheathed in its scabbard, straight at him. The pommel almost hit him across the nose and he glared at his brother who merely smirked.

"You buckle, I'll fix your hair."

Kíli scuffled with his sword belt, "What's wrong with my hair?"

"Nothing, if you want to look as though you just rolled out of bed."

"The ladies like the mussed look, Fee," he protested as his elder brother set upon him with a comb, eyes gleaming with something akin to vengeance.

"Aye well, mother will box your ears, Elves or no." He countered, smiling now as he mercilessly tackled the tangles in his brother's hair.

Several minutes later, and after much cursing, they emerged into the main hall just in time to meet their mother as she came down from her chambers above. Bedecked in bright gold and glimmering with many rubies, the Princess Dís shone like the sun itself.

"Mother," they said in unison, and bowed low.

The Princess Dís sniffed slightly and peered at her two sons critically as they rose. The Princess looked much like her elder brother, the King. With inky hair that had been artfully braided up and away with her beard, she could have been his twin if not for the softer angles of her face and the swell of her bosom. A handsome woman to be sure, but with an air of command that demanded respect.

"Kíli, why do you always look as though a war pig has just dragged you through the mud?" She asked tersely.

"I combed my hair," he said defensively.

"Wrong, I combed your hair," Fíli said, clearly enjoying himself. Kíli elbowed him hard between the ribs, where his armor was weakest, and his brother grunted and swatted at him.

"Tsk," the Princess murmured and pursed her lips in disapproval. They both immediately settled into identical looks of beguiling guilt. Many feared the King's wrath, but everyone feared the fury of his younger sister. "Must you two always act like such children?"

This was obviously a rhetorical question and neither of her sons was foolish enough to answer it. She primly straighten Kíli's cloak, artfully draping the blue and silver brocade across his shoulders and righted the collar of his velvet tunic beneath. Fíli had braided parts of his hair back and worked a few sapphire beads into them and she carefully tightened the ends of each, straightening his circlet gently so it rested evenly on his brow. He kept his beard neat and trim, perhaps shorter than the current fashion but still comely, and then smoothed her hand over his jaw. It was a tender gesture and her eyes softened for a moment, gracing him with a small smile.

When the Princess pulled away her eyes were stern again. "I expect you both to be on your best behavior tonight, do you understand me?"

"Yes mother," they said.

"I mean it Kíli," she warned, "I will not have a repeat of last Durin's day. Dain's daughter wouldn't come out of her chambers for a week."

"What a shame that was- Ow!," Kíli rubbed ruefully at the side of his head where his mother had struck him. Fíli sniggered behind his hand.

"This meeting is very important to your Uncle and I will not have you embarrassing him in front of the Elven King." She commanded, eyes flashing dangerously.

"Who cares what the damned Elves think," Fíli dared, his chest swelling. .

The Princess raised a slim brow at him and her son was quickly cowed. "Your Uncle seeks to open trade again with the Woodland realm, this is important to our people, my son. Sometimes you must cast aside old hatreds for the betterment of all, when you are King, you will understand."

"Of course, mother," Fíli said humbly but Kíli didn't buy it. Forgive the Elves? Ha! Never mind that he wasn't even entirely certain why his people disliked the Elves so much, but that hardly seemed to matter.

"Well, let us not tarry any longer." The Princess said and walked gracefully down the hall, several of her maids scampering forward to follow after at her heels.

"I've never seen an Elf," Kíli confessed to his brother a moment later, as though Fíli hadn't already known – they'd hardly been separated a day of their lives.

"I hear their women are soft and frail, beardless and willowy like saplings in a storm." Fíli whispered conspiratorially as they entered the Great Hall of Erebor. It was crowded with dwarves, all of them eager to get a glimpse of the famous Elven King and his entourage as they arrived. Many stopped to stare at their infamous Princes' bedecked in their finery, however, and whispered excitedly behind their hands as they passed.

Weeks of preparation had gone into the momentous event; old rooms, which had been designed for visiting Elves in times when their peoples had gotten on better, had been cleaned and stocked, many kinds of exotic foods had been rolled in from all corners of Middle-Earth, and every hall, no matter how small, had been scrubbed and polished into sheer splendor. Kíli thought the effect would be entirely wasted on a people who lived in trees.

He pulled a face and shook his head, "They sound hideous. Hopefully we will not be required to entertain any of them."

"Perish the thought," his brother replied sincerely and then quieted as they entered the throne room to a flare of bright fanfare.

"Nephews. Sister," the King said in greeting, his voice faintly sardonic as it echoed through the throne room, but a fond smile tugged at one corner of his stern mouth. Behind him stood his daughter, the Princess Briala, dressed in the deep blue's of their line and looking lovely as a spring morning. It was said she looked much like her mother, though Kíli could only barely recall the deceased Queen's face, she'd died when they were very young.

Fíli and Kíli bowed low at the base of the steps, which led up to the great throne above, and their mother dipped nearly to the floor. A reverent hush had fallen over the hall. It was rare that the entire royal family was together all at once, duty usually keeping one or several of them occupied elsewhere, and there was a sense of deep ceremony at their greeting now. Looking upon his Uncle, Kíli's breast swelled with pride. Here was a true Son of Durin, dark and fierce looking, with piercing eyes and a broad chest, the crown of the King Under the Mountain gleaming upon his brow, bright and true.

The King waved them idly forward but his eyes were warm and he bent to kiss his sister's cheek and braced arms with his nephews. The Princess moved to stand near her cushioned seat, smaller and set slightly to one side of the throne next to her niece, and Fíli took up his place to the right of his Uncle's seat with Kíli stationed slightly away. Thorin took a moment to whisper something to his daughter, who flushed and glanced shyly at an oblivious Fíli, and then took his seat. A moment later the fanfare began at the Gates and carried into the great hall, echoing crisply in the falling night.

Kíli gripped the hilt of his sword, carefully contorting his features into a fierce scowl even as his heart leapt traitorously in his chest. He was eager despite himself. He'd spent nearly all of his life beneath the mountain, never traveling far beyond the confines of their underground kingdom, and he'd long desired to see the world outside. Here, tonight, a breath of fresh air from the lands beyond came to tempt him further. Unlike his brother and despite his lip service to the contrary, a part of him wished to know of Elves and Men and all other manner of creatures beneath the sun and sky.

The hush of the hall deepened as the trumpets quieted and the Elven party began their journey down the long path to the throne. Kíli stifled a cough of disbelief as he saw that King Thranduil wore a crown of twigs wrapped in silver and gold with elegant silk robes that looked suspiciously like a woman's dress. He was fair of hair and face, his blue eyes cold and calculating as they surveyed their surroundings with disinterest, and Kíli sobered a little; the depths of the ages were in those eyes. Beside him walked a slightly shorter elf, similar in appearance and countenance, bearing a slim crown of silver and slightly more muted robes, but he carried himself with no less grace or confidence than his father.

"I thought the King had a son," he whispered into Fíli's ear and his elder brother stifled a snort against his fist. Their mother shot them a warning glance and they both straightened.

"Not even a hint of a beard," Fíli commented a moment later but Kíli barely heard him, for the Elven King and Prince had reached the throne, bowed, and revealed the most fiercely beautiful creature he had ever beheld.

She (for he was intrinsically sure that it was a she despite the misleading femininity of Elven men) was red of hair and, even from their distance, her eyes all but glowed green, like the finest of emeralds before they'd been cut and shaped. Unlike her King she was dressed not in robes but in fine Elven made armor and mail, a sword at her side with elegant daggers at her back. The sharp curves of her face were pale but perfectly made, like the elegant strokes of a master sculptor. She was much shorter than her King and Prince (though, admittedly, not quite so short as a dwarf), and less willowy. The other members of the guard, there were five in total, were similar in stature and appearance. He'd heard that the Elves varied as many of the Dwarven clans did, but he had not expected the differences to be so notable.

Kíli felt as though he were falling. Something strange and indescribable had shifted inside him, reorienting itself in a manner he didn't understand but it made his stomach flutter.

He blinked back into reality as his Uncle rose and stepped forward, indicating that they should follow behind.

"Welcome, King Thranduil of the Woodland realm, to Erebor," the King Under the Mountain said graciously, his deep voice booming through the hall.

"We are honored to be here, King Thorin," Thranduil replied genially and dipped his head.

"Allow me to present my sister, the Princess Dís and my daughter the Princess Briala," Throin said with a wave of his hand, "and my nephews and heirs, Prince Fíli," his elder brother bowed, "and Prince Kíli." With a breath he dipped his head but found that he could not quite take his eyes off the She-Elf, who, for her part was surveying the hall critically, her hand resting on the hilt of her blade. She carried herself like a warrior, strong and proud. His heart was a drum beat in his head.

"My son, the Prince Legolas," the Elf King said casually, as though he were commenting on the weather, and his son bowed. Kíli was desperate to know the She-Elf's name but Thranduil seemed to have no intention of revealing it.

"Please," Throin said, "Allow my people to show you to your rooms so that you might rest from your journey. We hope you will join us for the evening's festivities."

The Elf maiden, likely sensing the weight of his gaze, at last glanced his way and their eyes held for a long moment. A myriad of emotions passed across her face, too quickly for Kíli to settle on any of them, before she looked pointedly away. There was a pale pink tinge to her cheeks now and he couldn't stop the smirk that grew on his face.

"Of course," Thranduil replied and they all bowed again. Their Steward, Balin, rushed forward with a party of servants in toe and the Elves followed gracefully after him into an antechamber nearby. Kíli watched, transfixed, as the Elf maiden departed, her long hair swinging and her hips swaying, and thought that maybe, just maybe, she glanced back at him.

Kíli took a breath and smoothed a hand across his velvet tunic, straightening his belt and adjusting his circlet for the umpteenth time. He'd never felt so strangely nervous in all his life and he wasn't even sure why.

Fíli raised a brow at him, "What's gotten into you?"

Kíli felt his cheeks heat and ducked his head, "Nothing."

"You're behaving like a blushing maiden," his brother accused, grinning now as they waited for their Uncle and Mother in the corridor outside the main feast hall. "And you were ready on time. Something is clearly wrong with you. Are you feeling ill?"

He made of show of trying to feel at Kíli's forehead and he swatted his hand away with a scowl. They'd both changed for the feast, wearing similar tunics in deep blue with embroidery of silver and gold, the only real difference being that Fíli had kept his cloak and Kíli had left his behind. Damned things always got in the way while dancing, and Kíli was notorious for his dancing. Prior to this moment he'd fully planned on dancing with every Dwarf maiden in residence, but now there was only one face that swam to mind and it was deeply unsettling.

Fíli opened his mouth to tease his younger brother further but Kíli's salvation came in the form of his cousin, Uncle, and Mother as they descended the stairs. The Princess Briala looked regal and lovely in a light blue gown that twinkled with many silver laced diamonds, her hair was worn loose and gleaming down to her waist and her face was bare save for the long braided edges of her sideburns –a recent fashion and one their mother didn't approve of. He nudged Fíli, smirking in his turn, "Your bride-to-be looks lovely tonight brother, does she not?"

Fíli cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, struck by a sudden and devastating bolt of awkwardness that was entirely out of character.

Now who was the blushing maiden, Kíli thought triumphantly as his brother watched Briala step toward them like a man struck dumb. They'd been all but promised since the moment the Princess had been born and had spent years hating each other, pulling pranks, tormenting one another as often as possible, and generally causing their King to despair. But in the last few years things had changed between them and everyone could see it except for perhaps them. They were more courteous to one another, but also painfully awkward, avoiding eye contact even as they stole glances and generally evaded one another.

Kíli, feeling strangely magnanimous, urged his brother forward. Fíli stumbled then caught his feet and hurried to the Princess's side.

"My Lady," he murmured and, in a rare show of boldness, took her hand and brushed a kiss across it. Briala flamed red right up to the tips of her curved ears but managed a bright smile as he rose and tucked her arm into his. Behind them, the King was near bursting with pleasure and even his mother was smiling.

Kíli might have not existed at all as the group fell in line behind the King, for which he was grateful. He was having something of an existential crisis.

The She-Elf stood just behind her King, proud, erect, and utterly captivating. She was also completely oblivious to his existence. It took a supreme amount of effort to keep himself from staring at her through the entire meal, and he pushed his food around his plate absently. He was so distracted by her mere presence that he had no sense of the tension at the head table until King Thranduil motioned her to him, whispering something to her in their own fluid tongue. She nodded once and departed.

He watched her walk away, a strange tightness in his chest as her hair glinted in the firelight. As though he'd just woken from some sort of trance, he glanced about him, taking in the hard expressions and strange silence with a confused frown. There was a worried, irritated crease between his Uncle's brow and his mother's lips were tightly pursed. Fíli was staring down at his plate as well, but his gaze often flicked across the table to where the Princess Briala sat, silent and contemplative. He had clearly missed something.

A few tense moments later and another Elf came to stand behind King Thranduil, indicating that perhaps the object of his current fascination (he refused to consider the implications of her being the object of his affection) and he cleared his throat, quietly excusing himself. Only his mother looked his way as he rose, his Uncle merely waving a dismissive hand.

Kíli wouldn't have said he was looking for the Elf maiden, precisely, he'd merely felt like taking an extended walk across the battlements… after innocently asking a guard if he'd happened to see a red haired Elf pass this way. Yes, it was entirely coincidental that he'd come upon her at all.

She was standing with her hands braced on the crenels along the parapets above the great Gates of Erebor, her face tilted skyward and her eyes reflecting the silver light of the waning moon with perfect clarity. She looked like a dream, or a vision, too lovely to be real.

"It is impolite the stare, Dwarf," she said coolly, startling him and breaking the spell.

He flushed and cleared his throat, stepping out of the shadows into the light of the low burning brazier.

"It's a- er, nice evening." He commented lamely, realizing belatedly that he hadn't considered what he might even say to her. The entire thing was mad anyway, he knew, but he was completely helpless to explain what had gotten into him. He was merely curious about her culture, he told himself; yes, that was it.

She did not turn toward him as she said, "It is refreshing to be out from beneath the weight of the mountain."

Kíli frowned, "Does being below ground make you uncomfortable?" Standing so near her he determined that the top of his head would likely come to the base of her chin; not such a terrible height difference, his mind supplied traitorously.

"I've spent all my life in the forest with the stars above me, it is strange to spend so much time below ground, absent of their light," she looked to him at last and then flushed prettily, executing a swift bow with her eyes down cast.

"I apologize, your highness, I did not realize to whom I spoke."

Kíli rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck, "Please, don't apologize. I'm curious to hear about my home from the perspective of an outsider." He leaned against the crenels, crossing his arms over his chest and attempting to appear at his ease even as his pulse raced and his thoughts scattered.

She met his gaze, eyes searching, "I assure you I meant no disrespect your highness, Erebor is very grand and your people have been very hospitable."

She sounded as though she was reciting a well-rehearsed speech and he chuckled, causing her eyes to narrow. "Please, call me Kíli, and I meant it when I said I was interested in your opinion, your honest one."

She ducked her head and turned back to face away into the night, "It is lovely, just… strange. It's discomfiting to look upward only to find vast caverns and empty darkness rather than stars and sky."

Kíli turned and braced his arms on the wall, watching the fire and moon-light glitter on the placid water of the river below.

"Do the stars mean so much that you feel their absence within only a few hours, my lady?" He asked, his voice faintly teasing. Kíli had never struggled with a talking to a female before but his tongue felt dry and leaden in his mouth.

She pursed her lips, and looked skyward once more, "My people hold all light sacred, but… Woodelves love best the light of the stars."

Strangely touched, he followed her gaze, watching the far off lights twinkle down at them, "It always seemed such a distant, unfeeling light to me."

He caught the shake of her head from the corner of his eyes, "It is the light of memory, of all the ages as they have passed and faded. Sometimes, in the long hours of the night, I walk there, between the veil of this world and the next, where there is only light, precious and pure. " There was a depth and passion within her words that caught him up despite himself, wrapped once again in her strange spell.

"There is a cavern, we call it the Queen's Garden, that is said to mirror the night sky," he blurted out awkwardly, but she turned to him in interest. "With no Queen on the throne few now go there, but it is a wondrous place. The gems and silver above catching the torch light so that the whole chamber glitters and sparkles."

She smiled and her features softened. Suddenly she seemed tangible and real for the first time and his breath caught in his throat. "That sounds lovely, your majesty, I wish I could see it."

"I could take you," he said immediately, strangely but powerfully eager to share with her the wonders of his kingdom. He wanted to take her down to the great forges where the massive fires never died, and then further to the bottomless mines where his people plucked jewels from the earth like fruit from a tree. He would show her the work shops where they made weapons and armor but also where they fashioned their clever mechanical toys and created intricate works of art from stone and metal. He could show her to the grand library, with its sea of leather bound tomes and carefully organized scrolls, then on to the lower levels where the majority of their people lived and where vendors hawked their wares in lively market places that were always filled with song and entertainment.

But her face hardened again and she looked away, "I'm afraid that would not be appropriate, your highness. I am Captain of the Royal Guard, my duties would not allow it."

"Of course," he said, feeling foolish and disappointed all at once.

She glanced at him, her expression unreadable, "I should return, I wish you a pleasant evening, your highness."

He swept her a courtly bow, "And I wish you a pleasant evening as well, my lady, I hope we might have the chance to speak again soon."

She blushed and started away. After only a few steps, she hesitated and turned slightly around. "My name is Tauriel," she said softly, "As opposed to 'my lady.'" She gave him tentative, but warm smile that shot warmth straight through his chest like an arrow.

And then she was gone before he could think of anything at all to say.

"Tauriel," he murmured to himself and looked to the stars as if seeing them for the first time.

It was two days before Kíli saw her again.

They'd been caught in a long tedious meeting for nearly all the morning and Kíli's attention wandered often. Wandering, of course, toward one person in particular. She stood, as always, directly behind her King, just down the table from him. Balin droned on and on as a dark haired elf carefully recorded everything he said. Something about barrels, but Kíli was beyond listening, and even Fíli looked as though he were bored out of his mind.

He leaned back in his chair and caught Tauriel's eye, and smiled at her. She flushed again and might have looked away except that he began to do his famous impression of Balin, mimicking his hand movements and facial expressions perfectly. She surprised him with a helpless chuckle which she quickly attempted to disguise as a cough but Balin, used to his antics, shot him a knowing look. Kíli folded his hands primly before him and attempted to look deeply interested in what the old dwarf was saying. Balin narrowed his eyes warningly before continuing with whatever he had been speaking about. Kili glanced at Tauriel a moment later and saw that a smile still played at her lips.

He was on his way to the bathhouse when he caught sight of her just below the upper caverns. She was surrounded by dwarflings, whose small voices rose and crested through the long hall with excitement. As he watched she bent to them with a glowing smile as they traced her pointed ears and ran curious fingers across her bare face. One of the older girls said something and Tauriel laughed brightly in surprised amusement. The sound was like clear bells on a crisp winter morning and it nearly struck him dumb.

Feeling his gaze, she glanced upward and caught it, holding him captive. Her smile faded and something deep and full of promise passed through her eyes. He held her stare for a moment longer before turning, fleeing from her and everything she'd mysteriously woken within him. He felt very much like a coward.

Dwalin trapped him just after breakfast the next day and Kíli groaned miserably.

"None of that lad, you've skipped out on training exercises for nearly a week," the gruff military commander told him, glowering as Kíli looked sheepish.

"But Dwalin-"

"No, no arguments get your gear and then get your arse to the training yard or I'll be having a word with your mother."

Kíli swallowed and hurried off, grumbling about sadistic task masters and interfering mothers.

An hour later and he was patiently stringing his bow. It was late in the morning and most of their warriors had moved on to other responsibilities, leaving the training yard, the archery range in particular, nearly deserted. He swung his arms a few times to loosen his muscles, then took to his practice. Despite his complaining, he'd always enjoyed working with his bow –making him something of an oddity among his people who typically only resorted to archery when hunting. He enjoyed sword work, certainly, but there was something deeply… relaxing about pulling back the taunt string, feeling the muscles across his chest and back stretching, then taking aim and letting his arrow fly.

He nocked an arrow, aimed, then breathed once, twice, and released on the third exhale. He smiled as the bolt struck dead center. He reached for another arrow.

"Impressive," a voice said and he jumped, toppling the standing arrow quiver and nearly falling flat on his face.

He turned to find Tauriel laughing at him quietly from behind her hand. Kíli blushed furiously and bowed awkwardly, "Ah, good morning my lady, I didn't see you there…"

She cleared her throat and bowed in her turn, "I apologize your highness, I didn't mean to startle you." Something in her eyes told him otherwise, their depths twinkling with amusement. His own eyes took in her plain, loose clothing and then fell to the bow in her hands.

"Come to practice as well?"

She nodded, "Indeed, if you do not mind the company of an Elf."

"No, of course not," he said too quickly and a perhaps a mite too loudly, blushing again as she smiled a little too knowingly.

She paced to the quiver stand on his left and placed her arrows, of fine Elven make, within.

"May I?" He asked, indicating the arrow in her hand, she raised a brow but handed the shaft over. He studied it with interest, having made his own arrows since he was old enough to draw a bow, and whistled.

"These are of very fine quality," he let the arrow balance along one finger, "Perfectly weighted and the arrow head is of an interesting design."

He glanced up to find her smiling again, but this time with pride and excitement, "Thank you, I made them myself."

Impressed further, he made to hand the arrow back to her and their fingers brushed, sending a wave of fire through his veins. He swallowed heavily and noted with a primal sort of satisfaction that her breath caught before she turned away.

He watched with keen interest as she drew her bow and fired with a quickness that was startling, her arrow flying straight and true to mark the center of the target. Her technique was elegant and differed slightly from his. She used three fingers to draw, pulling back to level at her eye, where as he preferred to use only two fingers and anchored at his chin.

"Impressive," he echoed, taking up his own bow.

They practiced in silence for a time, the only sound the twang of their bow strings and thump of their arrows finding their marks.

"I did not know dwarves used bows so… effectively," she commented when it was time to retrieve their marks.

Kíli shrugged a bit, though he was very flattered, and he began yanking his arrows free, "I'm something of an anomaly, dwarves usually prefer to get up close and nasty, hitting things with axes and clubs. Archery is a little wasted on us, but I've always enjoyed it."

"You're quite good," she admitted and her tone was somewhat begrudging. He shot her a smile and chuckled.

"That is a high complement coming from you, my lady," he said, pulling the last of his arrows free.

She shook her head, embarrassed, "Please, call me Tauriel."

"Only if you call me Kíli," he countered and she gave him an incredulous look. He sighed. "Well, at least in private. You know, like this," he waved a hand, indicating their utter solitude.

"Very well, your- Kíli," she said awkwardly as they headed back to their spots across the field. For his part, he tried to ignore the way his heart sang. It was as though he'd never truly heard another person speak his name until she had, though he couldn't begin to understand what that might mean.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, "Care for a little bit of friendly competition?"

She looked at him, a sly smirk creeping across her face, "Don't think because you're a Prince that I'll let you win."

He winked at her, "So long as you don't think I'll let you win because you're a lady and a guest of the royal house."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

She won, of course.

A/N: Alright, well, there it is. Should have the second part up soonish, just editing it up. I would love to hear what you think and I hope you enjoyed this so far Irrel because you're lovely and you deserve happy Kiliel fics.