She was not supposed to feel this. Not for a dwarf.

If there was anyone who should have made Tauriel's heart leap and left her smiling giddily to herself once she was safely out of his sight, it should have been Legolas. She knew he would have liked to have that effect on her. And really, why shouldn't she have been attracted to him? He was a prince. He was handsome. After a glass or two of wine, he even had a very sharp sense of humor.

And yet he had never made her feel so fluttering and bright and alive as Kíli could when he smiled up at her with those melting brown eyes shaded by tousled raven bangs.

That explained it, she told herself: she always had preferred men with dark coloring like his. Add that to the fact that of the dwarves, he was the youngest and the tallest and the least heavily-bearded—

Sacred stars, tonight as they talked, she had even caught herself wondering how it would be to kiss him! Would she feel the prickle of his beard against her lips? Or perhaps if he kissed her very gently, she would not feel his stubble at all.

"Tauriel!"

She started from her reverie, clutching at a nearby pillar to regain her balance on this winding stair.

Pengolod, the king's wine steward, laughed. "You're jumpy as the fox in the henhouse! The extra patrols have you on edge?"

"Yes," she answered, hoping her cheeks were not too red.

The steward nodded. "And then I know you never go off duty till you've checked the king's prisoners. You work too hard. Unless you're trying to win someone's favor?" He winked at her.

"Um," she spluttered, her cheeks flaring for certain now. How did he know about her friendship with Kíli? Then she realized he must mean Legolas. Not the dwarf.

Pengolod gave her a reassuring smile. "He knows your worth, I'm sure of it. Now, you can help me, if you like. I got a new shipment of wine today, and I need a second opinion before I approve it for the king's table."

"A glass of wine would be most welcome," she said, only a little breathless.

Tauriel had always liked it down in the cellars. With bottles and casks stacked floor to ceiling, it always felt like some strange treasure vault. And the rich liquids stored here truly did represent a not inconsiderable portion of the Elvenking's wealth. These wines, meads, and brandies were all of the highest quality.

Tauriel seated herself at a table tucked between two towering racks of wine, bottles peeping like so many glassy eyes out of their straw-lined nooks. Pengolod set out three crystal goblets—they had met Amlach on their way here—and then filled each from a decanter.

"The most recent vintage from Sunspring." He pushed a glass towards each of his companions. "I think it's almost better than last year's."

Tauriel lifted her glass to the light. The wine was thick and dark, a ruby with blackness in its depths. "Should this be mixed with water?" she asked.

Pengolod nodded over a mouthful. "But you should taste it on its own, first."

Tauriel put her nose to the mouth of the goblet and inhaled berry, cloves, a hint of rose. "Oh, this is lovely," she murmured.

It was warm and rich, the first sweet wave of blackberry giving way, before it could be cloying, to a sharp, oaky spice that bit at her tongue and left her mouth watering.

"Magical," Amlach hummed beside her. "This is easily the best wine we've ever had from Sunspring."

Pengolod was nodding again, expressively. "The 2930 was an especially good year, but this could rival it."

Tauriel took another sip, letting the wine pool down about her tongue. It reminded her of jam and summer days, sun-warmed berries kissing her lips—or maybe his warm mouth… Kíli's lips would be sweet, they had to be, with a smile like that—

Valar, what was she thinking? She gulped down the rest of the wine and set the empty glass back on the table.

"You'll have to tell me how effective it is at chasing lovers from your thoughts," Pengolod said with a teasing smile as he refilled her glass.

"Oh, I don't think I've drunk enough yet for that," she said lightly, though in truth she could feel a warm glow already spreading through her limbs. This wine really was too potent to drink unmixed. Yet she needed something strong to drive these most inappropriate thoughts of a dwarf from her head. "But for the sake of the experiment, I will let you know if I forget the name of the admirer who called me a heartless vixen because I returned his love poems. No, the real trial is whether I can forget the poetry!" She pulled a face and swallowed another mouthful of wine.

In point of fact, it took more than two glasses, yet less than three, to drown out any unpleasant recollections of suitors, both the poetically inclined and the vertically challenged. No, when it came to Kíli, she now found absolutely nothing unwelcome to her mind. He was unfairly handsome, perhaps, she thought as her chin slipped off her hand for the second time. But why shouldn't she allow herself to feel attracted to someone?

Dwarf or no, Kíli was appealing. His clean, noble features were roughened but not obscured by his light beard. And his raven-dark hair—no elf would have denied its beauty. But he was stronger than any elf she knew: he had such broad shoulders and muscular forearms, which were tanned from the sun and further darkened by a most intriguing fringe of hair down the backs. Ah, would it not feel lovely to be wrapped in his strong embrace…

The thought made her slightly giddy, enough that the next time her chin slipped from her hand, she decided it safest to rest her head against the table. Her companions did not seem to be bothered; for a time she heard Pengolod and Amlach's murmured conversation going on without her. Then even their voices fell silent, and Tauriel was left to her dreams.

Some time later—she could not say how long—she felt something brush her cheek. Tauriel shifted and saw Kíli himself staring at her.

For several heartbeats, she wanted nothing more than to take in the sweetness of his face. Valar! the expressive sweep of his brows, the full fringe of his lashes might have flowed from a painter's brush.

"Kíli," she murmured, and her tongue still felt heavy with wine.

"I came to tell you goodbye," he said.

"Goodbye? Where are you going?"

"Where? Um…" His dark eyes searched hers in confusion. Then his face cleared somewhat. "Nowhere. I'll see you tomorrow. Just… Good night, Tauriel." At the tenderness in these last words, she felt the twinge of some sharp, undefinable emotion.

He took a step back.

"Kíli, wait." Somehow, her hand had grasped his collar. "Don't. I—" She wasn't sure what she wanted. But oh, she was. She wanted Kíli, wanted him to be more than just a sweet smile forever divided from her by prison bars.

"Kiss me," she said.

He did, clasping her waist and leaning hard against her just to keep them both upright. It seemed she had not been the only one dying for this: Kíli's lips parted for her, thirsty and eager, his warm mouth lingering, tasting, savoring. Moon and stars, after such a kiss, she would never ask again for wine. Even tonight's rare vintage was nothing to the taste of him: the sweetness of his lips, the full pressure of his tongue, the bite of his stubble…

"This is the nicest dream I've ever had," Kíli said, his deep voice resonating in her own chest.

Tauriel stirred and discovered that somehow her head had found its way to Kili's shoulder. "Is it a dream?" she asked. But of course it must be. She never would have dared to kiss him, otherwise.

His fingers combed through her hair. "Yes. You're asleep now, see?"

She snuggled closer to him. "Kíli." His hair tickled her face, and when she inhaled, she smelled leather and musk. Tauriel relaxed, perfectly content.

Kíli murmured something, a word she did not understand but which sounded sweet nonetheless…

. . .

Someone was calling her name, shaking her shoulder. Tauriel moaned softly and opened her eyes to empty goblets. What in the name of—? Right. Pengolod and his wine. She sat up, tucking hair back from her face.

"Tauriel!" Beleg's voice was still urgent, far more so than seemed warranted by her little off-duty indulgence. "The prisoners are gone!"

"What?" She put a hand to her belt, and keys clanked under her palm. "I didn't authorize—"

"No one did!" Beleg's eyes were wide in astonishment. "The cells are all locked. The prisoners are just not there."

"Have you checked with Legolas? He has the only other set of keys," Tauriel snapped. She had done nothing wrong, yet it was awkward to be found in this somewhat vulnerable position by one of her subordinates. Beside her, Pengolod and Amlach were stirring groggily. "The prince must have had the prisoners moved. It's not as if thirteen dwarves could simply have magicked their way out—"

Kíli's wistful face, as he told her goodbye, appeared before her mind's eye. He had been here; it wasn't just a dream.

Tauriel cursed. "They must have escaped through the cellars."

Beleg stared at her.

"Through the river door!" she nearly shouted. "Don't just stand there; call the guard out after them."

Beleg saluted, then ran off to obey. Tauriel sighed and rubbed her temple as more impressions surfaced through the soft fog in her head. She remembered Kíli's brown eyes so close to her own, his hands about her waist, his cheek rough against her skin—

"Oh!" she cried inadvertently, pressing a hand to her lips. Valar, she really had kissed him. And oh Valar! he had most definitely kissed her.

"Tauriel?" Pengolod said. "Are you well? I'm sorry; I should have watered the second glass." There was sympathy, but no suspicion, in his look.

She laughed at him, suddenly exultant, though she knew she had no right to be when her thirteen prisoners had all escaped. "No, the wine was perfect," she said. "Now please excuse me; I've some dwarves to reclaim." She offered Pengolod a curt, military bow and then bounded up the cellar stairs, two at a time.