So Comes Snow After Fire

9.i The Bee That Flew When Summer Shone

Kíli had been dying to touch her all morning. Somehow, he had managed the respectful distance and disinterest appropriate to their interaction as patrol captains as he had shown Tauriel over the old Ravenhill watchtower, which was now fully under construction. They had surveyed the surrounding land and proposed how to use the tower's position to the best advantage within the patrol routes, and yet through all the planning and discussion, part of him had seen only how the sunlight brought out the deep red gleam in her hair. It had been something of a struggle to keep from distracting himself by imagining how those bright strands would feel slipping through his fingers.

They had climbed to the top level of the ruined tower and were alone now, though still in sight of the dwarves working on the fort's lower levels. Kíli finally allowed himself to take Tauriel's hand, and as his fingers caught in hers, she trembled.

"It's good to see you," he said. The words were so ordinary, the sentiment so obvious and, indeed, almost belated, considering he'd been near her since yesterday. But they were the first words he'd been able to speak to her in private, and so they'd seemed the right place to start.

"Yes, Kíli," she said, brushing her thumb across the back of his hand. She seemed, he thought, full of some new revelation.

He went on, "I was very glad to hear you have your king's pardon."

"I could not believe it at first. Kíli, I said very bold things to him, when he would not aid you on Ravenhill." She shook her head, as if dismissing her earlier judgment. "And yet, perhaps he understands more than I gave him credit for. He wishes friendship between our kingdoms once again."

"Now I can hardly believe you!"

"And you, Kíli, have made peace with your uncle?" she asked, ready hope in her look.

He nodded. "I didn't know how, at first. We Durins can be a little stubborn sometimes," he admitted.

Her half-contained smile was amused.

"And," Kili went on, quite satisfied now, "Thorin consents to our courtship."

"Kíli, that's—" she gasped. She collected herself, then went on softly, "That's more than I dared hope so soon."

"There's just one thing," Kíli said. "I'm afraid... you might not like what I've offered."

"I trust you," Tauriel assured him, clasping his hand a little tighter in her own.

Kíli looked up into her face, more anxious than he had ever been before her: more than when he'd tried to win a smile by a saucy jest, more than when he'd declared his heart and asked her to follow him.

"I asked Thorin to judge if we are worthy. And I said I would abide by him if he finds we are not," he told her.

Tauriel went very still, the faint smile fading from her lips. What had he done?

"Kíli, I..." she began softly. "I don't think there was anything else you could have done."

"Then you're not disappointed?"

"No. I wish— I wish your uncle did not seem so stern of heart, but his answers yesterday give me hope." She moved once more, shifting subtly in response to his own stance in a way that made him aware of her nearness, despite the polite distance they both still maintained.

"I suppose he's testing us," Kíli admitted. "Giving us our chance."

"I see. We will succeed: you have taught me to hope in that," she said, her mouth curving up in a smile at last.