So Comes Snow After Fire

11.vii

Kíli was still not quite sure how Tauriel had become engaged in a drinking contest against Freyr Ironsides, but there was no doubt that she was winning.

The combatants were on their fifth pour of whiskey. While Freyr was showing distinct signs of unsteadiness, Tauriel remained as poised and controlled as ever as she drained her glass and set it down on the table with a sharp, deliberate tap.

"Do you concede defeat yet, master dwarf?" she asked.

Freyr returned with a mild oath in Khuzdul, which Tauriel seemed to understand well enough as an answer in the negative. "Bofur?" She offered her empty glass for him to refill; as the least interested party, he had been selected to referee.

"Where does she put it all?" someone muttered at Kíli's elbow. "She's no bigger around than my arm!"

Kíli wanted to know the answer, himself. He had had the misfortune of accepting a challenge from Freyr once before. He had lost, and nonetheless been awarded a marvelous hangover. Yet Tauriel hardly seemed to notice the whiskey, though she had certainly been matching Kíli in ale before the game had started. The elves of Mirkwood, it seemed, were no strangers to drink, he noted with a odd mixture of pride and respect.

Across the table, Freyr's sister, Sif, had lost the look of embarrassment that she had worn at the first stages of the proceeding and now she seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the prospect of her brother's impending defeat.

"Ready?" Bofur called. "And drink!"

Tauriel drained her glass in one steady draught, but Freyr paused midway through, lowering his glass towards the table.

"Set it down, and you're done!" Fíli shouted .

Freyr lifted the glass somewhat half-heartedly, and then slowly slumped down over the table.

Amidst expectant silence, Tauriel set down her empty glass softly. Then their table—and the two adjoining ones, much to Kíli's surprise—erupted in raucous cheering.

It was some minutes before Kíli could wrest Tauriel away from an admiring crowd. When she could finally speak to him, she whispered, "I could use some fresh air," and with an understanding nod, he towed her away from the noisy feast hall, and down a few passages to one of the wide galleries where the air was cool and drafts flowed from the distant parts of the mountain.

"In fact, I'm quite drunk," she told him once they came to a halt in the vast columned hall.

He nodded, wondering if her reaction were representative of all elves, or if she were unique in this respect. She was not clumsy or slowed; if anything, Kíli thought she moved with a lithe and effortless ease beyond her usual grace. He would not, under any circumstances, have wanted to face her in combat in such a state: her attack would have been swift and precise and instantly fatal.

Her hands went to the collar of his surcoat, playing with the little jeweled clasps which he had left undone and finally coming to rest on his shoulders

"Kíli, I am far too tall," she said, pronouncing the fact with as much feeling as if it were the world's one great sorrow. Indeed, she gazed down at him as if faced by a most perplexing—even frustrating—conundrum.

Kíli struggled to hid his grin. "Don't be troubled, my lady; I have an idea."

He took one of her hands from his shoulder and drew her a little further down the walkway to a short plinth that had, at one time, held a brazier or a statue or something of that sort. Standing on it, he found to his delight, gave him a few inches on even Tauriel's height.

Tauriel sighed happily and tucked her head under his chin.

"That's better," she murmured, and then she was still for a very long time, her arms linked about his shoulders as she leaned against him. Kíli took the opportunity to inspect the tiny green gem nestled in the peak of one of her ears; it had intrigued him all evening. Yet she did not move even when he lightly touched her ear. He had begun to wonder if she had somehow fallen asleep on her feet when she shifted and raised her head to nuzzle her cheek against his own.

"I like your face," she said at last, looking up to regard him seriously. "It's so scratchy." She drew her fingertips up his throat and under his chin, and Kíli shivered as her nails caught in his beard.

"I think," she mused, resting a finger at his lips, "from now on, I shall only kiss dwarves." Then she drew back her hand and pulled away, and Kíli knew she was teasing him deliberately.

He moved to draw her back for her promised kiss, and she slipped out of his arms, leaving him stranded on the plinth. He skipped down after her, and Tauriel made him chase her all the way back to the feast hall.