So Comes Snow After Fire

29.ii

Tauriel woke when Kíli pulled on her hair.

He hadn't done it on purpose, she found as she propped herself up to look at him. He still slept, a few strands of copper twisted in his fingers and more of it draped over him. Tauriel nearly reached out to sweep her hair away, then at the last moment left all alone, pleased by the image of Kíli still entwined in this part of her.

She slid back down on her pillow, studying his profile against the bright, egg-shell blue of the dawn sky. She had never fully appreciated the clean, straight line of his nose before, or the turn of his ruddy lip, or how his lashes fanned so black over his cheek. It was not that she had never noticed these things in him, nor noticed the distinctive ripple of the trimmed hair at his temple or how the faint lines beside his mouth hinted at the shape of his smile. But he had not been hers, not like this, when she had looked at him before, and that fact had made a very great difference.

When she could resist no longer, Tauriel put a hand to his cheek and brushed her thumb across his lips.

Kíli stirred then with a drowsy murmur.

"Hadhodeg," she whispered.

He smiled against her thumb, and she knew he was awake.

"Good morning, melleth." She kissed his shoulder.

Kíli opened his eyes then.

"I married you yesterday," he said after a moment.

"Yes, I remember."

"And I made love to you last night."

"I remember that, too."

He sighed happily. "Good. I just wanted to make sure you knew." He took her hand down from his face and held it against his chest. "I love you."

"And I love you."

They lay still, and Tauriel was content to mark the time by the flick of Kíli's eyelashes and the rise of fall of his chest beneath her hand. After a while, Kíli tipped on his side, caught Tauriel about the waist, and lay back again with her gathered above him.

"Tauriel, I have a question," he said. "Please tell me the truth."

She nodded.

"Last night—" He paused, tongue between his lips, as if not quite sure how to phrase this.

Tauriel smiled shyly. "I assure you; you pleased me very much."

"Ah—" Understanding lit in his eyes, and then he smiled. "I am exceedingly glad that is so, amrâlimê. What I was going to ask is— Well. Do I smell of boar's grease?"

Laughter burst from her lungs and she ducked her head helplessly against his chest for a moment. When she was able to look up again, she saw he still waited intently for her answer.

"No."

"You promised the truth."

Tauriel pressed her face into his neck, against his hair. "You smell of warm dwarf and mountain air and... maybe just a little of cedar. Why?"

"The night before the wedding, we were wrestling, and the boar grease makes it harder to catch hold of your opponent."

She giggled, imagining Kíli gleaming with kitchen drippings and caught in the untender embrace of a dwarvish wrestling opponent. "Is that a traditional wedding send-off to make the bride's caresses more sweet by comparison? Are dwarvish ladies so fierce that they require such a preparation?"