Chapter Text
There once was a kingdom in a mountain known as Erebor, and in that kingdom dwelt the King Under the Mountain and his people. King Thorin II, known also as the Oaken King for his wooden leg, reigned under his mountain for many years, but although he took a husband, one Bilbo Baggins of a far green country, he had no children.
King Thorin had two siblings: a brother, Frerin, killed in battle long ago; and a sister, Dís. Lady Dís took a husband of her own, and soon afterward delivered a son. Young Prince Fíli was a blessing to the kingdom of Erebor, and his birth was celebrated throughout the mountain's halls. The king named him Heir, and Fíli was raised to be princely and strong.
Then Lady Dís delivered a second child. This was a little girl, and she was named Kíli. The kingdom rejoiced, and on the day of her presentation, people from far lands were summoned to celebrate the princess's birth.
It was then that King Thorin decided to ally himself with another king, Thranduil of Greenwood. In ages past there had been conflict between their neighboring realms, but Thorin wished for peace and an end to petty grudges.
As they dined together as kings in an effort to reconcile, Thorin posed a question to Thranduil: "Have you children?"
Lady Dís and her husband Víli sat with them, as did King Consort Bilbo and Thranduil's own wife, Queen Calien.
Thranduil smiled to his wife and remembered the little ones that he had left behind in Greenwood. "Yes," he agreed, "a girl and a boy. The boy is the elder, and I will raise him to be a king after I am gone. The girl is a light in my life and she will find no greater joy in any other kingdom, for I will give her all she needs to be happy."
Thorin's heart softened, and he saw his sister Dís smiling. "Have you arranged betrothals for either of your children?" he asked.
Dís's smile faded. "Thorin," she murmured, "perhaps we could..."
"They are only children," Queen Calien said in surprise. "Prince Legolas is six; Princess Tauriel is only two."
"There is precedent, to ensure alliances," Thorin rumbled, tapping his wooden leg on the ground. He had lost his original leg in a great battle, and had fashioned himself a wood of oak in its place, but he sometimes still felt phantom pain from his missing limb. "I wish to join our lines in peace, your Majesty."
"As do I, your Majesty," Thranduil agreed. He took Calien's hand. "What is it that you propose?"
"I suggest for Princess Kíli to marry Prince Legolas when they are both of age, thus binding the fates of our kingdoms together," Thorin rumbled. "There shall be an alliance between Erebor and Greenwood, and our heirs shall be happy together."
"Thorin," Dís said stiffly, "I do wish you had discussed this with me before bartering my daughter away to a foreign man."
Thorin grimaced. "I apologize for my sister," he said to Thranduil. Turning to Dís, he murmured, "This is necessary, beloved sister."
"And what of Fíli?" asked Víli, the child's father. "Is he to marry Princess Tauriel?"
"There is no need of that," Calien said, shaking her head. She, too, was troubled. "My king..." She squeezed Thranduil's hand. "What do you say?"
For several long moments, Thranduil contemplated Thorin's offer. Bilbo glanced around the room, noting the tension. He was no prince, but a countryman far from his home. He lived in Erebor for love, but there came days now and then that he felt out of place in this high-and-mighty political world. Today was one such day: in his home, no one would offer a newborn's hand in marriage to fulfill an alliance.
"I accept," Thranduil said slowly.
Thorin smiled, and the two kings drew up a contract to make the decision official. Thus was Princess Kíli betrothed to Prince Legolas, though the witnesses, numbering Calien, Dís, Víli, Bilbo, and later the priest Balin, were not all at ease with this union.
Two days later, Kíli was officially presented to the kingdom and to the gods. This ceremony was ancient and practiced throughout Erebor upon a child's birth, but a princess's presentation was grander and more public than most.
"In the name of Mahal, maker of our people, we consecrate this child as our own: Princess Kíli, daughter of Lady Dís and Lord Víli, second heir of King Thorin II of Erebor," intoned Priest Balin. "Let her be blessed!"
"Let her be blessed!" echoed the watching crowd.
"I, King Thorin II, do bless this child with growth and nurture in my kingdom as a princess and my niece," Thorin proclaimed solemnly.
Beside him, Dís stepped forward, the child in her arms. "I, Lady Dís, do bless this child with the love of a mother."
"I, Lord Víli, do bless this child with the love of a father," Víli said. He stood hand in hand with three-year-old Prince Fíli, and added, "And on behalf of Prince Fíli, I bless her with the love of a brother."
"I, King Consort Bilbo, do bless this child with guidance and care as befits a member of the royal family." Bilbo smiled at the baby, who was half-asleep and rubbing her eyes.
After this, it was the turn of the notable guests to bless the child. Gifts were given, compliments exchanged, hearts won by a smiling baby. Princess Kíli was showered in gold and gems, gifts taken by her parents and stored in the royal treasury until such time that Kíli would be old enough to use them.
Thranduil had a more interesting gift than simply riches: "I, King Thranduil of Greenwood, bless this child with the hand of my son Prince Legolas in marriage, when they are both of age."
This pronouncement was met with glad surprise by the people of Erebor. Excited murmurs swept through the crowd. This was a sign of future peace and trade between Greenwood and Erebor, for Thorin and Thranduil to agree upon marriage between their lines!
When the guests had exhausted the depths of their charity, there were yet three gifts left to be bestowed. These were not promises of love or gifts of gold and silver, but gifts of grace and charm from three lovely fairies.
These fairies were guardians of the royal line: they blessed the royal family and protected them in times of both peace and war. They were sisters, by the names of Dori, Nori, and Ori. Fairies were small creatures of human shape, but perhaps only a few feet tall, and possessing great magical power. These three were as different as could be, but they loved each other and the kingdom of Erebor.
First came Dori, the eldest sister, in a dress of blue and white like a winter sky. Her hair was white and done up in a bun, her eyes were sharp green.
"I, Fae Dori, do bless this child with the gift of perception," she announced. With a flick of her wand, blue sparks dusted the baby, whose eyes fluttered open in surprise. "She will see all as it is, and use her foresight to better the futures of her and her people."
Next was Nori, the middle sister, clad in red and brown like an autumn tree. She was proudest of her sisters and of a sly disposition, but she was faithful and true from her auburn hair to her tiny feet.
"I, Fae Nori, bless this child with the gift of charm," she proclaimed. "She will be beloved of all and win the hearts of even the strangest folk." Red sparks showered down from her wand, and the baby giggled and reached for them. The gift of charm must have already taken effect, for all watching found their hearts warmed by the sweet sight.
And lastly came Ori, the youngest fairy. She was clothed in green and yellow, like a summer wind. She had a sweet disposition, and a nature of thoughtfulness, and her gifts were most prized of all.
She raised her wand and took a breath, before saying, "I, Fae Ori, bless—"
A fearsome wind swept through the great hall. Candles blew out; the place was shrouded in darkness in an instant. Screams echoed across the room. Lady Dís clutched her baby to her chest, terrified, and Kíli, surprised, began to wail.
Upon the royal dais appeared a woman clad in fire, glowing and changing color faster than the eye could comprehend. She was tall and fair and beautiful, but her yellow eyes glinted with treachery and evildoings.
"Forgive me for my tardiness, King Thorin," she drawled, "but in my defense, my invitation to this blessed occasion must have been lost on the way to my home."
Thorin fell back; his face was ashen. "Smaug!" he gasped.
Smaug laughed in his terror. She was a wicked enchantress, a witch of the North. She had once been a guardian of the royal line like unto the fairy sisters, but she had turned to evil and corrupted the hearts of the kings. In his youth, Thorin had driven her from Erebor and cleansed the kingdom, using gifts he had received from her: strength of arm and of will.
His siblings, Dís and Frerin, had aided him. Frerin had been killed in the confrontation, but Dís had had used her gift of sorcery to bring her to heel whilst Thorin struck the final blow. All three had paid for their victory: Frerin with his life, Thorin with his left leg, and Dís with her magic. She had never cast another spell afterward, having exhausted her powers in bringing Smaug down. Defeated, the evil enchantress had fled to the North—but now she had returned to Erebor for her revenge.
"Look at you now, cowering before me!" Smaug crowed. "How far you have fallen without my guidance. I missed this family and your ceremonies—your weddings, poor Frerin's burial, the birth of little Fíli." She waved to the terrified young prince, who clutched his mother's skirts. "But I'm glad I made it to Kíli's blessing."
"Leave this kingdom! You are not welcome here!" cried Víli. He had been but a young knight when his wife and her brothers had driven Smaug away, and he remembered those dark times with fear. He had no wish for them to return, or for the enchantress to harm his child.
"The child is not yours, and she never will be!" Bilbo added fiercely. He had not lived in Erebor at the same time as Smaug, but he had heard of her evils from his husband.
Smaug grinned. "That is where you are wrong, Bilbo Baggins." She raised her arms and cried out an incantation. Kíli floated out of Dís's arms, and her parents cried out in horror. But Dís was without her sorcery, Víli and Bilbo ungifted, and Thorin too shocked to do anything. There was nothing to be done; even the fairies were frozen, caught up in Smaug's spell.
"Now that I have returned to Erebor, I will fulfill my duties as guardian," Smaug announced. "For this is a blessing ceremony, is it not?"
"Not for you!" Dís protested, but she could do nothing, and Smaug ignored her.
"I, Smaug the Enchantress, bless this child with the gift of a high fate," she said, sweeping her hand over the child.
Dís gripped her husband's hand, her knuckles white. Víli held onto Fíli with his other hand and bit his lip, staring at his daughter with concern, not daring to relax.
"She will grow in grace and beauty, seeing the truth and charming the hearts of all," Smaug continued, waving her hand at Dori and Nori in acknowledgement of their gifts. She bowed to Thorin, then handed the baby back to her mother and turned away.
Dís cried out, clutching Kíli to her chest. Thorin took a shallow breath, allowing himself to hope that was all. If it was, perhaps they had nothing to fear—a high fate was nothing horrible.
"But," Smaug added, glancing backward, "that is not all."
"Oh, no," Bilbo whispered.
"Before the sun sets on her sixteenth birthday, she shall prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel," Smaug cried, "and die!"
Thunder crashed, shaking the hall. The watching crowd screamed in horror, and Dís sobbed. The royal family stared in dismay at Smaug.
"How could you?" Víli shouted.
"Kill that abomination!" Thorin ordered, regaining his senses, but it was too late. Laughing, Smaug vanished in a cloud of smoke, leaving the poison of her spell and her words dripping in the minds of all who remained.
There was an ominous, empty silence, broken only by baby Kíli's wails. Then little Fíli whispered, "Is Kíli going to die?"
"No," said a small voice. Little Ori, the youngest fairy, flew to the child in Dís's arms. "My gift has not yet been given."
"Can you save her from this high fate?" Víli begged. "Please?"
"Smaug's spell is too powerful to undo fully," Dori said. "Ori..."
"But I can undo some of it," Ori said firmly.
"Ori, you are young," Nori began, "if you can't—"
"I can!" Ori insisted. She took a deep breath, then lifted her wand over the crying child. "Princess Kíli, if by this awful spell you chance to prick your finger on a spindle, let your heart remain hopeful. I, Fae Ori, bless this child with a final gift: you shall not fall into death, but into sleep eternal, until at one day true love shall wake you from your slumber and break the spell."
Green sparks rained down upon Kíli, and she slowly stopped her tears. She fell into a light slumber, not one eternal, but one of a comforted child.
Ori sighed and floated back down to sit with her sisters. "I did my best," she said. "There is nothing more that I can do."
"Thank you, Fae Ori," murmured Dís. She looked faint. "I know you did all you could."
Priest Balin, who had run off the royal dais as soon as Smaug appeared, hastened back on it to close the ceremony. In a tremulous voice, he intoned, "And I, Priest Balin, bless this child in the name of all the gods. May...may she grow in peace and love."
After the disastrous ceremony, the royal family and the fairies gathered together in bleak despair. Fíli had been sent to bed with a nursemaid, but Kíli's mother could not be comforted by sleep.
"My poor baby," Dís whispered. "Doomed to die before her seventeenth year..." The child dozed in a cradle by the fire. Dís's arms itched to hold her, but she needed her rest.
"No," Ori protested. "Only to sleep, until her love brings her to wakefulness."
"And is that not death?" snapped Víli. "Love, yes, that exists, but true love... She is arranged to marry the Prince Legolas, if she survives. Arranged marriage seldom bring true love, and I do not wish her to be unfaithful!"
"Is not the love of a mother, a father, a brother as true as the love of a spouse?" inquired Nori. They all looked at her. Nori shrugged. "Love can come from many people. You all should look to the hope Ori has given you."
"Do not despair," Dori agreed.
"Smaug is clever," Thorin said moodily. "I have sent word about the kingdom that all spinning wheels are to be destroyed, and no more to be made, but that may not stop the enchantress."
"Send her away." That came from Bilbo, surprising even himself.
"What?" Dís demanded. "Send my baby away?"
"Yes," Bilbo agreed, his resolve growing stronger. "Hide her, somewhere Smaug would never think to look for her. Another country, a cave in the wild, anywhere. But not the palace!"
"He is right," Dori said, nodding sharply. "She must be hidden, and not with magic."
"I wish that Smaug had not taken my sorcery!" Dís cried. "I am powerless against her, and now she threatens my child!"
"Magic has done what it could, Lady Dís," Nori informed her. "Now it's time for practicality to finish the job." She and her sisters exchanged a knowing look, something all fae find themselves doing when dealing with foolish mortals, then they raised their wands and cast a spell upon themselves.
Soon, the three fairies had vanished, and in their stead stood three unremarkable peasant women. Only the colors they wore and the glint in their eyes betrayed their true form.
"We will hide her, in a place even you will never find," Ori proclaimed. "Until her sixteenth birthday passes and the danger with it, and then she can be returned to you."
"Sound it about that she has been hidden, and lay clues as to where, but let them contradict each other," Nori suggested. "That will confuse the trail."
"She will be safe in our arms," Dori promised. "After all, we are the guardians of the royal line."
Dís and Víli wept long and bitterly to be parted from their daughter, and the hearts of Thorin and Bilbo were much grieved. Little Fíli, who barely understood what a baby was, had only confusion when his sister disappeared.
On the day she left, Dís gave Kíli a token: an enchanted stone engraved with ancient and powerful runes.
"I thought you had no power left," Nori said, suspicious.
"I have none," Dís replied, "but I gave this token to Thorin before our great battle with Smaug. It is why he survived and Frerin did not; upon it lies a spell of protection that still lasts. It will protect my daughter now."
"And the runes?" asked Ori.
"Inik Dê," Dís said softly. "Return to me. That I can still engrave without magic left to me. I have to believe she will return."
Ori took the stone reverently and tucked into the child's blanket. "She will," she promised. "We will make sure of it."
Kíli was raised under a different name: Briar Rose, like the thorns and flowers surrounding her hidden forest home. She had three aunts who loved her, and for years, they were all she knew. The forest was her mother, the sky her sister. She was unaware of laws and curses and what a spinning wheel was.
Her aunts were three fussy sisters, forever bickering and complaining about one another, but Briar knew that they loved each other dearly. They loved her, too, and reared her in secret. Dori, Nori, and Ori were superstitious and spiritual, honoring the forest around them and speaking of wondrous things in lands beyond, though they never quite explained what they were.
Briar never thought her aunts strange, for they were all she knew. Ori's scatterbrained personality was balanced by Dori's wisdom, Dori's sternness by Nori's fun, and Nori's temper by Ori's sweetness. But even they could not do everything, so they gave Briar a small stone engraved with runes she could not understand and promised it would protect her when they could not.
She had friends in the forest, small animals who allowed her to feed them and pet them. As a child, she was clumsy, but the larger animals, foxes and deer, taught her how to walk while her aunts were occupied with other things. It wasn't until she began to speak in growls that they realized perhaps there was more to raising a child than simply feeding and changing her, and they taught her speech and proper manners. Once she was fluent in language, Briar dazzled her guardians and could charm them into giving her practically anything.
Briar never knew how much she yearned for human company of someone not related to her until she first began to have the dreams. She saw a girl, tall and pretty, with hair as red as her Aunt Nori's or redder, and eyes as green as her Aunt Ori's favorite earrings. Briar thought she could compare the girl to fire or the leaves of the trees, but she preferred to think of her in terms of the things and people she held most dear.
Briar first dreamed of her when she was eleven, and nearly every night afterward, the girl walked in her mind as she slept. The dreams were different each time, but the girl was always there.
The girl seemed to grow as she did, always a year or two older. When Briar was thirteen, the dream-girl was fifteen, and Briar first realized that she was in love. She had learned of romance from her aunts, who often told her stories of other lands and other people and other times. Briar knew she would never meet her mysterious girl, but she still found she could love her.
She yearned to go the places her aunts spoke of, but they insisted she remain in the forest. "Some day," they promised, "you will go places. You have a high fate, sweet Briar." But they never told her when or how, or what "high fate" meant. Briar could usually see through lies and pretenses, but her aunts knew her so well that they could hide such things from her.
It wasn't as if Briar had never met another human being other than her aunts. She ran across hunters in the forest, though she rarely liked them, and occasionally villagers from miles away. She often tried to sneak away and find the villages, but her aunts always seemed to catch her before she got far. They were the ones who went to the village to get supplies, not Briar. Never Briar.
This frustrated her, but she knew her aunts loved her. They wanted the best for her, but sometimes Briar thought that their definition of "best" was different from hers. She was tired of waiting for "someday" and "someplace" and whatever "high fate" was in store for her. She wanted adventure, or failing that, just something new.
One day, not long before her sixteenth birthday, she heard the sounds of a horse in the forest as she walked. Her heart beat faster in excitement: a horse! That meant a hunter, and she loved to play tricks on hunters. The forest animals were her friends, and she did all she could to drive hunters out of her patch of the wood. Besides, Briar and her aunts never ate meat, and she didn't understand why other people did.
She crept closer and closer to the noise of hoofs and whinnies, her feet cat-quiet. She heard people talking: two people, a man and a woman, most likely. They were young, perhaps only a few years older than Briar herself. But whatever else they were, she knew they were hunters. It was her duty and her pleasure to scare them away.
She couldn't see them very well from her position crouched among the bushes, but she could hear them fine.
"I think we're lost, Tauriel," the young man said. He sounded nervous. Briar grinned. Well, good. He ought to be. "We should try to go back to the village."
"Nonsense!" the young woman, Tauriel, exclaimed. "We've only just gotten here."
"We can come back some other day, with local guides," the young man said. "It's not our forest, anyway. We'll be around for months, Father says."
Months? Briar scowled. That wouldn't do.
"I just want to explore, Legolas," Tauriel said.
Were they hunting or not? Briar wasn't sure, but she wasn't about to take any chances. She slunk through the bushes and climbed up a tree, ready to strike.
She could see flashes of color on the ground from between the leaves: blond hair, bright clothes, the brown of their horses, and—
Shocked to see the beautiful red hair of the girl in her dreams, Briar gasped and fell right out of the tree and onto the ground.
Whatever else, it did have the desired effect of terrifying the two riders. The horses screamed and raced away, one with the blond man still aboard. The second horse bucked its rider off, tossing the red-haired girl to the ground.
Briar hit the ground with a thud, the air flying out of her. Her head spun, and she wheezed and coughed, trying to breathe. The other girl seemed to be in a similar condition, but after a few moments, she unsteadily got to her feet and walked over to Briar.
"Are you alright?" the girl, Tauriel, asked, stretching out a hand to help her to her feet. "What were you doing in that tree?"
Briar stared up into her face, one that she knew so well. She knew those bright green eyes, that red, red hair, the concerned look in her eyes; she knew what her hands would feel like grasping Briar's own. This was the girl who had walked in her dreams for all these years, the girl that she knew better than anyone else and yet not at all.
"Tauriel," she said, trying out the sounds on her tongue. That was her name: Tauriel.
Tauriel's concern turned to shock and confusion. Briar took her offered hand, growing even dizzier as she felt Tauriel's smooth skin finally brushing hers in the real world.
"How do you know my name?" she asked.
Briar leaned forward, getting to her feet. Her head ached; she felt that at any moment she would keel over.
"Why, I'm in love with you, of course," she said, very matter-of-factly, and then she smiled up into Tauriel's face and passed out, falling into her arms.