A/N: This is a work of fanfiction. It is not intended for profit, and I do not claim ownership over the story or any of its characters.

As stated in my profile, I'm not a Tolkien purist and use canon as a jump-off point rather than a fixed point. Translation: If you correct me on a canonical error, that's fine, but I may or may not fix it depending on how it fits within the context of the story. If you're here reading a Kíli/Tauriel fic, I'm going to assume you're not a purist, either. ;)

WARNING & SPOILERS: This is a drama with heavy angst and tension (mixed with a little humor). In this fic, Kíli and Tauriel fall in love and share one magical night together before circumstances separate them, leaving Tauriel with a child Kíli doesn't know he has. Kíli and Tauriel eventually find their way back to each other, more romance and adventure ensue, and there is a happy ending. But be forewarned that they spend a long time apart, missing and longing for each other while they're both faced with their own life challenges, so if this will upset you, use your own discretion when choosing to read this story.

A lovely work of fan art for this fic, Kiliel - Say Goodbye . . . by Alix-Lestrange, can be found on DeviantArt at: 2050/i/2016/138/2/1/kiliel_say_goodbye_by_alix_lestrange-da2zbeg. png

(Please note that I've broken the link above.)

A Promise Kept

Chapter 1

A Promise Made

Years later, in her nightmares, she would wish she could silence the desperate scream that echoed through the tunnels and stairwells of the abandoned fortress of Ravenhill.

Her scream.

"Kíli!"

She'd glimpsed the dark-haired dwarf prince high on a ledge, single-handedly but capably battling two orcs just moments before. But every moment that passed was one in which the lightning-fast prick of an arrow or thrust of a sword could cut off a life, and she didn't see him now.

"Tauriel!" a voice bellowed in answer from somewhere above her.

His voice. Distinct to her now from all others.

Alive, thank the Valar. He was alive. For a split second, she closed her eyes in relief and turned an ear toward his call even though she knew, she knew from centuries of training that you never close your eyes or turn your back on an enemy.

And then the enemy was upon her.

She recognized him as Bolg, son of Azog the Defiler, almost as pale as his sire and, if it were possible, even more hideously ugly. What followed was a blur of motion, but forever after she would revisit in her mind each attack and counterattack, each thrust, parry, and feint, questioning every tactical choice she had made and the outcome had she chosen differently. She was more cunning and agile than the orc warrior, her movements more precise, but he had brute strength and the fire of hatred on his side. Too soon, she was sprawled on the ground, trembling in shock and pain, resigned to the gruesomely scarred face that might very well be the last sight she'd see in this life.

And then a flash like a shooting star before her eyes.

Kíli—her Kíli—resplendent in his armor of gold and mithril, arcing through the air to land on the back of the giant.

Not a shooting star then, but a force of nature in his own right, he was a flurry of grit and determination, and Tauriel watched in awe as he slashed and stabbed at his far larger opponent. A strange mixture of humbleness and pride warmed her heart even as she lay shivering on the cold ground; she'd grown so accustomed to saving him that she hadn't quite realized what a formidable fighter he really was.

But young and reckless still.

It was a youthful mistake, one she had made several times herself at his age . . . but not when fighting Azog's second in command, where there was no room for error. Kíli dodged the great orc's mace but lunged too far forward, so eager on the attack, and in the instant before it happened, she could see the outcome, the unbalanced step that left his sword arm open and vulnerable, the vile creature's block and then the crushing descent of its fist. Stunned by the blow to the head, the dwarf prince could do nothing but hang limply at Bolg's mercy, and Tauriel knew the orc had none to spare.

Fueled by rage, terror, and a growing sense of helplessness, she flung herself at the monster one last time. But she was injured and unarmed and found herself dashed back to the ground as quickly as she'd risen from it. Before she could pick herself up again, the hilt of the giant's mace speared downward, and—

O, Valar, NO!

—pierced Kíli's chest.

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. It was as if her own chest were pierced, her own lungs robbed of breath. But the mace, she realized, had sundered something beyond her flesh and bone, something deeper but incorporeal—the very essence that made her Eldar.

She couldn't bear to watch the light leave Kíli's eyes, but she couldn't bear to look away. He shook his head in despair, and as a single tear tracked down his cheek, she understood as clearly as if he had spoken the words in her mind that he cried not just from pain but from the knowledge that he could not keep his promise to her. Their lifetime together was over before it had begun. He would not come back to her, nor could he save her, and she too would die this day, their spirits destined for two separate halls, two separate places of eternal waiting, no reunion for them even in death.

All this passed to her in the space of a heartbeat—her love's last heartbeat. For that was what she could no longer deny he was. Meleth nín. Her beloved. But now he would never hear those words on her lips.

NO!

She couldn't let that be.

She lunged forward even as Kíli's eyes slipped closed, even as Bolg wrenched his mace free from her love's body and, with it, a wounded cry from her throat, and cast his victim to the ground.

She woke dazed and aching but still alive, and as soon as her eyes alighted on Bolg's bloody remains, she remembered where she was and why . . . and what she had to do.

Kíli was so cold and still, the falling snowflakes no longer melting on his skin by the time she dragged herself onto the ledge above. Instinctively, one hand seized his wrist at the pulse point while the other hovered over his mouth, waiting for a breath that didn't come. She smoothed his hair, matted with blood, away from his head wound, partly searching for a sign of life, any sign, partly frantic just to touch him.

"Meleth nín! Please wake, my love—morning star of my sky, breath of my body, anchor of my soul! Please, please, come back to me! Please!" The terms of endearment poured from her in Sindarin, the avowals of love he so deserved to hear, heedless of the irony that even if he could hear he still wouldn't be able to understand her mother tongue.

His face was beginning to take on a bluish tinge, his lips a bruised shade of purple.

"No! No no no no, Kíli!"

She had learned only the most basic healing techniques, enough to provide first aid to a fallen member of her guard, but from someplace as distant and mysterious to her as the origin of starlight, she felt the same warmth, the same power that had risen within her in Laketown arise within her now. A golden, molten warmth. A vast, unstoppable power.

Her cold-stiffened fingers grappled with his mail, seeking the site of the fatal wound.

Found it.

Pressed against it with all her remaining strength, ignoring that the blood no longer flowed.

And once again, the words of power found their way into her and issued forth from her mouth:

"Menno o nin na hon i eliad annen annin, hon leitho o ngurth. Menno o nin na hon i eliad annen annin, hon leitho o ngurth. Menno o nin na hon i eliad annen annin, hon leitho o ngurth . . . "

With each round of the chant, her voice swelled and became fuller, stronger, more determined, the syllables spilling more swiftly from her lips. She felt what remained of her torn essence expand inside her like a tangible thing, buoyant, ascending, until it was inconceivable that her love would not rise along with the prayer she sent up to the heavens.

And so she refused to believe it when he did not. She merely repeated the blessing, with increasing speed and volume, as if she could use it to force the life back into him, her voice cracking now with the strain and the desperation and the grief . . .

Oh, the grief!

Because no matter how many times she recited the prayer, he still did not move. And she wasn't done trying, was yet forming the words with what was left of her hoarse, dry voice when she felt Legolas's unmistakable grip on her shoulders, first urging and finally demanding that she come away, come away now.

"He is gone, Tauriel. Come away. The sun is low, and his family must bury their dead. Please. He is gone. Say good-bye now and come away."

Her oldest friend, who she sometimes thought of as a brother, couldn't meet her eyes for the tears in his own and, for once, didn't disparage her fallen prince by calling him "the dwarf." Which was how she knew this was real. Kíli, her Kíli, was gone. And he wasn't coming back.

Only then did her tears flow freely.

As the fight drained out of her, she went limp in Legolas's hands, which tightened on her shoulders and became the only support holding her upright. When he left her, sensing that she needed a moment alone, she sagged like a young tree bowed under a crushing weight.

Cradling Kíli's gloved hand against her face, Tauriel suddenly remembered something and reached inside her bodice for the runestone she'd worn against her own skin, close to her heart. She pressed the talisman into her beloved's palm and closed his fingers around it even as he had done when he gave it to her.

"You kept your promise, meleth nín. You came back to me," she whispered. "And now keep this as a promise that I will come back to you."

A/N: Thank you for reading! Reviews are welcome! The next chapter should be ready at the end of the week. And please keep in mind that this is a Kíli/Tauriel fic, so Kíli either isn't actually dead or can't stay dead. ;)