itskilimotherfuckers:

captainofthewoodlandguardar-blog:

Tauriels mouth went ajar as she processed his words.
Her hazel eyes becoming intensely placid, her silent elven nature he seemed to always fall in awe with, was flaring.

She weighed her options.
If she met his feelings back, he would have happiness — they would have potentially some happiness. But how would they bring children to this world? How could she cope when he was nothing but a worms meal and a trees leaves? How could she cope when all she would be left with are fading memories and forgotten words and voices?

It seemed as though all the problems in the woodlands became of no concern to the she-elf as her gaze moved back and forth in thought.
Her world consisted of only him and her for the moment; her world felt like it lost all gravity and she was suspended in thin air.
Blinking rapidly, The daughter of the woodlands smiled softly, extending a gentle hand to grasp his bearded cheek. “I know you do.”

Her smile betrayed her mind, as her heart seemed to do for all she saw was how much love she held for her little friend; they stood together, alone and believing in freedom and non prejudice — a life where grudges were erased and bonds were reformed in pure, innocent trust with no malicious betrayals.

“Come, you need to sleep,” Tauriel reached forward and withdrew the wine glass from his hand, taking it in her own as she led him to bed.

 

The second he was slapped, Kíli’s hand flew up to his face, shielding the stinging skin from any more harm as his eyes turned to her, big, round, and hurt. He recoiled, pulling away from her, ready to leave. “It is not the same,” Kíli growled, “I did not mean to hurt you, and you did. My words hurt you by accident, because you misunderstand what I’m trying to say - or mayhaps you do, we just do not follow the same path when it comes to these things. But you just hit me deliberately. I would never- ” Kíli’s blood had run cold and he stood in the doorway, hurt more by shame and betrayal than by the slap itself.

He wanted to leave. He felt sick to his stomach, anger, confusion, hurt, and sadness all bundled up inside of him, fighting for dominance. He knew he should leave, if only because Tauriel deserved some peace, and because he was furious. He had struck down enough in battle to know never to raise a hand against someone he cared for, and the sting in his heart hurt more than any sword or arrow ever could.

But he didn’t leave, he couldn’t, he stayed in the same spot, unable to move as if his feet were made of stone.

“Look,” She calmed herself, “See? That’s it. That’s just it. You feel the physical pain of that sting, you feel it also in your mind and in your heart. That is how dwarfs are.” Her hands pressed into her own chest, “But I, an elf, do not feel as you do on the physical realm. I can remove physical pain, I can block it out as easily as you can blink – it is second nature. And I can also invoke it to hypersensitivity of sorts – when I feel the wind shift, when I hear and see leagues away from where we even stand.”
Tauriels expression became open and clear, “We feel more than any ever shall. We feel so much, many of my kin have willed themselves to death because of sorrow, a broken heart, a lost loved one, hopelessness. We can never stop our emotions as we do our minds. You must understand that about me, or you will understand nothing at all.”

Tauriel squatted on to her heels, delicately reaching out to timidly touch his cheek where she had left a red mark against his beard, her voice as gentle as the wind that caressed them both, dark tresses mingling with fox red curls. “It hurts just as much that you do not see that I love you without me having to voice it. Never, please to all the God’s – mine and yours – never stand before me and claim I am of more value than you in this world, that you shall not leave an imprint upon any lives. You have left the biggest imprint upon mine, little dwarf. I have said I love you four times and you have seemed to hear not even one of them.”

Sincere hazel eyes searched into his own.