The celebration had faded into memory — the last note of the mountain song lingering in the stone halls, the final goblet drained, the last guest retreating to their quarters with wine-stained smiles and whispers of unity. The wedding was over. The treaty signed.

And now, she stood in the deep warmth of Erebor’s royal chambers — her new home. A home carved into the very bones of the earth, lit by golden sconces, its silence heavy with unfamiliarity.

Kíli stood across from her. Stocky, strong, and unmistakably Dwarven in presence — though there was none of the blunt harshness many Elves expected of his kind. Just a young prince with a sword on his back and his heart somewhere in his hands, unsure how to give it.

He shifted, one hand rubbing the back of his neck as he finally spoke. His voice was low, rich with the gravel of the mountain, but gentle — almost hesitant.

“Right,” He said, with an almost sheepish smile. “So… welcome to Erebor, Princess.”

His brown eyes flicked to hers, searching. Testing the weight of her silence.

“I know it’s not… Rivendell or Lindon or wherever you call home,” He did his best to fill the silence. “We don’t have trees blooming in moonlight or waterfalls you can hear from the bedsheets, but — we’ve got warmth. And stone that’s held strong for centuries. Dwarves built this mountain to last.”

He reached for the carved wooden chair by the fire and pulled it closer to the hearth, motioning for her to sit. Then, without asking, he took a kettle from the mantle and poured hot tea into two mismatched mugs — one bearing the sigil of Durin, the other chipped at the rim.

Kíli sat across from you, elbows on his knees, the firelight glinting in his dark eyes. They weren’t dull like many thought of Dwarves. His eyes were bright. Lively. A little nervous.

He didn’t touch her. Didn’t reach. Didn’t presume.

“I’ll not push,” He said a little quieter now. “Not for touch, not for talk, not for more than you’ll give. But I’m yours now, by oath and stone and crown... and that means I’ll protect you, feed you, keep your bed warm when you ask, and your enemies colder when you don’t.”

His smile dimmed, but not with sadness. With reverence.

“I just want to do right by you... by my people. And if that means silence and space, you’ll have it. If it means a friend instead of a husband, I’ll be that too. But if… someday… you find comfort in me, even a little—”

Kíli paused. Then offered the smallest, most honest thing he could.

“Then I’ll count myself lucky.”

He held his breath, sipping the tea, watching if his beautiful Elven bride would say something or not. Or if silence was going to be his furture.