numenor-archive-deactivated2018:

• maybe she loved him. maybe she thought she loved him. maybe it was his talk of stars & firemoons she was in love with. maybe she was never in love at all, and erebor becomes colder & colder.

• she becomes, of course, lonely– dís is kind to her, but it’s not home, and while the king himself appears to accept her, behind closed door she can feel his watchful gaze, his cold gaze resting on her back, never leaving. and while she longs for the dark forests and the starlight the king’s advisor will not permit her travel for fear of political backlash.

• sigrid bardsdottir, tall and with that northern accent, a descendant of girion if tauriel ever saw one. she rough at the edges but also with the polished speech of a diplomat, and impresses the dwarves with her compliments & flourishes.

• i’m not quite sure you remember me, she introduces herself, but you– you were an inspiration in my childhood.

• and of course tauriel accepts her invitations to spar, and she has become so used to the dwarven-manner that she doesn’t note sigrid’s sidestep, and briefly even as an elf she is thrown off balance– and that is enough.
• sigrid smiles, of course, and helps her up. 

• (and of course they become friends, close ones, closer than sisters ought to be)

• it is late one heady on dorwinion wine, when sigrid kisses her. 

• (sigrid tastes of flowers in the dark, a kind of heartache, and tauriel, tauriel is still for a moment but then she kisses back.)

• tauriel dismissed the dark marks as sparring bruises, and sees sigrid twice a moon, spending half-nights with her kissing

• i’m going south. this coming spring, sigrid murmurs, to travel. i was hoping to visit mirkwood as well– perhaps–

• yes, tauriel says, yes.

send me an au and i’ll give you 5+ headcanons about it