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It takes entirely too long for Kíli to find a library that has the sort of information he really wants, but on the night before he’ll need it, he finds himself tucked into a little room with stain glass windows and potted trees in all the corners. In retrospect, it might’ve been easier to ask Lindir—his new, shared attendant—but then he would’ve had to admit his problem to an elf. Not that he even would to another dwarf. He skims the rows of titles himself, hoping for inter-species help in particular.
Nothing jumps out at him. He might’ve expected as much. He’s never heard of another dwarf-elf marriage, arranged or otherwise, and he’s only known one other dwarf in his life who would so much as admit an Elven interest—and even then, he and Gimli would never discuss such things where anyone else could hear. Perhaps there’s no preparing for their differences. Instead, he hunts for something bearing advice for a first time.
It’s equally as difficult to find in titles. He goes on anyway—he desperately doesn’t want to make a fool of himself, even if his engagement is based more on duty than love. He has the pride of his people to uphold, and even more so, he’s come to respect Lord Elrond in his short time here, and Kíli wants to impress the man he’s going to spend the rest of his life with. He wouldn’t mind it growing into more, and it would help to start on the right foot.
The first book turns out to be in too ancient a language for Kíli to recognize. He knows his basic Elven letters, but only in the set he thought common. He still has a lot to learn about the Elven world. He tries another book and wonders, not for the first time, just how long ago Elrond’s first was. He has several children and once had a wife, so he must know what he’s doing. More so than Kíli, at least. And he must have been good at it, for the wife to come back for at least seconds and thirds—unless they just wanted children that badly, of course. But Elrond seems so very graceful and knowledgeable and all together talented that Kíli can’t imagine him being bad at anything, and the more Kíli thinks about Elrond making children the more he feels hot and bothered and all together too distracted to learn a thing.
The next book has only letters, and Kíli shoves it back, knowing he doesn’t have the patience and hoping for pictures. He’s only just pulled a third out when someone calls, “Kíli,” and he whirls about, automatically hiding the book behind his back.
Elrond dips his head at the door, picturesque as he always is in deep crimson robes and a silver diadem. He shuts the door quietly behind himself and says, “I apologize if I startled you.”
“You didn’t,” Kíli grunts back, blushing already, half out of surprise and half from the daydreams he tries to frantically push away. “How could you when you announced yourself?” Which is something Kíli appreciates; he would’ve hated to be caught with his nose buried in lewd pictures, even if he’d only meant to garner instruction and not imagine his groom’s supple body contorted into such positions. When Elrond says nothing more, Kíli asks, “Ah... is there something I can do for you?”
Elrond glances aside, and Kíli follows his gaze to look through the dyed window, where the light is breaking into stars. Elrond seems to hesitate before sweeping closer, and even then, he waits an arm’s length away. Clasping his hands neatly before himself, Elrond notes, “The ceremony is tomorrow. I have noticed that you have been... somewhat scarce, of late.” There’s one brief moment wherein Kíli’s nervous he’s been caught and is going to have to explain his quest for a more adult library, but then Elrond goes on, “I wish to remind you that if you are having second thoughts, there is no need to go through with this. Your uncle may believe that a political marriage with elves beyond the Woodland Realm is a necessity, but I do not believe it is so, even in these troubled times.”
That’s worse. Kíli can feel his face drain and shifts his weight, fumbling to try and read the inflections in Elrond’s voice. It’s difficult with elves—another cultural thing he’ll have to adapt to—dwarves, and Kíli especially, are loud and obvious. But Kíli, at least, knows how to be series when the mood merits it, and when he can’t figure out for himself if Elrond’s words have a double meaning, he asks, “Do you want to cancel it?”
Elrond smiles. It’s a soft, beautiful thing, like most of him. “I would, in fact, be honoured to wed you, and I always welcome new allies, however strangely brought about. I was merely thinking of your own interest.”
Kíli blurts too quickly, “I’ve got plenty of interest.” He blushes right after, and Elrond’s smile seems to shine. He doesn’t ask any more about it. Maybe the want is written too clearly over Kíli’s face.
Walking a few steps past Kíli, Elrond descends into the plush armchair resting at the end of the bookcase. Kíli turns automatically to face him, now even closer together—and the height difference bridged—but he knows he hasn’t turned fast enough to hide his book. Elrond spots it and asks, “What were you reading?”
The stubborn dwarf in Kíli says to lie, but he doesn’t want to start off a marriage like that, and so he begrudgingly brings the book around. Elrond glances at the title but shows no sign of recognition or judgment. Kíli licks his lips and admits in a low voice, “I’m a bit... ah... nervous... about the wedding night.” Which isn’t easy to say and makes him wince. Sometimes he thinks it would’ve been much easier if Fíli, or even an older dwarf in Thorin’s service like Dwalin, had been put forth to marry Elrond—but then, Kíli volunteered before any of them could.
Elrond, to his surprise, says simply, “We need not lie together.”
Equal parts shocked and hurt, Kíli mutters, “But... but we’ll be married...”
“Marriage is composed of many things. Now, if you wish to...”
“Of course I do,” Kíli jumps in before he’s even finished, blushing harder but insistent. “I just... I just want to do it right.”
Elrond smiles again, and Kíli’s strangely, suddenly sure that even if they have nothing else, Elrond will be fond of him. Elrond rises from his chair and takes a step forward, then reaches down to brush some of the dark, scraggly hair from Kíli’s face, long, silken fingers brushing back along the stubble of his chin to cup his cheek. As Elrond bends down, Kíli automatically lifts up on the toes of his boots, and they meet in the middle for a gentle, too chaste kiss: their first. Elrond’s just as soft and warm as Kíli imagined him. But it’s over too soon.
Straightening out again, Elrond murmurs, “You are free to read as much as you wish, my prince, but I promise that you will not disappoint. Such things are different for everyone and with each coupling. I will go slow, if you wish, and we will keep communication open.” Pausing, Elrond tilts his head aside to muse, “Fortunately, I do not believe it will be especially difficult with a dwarf.”
Kíli can’t help but laugh. It feels good, unwinding around Elrond—he’s tried, thus far, to be more reserved and demure like an elf, but he isn’t one. He also isn’t as good at speaking up as Elrond seems to think dwarves—he probably won’t say anything if it’s himself he’s embarrassed with. But the laugh and the kiss is what he needed. When Elrond’s hand falls away from his face, he turns to put the book away.
Then he looks back at Elrond to announce, “I want the wedding night to be special.”
Elrond surprises him again by offering, “There is still time to practice.” Kíli, taken aback, snorts and grins again, Elrond smiling in response. He’s certainly more fun than Kíli first gave him credit for.
And he’s evidently good at cheering Kíli up and also inordinately handsome and far too tempting, so Kíli reaches out to take Elrond’s hand and ask, “While we still have the option to choose, then—your quarters or mine?”