Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit.

So here we go another chapter all done. A lot has happened while I wrote this, mainly that I started watching Sherlock and have found myself at the mercy of Benedict Cumberbatch and his god damn sexy voice (seriously between his and Richard's baritone goodness I'm just about dead). I have have to say that he has been somewhat of a distraction (a good one :P).

But I digress, enjoy!

Now Marie never let herself curse, save the odd slip of the tongue here and there of less colourful words. But the only allowance she gave herself was when she was beyond the point of frustration and the only reason she wasn't screaming bloody murder at the top of her lungs was the knowledge that if she did she would have the whole of the Woodland Realm on her in seconds.

She had been sneaking around the halls for what felt like an eternity, and all she had found were only two other ways out, both guarded and too far from the dungeons for the dwarves to make it to without being seen.

The paths ran like the vines of a bush, tangled, unpredictable and seemed to go on and on with no end.

She had already gotten lost twice and had wasted precious time trying to retrace her steps.

'Oh sod it.' Marie had to stop, so she did. Tucking herself between a perfectly carved archway and a tall glass vase filled with pink and lilac flowers she let out a nice long sigh. Luckily, there was no one in sight, though she could hear music coming from above.

As she took a moment to compose herself, she let her mind correlate its many thoughts without the pent up frustration. During her how many minutes or hours spent going around in circles she had made an interesting observation about the Wood Elves. Unlike the elves she had meet in Rivendell, who held themselves calmly and gracious when they spoke and moved regardless to their station, there was a startling contrast within the Woodland Realm.

On one hand there were the 'common' residents of the halls (if elves could be common). They, in their silks of greens and burnt iron and autumn coloured hair braided back, graced on by insouciantly as they practically sang to eachother in their mysterious language. Marie wondered if they even knew of the terror that lurked in their beloved forest, but a daunting voice in her head told her that they simply chose not to acknowledge it. Yes that was it. They stayed within their golden halls and let the darkness linger elsewhere, and left the guards to man the gates.

Ah yes, on the other hand there were the guards, grim faced and with a weapon in hand constantly. They moved, or in some cases stood guard with purpose and a deadly precision, as if an enemy may strike from anywhere at any time. They were the ones Marie had to extra careful with, for they reacted to the slightest sound. Even at the distance she maintained from them she could spot the nicks in their armour, evidence of all the encounters with those giant spiders and other unsavoury things. The grim on their fair faces was justified in Marie's books, for she had seen what they fight off, but fate only knows how many times they had faced it.

Speaking of which, one of the very same guards that had captured Marie's companions came swiftly around a corner and passed the invisible hobbit, but suddenly stopped as she reached the archway. Her long copper curls swayed across her back as she stood there, still as stone. Marie craned her head around to see her properly. The female elf looked ... troubled. Marie knew a troubled woman's face when she saw one, and the elf was trying ever so hard to hide it.

For one so fair, there was defiantly a strain pulling at her cheeks.

Her downcast head slowly rose up and her shoulders pulled back, composer restored and she walked on through the archway. Marie decided it would be best to follow her. She seemed to be of high ranking among the guards, perhaps a way out could through her. Marie hurried on after the elf.

The hall grew dark as they moved along, but the elf moved on through regardless. They climbed yet another set of stairs, much to Marie's chagrin. And they were a very long set of stairs, and Marie was just about running to keep up.

'Just how many stairs can there be? No wonder they're so ... so ...'

Marie felt her thought dissolve as she entered into the light once more. The female elf had led her into what must have been the canopy of the realm, for there was no ceiling but a great opening in the trees that revealed the night sky. It took Marie's breath away to see just how bright the stars were this side of the world. Once she had taken in the sight above she was brought back down by the sweet smell of honey and apples. She had stumbled on what look like a revel. Tiny lights that resembled the stars hung the trees above, connected by dozens of coloured ribbons. Flowers decorated the tops of tables and the heads of the partying elves and Marie had to dodge the tipsy ones.

Drunk elves? Now Marie had just about seen it all.

'Wait, where did she go?' She had lost sight of her elf amongst the revelers.

This was going to be interesting. She slipped though the warm bodies and kept an eye out for the elf, the needle in a very lively haystack. It did not help that the smell of food made her stomach ache painfully for what of food and the music made her body tingle and giddy, not to mention the strong odour of wine drifting off the tall fair beings. Their long robes fluttered about them as they danced and the fabric kept hitting Marie.

She finally found her elf, standing before a podium with her hands crossed tightly in front of her. Her head was lowered but her eyes darted about as she watched the festive elves with a blank expression. At the top of the podium was the Elven King, unsurprisingly.

He sat upon another throne, not as elaborate as his official one but still quite imposing, and was engaged in a conversation with two other elves, both with fair blonde hair though not as striking at Thranduil's. But he seemed more interested in the goblet he held gingerly in his hand than what the elf lords had to say. The king's crown was absent, but he kept his head high and held just as much power without it. He was dressed in darker robes than before and had a long cloak the colour of autumn leaves draped over his arms. To the king's right stood the bright eyed archer from the forest, with Orcrist slung against his hip. 'Thorin is not going to be happy about that.'

Another observation Marie suddenly made was just how remarkable similar the archer and the king looked like, but a passing elf maid's long sleeve knocked her off balance and she tumbled to the floor. She heard her hands scuff along the surface. Fortunately the elves were either too drunk or occupied with other matters to notice.

All but one.

When Marie looked up, she saw the Elven King's cold eyes staring in her direction.

Had he heard her all the way from up there? Impossible. They music, all the laughing, how ...?

Thranduil gave the tiniest cock of his head ... then closed his eyes and turned his head the other way.

"Captain Tauriel." Marie heard the loud jangling of keys and someone rushing by her, just missing her feet. The bright eyed elf turned his head sharply and her stared down at the female captain and the newcomer. Marie followed his example and turned around. The two elves spoke in rushed tones until it looked like the female gave him an order, but Marie couldn't be sure what had been said. What she could be sure of was that the new elf with dark brass hair had in his possession the keys to the dungeons.

Marie picked herself up and edged herself in behind the elf, 'Alright then, new plan.'

The elf took off through the crowd with Marie tailing him closely. It would seem it was time to test her skills on perhaps the most lethal of the races of Middle Earth.

xxxx

Of all the places to end up the hobbit expected to end up, the cellars were not one of them. The brass haired elf had taken her back down through the dungeons on what one might assume to be a routine inspection of the prisoners (all of whom were asleep by now) then headed for an offshoot the lead to the cellars. The walls were line with shelves of wine bottles and twice as many barrels. A group of elves worked effortlessly emptying the barrels into glass jars ready to be taken up to the revel. A small stash of baked goods and grain was place by the stairs, like they had been forgotten.

"These barrels should have been sent back to Esgaroth hours ago. The bargeman will be waiting for them." The brass haired elf said as he stepped off the last step. Marie scuttled around and gripped a barrel, watching and waiting.

One elf held up a pitcher, inspecting the deep red contents. "Say what you will about out ... ill tempered king, he has excellent taste in wine." The elf took a long drink from the pitcher. "Come Elros, you must try some."

The elf, Elros, removed the set of keys from his belt and dangled them before himself. "I have the dwarves in my charge."

The other elf simply took the keys and hung them on a hook sticking out from a pillar. "They're locked up. Where can they go?"The two chuckled and set themselves around a table with bread and fruit to accompany the wine. Marie took in the full view of the room, noting a large pile up of empty barrels stacked on their sides to the far side. She crept over and saw a lever and a thin line in the wooden floor underneath the pile. A plan slowly came together in her mind.

She thought back to what the Elros fella had said about sending the barrels back to the bargeman. Bargemen were ferries. Perhaps the elves were like the Brandybucks when returning the empty beer barrels to Haysend down the Brandywine. If they were then Marie's hair brain scheme may just work.

All it required now was less elves around, a drunken jailor and the keys.

'Yes, yes it may just work. Best wait until the appropriate time.'

Drink was the folly of all men.

While waiting in the corner, Marie reflected on her sudden wave of optimism in the last few weeks. She still had moments of doubt but always there still hope. It had become apparent to her that she was generally more hopeful, more than she had been a very long time.

She defiantly wasn't the same hobbit as before. Gandalf had given her a little warning at the very beginning of this whole adventure. She hadn't believed him at the time, but to be fare she didn't expect to run after him and thirteen dwarves the next morning.

'Gandalf the Wandering Wizard ... more like Gandalf the Meddling Wizard.'

There was a loud bout of laughter causing Marie to jump a little. Her mind must have been far in the past to realise how much time had passed in the present. Perhaps she was just tired to realise, she did feel rather ... weighed down.

The other elves working had long since departed back up to the party with the refilled pitchers and Elros and the other elf looking red in the face, though still awake.

'There must something I could do.' She drummed her fingertips against the barrel she was hiding behind, the wood damp from spilt wine.

She turned her attention to the well being for the dwarves, and the basket of loaves near the stairs. She may not have been able to take the keys unnoticed just yet, but she could try for the bread. The elves were sitting in the opposite direction anyway, and their slurred conversation was a good enough distraction.

Marie hyped herself, made her way back to the stairs quickly and swiped three pieces of some kind of flat bread on her way up. She wished she could have grabbed more, but it was too late now, she was half way back up towards the dungeons. She had to be quick or three floating pieces of bread would most certainly attract attention. Or did they too become invisible too? Marie was still unclear how this whole magic business worked.

She had to slow down. Now she was just lethargic. Perhaps prolonged exposure to her ring's magic had a price. It was a relief to slide the band off her middle finger, and she juggled the bread between her hands to pocket the ring.

All that she could hear was the music from the revel, and no oncoming guards. That reassured her that she could go a few minutes without the ring. Just a few.

Marie tore off chunks from the first loaf and left a piece just as far into the cells has she could, two in some cases. Hopefully the dwarves would find the bread before the next round of guards came down. The bread tore easily, indicating a relative freshness that made Marie's hunger worse. There would be enough for the thirteen dwarves but not for her. She shrugged and decided to find food elsewhere if she could.

She came to the last cell where Thorin had been thrown into, the last of the bread in hand. The brooding dwarf sat back against the wall, his head and shoulders slumped forward against his knees as if he were asleep.

Marie could have left the bread at the bars and let him rest.

"Thorin?"

Or not.

He must have been awake since he responded so quickly to her soft call. He unfurled his arms and stood quickly, his eyes wide with expectation. "What news?"

"I think I have a way out, but we have to wait until the right time." Marie told him. She could see a second of frustration in his eyes. "It should be soon though." She offered the bread. "Here. I doubt you've had anything. It's not much but it's better than nothing and don't worry, I left enough for the others as well." She said quickly before Thorin could question the matter.

His eyes darted between Marie and the food as he reached for it. "Thank you." His words came out mumbled. The portion looked tiny in his hands and Marie wished she could have given more, not just to him but to all her companions. Thorin tore the piece into two and handed one back to her. She tried to refuse but the dwarf insisted.

"You are no good half starved, eat." It was an order more than anything, and Marie complied. Thorin sat back down by the door, his bulky shoulder sliding down the cold stone. He bent his knee and rested a forearm against it lazily. Marie followed his action and sat close to the bars. She took a bite of the bread, her teeth ripping through the light pastry. It was sweet for bread, but it did cure the painful feeling in her stomach quite quickly.

For a moment the pair just ate, sitting in the silence between them with some ease. Marie kept glancing up at the stairs just in case, and pulled her feet in closer to herself. She hissed as she finally registered the sting sensation in her the soul of her feet. They were red raw and scratched up something terrible.

"What day is it?"

"Mmm? Sorry?" She looked over her shoulder at Thorin.

"Did you manage to determine what day it is? Just how long we were stuck in that forsaken forest."

'You mean lost.' "Unfortunately I didn't. All I know is that it's long after sunset, possibly midnight." Marie bit off another piece of bread. "Time seems to be somewhat lost here."

She got a good look at him from the odd angle they both sat on. Thorin's head was tilt back so as staring at her from bellow his dark lashes. He appeared almost ... normal. He had been stripped of his fur coat and armoured tunic making him less threatening, in fact his looked slighter with just the dark blue undershirt. His hair was free of the dirt and cobwebs and hung limp around his shoulders. Everything but the eyes looked normal. The remained the same, that sharp liveliness that drew you in with a single glance, that commanded respect when demanded.

"So, this plan of your's." He said, "Are you sure it will work?"

"I ... I am hoping. It's a long shot that will actually work, but still." The sounds of the revel drifted down to the dungeons, "If they keep up with that party of theirs we should be able to slip away."

"And I'm I privy to as what the plan involves?"

"I'd rather wait to see if one aspect will work. If it doesn't I'm back to square one."

Thorin made a sound that was half groan half sigh, his head tilted back to rest against the wall.

Marie finished the tiny meal and listened to the faint music of the revel. It had slowed to a simple melody, a harp from the sound of it. It was a soothing song, and had an ancient timbre to its notes.

"Beautiful." Marie breathed.

She could feel Thorin's scrutinizing gaze on her and she looked back at him. "The music, I didn't mean ... forget it." She shook her head.

Thorin glanced up, "Yes. Quite the ballad. The Tale of the Running River."

"Do you know it?"

"Well enough. It was the first thing my tutor insisted I learn."

This got Marie's attention. "Learn? You play the harp?" A small chuckle escaped her as she said 'harp'.

A smirk played on his lips. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"I don't mean to sound patronizing. The thought never occurred that you would have an interest in an instrument."

Thorin's hand flexed open and closed. "Dwarves have the ability to create. Whether it be weapons to art we are dedicated to the craft. That is our gift from Mahal."

"Were you any good?"

"Acceptable in many respects. I chose the sword and anvil over the harp a long time ago."

"But you never really forget it." Marie said, rubbing her tired ankles.

Thorin looked back at her. "True. The lessons of our elders are the hardest to forget."

Out of curiosity, Marie inspected her own hands. "Most my hands can do is tend a garden ... and pickpocket apparently."

"Mmm. I believe it. You have patient hands"

Marie felt flattered.

"My father said that you have to be patient to make a flower bloom. It takes time for something so delicate to grow and if you rush it you could kill what may have been a unique beauty."

"Wise words, for a gardener. I suspect you admire your father a great deal."

"No more than any child would admire their father."

Marie knew that she should go. She had to make sure that the two elves were still sticking to her plan otherwise there would be problems. Just a few minutes she had thought earlier, well those minutes are up.

Maybe a few more.

Her hand was already deep inside her pocket, the ring just under her pinkie finger, and between her index and thumb ...

"Huh ..."

"What is it?" Thorin sounded a little concerned.

"Oh it's just this." Marie pulled out the copper button. "It's all that's left of my father's best waistcoat." She held it up in the little lighting that they had.

"May I?" Thorin asked. Marie nodded and held the button out for him to take. But he reached though the bars and just took hold of her hand, twisting it gently as he inspected it. His much larger fingers wrapped around half her hand and her wrist, her skin tingling under their rough touch.

This was ... odd ...

Odd in a pleasant manner.

"It's ..." Marie cleared her throat to get her voice unstuck. "It's somewhat of a good luck charm now."

But Thorin was not looking entirely at the button, but past it and at her.

There was a flash in his eyes.

A spark.

Her pulse quickened, and he must have felt it.

He let her go and pulled his hand back into the cell. "You? In need of luck? You have more luck that even the very best of men could have." He said.

Marie tightened her fingers around the copper piece to stop them trembling.

'Pull yourself together Marie.'

"I suppose that should be taken as a compliment."

"In the highest regard."

That made her smile. But it was short lived.

There was scuffing of boots from above, which startled the hobbit. She swapped the button for the ring in her pocket quickly.

"I should go." She whispered.

All Thorin responded with was a deep sigh, "If you must." He looked away for a brief moment, no doubt to eye his cell disdainfully. Marie used that second to slip the ring on. A cheap move, but necessary.

"Should this .." But when Thorin looked back, Marie was gone.

He sat up a little and looked all around to try and find her, even though she had not moved from her spot. She watched his expression dance between surprise to concern then back again.

"Marie?" He called quietly, and it took all of Marie's self control not to respond to it, that and the painful thud that her heart gave.

He slumped back and dropped his head. Was he ...?

Marie stood and, with all the grace of a mouse, tip toed back to the cellars.

No, no, no he couldn't be sad, said the pessimistic half of Marie's mind. Well he had some reason to be sad he was stuck in a cell, but he was defiantly not sad about her sudden disappearance.

But her ever grown optimism was saying 'Perhaps he is fond of your company.'

For once, she wished that only her pessimism to listen to.