When Thorin Met Tauriel – 5
"I'm rather disappointed in you, Captain," the King said. "I expected you, of all people, to confide in me first."
The Hall of the Elf King was quiet now, and empty except for Tauriel, King Thranduil, and Sethiel. The young blond archer was grinning, not even trying to hide his glee. Tauriel was certain that he had engineered this whole scene in an attempt to disgrace her—make her look like she was hiding information, siding with Thorin against her own liege lord. And he'd done it by threatening the life of her sister.
How had Sethiel known about Thorin's reckless claim, made that first night, that he was going after the dragon's hoard? Had the archer snuck back to the jail after she'd sent him to ask about cutting the bindings on Thorin's wrists? She'd thought she heard something outside—it must have been Sethiel, sneaking and eavesdropping.
Tauriel drew in a deep breath. "Sire, I didn't think you wanted to be bothered with every idle boast that passed a prisoner's lips."
"The King should be the one to decide what is an idle boast, and what is a vital clue to an enemy's plans," Sethiel declared.
Thranduil silenced the archer with a look, but turned to Tauriel and said, "He makes a good point. Well?"
Her future—and her sister's future as well—was balanced on a knife-edge, but now anger overwhelmed her fear. She snapped, "Can you say, your Majesty, that you have any more information about the dwarf's plans now than you did before? Did Sethiel's little drama make him reveal the truth about his intentions here?"
The King sat back in his throne and tapped one finger thoughtfully against his lips.
"No, it didn't. Th- the dwarf denied everything. As Captain of the Guard," she glared across at Sethiel, "it's my duty to provide you with solid, reliable information. Not to bore you with every meaningless thing a prisoner says. Now, I doubt we will get anything further from him."
"No doubt you're right, Captain," the King said with a sigh. "But I think you may have let yourself get too close to your prisoner. So, you are relieved of active guard duty and placed on administrative service. Sethiel will take over your guard shifts."
Both Tauriel and Sethiel opened their mouths to protest. The King raised his hand. "No, don't thank me. Sethiel, you may leave."
The archer left, sullen disapproval evident in every line of his body. He clearly didn't expect to be rewarded with more work—probably had hoped to be made Captain in her place. Tauriel waited, standing at attention.
Thranduil drummed his fingers on the throne. "Captain, I really can't be threatening your relatives every time I need you to tell me what I want to know. It's far too much effort. I trust you will not make me test your loyalty again. Now go."
Thorin's new cell was located even deeper in the palace dungeons than the first one had been. Instead of a cage, he was placed in a stone room with a thick wood door pierced by a small rectangle at an elf's eye-level, through which an occasional gleam of torchlight shined. Not that there was anything to see.
Most of the time, he was left in the dark. The elf jailers brought food, but otherwise left him alone. No one came to question him about his intentions, challenge his statements to the King, or even to mock him.
He didn't want to speak to anyone, anyway.
Everything that had happened was his own fault. He was the leader of the dwarves, and he didn't know where they were, or if they were safe. It was his duty to look out for them, his duty to make decisions that would lead them to success. But he had not done so.
With Tauriel—the Captain—the elf—his mistake had been one of judgment: He had thought he knew her. He had thought he could trust her. He had thought—more fool he—that there had been a core of understanding, of sympathy, of friendship and loyalty, between them. But he'd been wrong.
The scene replayed itself in his mind, over and over, the elf king demanding truth, and then the Captain's—the elf's—clear voice, baldly laying out the truth he'd wanted so desperately to conceal. In his memory her voice sounded cold, pitiless, scornful. Like something from a nightmare, she had worn the mask of friendship in private, only to tear it off in front of a crowd and show her heartless elf nature.
He tried to tell himself that this image was true. There had never been anything between them. He'd told her stories and bandied meaningless words with her, just to gain her trust. He had tried to seduce her by offering to let her touch his beard, just so he could steal her keys. He'd been using her—and if things hadn't turned out the way he'd hoped, well...it had been nothing but a gamble, an unfortunate roll of the dice.
But then he would remember the bright flash of her smile or the grassy scent of her hair, and his newly-hardened heart crumbled to dust in his chest.
The truth was, she was joyous and filled with a zest for life. She had a streak of kindness that softened the edges of her strong sense of duty. The truth was, in their talks he'd shared himself with her in ways he'd never done with anyone else. The truth was, he would have said anything, done anything—given anything he had—to see her again and touch her one more time.
He didn't know why she'd revealed the nature of his quest, but every attempt he made to banish her from his mind made her more real, more vital, more necessary to him than ever. The thought that she was lost to him forever crippled him with pain.
He knew he had to build up his anger, use the fire of it to work out a way to get free. Anger would give him strength. But she had broken down the wall around his heart, and he couldn't brick it up again. He had nothing to work with, nothing against which to sharpen his will. There seemed nothing left but despair.
Maybe he should tell the King the truth. He could beg the Elf King for mercy and assistance, and promise to hand over a share of the treasure once the dwarves had defeated Smaug. He pictured the happiness in Tauriel's face when she learned that they were allies against a common foe. The surge of relief and joy almost broke his heart.
Ah, he was wretched indeed, if he were so low that he considered her smile worth so great a prize. Nothing less than the dreams of a lifetime, and the pride of his people! Yet at that moment, he would have given them all up, just for a token of her approval.
He disgusted himself.
Outside the door of his cell, he heard a very un-elvish rustle and a familiar, fussy voice. "Ouch!"
He scrambled to the door. "Hobbit! Bilbo Baggins, is that you?"
"Ah, Thorin! There you are, finally! I have had the most dreadful time – oh, it's been simply awful. If you only knew!"
Thorin leaned back against the stone wall of his cell and laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks.
Before reporting for her administrative duty, Tauriel gave strict orders regarding the rotation of guards on duty in the dungeons. She was still Captain of the Guard, after all, and she wanted to make sure that Sethiel would be placed where he could do the least harm. She assigned him to the main group of cells, where his malicious tendences would be held in check by the presence of others—prisoners as well as guards.
Then she went to find the King's butler. Instead, she found a couple of young Guards loitering in the courtyard and stopped to administer some discipline. Just because she wasn't going to be around for a while did not mean that other people could slack off.
As a result, she was a bit disheveled when she finally reported to Galion, the butler. The elderly servant harrumphed and led her off to inventory the contents of the royal pantry.
The quiet moments she spent counting bins of root vegetables and barrels of grain were the most miserable of all. Peaceful quiet had become her enemy—whenever her attention wasn't engaged fully with working or fighting, her thoughts crowded in. Her mind lashed her mercilessly with memories of Thorin's shocked face, and the sound of his deep voice shouting "Liar!"
It did no good to tell herself that she hadn't forced him to divulge the secret of his mission to her. Equally useless to argue that she'd held out as long as she could, and that she'd only spoken when her sister's life had been at stake. It didn't even matter that she owed Thorin nothing—she hadn't even promised him that she wouldn't tell anyone. There was no forgiveness for her, no relief from her agony of guilt.
The hours they had spent together had been precious to her. She was still amazed to realize how alike they were, she and Thorin, despite their differences. And even those differences had been a source of delight to her—he was mysterious and fascinating yet somehow familiar at the same time. She had never met anyone like him before. It would take a lifetime to know him well, and even then he would surprise her.
In the time they'd had, she had learned something of his nature. His trust was not easily given, but he would be stubbornly loyal to those he cared about. He was a fierce friend, a relentless foe, and a determined fighter for his goals. Somehow, without her knowing or intending it, they had developed an understanding that crossed the barriers between their two peoples. The sweetness of their friendship, so unlike anything she'd ever known, had brought her a joy that pierced her soul.
But whatever bond had been forged between them was broken now. She had destroyed it. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, and was glad there was no one there to see.
The days passed, hollowed-out, empty and pointless. After a week of staying away, Tauriel ventured down to the dungeons. The patrols had captured more dwarves and they were being imprisoned several levels away from where Thorin was kept. She wasn't going to go down there—she couldn't face him—but she thought she'd see how the others were faring.
She heard the clamor before she got to the cell bank.
In one of the cage-like cells, Sethiel stood over the fattest of the dwarves. The prisoner had been tied by his arms to the bars of the cell, and the archer had his dagger drawn. Erian, one of the younger guards, was standing in the hallway, protesting ineffectually.
Tauriel sprang past the dithering guard. She grabbed Sethiel's knife-hand by the wrist and fisted her other hand in the archer's long golden hair. Pulling with all her might, she swung him around and slammed him against the rear wall of the cell. He landed with a satisfying crunch.
"What do you think you're doing?" she shouted. Without waiting for an answer, she spun him to face her and smashed her fist into his nose. "Get out, and don't let me catch you down here again."
Sethiel staggered out of the cell, one hand raised to his bloody nose. "You'll regret this."
"Not as much as you will, I promise you."
He stumbled out. Tauriel untied the dwarf, barely hearing his stammered thanks, and then turned to Erian. "What has been going on here?" she demanded.
The guard was staring at her, slack-jawed. Clearly not the brightest blade in the armory. He collected his wits. "Commander Sethiel had just begun his program of intensive questioning."
Her eyebrows rose. "Intensive questioning? Is that what he called it?"
Erian nodded. "Yes, Captain."
She felt like driving her fist into the wall. Keeping her temper under tight control, she said, "Sethiel is not a commander of anything. He is no longer allowed in this or any other cell bank. And there is to be no questioning, intensive or otherwise, by anyone around here. Not while I am still Captain of the Guard. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Captain."
She turned to go before she did something unforgivable to the dim-witted young guard.
"Uh, Captain?" Erian looked nervous. "Is it true what Commander—I mean, Sethiel said about you and—" He tipped his head at the dwarfs in their cells.
Apparently Sethiel was implying something unsavory about herself and a particular dwarf—Thorin. Rage boiled up inside her, almost dizzying in its intensity. She clenched her jaw, not trusting herself to speak.
Alarmed, the guard backed away from her. "Uh, I guess not. Beg pardon, Captain. Sir."