Bofur sat in his cell and brooded.
That in itself was unusual. The typically merry Dwarf was quiet and subdued, not a quip or comment to be heard from him. He was so quiet, in fact, that Nori was concerned.
Of course the Elves couldn't put them in the same cell. They'd ALL been separated. Each had their own cell and while they were within shouting distance, most of them, what he wanted most to say wasn't for just anyone's ears.
Nori wanted. He wanted to hold his miner, he wanted to make sure Bofur'd taken no lasting harm from that cursed forest, he wanted to just wrap up his One and hold him close, protect him from further harm. And that was what kept him silent, more than anything.
They were courting. He'd braided Bofur's hair, he'd accepted and wore Bofur's earring. Not one of their fellows would say a word against them, against their union. But he couldn't bring himself to take that last, irrevocable step and be completely open. It was just so foreign to his nature, to his life, that he couldn't do it.
He couldn't even get out of this cell. He was a thief, a very accomplished one, and there wasn't a cell in the world that could hold him – except this one. His lockpicks, cunningly concealed and thus undiscovered by the Elves, just weren't up to the task. There was magic upon these locks, some sorcery that kept him from finally getting the door open. For each time he tried, there was a reaction.
The first was simple. The lock simply didn't open. The tumblers fell into place, he could hear them move, but nothing happened. The door remained firmly closed.
The second time was a bit more harsh. The lock itself changed, snapping the tip off one of the tools and sending sharp splinters of wood into the fingertips he had too close to it. He cursed softly and retrieved what was left of the tool and used it to prize them out, all the while scowling and growling imprecations under his breath.
The third time? The third time hurt. It wasn't splinters this time, but a barrage of thorns that flew from the lock, shredding the knuckles on his right hand and sending him into a spate of vile language that should have made the most seasoned of warriors proud. He grumbled, removed the thorns, and then surveyed the wreckage of his tools with desperation. There wasn't enough left of them to attempt even a simple lock, much less this one.
He wasn't going to admit defeat. He'd made his way out of the best Dwarven prisons, specifically designed to hold him, and he wasn't about to let some Elvish lock best him. But try as he might, he got nowhere, and continued to collect a myriad of downright painful injuries to his hands until he simply stopped, leaned his head against the bars, and swore many of his personal favorites. Then he simply threw himself against the door. Repeatedly.
Balin had explained this to them already. The Woodland Realm was secured by Thranduil's will, and they wouldn't get out without his leave. But Nori didn't care. He wanted out.
Being caged was galling to him, but there was more. He couldn't stand being confined; it sent chills down his spine and panic through his veins. He could no more stop trying to escape than he could stop breathing.
Bofur heard the commotion start and scrambled to his own door. He could see Nori's cell, just barely, from where he stood, and he watched as his One thrashed and fretted. He listened as Nori's breathing grew labored and he cried out as he saw blood on Nori's hands. "Nori!" he called stridently as he reached his hand through the bars, yet unable to reach his thief. "Nori, stop!"
But nothing reached Nori. He had to get out. The thought beat at him in time with his assaults on the door. He had to get out. Other voices joined Bofur's, but he heard none of them. He had to get out.
Bofur strained to reach him but couldn't and slumped for a moment before a thought occurred to him. Nori had taken such pleasure in his tunes, his music. Could he reach his thief, calm him that way? He didn't have his flute – but he did have his voice.
His words were soft and soothing, pitched low enough that Nori would have to settle down to hear them. He sang of peace and safety, words his mother had sung to him as a child when the darkness threatened and he was sore afraid. And he kept singing, even when Nori had quieted and settled himself at the doorway to listen, because suddenly it wasn't just his thief he was reassuring. He could feel the others drawing near also, and he kept going. He kept singing until his throat was sore, soothing the spirits of his friends as long as he could before finally falling silent.
The others remained quiet, some falling into slumber, some simply sitting in silent contemplation – but Nori remained at the door to his cell, watching Bofur with a tiny smile on his face. Bofur met his eyes, raising one brow in question, and Nori simply nodded. He was all right, now. He could see his One, could hear his voice, and knew Bofur was all right. That was enough.
For now.