Note: This fic was written for Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2023, which has just gone live on A03. The art associated with this fic, and the prompt, are by lathalea. You an check out the lovely moodboard on Ao3 or Tumblr if you wish! If you like Thorin/OC content, she's a leading writer as well!

(~ooo~)

Chapter 1: King of Wood and Stone

Marilla had been wanting a chance to show the king her work all week. She knew she could do more than keep inventories for the kitchens if he would just give her the chance. She'd spent most of the last two hundred years away from the light, going through the cellars in an endless cycle, marking what had been added or used in her master inventory.

But every time she let the list be and came up into the upper halls, they took her breath away. She did not care if it was wood or stone. Her hands itched to carve. If no one was looking, she might dare to run a hand along the scrollwork carved into the pillars of their Woodland Realm in intricate Elvish designs. But it was risky. You could not always tell with Elves if someone was watching, and she did not want them to see.

Her love of crafts only opened her up to more of their disdain. It reminded everyone that she was not an Elf. Only half an Elf. And the other half, well, in this kingdom, it could be nothing worse. Never mind that her ancestors – her other ancestors – had helped build these halls that they were all so proud of. They were nothing but hired help. They were supposed to do their work and leave. And these days they would not even have been hired.

But these halls were old now, and they showed their age. If she was good at it, surely King Thranduil would not waste such a talent? She could even work alone, as everyone preferred. Set up some scaffolding or a winch and she could spend her long years sharpening up the designs in the rocks and wood that had blurred with the passing ages, inch by careful inch. It gave her hope to think of such a future. She could not hope for love, or a family of her own, but she could lose days in carving. It would be enough for her. She could spend forever carving. She might need to.

Marilla snuck a hand into the bag she carried with her through the endless storerooms, feeling for the object she felt would burn a hole through the leather if she did not get a chance to show it to him. The perfect likeness of the King himself in ten inches of carven stone. Even he would have to appreciate that, wouldn't he? He had called her to his office for something. She was determined not to miss this chance. She approached the door to his study nervously, trying to steady her breath so he would not hear it shaking.

"Good, Marilla. You are here. I called for you more than an hour ago," Thranduil noted coolly, looking up for no more than a moment from the letter he appeared to be writing.

"My Lord," she said, the picture of respect as she curtsied with all the elegance she could muster. Her short legs could not hope to copy the kind of graceful gesture her willowy mother could conjure. She knew he saw the difference as he glanced at her sideways, unimpressed as always. She steeled herself. She would change this. She would impress him.

"I can see the reports I have been getting are true, then," the King told her. "I have heard you are dallying and that the inventories for the kitchens have been delayed or missing when they are needed. Others depend on your timely work. Can you explain yourself?"

Thranduil finally put his quill down and looked at her properly, waiting for an answer.

"I have been through every cellar every week, just as I always have, your Highness," she replied, surprised. Had she been that caught up? She hadn't thought she'd been slow enough for Elves to notice, of all people.

"And yet something is different," he intoned.

"I – I was working on a special project. For you, sire," Marilla said unevenly. This is not how she had wanted to tell him. Thranduil raised an eyebrow at her.

"If I have told you once, I have told you a thousand times. Hold yourself with more confidence. You cannot hope to join us as an Elf of this realm if you continue to mumble when you talk," he observed. "If you have a gift for your King, present it with grace."

Marilla tried not to fumble as she put down her bag and took out the carving, placing it carefully on his desk.

"It was a high-quality piece of agate, with a bit of quartz geode on the inside. It fell from one of the cellar ceilings and split apart. There was one piece large enough for a real carving," she explained.

It was a spectacular piece of work, if she said so herself. The image of the Elvenking resplendent on his throne, carved from white stone marked with subtle rings. His throne opened up into a small pocket of shining purple crystals.

"This is meant to be me?" Thranduil asked her, looking it over neutrally. She nodded in assent, trying not to look meek.

"I am getting better and better in both stone and wood carving, my Lord. If you would let me, I would be eager to serve this Kingdom doing some maintenance on the pillars and carvings of these halls," she told the regal Elf.

"No," he said firmly and without hesitation. "You should not indulge in interests that only further emphasize the… less desirable … part of your heritage. It appears you have chosen to keep the life of the Eldar, as half-Elves may do. So you will be with us for a long time. I advise you to try to fit in. Seek out a more Elvish hobby. Music, perhaps."

"And you are not excused from your task. Caring for this Kingdom's vital resources is a noble charge. No more of this, especially if it is slowing down your work. I want every cellar inspected twice this week, and prompt reports to the kitchen before each meal. You may go."

Thranduil put the carving aside, using it to tamp down a sheaf of unruly records. A paperweight. It was nothing to him but a paperweight.

Marilla bowed her head curtly and left the room, trying to keep herself from crying where any Elf might see or hear her. She ducked behind an archway a few feet from the office doorway. She pulled her cloak into a ball and held it over her mouth, pressing her face into the comforting stone of the passage to let herself weep unwitnessed. Any hope of finding some acceptance from the Elves without turning herself inside out first seemed well and truly shattered.

She listened carefully for anyone coming; she could not stand the shame of them seeing her cry. Her hearing was as good as any Elf's. From the other direction, someone else entered the King's chamber. She heard the voice of the Prince float through the corridor.

"The Dwarves have been secured in our dungeons, father," Legolas informed the King.

"Let them sit there," Thranduil replied, his voice dripping with disdain. "I will speak to Thorin after he has had some time to consider his predicament."

"And the half-Elf?" Legolas asked.

"I have given her enough work to keep her busy far from them and any gossip that gets around," Thranduil replied. "She will not know of their presence. She is far too Dwarvish already. More influence from them is the last she needs."

Marilla could not believe what she was hearing. There were Dwarves in the Woodland Realm. Her other people! And her King conspired to keep her from them.

She did not stay shocked for long. Now Marilla was angry. And as stubborn as any dwarrow in the history of Arda had ever been. She was going to speak with Thorin, whoever he was, if it was her last act on this earth.

(~ooo~)

Notes:

It has been a delight and a privilege to write this excellent prompt supplied by Lathalea. It's quite humbling to write a work for a character and a race of people I haven't gotten to know very well before, and who the talented Lathalea knows extremely well. She has been so generous and encouraging throughout the drafting of this fic - truly this collab has been a joy. Your prompt was so juicy I had to get out of my elfin comfort zone, and I'm glad I did. (An outcast? With complex identity issues? Subscribe!)

There is a real possibility I might spin this off into a longer story, but that probably depends on whether y'all like it or not! A few notes about this fic and some conventions I've followed.

1. Some of the names, a few details, and some broad plot inspiration come from The Scarlet Letter, by Nathaniel Hawthorn - an American lit classic for those of you in other countries who didn't have to read this in school. For example, Marilla is the Quenya word for a pearl, which after some discussion with the experts (see note #2) Dwarves might have used, since they didn't have their own word for this rare gem. This 'Pearl' is all grown up and has a complex identity she needs to explore, unlike the child character Pearl in the novel. And, she's old enough to have a love interest of her own. ;)

2. Most of the Khuzdul or neo-Khuzdul in this fic has been supplied by either Lathalea herself, or by the lovely people of the Fellowship of the Fics. I am always grateful for the depth of their knowledge and their generosity with it. :)

3. This is primarily a movie canon story, mostly because of some of the characters I wanted to incorporate. The exception is that in this story Thorin is kept separately from his company while in Mirkwood, as he was in the books. Where movie canon is silent, I turn to book canon as much as I can, and as much as I know it, unless departing from canon serves a narrative purpose.

4. Re: the references to 'Dwarf women' and 'Dwarf ladies' in this fic, I am aware of the term 'dwarrowdam' exists in the canon but I personally don't use it because it gives me the ick. 'Dam' has strong animal breeding connotations to me. I don't like applying it to people, personally. I think Dwarf ladies have a lot more to offer than their childbearing abilities, as I've tried to show in this story. Last but not least, many thanks go to LoopyLoo2610 for beta reading!