Chapter 3: First Encounter

Marilla thought all day about how she would excuse her absence to Helluin, finally deciding to get up very early claiming to deal with an unusually large shipment from one of their trading partners, given Thranduil's recent concerns. It meant she couldn't meet Tauriel right at midnight, but a few hours before dawn? She could convince Helluin of that.

"Marilla, you work so hard," her mother had objected, looking worried. "The Elves must remember that you need a full night's sleep every night."

"I cannot disappoint the King, Naneth!" Marilla had hedged. "I think he might be hinting about something better for me to do, if he continues to be pleased with my work," she added, fibbing even more than she usually did. It made her feel a little guilty, but it did work.

"Things seem to be going well for you finally," her mother had replied, looking melancholy and glad at the same time. It looked beautiful on her, of course. "I am glad for you, my daughter."

It broke Marilla's heart to see her mother so sad. Helluin didn't even have a job that gave her an excuse to get out. She would stay in their cavern room for days at a time, going through piles of plain sewing that would get dropped off every week or two by a maid. Helluin's embroidery had once been so coveted that she'd provided the embellishments on the Elvenqueen's own wedding veil. Now she darned holes in servants' bed sheets, hemmed napkins and tablecloths, and produced endless repeats of the servants' uniforms as they were adjusted to match the court's shifting fashions. She'd go outside into the woods alone sometimes, coming home with a little basket of berries, fresh greens, or nuts. Never enough that Thranduil could object that she was poaching from the Elves' main food sources, but it brightened up their meals.

Marilla knew her mother was lonely. And it was her fault. So who could blame Marilla for telling her mother things that would help her feel a little better? Sharing the truth about her exclusion would only hurt her mother more. But they ate at her, these lies. What if – what if there was another life for her out there? Maybe even for both of them? The thought made Marilla's heart quicken with hope.

So whether it was wise or not, Marilla woke three hours before dawn on the morning of Tauriel's watch feeling like she'd just swallowed a whole pint of fizzy beer in one go. She tried to be quiet, but of course it didn't work. Helluin rose from bed seamlessly, her eyes changing from open but unmoving to shifting and blinking in the same moment that she began to move.

"Good luck today, darling," Helluin told Marilla, straightening out the young lady's dress by force of habit. "Oh! You almost forgot to shave," Helluin told her daughter, running an affectionate hand across the stubble that had bloomed along Marilla's jawline since the previous morning.

"Yes, right," Marilla said, feeling embarrassed. How long had it been since her mother had had to remind her of that? She swished her brush through the soap in a hurry, slapping the lather on her face quickly, then picking up the razor to slide it along her skin, banishing the offending hairs.

"Ow!" Marilla hissed. She was rushing, and she'd nicked herself. She wanted to swear, but she shoved it down. Nice Elves don't curse , she recited to herself.

"Oh my dear, let me," Helluin offered. She'd never shaved a thing before her daughter had been born. By the time her beard began to come in, the girl's father was gone and Helluin's best hope was that Marilla could find acceptance among the Elves. So she'd learned to shave her daughter's face.

Helluin stood beside Marilla and carefully smoothed the blade along her clear, fair skin. When Marilla's face was clean and flawless, Helluin stole another moment by brushing her girl's unruly auburn hair (so like Aritur's) until it lay in tidy waves, secured by two heavy braids that swept back from her face.

"You are so beautiful, and so rare, my pearl," Helluin said, bending a little to look over her daughter's shoulder in the mirror. She folded Marilla in a hug – there was surprising strength in those thin arms - then kissed her daughter's smooth cheek and gave the girl her warmest smile. "Go show them what a pair of hands as clever as yours can really do."

Marilla smiled despite herself. How the Elves could shun someone so sweet was beyond her, especially when they'd known her mother for so long before this all happened! And there it was again, the spark-spitting fire beneath Marilla's breastbone.

"Thank you, Naneth. You should finish resting, alright?" Marilla suggested. She didn't like imagining Helluin alone in the dark, staring up the air shaft looking for a star. But she had a mission, so Marilla peeled herself away, padded up the corridor out of their deep chamber, and headed for the prison cells.

The Woodland Realm was quiet at this time of night. The Elves who decided they didn't feel like resting kept the silence nonetheless, respecting those who did wish to drift into reverie. Those who remained might gather together and work on quiet tasks, or find private places to read or just watch the stars. It was strange to ghost through the empty hallways. Marilla let her fingers brush favorite carvings on the walls here and there, indulging herself in her excitement to meet them . She wondered if they could see the beauty of these halls as she did.

Finally, Marilla snuck down the hallway towards the prison cells, moving as silently as she was able. She peeked her head around the last corner, looking for Tauriel. She'd have no excuse to be here if someone else saw her. She hoped the Elf captain would have remembered to tell her if something changed. It wasn't like Tauriel cared about her, Marilla thought. She just felt guilty whenever she happened to see the two outcasts suffering.

But Tauriel was there and already walking towards Marilla. She waved her hand for Marilla to come forward and raised a finger to her mouth.

When they were close, Tauriel whispered, "you should have come quietly!"

"That is as quiet as I can be," Marilla said, her voice coming out squeaky with embarrassment. Her cheeks started to feel hot, and she knew blotchy red patches would be blooming across them soon. Not a nice, subtle Elven blush.

Tauriel glanced at her. The captain's exasperation shifted to pity again. "Thorin is this way," she said, ushering Marilla down a winding stairway that passed over a waterfall. The Elf was so swift Marilla barely had time to register that she'd just passed another barred door with a dark, bearded face peering out of it and then they were already past it.

"Is that your Kíli?" she whispered in her smallest voice.

"My Kíli?" Tauriel said with sudden brusqueness. "Don't be ridiculous Marilla. He's a prisoner, and one who won't stop talking. There, that's Thorin's cell. I'll be just up the stairs watching. If anyone comes along I'll knock a loose stone down the stairs and you'll have to hide and wait until I can come get you. Understand?" The captain asked in a hurry.

Marilla nodded and looked after the red blur that swept past her and up the stairs. When Tauriel was gone, Marilla tiptoed across the landing in front of the thick iron bars. More Dwarf craftsmanship, she noted – impeccable.

The young lady stood in front of the cell and looked down at this Dwarf, 'Thorin,' who Thranduil so badly wished her never to meet. He was lying on a stone bench of sorts, which was covered in straw. His dark curls had bits of spider web tangled in them. He looked dirty to her. She'd hardly ever seen anyone so messy. It made him look wild to her – like a wolf or a bear. There was mud on his leather vest, on his face, and under his nails.

But he had a proud face. She could carve that face: the heavy brow, the strong nose, and then the beard. The beard! How it framed his face. This face with his eyes closed – how strange that looked. She wondered if that was what she looked like when she slept. Did her mother watch her all night just to make sure wasn't dead?

(~ooo~)

Thorin woke to the distinct feeling that he was being watched. He listened before he opened his eyes, trying to assess the situation before they knew he'd woken. They weren't moving. Just breathing down on him. He thought they would be close to the door of his cell – it didn't sound like they were inside.

Someone's come for a show , he thought angrily, concluding that some Elf or other was watching him sleep just to show they could. Gloating over him, trapped in their cage like a rat. Mahal, he despised these wretched Elves! He pictured the sneering face of that self-satisfied blond ferret that called himself a King – staring down at Thorin, asleep.

Thorin gathered himself, imagining the maneuver in his head. Then he did it – swung himself up and around, and sprang onto his feet, heading straight for the bars. He was ready to stare them down, whatever simpering twig in a dress dared to treat him so.

He was shocked when he actually saw her. Yes – her. She stumbled back, catching herself nimbly. But she was a Dwarf lady. She had to be, didn't she? She was tall – as tall as he was! But it was there in her face, except that it was bare. It was in her curling mane of auburn hair and the strength of her chest and shoulders, her sturdy hips, her powerful legs. A climber , he thought, taking a split-second impression of how she moved, a good one.

There was a frightened look in her eyes. She turned to bolt up the stairs.

"Wait, I'm sorry," he blurted out. ('Sorry!' since when did he say he was sorry?) "I thought you were an Elf, coming to gloat over catching us."

She paused, her eyes sweeping over him with curiosity. Her shoulders were still angled towards the stairs, ready to flee.

"You are a Dwarf, aren't you?" Thorin asked carefully. "What did they do to your beard?"

She shrugged, and sort of nodded at him, noncommittal. "I shave it. They think it's ugly," she said cautiously.

Her voice surprised Thorin. Even in a whisper it rang with the kind of clear note only the finest sword could sing as it blazed on his anvil. Mahal! What he would do to hear her lead one of the deep cavern prayers. The stones would ring like a brass bell for such a voice.

He gave his head a barely perceptible shake and focused on her answer. As soon as its meaning filtered into his mind, he began to feel a fire burn in his chest.

"How dare they!" he hissed, glancing up towards the Elf guard he knew stood sentry above. "How are they keeping you here? Have you tried to escape?"

He could see she felt the outrage too, the way her jaw squared at that comment. There was fire somewhere behind those eyes – those deep, brown eyes. But there was something else as well, which he hadn't seen often in a Dwarf lady. She seemed… confused. No, she seemed vulnerable. It shook him. Dwarf women were strong. Dwarf women were important. Not just because they were so few, and their children were needed. Whole kingdoms had been made or broken on the strength of weakness of their ladies' councils.

How had they trapped her here? What were they doing to her? What did they even want her for? Thorin's mind churned. What could he do? He couldn't even free himself or his people, to his great frustration. If they got free he would have to tend to this, somehow. This treatment of one of their women – it was unthinkable. He needed to understand what was happening here. He made a point of tempering his voice, speaking softly so she would relax.

"I am Thorin, son of Thrain. Who are you?" he asked her. He leaned against the heavy bars, letting his fighter's posture go.

She hesitated, then spoke. "I'm Marilla," she said, shifting to face him fully.

"Pearl? That must be a rare and precious gem this far from the sea," he commented. Someone had loved her, to give her such a name. But who? It was strange that she didn't offer any family name to him.

"That's what my father said!" she replied, looking surprised. Then her eyes dropped. "Or so I've heard."

"Are you … a slave?" Thorin asked, trying not to spit the word from his mouth, he found it so offensive.

"What? No! No, this is my home. Or… well, I live here, anyway. I have as long as I can remember," she said, frowning deeply.

"Your father is gone?" Thorin probed. She nodded.

"You don't have anywhere else to go?" he asked. She shrugged.

Thorin felt frustrated. He needed her to speak to him so he could figure out what they should do. Could she afford to wait here until they'd reclaimed Erebor, if they succeeded? Or was her situation so urgent that if his warriors found a way to get free, they should risk open fighting inside the Woodland Realm on her behalf?

"I know what it is, to live somewhere that never feels like home," he ventured, trying to draw her out. "I am sorry for your troubles."

"You do?" she asked, and he saw it again – that touch of woundedness that made him want to burn this Woodland Realm to ash.

"Yes, all too well. Everyone in our company lost their homes decades ago. In a - a great fire," he told her. Had they withheld the history of her people from her, too ? he wondered. Would she know he was talking about Erebor?

"Then I'm sorry for your troubles," he heard that ringing silver voice say. She revealed nothing about whether she knew what he meant.

Thorin nodded his thanks and tried to think what to do next. She was jumpy and she was fast. It would be good if she would sit down and speak with him. He mulled it over, then something dawned on him.

"It was you who made the statuette in King Thranduil's throne room, wasn't it? The white agate with the geode beneath? I knew that wasn't of Elvish make! It was too good," he told her. If a little appreciation of her stone carving didn't raise her spirits, then he didn't know Dwarf women!

Instead, Marilla's face started to turn cherry colored, like hot metal in a forge. The sparks he'd seen in her eyes grew into a hot fire. There she is, he thought, they haven't beat it out of her – good!

"He let me think he'd use it as a paperweight . He dismissed me from his presence like a worm!" Marilla spit. "That awful, awful Elf! That smug blond lizard! He is no King of mine – I hate him! This place! Let the spiders and blight have it!" she cursed, then caught herself suddenly and looked at Thorin with anxiety in her eyes. "I'm sorry, I – " but Thorin cut her off.

"A paperweight? Make no mistake, madam, that was a gift fit for a King. Any ruler worth his salt would have rewarded you for it," he assured her, letting the anger he felt on her behalf show in his voice. "You need to get out of here, Marilla, and so do we. Maybe we can help each other."

Marilla whipped her head up towards the stairs, although Thorin couldn't hear anything.

"The guard is coming," Marilla hissed. "I'll have to come back."

"Don't let her see you," Thorin warned her as the tall Dwarf lady turned towards the stairs.

"She's in on it. She may pity me but she's the one at my mercy now," Marilla whispered, leaning to Thorin to keep extra quiet. A dark pleasure flashed across her eyes. "If her pity runs out I'll make her help me, if I have to. She's gotten her hands dirty now – she won't want the King to know. I'll be back, you'll see."

Thorin leaned against the bars of his cell, leaning as far as he could so he could watch the mysterious lady disappear up the stairwell, a darkly pleased smile on his face.

(~ooo~)

Marilla flew up the stairs, feeling like she was floating on air. Tauriel met her at the landing where the other Dwarves were being held, took the younger lady by the arm, and tugged her up towards the exit. Marilla peeked at the dark-haired Dwarf staring out of his cell in awe at Tauriel as they passed, and another behind him who looked similar, but with sandy hair. If only she could speak with all of them!

"I have to come back," Marilla hissed to Tauriel, who was ushering her out of the cavern as swiftly as she could.

"What?! Marilla, no. This was already too risky - absolutely not," Tauriel objected.

"They are my people, Tauriel! He - he understood me. You don't know what it's like, to never be understood. He saw me, Tauriel!" Marilla gushed.

Tauriel paused and looked at her, a small frown wrinkling her brow.

"I won't leave until you tell me when I can come back," Marilla said, trying to sound firm and not petulant.

Tauriel looked away, glancing down the steps towards the dark haired Dwarf they'd called Kíli. She looked more confused than Marilla had ever seen a captain of the guard.

"Alright," Tauriel finally acquiesced. "I'll give myself the night watch again in four days - don't look at me like that, I can't do any earlier without it looking suspicious. You'll just have to wait, Marilla. I still don't know what you think will come of this."

"Alright, yes, four days, that's fine," Marilla agreed hastily. She rushed up the stairs and ran away from the dungeons as quickly and quietly as she could before the captain could change her mind.

Marilla went straight into her routine, although this was earlier than she normally started. Let Thranduil think she was taking his orders seriously. Marilla went through barrels, boxes, and crates at a speed she'd never had before. She didn't want to think about how many winter apples were left, or how many sacks of chestnut flour had been used lately. She only wanted to think about Thorin.

Her mind slipped back to how he'd first seen her, tripping over her own feet and running for the stairs like a nervous mouse. She shook her head at that memory, trying to banish her embarrassment. But by Aulë she wanted him to like her!

She remembered what he'd said about her carving - fit for a king . Marilla realized she was grinning foolishly over a basket of dried herbs. She wiped the look off her face and glanced around nervously. The last thing she needed was for an Elf to see her looking like that. The worst of the teasing had dried up suddenly many decades ago, making it clear to Marilla that someone had intervened. But she didn't want to test her luck. If she did anything too silly she doubted the worst of the gossipy Silvan house servants could contain themselves if she did. But there was no one there. Who came down to the deep cellars except Marilla and sometimes a kitchen hand looking for supplies?

Marilla gave her first report of the day to the kitchen, where one of the cooks looked her over oddly.

"You're very early today," the chef said. A few curious eyes swept over her from different parts of the kitchen. "It's not even midday."

"Oh, well… the King asked me to update you twice a day now," Marilla said, trying to sound nonchalant. It had just occurred to her that Thranduil might not have made up the story about someone complaining about her, even if he was using it as an excuse just to keep her busy. It could be one of these very Elves. She willed her face not to get hot: she thought about Thorin's compliments for her work and straightened out her shoulders.

"I guess you all couldn't manage without twice daily reports about precisely how many potatoes are left for your meal plans," she told the Elves boldly. "Or perhaps he's just wondering how it is that our Kingdom manages to go through wine so quickly." She made a pointed glance at an open bottle sitting on a table beside a flank of venison.

One of the kitchen maids let out a cough that sounded like a barely concealed bark of laughter to Marilla. The chef followed the half-Elf's gaze.

"That is for marinating the roast for the King's table this evening!" the chef blustered.

Marilla turned to leave, feeling better than she had in ages. "It must be a very special dinner tonight! What guests do you have that require thirty-year old Dorwinian wine just to cook their meat in?"

Marilla was sure she heard the maid snicker as she sauntered out of the kitchen.

She saw the same maid stopping in a cellar later the same day and was graced with a rare conspiratorial smile from the Elf.

"You made the chef sweat earlier," the maid said, looking Marilla up and down. "He has become a lush lately. He's worried silly the King's caught on, thanks to you. You may not feel so good about it when you get your dinner later, though."

Marilla looked back at the elleth, suddenly feeling angry at the thought of Helluin suffering because of a little banter. As if the Elves didn't say things just as bad to each other every day - or worse!

"I thought you packed our basket," she finally told the maid, looking her in the eye and letting the fire kindle in her breast.

The kitchen maid widened her eyes and raised her eyebrows. "Aren't we feeling sure of ourselves these days, Dwarf girl? By the way, you've got some dirt on your cheek," she said.

She passed Marilla and called back over her shoulder. "Actually I think that's just the hair that grows out of your face."

Marilla kicked a barrel when the maid had gone. She'd walked right into that, hadn't she? She should know better by now, she thought to herself. Picking up their food that night was going to be awful, she just knew it.

Marilla looked down at her to-do list and saw that she was close to done. She decided to try finishing quickly, going home, and seeing if she couldn't convince Helluin to go to the kitchens to collect their food for the evening. The Elves would be so shocked to see the outcast ascend from the pit of her banishment that they would hopefully hand over the basket and whatever gristly leftovers they'd set aside without much hassle.

But when Marilla got to the room she shared with her mother, Helluin wasn't there. The basket she used for foraging was gone, and the cavern was dark.

Marilla lit their lamp with a flint and watched as the space came alive - light sparkling in the many crystals she'd arranged to create the most pleasing pattern she could find. The points of light all around them and the curling carved leaves that adorned the walls of their home had come from her hands. Hers . She'd taken this empty place and made it beautiful.

Fit for a king, fit for a king… Thorin's words echoed in her mind. The anger and anxiety the interaction with the kitchen maid had provoked subsided and Marilla felt proud. She wished she could show the Dwarf what she'd done here, making something out of nothing.

Marilla walked over to the mirror she used to shave her face every morning and looked at herself in it, ignoring the rust spots that had blossomed in the old thing - an artifact of Helluin's days of glory. The half-Elf appraised herself. She'd always compared herself to Elves, and she'd always felt she'd fallen short. Strong jaw, thick eyebrows. Dark eyes framed by heavy lashes.

Marilla thought about Thorin and Kíli. She'd never actually seen anyone with a beard, other than her father. She only had a vague child's memory of his bristly mustache tickling her face when he kissed her goodnight. She'd like the way it looked on the Dwarves in the dungeons. It framed their faces, drawing the attention up to their eyes. She undid the braids holding her hair back. She took the loose ends and tried arranging them along her jaw where she shaved every morning. She was surprised by what she saw. She liked it .

The young lady's thoughts were interrupted by the slight sound of her mother's feet on the stone outside their doorway. Marilla quickly dropped the hair from her face and began working at a braid again.

"My darling, what are you doing here? It's still early," Helluin asked when she walked into the room and saw her daughter.

"I finished already," Marilla said lightly, thinking up a quick excuse. "My hair got a bit mussed moving things around, I thought I'd stop back home and fix it."

"Would you like a hand?" Helluin offered. Marilla shrugged, letting her mother begin working on the loose hair on the other side of her face.

"Did it go well then?" Helluin asked. Marilla looked confused for a moment. "This morning, dear, when you left before dawn," Helluin added.

Marilla smiled before she could stop herself. Her mother smiled back in surprise.

"Yes, it was good," Marilla told her mother. "I think - I think I might be making a friend."

"How wonderful," Helluin replied, beaming. "There are few things in life better than a true friend. It lightens my heart to see you happy, my sweet girl."

"Thank you, Naneth . I am happy. I hope that you are happy too?" Marilla said, snapping out of her self concern and glancing at Helluin's basket.

"I'm fine, don't worry about me," Helluin said brightly. "I found a bit of watercress that escaped the frost. That should brighten up our meal this evening. I do like it in the forest at this time of year. It's so quiet."

"That's good, Naneth ," Marilla said, patting her mother's arm. "Speaking of dinner…" Marilla's voice trailed off. It was about time for her to go make her second report of the day and pick up their meal. No doubt the chef and the maid would make their displeasure with her impertinence known.

"Is something wrong?" Helluin said with concern.

Marilla looked at her face in the mirror. Her own deep, brown eyes looked back at her, glittering with the reflection of the crystals she'd placed in the stone around the mirror and washbasin. An image flashed by her, of Thorin leaping out of his bed to stare down whoever had the audacity to watch him sleeping, even knowing he wouldn't be able to put a finger on them from inside his prison. He'd startled her silly, how powerful and lithe he'd looked - how fierce. Marilla stood up straight, squaring her strong shoulders.

"No, nothing's wrong. I need to go make my report. I'll be back with dinner soon," she told her mother. She was going to walk into that kitchen with her head held high and try to look at them like he would: daring them to look down on her.

(~ooo~)

In the days that followed, Marilla's sense of boldness solidified. She'd faced the chef and the kitchen maid down cleverly, looking into her food basket and noting that there was much less than normal.

"I haven't noticed any unusual shortages this winter," she'd said coolly to the kitchen staff, who were watching her, waiting for a spectacle. "Should I let him know that there's a need to ration food for some reason? So little to spare these days, I see."

The chef had gestured to the maid impatiently, his teeth gritted. The maid packed more food into the basket.

When she handed it over to Marilla, she leaned in and whispered, "well played, half-Elf. You may prove to be one of us yet."

Marilla had returned the maid's dark smile in shared understanding. For a moment, she felt triumphant to be in league with someone, getting one over on the foolish cook. A glimpse of a different sort of future in the Woodland Realm flashed through her mind: she could be one of the working people, sharing in their tiny rebellions against their superiors.

She kept thinking about it though, and it made her feel strange. Like she'd just eaten something bitter. She wondered if this was how most of the Elves were with each other. She certainly couldn't picture her mother taking part, or even Tauriel. But Thranduil… maybe this was the culture he was promoting in this Kingdom.

She tried to shake it out of her head. It wasn't difficult. She was more than happy to think about Thorin instead. The time passed quickly as she counted down the days until Tauriel's next night watch. She kept wondering what he was thinking about all day, locked in his stone cell away from his companions with nothing to do. She'd wonder if he was thinking about her, then chide herself for being silly. He was probably thinking about how to get out of the dungeon, or how he would find a new home for his people. Why would he be thinking about her?