Chapter 5: The Invisible Man

Marilla snuck away from the dungeons with a mix of feelings trailing after her. She'd dashed by Tauriel as quickly as she could, gathering up the scraps of the other Dwarves' food.

"Four days?" she'd told Tauriel as much as asked. The Captain had sputtered after her, looking a little alarmed.

"You've got to be careful with our ladies," she heard Kíli say behind her as she fled. "She got one over on you there!"

"I'm helping her," Tauriel quipped, sounding slightly annoyed that the situation was getting out of her control.

Marilla let out a staccato chuckle and slunk to the nearest cellar entrance, thinking about Thorin. Thorin . He'd leaned so close to her through the bars that she caught the smell of him - like woodsmoke, leather, and stone. Marilla wondered if this is what her mother had felt when she'd met her father. But, no, that wasn't the point. He was a captain she could imagine following. She'd never met such a person before. He inspired her not just to have confidence in herself, but to action. How could she help them escape?

She daydreamed as she walked through her inventory that day and the next, imagining herself walking the famed halls of Erebor, basking in the triumph of reclaiming the Dwarves' homeland. She could imagine the safe feeling of the mountain wrapped around her, a solid guardian holding the Dwarves' hollow halls in its strong hands. She could imagine herself free to follow the tales the stone told her, teasing the patterns out of each section in a kind of duet between artist and medium. Maybe she could join a Dwarven ladies' council someday! She caught sight of her own face in a still pool that had gathered on the floor of a wine cellar. She imagined what it would look like when she let her beard grow out. She loved it.

Marilla reflected on the connections she'd been making with the Elven kitchen servants lately. You could be one of us after all , the Elf maid had told her slyly. But why? Because she'd let herself sink into a game of petty plays for crumbs of control over their lives. It seemed sad to her, these small struggles between perpetual servants. If that was what it meant to be one of them, did she even want to join them? Why, when there was this other world of valor and artistry that dangled before her eyes?

But Marilla wasn't a fool. She was afraid to tell him about Helluin now. She'd been indulging her anger against the Elves while she spoke with Thorin. He was angry at them, too. It was so easy to bare their many faults to him, sympathetic as he was. But after all this, it was clear to her that Thorin hated Elves as much as Thranduil hated Dwarves. For all that she'd been swooning over the idea of finally fitting in she had doubts, now, that the Dwarves would welcome her any more than the Elves did once they knew the truth.

No matter, she told herself. Whether she went with them or not, she'd like to see them free to fight their fight. At least someone could be out from under Thranduil's thumb, even if it wasn't her or her mother. But as hard as she thought, she couldn't come up with a whole plan to get them out of the dungeons and on their way to the Long Lake.

During the second day of her reverie, when Marilla was deep in a root cellar checking the weight of a crate of apples, she was jolted out of her thoughts by a strange whisper.

"Psssst!" it said.

Marilla looked around, confused. She could have sworn that it was a voice, but there was no one there. She heard a squishing sound, then watched, baffled, as the wet footprints from a single, bare left foot began making a track that crossed the room and stopped next to her. She could hear the sound of someone breathing. They sounded very… small?

"Down here," the bodiless voice said. "Is anyone coming? You can hear like the Elves, can't you?"

Marilla nodded, looking at the empty spot, bemused. "I can. No one's coming. The kitchen hands were just down here an hour ago. They already took everything they needed from this cellar then."

She felt ridiculous, speaking to the air. "Can you show yourself? Or are you really invisible? Are you some kind of spirit? What – what do you want from me?" she asked, starting to ramble in nervousness.

"Keep your voice down!" the specter said. It sounded peeved. The image of a cross matron wagging a finger at her plastered itself across Marilla's mind. She resisted the urge to giggle.

"I can't show myself. No one can know I'm here. But you, well, I heard you talking to Thorin. I'm the thirteenth member of his company and the only one not jailed. You said you'd help get them out. Did you mean it?" the voice asked her in a whisper.

"Can I have an apple?" it added sheepishly before she could answer. "You're too good at counting the food stores. I'm hungry," it complained.

"Sorry?" Marilla replied, holding an apple in the direction of the voice. She felt something grip it, then it disappeared when she let it go.

"Everything you touch goes invisible, too?" she observed, amazed. A crunching sound started up beside her.

"Yes, it seems that's how it works," the voice said as if its mouth was full. "Now are you really going to help or not?"

Marilla straightened her face out. It was too funny, being chided by a small, invisible person with a mouthful of apple.

Thorin hadn't mentioned a thirteenth Dwarf, and certainly not a child. But she considered that this was smart: he wouldn't want Tauriel hearing that there was someone free who might be trying to get them out. Marilla couldn't imagine King Thranduil resorting to having her spied on by tiny, invisible people. He'd taken a risk letting her know he was there. She decided to trust him.

"I'd like to help, but I can't come up with a whole plan. I had one idea, but it's not enough by itself," she told her guest. She scanned the entrance to the cellar, listening into the next room. Still no one there.

"That's better than I've come up with so far. These Elves are too good at guarding their prisoners," the voice complained. "Let's hear it, then."

"Well," Marilla said. She leaned closer and whispered. These caverns had an awful echo to them if you weren't careful. "There's this potion the healers make. Some of the Elves who fought in the Last Alliance get awful night terrors and can't get any rest. So the healers came up with this sleeping draught that will knock out even the hardiest of Elves. I'm pretty sure if a mortal tried drinking it, they'd die."

The voice let out a disapproving noise.

"I was thinking I could slip some into the guards' wine one night, steal the keys, then let the Dwarves out. But I can't figure out how to steal the potion and I don't know what the Dwarves would do once they were out. I can't drug the whole realm – they'd be noticed sneaking around trying to find an exit, I'm sure of it," Marilla confided.

"What about the trap door in the floor of the guard room?" the voice asked.

"What?" Marilla said in surprise. It took her a minute to figure out what her visitor meant.

"I saw them open it with a lever and dump some empty barrels. More of them are getting stacked up already. Where do they go?" the voice asked.

"Oh, that! It goes into the river. That's how we send the barrels back to Lake Town to be filled up again. I – that's actually a very good idea, um… sir? Ma'am? Do you have a name?" Marilla stuttered.

"I'm Bilbo Baggins of Bag End," the voice said. "You're Marilla, right?" Marilla nodded at nothing.

"Where could I find the sleeping draught?" Bilbo asked her. "If I can sneak some out, you could dose the guards, then I can lead the Dwarves to the trapdoor and we could all escape down the river."

"That could work!" Marilla whispered in excitement, keeping an ear trained on the caverns around them. "I don't know how you'll be able to find the potion in the apothecary's stores, though, if you don't read Elvish."

"Hmmph, funny thing to assume," Bilbo said with annoyance. "I do read Elvish, in fact. I'm an educated Hobbit."

"Oh, pardon me," Marilla said politely. A Hobbit. What was a Hobbit? Some kind of Dwarf? She didn't think Bilbo would appreciate her asking, though, so she bit her tongue.

"Well follow me out and I'll point out the door to the medicinal stores. Wait to sneak in at night – the healers are in and out of there all day. I'm supposed to visit Thorin again in two days. If you can get the potion before then, I can tell him about our plan and we can set a time," she suggested.

"Very good," Bilbo agreed. "Be careful when you're speaking to him, though. The sound in that cavern the dungeons are in carries terribly. I don't know if you knew. Everyone could hear you and Thorin talking. The guard who's helping you, the other Dwarves, me…" Bilbo said a bit primly.

"Oh. Oh no," Marilla muttered, feeling her cheeks get hot as she remembered how tipsy she and Thorin had gotten; how they'd started flirting just a bit before the effects of the mead started to wear off. ( Since when was she blushing this way and that like a flustered maiden? She thought with annoyance.)

"Yes, well. Perhaps you can convince the guard to let you into his cell with him this time. Stand at the back and cover your mouths, will you?" Bilbo suggested fussily. "I doubt she'll fight you much. Her face looked as red as yours does now, listening to you."

Marilla groaned and covered her face with her hands. "Yes, fine, I'll see if she'll let me in the cell so we can speak privately," the young lady promised.

"Yes, I think that's best," the disembodied voice told her from somewhere around her waist.

"Alright, follow me when I leave, but I have to finish my work before I can go," Marilla grumbled. A thought occurred to her and she took a few steps to the left and pulled a sealed jar off a shelf.

"It's not much, but here – have some walnuts and another apple. I'll see if I can find you some bread later or something," Marilla told the hungry Hobbit.

"Oh, thank you! I would like that very much," Bilbo said enthusiastically. Marilla thought she heard his stomach gurgle.

"I've been watching how these Elves treat you and I must say it's not very nice. You seem like a kind person, Marilla, and so does your mother from what little I've seen. Why do you put up with it?" the Hobbit asked her, sounding tentative.

Marilla looked away from the source of the voice and turned back to her inventory.

"Where else would I go?" she said noncommittally.

"Thorin invited you to come with us," Bilbo pointed out.

"Yes, but – " Marilla said, glancing suddenly towards the sounds of satisfied chewing.

"You haven't told him you're half Elf yet," Bilbo commented.

"Oh, you know," she said. She wished she could see his face.

"Yes, as I said, I've been nosing around watching for what, more than a week now? You think Thorin will turn you away?" Bilbo said. He sounded like he was thinking it over himself.

"He hates Elves. As much as Thranduil hates Dwarves," Marilla pointed out, setting an apple barrel down roughly in frustration. "There's no Elf in Middle Earth that would welcome me wholeheartedly. Why should I think the Dwarves will be any different?" Marilla asked.

She was shoring up her heart against the inevitable. Thorin sounded different than Thranduil but, really, what could she expect from people who were sworn enemies?

"Lord Elrond just hosted our company as welcome guests in Rivendell for a fortnight," Bilbo told her.

"He did?" Marilla replied, shocked. "Dwarves, welcome as guests in Imladris?"

"Yes, he was quite generous with us, actually," Bilbo replied, sounding fond. "I hope to visit the last homely house again one day. It was quite nice. Elrond is a splendid chap."

Marilla gave the invisible Hobbit an odd look. She didn't think anyone had ever called Lord Elrond a 'chap' before. But what he'd said was worming its way into her brain. Her eyebrows crinkled against each other.

"Don't count Thorin out before you tell him," Bilbo suggested. "It took him some time to get used to me, but I think I can say we're friends now. He appreciates people who show courage and care for his people."

"If you say so," Marilla sighed.

Thorin… Thorin . She squared her jaw against that tender feeling, that liquid warmth that trickled down from her chest into her belly when she thought about him. If he'd touched her wrist or flirted with her, it was just because she'd gotten him drunk, she was sure of it. He was a captain of the Dwarves – a valiant, dignified person. Surely he had no eyes for her in return.

"Come on, I'm ready to go. I'll pretend to drop something in front of the medical store rooms so I can point them out to you," she told Bilbo.

"Lead on, Marilla of Mirkwood," the voice said, sounding as if he'd just given her a tidy salute.