Chapter 6: Locked In

Bilbo had found Marilla in another cellar the next day, sounding pleased with himself when he handed her a bottle labeled night terrors – sleep . Marilla offered him the praise he seemed to expect and asked the small person to come to the dungeons at the time of her next meeting, ready to cause some sort of distraction if need be so she could speak with Thorin.

She'd given the Hobbit bread, jam and cheese she'd managed to pilfer for him, to his great pleasure. She shot a glare in the direction of his voice when he teasingly asked if she had no mead to share with him.

Now she was back in the home she shared with Helluin, looking over their living quarters in a way she never had before. She had to hide this draught somewhere for another day – but where? Marilla shifted uncomfortably, trying to make sure the bottle was hidden from view within their dinner basket as Helluin cheerfully set their table and peppered her daughter with questions about this new 'friend' she was stowing goods with in the middle of the night every four days.

The room they shared had never looked so cramped to Marilla as it did now. She realized for the first time in her life that she had no privacy whatsoever from her mother. They changed clothing in front of each other and even bathed in front of each other. They slept on one large mattress on a wooden frame with crates of their belongings stowed beneath it. The frame had been plain until Marilla had carved its square posts into elegant orbs and hewn a floral motif around the edges.

It was all so… small. So crude. None of the other Elves lived this way. If they were high ranking, they had their own rooms. The King and his son both had apartments with separate rooms for sleeping, working, and hosting guests. Lesser nobles had generous bedrooms with beautiful wardrobes and desks. Many of the servant-class Elves shared suites with a communal room at its center, where they would gather to socialize. Even they had tiny bedrooms to themselves, where they could sleep or just read or practice music in solitude.

The question Bilbo had asked her had been nagging at her until a torrent of unwelcome thoughts was running through her mind. Why did they put up with it? Why did Helluin accept that they had to live this way? Had she ever even written to Lord Elrond or the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien to see if they might receive a warmer welcome in other Elven lands? Why were the Elves of the Woodland Realm so stingy and resentful of them, anyway? What harm did her existence do to them? And where were her father's people, as Thorin had asked?

Marilla kept looking in vain for a good place to hide the bottle. She settled on keeping it tucked under a cloth in the food basket. She made a point of unpacking all the food herself, then stowing the basket beneath her feet when she sat down to eat with Helluin.

She plastered on the optimistic mask she always wore for Helluin, chatting about her 'friend' and the comings and goings from the kitchen and storerooms. Helluin raised an eyebrow and shook her head when Marilla told her about the cook who liked his drink too much. Marilla's heart wasn't in it tonight. She tried to keep it from her face.

"Have you done any more of your wonderful carving lately, Marilla?" her mother asked with an encouraging smile.

"No, I've just been busy, Naneth ," Marilla said. "I guess I'm a little tired. But there's another night meeting tomorrow. Maybe I'll go to bed early today to get ready."

"That's sensible, my dear," Helluin agreed readily. "I'm glad you've made a friend, but all these midnight meetings were really designed for an Elf's stamina. I do worry about your wellbeing." Helluin took her daughter's hand in hers across the table.

"I know, Naneth," Marilla said. What she wanted to say was, Do you, Naneth? If you care about my wellbeing so much – why are we still here?

Marilla kept up the farce while her mother brushed her hair for her, humming a complicated Elvish melody. Then Marilla made more excuses about being tired and lay down, tucking the basket with the hidden bottle under her side of the bed. She tried to sleep – it was true tomorrow night would be another long one – but she couldn't drift off. Her throat felt thick, as though she might cry. On top of that, she felt angry. No – she felt rage.

(~ooo~)

The next night Marilla approached the dungeons with embers glowing in her heart. This idea of leaving was growing bigger and bigger in her mind. It was starting to be difficult to imagine staying.

If going with Thorin was a possibility, she knew she had to tell him about her mother first. She didn't want to. She wanted him to keep looking at her like she was another fiery Dwarf lady who he could picture joining the ladies' council of Erebor someday. She wanted him to grab her wrist again, maybe hold her hand.

I can't follow him because of that! She chided herself. If she went, it would need to be because he was a good Captain, and because there was a place for her in Erebor if she did her share of the work to reclaim it.

Marilla tiptoed down the stairs until she could see the Elf Captain pacing on the landing, looking uncomfortable.

"Tauriel," Marilla hissed. "Come here, I need to speak with you."

Tauriel gave her an urgent gesture to come closer. The two ladies huddled near a falling stream of water on the far side of the landing. Marilla could see the other Dwarves looking at her curiously.

"Let me into the cell with Thorin," Marilla told Tauriel with as much authority in her voice as she could muster.

"Are you out of your mind?" Tauriel hissed.

"No, I'm not. Let me talk to him, please, Tauriel," Marilla said, trying not to whine. "I just want a little privacy so I can speak with him."

"I'm sure you do," Tauriel replied, giving Marilla a meaningful look and a raised eyebrow. "We could all hear you last time."

"I know, I know," Marilla said, shaking her head in embarrassment. "That's why I need some privacy. I think we're both going to be a bit bashful this time."

"You were whispering at the end. I couldn't hear you. I hope you're not going to do something stupid, Marilla," Tauriel said, a warning in her voice.

"Like what?" Marilla asked, trying to make her nerves look like exasperation.

"Like helping them escape. I've been good to you, haven't I? Don't get me into trouble. If you help them you'll never be able to come back," Tauriel said.

"How would I help them?" Marilla asked, gesturing to the dungeons and feigning annoyance. "Honestly, Tauriel, answer me that. How? I have no idea."

Tauriel shook her head dangerously at Marilla. She didn't look completely convinced.

"Tauriel, come on! It's humiliating enough that you all heard us tipsy and loose tongued last time, you don't need to listen to us apologize. Please?" Marilla begged. She hated looking pathetic but that's why they were here, wasn't it? Tauriel pitied her.

Tauriel clenched her jaw. Her eyes shifted while she thought until she finally let out a hard breath.

"It's against my better judgment, but, alright, Marilla. Just this once. You should say goodbye while you're in there, I don't know if we can do this again – truly," Tauriel warned the younger lady.

"Alright, I understand," Marilla said, looking away from Tauriel's searching gaze.

"Say hi to Thorin for us," the young, dark-haired Dwarf lounging against the bars of his cell said to Marilla with a wink as she passed him.

"Shut up, Kíli," Tauriel said, shooting him a glance while a smile twitched at the edge of her mouth.

"Shut me up, then, Captain," Kíli teased her.

Tauriel grabbed Marilla's arm and steered her towards the stairs, a slight flush on her cheeks. Marilla watched them, her eyes widening slightly. They were flirting! Tauriel liked the Dwarf, and his friends didn't seem to be bothering either of them about it. Marilla's heartbeat quickened. Maybe – maybe.

(~ooo~)

Thorin had heard some voices up the stairs from him and went to the door of his cell. It had been four days between Marilla's visits last time – he hoped it was her again. He was surprised and unhappy to see the red-haired Elf guard walking Marilla down by the arm.

"What's she doing here?" he demanded.

"Giving you some privacy, and the rest of us a reprieve from listening to the two of you," Tauriel quipped. "You don't have any more mead with you, do you, Marilla?" she asked, suddenly suspicious.

Marilla opened her arms wide to show she had nothing on her. (She hadn't dared walk around with that bottle in her pocket; she'd left it hidden in a crate under the bed she shared with her mother. )

"No, I swear!" Marilla said as Tauriel looked her up and down skeptically.

"I'll be back in three hours, then, unless I hear you call for help," Tauriel said with a grimace. "Put the blanket over the opening to dampen the sound of your voices – for all our sakes. If someone comes I'll whistle and you'll have to hide in the back corner until I can come get you, Marilla. You'd better pray that doesn't happen." The door clanged shut and Tauriel locked it, then went swiftly up the stairs, shaking her head.

Thorin was standing back from the entrance, looking over the lady who was now standing in his cell with him, feeling cautious.

"Why?" he asked quietly. She shook her head and put a finger over her mouth. She pointed towards his wool blanket, thick enough for use in these deep-stone caverns.

Thorin hesitated, then did as she asked. He helped her stuff the corners of the blanket in the top of the cell door, until it was draped over most of the opening. This wasn't a good look for a King, he thought.

"This isn't improper?" Thorin asked Marilla, trying to sound polite.

"Improper?" she asked, looking a little puzzled.

"A man and a woman, locked in a cell together with a blanket over the door. People might think we are…" he let his voice trail off meaningfully. He could feel his face getting warm. He thought he could remember what they spoke about last time. They had been flirting, but surely she didn't think…

"We're what?" Marilla said, cocking her head to the side and frowning in confusion.

"You know… having a tryst," Thorin said, trying to be tactful. He hoped his face didn't look red under his beard. It wasn't dignified.

But he also liked the way she smelled. It reminded him of something… amber! That was it – petrified wood resin, and maybe something a bit mossy. It was a warm, bright smell. It went well with her round, full voice.

"A trys – oh. Oh, " Marilla said, suddenly looking as uncomfortable as he felt. "Elves don't have affairs. They wouldn't even think of that. They only do – that – with one person, ever. Once they have, they're married forever," she said, looking down awkwardly.

"I see," Thorin replied, feeling just as awkward.

"Listen, forget that," Marilla said quickly. She moved purposefully to the back of the cell and gestured that he should come with her. She spoke quietly, shielding her mouth with her hand so her voice wouldn't carry.

"Bilbo found me. He's been sneaking around the Woodland Realm looking for a way to get you out," Marilla explained.

"Master Baggins!" Thorin exclaimed triumphantly. "He hasn't been caught, has he?" he asked with sudden concern.

"No, he's doing whatever trick he has that keeps him invisible," Marilla said, starting to worry that she'd been addressing the Hobbit incorrectly. "That's quite a trick, by the way, can all Hobbits do that? What is a Hobbit anyway – some kind of small Dwarf?"

"Invisible?" Thorin said, feeling confused. Did he know their burglar could make himself invisible? You'd think Gandalf would have been louder about that when trying to convince Thorin that he should bring the Hobbit along.

"A Hobbit is a halfling, not a Dwarf," Thorin told Marilla. She shrugged at him, clearly not knowing what that meant.

"It's not important now," Marilla said, trying to get back to the point swiftly. Three hours sounded like a lot, but there was so much they needed to discuss.

"We have a plan. There's a feast in a few days. They usually send a few bottles of the good wine to the guards on duty then, to make up for missing the party. I'm going to dose them with an Elvish sleeping potion. Bilbo, er, Master Baggins, will keep an eye on them. He'll steal the key and come get you when they're asleep," Marilla explained, a fierce glint in her eye.

" Yes, " Thorin growled, clapping her on the shoulder in triumph. He was curious about that self-correction, but thought it was a question for another day. "Well done, both of you. We'll be in your debt, Marilla." A thought passed through his mind and he began to worry.

"What about you? Will they know it was you?" Thorin asked her seriously. "Are you coming with us?"

"I… don't know. I think… I think I'll leave whether I go with you or try going to Imladris," Marilla said, hesitant.

"Rivendell?" Thorin asked with a small frown. "More Elves, why? You should be with your people."

"My mother could come with me to Rivendell," Marilla said. She wasn't meeting his eyes and he couldn't understand why.

"Bilbo said Lord Elrond accepted you as guests even though you're Dwarves."

Thorin shook his head and leaned against the stone and tried to catch her gaze.

"Why would two Dwarf ladies take up in Rivendell? Marilla, have you been apart from your own kin for so long that you have no faith in us any more? Don't you want to be with Dwarves again?" Thorin asked, increasingly frustrated.

"No – that's not. I do want to be with Dwarves… but Thorin, I haven't told you about my mother," Marilla said again.

"Damn it, Marilla, we'll find a place for your mother, I swear to you," Thorin hissed. He could see his tone had not hit well; he hadn't meant to curse. He put a gentle hand on her arm, trying to reassure her that he wasn't angry with her.

"What is the matter? Is she very aged? Once we've crossed the Lake she can make her way to the Iron Hills herself easily enough, especially if we get her a pony."

"Thorin –"

"Maybe both of you can go there, until Erebor is secure. My cousin Dain will care for you if I ask him to."

"Thorin!" She put her hand over his, a pained expression moving over her face.

"Come with us, Marilla, please! You belong with us, I know it," Thorin said, feeling his certainty down into his toes. He was about to speak again, intent on convincing her, but she interrupted him.

"My mother is an Elf," she said in a rush.

Thorin's voice died in his throat. He was overwhelmed with confusion. Surely she hadn't just said what he thought she had. He blinked and stared at her.

"My mother, Helluin, is an Elf. My father was a Dwarf," Marilla said again. She dropped her hand and crossed her arms over her chest. Her chin was almost on her chest, she was looking at the floor so intently.

"What?" Thorin said, stupefied. He looked her over again with fresh eyes. Her height, that voice, how lithe she was. Her luminous skin. He took his hand back, horrified.

Who was her father, that he'd lain with an Elf! The idea of it made Thorin sick. How? And then he thought about how he'd been thinking about Marilla hour after hour in his prison. How her earthy smell and musical tones had been so enticing to him. He was disgusted with himself, then confused, then angry with her for not telling him sooner, then angry with himself for mooning over a strange woman while his men were in prison. Without thinking, he took a step back from her.

Marilla glanced up at him and her face sent an entirely different wave of feeling crashing over him. It was a face of resignation and a lifetime of pain and rejection. Her eyes were red, but she didn't shed any tears. Her eyes seemed to say I knew it.

"You…" Thorin said, trying to order his thoughts. "How old are you?"

"Two hundred eighty-eight," Marilla said. Her musical voice sounded flat and tight.

"And the Elvenking lets you stay? He lets your mother stay?" Thorin asked, speaking slowly as he thought.

"His wife made him promise before she died that he'd let us stay. She was a childhood friend of my mother's," Marilla told him. Every muscle in her body looked tense.

"So we've been here since my father died and she had nowhere else to go. Thranduil doesn't want to see my mother. He keeps us in a cramped hole in the ground, away from the light. Away from everyone. Why she's put up with it when Lord Elrond might have been kinder, I can't tell you," Marilla said, the hurt in her voice coalescing into something harder sounding.

"I didn't choose this," she spat, the threat of tears glittering in her eyes. "They did."

Thorin's fury and disgust quieted as he watched Marilla. Whatever else she was, she was strong. She'd kept her heart up even after an entire Dwarf's lifetime of neglect and abuse at the hands of the only kin she'd ever known. She spit in their wine and was loyal to her mother. She found the beauty in this Kingdom even when they called her ugly.

"I'll call the guard back down. I'll go. Bil- Master Baggins will come find you and then you can leave. I hope you get your home back," Marilla told him. She turned curtly towards the door.

Marilla, he realized, was an innocent victim of this outrageous choice that her parents had made.

"No," Thorin said, quiet and somber. "You didn't choose this."

Thorin reached out his arm before he could think about it and grabbed the first thing he could catch hold of, which in this case was her wrist. At the same moment she stepped on a loose pebble, which rolled and went flying out from under her foot. Marilla tipped back towards Thorin, off balance and scrabbling to catch herself. By the time he'd put a steadying hand around her waist, she'd already found her footing.

They were so close, breathing hard in surprise. Thorin caught the smell of her again. Was it a perfume? Amber . It had been a part of a tree once, but it was stone now.

"Come with us," he whispered. Her lips parted and she breathed in, surprised. She looked him in the eye – they were the same height. Thorin was strangely tall. He'd never gotten to enjoy a Dwarf lady looking straight into his face this way before.

"Your mother can't come. But you can. You're Dwarf-kind more than Elf-kind. You belong with us," Thorin said, believing it more and more as he repeated it.

"We all need a new home. Come with us, Marilla," Thorin said. Had their faces gotten closer? He hadn't felt her moving under the hand he still had on her waist. I should move that , he thought.

"Come with me," he whispered instead.

She was looking straight at him, her eyes wide. He met her gaze squarely and nodded, convinced this was right. She belonged in Erebor, no matter what her parents had done. Thranduil had offered her a mere, resentful shelter. In his Kingdom, Thorin could offer her a home. She could light up the deep darkness that had suffused Erebor for far too long.

Thorin suddenly became very aware of his hand on her waist. This isn't right, he thought to himself. He was about to remove it when she kissed him. He sucked in a breath in surprise and was overwhelmed with the taste of her. He'd been kissed by a Dwarf lady once before, for all it had come to nothing. But this… this was something different. He pressed his lips against hers for a second, then pulled himself back, startled.

"I – oh no," Marilla muttered. "I thought you wanted –" Her face was as red as his felt. She was floundering, looking absolutely mortified.

This was so humiliating. He'd never had such an awkward moment with a lady in his life! Was he a King or a fumbling adolescent? Thorin reprimanded himself for leaving his hand on her for so long - no wonder she'd thought he was about to kiss her! The thought had crossed his mind. But this made it seem like he was asking her to come with them for entirely the wrong reason. He'd meant to offer her a place with them, not seduce her!

He tried smoothing things over, stuttering, "I did, I think, but I didn't mean to –."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'll go," Marilla said, turning away from his hand. Her face was a mask of shame. But He gripped her dress. She paused and looked at him, her face awash with confusion.

"I did want to, against my better judgment," Thorin said, releasing her dress and tucking his hands safely into his armpits.

"Against your better judgment?" she asked, an ember of hurt flashing in her eyes.

"I did not say that well," Thorin said, groaning in frustration. "I'm not free to do whatever I wish, or I might…"

"You might stoop so low as to kiss a half-Elf," Marilla growled.

"I am not just their captain, I am their King!" Thorin said, louder than he'd intended to.

Marilla gaped at him. It was as though he could see wheels turning behind her eyes as she put it all together.

"You have to carry on your line," she muttered, saying the words as though they stung as they left her mouth. "You could not sully the line of Durin with Elf blood."

"I did not say that," Thorin replied.

"Not in so many words," Marilla said. "But it's true. I'm not a fool, or a child. I'm older than you are, after all. A King has to look to his line, especially if he is mortal."

"I have an heir already," Thorin countered, although he wasn't sure why he was taking part in this argument. She wasn't wrong. "My sister's sons Fíli and Kíli are next in line for the throne. A throne I do not have, for I have no Kingdom to be a King of."

"Not yet," Marilla said, suddenly calmer than she'd been since he'd seen her. "But you will, I think. You have a fate, Thorin of Durin's folk."

"You must leave this place, Marilla. This isn't how you should live. These cursed Elves! They turned their backs on us, too, and we used to be trading partners and allies," Thorin said, circling back to what he was sure of.

"I think you're right about one thing," Marilla replied. She closed her eyes and nodded her head slightly. Thorin thought she looked older all of a sudden, and sadder, but without the same vulnerability he'd seen when she'd first appeared at his cell door.

"I think it's time for me to go," Marilla said, sounding tired. "I'll give the guards the sleeping draught. Your Master Baggins will come for you and help you escape."

"And will you be with him?" Thorin asked.

"I don't know, Thorin," she looked at him suddenly and appraised him.

"I don't know, your Majesty," she corrected herself. She pushed herself off the back wall of the cell and strode towards the door.

"It isn't like that," Thorin protested, following her.

"It is like that," Marilla replied. She moved the blanket aside and knocked on the metal bars of the cell.

"Tauriel! Let me out," Marilla hissed towards the landing above.

"No – there's another hour left! We should speak more," Thorin protested, feeling frustrated. Wasn't this just like a Dwarf lady, to make a decision all of a sudden and blow past you like a blast from a furnace?

"Too late," Marilla told him, although he couldn't hear anything on the stairs yet.

"Will I see you again?" Thorin asked. He knew he shouldn't, but he let the fingers of his hand brush against her palm.

Marilla looked down, surprised. She opened her fingers and they clasped hands, tentatively, almost shyly.

"I don't know," she whispered. She squeezed his hand, then slipped her fingers out of his. She turned towards Tauriel, who was appeared within seconds, without a sound that Thorin could hear.

"Finished already?" the Elf asked, glancing over Thorin cautiously.

"Yes, I'm done," Marilla said. That sure, calm stance he'd seen come over her was still with her. She followed Tauriel without looking back at him.

Thorin went back to his hard stone bunk and sat on it, shaking his head, his mind going in a hundred directions.

One thing was clear. He had to be ready to leave, and soon. Bilbo, that brilliant halfling, was going to break them out. As for Marilla, well, that was up to her now, he supposed.