Chapter 7: Heat of the Moment

There were so many things Marilla didn't know. One thing she knew with such clarity that it took her breath away: she was not staying in the Woodland Realm much longer. She wasn't sure how she was going to do it. Thorin and his company were not a simple solution – very much not simple after that debacle with the kiss, and with him being their King.

Marilla shook her head, trying to ward off the embarrassment. She didn't need to be fretting over that right now. She needed to come up with her own plan. Not a plan for Thorin. Not a plan for Erebor. Not even a plan for Helluin. For herself.

Well… maybe a plan for Naneth , Marilla thought. She loved her mother; her mother didn't deserve this ill treatment any more than she did it.

Marilla went through her day in a trance. Apples, potatoes, flour, herbs, wine, meats and on and on. The same list as ever. She brought her updates to the kitchen, where the drunk cook sniffed at her, and the kitchen servants oscillated between laughing with her and laughing at her. The same life as ever. No more. No more .

By the time she got home with their dinner basket, Marilla was weary and heartsore. She was ready to shovel the food in her mouth, Elven manners be damned, and fall into bed, close her eyes, and sleep so deeply that thoughts could not bother her.

But when she arrived, her mother was waiting for her. Helluin was pacing back and forth across their room in agitation – she stopped short when Marilla arrived. The Elf looked at her daughter, deep concern on her face.

"What is this?" she asked, holding up the bottle of sleeping draught. Marilla felt her breath go cold. Her eyes darted to the bed. The basket she'd stowed under her side was out, the cloth inside it strewn carelessly across the floor.

Marilla stuttered, not knowing what to do.

"Is this for me?" Helluin asked, sounding upset. "It is, right?" her voice was getting thicker, like she was about to cry.

"Surely it isn't for you, Marilla? We don't know how it would – this could kill you," Helluin said, her voice breaking.

Marilla felt terrible, watching her mother's face crumple and her hands tremble.

"No, Naneth it's not for me. It's not for you, either," Marilla said, trying to think up something plausible.

"Marilla, what's going on? You must tell me, right now," Helluin said in a stern voice that Marilla hadn't heard her use since she was a child.

Marilla swallowed and tried to keep herself steady. That voice grated against her last nerve.

"My darling, I cannot keep you safe if you won't talk to me!" Helluin begged.

"You do not keep me safe anyway," Marilla snapped. "You have no idea what it's really like for me in this place – honestly I don't think you care to know. You've already accepted that I have to shave my face, and that I can't learn any craft, and that we both have menial jobs where the most we can hope for is to be welcomed into the fold and included in petty servants' quarrels!" Marilla shouted.

"They pity me at best. Many think I am an abomination – an insult to the Valar themselves. They are disgusted with you and with my father, who I don't remember, by the way. I know almost nothing about what it means to be Dwarf, even though I am more like them than I am like the Elves – I know that now at least."

Marilla watched her mother gaping at her in surprise and confusion.

"Did you ever even ask anyone else if they would have us? Do you know that Lord Elrond has just hosted thirteen Dwarves in Imladris as honored guests for a fortnight? Did you ever even think to write to him, or the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien, or the Gray Havens or, I don't know, anywhere else but here?" Marilla demanded.

Bright tears glittered in Helluin's eyes.

"I thought it was getting better for you," Helluin said thickly. "I made the King stop them from teasing you. I twisted his arm – he has never forgiven me."

"And what, before that you were good friends?" Marilla asked, feeling cold. "Answer my question. Did you ever bother to ask anyone else if they would have us?

"No, Marilla," Helluin said, gasping.

Marilla scoffed. She made her way to the table and slammed the basket down. She'd find food elsewhere, she thought.

"Marilla, listen," Helluin begged. "I never wrote to anyone else because I didn't want them to say no. It's easy to say no to a letter, and then that door is closed. It's harder to say no to a person standing in front of you. I thought if we needed to go it was better to just – go there and beg. But for how long would we be welcome in Imladris or Lothlorien? I cannot bring you to Valinor unless it is the only thing left – I do not know that they will receive you! We need a solution that will last forever, Marilla. If we were to leave, I doubt King Thranduil would ever let us return. But he cannot banish us without making himself an oath breaker."

"Is that what you tell yourself? That it's better to bear the troubles we have than risk new ones?" Marilla said, her voice harsh. "What else have you kept from me? Who are my father's people, and what do they think about all this, hmm?"

Helluin searched her daughter's face. Suddenly, understanding dawned on her.

"Your 'new friend.' You've been meeting with the Dwarves in the dungeons somehow," Helluin said softly.

"You didn't bother to tell me about them either," Marilla pointed out.

A bright tear fell down Helluin's cheek in a perfect, silver track.

"Your father's people would not have him anymore, after we married," Helluin said quietly. "He built us a house of stone in an empty corner of the forest. We lived there until he got sick, and he died," Helluin's voice broke.

"We stayed there a while still, but there was a storm. The whole roof came off the house. Everything we had was soaked and scattered. I didn't know how to fix it. I didn't have any money to find someone else to fix it, either."

"So I went home. What else was I supposed to do? The Queen was still alive when we first arrived. She fought for us, but King Thranduil never liked it. She made him promise to keep us, after she was injured, and she was dying. We've been in this uneasy truce ever since."

Marilla nodded curtly. For the first time in her life, her mother's tears did not touch her heart.

"It's not good enough, Naneth," Marilla said. She wasn't shouting anymore, but there was still anger in her voice. "Not anymore. Not for me. I'm leaving the Woodland Realm, and soon."

"Where will you go? You don't want me to go with you?" Helluin asked, her voice dark with sadness.

"I haven't decided where I'm going yet," Marilla said. She pointed to the bottle in Helluin's hand. "I'm going to use that to dose the guards so the Dwarves can get free and continue their journey. They need to find a home as much as I do."

"You are thinking of going with them?" Helluin asked, her eyes growing wider.

Marilla nodded. "That's one option."

"Do you know where they're going?" Helluin asked cautiously. Marilla shrugged. It wasn't her secret to tell.

"They are the company of Thorin, son of Thrain. The Dwarves of Erebor. Do you understand what's in Erebor, Marilla?" Helluin continued.

"There's a dragon, yes," Marilla said stonily. "There's a dragon here, too, though."

Helluin gasped in surprise. "You are a child still if you think the disdain of King Thranduil can compare to Smaug and his dragon fire."

"Am I?" Marilla asked. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like either of them could kill me. At least one of them would be over quickly. The one I live with now is strangling me to death a little more every day."

Helluin let out a choked sob.

"I may not go with them, anyway, Naneth," Marilla said. She'd spent so many years worrying about Helluin's happiness. She wasn't able to not care, watching her mother so distraught. "I was thinking I might go to Imladris. Like I said, Lord Elrond hosted the Dwarves as guests. That's more than King Thranduil would ever do, isn't it? Perhaps another half-Elf would be kinder to me."

"If you poison the guards you will never be able to return here," Helluin said, trying to see if her daughter really understood what she was doing. "There'd be no coming back from this."

"I know, Naneth," Marilla said. "I'm not planning on coming back. Will you stay?"

"That will depend on where you go, at the very least," Helluin replied. She folded her limbs gracefully to sit on the edge of the bed.

"You'd follow me to Imladris?"

"Yes. I would follow you to Erebor, if I thought the Dwarves would let me."

"They won't."

"I know."

A somber quiet filled the space between mother and daughter for a minute that felt like an hour.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Helluin said, placing the bottle on the table. "We could just walk out of here and go to Imladris instead. No one would stop us."

"You won't stop me from helping them, will you? You won't tell?" Marilla asked her mother, angling herself towards the bottle.

"Why does it matter so much to you if they are freed or not? Our King may well be saving their lives, keeping them out of that dragon's way," Helluin pointed out.

"King Thranduil has no reason to imprison them other than hatred. They committed no crime against this realm. They deserve to be free," Marilla argued. "And – and they're my people. I have to help."

"You won't stop me, will you Naneth?" Marilla asked again, looking at her mother. She felt closed off and weary.

"No, I won't," Helluin answered with hesitation. "Sit down with me, my darling, and let's eat together. I don't know how many meals I have left with you."

Her mother was wearing that heartbroken look that Marilla couldn't fight, so she did as her mother asked. She sat at the table and at her food. For once, she didn't pretend to be cheerful.

(~ooo~)

Marilla woke before dawn. These night visits and the heaviness in her heart were disturbing her rest. Helluin started to rise when she got up, but Marilla shook her off.

"Don't, Naneth," Marilla said.

She took everything she'd need for the day and left. She couldn't stand to be in their small room; it felt like a cage. She wandered the empty hallways, not knowing where she was going, until she found herself in the library. She liked the library, although she'd rarely been inside. When she'd needed to learn how to read and write, Helluin had still been gathering their food every day, and had arranged to take books and paper home as well.

It was empty an hour before dawn. Marilla walked inside and put her things down. She wandered through the scrolls and books, letting her hand skim over them. She read the labels on various documents, then put them back, uninterested. There was so much a person could know – especially if they had enough time. How had her life become so small, when the world was big?

"Psst," Bilbo whispered to her left.

Marilla jumped. He was quiet! "How long have you been there?" she whispered back.

"Well, sorry, hope you don't mind… I heard you and your mother earlier. I wanted to check on you. I hadn't heard anything since you talked to Thorin – much quieter this time, well done," Bilbo prattled a bit nervously.

"You seemed quite upset. I got worried about you," the Hobbit told her. Marilla looked at the empty space where he was standing. She felt perplexed.

"You were worried about me? Marilla asked.

"You were very upset," Bilbo repeated himself. "Pardon me for intruding but, I didn't get the impression that you got angry with your mother very often. Are you alright?"

Marilla felt a small, invisible hand pat her on the arm awkwardly. It was a bit touching to have this tiny specter looking out for her, she thought. It reminded of all the time she'd spent with no one looking out for her and she clenched her jaw. She imagined building a strong stone wall, like the one her father had made for them when she was small – but this one was around her heart.

"I have reasons to be upset, and I have reasons to be angry with my mother," Marilla told Bilbo, frowning and looking away from him.

"I can't disagree," Bilbo said diplomatically. "Thorin gets angry, too, sometimes."

"Yes, yes, I know, how Dwarvish," Marilla interrupted. "How terrible we all are," she said, her tone sharp.

"I didn't say that," Bilbo replied matter of factly. How did such a small, invisible man make her feel so silly?

"I did judge him for it at first, it's true. But I realized it's because he cares, really. He worries about people. I think it's helped him keep his head up all these years, when they were all wandering around without a home. He wants to fix it for them – very badly."

Marilla frowned at the ground.

"I wonder if it's like that for you, too?" Bilbo asked her. "You haven't fallen into despair, and you could have. I heard you talking to Thorin, remember – I know you spit in the Elves' wine. Why else, except you knew you deserved better?"

"Perhaps," Marilla said, feeling cautious. Her eyes were starting to sting, and she didn't want them to.

"I wonder if it burns a bit too hot sometimes, though?" Bilbo suggested. "Even a smith can get their hands burned if they get too close."

Marilla closed her eyes and swallowed. She took a few steadying breaths.

"Who are you?" she asked Bilbo.

"I'm nobody, who are you?" he answered, sounding pleased with himself.

Marilla let out a quiet scoff. "I guess I'm nobody, too."

"Well that makes a pair of us," Bilbo replied. "Best not tell anyone."**

Marilla shook her head, smiling despite herself.

"Why did you come in here, anyway?" Bilbo asked. "I've been in here a lot lately. There's a good place to sleep over in that corner."

Marilla wondered if he was pointing at something, forgetting that she couldn't see him.

"I don't know, I just wandered over here. Maybe I thought I could look at a map?" she said, thinking aloud.

"I think the maps are over here," Bilbo's voice said, traveling away from her to another section of the library.

A scroll began to float off its shelf until it suddenly disappeared. It reappeared moments later on the library table and began to unroll.

"Watching you really is very strange," Marilla commented. She received a hum of displeasure from nowhere. "How do you do it?"

"Well that's a Hobbit's secret to keep, isn't it?" Bilbo said pertly. "Here's a map, and here's another one you might want to look at."

"I'm going to go try to find something to eat while there aren't so many people in the kitchen. You'll dose the guard's wine soon, right?" Bilbo asked.

"Yes, it's Mereth Nuin Giliath , the Feast of Starlight, two nights from now. Once they're asleep they should stay that way for a while. Don't go in the middle of the night: the spiders are terrible these days. Wait until dawn," Marilla said.

"Will I see you there?" Bilbo asked her. She couldn't read his voice.

"I don't know," Marilla replied quietly. She felt so tired.

"If I don't, and we don't get a chance to speak again, I wish you all the best, Marilla. I hope you and your mother find a kinder place to be," Bilbo said. "Everyone deserves to feel at home when they're at home."

"Thank you," Marilla said with a sigh. She listened intently, finally catching the quiet shuffle of his bare feet leaving the library. (Did he ever wear shoes?)

When Bilbo had gone she looked at the two scrolls he'd handed her. She'd been thinking she should study the map, but the label on the other caught her eye.

On The History Of Elves And Dwarves, it read.

Marilla put the map down and opened the other scroll. She was still there two hours later, her mind churning. She could hear the first morning movements of the Elves starting the new day. She tied up the open document and stood. She was about to put both records away, then changed her mind. She poked her head out the library door, looking both ways before walking swiftly towards her post for the first inventory of the day.

The history of her peoples' conflicts and alliances had been interesting to her, but it was a footnote that had really caught her attention.

Interviews with those who remember the days of cooperation between the Elves of Eregion and the Dwarves of Khazad-dum remark not only upon the famous collaboration between Celebrimbor and Narvi, but also on the friendship of Elrond Peredhel, then a Herald of High King Gil-galad and Durin IV, which began long before the latter became the King of Khazad-dum. It is said that the friendship between the half-Elf and the young Dwarven Prince was quite close, leaving an impression that has lasted long after the passing of Durin IV. Even into this Third Age, when the old friendships between our peoples have gone cold, it is known that Dwarves may be received at Imladris from time to time.

Imladris. She'd found it on the map, West across a river and a mountain range. In the opposite direction was the Lonely Mountain and Erebor.

She had a day, and a night, then another day. Then she'd need to decide. East or West? Dwarves or Elves?

(~ooo~)

Notes: **This exchange between Bilbo and Marilla is a nod to Emily Dickinson's poem "I'm Nobody! Who are you?". It's a personal favorite of mine. :)