Chapter 9: No Turning Back
Marilla left in the morning as she would any day, reassuring her mother she would be back at dinnertime. She couldn't attract any suspicion today. Marilla could not stop thinking about the bottle of sleeping draft she had hidden in her bag. It was not as though she had ever been stopped and searched – but if she were…
But of course, it wasn't a normal day. She could feel eyes on her when she reported to the kitchen at noontime. They looked away innocently if she turned and caught any Elf's eyes, but as soon her back was to them, she knew they were watching her again.
"At least you're not using this debacle with your mother as an excuse to slack off before the feast," the head cook sniffed at Marilla. "Don't forget to pull out the good wines - "
"From the right year, yes, I know," Marilla said. She'd been getting annoyed with him the last few years for treating her like a simpleton when she did things that she'd been doing for years: she figured she should keep it up.
"And – "
"And put a dozen aside for the guards that will be on duty during the party, because they deserve something for missing it," Marilla said, projecting an air of boredom. "I'll do you one better. I'll deliver the guards' wines right to their stations, so they don't end up in the wrong hands."
Marilla glanced over the chef, continuing the implication she'd been teasing him with since Thranduil had increased her duties. She pursed her lips, imagining all the disdain she felt for these petty servants. She hoped they couldn't tell how hard her heart was beating. This was one of the hardest parts of this stunt. She couldn't drug all the guards in the entire realm – she needed to control which bottle, exactly, went to the dungeon guards.
The chef squinted at her. A snide little smile quirked the corner of his mouth.
"I think someone is trying to impress the King," he commented to the whole kitchen. "Fine then, deliver a few crates of wine. I'm not sure that will do much for you at this point."
Marilla left projecting an air of contempt that she didn't have to fake. She ran into her least favorite kitchen maid on her way down into the cellars.
"Still at it, Dwarf-girl? You're not running off with your mother? We must have made such a good impression here. I suppose you'll have that cave all to yourself now, how nice," the unpleasant elleth simpered.
"Leave me alone," Marilla told her. She wasn't in the mood for this.
"Oh, we will," the maid promised ominously.
Could the Elves of Imladris really be so different? Marilla wondered, shaking her head as the sharp-tongued Elf walked out of the food stores, looking pleased with herself. She had had enough of these petty quarrels and jabs.
But, did she have any reason to think the Dwarves would be better? She had no reason to think they'd be worse. She didn't know them. She'd never had a chance to know them. It bothered her like a pebble stuck in her shoe.
Finally, Marilla made her way into the deepest wine cellar and began pulling out the wines for that night's feast. She piled crates to be sent up to the dining halls, then pulled out two more crates that she'd have to haul around to all the guard stations.
She'd learned how to uncork a wine bottle and reseal it in wax years ago. She'd caught yet another unpleasant servant doing it one day and exchanged her oath of silence for his knowledge.
She looked around carefully, then listened. The caverns were empty, except for the drip of water and this occasional pop of her own candle.
"Master Baggins, sir," she whispered. She received no answer.
So she did as they'd agreed on her own, carefully reading the dosage on the sleeping draught before pouring a hefty dose into one of the bottles, then holding the wax to her flame and manipulating it until it looked convincing enough for a pair of disgruntled Elves who were missing the festivities to babysit Dwarves.
She spent the rest of the afternoon walking through corridor after corridor, lugging the wine crates to each guard station to leave a bottle per pair of guards. Enough to keep them happy without getting them drunk , the cook said sagely every year.
Towards the end of the day, she dropped off the bottle for the guards who'd have the duty of guarding the dungeons.
"Courtesy of the King," she told the two soldiers, who were sitting at a small table in the guard room beneath the dungeons, playing cards and looking put out.
"You know it will be good then," one guard snickered to another, not looking at Marilla. "Whatever you say about our ill-tempered King, he has excellent taste in wine."
Since they weren't paying any attention to her, she risked a glance around the corner at the storage area beside it with the trap door into the river. Had they always been so close together? Her nerves fizzled.
She hoped they wouldn't drink it too soon. They needed to be out fully unconscious when the Dwarves tried to escape. Now she wondered if they'd be emerging from their stupor before the planned dawn escape.
"Cook said it's supposed to go well with the evening meal," she commented, trying to sound nonchalant. "They still bring some down to you, don't they?"
"What's it to you, Peredhel ?" one of the guards drawled, he'd been handling the wine bottle, clearly thinking about opening it.
"Nothing. He just said I should say that," she told them meekly.
"Aw, save it," the other guard said. "If it goes with the food, just save it. We're all set anyway," he said, shooting Marilla a sly wink. He lifted a silver flask and sipped from it. "Want some? I'm not sure it would do to half-Elves but it makes us much more comfortable," he teased.
"No thanks," she said. She was grateful as she hurried away, the sound of the guards chuckling fading behind her, that they would think her obvious nerves were just from being teased.
At the end of the day she made her way home to meet her mother. Helluin was ready. Two traveling packs sat beside their bed.
"It is tonight, right?" Helluin asked Marilla with hushed urgency.
"Yes, Naneth, it's done. The draught is in the guards' wine. They should drink it with dinner. The Hobbit is supposed to break the Dwarves out a little before dawn, so they're not trying to escape through the dark. The spiders are still out there."
"Yes, that is sensible. And – have you decided if you are going with them, Marilla?"
"I… I keep going back and forth Naneth. I've never had the chance to know Dwarves. I'm sick to death of petty Elf servants' bickering. But I don't want to leave you alone. And I'd miss you."
Helluin wrapped her daughter in a fierce embrace.
"I am afraid of that dragon, Marilla, I truly am. Those fire drakes are terrible. You could travel to Erebor once we hear that they have succeeded," Helluin pleaded.
"I know, you said that Naneth. Maybe you're right, but… wouldn't my best chance to be accepted by the Dwarves be to help them get their home back, somehow? Thorin seems like a good King – like the kind of person you follow because you want to, not just because you have to."
Helluin closed her eyes, looking stressed.
"You said it was my choice, Naneth," Marilla reminded her mother.
"Yes, it is. It is," Helluin replied. She'd crossed her arms over her stomach and was biting her lower lip.
"I need to go talk to them one last time, at least," Marilla said.
"Then bring your pack with you, in case you decide to go with them," Helluin told her. "I'll have to go tonight as well. I can't be here to be questioned once you've helped them escape."
Marilla nodded, starting to feel more stressed herself. Making her mother flee into Mirkwood alone in the wee hours of the morning went against every instinct she'd gathered for years.
Helluin watched her daughter's face change as she struggled against herself. The Elf sat on the edge of the bed they'd slept in together for well over two centuries and took her daughter's hands in her own.
"If you need to go with them, go with them," Helluin said, squeezing Marilla's hands. "But you tell this Thorin that if you do, I expect him to take care of you like one of his own ladies. That means something to a Dwarf, you know. If they can't promise that, then come back to me and we will go to Imladris together and make a plan for the future that is not made in such haste and need. Promise me."
"Alright, I promise," Marilla said. She couldn't imagine leaving her mother. She couldn't imagine not grabbing this opportunity to know the Dwarves and running after it with all her might.
And then of course… Thorin. He'd pushed back against that kiss. The memory fluttered at her lips like a little moth at a candle flame. But that thought she tried to push out of her mind. That was a thought for another day. He was going to fight a dragon, she reasoned with herself. If she was following him with the hope that he might brush his fingers against her palm again, or grip her waist with that iron arm to keep her from falling…. Well! Well, then she'd surely be disappointed, she admonished herself.
What she might get to see though, would be that strength of conviction and fierce sense of loyalty to his people in action. What she might get to see, for once, would be a true leader. Perhaps he'd even go so far as to fight for her inclusion. If Thranduil had managed to cause her so much harm by mere suggestion, what could Thorin do to open the Dwarves' hearts towards her? She wondered.
"Come, my dear," Helluin said, pulling Marilla's hand gently as she walked towards their small table. "Eat with me. If this is to be our last night for – for some time – let us spend it together. You cannot go to them yet."
Marilla turned her attention to her mother and their food. Helluin began going through her memories of all the things they were leaving behind, telling the story of each one as though it might preserve it for the ages – the shining walls, the carvings around the door lintel and the bed.
Finally, they had finished and Helluin insisted Marilla try to sleep a little. Her mother promised she would wake her before it was time to leave. She didn't think she'd be able to sleep, but the last few days had been so exhausting. After some tossing and turning, she slept.
Before she knew it, Helluin was shaking her awake. "Sit up, darling. You need to get dressed. Either way you are beginning a difficult journey when the sun rises."
Marilla's nerves were buzzing before she'd even managed to shake off the foggy feeling of waking up too early. Her mother herded her into dressing in her most practical trousers and tunic, which she'd only ever worn if she was expecting to do heavy lifting in the cellars. Helluin carefully combed her hair, braiding small braids into two larger ones that framed Marilla's face.
She pinned a copper broach to Marilla's tunic. "Your father always said this belonged to his mother. I do not know what it means, but I think it should be yours by right. Perhaps Thorin and his people can tell you more about it."
Marilla looked at the bauble, feeling perplexed and nervous. Mystery upon mystery. If she did not learn about the Dwarves now, then when? What did this pin mean?
Helluin stood and went to get Marilla's shaving kit out of habit. "Oh," the Elf said in surprise. "I suppose not today."
Marilla ran her hand over the fine stubble along her jawline that had grown since the previous morning. Not today . A feeling of exhilaration swept through her like a fire through dry tinder. Not today! Maybe not any day, ever again! She'd never even had the chance to see what it would look like. She wanted to.
"Alright my darling, it's time for you to go if you wish to speak with them before they leave," Helluin said, fretting over ties and buttons that didn't need attention. "I'll wait an hour, maybe two if the light is looking slow to dawn, then I'll have to head for the West door if you haven't returned."
"You can take the old passage through the big root cellar if you have to, Naneth," Marilla said, her heart suddenly in her throat. "You know the one I told you about? Do you know how to get there?"
"I remember what you told me. I'll find it if I have to," the Elf said resolutely. "If we miss each other, if you change your mind, go West. Find your way to Rivendell. Any time, Marilla. I'll be waiting for you there."
"For how long?" Marilla asked, suddenly feeling small.
"Until you find me. Or until Lord Elrond banishes me. Or until – or until I hear word that you're gone from the world," Helluin said, her musical voice becoming strangled at the last.
"And then what?" Marilla pushed.
"Then? Then, well, I'll have to go West," Helluin replied, her voice thick. "There's nothing for me in Middle Earth if you're not here anymore."
Marilla could feel hot tears beginning to sting her eyes.
"Keep your head up, my brave girl," Helluin said, although it looked like she was trying to convince herself as much as Marilla. "No matter what happens, today is the beginning of a fresh start for you. I have never known anyone who has deserved it more. Yes? Look at me, yes?"
Marilla looked into her mother's face, her eyes wide. Helluin helped her pull on the straps of her new traveling pack.
"You can stay and we can leave together if you prefer, but if you want to catch them, you have to go now," Helluin said, leaning to place a kiss on Marilla's forehead.
Marilla closed her eyes and imagined staying with her mother. They could walk out of this kingdom with the first light and go, together – as they always had been, to seek refuge with Lord Elrond, a half-Elf, like her.
But she didn't want to go somewhere with nothing more to hope for than being tolerated. She didn't want to be a refugee anymore, if there was a chance she could have a home instead. Thorin… his nephew who'd been flirting with Tauriel. Marilla's fingers crept up to the copper pin her mother had just given her, toying with it.
She took a deep breath, gave her mother a fierce hug, and walked purposefully towards the door. She turned in the doorway and looked back at Helluin, who nodded at her in encouragement, although her eyes were deep pools of sorrow that almost had Marilla running back into the room to take it all back.
"Go, Marilla. At least go and see," Helluin said. "You need to. We can both see that."
Marilla nodded back, then turned quickly and left before she could change her mind.