When Thorin Met Tauriel

He glared at her over his shoulder. “You see? It would be more merciful just to cut them off.”

She flexed her own fingers, imagining what it would be like to lose the use of her hands, and felt a little sick.

 Troubled, she gathered up the cup and pitcher and re-locked the cell door. Sitting down again in the shadowy nook intended for jailers, she tried to sort out what she should do.

 Usually, the patrol would search their captives, remove all weapons, and bind them to ensure they could be led to the dungeon without any trouble. Once they were in their cell, the patrol released the bonds. This time, they hadn't done so. Had they just been careless, or was this prisoner extremely dangerous?

She strode down the corridor to the hidden door that led out into the forest, and whispered to the archer stationed there. “The patrol left the prisoner's hands bound. Go to the King, and ask if I am permitted to cut his bonds.”

She watched as he made his unhurried way through the trees to the front of the palace. Sethiel, his name was. He was an ambitious young elf, confident of his abilities and never eager to follow orders.

 She shook her head, then looked around the forest, gauging the progress of the night.

The air was calm and clear, spiced with the crisp scent of early autumn. A few stars twinkled through the canopy of leaves overhead. The trees were at ease. The hour was early—it would be a long while before a regular patrol would pass by, and there was no telling when the archer would return with instructions. For now she would have to manage on her own. Gloomily, she returned to her prisoner.

He looked up as she approached. Something about the sharpness of his eyes reminded her of a falcon she’d once known. Funny to think that this dwarf, a creature who lived in the earth, resembled a being that belonged in the sky. She smiled.

“Enjoying yourself?” he growled.

She wiped the smile off her face. “More than you are.”

She grasped the iron bars of the cell and looked at him thoughtfully. He shifted his hands slightly, as if to ease the pain of the bonds. She could see the skin puffed up around the one exposed wrist.

She should wait for the archer to come back. This was not some ordinary thief or mischief maker, but a stranger—a dwarf, one who had nearly dragged down a full patrol of elves before being taken captive. He had resembled a great stag beset by hounds, Dantiel had told her. It had been a terrifying battle, he’d said.

What did she know of dwarves, anyway? She’d never even seen a dwarf before. She’d be glad never to see one again. The king himself had ordered him to be placed here. The king should decide what to do, not Tauriel.

“Will you untie my wrists?”

“No,” she replied sharply. Dropping her hands from the bars, she drew back. But his exposed hand was swollen, and unpleasant to look at. She pressed her lips tightly together. “We’ll see.”

“I’m already your prisoner,” he reminded her. “Locked in this…very secure cage of yours. Why do you need to keep me tied up as well?”

Ah. Pleading and arguing. Now this game, she understood. She gave him a smile, bright and cold as the crescent moon in winter. “You tell me, dwarf. What are you planning to do? Escape?”

“How can I?”

She crossed her arms. “You must think I’m very foolish indeed. And it is a very secure cage, when you don’t have any weapons or tools. You were searched.”