Over a month since I've updated! I think I've hit a new record!
Anyway, thanks to everybody who's been reviewing, following, faving, and basically reminding me that this story still exists and that I need to finish it.
This chapter is short-ish but it does include everybody's favorite elf king. When I went to see DoS, my boyfriend leaned over and said to me, "I would love to see a deleted scene of him mincing around in a kimono."
Personally, I like the idea of there being a deleted scene with Thranduil in front of a vanity table with a hairbrush.
Thranduil: "98...99...100. Oh, okay. I guess I can have an audience with that dwarf shit now... *scoff* some people just don't know anything about good hair care..."
*prances out into throne room*
Thorin: "What the hell took you so long?"
Thranduil: "I was moussing my hair, which is something you dwarven troglodytes are surely unfamiliar with." *hair flip*
Thorin: *mutters Khuzdul obscenities under breath*
Thranduil: *flounce*
Okay...I'm gonna stop now.
For days afterward the landscape did not change, save the density of trees. The farther we traveled east, the deeper into the forest we were. On the second day it began to rain. I considered us lucky to have kept our course as well as we had. A few more miles south and we would have found ourselves on the borders of the marshes.
After having trod through rain and mud for two days, the dense forest was an unwelcome sight, and the smell of rotting leaves and damp earth was almost more than we could bear. Within an hour we were lost, and I knew we had entered the Mirkwood. Damn, I thought. I had meant to refill our water skins before we ventured into the unending woods. It would be a long journey and now we would have even fewer rations. I'd heard terrible things about this place…travelers got lost, went mad, or died from thirst or starvation. There was no drinkable water, and no palatable food to be found within its borders. I only hoped we would not run into elves, I didn't know how far into the woods Thranduil sent his scouts. They were known to capture and torture people and bring them back as prisoners. The Wood-Elves considered all of Mirkwood theirs, and they did not punish trespassers lightly. If we were still with the company, I would not have been half as worried as I was now. But there were only two of us—one wounded—and as any dwarf knew, there was strength in numbers.
"Are we even on a path?" Kili asked at one point. He had been uncharacteristically subdued for most of our journey.
"I don't know." I replied, panting. The air seemed somehow too thick to breathe and I was growing lightheaded. "If we ever were, we've certainly lost it now."
It was only when we came across the carcasses of giant spiders that my worry increased to near-panic, especially when I saw what was caught in the pincers of one of them. A piece of cloth—but not just any piece of cloth. This particular cloth was the exact same color and thickness as the outer coat that Thorin wore. Bile rose in my throat as I tried to shake off the shock.
"What's wrong?" asked Kili.
"Nothing," I said, surveying the area. Not seeing any dwarf remains, I heaved a sigh of relief—dizzy as I was—and signaled to him that we needed to move on.
We were lucky to get through awhile—perhaps a week, it was hard to tell in a place so perpetually dark—without incident, but one morning, we were trapped. At least, I think it was morning and I'd like to say it was a trap. More of an ambush, really. We were bound at the wrists, hands behind our backs, and had sacks thrown over our heads. They were vicious enough to force Kili's arm out of the sling. But he dared not cry out in pain. No, it was best to remain stone-faced in the presence of our captors. Weakness would surely lead to torture.
I felt a rope around my neck, felt it slacken. In that moment I thought we were dead. But we were not hung from trees, merely dragged along, on leashes, through the decaying foliage for hours on end. At one point I felt my coat being removed, the axes torn from my boots. I could hear Kili getting the same treatment. I fought back, but received a blow to the head which stunned me. When the sack was finally removed from my head, I was in a dank, dark cell. Alone and shackled, with neither coat nor weapons.
...
"Where is my brother?" I shouted at the guard who had come to fetch me. The prison where I was held was a small, nearly lightless, musty system of tunnels with five or six more cells that I could see scattered around it. Kili was in none of them; I searched as I was dragged along. The tunnels went back even further than we walked. I couldn't imagine they would let him go. Unless they killed him, I thought, trying to convince myself my fears were not true.
"You can ask the king that," the guard said, holding me roughly by the collar as he dragged me up and down the narrow, winding, moss-covered halls. Eventually we emerged from the dungeons into the main palace complex. We had been taken to the halls of Thranduil himself.
It had been many days since last I had eaten—our supplies lay either lost among the trees or had been confiscated—and I was beginning to feel the effects. Already lightheaded, I was suddenly swept through a tall set of double doors and thrown to the floor at the foot of the Elvenking's throne.
"The dwarf captive, Your Majesty." announced the jailer. With no further duty, he retreated from the room. No doubt he was glad to be rid of me—I had put up quite a fight not to be so mercilessly dragged.
My gaze unfocused with dizziness, I remained staring at the floor until I felt a cold, thin hand cup my chin and forcefully raise my head. I had never seen such coldness in anyone's eyes as I saw in Thranduil's. His stare bore into me with an angry fire, but I dared not look away. Shakily, I tried to stand but was forced down on my knees again by his surprisingly strong grip.
"You will remain kneeling, Dwarf." he hissed. A chill went down my spine when he said it, and I struggled not to shudder. "You and your kind are not worthy to stand in my presence."
"Where is my brother? What have you done with him?" I repeated the question I had asked the guard only moments ago.
"Do not concern yourself," the king sneered. "He is being well taken care of."
"Where. Is. He." I said through gritted teeth. In my near delirium I did not see that he meant to strike me. He delivered a powerful blow that knocked me to the ground and left a burning sensation in my cheek. Not something I expected from an elf-lord who did nothing but sit on a throne all day and send his lackeys out to do his bidding.
"All right, Dwarf, I will tell you where your brother is—if you tell me something first."
"What?" I snarled.
"Tell me—what does the name Thorin Oakenshield mean to you?"
He expected me to go wild with rage, I could see it in his eyes. But I remained silent and as calm as I could possibly be.
I fought to keep my voice level as I replied. "Nothing, your majesty. I have never heard it." Surely he was up to something. Perhaps the Company had passed through here. Or perhaps they were prisoners as well. My head began to buzz in confusion. I would need to eat soon, or I would lose consciousness, or worse—let slip some information about our quest. I ignored the gnawing of my stomach as I watched him mince about, pacing the length of the platform. I half expected him to toss his gloriously silky mane of hair in contempt, but he did not. The next thing I knew, he was inches from my face, growling. I hadn't thought elves capable of growling.
"I know who you are!" he roared. "Thorin's kin! Durin's folk! Heirs to the throne of Erebor!"
"That's impossible," I said. "Erebor was destroyed many years past. Some of Durin's folk do live among us, yes. But it is their quest. The natives of the Blue Mountains agreed."
He gave a grandiose sigh and hailed me with more accusations. "You're quite a long way from home," he noted. "If you truly are from the Blue Mountains. Enlighten me, Dwarf…what are you doing in Mirkwood?"
"I gave you your answer," I replied coolly. "You asked me what the name Thorin Oakenshield means to me. Nothing. Now, you must tell me where my brother is. As agreed."
"I do not make agreements with liars," he said coldly, releasing me from his gaze and drawing mine down to the folds of his robe, from which he drew…my dagger. Before I could react, my own blade was pressed against my throat. The metal was cold, the edge sharp. I dared not even swallow. The smallest movement would surely claim my life.
"Is this yours, Prince?" he sneered. "That is what you are, isn't it? All of your equipment is emblazoned with royal insignia. Even this." All of a sudden he pulled the dagger from my throat and examined it. "Fine craftsmanship. You made it, I'll wager. Oh, how I would dearly love to take a dwarf's life with his own blade. I've always wondered if dwarf blood was red, or if it was the same black as the orcs that hunt you down. But, consider it a favor that I don't. You can stay here, if you like, and rot in prison. Consider it protection that the coward Oakenshield could never give you." With a wave of his hand he summoned the guards to drag me away.
On the way back to the dungeon we passed a redheaded she-elf who looked startled to see me. She grabbed the arm of the guard on my right and addressed him in Elvish. The guards let go of me and shoved me towards her.
"You're Fili?" she asked, offering a hand to steady me. I pushed it away.
"And what if I am?" I snarled. I was in no mood to banter with elves.
"I have seen your brother."
Enter Kili's love interest...as you can probably tell, I am not an elf fan. At all. Stupid pretty elves...asdfghkl...
*ahem* Please excuse me. Got a little carried away there.
R&R, please!