This chapter handles really heavy themes. Please, if you need to skip this one, do so. We're getting into the darker parts of the movies and my story is r-rated for a reason which doesn't only include the more sexually explicit themes. Nothing directly happens to Tori however we are going to be discussing hard topics.
Chapter 33: The Journal
"...Others… Just a mile or so away."
"Dwarves…never seen so many…"
Cloudy sun filtered through my eyelids, my bruised stomach bumping against something hard and unforgiving. My tongue felt grainy, dirt coating my teeth and nose. Pain burst through my head like thunderclaps that were angry at being confined to my skull.
"Ah, little dwarf is coming too," an amused voice said, the arm keeping me secure shifting. I gasped as I went plummeting to the ground, the soft confines of someone's arms capturing me before I dropped completely.
"Uuuuggggghhhhhh." It was supposed to be a question but my tongue wouldn't co-operate yet. Blurrily, I blinked, wincing at the dappling of trees that let in striking bolts of light.
"Take your time," the voice whispered to me, reassuring. "It looks like you took a nasty beating."
If only he knew. Another groan slipped past my parched lips as I tried to gather my thoughts. All that came to me was Thorin's voice and Dwalin's knuckles across my face, his boot driving into my knee.
"Don't be nice to the prisoner," another man chided my capture lightly. "Just because she's a cute little thing doesn't mean that you can go lightly on her."
I despised people calling me cute.
"Ah, she's just a wee thing," my capture chuckled, shifting me in his arms until I could peer blurrily into his eyes. A strikingly fine face with sharp cheekbones and delicate features stared down at me. Long russet hair framed his achingly beautiful face. While the elves of Rivendell held a grace that made their beauty seem almost holy, the appeal of the Mirkwood elves seemed to like in the juxtaposition. On one hand, they were gorgeous in the way that sharp edges and perfection could be, clinically beautiful. But it was the wildness that I saw in the bows at their backs and the worn leathers that they wore. "Besides…" his eyes slipped to where my hair had slipped to pool over his arms, revealing my pointed ears. I stiffened. "I think we have more in common than we think."
"I think you're soft, Limhur," a gruffer, angrier voice said from his other side and I caught the dark shadow of a third elf just behind Limhur. "Her and her nasty kin are caught trespassing. And her pointed ears illustrate the vile nature of her kind."
"Hush, Gortphen," Limhur's other friend chortled, his voice edged with irritation. "You'll ruin the good mood that we've been in."
"Don't mind, Gortphen," Limhur whispered to me like we were old friends. "He's been mad for nearly a hundred years. Something about his family being robbed by wayward dwarves-"
"You know that's not why I hate their kind," the elf in question snarled.
Where was Fili? I tried to lift my head, the movement causing mist to sleep across my mind, weighing me down. Oh. I was going to pass out again. My head throbbed and I slid into blackness with the final words of Gortphen following me down into the darkness:
"Stubborn and so prone to submitting to the vileness of the world. I've never met a good dwarf."
"Fili!" I choked out, jerking awake with a swiftness that made my head spin, the ache there intensifying as I jerked into a sitting position.
"Is that one of the dwarves in your party?" A silky voice purred, the rustle of heavy fabrics following his words. "Or just a lover that you still think of in dire moments?"
The cavern that I had been left in slowly came into focus. First, the pillars that seemed to be made of wood, circular in shape with a ceiling so tall that I could barely see it. Distantly, I could hear the drip and gurgle of running water and smell the dense, steamy scent of boiling tea. My head and ribs and legs burned, pulsing with constant pain. More rustling and my eyes were drawn up and up and up to a raised platform with so many pillows and throws in silks and luxurious fabrics that I didn't even know the name of. Colors in autumn orange and reds and yellows and in the midst of all that sat the most striking figure I had ever seen.
For a moment, his beauty and grace made me think that I was staring at a God - a God that transcended past time and gender and logic. His hair was starlight taken into hand and spun into silvery strands that brushed to his waist. Eyes the shade of shredded leaves and frost. Like most elves, his features were sharp and regal, his brow high, his cheekbones high. A circlet made of simple silver shone brightly at his forehead, twining like the burst of a star.
His fine clothes were trimmed in gold, cut tightly to his willowy frame. His tunic was high-collared and seemed to be layered so that it flowed separately down to the ground, opened at the waist and clipped shut along his chest. Dark trousers sculpted to his legs with high leather boots.
I cringed back from my place curled on the hard floor, painfully aware of the dirt coating my hair and face, the sweaty, sticky feeling of a shirt that needed to be washed. My axes and leather holder which was arguably the most expensive thing I had… and half of that had been stolen from another elven stronghold.
I felt woefully unprepared to face someone so perfect. Someone… someone who made me feel so small and inconsequential and alien in this place. My ears burned, whatever acceptance I had come by in the last few months shivering into the kind of shame that happened when faced with the version of yourself that you could have been.
I could have been this gorgeous perhaps if both of my parents were elves. I could have had this kind of grace.
The stardust elf's lips curled in a soft smile that didn't reach his eyes as he slid to the end of his plush throne and stood, his movements smooth like a dancers. "Tell me your name."
I shifted, suddenly wary and my eyes snapped to the bands of iron manacling my wrists to a loop in the floor as they clattered with the movement. My stomach dropped farther. I was a prisoner here. Guards - at least a dozen of them stood silent and still in the darkness of the pillars, so lifeless that I had mistaken them for statues.
"You have the rest of my party." I had wanted it to come out as a question but really there was no doubt in my mind that they were somewhere in this massive fortress. The elf's eyes shifted, his smile dropping a fraction as he stepped down from his platform, his robes trailing behind him like forsaken lovers reaching for his touch again. "What's your name?"
That practiced smile was back on his lips. He took slow, measured steps around the room, giving me his eyes only at a sideways glance as if I was some creature that didn't deserve his entire attention. "What do you think my name is, little halfling?"
Acid filled my mouth, burning my throat. He had seen my ears. My next words sounded like rusted nails dragging across rock. "There's only one king in these woods…and you look like a king if I've ever seen one." I bowed my head, my shoulders hunching up as if I was still trying to hide the fine tips of my ears. "King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, son of Oropher."
A flicker of something like shock flitted across his face before he shut it down with a cold smile. His eyes stayed on mine as he gave me a slow, mocking bow, his hands clasping behind his back, silver hair slipping forward in a cascade of brilliance. "I've been removed from outside company for some time but I believe that it's rude to keep ones name while knowing your hosts. Especially since you're a guest in my house."
He watched my eyes slip pointedly to the chains currently tethering me to the ground. What would I gain from keeping my name? I had already lost any advantage I might have. So I bowed my head again and took a deep breath. "I am Tori of Thorin Oakenshield's party, sister to Dori, Nori, and Ori… who I assume are feeling the full gratitude of your hospitality from behind bars."
"Mm. Yes, I rather due loath the barbaric custom of chains and bars and stone cells but alas-" He gave a long-suffering sigh. "It's the only way to get answers without using…less polite methods."
I blanched at the implication.
"I've already talked with your King-" At this word, he paused, his eyes snapping to me in a way that I couldn't entirely decipher. As if he found it amusing that my fealty fell under Thorin. As if he was wondering why it didn't fall beneath him. "And he has been less than forthcoming about why your group was wandering in my territory. So far away from the elven road too."
He tsked, shaking his head like a schoolteacher who had just seen the answers of a troublemakers paper.
I wasn't entirely surprised that they had drifted from the path after I had… Still, I couldn't help the wince, not liking the news one bit. The sound of running water filled the space between us as I kept my mouth shut. If Thorin was against tell Thranduil about our quest, I certainly wouldn't be spilling the beans.
Thranduil, unfortunately, wasn't an idiot. He took in my blank expression with mild amusement, hands still tucked behind him, robes sweeping across the stone after him. He wasn't the type of person to see a losing battle and continue on into the fray.
His head tipped to the side, his eyes drifting over me in slow consideration as if he were appraising a piece of art to be purchased. "You look remarkably like someone I knew."
All the air whooshed from my lungs, pain lancing through me. "You-" I gulped, forcing down the shaking in my voice. "What do you mean?"
His face turned away, head tipping back to stare at the tall ceilings, the trees that were growing deep within the cavern and that had come out to play with the ornate pillars and arches. When he finally turned back to me, his expression was soft, almost sympathetic. "The forest plays rather cruel games with the minds of the weak."
Something in my jaw cracked as I clenched down, a spike of pain spidering across my skin. I had ignored the ache of swelling and broken blood vessels that I could feel in every muscle of my face. That infuriating smile - so soft, so gentle against the artistic planes of his face. He tapped a finger to my temple, where I could feel most of the damage centered.
"My kin didn't do that to you, little elfling," he whispered and I felt a burst of white-hot rage well up inside of me.
"I'm not your bloody elfling," I snarled, chains clinking as I shifted forward, teeth flashing.
The look Thranduil gave me was one of pure amusement, his eyes flicking to where my bindings were welded to the stone. "I wonder what they told you about us to fill you so much rage," he mused, his brows knit slowly. "Such rage when I've never had the chance to meet you before. Tell me, pher ithil, what have I done to warrant such hatred? Besides carry the same blood that runs through your veins?"
The air whooshed from my lunges. In seconds, he had cut me open. I was nothing more than a child to this being. Every emotion and feeling I had felt suddenly childish in front of him. From my place curled in front of his throne, he looked larger than life, his head tipped to the side, resembling that majestic stag that I knew he rode into battle.
I hated the sudden urge to cower, to lower my head and wilt beneath his dissection of my foolish pride. Of the childish resentment that I had held so close to my heart.
I had grown.
I thought I had grown.
But perhaps that was a tale that I had spun for myself. Because who had I grown for? So that I didn't feel such bitter rage toward my dwarven side? I didn't even know if that was true any longer - the bruises on my body a sudden raw brand across my very soul.
I was suddenly so scared. So very afraid of what this place meant for who I was. For the pillars that I had propped myself up with for all these years. Who was I without this righteous rage?
Just stay on the path. If we had just stayed on the path…
I shut my eyes against the sudden throb in my temple, my whole body sagging.
"You look so much like her…" I flinched back, not wanting to hear anymore, not wanting him to be so close. I slunk farther back, staring up as he crouched before me, his face to unbearably beautiful, his hair like the silk of a spider's web, falling in a waterfall of starlight over his shoulder.
"Don't," I whispered, gulping against the clenching of my own stomach as he slid a worn journal to rest just in front of me. It was a plain leather, the pages poofed up my age and use. Such a deceptively simple thing.
"Gortphen will take you to your people," Thranduil whispered. I couldn't look away from those terrible pieces of paper. "You will ask for me when you are ready to talk."
"She-" I felt a thrill of discomfort tighten my throat, drying my tongue. I tore my eyes away from the journal, finally meeting his clear, crystal eyes. "Is she…here?"
Something flickered through his eyes, his lips tightening. He drew back slowly, regarding me with a sudden blankness that sent a spike of terror through me. "No. No, she isn't."
Gortphen led me to my cell as if I was an unruly dog that had come back from a particularly brutal beating. He was a tall elf - but then again all elves were. The artful curve of his cheekbones and brow held so much more rage than any other that I had seen before though. Sometimes he would send a particularly scathing look of pure loathing over his shoulder to me. His blazing red hair was braided into a simple series of knots down his back.
As we moved through the mostly empty halls of Mirkwood, the air around us seemed to crackle and thicken. I had refused to take the journal when Thranduil had dismissed me. Now Gortphen's fingers clutched its tightly bound mass with clear fury, a vein pulsing along the back of his hand.
"He should not have given you her journal," he finally snapped, his teeth flashing as he sent a look of pure hatred at me.
We moved down another winding hallway, the ceiling so tall that I couldn't see where it ended. It made me feel even smaller than I already did.
"Are you…" I stumbled over the words, so many emotions crouching down on me all at once as I choked over the thought. "You…knew her?"
A bitter snarl ripped through the hallway, effectively ending any more communication of the subject. My shoulders rose, the sudden need to hide my ears pressing down on me. I suddenly missed Fili so much. Missed my brothers. Missed them so fucking much.
We didn't speak after that, his strides lengthening until I was running to keep up, the chains pulling at the raw skin of my wrists. I nearly ran into his legs as we came to an abrupt halt in front of an open stone doorway that led to what looked like a long winding staircase. Wind whipped up to me, pushing my curls back in a chilling rush.
He sunk to his knees suddenly, his eyes twitching as he started to unlock my restraints. His lips were tight, the skin around his eyes crinkled in clear animosity.
"How did -" I gulped against the words, their texture gummy like glue upon my cheek. Gortphen's jaw tightened even further, his molars grinding. "When did she pass away?"
The long breath that ripped through his teeth was filled with so much violence that I flinched, his eyes emerald fires as he stared at me. He looked like he wanted to rip my existence away from the way world we stood in. He looked like he had never seen something more horrid than I, my ears burning as he yanked off my cuffs.
"She didn't pass away, norn hen," he sneered, his voice soft and sharp as he drew closer and closer until my whole world was the emerald pits of his eyes. "She walked from the bounds of our forest and up to one of those mountains your kind like so much to crawl around in and she stepped off the edge."
Stepped off the…
Stepped off the edge…
I stumbled, my feet catching on each other and sending me tumbling. The steps dug into my vulnerable skin, forcing a yelp from my lips as pain burst through my spine. A hand at my collar was all that stopped me from free-falling over the edge.
A dull ringing had started to fill my ears, muffling the shouts from all the locked doors lining the walls of the spiraling staircase. I caught a blur of blonde and brunette, a hand reaching out to me, my name shouted over and over like a plea or curse - I couldn't tell.
Gortphen tossed me into the cell with enough force that whatever wind was left in my lunges went rushing out. The stone cell spun around me. Numbness struck me dumb, my mind spinning and spinning.
She -
She -
Gortphen stared at me with disgust, his hand tightening on the journal in his hand before he let out a long, vicious hiss and threw it in after me. Like trash that he had suddenly had the opportunity to get rid of.
"Tori."
No. No I couldn't be in a cell with him now. I couldn't deal with being trapped in here like that. With him.
"Mahal's beard, what did they do to you?" Striking stormy blue eyes peered down at me, a face lined with time and worry crouching closer to me. So like Fili's that I wanted to scream.
I crawled backward, the corner of the room hugging my sides. I needed to - I needed to -
Bile rolled over my tongue.
Elrond's words suddenly came rushing back to me in a horrible flood of clarity. Elves didn't throw away their children. Elves didn't step off the edge of mountains to - to -
"...extreme circumstances…agony of force…abomination…"
I retched, vomit making way to the hot press of unforgiving tears.
Sindarin glossary:
pher ithil: half moon
norn hen: dwarf child
From the moment I wrote Tori I think I knew what direction I wanted to take her. A character that had rage and guilt and didn't know how to handle it and in turn blamed people indiscriminately for her own feelings. I felt a lot like this growing up. I had a lot of the same things happen to me when it comes to identity and not having the stability of a mother or a father to guide these feelings into a healthy zone. As I've gotten older and gone to therapy, I've started to dissect those emotions and instincts that have made me not always the best person.
I wanted to show that here in this format because I think that Tolkien never really delved into the harder topics of rape and sexual assault. As a woman, I'm so in-tune with these topics that it always struck me since there was such dire aspects of the aftermath of war and discrimination that were handled in his works. I always want my stories - no matter that their silly little fanfics to be an exploration of the things that I've had to go through. Maybe in the hopes that someone else will read this and feel seen. Feel not so alone just as I've felt whenever I see myself reflected in the books I pick up.
