Chapter Text
“Take those--these sheets aren’t clean,” Rose snapped, chucking soiled sheets at me. I took them wordlessly. She was extremely popular with the men and why wouldn’t she be? She was tall, fair of face, and had an ‘exotic’ hair colour, which was just another fancy term the pimp use to say ‘redhead.’ Sheets in this house were never clean.
I took them dully and walked away. Ever since I woke up in the infirmary across the town two years ago, I could barely remember my own name. I was found in a dishevelled state, I was told, with terrible bruises around my neck, but no trauma to the head to vouch for my missing memories. So now I was named Lolita, and I was given a job in the house. I was too dark to be a proper whore, something I was extremely thankful for. That and I was far too disfigured. I had arrived with a missing forearm, scars crisscrossing on my back, my ears mutilated beyond recognition, and a few tattoos, under my breast, on my ankle, and on my wrist. I suppose one must make do with what one has.
So I collected bed sheets, cleaned the house, filled baths, and did all the jobs that any person with two hands can do much more easily than I can. But a starving stomach and a medical bill forced me to persevere and I think the pimp took pity and allowed me to work here. Besides, as long as I did my job and kept my mouth shut, who was he to complain?
“Hey Lolita,” Rose called, I turned around and barely caught a tiny, half-chewed shilling, “Take this, you look like you can use some extra meat on your bones.”
They often gave me the half-chewed shillings because no self-respecting shop owner wanted those. They didn't give it out of compassion or even pity. I knew they gave it because they liked to toss it and see me fumble in an undignified manner with my stump. I didn’t care though, I set the laundry basket down and snatched it greedily. If I begged enough, they might give me a small cup of milk for it. My dignity stood no chance in a world like this, funnily enough. Most of the time I didn't mind. I had no designs to rise above my station. I wasn't shrewd enough to do so, nor was I cruel enough to step on other people for my ambitions. Not that I had ambitions. What a silly notion for someone as pitiful as me.
I could always go to Rivendell, a few miles past the mountain pass. It was a far walk, but it was also risky. No one had any problems with the elves, but still...no one really wanted to openly say they had dealings with them for the tales of their magic and their superiority. Despite them being a vital effort in the Great War, an entire age ago, they were feared and I heard of bedtime stories...elves stealing little children and making little slaves out of them. No one wanted them or their Numenorean cousins, who had been sacked for their insolence from their beautiful lands in Numenor--dubbing themselves the Dunedain and claiming land that technically belonged to the people of Middle Earth and not to the people of Numenor, which embittered many of the men here.
But Rivendell was always open to anything, even lowly servants such as myself, I am sure. The only part that made me hesitant about going there was the fact that the majority was comprised of Noldorin Elves. Their long and terrible history of Kinslaying and affinity for war made me a little hesitant to go there. I heard of what the sons of Feanor; Caranthir, Celegorm, and Curufin, the leaders of their people, did to their other kin (the Sindar and the Avari) and the men who were deemed lesser. I heard of their cruelty. But I also heard that the Lord of Rivendell, Lord Elrond, was as kind as summer. Surely he would be kind enough to give me more than a glass of milk? Or at least exchange for a new shilling? But that journey was too long to take for something so menial. Maybe when I have accumulated enough half-chewed shillings. But not right now, not in such an undignified state.
I shook my head and walked back to the laundry room and began combing through the sheets. I was fine with doing the laundry, I did it alone, most of the time. This time I was completely alone and I liked it that way. I needed to think alone and plan alone. I didn't want to feel the weight of the pitiful and judgemental stared down my back.
That night when I went back to my tiny but livable room next to the stables, I put my small, half-chewed shilling in one of the many jars I had collected, all of them filled with many shillings. I now had at least five pounds on me. If I had ten, maybe I could buy a new dress and exchange the rest at Rivendell. Surely that would be enough? Prices were always higher because I had such dark, unnatural skin. The elves should be no different, they might even charge me for the exchange, even if they are kind.
Just a few more days left before I get paid…
*~*~*
Travelling to Rivendell, staying there for three hours, and returning to the village took a day. If I didn’t take any stops or rest and if I borrowed the buggy. No one would lend me a buggy so I might have to hitch a ride with one of the Dunedain who often passed by. But their timings were unpredictable and there was no guarantee that they would let me with them.
So I had to wait. Perhaps the elves would find me somewhat useful...it would be a far fetch but I couldn’t guarantee it. They had human slaves and servants in an age long past, could I be any different? So as I promised myself, I bought myself a demure blue dress, second-hand, and with the remaining money I had, I began looking for a Ranger who would be willing to take me to Imladris. I only had one day to make such a journey before I would get fired from my job. I usually never had any breaks for myself, there was too much work to do and not enough helping hands and the pay was terrible but it still managed to pay my medical debts. This was just one of my rare and lucky days, I suppose.
“Sir,” I murmured shyly, tugging at the cloak of one of the Dunedain. The man turned around, looking down at me in surprise and I was surprised at his physical appearance. He had the trademark dark hair and blue eyes look about him, that was associated with Elros Tar-Minyatur. The man was rugged--significantly more handsome than any man in this town that I have ever seen. I never usually saw beneath their hoods.
“Yes, madam?” he asked me patiently when I didn’t speak. I mentally shook my head and began speaking.
“By chance, are you going to Rivendell?” I asked him tentatively.
“I am, what business do you have?” he asked me, somewhat cynically.
“Well...I was hoping to buy something from there--or at least exchange my shillings?” it was risky to give my business away so freely and clearly he thought so too, but he was still asking. I suppose that was to protect the integrity of their beloved Imladris from someone like me. I wouldn't blame him.
“Would you help me get there?” I asked him before he turned around and walked away. “I can pay some...not a lot though, I don’t have much.”
“Keep your payment,” the man said gruffly, pausing to eye me, somewhat pitifully, “I don’t mind you coming along, but do make yourself useful,” he eyed my stump doubtfully, “If you can.”
“I can,” I told him hotly. My disfigurement made certain things harder to get with but otherwise, I managed myself well enough.
“I don’t mean spreading your legs,” he said cruelly and I felt my voice die in my throat. I know he hadn't meant that… what did he think? That seemed to be the general impression everyone seemed to get from me. They seemed to believe that darker people were less intelligent or less... honourable? I was not surprised. Before the war, long before, the sacking of Numenor, there were histories of raids against human villages in Middle Earth here by the Numenor. Has this terribleness passed on? I hope not. I hope he was as honourable as his reformed peoples.
“I’m not a whore,” I snapped, feeling edgy at that comment. “I am too ugly to be one, I only wash the sheets.”
“Just shut up and if you have a whore’s name, change it,” he snapped, walking away, I hurried to keep up with his long strides. “They will know, I will not have you soiling Lord Elrond’s name with your presence like that.”
“I don’t have a whore’s name,” I frowned, “At least, I don’t think I do.”
“What is it then?” the man demanded, stopping in front of a large steed, feeding him an apple.
“Lolita,” I said nervously, wincing at how childish that name was. It wasn't just childish...it was brazen also. There was at least three whores here who had the same name.
“That is a whore’s name,” he deadpanned, “Change it, figure something out.”
“How about...Primrose?” I asked him tentatively, I had always liked that set of names...Ophelia, Victoire, Elizabeth, Primrose...Those names I loved very much. They were all very elegant to me. He sniffed with disdain, looking down at me as though he was not quite sure what to make of me. It was clear that he thought that name far too elegant for the likes of me. “Or Elizabeth?” I suggested.
“Better,” he told me curtly. “A waste of a good name, but it will do. It isn’t yours forever, you know?”
“I know,” I said, realizing that this truth was perhaps the most devastating truth that I have ever come across.
*~*~*
As it turns out, the Dunedain's name was Haroc, but I didn’t think that was his real name, funnily enough. Other than the fact that he was a moody grump, we got along swimmingly. At least, as swimmingly as any acquaintance would get, when neither spoke to the other.
The path to Rivendell was infinitely more dangerous than I thought it would be. It just seemed so clear and so airy from afar..but now, the trees literally seemed to cave in on each other and by the time it was in the afternoon, all I could think about was if I was dressed appropriately, how would they receive me, will they even consider receiving me? Maybe I was sweating too much and looked like a melting wax statue.
“Take care, madam,” Haroc told me, “These borders are well protected but the seed of Morgoth is strong.”
I blinked at him. A war had passed, an entire three millennia ago. Many great and renowned princes, lords, kings, and commanders fell and rose. The Last Alliance, it was called, because everyone fought. Feanor’s last living, direct descendant, Celebrimbor, died in it in the most notorious and infamous way: under the hand of the servants of Sauron. It was so infamous. It was the subject of many scary bedtime stories or prompts to get children to be obedient. Many stories and songs about the war would bring nightmares into my dreams, even still, when I knew better. Still, many referred to it. There may be peace in our time, but there was always a shadow lurking. The war, even when it had faded into the years, was a sore subject for many because the population was barely recovering and the seed of Morgoth was relentless, even in defeat.
“I have a knife,” I said helpfully taking out the measly butter knife I carried around with me for as long as I was ever aware.
“That is little better than a poke,” he sighed, seeming impatient. I frowned, I stabbed a man’s eye with it when he tried to force me once. I stabbed him deep enough to make him suffer wordlessly for many hours, in a ditch, before he died three days later. No one ever suspected it was me. But Haroc didn’t need to know that. It was the only time I ever used it and it always saddened me to think about it. It never felt good to do that...but he was too strong and I had panicked, I hadn't known that I did it until I did it. It all happened so fast. But I was right to do it I suppose, and that is why I never wasted a minute's sleep on it and sometimes, I even forgot about it.
But I was loathed to think about that time, but it was easy to forget about it. No one needed the influence of Morgoth in this village. I suppose I did them all a favour without them knowing.
“Will we be there soon?” I was getting nervous, trying to reel my head away from such dark thoughts and unto urgent matters.
“Just a turn up ahead and another few miles to kill,” Haroc said casually.
My shoulders slumped. I will surely be fired by then...this journey was useless and I wasn't guaranteed a ride back. I shouldn’t have taken such a foolish, useless journey. Money is money, what was wrong with a few half-chewed shillings? What made me think that the elves would want them instead? It was all very terrible and a confused business. it was all misleading. I was too simple to think anything like that through. Just when I opened my mouth to tell him to disregard me in the journey...that I will be heading back, an arrow whizzed past us.
I froze, my words dying in my throat, I didn’t know what just happened, but I had a terrible hunch.
“Run,” Haroc snarled, shoving me off his horse and unto the ground, painfully on my bum. I rolled away from his horse’s hooves, lest the horse actually panics and crush me. I did exactly as he commanded me, running away from the horse, limping at first to get adjusted to the change in dynamics.
“Run!” I could hear him around me and I could hear the screeches, the terrible screeches, inhuman and blood-curdling. I ran as fast as I could, barely affording to look back lest I trip over a vine or something. My feet felt clumsy...I felt clumsy. This was all happening too fast...too soon.
Loud horns blasted behind me and I let out a panicked cry, there were more of these creatures? I could see them when I glanced around me, black ad bulky, snarling and yelling in their strange, foul language. They were running to catch up with me, I realized. This made my mouth taste bitter. Their smell, even when I was running so far away from them, was reeking. It was suffocating.
Oh, Dear Eru, save me.
But my prayers were not to be answered today because all of a sudden, I stopped at the edge of a cliff overlooking the water. The dropped looked long and deadly and so did the prospect of becoming a toy to these foul creatures. I heard tales of their cruelty, their sadism, and their terrible nature. I heard how they impaled Celebrimbor, the greatest of the Noldor after Feanor, and marched with him like a banner. I heard what they did to that Noldorin Elf-Lord. I knew of they burned and raped villages, how they mutilated little children. I would rather dive head first into the rocks.
But my feet wouldn’t take me any further, I didn’t have the courage. I turned around fearfully, the creatures had surrounded me. I blinked back tears...my unnaturalness that was so despised by the people in my village was nothing compared to the atrocities standing before me, laughing and cursing, taunting me, brandishing their weapons. How could anyone have ever disdained me when they saw these creatures?
But then the arrows rained down upon these creatures, causing me to shriek in alarm. I stepped back in fear, looking at the source of the arrows. Tall men, on large, fair steeds, rode towards me. I felt a relief that turned my knees boneless. I would not meet my end today--
They were not stopping. They kept going at full speed, even after they have slain all the orcs. I stepped back once more in alarm. My foot slipped and I was suddenly floating in mid-air.
It was a terrible feeling, the feeling of suspension, on literally nothing. And the feeling of dropping on a flat surface of the water was even worse because the pain was so terrible, I cried out and swallowed so much water, I saw black.
I was going to drown.