Why do I bother with this fucking place, why do I bother with any of it? Nenni had always known the farm would be too much to manage on her own. It had been four months since the Highway Patrol came to the door, telling her that Michael had been killed in a car accident on the Interstate. He had finished delivering the week's supply of produce to all the customers, and they were to have gone to see a movie that afternoon. And then, some drunken asshole crossed the highway median and took Michael out, head on. Eyewitnesses said, he'd had no chance to avoid what happened.
They had been enjoying the last year, so very much. Finally they had paid off the credit cards, had started to be able to save, and were even making plans for a big trip to London in a few more years. Mum and dad, who had been trying at the best of times, had passed on after their long illnesses. Nenni and Michael were finally free to care only for themselves. Their little farming business, that they'd worked so hard to build up, had been shifted from ongoing toil to a pleasant hobby. The purchase of the new garden tractor, two years back, reduced their work even more. Nenni loved tending her fruit trees and vegetable gardens, which gave them endless streams of delicious food and plenty to sell. Michael especially had loved the antics of the large flock of chickens that filled the refrigerators with eggs, and the hordes of peafowl that made living yard art wherever they strutted and preened. After decades of debt and struggle, it finally seemed like they might be able to enjoy what they'd worked for. Ah, nope.
Nenni's early years had been less than pleasant, marked by an unusually difficult family life. Her family had been unstable and dysfunctional in ways that most others found difficult to understand, and it left her in a perpetual state of struggle. Her existence was both a war against her internal despair as well as an uphill climb toward anything she wished to achieve. Much was a fight against naysayers and opposition, usually in the form of the very people on whom she should have been able to rely for encouragement and support. And the sad thing was, Nenni wasn't a bad person; quite the opposite.
As an adult she made efforts to to feel better, and sought help when her state of mind became unbearable. But no matter how much effort was invested, the damage always reached up and dragged her back down the hole. She wanted her life to be about finding something meaningful, doing something to make the world a better place. Michael had been the one good constant in her life, and she keenly felt the guilt of almost making a wreck of that as well.
To hell with all of it , she thought. With Michael gone, she did what she'd done all her life when things went to shite, in between the forms, phone calls, and every other unwelcome intrusion the real world had to offer. She escaped into her favorite books and films. Harry Potter, Twilight, the Dragonriders of Pern, anything by JRR Tolkien. She was really a geek, about the last item on that list. There was profound comfort to be had, in the stories of people who struggled and found their happiness in the end. In any place that wasn't Here.
It was another freakishly miserable summer day; a relatively cool one, at "only" 95 degrees Fahrenheit. How she hated summer weather, the endless burning heat and the cloying dust covering everything. Sure it was good for the tomatoes, eggplants and peaches, but nothing else liked it much. Including Nenni. Around midday the wind had kicked up out of nowhere, and the weather app had said nothing about it. Dammit if it isn't getting even hotter...just more money to run the air conditioner, she thought with disgust. She'd been getting ready to knock off for awhile, too, since in summer the only time she could stand to work was early morning and close to sundown. Michael never minded; he'd be out there working through the hot afternoons. Nenni never understood how he could manage, in the blazing sun.
Another huge gust blew through, one that screamed in the trees. Shit. She wasn't ready for this, nothing was tied down, or secured for a big wind. Electricity seemed to crackle in the air. Beren, her stunning brindle hound dog, accompanied her for a quick look around. Holy Christ, where was this coming from? At this rate, the chickens would blow away south to the neighbors' farm. Wind was nothing new in Acalou county, but this was nuts even by local standards, and it was the wrong time of year. The winds happened worst in spring and fall, and this was mid-August. There were going to be no disgustingly sweaty clothes today...the dirty jeans, t shirt and torn long-sleeved cotton overshirt she habitually wore to keep sun off her fair skin were already dry as a bone. Beren ran out, over to the small grove of century old almond trees, baying like he'd just treed a raccoon.
Those trees should have been removed years ago when they'd first moved here, but she couldn't do it. They were giants, still on their own roots, relics of the first almonds to have ever been planted in this part of California. She had to get Beren out of there. Nenni always made a point to never be near the big almonds in a windstorm. Leave it to him, to go Hound Dog at a time like this. She'd come outside after past storms to find huge shattered branches, each weighing hundreds of pounds, that had been weak or diseased. They could fall like boulders and constituted a real safety risk, but still she couldn't cut them down. The first day Nenni ever saw them, she thought they looked like the most beautiful trees in the world, because they were on their own little place in the country. And they were survivors, some of the last of their kind. Two weeks after their moving day they bloomed, and she fell in love with the crowns of pink blossoms buzzing with honeybees.
"Beren, come! Come here! Beren, dammit, I SAID COME HERE!"
Nenni ran over to drag him back inside, wondering what in hell was making him act this way. She grabbed the scruff of his neck and pulled, and he resisted with all eighty pounds of solid muscle. Shouting louder, in desperation, "Goddammit Beren, we..."
With the noise of a crashing explosion, a mass of splintering wood crushed her to the ground.
Her first conscious thought was, goddamn dog is still barking. Baying. Whatever. To live with a hound dog, is to understand that they have a language. A vocabulary, even. Each one of those dozens of noises means something, and they usually have a lot to say...something had Beren's interest, but not the same something as before. He was hunting, and chasing it into the distance. She cracked her eyes open, blinking to focus. Soil, and mouldering leaves...the smell told her something was wrong, even before her eyes could adequately focus. This wasn't her soil. The smell was damp with decay, not the dry scent of grasses. Was she hearing a huge commotion? There was another set of noises, besides the racket Beren was making. It might be wise to get out of here, she considered. Or not.
Two small twitches, by way of an attempt to move, left her realizing she'd been hurt, but good. Once, she'd broken a bone in her back, and was pretty sure this was beyond that. Many voices moved closer, and she couldn't understand them. Nenni knew smatterings of quite a few languages, but this speech didn't register. It crossed her mind to panic, but even that would hurt too much. She felt hands on her, lifting her from the ground, and screamed from the agony of being moved. Darkness took her.
Feeling beyond ill, she returned to consciousness... and entertained possibility that she dying. Medical stuff never freaked her out; that was what her mum and dad always did. Freak out. She could mention to them she had a sore throat, and they'd act like she'd just announced terminal cancer. Medicine was so interesting, and she'd learned to be dispassionate about illness and injury long ago...it had served her well. Nenni was a damn good emergency medical tech, able to think clearly and quickly how best to help people. Which was why she was reasonably certain that something was seriously unwell, inside of her. She gave even odds that her blood pressure was in the dumpster, among other problems. Nenni forced her grey eyes open, to see exquisite blue ones staring back at her, out of a pale face. Darkness returned.
Many hours later, Nenni awoke fully, still gripped by pain. She slowly turned her head enough to see heavy bars of surprisingly intricacy across a stone doorway. Where in absolute hell am I, a jail cell? Dungeon? She chuckled to herself. Do they think I'm going to run off and leave them, in this condition? Whoever "they" even are...who on earth has a dungeon? This is right up there with the scene in the basement of Malfoy Manor, where Luna Lovegood and Mr. Ollivander were imprisoned, she thought, except I am fairly certain that this is not Malfoy Manor.
The ability to worry about any of this was subsumed by the near certainty that she was dreaming. Her hands told her she was lying on a bed of some kind; it was not uncomfortable. Gathering her thoughts, she gave herself the whispered pep talk: "It's time to try an exam, Nenni, you've got to assess what's working and what's not." Christ. She felt so weary. Physical pain of all sorts had been an unwelcome constant of her life, icing on the cake of all the emotional pain she'd suffered as well. Even when she was a little girl, she had migraines so bad she'd wished she could bang her head through the wall to stop the throbbing. Sigh.
Nenni, focus, she commanded herself. First the hands, wrist, elbows, arms. They seemed OK bones-wise, but it felt like there were cuts or other skin injuries. Deep cuts, too, from the dull ache of them. She carefully flexed and tensed toes, feet, lower legs OH SHIT as pain tore through her right leg. Ankle? Tib/fib? Strike one. Very carefully, she slightly moved her neck in the opposite direction, then tensed the muscles down the length of her spine. They seemed intact enough, but a racking, dull pain somewhere on her back announced itself..so the jury was still out on that. Maybe cracked ribs? But, she was not struggling to breathe, at least. She tried turning her head in each direction, this time with a fuller range of motion, then tested raising her head just a little. It seemed safe to try to sit up, which she did very slowly. A snail would have beat her to the side of the bed. Some minutes after, she had managed to sit on the edge. Her head felt a little dizzy, and even this small effort left her winded.
And where was Beren? That thought brought the first real lurch to her stomach...her dog was one of the few things she still had left to love in this life. He was a shithead half the time to be sure, but he was her shithead.
A figure appeared in front the bars, so if this was a jail or a dungeon, that person must presumably be a guard. "I have orders that you are to be brought before the King, immediately", a man intoned, choosing a skeleton key from a large ring, and unlocking the bars. It was impossible not to notice that he was dressed very unusually, wearing clothing reminiscent of the Middle Ages.
King? She hadn't expected that...had she gone back in time, to someplace they still had kings and dungeons?
"Please, where am I? What happened to me?" Nenni asked.
"No one may speak with you save the King" he replied, with a fleeting look of sympathy. He opened the door and entered, holding a pair of shackles.
She looked up quizzically at him and asked: "What have I done wrong?"
He shook his head slightly and said, "It is our law. Do not resist."
Seeing little choice in the matter, she held out her hands. The steel closed around her wrists, though he took care to be gentle around the deep cuts. "Can I at least ask your name?", she asked, politely.
He glanced behind him to check no one was near, and softly replied "I am called Anthilen."
"Thank you Anthilen, I am Nenni", she whispered in return.
"You must follow me," Anthilen said.
A wave of anxiety passed over her, and she quickly spoke: "Please, something is wrong with one of my legs. I can't walk."
Anthilen called out the cell door for a second guard, giving her a stern look of warning that translated clearly enough as, it would be wise not to betray his moment of friendliness. Anthilen and the other guard held her up by her elbows, and more or less whisked her down a long pathway in a ...was this a cavern?
She'd never seen the like. It hurt like hell to be moved, in spite of their efforts not to jostle her too much. Bewilderment mixed in with wonder, because wherever this was, everything about it was drop dead gorgeous. The cathedrals she'd seen in Europe had nothing on the size and artistry she now beheld. A soft glow from hidden light sources spilled across polished rock carved into intricate designs that paid homage to the natural world. Shafts of sunlight dappled along various columns and buttresses supporting the living stone overhead. If this is Hell, she thought, it can't be so bad after all...but she hoped they had painkillers in Hell.
They brought her along winding, elevated paths, to the King. Raised at the top of a small stone stairway, the King sat languidly upon his throne, the high back of which was crowned with tremendous antlers. Nenni looked on in awe, imagining the mighty animal from whom these came. These antlers were the like of which she'd only ever seen once, in the natural history museum in Vienna. Were there Irish elks here? she wondered. She couldn't wonder much, as it was taking most of her waning strength to balance as the guards left her standing on her good leg.
Her eyes descended from the antlers to the King. His appearance was arresting and incredibly intimidating. He wore rich fabrics that trailed the floor. Long, straight, white-blond hair framed a pale and youthful face, the central feature of which were striking dark eyebrows over ice blue eyes. He wore a crown of what appeared to be living wood, it had actual green leaves growing out of it. How could that be?...typical Nenni, in a mess and all I can think about are the mysteries of botany.
"Do you not know to kneel before a King?" he said imperiously in a sonorous voice, and with thinly veiled anger. Once, such provocative words surely would have enraged her. She'd long since gained mastery over uncontrolled anger, and remained calm. Besides, she still wasn't even sure any of this was real.
Her knees began to bend, while she tried to work out how to lower herself without the free use of her hands. She settled on taking her weight fully on her slowly collapsing left leg, until she could tip sideways to favor her right leg. Then, in theory, she could salvage whatever went wrong from the floor. It was beyond awkward, and the injured right leg paid her back with torment she tried so very hard to hide, but she made it. On her knees before him, she replied softly but clearly, with eyes cast down, "Pardon me, my Lord, in my country we have no kings. I did not know. I meant no disrespect."
His eyes narrowed. "You have no kings, but you know to address me as 'my Lord'?"
Clearly, he paid attention to detail. "Other countries do have kings, my Lord, and I have read about them..."Nenni, Just. Shut. Up. This is hardly a good time.
He rose up and strode down the steps, to circle her slowly. She saw, as the hem of his garments trailed past her, that his robes were made of very fine fabric.
"Why you were trespassing upon my lands? The penalty for entering my realm uninvited is death."
Her eyes opened wide as she looked up at him, surprised to feel no fear, and quite transfixed at his physical perfection. She had never seen someone so ethereal. He turned to reveal that his right hand held a blade; a long one-handed sword of exquisite craftsmanship. Nenni loved to visit museums that had collections of arms and armor, and didn't recognize the shape or style at all. What could she say? With pain flooding too many nerves, a quick execution hardly seemed like the worst outcome to this shitty day. Breathing deeply in and out, she paused before answering. "I do not know where I am, my Lord, nor how I came to be here. My last memory is of being outdoors, at my home. There was a searing hot wind unlike anything, and..." Her deadening eyes were forced to meet his cold gaze, by some reserve of inner strength. To herself she felt hollowed out, deadened from all emotion. "Pardon me, for trespassing...here. Please. I ask of you, to spare my life." Am I sure? His judgement would end a lifetime of assorted miseries. Does he see that half of me hopes he uses his sword?
"Then where are you from?", he demanded, as he ignored her.
"I am from northern California, my Lord, a small rural town called Talein. It is not too far from San Francisco." His expression was unreadable.
"These-what are these? They were taken from your clothing by my guards." She glanced at the ornate plate to which he gestured and felt the faintest inner smile.
"Those are almonds, my Lord, from my farm." "
"What are almonds?"
"They are a nut, my Lord, a food. The part that is eaten is inside the shell. They are also the seeds of the tree." She'd picked up some of them up that morning, under the old IXL, with its beautiful, twisting trunk.
The King continued to stare, at the almonds, at Nenni, weighing each in his thoughts. "What are you called?" he demanded.
"Nenni, my Lord." Why did his eyes suddenly flare, had she said something wrong?
After a moment he spoke: "I will grant what you ask, but there is a price. In exchange for your life you will vow to remain here, in subjection and fealty to me, and to the laws of this Realm. Do you accept?"
Her lips parted. To live, she had to give up her freedom? Something inside of her sank under a crushing weight. But she did not truly want to die so, there was not much else for it. There was no choice being given, here...and the part of her that had always soldiered on, would probably do so again. She took one last sigh, as a free person. If you could call being shackled on the floor "free." Ok, not really. Nenni, Just. Shut. Up.
She raised her head slowly to look at him and answered: "Yes, my Lord, I accept. I give you my word." How strange that sounded, rolling off her American tongue!
A faint trace of satisfaction flitted across his face. "I am Thranduil, your King. Rise."
And how is that going to happen? Getting down here was hard enough, in case he hadn't noticed. He didn't seem the sort that was open to discussion, so she tried to get up onto her left leg...only to lose balance and crash right back down to the floor again. A cry of pain escaped her lips as the color drained from her face.
The King rushed to lift her up, as though she weighed nothing at all. He delivered her into the arms of a guard, to whom he gave instructions. She was carried through several passages to a large, well-lit room that smelled sweetly of an array of herbs, and had many beds. All of them stood empty, at the moment. She was lowered down onto a soft, elevated surface, and propped up on what she supposed was a treatment table. Though, there was nothing clinical about this place. Clean fabrics in shades of greens and russets covered pillows and mattresses. Tables of pale, carved wood could be moved as needed. The room looked scrupulously clean and bright...unlike her. With some embarrassment, Nenni realized how awful she must look. A small flask of liquid was pressed into her hand by a kindly looking woman. "Drink all of this, it will help relieve the pain", she directed.
Why not, Nenni thought... if they are poisoning me, it could only improve the situation.
She complied, and found the taste neither pleasing nor repugnant... indescribable, really, but that was a good word for most herbal remedies. Where in hell was she? And...he said King Thranduil, didn't he? As in, The Hobbit, King Thranduil? She weighed whether she having a full-on psychotic episode...a break from reality. But it began to dawn on her that she was surrounded by people of unusual personal beauty. Tall and slender, all with impeccably kept long hair. They. Had. Pointed. Ears. Were they...elves? Her eyes grew as large as dinner plates.
Things like this can't happen, it's impossible. Sure as hell, I'm going to wake up in a room with padded walls...she tried to remember her psychiatric evaluation training, but it was becoming much harder to focus as whatever she had swallowed took hold of her. Busy hands were cutting away the wreckage of her ruined clothing. The medicine seemed to be helping, because the moving of her limbs didn't hurt as bad as it ought to have. One elf lady left, to return with warm water. Nenni watched with detachment, as they worked to soak off the pieces of fabric that had glued themselves to the deeper cuts. Good work, she thought. These folks would make fine medical techs.
How long had she been here before waking? she idly wondered, as they expertly moved her body to assess her injuries. Thankfully, that included discreetly covering the parts of her she'd rather not have be on display. It had always made her feel bad, having to cut off people's clothes; it was a terrible invasion of privacy when they were already having the worst sort of day. Their eyes widened in surprise, at seeing the extensive tattoo of flowers and vines that her ragged clothes had hidden. Nenni smiled back at them. She loved her artwork. Just as quickly, they draped cloth over her bare skin.
And then, He came in. The room fell silent, as the others made room for him. "You require healing. Lie still," the King commanded. A bowl of steaming water was brought to him, into which he crushed a fair quantity of a plant she didn't recognize. A smell of clean rain and blossoms filled the room, and a sense of well-being difficult to put into words descended over her. It was calming, but did not feel like a drug. He laid his perfect hands on her ankle and began to speak. If she understood correctly, he asked the Valar for his grace to be passed on to her, as he touched and bathed every injury large and small. From time to time, he would look deeply into her eyes, commanding her not to move or blink. It was difficult to obey, because his gaze was daunting and difficult to bear, but obey she did; she had given her word for this and much more.This simply could not be happening.
As the minutes wore on, she found herself reflecting on one central consideration. Whatever I've landed myself in, it can hardly be worse than the life I left behind. King Thranduil tended every cut, splinter, puncture, bruise and broken bone that the healers had found. As her pain abated, she felt considerable gratitude toward him. Her breathing begin to ease. Her mind was drawing to a standstill as she watched him in fascination, saying nothing. She thought she remembered reading, don't speak to kings or queens unless first spoken to. When he was satisfied with his work, he rose and gently tilted her chin to look up at him one last time, and laid his other hand on the side of her head. His eyes were softer now, very different than earlier. An overwhelming need to sleep pulled at her, and she found herself unable to resist leaning her cheek into his hand. She blinked at him, still fighting the losing battle to remain awake. "Rest now," he said. "We will speak again later."