Millie and the King
Summary: Millicent Thomas knew she was going to die the moment she saw the German bomber plane overhead. All she ever wanted to do was help people and it seemed to be God's wish that she die doing her job. Which is why, upon opening her eyes, Millicent was surprised to find herself surrounded by tall, long-haired warriors with sharp arrows pointed at her.
Had she died after all or had the Germans won the war and taken her prisoner? Why did they have pointy ears and sound vaguely welsh? And what kind of a name was Thranduil anyway?
A/N: I'm back with another fic! Actually, I'll be uploading two fics kind of at the same time. This sort of takes place within the "Castaways" universe but follows a completely different story. This idea came to me when I played around with the question "What did Thranduil do during and after War of the Ring?" and then Millie started demanding I tell her story, so here we are.
Chapter One
Millie
Everyone has a story to tell. Sometimes they're sad but with happy endings. Sometimes they're scary but filled with hope. My story? My story begins with my ending and how I found myself in the realm of the woodland king.
London, 1940
I am losing him.
I can tell because they all have the same look in their eyes, just moments before their hearts stop beating. After that, it's only a few seconds before the light in their eyes fades and they're gone from this world. I always make sure to find out their names because that way, they stay real to me. So many have already lost their lives in this awful war. I often wonder how many of them are nameless. How many of them live in fear of being forgotten, despite their remarkable service to this country.
I never forget them. It is a promise I made myself when I took this job. I keep all their names written down in my journal that I carry with me.
His name was Matthew, only a few years younger than myself. Short, blonde hair and innocent blue eyes. The wound punctured his lungs and saving him was almost impossible. Even though we know it's impossible, we still try. My heart always aches the most for the young ones. They sacrifice so much for us, only to leave us without knowing whether or not it was worth it in the end.
"Time of death, 8.45PM." Dr MacArthur says with a heavy tiredness in his voice that I've heard all too often lately. "Why don't you go home for the night, Millicent? You've been here longer than I have."
"I'm happy to stay longer." I protest but MacArthur gestures with his hand, as if to shut me up before I say anything else. I can take a hint and when I sit down to change shoes, I can feel how rough and sore they are. Perhaps, if I'm lucky there might still be some hot water left in the boilers and I can soak my feet while enjoying a nice cup of tea. I stand up, and put on my blue coat, there's a mirror just next to the coathanger and for the first time all day, I notice circles under my eyes and how frizzy my short blonde hair is. I just didn't have enough time this morning to properly use the hair curlers but that's just how it goes sometimes.
"Ah, Miss Thomas. Heading home for the evening, I see?"
I slightly startle as the sound of Mr Grayham's voice reaches my ears and when I look in the mirror, I see him behind me. For as long as I have been working at this hospital, Mr Grayham has been its night porter, making sure everything is safe and sound as there is usually less staff available in the evening. He's a sweet old man with a warm, inviting smile. Even though we have only known each other for a few months, he feels like an old family member who has been there. Strange really, how some connections we make with people are so instant that we never doubt them.
"Yes, I can't wait to get some food in me and crawl into bed." I reply as my stomach makes a demanding growling noise. Clearly, I've been neglecting my own hunger but sometimes, that's just how the job goes.
"I noticed you wrote down some new names in that book of yours." Mr Grayham points out with a nod to the satchel bag I carry over my shoulder. "What do you do with their names, I wonder? Do you write them down for safekeeping or do you create something with them?"
Mr Grayham's question is filled with genuine curiosity and I ponder my answer carefully for a while. These evening chats have become a routine and something I look forward to at the end of a long day. There's a lot of talking involved in my job because oftentimes, the soldiers who come are frightened and lonely. They need someone who can assure them they will be looked after and that everything will be fine, even when we know it won't.
"Sometimes, I listen to their stories and then I write them down." I explain "There's always a few missing pieces so I have to guess and make additions. It doesn't always feel right though, I mean they're not really my stories to tell."
"Well perhaps they are." Mr Grayham says "You have taken it upon yourself to make certain that their legacy is passed on and remembered. That itself is a very noble quest, but I do wonder one thing, Miss Thomas."
"What's that then?"
"What about your story? Do you write that down as well?"
For some reason I chuckle, but there is something serious about Mr Grayham's voice when he asks this question. I'm certainly no author and writing down the stories of these poor soldiers is something I do because it also helps me cope with everything that's happening.
"I don't have a story to tell, Mr Grayham." I chuckle to shake off the uneasiness "Certainly not one that's worth telling at any rate."
"Oh, everyone has a story to tell, my dear." says the old man gently "Perhaps yours simply hasn't begun yet."
No matter how bleak things might seem or how tired we all are, Mr Grayham always has a smile on his face and there's always a slight hint of mischief in his eyes. He remains a bit of a mystery to us all really, with his grey hair and beard. Everytime he looks at me, I feel the urge to look away even though he's a perfectly lovely and charming old man. Even so, sometimes I can't help but to feel like when he looks at me, he can really see me. I glance at my wristwatch and realise it's getting late. With everything going on, nobody wants to stay out longer than they need to.
"Be careful out there, Miss Thomas." Mr Grayham warns me, "There is change in the air tonight."
"Goodnight, Mr Grayham." I say and wave to the old man. "Until next time."
"Yes...yes indeed, child."
I tuck my hands into my coat pockets and shake my head. Mr Grayham's strangeness is nothing new, but for some reason, it makes me feel uneasy. My flat is a brisk twenty minute walk from the hospital and tonight, I'm more eager than usual to get back inside the warmth. Mr Grayham was right about one thing, something in the air feels different and it isn't just the chill of the evening wind biting into my skin. At first, I shake it off as paranoia and tiredness from a long day, but as I walk a few more paces I catch a glimpse of a bright light in the corner of my eyes, soon followed by the sound of airplane engines. My heart immediately begins to skip a few beats and then I hear the wailing of the siren. We've known this day might be coming but nothing has been able to prepare us for the reality of an actual attack.
The bombings begin with a shower of slow-burning incendiaries. Almost instantly the sky fills up with fire and smoke as more bombs keep falling. My survival instincts kick in and I just keep running towards my home, and all I can hear around me around people screaming. I keep running while I hold my breath, but my fear gets the better of me and makes me catch my foot on a cobblestone. I cry out in pain as I fall over and I know immediately I've sprained my food. I try to push myself up but it's too painful. I call out for help but people are too busy saving themselves. I'll never forget the noise of the bombs as gravity pulled them closer towards the ground.
I'll never forget that bright, white light and how in that moment, I knew it was over.
The first strange thing I notice when I regain consciousness is that I'm lying on something soft and damp. A somewhat musky smell penetrates my nostrils and my hands grab hold of what I realise is moss. There's no moss in the middle of London? It takes a while before I'm physically capable of opening my eyes and when I find the strength to do so, my vision is blurry. I can just about make out several tall moving shapes around me and I think they're people. That's when it truly strikes me that by some miracle, I'm not dead. I am alive. I don't know how it's possible but I know it's no dream. I can hear whispering and at first, I wonder if it's german because it's not a language I understand, but it's also not like any German accent I've ever heard. Eventually, my blurred vision clears and I'm able to take a proper look around me. The second strange thing I notice is that I'm in a forest, but it's unlike any forest I have ever seen. I can't quite explain what makes it so different, but it's darker here and it just feels a bit off.
"Ah, so she lives."
The voice that speaks to me is also dark. It's filled with impatience and almost annoyance over my being here. I tilt my head upwards to get a closer look at who the voice belongs to, and that's, when I notice the third strange thing. I'm not alone. I'm lying in a forest, surrounded by tall men, with very long hair. They're all dressed in strange clothes and to make things more interesting, they have weapons aimed at me. Some of them are holding bow and arrow while some of them are carrying actual swords. If they are Germans, they must be a different branch of the army. One of them, who has incredibly long, dark brown hair to his waist, broad shoulders and….pointy ears, walk up to me. He puts his sword away and bends down in front of him.
"Let us keep this simple, shall we?" he says with a smirk "Who are you and how did you come to be in our land?"
"Uh….m-my name is Millicent Thomas." I stutter, "I honestly don't know how to answer that second question. One minute I was in London and there was a bomb falling on my head and next thing I know I wake up here."
"London? I have never heard of such a place. Is it a kingdom of man?"
"Well...it's the United Kingdom…so, I suppose so?"
I can tell the stranger in front of me is just as confused as I am. He's studying me almost as if he is trying to figure out if I'm lying or not. Maybe they think I'm some sort of spy?
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude," I say carefully, not wanting to risk actual death "But...who are you and where am I?"
"Well, my lady, that I can answer for you. My name is Halath and I am Captain of the Mirkwood Guard. You are in Woodland Realm of Mirkwood - home of the elven King Thranduil."
Elves. Mirkwood. Kings.
My head is spinning and I begin to feel an uneasy sensation that begins in my stomach and then travels up to my throat. I know I'm going to be sick. Before I can stop myself, I bend over and throw up on Halath's boots. A dizziness comes over me and the last thing I remember before I pass out is Halath saying something in that strange language.
To be continued….
There we go! A new fic! Very different from what I usually write, so we'll see how this one goes! I have half a mind to potentially make this a crossover with my other fics, hence having it as a part of the same series but you can absolutely read it as a total standalone. Please let me know what you think and leave a comment/kudos/a review.
Thanks a bunch
