Chapter 2: A Bad Sense of Humour
A quiet murmuring of voices penetrated Rachel's senses as she began to regain consciousness. Her head dully throbbed as she began to focus. There were, she had now determined, two voices, apparently arguing over who she was. Inwardly sighing, Rachel knew she would have to leave the cradle of comfortable half-sleep and open up to the world. As she opened her eyes she became aware that she was in a relatively large room, lying in a feathery bed, with soft sunlight filtering through the window onto her face. Rachel turned her head slightly, wincing as the throbbing increased a notch, to put faces to the two people that were arguing over her. Prior to this moment, Rachel had thought that a double-take was something only seen in corny comedies, but when she looked at the two faces, her brain seemed to need a second look to determine whether she was right the first time. After it had done so, she was suddenly very wide awake, "BLOODY HELL!"
The two people turned in surprise and immediately made towards Rachel. Although their actions were in concern, it only made her more agitated. Rachel frantically began scrambling around, trying to get away, or at least to sit up. Neither it seemed, were going to be possible; as soon as she lifted herself no more than a few inches from the pillow, a combined wave of dizziness and nausea hit her with full force, causing her to lie back down. 'Oh God,' thought Rachel, 'Why do they have to look exactly like they do in the film?'
Staring worriedly down at her was none other than Gandalf and Lord Elrond, exact replicas of how they had looked on the silver screen. "My Lady," spoke Gandalf softly, "Calm yourself, we mean you no harm. I am Gandalf, and this is Lord Elrond, whose house it is in that you reside. May I enquire as to your name and origin?"
Rachel could only stare, petrified. It all flooded back to her, the pain, the heat. Unconsciously, she groped for her necklace, which she found, cold as ice, against her chest. Elrond took her silence for feeling a little ill so said, "The sick feeling will pass my lady. You were found by a patrol early yesterday morning, hot with a fever that has only recently broken."
Finally, Rachel snapped herself out of her stupor, reasoning with herself that, though she may be in Middle Earth, at least she was in no immediate danger. "My name is Rachel, and although I could tell you where I come from, you wouldn't have heard of it in a million years, I can promise you that." Before either could reply, there was a knock and an elf entered. He then said something in what Rachel presumed was elvish before retreating.
Frowning, Gandalf turned to Elrond and muttered something along the lines of being excused and being worried about someone. Turning back to Rachel he apologised, "I am sorry my lady, but I must excuse myself." With that, he quickly swept out of the room.
"I will send for someone to tend to you my lady; you should feel fine in a day, elvish healing is most affective when concerning human ailments. I must also excuse myself, although I would like to resume this conversation when you are feeling better." Elrond bowed and left the room just as hurriedly as Gandalf.
Frowning at their odd behaviour, Rachel stared at the ceiling, trying to think of a way out of her predicament. She must have dozed off, because when she awoke, sunlight was streaming through in all its brilliance. She didn't have to wonder what had woken her for long, because at that moment a smiling, perfect elven face looked down on her. "My lady, you are awake! You have been asleep for over a day since Lord Elrond last saw you, he was worried that you might have relapsed. My name is Bellethewyn. How may I be of service?"
"I've been asleep for that long? Wow, a guess travelling to another world has that effect on you." Rachel muttered.
"My lady?"
"Never mind," sighed Rachel, "and my name's not 'my lady' it's Rachel, and I would be grateful if you used it."
"Of course Lady Rachel."
Groaning, but knowing that was as close as she was going to get, Rachel turned her attention to something more important, "Where are my clothes?"
"I am not certain, but this wardrobe is full of clothes, so I am sure we will be able to find you something," beamed Bellethewyn.
An hour later, Rachel was looking at herself in a mirror in badly disguised disgust. She had been forced in to a light blue meringue of a dress, with all of the trimmings. Rachel had never been a big fan of dresses, but had been known to tolerate them. This, however, was a step too far. Bellethewyn on the other hand, thought it was perfect. "Lord Elrond wishes to speak with you. I think this dress suits such a purpose. In fact, I should take you to him now; it would not do to be late."
Rachel leaned against the balcony outside Elrond's study, waiting for him to arrive. Quietly, she watched the elves go about their daily business and noted just how perfect this Rivendell really was. Normally, Rachel found the silence of the countryside unnerving, but here it just…fitted.
A commotion below Rachel jerked her out of her reverie. Looking down, she jumped slightly at seeing exact copies of Bilbo and Arwen, just like the film. They were arguing about something. Leaning closer, Rachel managed to catch a few words from Bilbo. "I demand to at least talk to your father Lady Arwen, for I am dreadfully worried about Frodo and no one has spoken a word to me of his condition."
"Frodo was stabbed Bilbo and is very sick, but my father is certain of recovery." Arwen was clearly trying to comfort the old hobbit, "Come, we will try and find Gandalf."
As they walked off, Rachel groaned and looked skyward, now it all made sense. "You know," she muttered to no one in particular, "you have a sense of humour worse than my Dad's. Not only do you dump me in a world that by all rights should never have left its perfectly good home of a DVD, in a dress that looks like a reject from circus tent auditions, but you go the whole hog and put me in right before the biggest war this place is likely to experience! Thanks a bunch."
"My lady? Who are you talking to?"
Spinning around, Rachel came face to face with Elrond giving her a very strange look, "Jeez! Don't do that! You wanna give me a heart attack?"
"I apologise my lady, I did not mean to scare you."
"Rachel. It's Rachel." They both returned inside and Elrond gestured for her to be seated.
"I apologise that Gandalf could not also be here, but he is…in disposed." Elrond sat down opposite Rachel and leaned forward against his desk.
"Yeah, I know, I guess he's with Frodo. I mean, the guy got stabbed by, oh what's his name?" Rachel searched for the right name; having not been a major fanatic of Lord of the Rings in the first place and only ever having seen the films, some of the more obscure details were not very well known to her. "The Witch King, that's it." Rachel grinned at her achievement.
Elrond looked shocked, then his voice grew dark and weary, "How is it that you know of something that no one without coming into contact with Frodo should know?"
"I, I err…." Rachel struggled for words, how was she to explain to an all powerful elf that where she came from, he was created by a fiction writer? Sighing, Rachel decided to explain everything that would not affect the future of Middle Earth. Fingering her necklace for support, she began, "I come from a place called Great Britain, one of the many countries on Earth. Not Middle Earth, just plain Earth. I have no idea how I got here, and have an even less of an idea of how to get home. Where I live, you are all characters in a trilogy of books, a complete work of fiction. I know that there is something very important about to happen, and I know how this is going to end."
"How is this possible?" Elrond needed to know.
Although his voice had been gentle, Rachel was beginning to reach her limit. "I told you. I. Don't. Know." Elrond opened his mouth again, but Rachel had already blown. She began to rise to her feet, screaming at him, "D'you think that I planned this? Do you think I wanna stay here? I don't give a damn about your stupid war. As far as I'm concerned, this isn't REAL!"
In her rage, she had made it over to the window again. Elrond went over to her and spoke up, now sure that she had expended herself. "I understand how you feel. I also realise that what you know could change the future of this world; it is the curse of future knowledge. That is why I offer to you a home here, until we can sort this mess out. Is that acceptable? Rachel?"
The use of her normal name, with no titles attached made Rachel smile. Looking up at Elrond, her smile broke into a grin and she nodded. He made everything sound so easy. Then the sound of hooves brought her attention to the outside. Her eyes were first drawn to a blonde elf; Legolas. He made her feel even calmer; it seemed to be the effect most elves had on her. Then her eyes shifted to a man. With a jolt of realisation, Rachel began backing away. Arrows filled her vision as she relived the moment of the film where Boromir was shot, and then died. Bile rose in her throat and she fled from the room, leaving a shocked Elrond staring after her.
Rachel did not know how she had got there, but she had ended up in a secluded garden. Unable to hold it down any longer, Rachel threw up – not that there was much there in the first place; she hadn't eaten since college. Having spent herself, Rachel slid down a tree to curl up on the ground. Fiercely she sobbed, "You idiot, this isn't fantasy, this is real! Those won't be CG animations getting squashed by Oliphants; it won't be a couple of extras or good actors getting hit with specially designed swords. It'll be real people, with real families who miss them and…oh god!" Burying her head in her arms, Rachel submitted herself to the floods of tears and cried, and cried, and cried.
