My cat Finn died suddenly and unexpectedly of heart failure Thursday. He was seven. I probably won't be updating for a while.

(Hey I'm her roommate. She's not in a great place. She told me what to write.)

Trigger warnings for sexual assault, rape, human trafficking.

Chapter 30

"A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other." - Charles Dickens

Two-ish years ago:

Monica had done some seriously dumb shit in her life, but she thought she might have finally reached the ultimate stupid-as-fuck thing. Dating a guy she knew dealt weed in a state where buying weed was legal from a pot shop, stupid. Dating a guy she knew carried a gun, extra stupid. But you know what really took her dumb shit to the next damn level? She let the mother fucker put a blindfold on her and take her phone while the tiny voice in her brain that sounds like her mamá said:

No me gusta mija.

Monica's little brain, the one between her legs, told her this was their one month anniversary and he promised mind-blowing sex. In a beautiful hotel he wouldn't tell her the name of that supposedly looked out over the Hoover Dam. Look at her dumb ass running right past that red fucking flag.

She'd been to the Hoover dam recently with Beats in tow! How, how, how the fuck did she miss that straight up lie!

Now she was shit out of luck and not sure she was ever going to see her parents, her brothers or her bestie again.

Her boyfriend said keep the blindfold on, but Monica had always been the curious type. She always wanted to know why. That's why she loved E so much. Bitch always knows why and if Moni ever had something she doesn't know, E would find the answer and dumb it down for Moni if it's in genius speak.

From the minute E's tiny ass walked into their dorm room and said, "that poster is upside down." Served Monica's ass right for buying the four bohemian truths in Japanese kanji when she couldn't read it.

It's better she dropped the blindfold a little though, isn't it? Or worse shit would have happened. Paul, of course it would be this fucking guy, with his back to the yellow Mustang he just loved so much she had to take off her fucking shoes to sit in it, exchanging a huge wad of cash with some gigantic asshole who looked too clean cut not to be skeevy. He motioned to the car but didn't look at Monica or his ride. Mister tall, broad and goddamn terrifying had his body angled away and only gave her and the car a cursory glance.

She was being sold.

Monica didn't move. She didn't breathe. The big white van behind them told her everything she needed to know about her future. If she was ruled pretty enough she would be shipped to a grooming facility where she would be raped and beaten into submission to be sold. If she wasn't pretty enough, she would be shipped to a brothel somewhere no one she loved or who loves her will ever find her.

Move. E's voice wasn't quite as small anymore in her suddenly extra quiet brain.

But they had gu-

Gun. Paul kept a gun in his glove box.

It took so much energy to limit her movements. Her hands and arms were shaking. It's not small in her hand. She thought it might be a twenty-two? Or maybe a thirty-eight? E used to drag her to the range. Monica knew the rudimentaries of how to use it. She checked the safety twice to make sure it was good. She just didn't like guns.

She never had.

Monica's dad, and her abuelo, they both keep guns in their houses. She learned they weren't toys when she was little.

He took her phone. She didn't see it anywhere. He took her bag and threw it in the back seat. She looked up again and they're still talking. It was a stretch and her shoulder hurt from it, but she managed to grab her bag and pull it forward. Now or never. He was so fucking confident he didn't click the locks. Fucker. The car was dead silent as she pushed open the passenger side door.

I am not a statistic. I am going to see my mamá and papá again. I am going to hug my brothers again. I am going to eat my abuela's tamales again. My tía Juanita is supposed to visit from Guadalajara in two months, everyone says I'm just like her. I am going to meet her. I am getting out of here. I am going home. I am going to hug my brothers. I am going to see my best friend marry my brother and become my sister. I am not going to disappear into the ether.

She winced as she closed the car door behind herself. No sound. Please. Please.

She was practically crawling on her hands and knees, her jeans and skin getting torn up on the gravel. Her flats weren't for running but she didn't really have a choice.

The second she was past the small rest lot, Monica made a break for it.

Into the fucking desert.

The shouting started about ten seconds after she was past the first dune. Loud pops that she knew in her bones were gunfire and more yelling. She just kept running. Monica would rather have risked surviving out here in who knows where Arizona (but then this could still be Nevada right? Or Cali?).

She ran and ran and ran until the night was dark and cold and the desert under her feet began to feel like straw and grass. She had a massive dehydration headache. There's no residual heat from the day and the trees have gone from desert plants to plants she didn't know. Except that these aren't desert plants, she didn't know much about plants, but she had lived in the desert all of her life.

Desert plants have a sharpness. They exist to protect themselves from their environment and from potential predators.

Her heart was pounding and she was nearly falling over with adrenaline crash but fuck. Where am I? Where did Paul stop the car? Moni remembered the drive, it hadn't been that long. They were supposed to go over the dam into Arizona. This definitely wasn't Mexico, the drive down to her parents and grandparents home country took way longer.

Her bag was too fucking heavy and it's throwing her weight off. The gun felt weird in her other hand so she tucked it away in her bag. Her feet were beginning to hurt and now that Monica had a chance to look there were so many scratches on her hands and the tops of her feet.

God damn.

But I'm not locked in the back of a van getting carted off to be a sex slave, so there's that.

Settling on the grass, not hard and scratchy like those weird yellow millets that grow on the hills between Nevada and California during the spring and summer. Those hurt like hell if they stuck. These were soft and bendy, grass-like but yellow like wheat. Bag open using only the moonlight to see, there was the gun. She fucking hated those things. So glad she didn't have to use it. Her makeup bag. A bunch of pads and her cup in its case. Small bottle of water! Yes. Thank god. Wallet. Bottle of Lincoln Park After Dark. Random receipts and a few of tootsie rolls from her gym.

Three small sips taken, she put the water back in and dug for anything else. Tiny bottle of peppermint oil and another of bergamot. Lip gloss. Tissues, crumpled but usable. Dayquil, eleven pills. Bottle of mixed meds, allergy stuff, night time ibuprofen, Tylenol and Advil, and seventeen heavy duty Excedrin.

And that fucking gun.

Okay. It'd been a few months since E made Monica go with her. Monica's brother liked it way more, so Santi usually was the one volunteering to go over to the range. There had to be something about guns and sex because once the two of them came home they would go at it like rabbits.

Which Moni didn't get. But that's them so whatever?

Everything back in the bag.

Monica got up, turned around and decided to risk trying to walk back the way she came.

Except, there wasn't any desert at her back. There were rocks and trees and she definitely did not run through a copse of trees or woods.

What. The. Fuck.

Turning in all four directions, there were the occasional outcroppings of rocks and a few sparsely spaced trees. Low hills and lots of flatland.

What?

Monica looked up at the moon and sky and…oh…shit…what?

Years ago she went on this really cool astronomy field trip when with her entire eighth grade class. She got to see the milky way the way it was supposed to look. That shit, above her head, was not how the sky is supposed to look.

Not with light pollution.

There were so many stars in the sky at that moment she couldn't even tell where the north star was to get her bearings. She couldn't even point out the big or little dipper if someone asked her to. The sky was so bright. Oh my god. It's not supposed to look like that.

Unless…unless there is no light pollution? No way. No. Not with the sprawling cities of Los Angeles, and Las Vegas and Phoenix so close together. Not with San Diego too. Parts of the Mojave were removed enough to allow the human eye to see the sky the way it was supposed to look.

This isn't the Mojave though. It can't be. It's too lush. The grass, too soft. The trees are green. There's moss on the rocks. The rocks that get cool the moment the sun goes down instead of holding the heat.

Shit.

Move, people who survive move. E said in Monica's head. So she moved. Walking all fucking night and into the grayish light of dawn. Once the sky was bright and blue she curled up in a ball at the base of an outcropping set of rocks, put her head on the softest part of her bag and went to sleep. Exhaustion was all she felt that first day and night.

She tried to keep from drinking all the water. She had no real food, but you can live weeks without food. Water, three days and you're gone. Sucking on a button will keep your mouth hydrated. E's crazy ass knew all sorts of things about all sorts of things.

If Moncia ever got back home, she was going to give Santi an ultimatum. Marry E or move your ass. He'd been so into her when they first met. Him dragging his heels on giving her the ring he picked out made no fucking sense. She was nothing like his exes.

In high school girls threw themselves at Santi to get a shot at riding along on his football scholarship. Third year of college he busted his left ACL, fractured his right ankle and shattered his right radial bone. Any shot he had at going pro was gone. And so was his long time girlfriend. All of his friends. And his scholarship.

The first time she brought E home Monica remembered it like it was yesterday.

Santi sitting on the couch with his leg in a cast, big old grouchy face hiding his depression. Glaring at papá's new flat screen like it offended him. His crutches leaning against the wall between him and the ugly standing lamp mama claimed was an heirloom. And tiny shy E, fuck was she shy back in their freshmen year, bringing Santi his dinner that mamá told her he won't eat because his anger filled his belly.

Mamá asked her to just bring the plate back, mija, and he'll eat when hunger finds him. Monica and her family sat at the table, mamá, papá, abuela, abuelo, Monica and Diego talking for a good five minutes when Santi laughed. Like he hadn't laughed in months.

Monica saw her mamá grab papá's wrist and papá looked at abuelo and abuela pushed up out of her seat under the portrait of their extended family to see over Diego's head. Monica turned to look at the same time Diego was craning his neck. E, legs and feet tucked under her butt on the couch next to Santi, with him actually eating. Her big brother had a smile just for tiny little E and was talking to her in low tones as he ate.

Abuelo started calling her bruja for the magic she worked. The next morning, Santi sat at the table for breakfast, across from E.

It wasn't like Santi was dragging his feet back then or anything. He wanted E. Like he wanted her bad. But she was dating Caleb and for real, Monica did think E was gonna marry Caleb. She felt kind of felt bad for her big bro, like, Santi was full on waiting for Erdene.

When mamá asked him to try to date someone else he refused. He said he met the love of his life. She just hadn't felt it too yet. He'd be there when she did.

Then she dumped Caleb's ass and Santi went from waiting to being E's boyfriend.

Monica didn't think either of them knew she used to hear snippets of their conversations about the future when Santi moved into our place.

I had a backyard with grass, I think I'd like it if we had a backyard with grass.

We, mi vida?

Maybe…if you're planning to ask me a specific question.

Maybe I am.

Ask me then.

I will, mi vida, I will.

Monica planned their wedding for half the second day. She even wrote their vows. She slept some more once the sun got hot.

Day three Monica had a pounding headache and her feet hurt and she had half a bottle of water left. After three hours of walking she found a stream without trash in it. She said her Hail Mary in English and Spanish while she drank so much water she had to pee like a racehorse twenty minutes later. That night she slept at night.

It was a good thing she had.

She was dreaming about watching those cheesy anime shows E liked. E always put the subtitles on for Monica because she couldn't speak Japanese like her bestie. She liked the Demon Slayer one mostly, but My Hero Academia was okay until the bad guy legit killed his dog by accident. Monica gagged and noped out of that shit real fucking quick.

Couldn't watch John Wick either because of the dog thing. She liked animals. E and Monica were talking about adopting a pitty before Santi moved in. Santi just had to point out none of them were home enough for a doggo's needs and he was allergic to cats. She was open to a birb but what kind? E had grown up without pets so she wasn't much help.

Riding lessons don't count, she told Monica. How much did riding lessons cost anyway? Probably more money than Monica made in a year as an administrative assistant. Even if she did work in an upscale casino.

What was it like to grow up with so much money your family didn't have to budget or Christmas? E's family though. Rich, racist assholes. Her grandmother kept calling Monica that little Latin girl. Asked Monica how many kids she had when she was barely eighteen. Pinche puta.

Monica got why E didn't like going back there. She went for Beats, who was a-fucking-dorable for a kid raised in a cesspool of narcissistic personalities. And E went for her mama. Her mom was so fucking pretty but they look nothing a like. Except for the freckles everywhere. E looked like her dad. Like could be his clone if she wasn't female.

From the way E described her mom, Evelyn wasn't like the rest of them. How many women fall for a guy that much shorter than her? Monica often felt like E's mom would have loved her family. Probably would have been fully fangirling for E to marry Santi.

The sound of horses running woke her up. By the time she was able to get up and try to run they were already all around her. Shiny as fuck armor glowing orange in the morning sun.

First thought, I'm going to die and I'll never see my family again.

You know those movies, where, like the main characters, they end up somewhere they're not supposed to be? Like in that show about Claire and her Scottish hottie. Except this wasn't Monica going backwards in time. Cause, for real, this can't be real, except it is real and she was definitely not okay.

But she was okay enough to not lose her shit and her wig at the same time.

The guys on horses didn't treat her like she was an enemy of the state or whatever. Didn't go full CIA or NSA on her. They spoke in a language she don't know but it sounded familiar as hell. Then one asked her why she was there and her fucking brain took a vacation to the land of: I haven't eaten for four days and I'm weak as fuck.

Monica woke up in a bed of white sheets with white pillows and white walls and white-pink flooring. Everything looked elegantly carved and pristine and she hated it. Like outright full on, nope. Monica wanted to grab some nail polish and paint some abstract art to make it look better. The only thing stopping her was she kind of knew this room. Like, she'd definitely seen it before. More than once. But she couldn't remember where. Or when. Or how.

It was driving her a little bat shit.

And then in walked a tall as fuck woman with straight brown hair to her waist. For real. Perfectly pin fucking straight. Not a single split end to speak of. The woman had this tiny little bit of a silver-ish crown on her head and when she spoke, she called someone outside in that language Monica kind of knew but didn't really know in an accent that Monica equally knew, but couldn't place. A guard with silvery armor walked in and stood inside the doorway. Seriously. A guard? For little old me? Oh. Shit.

There was something seriously off with the tall woman. With the guard too. The way she watched Monica felt weird. Alien.

She was too still.

So was he.

Like they breathed but there weren't any other smaller movements. Muscle twitches. Shifting around. Like…like ancient things. Like vampires. But that was nuts because she was literally standing in the sunlight coming through the window. And Monica had seen those shiny armored guys in the morning sun. So, probably not vampires.

Probably. Maybe.

"Um," Monica's voice sounded a little scratchy from sleeping, but otherwise normal, "Where are we?"

The way the tall woman sat on the bed next to her, turned those weirdly cool brown eyes on her, as she reached over and took Monica's chin in her fingers so she could turn her head.

"I am told," the woman's voice was all kinds of soft and feathery, gentle, steady, "you hit your head. The wound has been cleaned, though there may be a small scar."

Her head? Huh? Reaching up with her left hand Monica felt it on the left side, a gauzy patch at the line of her scalp just below her left ear. It throbbed a little as she touched it. Another scar. Maybe her tattoo guy would be able to cover it with those whipping rose vines she saw the last time was was there. Call me Poison Ivy.

"Um, it should be fine, thanks," Monica said while pulling back from the woman's weirdly long and strong fingers. That's when Monica saw it.

Her ear. Her larger than humanly average, pointy ear.

And Monica's brain went bamph.

Elf. They was why the woman looked so still, because she was a goddamn elf!

Monica had one had this really long discussion about elves with E once when they were really, really drunk. Their dorm was having a Lord of The Rings extended editions marathon. If you could make it to the end of all three movies back to back from midnight until the next morning without falling asleep or dropping out, you won a poster of the four hobbits signed by Billy Boyd.

And E wanted that poster.

They took Red Bull shots mixed with espresso to stay awake. It was nasty. It was ridiculous. They brought a case of Rockstars from Walmart too.

They were the only ones left at the end of it, even the judges had fallen asleep. But the credits were rolling and E was talking about how these elves were portrayed differently than in the books. Which led to E hypothesizing on a whole bunch of things based on what she called Jackson's version of the Tolkien universe versus the literary Tolkien universe.

Monica fell asleep about ten seconds after one of the judges woke up, saw Erdene writing on a white board with a theoretical physics-based something or other and that was that. Billy's autograph was joined by the rest of the hobbits over the course of the next few years (because E would somehow know which conventions the actors would be at and they'd road trip to get there in Monica's little hand-me-down Rav4) and then hung it in a UV protective glass frame in their living room like a trophy.

E was the absolute nerd, not Monica, so Monica ending up in Middle Earth was fucking ridiculous. She didn't speak a single syllable of whatever language they spoke. She didn't understand.

And then the scary tall woman said, "You are in Imladris, though in your tongue it is called The Last Homely House East of the Sea."

Rivendell, E said in her head.

Elves and wizards and, bears, oh my. Monica laughed a bit at herself. Elrond, after he finally gave her the time of day, assured her a white council would be called to discuss her appearance. Which Moncia vaguely remembered as being comprised of Christopher Lee, Sir Ian McKellen, Cate Blanchett and Hugo Weaving himself. Said council would convene when everyone arrived. When that would be would be entirely dependent on those invited.

Arwen told her it could be a few days or a few weeks. "Wizards are notoriously hard to find. Gandalf most of all." Arwen was slightly less alien than the rest of them, though she held that stillness around her like everyone else. Her emotions showed on her face.

E told her once that Elrond and his kids were technically half-elves, and while longer lived, they could choose to be mortal. But it was hard to remember that when she and her father were that weirdly still like everyone else.

Monica ended up spending a lot of time with Arwen and the other ladies of Rivendell. Who were all about her height or taller. Not something that usually happened unless she was hanging out with her family.

And, weirdly, she spent a lot of time learning Sindarin with an eight year old Aragorn. Who was not Aragorn here but Estel, but he didn't know that. Arwen said it was to hide the boy's identity. His father had been killed because of their family line. It was weird hearing this soft voiced, sweet kid call her "Mistress Monica," and knowing he was going to be King of Gondor one day.

One day, some day, if she ever saw E again, she would have to remember to tell her about teaching Aragorn how to make paper football triangles. Their tutor had enough of Monica's snark and Aragorn, being a kid, feeding into it.

These elves were just too damn stuffy though! Where was all the ridiculous making up of rhymes and shit E told her was in the book?

Adorable brown eyes grew huge when she explained how football was played back on Earth. And when she told him how big a football field actually was the kid's jaw dropped. "Could we play football, Mistress Monica?" He asked toying with his paper football.

"I don't think these stuffy elves will play with us, amigo, pero, when or if we ever get some folks who are willing, I will totally set up a game for us." She held out her fist to him, which he fist bumped like he'd been doing it all his life.

(Sixty-odd years from now, Aragorn would remember these days fondly. He missed his mother, and while Monica was not motherly, she was his friend. And that meant more to him than she knew at the time. They spent so much time together he eventually picked up her occasional use of Spanglish, which sometimes confused a wood elf, three hobbits, and the son of the Steward of Gondor. Gimli and Frodo, however, understood him perfectly. Frodo would occasionally agree or disagree in kind.)

"You are good with him."

Monica, who made it a life goal not to let herself get freaked out by strange men talking to her randomly, fought a surprised jump. She instead turned on her heel to face a handsome, if cocky looking elf doing the - for fucks sake - cross legged, crossed arm, sideways doorway lean. He sort of looked like Elrond only with more musculature around the shoulders. He was smiling at her with a lot of teeth and interested gray eyes.

"Okay, creeper being creepy," she made an agreement with both Elrond and Arwen to stop cursing so much. "Who the bleep are you and what the bleep do you want?"

He canted his head to the left. Her left, not his. "Bleep?"

She rolled her eyes. "If your people don't want to hear me say fuck nine times in a bleeping sentence, then bleep is what you get, comprendes?"

His smile got wider, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He pushed away from the doorway, coming to stop before her and bowed deeply. "I am Elrohir, son of Elrond. And you must be Mistress Monica Rivera."

Elrond had sons! The fuck?

The white council convened. Christopher Lee, with long white hair and long white robes was sitting with Sir Ian McKellen in his goofy gray pointy hat and frumpy gray robes. Cate Blanchett with a gorgeous flowing white gauzy dress standing back from everyone with her fingers lightly clasped in front of her. And of course, Lord Elrond.

They talked. A lot.

Mostly around her.

Sarumon went off on some tangent about portals between worlds and closing them immediately after they opened.

"If the portals open, send me back! I legit just want to go home. It's been two months. My parents are probably terrified out of their minds looking for me."

Gandalf sent her a patient, almost apologetic look. "I am afraid, my child-"

You know, she used to like Sir Ian McKellan. She did. Then she met Gandalf and wanted to slap him. "Woman. I am an adult woman even if all of you are over four thousand."

"The portals are one way." Gandalf continued.

Monica snorted. "Bullshit."

"Do you believe otherwise?" Lady Galadriel asked with that pretty, ethereal voice of hers.

Married woman. Married woman. Married woman. The problem with being bisexual is that yes, you do want to fuck the hot/pretty ones.

"Yeah. Why the fuck wouldn't I?" And though no one actually winced at her cursing, there was a tremor through all the old stuffy people when she did curse. "I'm not a huge fan of science and all that stuff, but my best friend is. She taught me some shit. Principles of the universe or whatever." She ticked them off on her fingers. "An object in motion will stay in motion. You hit something hard enough, you can change the direction it was headed. Every action big or small has an equal reaction that will be the exact opposite. An hour spent with someone you're in love with can feel like a heartbeat when a moment with someone you loathe can feel like hours. That one is called relativity." She rolled her eyes. "Most importantly, the amount of energy in the universe doesn't change, it just shifts. Just because you haven't found a way back doesn't mean there is no way back."

None of them were actively looking for a way back to her world. Which pissed her off. She really tried to keep her bad mood out of her daily life. Arwen, Aragorn and the ladies she spent time with took note of her mood, but no one said anything to her.

What could they say?

A few weeks turned into a few months. Estel, Aragorn, turned nine. Her phone ran out of juice after she took a few videos of Rivendell. Maybe one day she would get home and prove that she was there. Sure as shit didn't feel like that was going to happen.

A few months a year. Elladan and Elrohir were fun to flirt with. Elladan's ears turned red more often than he liked in her presence. Elrohir…was Elrohir. They would leave, head north, but they would always bring her back something.

Elladan brought her various flower bulbs for planting (because what the fuck else was she going to do) and food and a few times sweets.

Elrohir, fucking Elrohir, brought her the things he found from her world.

A banged up but mostly intact manicure kit. A dirty, but salvageable cooling pillow. A dried out but unused packet of a foot peel mask (which she rehydrated, put on and then had baby soft feet for weeks! It was heaven). Some nerd lost their pin collection. He brought her all he could find. She knew some of them, like the guys from Demon Slayer and the Black Knight from that one time E made Moni sit through the entire Monty Python and The Holy Grail (she didn't laugh, but E thought it was funny so whatever), and the long legged hottie from One Piece with the panda eyes, what was his name again? And Zero from The Nightmare Before Christmas.

Monica told Estel all about it when he asked about the pin.

A year and a half.

She taught Spanish to several elves, and to Estel. She taught Estel to play baseball and soccer. He loved soccer. That was one game they could one on one. He was growing like a weed at almost ten years old.

She let her hair grow out. The elven ladies loved how black and thick her hair was. How they could easily braid it and it kept the waves for days.

Elrohir brought her a dark purple iris one day. He had it growing in a small clay pot. That was the same day he kissed her for the first time.

Nearly two years passed before one day, a completely normal Friday afternoon, Monica finally saw a familiar face.

About three weeks ago:

They appeared just a handful of feet inside Mirkwood forest. At the time, a somewhat terrified looking Radagast The Brown held his staff much like a sword pointing the dark blue crystal at the two of them. Betty, legs wobbling from the transitions between worlds, immediately grabbed at the nearest tree and fell against it hard enough to bruise. Judith, on the other hand, began to cough hard bronchial coughs that flecked her hands, her lips, her shirt and a little bit of the staff pointed at her with bright red blood.

She fell to her knees, her lungs suddenly seizing.

"Oh, shit, Judith," Betty crawled across the mossy, leaf covered ground, "hey, sugar, breathe with me okay?" She rubbed Judith's much too frail feeling back while gently holding silver strands of hair out of the older woman's face. She reached up and smacked the staff out of their faces. "Be helpful or go away!"

Radagast did prefer animals to people, but that did not mean he had no compassion for the race of men. After the girl, she was young, very much so, yelled at him, he did set aside his staff, bending to offer his water skin. "Drink my dear lady," he held a water skin up to her lips and Judith did drink, if weakly.

Green eyes, soft and moss-like, filled with fear met his from behind a fringe of silver and gray hair. "Thank you." She hadn't had a coughing fit like that since…since she was first sick.

Beats, Betty, Beatrice Lancer, had grown herself a decently stubborn spine in the months she was away from her toxic as fuck family and equally shitty fiance. Stubborn enough, in fact, to figure out where they were - which was a goddamn trip - and where they needed to go to see who they needed to see. Beats might not have recognized the surrounding area because she didn't know Mirkwood forest. She might not have recognized the sky because she wasn't born on Middle Earth. But she sure as hell recognized those rabbits and that sled. Erdene bought her bookends as a going away to college present that were handcrafted ceramic Rhosgobel rabbits on one side and Radagast in the sled on the other. It was her favorite desk ornament. It held her notebooks and binders and Ery had packed it for Betty when Betty ran from her ex.

Her roommates in Germany had gone batshit wild for them. They tried to legitimize buying the same set off Etsy but the shipping fees and customs fees were just not worth it.

"This is Middle Earth." Betty said once Judith's coughing fit ended. Betty turned around and looked up at the forest canopy.

They were definitely on some kind of old stone road, looming too tall trees with green canopy and a much too quiet forest around them. Forests aren't supposed to be quiet. There should be birds chirping and squirrels chattering and animals moving too and fro.

This forest was eerily silent.

Radagast, who really should not have been caught by such a young girl - they, the wizards are not supposed to be caught by the travelers arriving in Arda, their sole purpose when encountering an open portal is to close them - but the elderly woman, she coughed up blood! He could not leave two women, especially a sick woman alone in the forest!

He huffed impatiently at her, "yes, you are in the forest of-"

"Mirkwood." And her first thought wasn't so much, what the fuck as it was: Elves are healers. Judith is dying from cancer and the elves are healers. They have magic. There was no way on God's green earth she would ask Radagast to take her to Thranduil and his court, that elf would throw them in the dungeons before she could blink.

She didn't like him in the slightest after the movie. He was full of his own bullshit and stuffy as fuck. Even if he was wearing Lee Pace's adorably sexy face.

But those were Rhosgobel rabbits. They could outrun orcs on wargs.

She whirled around on one boot heel, her backpack bumping her with the quick movement. "Can you take us to Lothlórien or Rivendell?"

Huffing in aggravation once more, this is why he spends time with animals, Radagast replied, "young woman-"

Judith put one of her hands over his on the water skin. Her fingers were cold to his warm. Pleading green eyes met his. "Please?"

"Dear lady, I cannot abandon my duties to the forest. I-"

"The necromancer of Dol Guldur is waking up and he will be looking for his ring." Betty threw out at him.

Which shut Radagast's protests down in an instant. His face went pale as an over bleached sheet, dark eyes wide, bushy gray-brown eyebrows rising in surprise. "Wha-what do you know of Dol Guldur?"

"I can give you more information and how to protect the animals of the forest if you take us both to either Lothlórien or Rivendell."

Radagast made a soft, high, whining sound at the back of his throat. "Rivendell is over the Misty Mountains and Dol Guldur must be passed to reach Lothlórien. It's over 300 miles either way!"

Betty put on her best southern smile, batted her lovely long eyelashes and said, "Sugar, are those not Rhosgobel rabbits?"

Radagast straightened, head up, shoulders back.

Betty grinned. Gotcha.

The trip would take almost a week. Even for Rhosgobel rabbits. First they had to return to Radagast's home to retrieve a few things. He sat Judith at a small round table and made her tea to sip before rushing around his admittedly quaint little house doing, well, something.

He talked to no less than five different birds living in his rafters and a very pretty looking garden snake that shyly flicked its tongue at Betty. She stroked the little snake with the pad of her left hand forefinger.

And then there was a hedgehog. Who apparently was not Sebastien. This was Maude. Maude was red and golden fur with a tiny pink-brown nose. Radagast noted she was recovering from a broken leg. Maude wanted her belly rubbed and presented herself to Judith and Betty for just that.

Just as Betty thought, they weren't going through Mirkwood, instead their guide insisted on following The Great River north east. Radagast had noted as he grabbed what he needed here and there, going through the Misty Mountains could be treacherous for them.

By 'them' Betty assumed he meant Judith and herself. Since they were human and Radagast was a wizard.

They would go around.

"We understand." Judith assured him. It was odd for her, looking at this man who, when she was years younger, she had a significant crush on. Sylvester McCoy was her Doctor Who once upon a time. Despite herself, Judith blushed while he insisted she wrap herself in two layers of warm if plain blankets. Even more so when he helped her up and walked her back outside.

The quote 'heavy illusion' of the forest didn't seem to have any diminishing effects on Betty or Judith. Once they were free of the forest, Betty saw the wild beauty of Middle Earth. The Misty Mountains in the distance and the lush greenery of the world and its rolling hills. Wow. This was supposedly filmed in New Zealand. If New Zealand was this pretty she was moving once they got back.

Austria was beautiful. Germany was fun. Georgia had been a nightmare. Las Vegas, when Ery had lived there, was an oven on high but hell if the desert wasn't a deadly sort of beautiful.

Ery. Her cousin quite literally disappeared right where she and Judith had dropped into Middle Earth. If Ery had ended up here too, this world was huge. There would be no way to find her. But, big jump, if what happened to Betty and Judith was what happened to Erdene, then she was here, somewhere.

"How often do people fall through portals like the one Judith and I fell through?" Betty asked the first night they stopped to make camp. They had a small fire, one which Judith curled up near as soon as she finished the vegetable stew Radagast made.

Hesitantly, Radagast replied, "Not often. I have never seen two people come through at once. It happens once every several months. Twice it has been a lost cat, and a few times a dog but that was a very long time ago." Radagast had done the kind thing each time and moved the animals to safe places outside the Greenwood so they could thrive and grow and live.

Huh. Betty leaned back on her elbows as she stretched out next to Judith. How many missing pets came through? How many other people?

Doesn't hurt to ask, right? "Recently? A woman, maybe five feet tall with darker skin and hazel eyes and a head of curly mahogany spirals. The portal we came through was in the exact same place she was last seen."

Radagast tried to let her down gently, but he didn't usually interact with other people. He didn't know how to pull a blow or gentle a hit. "The portals open everywhere on Arda. She could be at the top of a mountain."

Or, Betty turned green around the gills, the bottom of a goblin infested mine.

It took them six and a half days by sled, even with Rhosgobel rabbits, to reach Rivendell. Judith's skin was an ashen gray when the elven healers were directed by an incredibly severe looking Hugo Weaving, also known as Mister Smith, also known as Elrond. He conversed with Radagast in Sindarin, and, had Betty not had a simple Sindarin primer printed out months ago by Erdene, to peruse while they traveled to Rivendell, Betty might have been at a loss.

She caught the words healer, travelers, something that might have been holes? Betty opened her mouth to say it was rude to speak in another language when not everyone understood that language when a high pitched voice, a voice Betty was absolutely certain she would never hear again (because if they don't find you in the first forty-eight hours, you don't usually come home), screeched:

"Beats!"

What the fuck? That's not possible. Betty turned around to have a buxom, built like a model (I love fashion and genetics gave me the body for it, Monica said to Betty once a very long time ago when they first met), a five foot nine and change, woman with long black hair plowed into her full force.

Two big wet smacks of kisses on both her cheeks, big chocolate brown eyes, light brown skin, dressed in a pale green dress. Monica Esmerelda Rivera (who had not seen a fellow Earthling in nearly two years) squeezed Beatrice Candace Lancer so hard, Betty, Beats, squeaked.

"You're alive." Betty managed, staring wide eyed at Monica once her cousin's best friend let her go. Monica who went missing about two years ago. Monica who was the first person to hand Betty a joint when she was sixteen so she could try being high in the safety of Erdene and Monica's apartment. Monica who snuck her into seeing Taylor Swift perform when all the seats were supposed to be sold out. Monica who got her backstage at the same concert to meet Taylor feaking Swift! Monica, who gave her a half dozen designer pieces of clothing and her first Vera Wang dress because they went with her skin tone better than Moncia's.

Generous, loving, amazing, always so put together Monica.

The only person besides Ery who ever treated Betty like she was worth something said, "You look punk rock as fuck. Such a vibe. I love this look on you."

Until then, Betty had been holding herself together by the barest of threads. She was sure poor Judith was dying without her medications and that they were never going to get home and then Monica appeared. Looking healthy, if kind of elvish. With nails painted - is that Lincoln Park After Dark?

Betty hugged Monica back, and began to sob like an infant.