A/N: This is just something that I started playing with. It's completely experimental, and I don't know if I'm going to finish it (I guess it depends on how many people like it.) If it doesn't work, I'll just probably delete it soon afterwards. I realize that Westron and English are different languages, and that the different bacteria and viruses in the air would probably just kill someone from Middle Earth, but *waves Poetic License* it's all in the name of fun, right? This story is very Australian, both in setting and in slang. There's a glossary of words at the end, if you would like to see some terms explained (but I think it's pretty clear even without it). I'm really not sure what to think of this, because I've never done anything like it before. So if you read this, could you please review? Even just to say 'I thought that was boring and won't read anymore.' I'd appreciate that! Oh, and 'A Love Like That' is still top priority! This plotbunny wouldn't go away, though.

Summary: Shelly is a single mother, trying to survive in Sydney while staying out of trouble. But trouble of a different kind finds her when she meets a man called Aragorn, who claims to be from another time and place. Suddenly they are both hunted, and depend on each other to escape. No romance!

Rating: PG-13 for drugs and swearing. No sex, no romance, no Mary-Sue!

Chapter 1

Shelly Beckman knew that she had probably used up her lifetime's worth of wishes already.

She rented a little one-bedroom flat in Redfern, over-looking the train lines. She couldn't afford a phone, but she had no-one to call, anyway. And she certainly didn't want anyone calling her. It had electricity, most of the time, and in Sydney's balmy weather, it only got cold for maybe two or three weeks of the year.

She had her own little beat-up car, an '84 Holden that was a faded yellow, for lack of any other colour to be. It ran like a dream, though.

She even had a job at the local chain supermarket, so she could keep paying off her flat and her car.

Most important of all, she had her Angel. Her daughter was nearly four, and if there was one thing which made Shelly more determined than ever that she would keep this job and make a life for herself, it was Angel. She wanted to give Angel the world, neatly wrapped in bright yellow Dorothy the Dinosaur paper. One day, thought Shelly angrily, she would. One day, she would see Angel dressed in clothes that weren't charity cast-offs, and that they ate McDonalds every day, if Angel wanted.

Shelly fingered the cash in her pocket guiltily. Twenty bucks, in five dollar notes. Enough to buy Angel a new jumper. Enough to buy four of those Happy Meals, the ones that came with the cheap plastic toy. She closed her eyes. It was enough to buy her weekly high. She didn't need it, she told herself. It wasn't an addiction, it was her one splurge of the week. Her own little treat.

He car behind blared it's horn at her, and swearing, she focused on the road again.

She was going to be late. Fuck, she was going to be late. And she knew, she just knew that that fat bitch Sharon was waiting to pay her out for it.

She was never wrong about those things, Shelly thought ironically. She was only ever wrong about the things that mattered.

'That was two, Shelly,' smirked Sharon. 'No more chances. You're late again, you're gone.'

'Sorry,' muttered Shelly, staring at the ground so she didn't have to look at Sharon. She seethed, inwardly. None of the other check-out girls had a running tally on how many times they were late. But then, none of the other check-out girls were a lower-class single mother, who depended on the job for their daily survival. They were fifteen or sixteen, earning some pocket money and thinking themselves 'independent.' Sharon knew what this job meant to Shelly, and how she loved to use it against her.

Her shift was long, but boring. Boring was good. Boring ensured that no customer threw a tantrum and blamed it on Shelly, boring ensured that it wasn't too busy for her to keep up with. Once, Sharon got on her back about not reading the brief on their new promotion, sneering 'Can't follow instructions, Shelly, or just can't read?' Shelly had said nothing, keeping her face down to hide the red flush that crept up her cheeks.

But for the most part, it had been uneventful. Shelly looked at her digital watch. It was the only luxury item she had. Thirty minutes till she could go home. She started counting down the customers. One old lady, with a dozen tins of cat food. One young mother, buying more on her weekly grocery shop than Shelly could afford in a month. A handful of school kids, blowing their pocket money on chips, lollies and soft drink. All ordinary, regular customers. The last man in her line, however, was not.

He looked like a tramp. Shelly was used to seeing the homeless, at Redfern, but this was a middle-class suburb. Security should never have let this man enter. His clothes were dirty and torn, so weather-beaten that she could not see what material they were made from. His hair was long and tangled, his face was smeared with grime and rough with stubble. Her eyes widened at the weapon that hung by his side. Shit, was that a sword? Shelly sneaked another look. Shit, it was! She knew some guys who carried guns on them, or knives, but a sword?

'Good evening sir, how are you today?' It was her programmed line, she didn't even need to think about it. He looked at her and didn't smile. He didn't respond with a rote 'Well, thanks, and you?' He just stared hard at her, as if he were trying to see through her. It was slightly unnerving.

Shelly shrugged, and put his purchases through. A loaf of bread, a block of cheese. Two apples, and a bottle of water.

'Six dollars eighty five, thanks,' she said.

The man blinked uncertainly, and fumbled with a pouch that hung from his belt. He pulled out a handful of coins, but Shelly had never seen anything like them before.

The smallest gleamed golden, while the larger ones shone silver. They were roughly stamped with a tree on one side, and a shield on the other.

'I'm sorry, sir,' she said. 'We don't take that kind of money. Sorry.'

She wondered if she should call for security. It was dark outside, and the store was almost empty. She reached for the bell, thinking that she might as well cover her own arse for when Sharon would undoubtedly blame her.

The expression on his face stopped her. It was gaunt, hungry. There was a desperation in his eyes that Shelly recognized only all too well. Fuck you, Sharon, she thought. Fuck the lot of you who've never been hungry in your life, except as a prelude to a huge meal. Fuck you if you've never been so hungry it hurts, and especially fuck you if you think only the rich have a right to eat.

'Hey,' she said. She could just not charge him for the food, but Sharon would know. Her books were immaculate – she knew if a stick of gum had gone missing. And, much as she suddenly wanted to help this man, she wasn't about to risk her job for him.

He had already begun to turn away, but her voice called him back.

'I've got…some cash. Ok? I'm off in a minute, and I'll fix it up then, ok?' Shelly thought about the twenty bucks now stashed in her locker. Her weekly high. The desperation in the man's eyes. I don't need it, she told herself firmly. How many times had she repeated that to herself in the last few years? Now was the time to see if she'd been lying.

He looked surprised. 'I am indebted to you,' he said slowly. 'My thanks.' He gave her a tired smile.

Shelly wondered whether the guy was for real, talking like that. Perhaps he was high. But he had a nice smile, and she had always been a sucker for that.

'No worries,' she said, smiling back.

'Where you from?' she asked later, as they walked through the wide aisles together.

He shrugged, and she didn't press him.

She bought him two roast chickens, marked down because it was near closing time. She kept the apples and the bread and cheese, but suggested he forget about the water. 'You can get it free,' she said. 'Bloody rip-off, if you ask me, making us pay for drinking water.' On impulse, she grabbed a block of chocolate, for Angel. If she was going to treat this man, she might as well treat her daughter. Shelly smiled, picturing Angel's delight when she presented her with the chocolate.

The man seemed lost once they stepped outside the centre, looking up at the stars as if searching for something.

'Where you off to?' asked Shelly, when he did not move a few minutes later.

'I do not know these stars,' he said, quietly and sadly.

'Excuse me?' He was probably tripping.

'Thank you again for your kindness,' he said.

Shelly nodded. It was a strange feeling to have helped someone else. It was…pleasant. 'Well, see you round, I guess.'

He remained in place, still searching the sky for something.

A siren wailed in the next street.

Panic, ingrained from Shelly's earlier life, rose in her. Police meant trouble. They roughed up people like her, filled in reports and announced that they were dealing with neighbourhood crime. And she knew she was probably on their list of 'People Who Need Attention'. Her record was about as clean as this man's clothes.

And here she was, standing on the street with a guy who was talking to the stars, and wearing a sword.

'Shit,' she said. 'Get in the car!'

He turned to her, confused.

'Move it!' She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the car. He slammed the door shut, infected by her unease, and she revved the car and pulled it out of the lot as fast as the little Holden would go.

He gripped the seat, very hard. His eyes were wide with shock as she sped down the freeway.

'Put the seatbelt on,' she said, out of habit. Not that she was worried about a fine – she had more than a traffic fine to worry about, if ever the cops pulled her over – but she was used to Angel being in the car with her.

He looked blankly at her.

'Seatbelt!' she said again. 'Click, clack, front and back.' And then she laughed, to think she was reciting a child's rhyme to this man.

'I do not know…' He touched the seatbelt hesitantly. 'This?'

Shelly sighed. 'Don't worry about it, ok?'

The rest of the trip was silent.

They pulled up in front of her flat before Shelly realized that she had no idea what to do with this man.

'Where you headed?' she asked him again.

He didn't have an answer.

'Look,' said Shelly, realizing she was probably going to regret this, but not really caring. 'You can crash with me. But only for tonight. Tomorrow, you get yourself sorted out and you get yourself somewhere else to be, ok?'

He thought over that for a moment, almost as if he were trying to decipher her words.

'Thank you,' he said at last.

He followed her up the narrow stairs. The inside of her flat was dark. Angel had fallen asleep already, and the lights were out to save energy.

Shelly flicked one on then, and locked the door behind them.

She gestured for him to sit at the battered table, and went to get the plates. When she turned around again, his head was resting on his arms on the table. Shelly wanted to call his name, but realized she didn't know it.

'Hey,' she said again, and he slowly straightened to look at her. Exhaustion was written on every line of his face.

'I'm Shelly,' she said. 'You got a name?'

'Aragorn,' he said.

What kind of name is that? Shelly wanted to ask, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

'Aragorn,' she repeated. 'I need to ask – are you high? Do you inject? Because if you do, I'm sorry, but you're gone. I don't want Angel to be around that.'

He looked confused. 'I do not know what you mean.'

'Don't get smart,' she snapped at him. 'Do you do drugs, are you hallucinating, flying, high?'

He shook his head slowly. 'I am unaffected by any substance, if that is what you mean.'

Shelly breathed out. 'Fine.' Then, 'You might want to wash first.' She looked pointedly at his filthy hands. Was that blood? She didn't want to know. 'Bathroom's that way, don't wake Angel.'

~~*~~

A/N: So what did you think of that? Please review if you would like to read more. This is one story that depends entirely on reviews for its survival!

 Flat: Unit, apartment, etc.

Redfern: Suburb of Sydney, infamous for poverty, crime etc.

Dorothy the Dinosaur: Wiggles' dinosaur!

Wiggles: Kid's music group of four guys in different coloured skivvies.

Jumper: Sweater

Lollies: Candy, confectionary, etc.
Soft drink: Pop, fizzy, soda, etc.