A/N: Hello everyone, and welcome to my newest fic, Brave New World. To understand this story there are a few things that must be kept in mind. First I have played around a bit with the time line, so the Hobbit takes place before the birth of Aragorn, even though in the cannon Aragorn would probably be around 20. Yes, this is absolutely necessary! Second in this story Celebrian was killed by the orcs, not just wounded. This is because personally I prefer to think that Elrond wouldn't be unfaithful to Celebrian in anyway if she was still alive in the undying lands. It just doesn't fit with his character. And finally, for the purposes of this story Tolkien never wrote The Lord of the Rings, however he did write the hobbit; the reason for this will later become apparent.
This is and OC/ Elrond story...
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, and anything you recognise is not my creation. I only own my OC and her plotline.
I really hope you enjoy this, it's a story that I have had ideas about for a long time and have finally decided to write, so please read, favourite or follow and review, it really does make a difference for an author to know that their work is appreciated!
Lucksby

CHAPTER 1

It was cold, the kind of cold that seeped through into your bloodstream no matter how many layers you were wearing and left nothing but ice in its path. Arianna's feet crunched through the snow as she bowed her head against the wind that blew off the mountains and swept through her valley. Well she always referred to it as her valley, but in truth it was just the valley in which the old farm that she had inherited from her mother stood, alone in the wilderness of the Scottish highlands.

Fighting her way through the onslaught of snowflakes she finally reached a solid oak door, and, pulling it open with some effort, darted inside.

"I hate this bloody weather!" She moaned to no one in particular as she began to shed some of the many items of clothing she wore, "Why did I think that January was a good time to come up to visit?"

It wasn't until sometime later, when she was wrapped in a blanket in front of the fire, and nursing a mug of tea that she finally felt like she had defrosted enough to get back to work. She only spent around three months of the year here, living the rest of the time in a flat in London which was a million times more convenient but didn't have the advantage of isolation.

Arianna Redford was an author, and for her isolation was very precious indeed; with the never-ending distractions that London offered it was very convenient to have somewhere to escape to where she could just get down to work. Although she did have to be careful what time of year she sought refuge here, as her outing in the blizzard outside had proved.

She pulled her laptop over to her, and adjusting her blanket re-read, for about the hundredth time, the chapter she was trying, and failing, to finish. It just didn't sound right, like there was something missing but she couldn't put her finger on it-

There was a knock on the door.

"What the hell?" Ari was confused, and for a moment she just stayed frozen in her seat. She had never, not even once, had any callers whilst she was here, not even any lost hikers; she was that far off the beaten track. The knocking came once again.

"Ok, hold on!" She yelled attempting to get up and getting her feet caught in the thick wool of her favourite spotty blanket, "Bloody hell!" Tugging it along with her she slid along the cold stone floor to the front door, yanking the heavy thing open.

Nobody was there.

Cold air rushed against Ari's face as she stood gazing out into the dying light with an expression of utter bewilderment written on her face. "But I heard…"
She stuck her head around the door frame and looked from left to right, peering into the gathering darkness as snowflakes began to collect in her long dark hair.

Against all rational thought she quickly slipped on the boots standing by the door, and grabbing a jacket and a torch stepped out into the gloom. "Hello! Is anyone there?"

She would never, even looking back on events later, understand what possessed her to go looking for the mysterious person who had knocked on her door; it had just seemed like the natural thing to do at the time. She would often put it down to sheer curiosity to know who might have wandered into her valley on a night such as that, but even she had to admit that it had almost been like she was being pulled onwards by some invisible force, even as a huge gust of wind had hit her.

She fell flat on her butt, struggling to pick herself up as the air rushed past her howling like a soul demented. She had never felt anything of this force before, and irrationally her first concern was not for herself, but for the roof of her beloved farm house, although this took a smaller priority when the wind tossed her down again as if she were nothing more than a rag doll.

As her head hit the ground hard she became less aware of the freezing tempest that raged around her, and she swore that she could hear voices calling out to her from somewhere in the void. Her vision started to swim, spots appearing in front of her eyes and then everything went black.

"My Lord Arathorn." The chieftain of the Dunedain turned as his second in command entered the tent, concerned as to what the problem could be at this hour.
"Is there something wrong Deollyn?" Arathorn was always inclined to believe that something was wrong when the young captain asked to see him; it wasn't that the man was incompetent, but simply inexperienced. He had lost his long-time friend and advisor the previous summer, and he would never find someone as good as Roryn had been.

"No my Lord, but something strange has happened."
Arathorn's brow furrowed, "What do you mean by that?"
"Well sir", the younger man paused as if trying to assess how best to phrase his answer, "we found a young woman in the snow. She's wearing the strangest garments and has a bad head injury so I had her sent to the healer, but your expertise is required."
"Strange clothes you say? Has she said where she comes from? I can't imagine why a lone woman would be this far from civilisation in the dead of winter."
"No sir, she was delirious when we found her, and we had to give her a mild sedative to prevent her from doing herself any further harm."

The Lord of the Dunedain looked to be deep in thought for a moment before striding out of the tent and into the cold of the night.

Ari awoke with a start, being forcibly pulled out of the blurry dream world she had found herself in, and she positively jumped when she took stock of her surroundings.

"Where the hell am I? And who are you?"

The man who had been watching over her waking smiled a little, "My name is Arathorn, I am the leader of the Dunedain people, within one of whose camps you find yourself, and we are within the mountains of Ered Nimrais."

It could just have been her head injury but Ari was finding it rather hard to keep up; she had never heard of either the place or the people. "Sorry, what?" Her eyes were darting around in a way that reminded Arathorn of a scared deer.
"I've never heard of Ered Nimrais, was it, before in my life! Can you just stop messing me around and tell me where the bloody hell I am! And who gave you any right to knock me out!" She added in a huff.

The chieftain's eyes took in the tanned skin and wavy dark hair of the woman in front of him, before settling on a stool by the bed on which the exceptionally strange clothes she had been wearing had been placed. He picked up a coat made of a strange blue material, looking back at the young woman as he did, "I can believe that you have never heard of this place." He looked thoughtful, "You're not from here are you?"

With remarkable courage for someone in her position she held his eye contact, "I'll only be able to tell you that when I know where here is."
"We are in the realm of Gondor in the West of Middle Earth, Lady…" The question was obvious.
"Arianna" she replied, "but I am not any kind of nobility, and you're right, I most certainly do not come from here, though I have a slightly better idea of where I am now."

When Arathorn had said 'Middle Earth' Ari's mind had nearly exploded; Middle Earth as in The Hobbit, the lone book that the author Tolkien had written about a fantasy land where there were dragons and elves and wizards and…

"Oh my God!"
"Lady Arianna, is something wrong?" The man's voice was filled with worry.
"I'm dreaming I've got to be, this can't be real. I can't be inside Tolkien's world, it's not possible, it's not-"

"You know of Tolkien?" If Ari hadn't been confused and panicked before, she certainly was now.
"What do you mean know of Tolkien, everybody has read The Hobbit-"She stopped dead, "Wait a minute how have you heard of Tolkien?"
Arathorn looked seriously at her before replying, "He was a great writer and adventurer who came to this world from another, sent by the Valar to tell the story of a great victory for Middle Earth; the reclaiming of Erebor and the defeat of the Pale Orc at the Battle of the Five Armies."

Ari nodded slowly, her normally quick and analytical mind struggling to come to terms with what she was hearing. She would have been inclined to continue writing this off as a dream if only it hadn't felt so real. If only the pain in her head hadn't felt so real. She winced, "He's a writer in my world too, although his book The Hobbit is just a work of fiction there. Though I'm beginning to seriously doubt that."
Arathorn nodded, "I'm afraid this place is far from fictitious Lady Arianna. But if you are from the same world as the great Bard Tolkien you must have been sent here for some higher purpose." A determined look fell over his face, "And if you would agree to it, I would have the Dunedain protect and train you so that you are more capable of fulfilling whatever it is that the Valar has sent you here to achieve. It would be my honour and my duty."

Ari studied the weather-worn face of the ranger who stood before her as he earnestly gave her is offer. Here was someone who clearly held some degree of power who was willing to help her, willing to make sure she survived whatever it was that was happening to her. He felt trustworthy, but more than that he didn't look at her in pity as she might have expected and would have hated. She was capable and she was independent; she had spent her whole life asserting that. She had made her decision.

"You've got yourself a deal."