A/N: Back in 2014 I started this fic. Back then it was titled New in Town and it gained popularity fairly quickly. I loved developing the story and characters. I interacted with the fic's following, it was such a positive and inspiring environment for me as a write. Unfortunately, as time went on, life got the better of me and I abandoned the fic. Now! I have time and I really want to bring this story back to life. I love my OC and this time I have it fully planned out to completion so I hope you're ready for it!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything! Everything belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien!

Pairings: Boromir/OC

Always make sure to fave, follow, and review! I love your input and suggestions. They are truly what make this story thrive. So please please please, tell me what you'd like to see happen! Who you'd like to see! I write not just for myself, but for the audience as well. I want this to be your story as well as mine.

So please enjoy!

Leaves rattle softly in the Summer breeze, vibrant shades of green and yellow dancing in golden light of mid-day. The air smells sweet, like lavender. Beyond the horizon, mountains stretch high into the sky, beyond the trees, beyond the clouds. A creek babbles as it cuts across the field laden with wildflowers, bathing the earth, promoting life and nourishment.

This is perfect.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

That is NOT perfect.

Instantly, the illusion shatters. The pristine landscape melts away. Mountains become the dresser and vanity. Flower patches transform into piles of dirty laundry. The sound of the creek gently flowing over bedrock reveals it rained last night, and that water is draining from the roof and now pouring out of the gutters.

And the alarm is still screaming.

I slap it a few times until the ear-splitting drone finally cuts off mid beep. I squint as my eyes adjust to the dim morning light streaming in the half open window.

5:30AM

Well, those cows certainly aren't going to milk themselves so you might as well get up.

I push my face into my pillow and groan dramatically. After a few seconds of that, I sit up and push the sheets back. Reluctantly, I throw my legs over the edge of the bed. Feeling around on the floor, my fingers search for the jeans I'd balled up and thrown down there the night before. Once they find their mark, I scrunch them up and over my legs, already sticky from the humidity. Standing up, I shimmy into them and stretch out my arms.

I keep on the sports bra that I slept in. I hook my thumbs into the loops of my jeans as I scan the floor for a clean shirt. When I think I've found a safe one, I give it a sniff, decide it's decent enough, and tug it on over my head.

I really should do laundry. This is…embarrassing. Good thing I never have company!

Balancing on one foot, I nearly fall over as I tug on one of my work boots. Once I get the other on, I traipse through the sea of dirty clothes until I reach my bedroom door. The hallway isn't much better. Half unpacked boxes line the walls. I suck in my stomach and squeeze through two precariously stacked columns of moving boxes.

Reaching the front door is nothing short of a miracle. The screen door moans on rusted hinges as it's pushed opened and I'm instantly greeted by the thick hazy mid-Summer Virginia humidity. I let the door slam behind me and traipse down the wooden front porch steps. I make a note of the chipped and worn paint. Just another thing to fix. This place is falling apart.

The earth is soft from last night's rain. Mud squishes under the soles of my boots as I make my way to the fenced in area that houses the cows, of which there are only two: Missy and Jerry. Missy is the resident senior citizen of Mountainside Farms. If memory serves, she was born only a few years after I was, and I turned twenty-two last Spring. Jerry on the other hand was only four years old. Jerry gave birth last Summer. We gave the calf to a neighboring farm and kept Jerry as our primary dairy cow since Missy was getting so old and her milk producing days were long over.

Jerry moos at me when I unlatch the gate and step into the enclosure. "Yeah, yeah." I grab the aluminum bucket and fold-up stool from beside the gate and set it up beside her. With little fuss from the young cow, the task takes about thirty minutes to complete. I haul the pail up to the house and stow it in the garage refrigerator.

Like clockwork, I then make way around the side of the house to the chicken coop. The reddish-brown coops stands six feet tall and is only about twenty square feet. It only houses six chickens, but I'll be damned if they didn't produce enough eggs to stock up the local grocer.

They cluck and baulk at me as I shuffle them about while collecting the eggs out from under them. I rarely make it out of the coop without at least a couple scratches, and today is no different. It takes about ten minutes, but I make it out without letting any of them escape.

Having to chase down a chicken really humbles a person, that's a stone-cold fact. I'm fairly positive my granddad used to loose them on purpose when my brothers and I were fighting to get us to work together and 'quit our bitchin' as he liked to say.

Once I finish there, I take care of a few more menial, albeit time-consuming, tasks before heading inside for the afternoon.

I drag my dog-tired limbs up the steps and into the house, letting the door slam behind me. By now it's eighty five degrees and the AC is struggling to keep up. I crouch down beside the ancient radiator and fiddle with dial. It sticks a bit but with a little muscle behind it, I finally force it to the little snowflake icon. I smile at my little triumph.

The knob suddenly pops off and bounces off my shoulder, cutting off the steady stream of cool air. I brush it off and make a mental note to fix it later. For the time being I throw open a few windows and amble toward the bathroom. I switch the shower on, setting the water temperature as cold as I am able without turning the water off. Stripping down, I cast my clothes aside and step into the icy stream. I revel in the chilly flow of water. It nurses the tension in my overworked muscles. I moan blissfully. I needed this.

As if the universe senses that I might start feeling a little too relaxed, the landline starts ringing. I bristle but have no intention of leaving my shower, so I just let it ring and ring until the answering machine picks it up.

My granddad's voice fills the room and my heart sinks into my chest. "Hello there, you've reached Mountainside Farms, if this is a business call, leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. If this is one of my grandkids, put the phone down and visit your granddad! Have a great day!" I laugh fondly. He always fussed at us for relying too much on our cell phones. He'd much rather have us stop by after school or work. I know I should change the voicemail, but I just haven't been able to bring myself to do it.

"Kristin!" I recognize the shrill voice immediately. Lana O'Hare, my best friend since middle school. That girl and I did everything together. From Girl Scouts, to boyfriends, breakups, and everything in between, we were always there for each other. We played on a travel soccer team in high school. Lana went to college on a soccer scholarship. We were both offered one. I had to turn mine down once my grandmother died so I could help Granddad run the farm. Anyway, Lana went on to graduate college with a degree in journalism, and where did that get her? A job at the local paper in the same damn town we both talked so much about getting out of when we were younger.

Lana was getting married in two weeks. I, of course, drew the short straw (I'm joking…for the most part) and get to play the part of maid of honor, puffy pink sleeves and all. I love her dearly, but I am not a frills and thrills kinda gal. I squeeze the bottle of cheap drugstore vanilla scented shampoo into my hand and lather it into my hair before tuning back in to Lana's voicemail.

"…anyway! The rehearsal dinner is in a week Can you believe it? I feel like there's still so much do to! I'll probably stop by your house tonight, is nine o' clock too late? Well, if you don't see me then, expect me bright and early tomorrow to go over some last-minute wedding details! Love you, bye!"

I rinse the soap out of my hair and cut off the water. I shiver slightly as I wrap a towel around my body and make my way back to the bedroom. I eye the bridesmaid dress hanging precariously off the full-length mirror with disdain. The dress doesn't fit me right. I know this from having tried it on several times prior. Amid all the pleats and ruffles, my athletic build just looks lanky.

Ignoring the ill-fitting garment, I towel myself off. After throwing my straw colored hair up into a haphazard pony-tail, I pull on some clean clothes and head to the kitchen. My belly grumbles, angry at me for not putting anything in it when I woke up five hours ago. I search the refrigerator and after much deliberation, settle on leftover pizza. I throw a couple pieces on a paper plate and chuck it in the microwave for thirty seconds. I rest my elbows on the counter and try to ignore the stacks of unopened cards and numerous vases full of brown and wilting flowers. It's been three weeks since Granddad's funeral. The flowers had finally stopped being delivered, but I couldn't bring myself to throw out the old ones. So they sit, dying in dirty water.

The microwave beeps and pulls me from the dark recesses of my mind, now overrun by the thought of food, food, and more food. I carry it over to couch and collapse onto the worn leather cushions, which sink under my weight. I wrench the remote out from under my thigh and click on the television, flicking through the channels until a familiar theme catches my attention. I let the movie play for a few seconds before confirming it's one of the Lord of the Rings movies. According to the TV guide, it's only an hour in. I smile and lean back into the couch. My brothers and I used to watch these growing up. I think I was too young to truly recall any significant details though. I just remembered feeling happy whenever I saw the hobbits running about the Shire, so happy and carefree.

The sound of TV static rouses me from an incredibly deep sleep. I squint to read the numbers on the cable box below the television set and my eyes widen.

10:30PM

I grab my cellphone and hit the home button to make sure I'm not seeing things.

10:31PM

"How did-" My voice trails off as I wonder how I managed to sleep for eleven hours straight.

I toss my phone aside and click off the TV. I stand up and immediately kick myself when I trip over an empty box. I push the box aside and as I reach for the light switch a loud crash outside nearly sends my heart flying out of my chest. I hold my hand over the switch, afraid to turn it on. I live alone out here. Aside from the cows, chickens, and horses, there wasn't a soul for at least two or three miles.

I swallow the growing lump in my throat and creep toward the den. In lieu of alerting a potential intruder to my whereabouts, I avoid turning on any lights and instead, fumble around in the dark until I locate the gun case. My fingers shake as I twist the lock. I offer up a small prayer of thanks when the door clicks open. I waste no time picking up the hunting rifle, thanks to my brothers. They never wanted me to feel unprotected out here on my own so they spent months teaching me how to properly use each gun in the case. I just never thought I'd have to open it.

I slip out through the back door, not even bothering to slip on any shoes. I rest my finger just above the safety, ready and waiting. My hearts pounds against my rib cage, so hard I worry it may shatter the bones in my chest. I take a deep breath and take calm measured steps toward the barn. Every hair stands on edge when I hear voices.

I should've just called 911. I don't have my phone. Why don't I have my phone? This is how every girl in Criminal Minds dies. I can see the headline now: Idiot Girl Dies After Thinking She Can Take On Three Armed Trespassers. Turns Out, She Can't. Well, there's no turning back now.

Embracing the first half of my fight or flight response, I shoulder the door open and raise my weapon. "Alright gentlemen, show's over, why don't you-" I nearly drop the rifle. I don't believe my eyes. Three men, one much shorter than the others, stand before me dressed in what look like Renaissance costumes...and one of them has an arrow aimed right at your face.

"Hey!" I shout and fix my aim on the armed intruder. "I'd put that down, blondie. I really don't want to use this."

I click off the safety and place my finger on the trigger.

"Because I sure as hell won't miss."

A/N: Please let me know what you think! Thank you so much for reading the beginning chapter of my little fic! I look forward to hearing from you all!