It wasn't raining in Bree.

That was my reaction. Probably not a logical 'first thought' either as there were all kinds of better 'reactions' such as: 'Holy hell, I'm in Middle Earth...'

Or perhaps: 'What the hell am I doing in a book and ankle deep in poo?'

Even 'I seriously shouldn't have eaten that microwaved cheese pastry before bed...' would have worked better.

Nope. I stood there, one boot quite firmly embedded in a deep pile of pony poo, and all I could think about was that it was supposed to be dark, kind of opressive, and raining.

It wasn't.

It was actually quite a lovely day, the sun rising, the smell of bread baking somewhere, the musk of horse and pony alike from a nearby stable (as well as the not-sopleasant aroma of poo right under my foot), with warm sunshine and a light cool breeze. If I just ignored the smell of human waste being dumped into the river from the night's chamberpots and focused on the scent of flowers from the flower boxes in the nearby windows then I could probably have appreciated Bree as being a cute little town.

I took a step forward out of the poo and out of the way of a cart coming down the road, staring down, and shaking my boot slightly. Chunks of straw embedded 'mud' fell off and I closed my eyes a moment as my mind tried its hardest to deal with this situation logically. All right then. All right. No. I didn't need to panic. It was only Bree. Sanity could ...resume. I wasn't loosing my marbles. This had happened before.

I ... should be a pro at this.

This was not the first time I'd been dumped in Middle Earth.

Five and a half years earlier I'd been dumped into the river near Rivendel for one big ass adventure that had not been all rosy romance and fun. Not really. It had been beyond frightening, stressful, and I still had nightmares about those wars. Whoever thought that skipping through Middle Earth during that war back then was FUN was bonkers.

It was my child that made it all worth it. My child and ... and him. It was because of my child, born in Middle Earth, that I had to keep coming back to Minas Tirith- because that boy needed his cultural heritage as much as he needed me. Every three months I'd find myself back in Middle Earth with Cele, so that he could know his heritage, and I had gotten used to finding myself here.

Only...

It wasn't time to go back and I didn't have Cele with me. I had a bow, which was nice, and a pack... but no clue what the hell I was doing in Bree.

"Oi!"

I jumped, startled, as a hand more or less slapped me hard over the back of the head, and then arms grabbed me for a bone-crushing embrace. I knew those arms. I knew those bloody arms. Hadn't felt them for years and I knew them.

"Boro-" I couldn't finish the word, I felt so damn suffocated, and I heard his laughter.

He stood back, grinning, a completely different man from the one I'd first met in Rivendel years earlier. Boromir was older as well, his hair cut short, a long scar coming down the side of his forehead where they'd operated. Another long story. I hadn't let Boromir die and he was supposed to die... there was even a cancer in his head getting ready to do the work... and so in the end he'd come back to Earth with me. It was either that or ruin Faramir's life. Boromir had been 'adopted' by my ex-boyfriend, more or less, two rejected and heartbroken men that I had dumped and the last I'd heard, had started treatment for his cancer.

It had been years.

"Where are we? Another of your Earth towns? I like it!" He decided, glancing around, behaving as if we hadn't just spent the last five years on Earth acting as if one another hadn't existed.

"This isn't Earth." I informed him and bent down to pick up a stick. Guilt at 'abandoning' Boromir in MY world crept in as he stretched, major guilt, even though at the time I'd decided it was the best thing. So had he. I'd gotten busy with a baby and he...

I didn't know.

"Ah. I see no mobi fone. Yes." Boromir raised an eyebrow as he openly scruitined a guard passing by, crossing his arms, and reached into a pocket. He drew out a phone- one of those old phones they usually gave the Elderly who had no clue how to use phones- and raised it up to stare at it. "It has no bar."

"We're in Bree. Near Hobbiton." I wasn't sure if this was right or not and continued to try and scrape the pony poo off my boot.

What the hell was he doing here anyway? He shouldn't be here.

"What are you doing here?"

"I don't know. I was working and then I was not." Boromir must have noticed what I was trying to do because I heard him laugh and then suddenly he appeared, kneeling, and yanking my foot towards him. "Do you not look where you stand, woman?"

"I appeared in it. Hey-" I tried to push him off as he yanked off a flannelette shirt and clean the boot. "-No laundry here."

"No matter. These shirts do not take much to wash."

It wasn't just that.

It was awkward, and kind of strange, because where we were- standing in Bree as if we belonged. We didn't LOOK like we belonged- Boromir looking like some kind of lumberjack with short hair and jeans and myself in a short dress, pants and boots.

We were getting stared at as well. A sleepy looking man had appeared at the front of one of the inns and was openly staring at us both. There was something very odd about this whole situation.

Well- besides the fact that I had Boromir trying to clean my boot with an Earth-made lumber man shirt, that we were standing in Bree right now, and I was supposed to be at home packing a lunch for Cele's first day at primary school and getting the excited kid into the car. Where had he been last I'd seen him? Halfway up a tree. In his new school uniform.

I shook my head, trying to force myself back to the moment, just as Boromir let my foot drop and he stood up. He seemed a little unsure of what to say as well- he just stared at me a long time.

"Have you been well?"

"Yeah." I smiled, or tried to, but it felt forced. How much did you tell someone when you'd rejected their advances? It would be boasting to talk about my son, cruel to talk about WHO I'd rejected Boromir for, cruel to talk about how happy I was. "But I'm confused about this."

"As am I. Why are we here?"

Big bloody question.

I couldn't see an obvious answer. Boromir wasn't even supposed to come back to Middle Earth- that had been Galadriel's decision and he'd agreed. He had to 'die' in Middle Earth and he'd, from what I'd been told, had almost died fighting that cancer.

The worst part was that I hadn't wanted to find out if he had died. I hadn't known. It felt too strange to ask.

"Are you... well?"

The word 'well' had a lot of meaning. Boromir glanced back at me and, just for a moment, there was a flash of something there. Hurt, maybe, that I hadn't contacted him since I'd come home? It was gone as fast as it had come. He nodded, eyes going up to where the stables were, as if the horses were far more interesting than me. "I have been very well. The cancer is in complete re-mishan."

"Remission?"

"Yes. They believe it was found in time. They have seen no trace of it since." Boromir shrugged, wrapping up his shirt carefully, and added, "It may come back but it seems unlikely."

"That's good!" It was good. I should have asked YEARS ago.

"I work now."

"Doing what?"

It was like one of those awkward conversations you had with an ex who you KNEW you'd burnt badly. I felt like I should be asking these questions... and I DID really want to know he was okay... and yet somehow it felt forced.

Luckily the conversation was interrupted. Boromir had no more than opened his mouth to respond than we'd seen a very familiar face.

Very familiar.

"Isn't that..."

"Gandalf!" Boromir exclaimed. He stepped forward, as did I, and grasped for the Wizard's shoulder.

A staff whacked him, very sudden, knocking Boromir flat onto his back in the mud. Gandalf looked … different. My brain and my eyes caught onto this at different times- I saw the Grey cloak, the old grey hat, and yet my brain didn't get it straight off.

"Wait-" I stared, hands raising, trying to verbally warn Boromir what my brain had just started to figure out. "That isn't..."

"Who are you?"

There was obvious mistrust, even anger, as Gandalf shoved the staff down on Boromir's chest.

A fresh wave of confusion crossed my mind, mirrored on Boromir's face, as Gandalf's sharp eyes went from myself to Boromir and back again.

"It is us, Gandalf- Wenduin and Boromir." Boromir reached up to touch his hair. "Tis true, I look different, but-"

"Boromir?" No flash of understanding. None.

"Gandalf the … Grey?" I tried, trying to stay non-threatening, though truth be told I had no idea how to deal with this situation, and added, "Is that who you are?"

"Who else would I be?" Gandalf snapped.

"Gandalf the Grey?" Boromir finally seemed to get it. He edged backwards, slowly, and stood up. Meeting my eyes, he seemed puzzled, and then quietly asked, "What year is this?"

"This is year 2941 of the Third Age." Gandalf stood back, his staff beside him, regarding us both with obvious suspicion. "You two should not approach strange Wizards."

I wished.

We watched him go, a little lost all of a sudden, and it was only when he was well out of earshot that Boromir said quietly, "Two years before my mother was even born."

"So-"

"Tis not our time, Wenduin."

This was the second time he'd used my 'full' name... and it hurt. It wasn't the time to be hurt. I had hurt him badly and didn't deserve to be a friend. However... he was right. The times I had to come back to Middle Earth so my baby could know his race were decades in the future.

"I don't understand." I said softly. "Was it a mistake?" I wasn't even sure HOW it worked... how I was sent backwards and forwards... but there had never been a mistake before. I'd always appear at the right time.

Boromir yanked me into the pavement, sudden, as another cart rattled past. He let go, flustered, and crossed his arms. "I am not impressed."

"I'm just confused." I muttered. Bree. Okay.

"Let us get a drink and speak to the bartender." Boromir nodded towards one of the inns. Prancing Pony. Of course it was. Typical. "They will know what is happening, and I may wash my clothing, and then we move to Minas Tirith. From there... I will find the answers."

Typical. Even now, even before his parents had married, the man wanted to go home and find answers there. I didn't argue as we headed for the Prancing Pony... I just had a feeling this wasn't a mistake and we probably wouldn't head to his home city.

The last conversation I'd had with Legolas at home crossed my mind, suddenly, and as Boromir ordered for 'two rooms' and drinks. I felt my heart sink. Fingers tightened around bow and pack.

We weren't here for fun.

Something was going to happen and … I wasn't sure I was going to like it very much.


A/N
Welcome, new and old readers, to the Hobbit edition of 'Another Life'. You do NOT need to read Another Life to read this story... although you're welcome to read it. (And I SWEAR I'll edit the mess that is chapter 2. Omg. What a huge mess that one turned out to be.)

This will follow the movies primarily BUT it will also include/alter some scenes from the book as well.

I fully plan on having this story caught up by movie three... so let's get through the next year (and the next two weeks for us poor Aussies who don't get to see Desolation Of Smaug till Boxing Day) and have some fun messing with plots, lives and all kinds of things.