A Road Less Traveled

Rating: T for violence and cursing.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings or any of the characters, places, or situations affiliated with it. They are the creation of J.R.R. Tolkien and I have merely borrowed them for my own nefarious purposes.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

-excerpt from "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost

Chapter One: Of Arrows and Insanity

You know, over the years, it has come to my attention that there are simply some things that one shouldn't attempt when one finds one's self in a strange place. Aside from "drink the water," "interact with the locals" is one of those said "some things," and the fact that an arrow hovered approximately an inch from my nose at that moment served quite well to cement that particular impression firmly in my mind. Of course, I'm rather certain that possessing the simple grace to keep my mouth shut upon stumbling into this increasingly foreign world would have proved advantageous.

Then again, at first glance, it really didn't seem all that foreign. That is to say, the trees were the same: The surrounding wood consisted of a mix of towering pines, birches, oaks, and various other plants that I had never bothered to learn to distinguish; and the air still carried the heavy scent of loam. Thus, the issue wasn't so much the environment as it was the creatures who presently inhabited it.

I suppose that I can't really blame them, though. Really, how would you react if some random weirdo came blundering into your campsite at an ungodly hour of the morning while swearing at the top of her lungs? Certainly paints a pleasant image, doesn't it?

And it probably also explained why there was a loaded weapon currently staring me in the face.

"Who are you?" Stern and riddled with age, an old man's voice tore my focus away from my assailant, but I caught myself just before I whipped my head around. That was a fortunate thing, too, seeing as any movement on my part was met with an increase in the pressure behind the bowstring while my trigger-happy friend drew it a little farther back. On one hand, one would've thought that it would've occurred to me that it was more than a little odd that this guy had drawn a bow on me in the first place.

At that point, however, that little discrepancy was the last thing on my mind: I'd been struck dumb by the mere sight of the being before me. Swallowing roughly, I allowed my gaze to travel slowly across the small expanse that separated me from my so-called "trigger-happy" acquaintance. Wide eyes slid up the arrow shaft and along leanly muscled arms before finally coming to rest on the face of the most striking being I had ever encountered.

Long, flaxen hair and finely- chiseled features he possessed: His strong cheekbones, graceful jaw and chin, and elegant brow struck me momentarily dumb. His eyes, though, were the most remarkable part of his visage. They were an incredible shade of blue—like sapphire—and they burned with an unearthly sort of light. He was beautiful: Truly, there was no other word to describe him, though it wasn't a feminine beauty. No, rather, it was exactly the opposite. Even with the golden hair that fell over his shoulders, I could easily tell that he was male.

Those glittering blue eyes met mine and, with a start, I realized that I was staring at him like an idiot. My face flaming in embarrassment, I quickly dropped my gaze to my shoes as if the pink and gray New Balance were the most interesting things I had ever seen. In doing so, I ignored the little niggling voice in the back of my mind that inanely noted that the man across from me fell much more so into the category of "intriguing" than did my sneakers. Of course, it might have proven a little easier to admire him had he lowered his bow. Sadly, he didn't seem inclined to do so for the foreseeable future, and I swallowed again in hopes that the voice that had abandoned me would return from its inopportune hiatus.

"I bid you, speak quickly," the aged voice called out again. "Your silence does not bode well. Again, I ask, who are you?" The tone held the slightest hint of agitation, and I felt indignation flare up within me. I mean, honestly, I hadn't done anything to him or his companion and I hadn't any intention to, either—unless I was given a good reason.

Well, a reason other than the arrow presently poised and ready to skewer me.

Now, under normal circumstances, I'm a relatively temperate person. Okay, perhaps that's a little forgiving as I'm quick to anger at times, but those instances are few and far between. Unfortunately for these fellows, the immediate situation was swiftly becoming one of those cases.

"Come now. I grow impatient," the old man—or I assumed it was an old man, seeing how I had yet to actually spot him—continued.

Heaven forbid, I thought mordantly. And who on earth talks like that?

I believe it was this very train of thought that started everything. I hadn't really considered until that precise moment that this was probably the strangest predicament I had ever experienced. There I was, my back against a tree, cornered by a beautiful, bow-wielding man who dressed as though he had fallen out of an Errol Flynn film-granted, Flynn had nothing on him, in my opinion, anyway-; while being verbally harassed by some old geezer. Indeed, if anyone had told me over my morning coffee that I would be subjected to this kind of madness, I likely would have laughed quite loudly in that particular individual's face.

And then promptly notified the nearest asylum.

Fortunately (for that someone at least) I found myself left completely in the dark and so wondering how in the name of all that is good and green I had ended up in this mess. Needless to say, confusion reigned.

"Child…" The hint of agitation in that sage voice had grown into full-fledged annoyance, and I bristled at his tone. I mean, who did he think he was, anyway?

At last, I found my voice. "Call off your guard dog and I might oblige you." Good Lord, how I can manage to be both articulate and insulting amazes me sometimes. Really, it does. Okay, so maybe it wasn't the most intelligent thing to say, considering that the alleged "guard dog" stood a good head taller than me and wielded a deadly weapon. What can I say? Living is overrated…

Right.

The man before me said something in a soft, melodic language that, even to my addled brain, struck me as vaguely familiar, but, for the life of me, I couldn't place where I'd heard it before. Although judging from the scowl that twisted his lips, whatever he'd said most likely wasn't complimentary. All the same, the notion that I had gotten a rise out of him left me feeling strangely satisfied—stupid as that perception might sound. He seemed far too perfect for his own good.

Luckily, I was saved from any further foreign oaths when the old man spoke once again; this time in my assailant's strange tongue. "Blondie," as I had taken to calling him in my mind, replied in kind, distrust obvious in his voice.

"Stand down, Legolas." The old man slipped back into a tongue I could understand and, even though he'd been less than pleasant thus far, I felt grateful to him, for the bow lowered and my assailant stepped away.

Relief was a fleeting emotion, though, as another thought suddenly occurred to me. Wait…did he just call this guy "Legolas?"

And that, my friends, is when the shit hit the fan.

I just stood there, completely stupefied, before my mouth decided to work of its own accord and dig my hole just a little bit deeper.

"Legolas?"

The name slipped past my lips as little more than a breathy whisper—in fact, I barely registered that I'd spoken at all—but the words were audible, and "Blondie" whipped around to fix me with a pointed stare. I gazed back numbly as bewilderment flooded my senses. My jaw worked, but no sound escaped my lips as I met his icy stare.

I kept up the fish-out-of-water look for a few more seconds before I finally forced my vocal cords to produce some semblance of speech. "No…no way…" With that, I took a fumbling step back and tripped as my heels caught the shallow roots of the tree behind me. I flinched when my back met rough bark.

"Legolas," meanwhile, merely watched my display, his face an impassive mask. I gave myself a mental shake. For the first time in my life, I seriously questioned my sanity.

Okay, Kel, no more take-out before bed, I told myself somberly and I'd make sure to take stock of that bit of wisdom. That is, assuming that I ever got out of this nightmare; because that's exactly what it was: a nightmare. It's just a dream, Kel. No worries. Liz will wake you up in a few minutes, shouting about being late for class. I took a strange sort of comfort in that idea and drew a calming breath. I'm sorry to say that it didn't help nearly as much as it should have. And, before you ask, yes, I totally ignored that fact that the bark of the tree was rough and cool against my back and the scent of damp earth, burning wood, and cooked meat filled my nose. It's just a dream...

Yeah, and who was I trying to kid?

My heart still thumping in my chest, I took stock of the clearing, my eyes darting back and forth prior to coming to rest upon a gray-clad figure perched atop what appeared to be a stump. Granted, it could have been a giant toadstool for all I cared at that moment, but that's totally besides the point. Utterly blindsided, I gaped at him.

He had to be at least a hundred. A tangled mass of gray hair tumbled well past his stooped shoulders, mixing with the long beard that fell nearly to his waist, and I noted obscurely that he could have tucked it into his belt had he wished. It's funny, isn't it, how the mind strays under stress? All in all, though, the old man fit the description of a wizard to a "T." I had a sneaking suspicion that there was a reason behind that, too, and, growing more unnerved by the second, I ripped my gaze away from him.

"You would do well to speak when addressed, girl," "Legolas'" voice tore me from my slightly numb state as my head jerked up harshly and I felt the fire of indignation swell once more.

Well, isn't he a right ass? The thought served to jar me back into a somewhat more stable condition, which, of course, led to my shooting off at the mouth again.

"Well, I'd tell you what you'd do well to do, too, but I doubt you'd like it," I spat with much more venom than I thought myself capable. Perhaps whatever strange occurrence had landed me in this mess had temporarily damaged my brain because I think that had I been in the right frame of mind, I might have kept quiet. Sadly, I was neither sane nor silent by that point.

Instantly, the arrow returned to its former position: aimed right between my eyes.

"Hold your tongue, wench," he hissed.

The flame flared. "First, you tell me to speak and now you want me to shut up?" I pointed out with feigned incredulity. "Fickle, aren't you?"

Needless to say, "Legolas" didn't take kindly to my comments and he snarled something at me in his native tongue. You know, I'd never thought it possible to swear in what I was positive was Elvish, but I highly doubt whatever he said was pleasant.

A sudden urge to laugh filled me as I stood there and stared at the razor-sharp point of an "Elvish" arrow. This is insane. The thought flitted through my brain with reckless abandon and, against my will, a low chuckle escaped my throat. Check that. I'm insane.

"Right back at you, big guy," I replied as a grin found its way to my lips. Yes, I think that comment sealed the deal right there.

It was official. I had completely and totally lost it.

The arrow tip lowered to press menacingly against the hollow of my throat. "Silence," the "Elf" hissed and, although the word was softly spoken, the threat it contained was not lost on me. My courage failed and I fumbled in my haste to escape him, but found my escape thwarted as my back pressed fully against the trunk of the tree. The metal of the arrowhead pricked at my skin and I forced my gaze upwards, only to discover that "Legolas" had a look almost akin to triumph splayed across his handsome features.

Anger flared. Not irritation or indignation, but full-blown ire, and I met his stare unflinchingly as my fingers twitched before curling into fists. I don't think that I've ever wanted to hit someone as badly as I did him in that moment, and I might have actually tried to do so (while impaling myself on his arrow in the process) had our observer not stepped in.

"Enough!" The old man's voice erupted across the clearing. He rose then and stalked towards us; the staff he carried thudded softly against the packed earth as he approached. He halted before us, his eyes settling on my face, but I was too engaged with my "opponent" to notice. "Legolas, please lower your bow," he requested quietly, though sternly.

For a moment, I worried the "Elf" wouldn't pay him any heed, but after a few seconds spent in tense silence, "Legolas" did as the old man asked and stepped away. Unconsciously, I raised a hand to my throat and I couldn't stop the sigh of relief that escaped my lips.

Regardless, I felt inclined to toss one last barb in his direction. "Ah, at last, comprehension!" The look "Legolas" shot me in response would have, if looks could kill, sent me to an early grave.

"Your impertinence does not serve you well, girl." The statement almost caught me off guard as the one who'd spoken now stood hardly an arm's length away. Due to the short distance that now separated us, I could plainly see the old man's features.

A pair of blue eyes, deep and glittering, peered at me from beneath bushy, peppered eyebrows. The strange orbs sparkled with irritation and, to my surprise, something like amusement; as though he thought my comments to his companion funny. Even so, I edged away from him as best I could when he leaned forward and spoke. "Now, tell me please, your name and what business you have in these woods?" His voice brooked no room for argument.

I was at a total loss. Was he serious? Did he honestly expect me to answer that? I had half the mind to ask him what he was doing, traipsing around in the middle of the forest with a guy who thought he was a character from a book, but, for all I knew, both of them were off their rockers. Still, they had yet—and I stress the operative word "yet—" to kill me. So, instead, I settled on remaining aloof.

Lifting my chin, I crossed my arms and asked, "Who wants to know?" At my words, his frown deepened and, from the corner of my eye, I saw "Legolas" shift his bow into a more ready position.

"You are hardly in a position to ask questions, child," the old man replied in warning.

He was right, I had to admit. I mean, I was the one who had, more or less, stumbled upon them. Totally by accident, of course, and I meant them no harm (not that I could have done much of anything, anyway) but, apparently, that little detail escaped them. Still, I realized that I probably looked very strange to them—that is, if they really were who they claimed to be. There I was; a lone woman dressed in what they considered strictly male clothing and armed with little more than a quick tongue.

A tongue that I was sorely pressed to hold in light of the old codger's inquiries, and, biting back a number of tart responses, I waited for him to answer.

Seeing that I held no intention of yielding the desired information, the old man released a sigh of resignation and chose to humor me. "Among your kind I am known as Gandalf the Grey. You may call me as such," he explained wearily. "My companion is the prince of the great Elven kingdom Greenwood, Legolas Thranduilion."

I think I started to freak somewhere around "as such." This nutcase actually thought that he was Gandalf and that his trigger-happy buddy was Legolas. You've got to be kidding me. A smile began to tug at my lips.

"Gandalf?" I echoed, struggling to contain my laughter as I looked from one man to the other, "and Legolas?" I arched an eyebrow upon facing "Gandalf" again. "Right. And what exactly do you take me for? An idiot?" A swift glance at "Legolas" assured me of exactly what he thought. "Sorry, boys, but no go."

"Gandalf" looked slightly taken aback by my dismissal, but I disregarded the expression on his face and went on, "So, you know what? I'm just going to go back that way," I gestured absently over my shoulder, "and you can get back to playing Robin Hood and Friar Tuck, okay?" Turning on my heel, I stepped around the tree…only to collide soundly with something very solid and warm. It took me a second to comprehend that it was, in fact, someone's chest and, looking up, I muttered, "What's this? Another Merry Man?"

The purported "Merry Man" didn't respond; he merely stared down at me with both brows lifted in surprise.

I shrugged. "Ah, no matter. Sorry about that, good sir. I'll just be on my way now." That said, I made to step past him, but found my arm seized and unable to move save to spin back to face "Gandalf."

In a heartbeat, I was held fast, both my arms in a vice-like grip, and that simple action was all it took to completely shatter whatever semblance of calm I had achieved since "Gandalf's" revelation. Blood pounding in my ears, I swore vividly and began to struggle wildly in my captor's arms. "Let me go!" I snarled. I heard a hiss of pain when my heel connected with his shin and gave myself a mental pat on the back.

"Peace, child," ordered "Gandalf." "No harm will come to you."

"'No harm?'" I cried dubiously. "No harm! In case you didn't notice, Merlin, I've just spent the greater portion of the last ten minutes at the end of an arrow shaft and you say 'no harm will come to me.'" I continued to squirm in my captor's grasp. "God, you must think I'm stupid."

"You have given us no evidence otherwise," directed "Gandalf."

I froze abruptly at the comment, my eyes widening as its meaning sank in, and then exploded. "Why you—I can't—let me—!"

My inability to form a coherent sentence apparently amused the old man to no end. He neither smiled nor laughed or did anything else of the sort, but I still got the distinct impression that he was amused by me. His delight at my expense served only to fuel my rage and what happened in the next few seconds still remains as much a surprise to me as to those around me.

With a snarl, I tore free of my captor, whirled around, and threw all of my weight into launching myself at him. I suppose the momentum of a hundred and forty pound woman hurtling into him at full force was enough to knock him on his backside. Unfortunately, he took me with him.

"Son of a—!" The curse ended abruptly as I flew head over heels and landed roughly on my back, the air leaving my lungs in a great 'whoosh.' My initial reaction was to curl onto my side and cough as the wind had been knocked from my lungs. Even so, I was still very much aware of the flurry of activity around me.

There was the pounding of many footsteps and exclamations in "Elvish," followed by a grunt as the man I had tackled rose. Then someone crouched beside me and a firm, yet gentle hand gripped my shoulder before it forced me onto my back. I still struggled to draw a breath, but I managed to pry my clenched eyes open. "Gah—"

His face was only inches from mine, his sea-gray eyes clouded with what might have been concern, and my mind immediately registered his supposed identity.

Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur; Estel; Thorongil; Elessar…whatever. "Get away from me!" I yelled. "Aragorn" sat back at my abrupt demand, but he didn't move from my side.

Well, if he wasn't going to move, then I was, wheezing lungs be damned.

Scrambling up, I pitched myself backwards in terror. "Aragorn" seemed startled by my actions, as though I shouldn't have been at all frightened by him. I guess that, in his mind, he hadn't done me any harm. I myself had to admit that he hadn't really (if one disregarded the faint ache in my chest) but, of course, that assertion did little to assuage me.

"Get away! Don't come anywhere near me, you freak!" My backwards flight came to an unexpected halt when I slammed into something—someone's legs, I realized—and I raised wide eyes to stare up at a second raven-haired man.

It was then that the extent of my current position dawned on me and, as I gazed into his hardened face, my blood ran cold.

I was surrounded.

Trapped.

My only escape was now blocked by a stout little creature clad in rust-colored armor and armed with a lethal-looking axe. Gimli.

With a speed and grace that surprised me, I sprang to my feet. Staring wildly at the beings that encircled me, I took a step back, even though I knew there was nowhere to flee, and cried, "Stay away from me!"

"I'm afraid we cannot do that," explained "Gandalf," striding towards me, and, with horror, I realized that I was rooted to the spot. "You have shown yourself a threat to our purposes."

I met brilliant blue eyes and quelled. "A threat?" I cursed silently as my voice cracked.

"Aye." He nodded and turned towards "Aragorn." "Bind her hands."

"Bind my...but I'm—" I was immediately cut off by a piercing stare.

Expression grim, "Aragorn" moved forward, carrying a length of rope he had produced from the folds of his ragged cloak. I still can't believe I even considered what I did next, but, by that point, the fight or flight instinct had kicked in. Flight, I knew, was no longer an option. Thus, marveling at my total disregard for life, I tightened my fists and slid into a fighting stance.

"Aragorn" paused and just stared at me. He looked as though I had struck him, though I hadn't budged, but his expression slowly melted into something far more antagonizing than alarm. Much to my consternation, a slight smile broke out over his weathered features.

"Ah, lassie," "Gimli" called out to me. "Watch yourself. You deal with more than just a man."

Ah, what the hell? I had nothing to lose. Why not bait the little bugger? At least my last few minutes would prove entertaining.

"Indeed," I replied with a sideways glance. "I suppose you refer to yourself and that little hatchet of yours?" Okay, perhaps taunting him wasn't the wisest thing to do? The "little bugger," as I so blithely referred to him, tightened his grip on his axe's handle and spat a curse at me. I arched an eyebrow at his behavior and, casting him a droll smirk, said, "Charming."

A throat clearing drew my attention back to "Aragorn," who stood across from me, the rope still clenched in his hands. He took a few steps forward and gave me a meaningful look, but I remained as I was and watched him warily. If he thought I was going to go quietly, he had quite another thing coming.

Alas, Fate had other ideas and, before I could so much as blink, something slammed into the back of my skull and everything went black.

A/N: When I started this story, I had no idea that I would receive the response that it has generated. A Road Less Traveled began as a half-finished ficlet in an abandoned notebook that a friend of mine stumbled across while the two of us were clearing out some junk in my closet. She found the scribble rather funny and when I read it (I'd completely forgotten I'd even written the thing) I did as well and, so, I decided to clean it up and post it. After that, I made it my mission to write a story featuring an original character that was as realistic as possible. Since that point, this fic has seen several revisions and a two year hiatus in which I despaired of ever finishing the story that I had once so enjoyed writing. I have since returned and hope to finish this fic and its accompanying side stories and interludes in due time. I must warn you, though, that I am very slow to update and tend to post in random spurts—that is, a chapter or two at a time and often with weeks (or months) in between. Just bear with me.

Chapter originally posted on : 9/16/2006

Revised: 3/20/2012

Later, folks,

Wake