Thanks for the kind reviews. I was happily surprised by the interest. I hope you enjoy this chapter and hope the transitions in time are not too confusing. It is a little experimental.

I dedicate this chapter to Google and Wikipedia. Without your existence, casually researching topics I do not know about would be much more difficult.

I am not a medical practitioner. Any mistakes regarding medical terminology or procedures are my own.


He blinked against the sudden burst of sunlight that assaulted his eyes. Behind him he heard the portal close. See, Wong? Easy. His eyes quickly adjusted to the light and the smile that was playing on his lips quickly died as he found himself facing a great stone wall at least twice his height. Civilization. Not ideal, but it doesn't seem like anyone is h-

A sudden shout of alarm broke that thought. Stephen sharply twisted about and frowned when he saw three tall, dark tan walls in front of him.

A courtyard. Of course it's a courtyard.

The shout seemed to come from a man not twenty yards in front of him, exiting from one of the smaller buildings of what looked to be a fairly large complex. He was dressed in some sort of red and dull gold armor, adorned with a helm that obscured all but his eyes, and armed with sword and spear. It was not exactly what one would call modern. Like your own very modern clothing? a small voice broke through his thoughts. He ignored it.

To his right, several yards away, was the largest building of the complex: a two-story fort with a large base and steep, sloping roofs of a dull grey hue with long eaves. To his left was a heavy gate made of wood and iron sitting beside a small stable. In front of him the man had already drawn a sword.

It seemed the locals had no interest in making friends with him, and Stephen had no desire to stick around and try to parley with the warrior. He quickly jumped up to fly over the wall and out of the complex.

Or, at least, that was the plan. The Cloak of Levitation managed to get him about five feet off the ground before suddenly giving way, causing him to stumble back to the earth.

Shit. He swiftly pulled himself off the ground. The soldier approaching him had paused, though he was too far away for Stephen to read his expression. It was then he noticed that there were men on top of the walls, also now staring at him.

Because those are ramparts, not walls, a part of his brain dutifully informed him. And those men were now moving quickly down the walls, more than likely to him. Behind him, he heard a horn sound.

He began to run, heading straight towards a narrow alley between one of the walls and the larger building. Plan B. He held his left hand straight forward and quickly began to make a portal - or, at least, tried. He managed to get a few sparks off, but found that he was having just as much difficulty as he did when he first came to Kamar-Taj.

Stephen gritted his teeth. Now was not the time for magical difficulties. As he ran, he attempted to conjure a weapon, and found the same amount of problems creating a weapon as he had with creating a portal.

Fine. Plan C. Still attempting to conjure something, he began to round the building to make his way to the entrance of the compound. Unfortunately, the way was blocked by three of the soldiers, all dressed and armed similarly as the first one he encountered. Stephen looked behind him; four rounded the corner and closed in on him.

Not ideal, per se, but his odds were not impossible.

He slowly took a defensive stance as he said, "I don't want to fight you! I am not your enemy!"

One of the soldiers snarled at him. "It is over, tark! Your lands shall wither and your king shall fall!"

Definitely not ideal. "Hey, whoever you think I am, I'm not. I'm not a 'tark' - whatever that is. This is all a big misunderstanding." He tried to look as peaceful as possible while maintaining his semi-defensive position.

It did not do the trick. The soldier barked an order in a language Stephen did not understand, and suddenly two of the men were charging at him.

Well, they cannot say he did not try.

He ducked under the sword of the first one, managing to elbow him in the side and tripping him as the soldier was swinging for his head. The soldier fell to one knee. The second man sent his blade towards Stephen's side just as he managed to gain his footing again, and he leapt out of the way towards the wall. Attempting to conjure up a shield just brought about a lazy showering of sparks from his hand. This, however, gave all of the soldiers pause, and those closest backed up. One of them said something in their language, and two of them approached him again, this time more slowly.

The sparks seemed to have some effect, even if it was not the intended effect. Regardless, Stephen tried to use this to his advantage. He suddenly moved forward to the one who spoke to him, attempting to create a shield once more. Once more he failed to succeed, but the man immediately backed away as he presumed he would, and he followed him with a quick shove towards the wall. Only one man stood in his way now, and this one he tried to shove aside with a quick elbow jab.

Unfortunately, the man dodged his incoming blow and quickly thrust his fist straight into Stephen's face. The sorcerer caught it in the mouth and his head swung to the side. Before he could regain his bearings, the man he had just shoved aside was back. The soldier quickly knocked the pommel of his blade against his forehead, causing him to stagger backwards.

Dazed and without working magic, it was easy for two more soldiers to bear down upon him. One grabbed at his left arm while another attempted to shove him down to the ground; with his body going one way and his arm held quite firmly, damage was inevitable. A sickening pop rang through the air before his shoulder exploded in a searing pain, causing spots to flash before his eyes. An involuntary cry of pain escaped him before he found himself shoved into the dirt. One of the men kicked at his stomach several times while he lay there helplessly.

By the time he recovered, he was being dragged off the ground by two men. The one on his left made no attempts to be gentle with his joint, and the flare of pain that sprang as he was dragged nearly caused him to pass out.

Fortunately - or perhaps, unfortunately - he did not fall to unconsciousness. It took him another moment to gather his senses beyond the pain, but once he did, he saw that he was now facing the threshold of the large building. Before him standing in the doorway was another man dressed in rich, red robes that matched the red of the soldiers' uniforms. The man was about his age, with dark grey hair and cold black eyes.

One of the soldiers stood beside him, speaking quietly in the strange language. He handed him something bright, and within a moment Stephen realized it was his sling ring. That's not good. The robed man examined it for a moment before putting it in a pocket, and the soldier continued speaking again.

Whatever he said seemed to perk the robed man's interest. He stepped forward and grasped Stephen's chin, twisting his fingernails into his jaw. The sorcerer gritted his teeth and held the other man's gaze silently.

"So, Gondor is sending sorcerers now," the man said to him. "Unexpected, but futile."

Stephen blinked. His head was terribly groggy; this was not the ideal time for any sort of interrogations. "What - no, look, this is all just-"

"- a misunderstanding," the robed man finished for him. "I am sure it is. It is this misunderstanding that brought a company of your country's soldiers to my lands, as well. Is that right?"

He exhaled slowly, partially to try and alleviate the throbbing in his head and the fire in his left shoulder. It did not work particularly well, especially considering breathing also caused his ribs to ache. Well done, Stephen. "I'm not from this- this Gondor."

The robed man narrowed his eyes at him. "Do not think to lie to me, tark. I have powers beyond your meager mind." He pressed his thumb against Stephen's forehead.

He cried aloud in pain as something akin to a shock wracked through his entire body. It lasted for but a couple seconds, but it was enough to take the remainder of his strength, leaving him hanging from the soldiers' firm grip. Congratulations, you found another sorcerer, the annoying little voice inside his mind was happy to inform him.

Stephen managed to regain his bearings only to hear the end of the other sorcerer's words. "... should be arriving soon. Keep them together. I will deal with them later."

And with that, he was dragged into the building by four guards, one of which had a spear trained upon his back. As he did his best to keep his feet, his thoughts spun quickly through his head.

Well, Wong will be happy to hear that he was right about the magical differences between the two dimensions. Of course, if Wong finds out about this, I'm never going to live it down. Best to escape before he comes looking for me. All I need is to find the correct way to manipulate the powers in this dimension. Shouldn't be too difficult.

One of the soldiers yanked on his left arm and he clenched his teeth to keep himself from crying out. Not too difficult. Hopefully.


Aragorn's eyes widened in dismay. He swiftly brought two fingers to Strange's carotid artery upon his neck; the heartbeat was still quite strong. Lowering his hand, he gave the man's face one last cursory look before turning to the arm. Better for him to be unconscious while this is being done, he decided.

He took a hold upon his arm. In the corner of his eye he saw movement from his other shoulder, and he paused. "Doctor Strange?"

No answer. A trick of the light, he decided, and brought full focus again to the dislocated arm. It was difficult to do it completely effectively with the man still in chains, but he would make do.

As far as the chains would allow it, he flexed the left elbow slowly. Then he began to rotate his forearm with an external rotation in a manner more gentle than may be expected by what appeared to be a battle-hardened warrior. Aragorn then applied traction upon the humerus, slowly pulling downward upon it. When the involuntary spasms in Strange's arm significantly decreased, he carefully pulled his elbow across him as far as the other's chains would permit him to go. Finally, he ended it with rotating the arm internally before slowly releasing him.

"The Kocher maneuver. Archaic, but effective."

Aragorn nearly launched himself into Strange's limp form at the sudden voice behind him, but luckily for the other man, he just managed to avoid him as he leapt to his feet and backed up against the wall near him, his small utility knife at the ready. He found himself looking at the floating half-body of his cellmate.

Stephen Strange raised his hands placidly. "Do be careful with that knife."

He swerved his eyes to the man chained beside him. He was still there and still very unconscious. Aragorn's gaze went back to the image of the man floating three feet away from him. It was definitely him, though he bore no wounds. Looking between the two images of the man, Aragorn did not bother to mask his amaze - or his suspicion - in his next words. "What is this sorcery?"

"My astral projection," Strange answered patiently. "I was able to see what you were doing better from here."

That answered absolutely nothing. Tightening his grip upon the weapon, Aragorn pressed his lips into a fine line. He looked again at the prone form beside him.

Strange seemed to read his mind. "I am not your enemy, Mister Strider."

"Whom do you serve?" Aragorn retorted in turn, looking again between the two forms of Doctor Strange.

The doctor exhaled slowly. "No one. Well, no one here. I serve my world, if I serve anything."

His grip did not relent. "Your world," he repeated.

"It's complicated," Strange answered. "Like I said, I'm not from here. Where I am from would go far beyond your understanding." Aragorn frowned, and he quickly continued, "Look, we need each other to escape. There's a lot of them out there and you'll have a better chance of surviving with me by your side."

Aragorn raised his brows at him. "I would have a better chance?" he said dryly.

"Well, yes. As I said, there are a lot of them, not to mention a sorcerer."

Now he lowered his knife, concern overcoming his suspicion. "They have a sorcerer?"

His astral form nodded. "Yup. He's different from what I've seen before, but I should be able to handle him." Aragorn looked down at the sorcerer's limp form, clearly unconvinced. Strange lightly scowled at him and continued, "Despite my arm, it is better for you to have a sorcerer on your side. You won't get out of here without me."

Aragorn looked back to his form. Eventually he said, "Nor you without me."

"Possibly. It could be a little more challenging, I admit."

He remained still for a time. Finally he exhaled slowly and lowered his arm completely. "How many men does this sorcerer have?"

Strange pressed his lips together. "I'm not sure. I'll check." Before Aragorn could ask what he meant by that, he disappeared completely from sight.

Is this wise? he could not help but ask himself as he looked again at this Doctor Strange. Sorcerers only served the Dark Lord. Of course, if he speaks truth when he claims not to be of this world… He let his thoughts trail off as he continued to study him.

Regardless, ally or foe, he eventually came to the realization that he could use an ally, especially against a sorcerer. Even if he thought Doctor Strange untrustworthy, he could not harm a chained, defenseless man. And there was some part of him, deep instincts borne over decades of dealing with all sorts of people, that felt that he was genuine.

As Aragorn stared at the man, he turned his attention to the wound on his head. With the shoulder taken care of with what little resources they had, seeing to that wound was the next step. He carefully lifted his hand towards Strange's face to get a better look at the gash on his forehead.

That was when the edge of the red cloak flew from the ground and blocked his approach.

Aragorn only just held back a shout of surprise, but he did not succeed in completely catching himself as he fell backwards from his crouched position. The ache that came with the fall was nothing compared to his shock at the sentient piece of clothing. The cloak hovered in place for a moment before slowly descending again into a resting position.

He made no further attempts in approaching the man. Indeed, he was quite happy to keep his distance for now.

He did not wait long for the sorcerer to return. In but a couple more minutes Strange appeared in front of him in his astral form just beside his limp body. To Aragorn's credit, he did not flinch outwardly at the sudden reappearance.

"Well, Mister Strider, I'm glad you didn't kill me," Strange said dryly in greeting.

"Your cloak moved."

"What? Oh, yeah. It does that. It's been a bit less lively since we came to your world, but I'm glad to hear it's back to its old self." He looked down at it; his collar shifted slightly as if in acknowledgement. "It seems it just needed some extra time as I did."

Aragorn raised a brow. "Extra time," he repeated.

"Yup. Oh, there are fifty-five men, all dressed as soldiers, and the one sorcerer. It seems we've been left alone because he's busy attempting to discover the secrets of my sling ring."

"Which is?"

"It's how I got here. To say he must not discover how to use it would be an understatement. If he figured out how it functions, it could be quite, uh, disastrous. However, we should remain undisturbed as long as he's kept occupied by it."

Aragorn nodded. "How much of the area were you able to search in your time away?"

"Every room, of course," Strange answered, sounding a little affronted. "As well as the walls and the exterior. I am not one to do a job half-done." He scoffed softly.

His brows rose high. "Just how large is this complex?"

"Fairly large. Two buildings surrounded by ramparts. Some stables. Do you know the area?"

He frowned as he considered it. "There are a few fortresses in the area. This could be any of them. What do our surroundings look like?"

Strange frowned, this time. "There was a forest to the south and east of us. I caught mountains in the distance in both directions."

Aragorn rubbed his chin. "That narrows it down a little, but not much." He looked back up at the sorcerer. "How did you search so quickly? You were gone for but a couple minutes."

"Ah, that." He shrugged as if it were nothing of significance. "I can travel faster than the normal passage of time in my astral form, should I choose to."

"I see."

"I sincerely doubt it."

Aragorn gave him an even look that seemed to have little effect on Strange. Ignoring the comment for now, he instead mused on his earlier words. "How far can you travel?"

"Very far." The sorcerer gave him a querying look. "Why?"

He waved a hand towards the wall. "My company is still out there looking for me. If you can travel quickly, you may be able to alert them before our captors return."

Strange looked intrigued. "Where are they?"

Aragorn shook his head. "I cannot know for certain, but from what you described, I would presume they are to the south or southwest of us. Should you follow the tracks leading from here, it will lead you in the right direction. They may very well be following those same tracks."

"That would be convenient," he answered. "Okay then. I'll try not to be too long." With that, he disappeared once more.

He exhaled slowly as Strange disappeared - or, one form of him disappeared. His normal body was still quite limp. He did not approach it, however, having no desire to test this magical cloak. Rather he began to slowly comb over their cell in search of some sort of forgotten shard of metal or sliver of loose stone that would serve as a good pick for the sorcerer's manacles.

The man would be of little use still chained as he was, after all.


Being chained to a wall with a dislocated shoulder was not the most unpleasant thing Stephen Strange has experienced in his life, but it certainly was not something he would volunteer to do again.

His captors were not exactly gentle when they forced him to the floor and his hands into the manacles. He waited until they the door of the cell was shut and their footsteps had faded off before he let out a low moan in pain. His cloak slightly fluttered, but just like he, it seemed out of sorts in this new world.

He took as deep a breath as his bruised rib cage permitted. Focus, Stephen, he told himself. The only way you're going to get out of this is if you can connect with the forces of this world. Focus.

And so the sorcerer closed his eyes and travelled deep within his mind's eye. He fell into a heavy meditation, the same sort that helped him better work through the trials of Kamar-Taj and outright survive the aftermath of his encounter with Dormammu. His ability to find sleep being utterly shattered by the horrific images of his many deaths, it was only through meditation that he found any resemblance of rest these days.

It was to that place he travelled again; the rest of his surroundings and the intense pain within his head, his arm, his hands, they all faded as he sought the currents that wove the magical fabric of this universe. It left him all but oblivious to the waking world, with only some sort of great stimuli being able to break his concentration.

That stimuli came in the form of the cell door being thrown open. Stephen could not say how much time had passed since he had begun meditating, but to say he was frustrated would be an understatement. He was at the cusp of discovering this world's functions only to be rudely interrupted by these barbaric imbeciles.

He quickly discovered - and for this, he was admittedly grateful - that they came not for him, but rather to dispose another prisoner into the cell. The unconscious man was unceremoniously tossed to the ground, where his head thudded against the stone floor with a painful-sounding thump. Stephen could not help but wince sympathetically.

The soldiers shot him suspicious looks before leaving the cell, locking the thick wooden door behind them. Stephen allowed his eyes to adjust to the dark once more as he examined his brand new cellmate.

The man looked to be about his age, if not a little older; there was about the same amount of grey on his head, though scattered about his otherwise dark, shoulder-length hair. In the dim light he could make out nasty bruising on his tanned face. A trickle of dried blood led to his forehead, but the wound was obscured by his hair and the darkness around them.

He wore some sort of leather tunic over a dark linen shirt. That, his dark pants, and his overall position made it impossible to determine other wounds. He was alive, at the least; he did not carry the slackness dead men bore. That, and his hands were bound tightly behind his back. Dead men were not usually bound.

Stephen sighed. However the man was hit, he did not look to be stirring soon, and so the sorcerer closed his eyes and resumed his meditation. He was very close to finding the flow of power within this world. With a bit more time, he would have it.

With luck, it would be before Wong got worried and sent someone after him. Having to be rescued in his first trans-universe experience would just be embarrassing.