I forgot the disclaimer last time so here it is: I don't own anything. Disappointing.
This is the corrected version, and is slightly different. Think of it as… extended. Please review! I welcome critics and any ideas you may have. Song is Alanis Morrissettes "Crazy".
She woke up before the hobbits, her eyes slowly fluttering open. She stared up at the sunlight bursting through the trees with confusion. Boromir stared at her, or more likely, her hair. How had it become so tangled?
"Hhhh." She breathed in shock. She had lifted her heavily bandaged arms and was staring at them in horror. She twisted one and winced.
"Ahem. My Lady." Boromir announced himself politely. She squeaked in fear and leapt to her feet. A wave of pain obviously assailed her and she almost collapsed. Boromir lunged to catch her but she span around and seeing his close proximity did, in her eyes the only thing she could.
She kicked him in the balls and ran for it.
I run as fast as I can with very painful arms, bare feet, and a blood stained dress and spiky forest floor. Which, admittedly, ain't fast. I slow and gently lower myself into a ditch under a log. It isn't the most incredible hiding place but it will have to do. I need to figure out what the fuck is going on here. Who was that sword wielding weirdo? I know for certain I'm not in Cork anymore. Or Caark. Depends if you're native. Last thing I remember is grabbing the knife and with cold calculation… Well. The bandages are evidence. Speaking of that, who bandaged my arms? Forgive me, but that guy didn't seem like the healing type. More the I-will -cut -your -small -5ft -nothing -frame -to -pieces -and –eat- your –dreadlocks character. Out of habit, I touch my hair. The familiar rope like substance isn't there. Well it is, but I cannot feel it. I try to wiggle my fingers. Three out of ten respond and I gasp with pain. The rest seemed dead? I try to wiggle my two index fingers. Nothing happens.
Holy Mother of Christ. I must have cut the muscles or something. Leaning my head back against the log I shake with dry sobs. I try not to cry with all my might and it just about works. I want to see what my arms are like so I clumsily unwrap the bandage. It seems like something from a horror film and all I can do is stare in horror at the red, shiny skin interlaced with black stitches reaching almost two centimetres above my once smooth forearm.
"You shouldn't have done that," A quiet but voice deadly murmurs in my ear. I stiffen and slowly turn my head "You shouldn't have done that either." I can see a hand gesture to my arm. It is a new man, not the one that I floored with my boot. His face is similar to the other but with a deeper quality, more a snake than a bear.
He grabs the back of my dress and yanks me out of my hiding place, throwing me to the floor. I yelp as it rides up revealing my bloody underwear. The jolt also sends a fresh wave of pain from my exposed arms. All I can do is lie on the floor shaking like leaf, biting my lip to stop the tears with my dress around my ears and a slowly gathering crowd that I can just see through my half closed eyelids.
Thankfully, the man seems to find this sight a bit too shameful and with a strong hand flicks my dress back over. He grabs my upper arm and props me up against a tree. I shudder and the tears begin to course down my face, silent waterworks carving a dark trail of eyeshadow and eyeliner and who knows what. I feel small, not for the first time. I am a puny little twenty three year old in a country in I don't even know where with swords and knives and shit and all I have are my songs, my dances, no hands and my thin, white cotton dress that barely reaches my knees. I am deader than dead meat which has murdered something. And Kate. Oh God.
Like a rag doll I collapse to the side, and clutch my belly which I cannot feel and weep bitterly for nearly thirty hiccups and sobs.
"I…only…wanted to die. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just…I just…" I hoarsely sob to myself.
"My Lady, are you alright?" a voice asks, hesitantly.
I sit back up and stare through red eyes at my surroundings. I am in a circle of people. I flick my gaze from each of them in confusion. There is the man who I kicked, sitting stiffly and looking balefully at me. I cringe from his gaze and move to the next person. It is a man, so beautiful I am bewildered. His hair is a deep golden and he is dressed in muted browns and greens. I look for the weapons that will certainly be on his person and I'm not disappointed: a quiver filled with fatal arrows, tipped to punch through armour and rip through flesh. I swallow nervously and see his eyes filled with pity. It riles me so I look to his companion, a bearded man, shorter than I am. He probably has dwarfism, I think to myself. He isn't looking at me; he is staring at the huge axe between his calloused palms as if it would burn under his gaze. Then, four tiny boys, almost half my height. I look in shock at them. They are so small.
"Ahem." The snake clears his throat and I look at him fearfully. "I do not know where you are from, but surely it bad manners even in your homeland to repay the preservers of your life with violence?"
I stare at him, uncomprehending, unable to tear my gaze from the long naked blade at his hip. He follows my look and sighs, running a hand through his dark, grimy hair. He drags it from hip and I feel sick, just imagining how it would feel to have it in my flesh. He lifts it and I hold my useless arms over my face and squeeze my eyes shut. There is a soft thump and I look up. He's only thrown it aside. I blush at my overreacting and examine the ground between.
"We give you healing and you hurt one of us?" he demands, but softer, like you would of an insane person. I suppose that is what I look like. What I am.
"You healed me?" I ask in surprise.
"Yes!" he nods vehemently, and I go even redder.
"I didn't recognize him. All I saw was some casual pervert rapist lunging for me!" I say defensively, "I had no idea where I was and then a random lunatic I don't know comes at me with a long pointy thing. I know what knives and swords can do, don't you forget!" I hold up my scarred arms. The man huffs and looks away. The little men in the background gasp and cough at the mass of scar tissue.
"Alright. Enough with the excuses. Who are you? What are you doing here? And why dishonour our companion Boromir in such a way?" The little dwarf with the axe marches over and stands over me.
"You'd think I'd cut it off..." I mutter mutinously, staring with my eyes wide at the axe.
"YOU GO TOO FAR!" roars the Elf. I leap in shock and stare at him. He's bunched up like a spring. I draw my knees up to my chest.
"WHO ARE YOU?" His hands are clenching at his sides.
"I-I-I'm…" I stutter, thinking at how he was smaller than Pa, but if he took off his belt then… Oh God no please!
"WHO?" he commands, staring me straight in the face. I try to make myself speak but I can't, I'm choking but nothing comes out. It's like it was when I was little, stuttering and rambling until I fell silent and looked at the floor like a pathetic whelp.
"Legolas! Gimli! You shame yourselves!" a little voice pipes up. It is one of the tiny men. He moves in front of them and backs them up. "
"I'm Pippin Took, a hobbit of the Shire. This is my cousin Merry Brandybuck," A tall (relatively) 'hobbit' grins and nods politely at me. "Samwise Gamgee," a protective looking 'hobbit' waves merrily at me, "and Frodo Baggins." A nervous looking 'hobbit' gives a wan smile but his eyes seem happy.
"I am Boromir, son of Denethor." The man I kicked announces himself and gives a half bow. I smile nervously and awkwardly get up without using my arms to totter over to him.
"I am very sorry for kicking you. Can we start again?" He nods.
"Right." Says Pippin. "Legolas Greenleaf of the Woodland Realm, Gimli son of Gloin, and Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Commonly known as Strider." The angry blonde boy, the angry short guy, and the angry snake all give me jerky bows.
"Right. I'm Aoife, of County Caark in Ireland." I say nervously. "I mean Cork. Cork." Dammit. My decidedly Dubliners accent slips whenever I say the word Caark. I mean Cork.
"Caark. I have never heard of it. It is in the south?" asks the dwarf, bewildered.
"Well, where is here?" I ask with interest. "Transylvania, maybe?"
"No. Rohan." Answers Aragorn shortly.
"What continent is that?" I inquire crossing my fingers.
"Continent?"
Shit.
"Um, never mind. Oh and I know you have done a lot for me, but would it be possible to get a pair of trousers? Or anything? I'll dance for you for free if you want?" I offer, hopefully.
The men and the dwarf in the group explode with a lot of shocked but amused spluttering. Having two brothers, I'm guessing I just said something dirty.
"We do not…require the services…of a doxy." Coughs Gimli, his smile nearly concealed in his beard.
"Not like that!" I groan. "Like this. Um, Pippin? Can you clap a rhythm?" The hobbit laughs and shakes his head.
"Not me! Merry is better." He gestures to his cousin and I raise an eyebrow. The hobbit obliges and begins to clap a medium fast beat.
Oh, sometimes showing off is just what you need.
I count to three and begin to ask my feet to tap a weaving rhythm on the ground, humming a song which quickly gains words and I let my boots fall into the familiar patterns.
"No we're never gonna survive, unless, we get a little crazy." I sing, feeling the release that dancing always gives me. But as usual, I feel my mind jumping to what I did wrong, making me feel small and stupid and horribly embarrassed. The hobbits enthusiastically clap and I blush and feel tears prick my eyes under the slightly confused stares of the men.
"I have never seen such a dance." Says the blonde man, and I duck my head.
"Can I have some trousers now?" I mumble.
"Of course." Aragorn replies. "Then we shall decide what we are going to do with the little dancing, kicking being we have in here."
I smile in confusion and follow him to find trousers, and looking around at the assembled company, I don't see anyone with trousers who might fit me.
Thank you for reading!