Chapter Two: Of Walking and Inner Monologues

"Time, it took us to where the water was,
That's what the water gave me.
And time goes quicker between the two of us,
Oh, my love, don t forsake me,
Take what the water gave me."
- Florence and the Machine, What the Water Gave Me.

As it turned out, the journey to Bree was longer than anticipated. Very, very long. And boring. And the company of the man was less than interesting. In fact, she would be so forward to say that he was a bore. He would quietly sing in the evenings, sometimes in a language that sounded like Finnish, sometimes in words she could understand. She had a growing feeling that she was a long way from home. Of course, Elizabeth sang as well. She promised she would keep it to a minimum when she saw the look of pain across his face when she sang 'Build Me Up Buttercup'. It was also a few notches above what he considered quiet.

The first night was hell for both of them. For her because she had always been in tent when she slept outside and the tree roots were most uncomfortable. For him because Elizabeth had slightly vomited at the sight of him gutting a young rabbit and he was amazed that she still had songs to sing by morning. Still, he was grateful that she didn't complain much, even when the stew he had given her was less than appetizing. No, she didn't complain, she was just considerably irritating.

It was the second day of travelling when the boredom really started to set it. She judged by his reactions that his favourite song so far was Lady Gaga's 'Born This Way', and his least favourite was The Donna's 'Take it Off'. She was in the middle of a beautiful, she thought, version of 'Anyway you want it', her choice of Journey song, no matter what people said about Don't Stop Believing, when he spoke, "Must you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Sing all the time."

"Yes," she answered, "Unless you have a better idea to waste time?"

No reply. "Singing it is..." She continued the Journey number, cracking her knuckles self consciously. Anti-social renaissance hobo. What is up with his clothes, anyway? Maybe that's just how rangers dress. I wonder why I've never seen a ranger like him before... Meh, they're probably too busy cuddling with trees or wrestling with rocks to be seen in public.

He thought she was the strangest of creatures, dressed in trousers and tunic instead of a gown or women's travelling clothes, her crass language, the inappropriate songs, the jokes that he didn't understand.

("Hey, ranger!"

"Yes?"

"Want to hear a hilarious joke?"

"If you insist."

"Knock Knock."

"You're supposed to ask who's there."

"Who is there?"

"Water."

"You're supposed to say, 'Water who?'"

"Water who?"

"Water you doing in my house!")

She hadn't made an attempt to make conversation after that, maybe it was because he didn't laugh. In the present, our heroine was musing what the strangers name was. Probably something old, like Argyle. Or Niles. She gave up her name game and thought of home. Ah, Grandma... She'll be scaring the trousers off the couple next door, asking if they've seen me. As soon as I get out of this forest, I'm leading the charge home. "Um, excuse me? Mr. Ranger?"

"Yes?" He answered through gritted teeth.

"How much time do you think it will take to get to this 'Bree'?"

"Another week, at least." He continued walking with extended strides. He was dreading another week of her never-ending tunes. Disbelief was etched all over her features; she'd expected two days at the most. Great, another week of Mr. Too-High-and-Mighty-to-Laugh-at-My-Jokes.

"I have another question." She paused when this failed to get any response, "What's your name?"

That made the corners of his mouth quirk upwards. "You may call me Strider."

She hurried forward, so she was standing in front of him. "Seeing as I'm trusting you to lead my put of an unknown forest, you may as well know my actual name. I'm Elizabeth Sparrow, pleased to meet you." She held out a hand. He took it and kissed it.

"Strider. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"I was going for a handshake, actually." She commented dryly. "Don't you have a last name? Or are you too important for that? Like Madonna, or Lassie?"

"I see no need for you to know it."

"Well, you could have told me that before I told you mine." She grumbled, now walking beside him rather than behind. "So... What you going to do when to get Bree?"

"I am meeting someone there." His expression a careful neutral. Hang on. Bree... Strider... Medieval manners... WAIT! She froze dead in her tracks, complexion paling considerably. Strider also halted, staring suspiciously, unable to find a reason for her stopping. "Elizabeth? We need to keep walking if we are going to find a good place for a fire." Me? In Middle Earth? No, mustn't jump to ridiculous conclusions.

"Yes." She said quietly, breaking out of her thought process. "Sorry, I just had a possible life-changing epiphany. Not to worry. Off we go." He gave her a strange look but sauntered in search of a good spot to have some lunch. Good grief! How can this be happening? I haven't even read any fanfiction in years. I'm not in anyone's story am I? She paused, trying to hear an authors mind, thinking about what to do with her next. Nah. Still, I'll ask Arag- erm, Strider.

She shook her head rapidly, like she was endeavouring to shake water from her ears, while pinching her forearm to see if she was dreaming. "What are you doing?" asked Strider, coming back to see why she was being so slow in catching up.

"Oh, heh, nothing." She grinned widely, "Have you started a fire yet? Want any help?"

"I haven't found anywhere suitable." He said, "I need you to look for some decent fire wood so I can hunt for whatever happens to cross our path. Can you do that?"

"Yeah, I think I can handle collecting a few dry twigs, thanks." She rolled her eyes and smiled, heading off at random. Okay, think. If I'm in Middle Earth. I'll ask a Middle Earthy question. Like, Hey, Strider, How are those good elves of Rivendell doing? No, too upfront. What about, So, Strider, has the War of the Ring happened yet? definitely too obvious. OOH! I know, Strider, are you going to Bree to see if Frodo does indeedy have the One Ring? Haha! Perfect! I'll just slip it in the conversation somewhere.

She gathered dry branches easily because, well, they were just lying on the ground. Without her guide to tell her where the difficult rocks and tree roots were, she found it took a great deal more effort to navigate the treacherous strangeness of it all. This time she sang a bit of Stevie Nicks, stopping that uncomfortable, almost awkward, silence from reaching her ears. Like all the trees were holding their collective breaths. She stared icily when she found Strider neatly skinning a small rodent, leaving bloodstains on the only suitable rock for sitting in the area. He only grinned.

She dumped the firewood at his feet, feeling nauseated. "What poor innocent creature have you ambushed now?"

"Not innocent, they're a pest over in Bree, I am simply doing the town a favour."

She carefully lowered herself onto the only grassy patch in sight and examined her clothing. The shirt's sleeves were ripped but still wearable. The jeans, however, were another kettle of fish; below the knee was completely covered in mud, grass stains and who knows what else. "Do you have a knife or something that can cut through this?" Pointing to the bedraggled material.

"I do."

She sighed in exasperation. "Please can borrow it?"

He reluctantly handed over a very sharp blade. She took the handle gingerly. "I'm going over there," She said, indicating the desired location, "don't sneak up on me, unless you're dying and need CPR." He didn't give sign that he was listening. "Nice talking to you too," She muttered.

Needless to say, Elizabeth came back with a collection of cuts on her hands but, also, with a very fetching pair of shorts. She pointedly ignored Strider's raised eyebrows at her new attire, choosing to slump back onto her patch of grass. (She later officially claimed it by making a flag out of a stick and leaf and sticking it in the earth.) She never got to slip her question into conversation, as there was no conversation to slip it into.

The next morning was like the other two; sunny but slightly chilly. After packing up her borrowed sleeping equipment, she was in for a big surprise; Strider started to talk to her. Properly talk, not the monotone, one word answers he gave her yesterday. "Where do you hail from, little one?"

She blinked in astonishment, "I'm from Dublin originally, but then me and my grandmother moved away to Yorkshire."

"Let me put this more simply, as I am not acquainted with those towns. Are you from Rohan or Gondor?" He asked this while looking seriously at her, almost like he was daring her to say otherwise.

"Neither! I'm from England. Ever heard of it? We're in it, right now."

"Quite frankly, I have not."

"Yeah.. well... You need to teach yourself some geography." She finished lamely. Okay, time to casually mention something Middle Earthy... If this doesn't work and, in fact, I am not trapped in the world that Mr. J. R. R. Tolkien created, I am trapped in the woods with someone who is completely crazy. "So, where do you, um, hail from?"

His eyes became distant and reminiscent of days gone past, "Everywhere, more or less." Well, thank you for helping me out, buddy. I'm trying to figure out if or if not I'm in a fantasy world and your back to giving super vague answers.

"Look, I need to know if I'm in Middle Earth because I'm having a internal crisis about if I am or not." She blurted out, shocking herself a little. ...And like a lion stalks it's prey, I go stealthily onwards.

Strider didn't even stop walking. "Indeed, you are in Middle Earth."

She blinked. "Um, you took that calmly. Explain?"

"There isn't anything to explain, I have been wondering if you were in fact who you said you were, which, I have decided you are. I am not entirely astounded at your inquisition of whether we are in Middle Earth or not, because there has been tales of others like yourself; those who come from lands unknown, some not even speaking the common tongue." A minute or so passed in which they ambled companionably, Elizabeth marginally in front so she kept wandering off Strider's carefully plotted route.

"Strider?"

"What is it?" He said pleasantly.

"Which was your favourite song of mine?"

"I would have to say.." He thought for a moment, rubbing the stubble on his chin thoughtfully before answering. "The one about being born the way you are. Very insightful."

Her turn to deliberate. "I never thought of it like that. You bring new light on The Gaga, my friend."

Another few minutes passed. "If, you know, I come from another... world, dimension, thing, whatever you want to call it, then how do you know this dimension, world, etc... isn't a novel in mine?" She proposed.

His eyebrows went up an inch or so at the statement, "Is what you say true?"

"Yeah, an English professor wrote books about all you guys. This world is a legend where I come from."

Strider contemplated this for a hushed moment. "If that is true, then you hold a vast quantity of knowledge and you already know why I am on my way to Bree."

"That I do. It isn't because you like the windmills." Dammit! Now it's going to be awkward. Quick, say something to break the tension!

"Hey, Strider?"

"Yes?"

"Don't leave me when we get to Bree, will you?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, little one."

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