Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

Authors Note: This and most of the following chapters up until 15 have been rehashed. Details have been added, grammar corrected and as I will probably never have a beta-reader, this is all done according to what I felt was wrong and has no other outside influence. And I am also pondering the wisdom of rehashing every single chapter…am I some kind of lopsided Prima-Donna perfectionist?

Summery: A young man is pulled into Middle Earth, and from there on it's a downward spiral.

Chapter Summery: If he thought the fair was strange…he hasn't experienced anything yet.

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CHAP 3: Reality Check

The forest was dense and he could see no recognizable object to place his bearings. He could barely see the sky above his head, and even though there was a fresh breeze running under the heavy boughs, he felt slightly claustrophobic.

Where was everybody? Where were the tents and flags and even the bloody huge castle that could be spotted a mile away?

Where was he?

Avon had shaken off the dizziness and was now wandering around. His body felt battered and bruised, not only from the slight beating from the fight, but also from when he hit the solid earth from wherever he had fallen from. Had he lost consciousness, and someone was now playing a dirty trick on him?

"Mel!" His voice sounded flat against the impending trees.

"Mel! Where are you?" He hollered, cupping his mouth in his hands and standing on his tip toes, trying to be taller that any object about him. There was nothing, only a twitter of a bird answered his calls and he sat down, defeated.

What was happening? Where had that little kid gone? All he had done is reach out to see if he was ok, then he felt his world go to pieces. Had something knocked him out and somebody bring him here to recover? But wouldn't it be more logical to put him in the first aid tent?

So many questions, and none were being answered by simply sitting here and pondering over lost items of thought. So he stood up once more, brushed forest debris off his clothing (which now seemed so in place in this untamed environment), and proceeded to walk. He didn't know where he was going, but the wispy trails of smoke rising through a gap in the trees derived the possibility of a house, with a warm fire and possibly a phone.

He thought about what he would tell the police, that he had been kidnapped in broad daylight and left in a strange part of one of their forests? That someone had played a dirty trick, and now his "friend" was gonna catch it? That…

He stopped. He had been walking in a general straight line for only a short while, maybe 15 minutes or so, he couldn't tell without his watch and Mel had prohibited him from wearing it today. And now he could hear voices, loud ones. As he crept closer he could distinguish one of them laughing at something or another, a joke maybe.

It was at this moment that he realized he was feeling rather hot and sweaty, other things had driven this out of his mind before, but now as he approached a clearing and the sun slanted down over him, his clothes started to feel rather heavy and uncomfortable. A hot spell? He wondered, peering through some dense foliage at the scene.

A group of three men were gathered together by a campfire. One was leaning back against a tree, his eyes closed and he was seemingly asleep, the other two were either squatting or standing near the fire and the one standing was turning a spit, a delicious smell wafting from it. Avon sniffed the air in delight, these medieval folk sure knew how to make it genuine, he thought as he scrutinized their clothes.

They were dressed similarly to him, except maybe they had overdone it a bit with the scruffiness. It looked like none of them had shaved in weeks, just for today and he smiled, pondering over whether to interrupt the absolutely enchanting vision, it was like stepping back in time.

"Move and die." Avon froze, a gruff voice sounded next to his ear and the hot breath tickled the hairs on the back of his neck. What unnerved him more was the distinct feeling of something cold and sharp against his throat. Oh perfect, a mugger.

"Look, I'll give you anything you want. But I don't have a wallet. If you'd just…"

"Be still and listen." The voice was still low and Avon saw that their presence wasn't known by the men out in the clearing. The knife pressed harder and he bit back a yelp as it pricked his skin, a thin blob of blood appeared and he felt it run a little before clotting.

"State your name and loyalties, quickly before I slit your throat from ear to ear."

Avon gulped but spoke quickly.

"My name's Avon Harrison, I'm Australian if that's any help and I don't know what you mean about 'loyalties', are we in a war or something or…hang on, you speak English pretty good. Are you a friend of Simon or is this some stupid prank Mel's playing on me? Coz it lost it's funniness about two minutes ago, that is if it was ever funny to begin with. And what's going on with the mugging? Usually if you want to mug someone you don't wait till they get the chance to do this…"

Avon reached up and grabbed the hand that held the knife, pinching the nerves in his wrist and making him lose his grasp of the weapon. Then faster than the man could see, he had spun himself out of the grip the man had had on his waist and kicked him behind the knee, sending him down onto his back, whereupon Avon straddled him and pushed his forearm into his throat till his eyes bulged.

"Who's got the upper hand now?" He kept a firm grip on the wrist and gave it another pinch, eliciting a cry of pain from the rugged man's lips. He saw his staff a short way away, but he ignored it and focused on the man under him.

He was dressed the same as the others, another performer. Avon groaned inwardly, when would they stop this darn charade and let him find out what had happened.

"Let go now, and we may spare your pathetic little life, Traitor." Avon stared at the man beneath him, he hadn't spoken a word so where had…oh. The distinctive feel of another sharp object on the base of his neck gave him the feeling that maybe this wasn't a game for these people.

He craned his head back and saw out of the corner of his eye, one of the men who had been next to the fire. His eyes were blazing and he held the sword firmly, he noticed Avon staring at him quizzically and nodded, his eyes trained on something behind him.

A flash of white light then obscured his vision and blinding white pain shot through his skull. As he lost consciousness, he wondered if this screwed up dream would end now, and he would wake up somewhere normal for once. But the last words that drifted into his mind were less than reassuring.

"If he can't prove his loyalty to Gondor, he dies at dawn tomorrow."

* * * *

Avon groaned and cringed, his head hurt like hell and he was feeling very stiff and sore, as he tried to flex his muscles he found out why. Oh this was just screwy. He was tied up? How mucked up can one day get? Avon twisted his body around to see something that wasn't a tree, and came face to face with the biggest shock of his life.

"Ahhh!" He screeched and struggled with his hands. Being hog-tied was not his idea of fun, and the fact that 3 pretty vicious looking men dressed up in old day clothes, armour and swords were standing over him with the said weapons pointed at various parts of his body, was making him more terrified than he'd ever felt before in his life.

He couldn't speak; they were simply glaring at him, as though to intimidate him. Well screw that and he pressed his lips further together, probably giving his mouth a goldfish look.

"Leave him be, we can wait till tomorrow to taste a traitor's blood. I am tired and his squeaking is becoming tiresome." Avon squinted into the darkness beyond the firelight where he thought the voice emanated from, and he noticed one of the others do the same.

"He tried to kill me, brother."

"But from what I heard, you tried to kill him first." The voice growled and the other became silent. He scowled down at Avon before sheathing his sword and stalking off. He looked pissed.

The other two were looking a little nervous as they stared after their obvious "leader", but Avon was more than happy when they finally decided to follow suit and leave him alone.

As they left and disappeared beyond the glare of the campfire, he decided to risk looking around at his surroundings. He struggled a bit, but managed finally to turn himself around so he faced another area of the clearing they were in, and gasped.

"Oh my God!"

They were not where he thought they were. Beforehand, when he had first snuck up upon the little camp, he noticed that they were surrounded on all sides by dense foliage and many trees. The ground had been flat and there were no hills in sight.

Now, in the light of the full moon, he could see that they were now encamped upon a rise that looked down onto a deep valley filled with more trees. There was little undergrowth around him, and he supposed they had moved just in case he tried to escape, which, of course, was exactly what he was planning.

Hang on, when did Holland have deep valleys in the middle of a city? Actually…did the Delta country even HAVE valleys?

His thoughts were interrupted at that moment by a distinct rumble of hunger in his stomach, he hadn't eaten since that morning and his whole body clock had been screwed with since being knocked out. Due to the heat wave, he couldn't even tell what time of night it was, seeing as it usually got colder closer to midnight.

He had a choice now, either escape and find some food by himself, or go and beg for something from the very people who were probably going to kill him in the morning because he didn't know how to answer a stupid question.

With that, he opted for escape and settled down to find a weak spot in the rope. Ah, there it was, now if he could just pull on that knot and loosen that tie…like so, maybe then he could pull that loose bit through and…he continued for a long time. Finally the quiet murmurs of the 4 men simmered down until only snores could be heard, and Avon loosened the last knot that held his hands near his feet. He stretched out, sighing with relief as his cramped muscles and ligaments loosened, then he hooked his feet between his bound arms and brought them to the front so he could reach the hidden boot knife properly.

For the umpteenth time that night, he thanked Mel for making him wear all his junk, even though his sword had been removed along with his armour (he now just had the shirt and jerkin on), the staff was missing and his pack was possibly somewhere over near the men. They may have rifled through it to find some money or something.

Cutting the rope then, his arms and legs free, he waited for a moment, checking if the kidnappers (yes, he must have been kidnapped) knew what he was doing. But he was rewarded with more snores and he wriggled away silently on his stomach, until the sleepy rumblings became silent and the dying embers of the fire disappeared.

He was free, and lost.

Avon stood up and looked around. Where the hell was he? What was going on? Where was the city, the lights, some kind of civilization? Where was ANYTHING?

He sat down again in a huff. He felt like crying, and even though he felt grown men shouldn't do such things, he did just that. He was lost, alone, very confused and VERY hungry.

"Ah, so our little rat escapes the trap. Very interesting." Avon screeched uncontrollably and sprung up, quickly wiping away the tears and coming face to face with someone who looked familiar, but not quite. He didn't ponder over this too long because the other man had a sword in his hand, pointing it deliberately at Avon's chest. "Maybe we should have a talk someday about how to escape the ever ready ears of a man of Gondor. If you wish to live, that is?"

Damn, he should have known that people this integrated in the old days would go as far as to have a watch. He looked the man over and noticed that he had an arm in a sling, a patch of something coloured brown stained his shirt around the shoulder. He could only guess it to be dried blood. They were trying WAY too hard.

The man cocked his eyebrow and shifted his feet; he seemed to be waiting for Avon to say something. But of course, he kept quiet; if he wasn't so stubborn he might have avoided the following situation.

"Ok then. You try to kill my brother, or so he says. You act as though you are mute, but of course those annoying sounds and strange words you spoke earlier suggest otherwise. You never say anything in your defence and it seems to me that you are hiding a lot more than you let on. If such an escape artist, as yourself, can feel themselves invulnerable to the extent that you must defy everything, then you must learn a very important lesson."

Something in Avon snapped. Him, learn a lesson? It should be the other way round and he spoke directly to someone for the first time in hours.

"Me? I don't think so matey! Personally I think you need a reality check coz you're not all with it. For one thing, if you are so sure that I need to have loyalties, well all I can say is…get with the times. The only war today is over east somewhere and even THAT is so far gone, I doubt anyone will win! If I am so strange you gotta look in the mirror. Did you even wash or shave once in weeks? What! Do you LIVE for this day every year? Just so you can feel a BIT normal for once!?" Avon knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but now he was so steamed up he didn't care. Tears of rage were building up in the corners of his eyes and were threatening to spill down his cheeks as he continued raving. "I am tired, my head is killing me, I have not friggen clue where I am. You kidnap me, try to mug me, take me off somewhere, tie me up, threaten to kill me and you expect me to be grateful!?" His voice was becoming a little shrill, he was bordering on hysteria and the tears that before were on the verge of spilling, were now coursing down his face, unstoppable. "Well I'm NOT! Thankyou very much! I don't know who the hell you think you are but I know what I want! And I want to go home dammit! HOME!"

With that he violently rubbed at his eyes and pushed past the man to get him out of his way.

The man, who had been slightly shocked by this outburst, didn't realise what Avon was doing until he felt a heavy hand push him in his injured shoulder. On reflex he raised his sword at waist height and was surprised when Avon didn't stop.

Avon was blind with anger and tears and didn't see the sword until the last moment, when he pushed forward and it pierced him in his side.

He screamed. Blood welled up and heavily stained his shirt, it then started to spill down his side before Avon really knew what had happened. He looked down, felt it gingerly with his hand before dropping to his knees, gasping in pain.

The other man took up a horn he had strung around his shoulders and blew it before dropping down next to Avon.

"Oh by all that is good, what have I done?" He whispered and grabbed Avon's shoulders, trying to keep him upright.

He looked up at the strange man, his eyes felt heavy and the pain was lessening.

"Who are you?" He gasped.

"I am Boromir, son of Denethor 'Steward of Gondor'." He paused, ripping strips out of his own cloak and trying to turn them into a form of bandages. "And I have misjudged a worthy ally, confidante and possible friend. Had I but known what you were going through, I may have not let my brother and my men treat you so harshly. Do I have your forgiveness?"

Avon was becoming weak, but he pondered over the man's words. Boromir, the name was familiar…but, no! It couldn't be, he was in a book, and the book was not real. None of this was real, then why did it hurt?

"You have my forgiveness, do I have yours?" He reached out through the building haze and felt his hand being grasped by another.

"You do, friend."

Friend, it had a nice ring to it and he felt a slight smile tweak the corners of his mouth. The last few hours seemed dim and it was all of a sudden, ok.

"Boromir!" A voice called and the other three men crashed through the bushes, their swords glinting in the moonlight. The one Avon had fought with before stopped and tried to take in the scene.

"Boromir my brother, are you well? We saw that the prisoner had escaped and we feared…oh, so you caught him. The traitorous swine, I hope he…Boromir?"

Avon knew that the man holding his shoulder was shaking with suppressed anger and he hoped that he wouldn't jump to too many conclusions, the other guy was just really pissed at him for nearly choking him to death. That's all.

"Faramir, he is no traitor nor is he our enemy. He is naught but a lost boy who does not like the feel of hard cold steel upon his throat. You must not judge him for his own confusion, though he be not of Gondor, he is also not of the Great Enemy, therefore must be placed under a flag of friendship. Loth am I now to be so hasty, for he is injured by mine own hand." He kept one hand on Avon's shoulder and hastily tried to wrap the strips of cloth around his waist to stem the blood flow. "See here the result of our folly, we must take him swiftly back to the city before it is too late, there a healer may be able to reverse our wrongs."

Avon heard the one sided conversation very dimly, he knew he needed to get to a hospital soon or the loss of blood could be fatal. But by the sounds of things, he didn't think a hospital would be in order, more like a bloody miracle. "No." he squeaked as the hand left his shoulder. The other man was getting up to do something and Avon had lost the only thing which had held him upright for the last few minutes. He watched everything in slow motion as the ground came up to meet him. Faramir was shouting something and Boromir was turning around, just in time to see him flop lifelessly to the forest floor. The world seemed to spin and nausea built up in his system once more.

"Avon, your name is Avon. Please, do not pass. Do not tread the shadows. We will make you return, I promise that. Oh please forgive me, Avon…" The darkness crept up, and he fell asleep. Or something close to it anyway, was this death? He sure bloody hoped not, he still had to beat Mel at least once in a fight. Just once.

Tbc…

A/N: Reviewing is pleasant…even if you hate this, leaving a critical response is welcome so I can find out where to improve.

Be well

~Vana E~