I'm sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up! But it's here now, and hopefully the next one won't take quite as long. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed and favorited this story- it means so much to know people are enjoying this mess of a story!


Chapter 8

I woke up to find myself curled up in a ball in the grass, a cricket crawling leisurely across my face.

With a scream I was on my feet, scrabbling wildly at my face until my heartbeat calmed back down. I looked around blankly, trying uselessly to get my bearings after such a rude awakening. My throat was scratchy, and my blood felt sluggish in my veins. Probably dehydrated, I thought, my heart sinking. When was the last time you had any water? I swallowed, but the back of my throat was dry as a desert and I wound up coughing violently. Wincing, I pressed a grubby hand to my forehead, feeling a hot, stinging lump on my temple. Had I had a concussion yesterday? I wasn't sure, and I guessed there was no way of knowing now. "God, you're a mess, Bee," I muttered.

I studied my surroundings with bleary eyes. It was morning, I realized. I must have spent the entire night out cold on the muddy ground. And just behind me was the helicopter. Oh. I let out a shaky breath. Right.

The helicopter was lying on its side where I had left it yesterday, its tail and propellers bent at violent angles. Huge gashes and divots had been gouged into the earth where the blades had struck as it fell. The whole thing looked so violent now, so utterly unreal; my gut twisted at the sight and I turned away.

The sun was emerging over the ridge of the mountains in the distance, and I stared around me for a long while, marveling at the endless expanse of grassland.

It hadn't really sunk in, when I was locked in that tiny cell in Isengard, that the whole world around me was no longer the same. Or maybe it had, but I just hadn't realized what it meant until now. Despite myself, part of me had felt like all I had to do was cross the mountains surrounding the tower, and I'd be back in Texas: just past the ridge of the horizon I'd see the outline of downtown skyscrapers, interstates and cars and telephone lines…

I sat down, my heart heavy, and blinked back the tears prickling behind my eyes. The world extended around me in every direction, enormous and wild: the wide blue sky, the unending hills…suddenly I felt very small. Listlessly, I tore a handful of grass from the ground, letting the pieces drift away on the breeze. I watched them float away, my head in my hands.

Now that I was free from Isengard, what was I going to do? I didn't know where I was, or where the nearest civilization was, only that I was a long way from where I'd began. Safe from Saruman, at least. That was something.

Food and water should be my first priority, I decided. I wondered if there was a water bottle in the helicopter that I'd missed among the camping supplies. Steeling myself, I approached the helicopter and hoisted myself clumsily back up to the pilot's door.

The inside of the vehicle was in almost as bad shape as the outside. The supplies I'd stolen were scattered every which way, covered in pieces of broken glass from the windshield and pilot's window. I allowed myself to tumble inside, where I stood in a crouch on what used to be the passenger's-side wall.

Carefully, I began shifting through the supplies, and tossed whatever still looked useful up and out the open pilot's door to land on the grass outside. Up went the box of emergency flares, the Kevlar vest, the box of ammunition, and the books I'd grabbed from Saruman's stores. Admittedly, the books didn't look particularly useful—one was a science textbook, one was a book of American poetry, and the third was a yellowed library copy of Gulliver's Travels—but I couldn't bring myself to leave them in the belly of the helicopter. Nathan's words came back to me again: I always carry a good book with me when I leave the house. It's like having an old friend with you everywhere you go.

Tears threatened to spill from my eyes again. Nathan would be furious with me if he ever found out I lost his book. Or would he just be jealous that I was experiencing his favorite tale first-hand? Would he even believe me, I wondered? Would anyone? I knew instinctively that Caroline and John wouldn't. Kidnapped by a wizard—they'd think I was crazy. They'd give each other those looks, the ones that conveyed all the dismissive things I always feared they said about me when I wasn't there, the looks that hurt more than their harshest words. I sighed. My mom certainly wouldn't believe me, either. And why should she? My mom was all business and logic; there was no room for magic there.

I swallowed as I thought of something else: they definitely wouldn't believe me at work. What excuse could I possibly give my boss when I made it back? I'm sorry, sir, but I was in Middle Earth. I would've called, see, but the wizard who kidnapped me didn't have cell service in his tower. It was already Wednesday—no, Tuesday—I pressed my palms into my eyes, trying to control my breathing; this was the second day of work I was missing in a row. Instead of going to work Monday morning, I'd stolen a helicopter and flown across the wilderness of a land that wasn't supposed to exist.

God, I was so fired.

With a sharp shake of my head, I tried to stop worrying about it. Nothing you can do now, at any rate. Focus on getting home first, then come up with a story to tell.

I dug through the electronics I'd stolen and the camping gear strewn about the floor, unsure of what I might need. There was an entire tent, folded into a compact cylinder under the passenger's seat, but it was so heavy and bulky that I dismissed it outright. A thermal sleeping bag, however, I kept; after shaking the pieces of broken glass off it, I stuffed a flashlight, compass and Swiss Army knife into its folds. There was a canteen, but it was empty; I shook it upside down over my mouth despondently, but there wasn't a drop of water inside. I also found what looked like a miniature water purifier, which would have been more exciting if there'd been any water to use it on.

Of the electronics I'd stolen, not much looked useful. I should've looked more carefully at what I was taking, I reflected, studying a set of fancy-looking walkie talkies, still in their plastic packaging. With a shrug, I stuffed them into the sleeping bag, but left behind the rest.

With the sleeping bag and my violin case slung across my shoulders, I made the awkward climb back out of the helicopter.

I sighed, looking at my strange array of supplies, and put my hands on my hips. It was time to get moving.

But first…I bit my lip. I didn't know where I was, or how long it would take me to find civilization. The smartest thing to do would be to try to find help by any means necessary, wouldn't it? I winced, regarding the box of emergency flares for a long moment, then made up my mind.

I was far enough from Saruman by now; he wouldn't find me here. I was easily two hundred miles from Isengard. Even a wizard couldn't reach me that far away, right? I nodded uneasily, opening the box of flares.

After skimming the instruction guide—complete with diagrams, thankfully—I removed the plastic black gun from the case and wedged one of the flares inside. For a moment, I clutched the loaded flare gun in my hands, closing my eyes in desperation. Let someone find me—please—anyone, anyone but Saruman—

I pointed the flare at the sky and pulled the trigger. A noise like a firework echoed around me, and I flinched as smoke and sparks exploded upward. The reddish ball of fire lingered in the air high above me, the dark smoke trail stark against the cloudy sky even in the bright daylight.

Heart pounding as though I'd just run a marathon, I packed up the flares and gathered my supplies. It took a while, but I managed to arrange the sleeping bag on my back with its long shoulder strap, and I slung my violin case over that, feeling rather like a turtle with a too-large shell. The rest of my supplies I gathered up in my arms, and with a last uneasy look back at the helicopter and the reddish line of smoke fading into the sky above me, I began to walk.


My progress was slow. With every step, my sandals snagged in the tall grass and my supplies grew heavier on my back. Was I even walking in the right direction? Doubts nagged at me, but I continued onward; I hadn't seen any signs of civilization as I flew yesterday, which meant that my best hope was ahead of me, following the mountain range far to my right.

I'd hoped to find something edible before long: berries or fruit trees or even patches of clover in the grass—but there was nothing. The grass was dry and prickly and uniform, and there were no trees as far as the eye could see. The only other plants were the occasional withered, windblown bushes; even if they'd had berries or nuts among their dark leaves, I wouldn't have trusted them not to poison me.

It had been well over a day since my last meal, and I could practically feel myself wasting away. I was so hungry I contemplated eating a handful of the dry grass below my feet—but the thought made my throat ache with thirst. Swallowing was getting more and more difficult, and I knew I would need to find water soon. The worst part was when, late in the afternoon, I had to stop and pee; admittedly it felt marginally less awkward than peeing in a bucket, but I was rather alarmed by how little liquid seemed to be left in my body at all.

I should have known better than to think I could survive off the land like this. I didn't know what I was doing, and there was nothing out here—nothing at all.

The land was monotonous, quiet and utterly still. No trees, no birds, no wind…The entire landscape felt haunted, somehow, as though it were mourning something. I shook my head sharply—what a strange thing to think. I'd obviously been alone with my thoughts too long.

In the overwhelming silence, I hummed the melodies of songs as I walked, mostly snippets of pieces I'd been learning on the violin. I tapped the beats with my fingers on the box of emergency flares I had wedged under my arm, and wished with all my heart that I was back home with my violin.

My supplies were getting heavier. I had to stop more and more frequently to readjust the bulky packages in my arms and sleeping bag on my back.

The sun was just starting to sink over the horizon when I collapsed onto the grass, exhausted. I'd probably only made it a few miles in the whole day, but I didn't think I could walk another step. My feet were covered in blisters where my sandals had bitten into my skin, and my muscles ached.

After a moment of deliberation, I set off another emergency flare. This one shone even more visibly in the darkening sky, and I jumped at the way the gunshot sound echoed over the empty hills.

A chilly wind hissed through the grass, and I got the strangest feeling that this place knew I didn't belong here, that I wasn't welcome. How dare you come to this quiet, ghostly place, it seemed to say, and disturb the air with explosions and chemicals and smoke—

"I've definitely been walking too long," I said out loud. I shook off my uneasiness, and set up camp.

Really, my "camp" was just my sleeping bag laid out next to my pile of supplies, but it would do for the night. I sat cross-legged on my sleeping bag, staring out at the darkening sky and clutching the flashlight to my chest.

I felt distinctly uncomfortable. I'd never slept outdoors before—I didn't count the previous night, as I'd been out cold long before night fell. I'd never even been camping. When my family traveled, we'd stayed in hotels, and when we'd gone out into the wilderness it was usually part of a guided tour or something. I'd grown up to love the outdoors and the wilderness, but I'd never experienced it like this, not since I was a little girl lost on a family trip, running after chipmunks and making imaginary friends with trees.

Nervously, I burrowed deeper into my sleeping bag, humming to myself again to combat the oppressive silence weighing down on me. I lay stiffly on my back, clutching my violin case to my chest and using the folded Kevlar vest as a pillow.

I watched as heavy clouds rolled in over the mountains to blot out the stars. Before long, the entire sky was enveloped in an unending, sickly gray, and I was encased in utter darkness. I pulled the thermal covers closer around my chin; it was surprisingly chilly for a summer night, and the weight was comforting. It made me feel less exposed to the broad night sky.

Something rustled in the grass near my head, and I jolted upright, biting back a scream. In an instant my flashlight was on and waving back and forth through the grass—

It was a mouse.

I huffed sharply under my breath, watching it burrow through the grass a few feet from my sleeping bag. I'd never been afraid of the dark before, but this…I waved my flashlight across the hills cautiously.

I'd never experienced darkness like this.

I stayed upright, flashlight trained on the horizon, until I calmed back down. Stiffly I retreated back under my covers and turned off the flashlight. The darkness was so palpable now that I could practically feel it physically pressing against me.

I couldn't get comfortable. Every time I closed my eyes I flinched involuntarily, seeing flashes of movement flying at my face: fireballs and shards of glass and the swinging blur of a wizard's staff—shaking, I curled tighter around my violin case and squeezed my eyes shut.

Saruman was far away. He couldn't hurt me here.

Besides, my traitorous brain supplied, there are plenty of other things that could hurt you here. I wondered suddenly if there were any wild animals out here—mountain lions or wolves or some horrible dark creatures unique to Middle Earth…because if wizards were real, and magic was real, then that meant goblins were real too, didn't it? I flinched more violently than ever, and reached a hand into my violin case to grasp the handle of the pistol I'd stored inside. It did little to comfort me.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I hated this.

I hated Middle Earth.

I missed home so badly that it had become a physical ache in my chest, and I began to sob bitterly into my violin case. I cried and cried until my whole body was shaking uncontrollably and my breath was coming in shuddering hiccups and gasps.

Hopeless and miserable, I eventually drifted off into an uneasy sleep, dreaming of food and water and home.


Something was moving toward me. I felt the slightest of vibrations under my makeshift pillow, like footsteps, and heard the faintest of jostling sounds. "Go 'way," I mumbled thickly, my tongue feeling heavy and dry in my mouth. The jostling grew louder.

Suddenly a terrible smell flooded my senses, and I felt a hot, snuffling breath on my face. My eyes flew open inches away from a horse's snout.

I screamed.

The horse shied back, filling the air with the stamping of hooves and the jangling of reins. "Get back!" I screamed blindly, still half asleep. I leapt to my feet, nearly falling over as my legs tangled in the sleeping bag. "Stay away from me!" My heart thundered painfully in my chest and I rubbed at my eyes blearily, trying to get my bearings.

"Ah, good. You were sleeping so soundly I feared you were dead."

A stranger was observing me tranquilly from the horse's saddle, patting his horse's neck as the animal calmed down. I stared wild-eyed back at him, clutching my violin case to my chest protectively. Obscured as he was by a long, tattered cloak and hat, the rider could have been anyone, anyone at all. Could Saruman have really found me so quickly? Was this one of his servants, a man like Einar, who would take me back to Isengard? I wasn't going to go back there, I wasn't, I wasn't, I wasn't—

"I said get back!" I screamed as the man dismounted his horse. "Don't come any closer!" Fighting down a cold wave of panic, I dug in my violin case for the stolen pistol and pointed it at him. I wouldn't—couldn't—shoot at him, I knew, but maybe I could intimidate him enough to keep him away.

Instead, the stranger ignored the gun entirely, patting his horse's neck soothingly and leaning to whisper into its twitching ear. After a moment, he ventured forward, blinking owlishly at me, and bent to observe the sleeping bag lying in a heap between us. He touched the thermal fabric experimentally, making a sound of mild disapproval as he straightened up. "What sort of material is this?" he asked curiously, looking from me to the sleeping bag. "It has a strange texture."

I stared at him. The pistol was still in my shaking hand, pointing at the man's heart. Suddenly feeling rather stupid, I let my arm fall back to my side. "Um. I don't know," I stammered. "Polyester, or something."

I watched the stranger carefully, confused by his vacant, mumbling voice and odd mannerisms. Whoever he was, he didn't seem like much of a threat anymore. The man was now holding up the Kevlar vest curiously, lifting his floppy hat to squint at it in the morning light. He was old, I realized with surprise, old and entirely unarmed. What in the world was he doing out here? His thin frame was swallowed up by a truly hideous brown cloak, so ragged and patched that it looked like the remains of a dozen different cloaks sewn together. He didn't look like a murderer or a servant of Saruman or anything, more like an eccentric homeless man. I let out a slow breath and stowed the pistol back in my violin case.

"What is this?" The man's crooked nose scrunched in confusion at the bulletproof vest. "It is heavy. Not armor, surely?"

"Uh, yeah," I muttered in reply, my voice painfully hoarse. "Yeah, it's kinda like armor, I guess."

"I suppose it might stop an arrow, if put to the test," the man muttered. "You come from far away, with possessions such as these," he added, folding the vest carefully before setting it down. "And you have been through quite an ordeal. Yes, quite an ordeal."

I stepped back warily as the man studied me, but he didn't seem bothered by my unease. He stepped forward, observing me like I was a specimen under a microscope. I winced and stumbled back as he approached me, his rather bulgy brown eyes widening. "Tree-friend?" he muttered incredulously, stroking his beard. I shrunk back as he loomed over me. "Hmm. Strange"

"Do you mind?" I said rather shrilly, scrambling to put more distance between myself and this crazy man.

"Eh?" He finally seemed to realize he was making me nervous. "One moment." Mumbling under his breath, the man turned back to his horse, his ragged brown cloak catching in the tall grass as he went. He grabbed a few things from his saddlebags and walked back toward me, his movements cautious and slow. Wordlessly he set the items in the grass near my sleeping bag and backed away carefully again. Then he smiled at me from under his floppy hat, gesturing at me to move forward.

I was reminded distinctly of an animal trainer at the Dallas Zoo.

Fine. I'll play along. With a sigh, I walked over to the sleeping bag and looked at the items he'd set down for me. "Oh!"

The man had set down a small burlap sack and a strange sort of leather flask. I gasped. Water? Suddenly I was so thirsty I couldn't even think. I fell upon the flask, drinking and drinking until I was out of breath, my stomach aching and strength returning at last to my sluggish limbs. The water was musty and tasted strongly of leather, but I didn't care. I felt life flowing back into my veins, and I let out a delirious laugh as I sank down on the rumpled sleeping bag.

When the flask was empty, I turned to the burlap sack the stranger had set down. It was full of some kind of flatbread, each piece wrapped in what looked like thin, pliant sheets of tree bark. I ate one tentatively, then another, marveling at the slight taste of grass and honeysuckle. In my half-starved state, they were easily the most delicious things I'd ever eaten, and I continued eating until I could barely move.

Finally, I looked back up at the man, who was absently watching a rabbit hop through the grass a few yards off.

"Who are you?" I burst out, coughing at the strange sensation of being hydrated and full.

"Eh?" The man blinked, as though he'd forgotten I was there. "Oh. I am Radagast."

"I'm Beatrice," I said, walking up and sticking out my hand. The man stared down at it with the same confused expression he'd shown the Kevlar vest. I flushed and dropped my hand back to my side. "Um. Anyway, thank you. For the food and water." I cleared my throat. "Really, thank you."

Radagast shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably, waving my words away with an impatient hand. I got the sense that he'd been without human interaction for much longer than I had. "It was no trouble," he muttered.

"Yes it was," I exclaimed, annoyed that he was so dismissive of having saved my life. "I…I could have starved to death out here. And are you going to be able to find more water? I drank all yours." Guilt swept over me and I buried my face in my hands. "God, I'm sorry—and there's hardly any bread left in your bag there either." I handed the remainder of his supplies back to him uncomfortably. "I'm sorry if—I mean, I shouldn't've had so much…"

"I know the land well. I will be able to find more water and food on my journey home," he mumbled, patting his horse's mane as he spoke. Like Einar, he seemed uneasy looking me in the eye.

"Oh, well—good." I ran a hand down my face, relieved. "Where is your home, then?"

He gestured airily into the distance, still not looking at me. "Across the Misty Mountains. Near the forest of Mirkwood."

"Can you take me with you?" The words were out of my mouth before I'd even considered them.

"Eh?" Radagast turned to me at last, his eyebrows disappearing under the brim of his floppy hat. "Wh-why would you want to accompany me, girl? My home is several weeks away by horseback. Not an easy journey."

"Oh. Well…" I tugged at my tangled hair uncertainly. "It's just…I mean, I don't know where I am—I don't have anywhere to go, and I need to find my way home, somehow…" I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to control the desperation in my voice. "Please, I can't just keep wandering around out here, you saw how I was doing on my own, I'd have started to death if you hadn't—"

"Hmm! Well, you cannot stay out here alone," the man interrupted, as though the idea had just occurred to him. "You must get somewhere safe."

"That's what I was—" I put my head in my hands and sighed. "Yeah. Yes, I agree. So can't I come with you?"

"My home is likely not safe at all."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

Radagast shook his head, the brim of his hat flopping back and forth. "There are few safe places this far into the Wild. No homely houses here, but one."

I blinked as I registered what he said. "There…there is one?" I stammered eagerly. "Where is it?"

"Several days' ride to the north."

"Several days' ride?" I repeated. Maybe I could make it, if he helped me collect more food first…but on foot, that would be at least a week, maybe two—

"Yes, it is not far out of my way," the man continued slowly. He scratched at his beard for a moment, then seemed to make up his mind. "Yes, very well. I will take you there."

"You…you will?" I exclaimed. "I—I don't know what to say—thank you, oh my God, thank you so much, you have no idea what this means to me, Rasputin—"

"Radagast."

"Right, right, sorry." I bounced on the balls of my feet, suddenly too giddy to focus. "Well—oh my gosh, thank you—wow—just let me get my things, then!" I laughed breathlessly, stunned by my good fortune. I was saved, I was saved! I was going to find somewhere safe, I was going to find my way home!

I gathered up my scattered supplies from the grass and rolled up my sleeping bag as Radagast stared up vacantly into the sky. I paused in my packing to follow his eyes, where a flock of birds was flying past. Darting to and fro, their black wings and screaming voices cut through the air sharply and made my skin prickle. "Radagast?" I said hesitantly. "Is everything alright?"

He jumped when I addressed him. "Yes, yes. It is probably nothing." But the man sent me a sharp look from under his wild eyebrows. "I wonder if sending your fireworks into the sky was a good idea," he added after a moment, watching the flock of birds circle overhead and disappear into the distance to the south.

"You saw my emergency flares?" I asked, smiling rather proudly. "Then they worked, after all!"

"Yes," the man said slowly, a spacey look back in his eyes. "They worked, indeed." He shook himself after a moment, as though he'd forgotten where he was. "Let us move on. The sooner the better." Still looking rather flustered, he helped me arrange some of my things into his saddlebags.

"Thank you," I repeated earnestly, still overwhelmed by his kindness. "Look, I'll pay you back, for helping me. I don't know how—I'll find a job, somehow, when we get to…where are we going exactly?"

"Rivendell," Radagast said. "The Last Homely House."

"Rivendell," I said slowly. The name was familiar; I closed my eyes as I tried to think. It was in the movie, wasn't it? And—wait, it was from The Hobbit! "There are elves in Rivendell, aren't there?" I asked eagerly. "It's like a…a valley, isn't it? With trees and waterfalls and music?"

"Yes, you've summarized it well," Radagast said dryly, adjusting the horse's saddle. For such an ancient, rail-thin man, he leapt onto the horse's back with surprising grace. I slung my sleeping bag and violin case onto my shoulders and, after some awkward stumbling and cursing, managed to clamber onto the horse behind him.

"Hold onto my shoulders," Radagast said. "Poppy doesn't seem to like you much." I winced as his horse tossed its head violently, as though agreeing with him. Awkwardly I reached up and held onto the fraying cloak, and with a jostle of the reins we were off.

Hope bloomed in my chest as the land began to drift slowly past. Gandalf hadn't been able to help me, but maybe the elves in Rivendell could. And even if they couldn't...I let out a breathless laugh. They were elves. Real, living elves- it would almost be worth not going home just to see them. I frowned at the thought, but I couldn't deny the truth of it, or shake the excitement bubbling up in my heart.

I'm going to see the elves!


Let me know what you think of Radagast so far. I hated the Hobbit movies' version of him; I always pictured him as being weird and out of touch, but not nearly as bad as what the movies came up with; he just seemed like a quiet, awkward, well-meaning guy who hasn't spent time with actual humans in a really long time. I've tried to let him keep his dignity, and hopefully I've succeeded.

Don't forget to review! I really appreciate y'all's feedback, advice and questions. Thanks for reading!