Welcome to Chapter 3.

The stage is now set for your envelopment in Middle Earth.

Cue Boromir.

The coming of the sun brought little comfort to Boromir, son of Denethor, as he strode wearily through the wild. The passing of the days had ceased to be of consequence, and the miles lay heavily upon his broad shoulders.

It was early October, by his reckoning; some months since his departure from Minas Tirith. The coming of autumn and the dreary emptiness of Dunland and Enedwaith had done little to lift his spirits. Ten days previously, he had attempted a crossing of the River Greyflood, near the ruined city of Tharbad. The desperate venture had cost him his mount - a large, bay gelding of whom he had grown rather fond - and many of his supplies.

Boromir halted, surveying the land. He estimated he was a mere three weeks from reaching Imladris, the home of Elrond. At this his heart was besieged by a meagre surge of hope; for Imladris, he was certain, held the remedy for the dreams that troubled him.

Sighing, he willed himself forward. He had abandoned the North-South Road after the disaster at Tharbad, and pressed forward to the north-east through Cardolan. If nothing further befell him, he would meet the East Road and follow it thence to Imladris.

Smiling grimly, he reached for the comfort of his sword hilt. These were dangerous times, and not even the roads afforded safety for travellers. He was confident in his ability as a warrior, but the incident at the river had darkened the lines etched on his proud face.

The sun drifted slowly through the sky. Near midday, he paused to crouch on a small stone, and devoured a paltry meal. He was a hard man, well accustomed to short rations in his many years defending the borders of his fathers lands, but still the journey north had left him worn and haggard.

Munching slowly on the stale bread, his thoughts drifted to his distant home. He thanked Eru that he had not allowed Faramir to undertake this quest. Denethor's younger son was equal in stature to Boromir, but lacked his fierce courage in battle. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he thought of his brother; Faramir was dear to his heart. He had been but five years old when their mother, Finduilas, had sickened and died, and Boromir was fiercely protective of the younger, dreamier son of the Steward.

At this he stood once more, knowing he must press on. Denethor, wise in lore, had advised him to seek out Elrond in Imladris with all swiftness, and this he would do without fail - for Faramir's sake.

As the afternoon progressed, he spied the South Downs to his left; large, rolling hills that stared at him balefully. Beyond them, he knew, was the East Road, which he sought. His father's knowledge of the western lands was scarce, but his directions to the House of Elrond had not proved ill-founded. Boromir hoped to cut many days off his journey by angling to meet the road further east, though it meant enduring the hardship of uncivilised lands.

After several more hours of travel, the tall warrior's face became clouded in confusion. He had travelled for many leagues without any sign of human presence. And yet, unless he was greatly mistaken, he was now following the ghostly trail of another being.

Determined not to diverge from his path, he continued his purposeful way to the north-east. However, his calculating eyes roved the ground, noting that the person whom he trailed moved on the same path as he did.

Boromir was an able tracker - a necessary skill for the Captain of the White Tower - though without his brother's quick and careful eye. Nonetheless, it became alarmingly evident that he was gaining upon his quarry rapidly. The trail was not difficult to follow, and so he turned his attention to scanning the land in front so as not to stumble upon the person unexpectedly.

The grass through which Boromir walked was long, reaching up to brush the hem of his thigh-length tunic. He trod carefully, but knew that the rustling of the dry stalks would herald his arrival to the one in front, despite his caution.

After half an hour had passed, he stiffened, sensing movement a dozen feet ahead. Pausing, he waited for further evidence of human presence.

He was shortly rewarded.

A wary figure materialised from within the sea of grass and stared at him, stupefied. Taking a tentative step forward, Boromir studied the newcomer.

He realised swiftly that it was a woman, despite her short-cropped golden hair. She had a thin face, delicately formed nose, and wide green-grey eyes that resembled a startled doe's. She was clad in a thin dress of grey-blue material, heavily stained, and a thick brown blanket wrapped about her body.

"Hail, lady," he called, inclining his head slightly. "From whence have you come?"

Her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. "Who are you?" she managed, at last.

"I am Boromir, son of Denethor," he replied, bowing whilst keeping his gaze locked onto hers. "I would ask again from whence you have come; for these are perilous lands, and no place for a lady to travel alone."

At this her face turned ghostly white. "Did you say Boromir?"

"Indeed, for I am son of the Steward of Gondor."

"Are you from the festival too?" she asked, a tremor in her voice.

"Nay, lady. To which festival are you referring?"

"It was, ah, the medieval festival, near Grafton. Um, north of Coffs Harbour," she added, for clarification. "Are you sure you aren't from there? You're dressed up too."

Boromir frowned; both Grafton and Coffs Harbour were utterly unfamiliar to him. "Your words puzzle me; for we are near no such places as those, nor am I dressed in any peculiar fashion."

The woman's face crumpled. "But we have to be! I've been walking for less than a day, I can't have gone far. And you have to be dressed up! You can't be Boromir! We're in Australia! These are just costumes!" she cried, her voice swelling in a desperate crescendo.

"Lady, please—" Boromir began, but was cut short as she fell to her knees, overcome with grief.

Elanor's head throbbed. A multitude of ideas screamed through her brain, echoing painfully in the recesses of her being.

Boromir… where the hell is Grafton… where are my family… he's got to be lying… Boromir… he can't be from Lord of the Rings! You're going crazy… Elanor, you're losing it… oh my goodness… what is happening… where am I? Oh my gosh… I want to go home… Tim… ugh.

"Forgive me, lady, for any words I have uttered that may have distressed you," came a deep, resonant voice from somewhere above her. Uncurling herself from her foetal position, Elanor met the eyes of the stranger through a film of tears.

"You can't be here," she muttered. "It's physically impossible. I can't be here. I'm crazy. Go away! Please, this is just a dream." She seemed to retreat inside herself again. "It's just a dream, Elanor… It's just a dream…"

She heard the man, Boromir - that had to be some kind of sick joke - entreat her to speak with him again.

"Your name, at least?"

"Elanor Ravenscroft," she whispered, sniffling miserably but remaining upon the ground.

"Will you not rise, and tell me what troubles you?"

"I'm losing my mind, that's what's troubling me!" Elanor groaned, sitting up and looking at him once more. "I'm losing my jolly mind."

Boromir frowned at that, and Elanor paused to study him. He certainly was no Sean Bean. His hair was dark brown, cropped to the shoulders, and he had stern grey eyes. However, his face was by no means cruel, though it was serious, and he appeared to be about forty years old.

"I just—" she stopped, throwing her hands open in a desperate shrug. "I'm very, very lost."

He seemed to grasp her meaning better at that, and his expression softened a little.

"I will aid you in whatever way seems best, though my own supplies are meagre and my journey plagued by trials," he informed her. His voice had a peculiar lilt, seeming almost British, but with a more musical quality. "I am travelling north, as you appear to be. What do you seek, Lady Elanor?"

"I'm looking for my family; they were at Grafton with me, but goodness knows where they are now." She pursed her lips slightly. "Where are you going?"

Turning away, Boromir made no reply save to remove an awkward looking pack from his shoulders. He then sat down nearby upon the grass, moving with a lithe grace.

"Are you hungry, Lady Elanor?"

"I'm pretty starving," she admitted, attempting to rub some tears away and sniffing again.

At that, Boromir rummaged within his pack and returned with a small husk of bread, something that appeared to be a strange dried fruit, and a bulging waterskin. "Eat, please," he said, proffering the food.

Ordinarily, Elanor would've turned her nose up at such fare. But it had been far too long since her last meal, and she was desperately hungry. She grasped at the food wolfishly and devoured it in moments, glancing shyly over at Boromir once it was gone in the hope he would offer more. This was not to be. After taking a generous drink from the waterskin, she returned it to him with a soft thanks.

"How many days since you became lost, Lady Elanor?" he inquired, returning the waterskin to his pack.

"Um, yesterday morning, I think," she said, slowly. "Also, why do you keep calling me Lady Elanor?"

Boromir studied her shrewdly before replying. "Your dress is of fine make, and you are adorned with precious gems. I know not the land from which you hail, for you are not of Gondor or Rohan, unless I am mistaken, and you do not look as one who has endured physical hardship or toiled for her existence. I assume, therefore, that you are of a noble house - forgive me if I have assumed wrongly."

"Fine gems—?" Elanor began, curiously.

Boromir glanced meaningfully at her left hand, and then to her wrist and ears. Elanor's eyes followed his. She had a simple silver ring upon her third finger; two interweaving bands that were studded with laboratory-grown diamonds. She also had a delicate silver watch on her left arm (a present from her father), and a pair of pearls in her ears. The jewellery was by no means cheap or tacky, but could hardly be called "precious".

"Oh."

Boromir continued to watch her, but when she gave no reply, he glanced away. His face was pensive as he studied the grass before him.

"Where did you say you were going, again?" asked Elanor, tentatively.

"I did not speak of it," he said, without looking up.

"Oh."

There was a pause, and then he seemed to sigh before speaking again. "My errand is not one that I wish to proclaim for all Arda to hear, but I see no malice in your countenance; I am bound for Imladris, the House of Elrond."

"Elrond?" Elanor spluttered, her eyes widening.

This had to be a joke. He was just a really convincing cosplayer - or she was completely crazy.

Or both.

Shut-up brain! her other internal voice hissed.

"Lord Elrond, a noble Elf-lord. Imladris is his home, a place of wisdom and healing." Boromir hesitated again. "He would surely welcome a lost traveller into his halls."

Elanor covered her face with her hands.

Rivendell. He's going to Rivendell, she thought, recognising the alternative name for the Elven house. Oh my goodness. He's actually going to Rivendell. You're crazy, Elanor. You're crazier-than-a-coconut crazy.

"Lady Elanor?"

She snapped out of her internal dialogue abruptly. "Yeah?"

"If you wish it, you may accompany me hence; I have few supplies, but I cannot see a lady remain in the wild, defenceless and alone."

Elanor stared at him, dumbstruck. "What, you mean… you mean go, to Imladris? With you? Go to the Elves?"

He was silent.

"You're crazy!" she cried. "Or I'm crazy, or we're both crazy! These are costumes!" She plucked at the fabric of her skirt feverishly. "This is all just a joke - a big, stupid, tasteless joke! Tell me where Georgia is and why the hell she thought this would be funny!"

Boromir's expression became stricken as he watched her shout and cry.

"This cannot be happening!"

And with that, Elanor crumpled into tears for the second time.

I apologise for the brevity (or lack thereof) of the first three chapters. I can assure you that Chapter 4 is longer than it's predecessors and allows for a more substantial glimpse at the Middle Earth aspect of my story.

I do hope you are all enjoying it so far! I am having a great deal of pleasure in the writing.

Please leave a review if you have time!