Full Description:
Nell and Yvonne, strangers to both each other and Middle Earth, suddenly find themselves in the world of Hobbits, Elves and Wizards. While this new world is largely unknown to Nell, Yvonne takes in every familiar detail with awe and excitement, and together they discover that their presence there might have less to do with a freakish coincidence and more to do with the great darkness beginning to spread across the land, against which they may be expected to take a stand that they are entirely unprepared for.
This is Nell's side of the story.

Introduction:
My friend and I started this as a roleplay, just for fun, but it quickly turned into something that we wanted to share, so we each spliced together our own version, from our own character's perspective, using some of what the other person wrote, and filling in other gaps ourselves. As mentioned in the description, Nell is mostly unfamiliar with the world of Middle Earth, while Yvonne is quite familiar with it, so both characters will have very different viewpoints on their adventure. Yvonne's version of the story will go into Tolkien's lore more than Nell's, so it will have some really cool details, while Nell's will deal more with discovery, of both the new realm and herself.

Additionally, there will be some romance: Nell and Legolas, and Yvonne and Glorfindel.

You can find Yvonne's version on my friend's Archive of Our Own (Sundayraven)~ I am publishing Nell's version on there as well, along with my other works. ^^

We're basing this primarily on the books, though for some descriptions/settings and details, we will sometimes reference the movies. We may end up having to alter some minor things in order to incorporate some details for our own story, but we're doing our best to keep things accurate. (Also, we've decided to give it an "M" rating, just to give us leeway when it comes to descriptions of battle and such.)

We hope that you'll enjoy this ride with us! It's going to be epic.

Mr. Tolkien, we thank you and love you dearly.

(Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings or anything else concerning Tolkien's works, only my own characters and such, and, as per usual with my fanfictions, I am making no profit from it whatsoever.)

(P.S. See the note at the end for an announcement~)

Chapter 1

Out of Darkness
~

Nell slammed the book shut and squeezed her eyes closed in annoyance at the commotion out in the living room that was so obnoxious that her headphones couldn't even block it out. She could feel her anxiety rising by the second, and though she dreaded leaving her room, she didn't need to reach a boiling point that the only solution for was to either scream or cry. So, silently cursing her weak tolerance, she tossed her headphones onto the bed with her CD player and the book, and launched herself upright. She threw on a grey, hooded zip-up jacket, worked her feet into her sneakers, and took a moment to brace herself before leaving the room.

The party was unavoidable, as she had to walk through the living room to reach the exit. She threw up her hood and kept her head down, moving as quickly as she could around the perimeter of the room, avoiding eye contact with anyone. She felt as if all eyes were on her, though logic told her that there were too many conversations and too much laughter for anyone to be paying much attention to the new arrival skirting her way around the drinking and . . . whatever else they were occupied with. She hadn't attended one of these functions for more than a few minutes, and that had been years ago. Those few minutes had been enough to tell her all that she needed to know about how different her version of "fun" was from her roommates'. She preferred the company of her books to that of inebriated college—and now post-college—kids.

Until the noise became intolerable. Then, she preferred a quiet walk in the fresh air.

She dodged a guy leaning against the back of the sofa who very loudly offered her a drink, and made it to the door only slightly worse for wear. She yanked it open and stepped into the hallway, closing it firmly behind her, the noise of the party muffled rather satisfyingly.

As she made her way down to street level, a thrill of panic shot through her: She had been so desperate to leave that she had forgotten to grab her phone and her pocket knife. She paused on the last flight, debating whether to go back for them. But she decided against it. She wasn't going to be gone very long, and she had never had any problems in this neighborhood before. Still, to make herself feel better, she decided to stick to the same street, which was well lighted and driven frequently.

The air did her some good. As soon as she started off down the sidewalk, she knew that she'd made the right decision. This was what she'd needed. Despite the traffic, the night felt peaceful, and she began to relax.

It lasted a few short minutes.

Then, the paranoia set in. Not the kind that one might expect while walking alone at night, but a deeper, ominous sense of fear—one that Nell had hoped wouldn't rear its head again. She hated that her dreams affected her so. She had had plenty of nightmares in her life, but none had stayed with her past the first few minutes of consciousness the way that these had, and none came back to haunt her hours later as these found it necessary to do. They hadn't bothered her in nearly a week, but now, as she left the pool of light cast by the streetlight overhead, she felt an unnatural chill and could almost convince herself that she heard the heavy sound of hooves on the concrete behind her, the jingle of reins . . . the heavy, menacing breaths and grunts of the horse almost too frightening to be a horse.

Of course, even though she knew that nothing was there, she looked over her shoulder to be sure—and instantly felt foolish. She took some measure of comfort in the fact that if a large black horse and its terrifying cloaked rider were following her down the street, they would be too conspicuous to avoid drawing attention.

She kept walking, though at a slightly faster clip, suddenly no longer minding the thought of holing up in her room with the din of the party in the background.

Then, the sounds came again.

They were so faint, beneath the ambient noise of constant traffic on the main drag, and she knew that they were in her head, but the terror that possessed her in the dreams possessed her now, and her heart pounded as she broke into a jog. Some silly sense of pride rebelled against it, but she glanced over her shoulder again—finding nothing—and yet again a block later. The black steed continued its pursuit, and her fear had climbed to such an intensity that she no longer cared how she might look, running from a nonexistent attacker.

Why had she left the apartment?

Eventually she realized that she had traveled much farther than intended, and she felt idiotic for not simply crossing the street and doubling back for home in the first place. But it was too late now, and the hooves and the jingling of the reins were still barely audible, and she had to get away—had to make them stop.

She knew that something must be wrong with her, and it probably stemmed from some kind of emotional trauma or lack of proper development due to her hectic life of instability in the foster-care system, but the dreams hadn't begun until more recently, long after she had stopped seeing the shrink that had been assigned by the system, so she had no way of knowing what to do about it. It seemed that it was time to figure it out.

With her legs and lungs screaming for rest, she slowed, debating whether to turn and go directly back the way that she had come, but the fear was too intense, and though her eyes and logical mind said that there was no black horse and rider, something else told her to cross the street.

She listened to her fear and did so.

Her feet stumbled over the grass and the curb, onto solid asphalt, and the sounds of pursuit stopped. She glanced back, to be sure that she wasn't being followed. Pointless, of course, for she wasn't. Then, there was a heavy huff and grunt, and the hooves moved again, and she sprinted for the other side of the street as if her life depended on it.

In the next moment, the only sound that she heard was that of a blaring car horn, and she found herself mere feet from two bright lights. She froze, her mind and her fear tearing in a new direction, meeting this new, very real threat that was about to collide with her—crush her—and in that moment, she knew that it was too late to avoid it. Just as her parents had met their end, she would meet hers.

The rider was forgotten as her eyes fixed on the windshield of the truck, the glare of the headlights blinding her.

She didn't have time to scream.

Then, she was falling.

She toppled backward, and, failing to catch herself, landed roughly on her backside, her palms scraping against—not asphalt.

Her panic and fear made it hard to think at first, but as she blinked against the sudden brightness, breathing quickly as her heart pumped adrenaline through her veins, she realized that the light was no longer coming from the truck's headlights, but from . . . everywhere. She looked up. The sun was shining. It was day. And there was no truck in sight. Nor any part of her neighborhood whatsoever. Her hammering pulse did not subside. If she had thought that the auditory hallucinations were bad, this was a hundred times worse. What was happening to her?

But she knew: She had been hit by the truck. She had to be . . .

Suddenly, she winced as her right palm gave a sharp sting, and she raised it to find tiny bits of dirt and stone stuck to her bleeding skin. The scent of earth reached her, then the sharp tang of wild grasses, and something about the combination of pain and her sense of smell shook the idea of death from the forefront of her mind.

But she couldn't bring herself to properly grasp the other possibility that had entered her brain: that she was somewhere . . . else—somewhere physical, not spiritual. Because that was impossible.

Wasn't it?

She stared around at the fields and the trees, lit brilliantly by warm sunshine, and the only thought racing through her mind now was, Where the hell am I . . . ?

She slowly got to her feet. She didn't feel as steady as she had hoped, but at least there didn't appear to be anyone around to witness her stumbling confusion as she took in the landscape. Something about it was familiar, and the sense of fear began to bleed into her sense of wonder like a creeping black mist. Black . . . following her . . . ever closer . . .

She drew in a sharp breath and spun around. Suddenly, she knew why this scenery was familiar: She had seen it in her dreams—the dreams that always included that terrifying hooded rider and his red-eyed horse.

But again: impossible. They were dreams, and she wasn't dreaming now, of that she was fairly sure. No matter how real dreams felt while you were having them, Something about them never felt quite as real as being awake—and she couldn't recall ever having experienced a sense of smell in her dreams.

But the prospect of having been in the middle of the street and about to be hit by a truck one moment, and . . . wherever this was the next, was too much to think about. Her brain didn't have the answers. So instead of thinking, she walked.

Her shoes crunched loudly on the dirt road, conspicuous in the peaceful quiet of the countryside. After a couple of minutes, she began to feel the effects of the sun beating down upon her. Her jacket felt like a layer of armor in the unfamiliar location, and she balked at the idea of taking it off, but she would only get warmer, and with the increasing heat, her anxiety was sure to increase as well. She unzipped it and tied it around her hips, leaving her in a dark-blue T-shirt featuring a faded medieval coat of arms printed in dark grey. She wished that she had a hair tie. Her hair had grown just past her shoulders a couple of weeks ago, and the shade of medium brown tended to absorb the sun's heat. Maybe she could find somewhere to cool off soon—a general store or a gas station . . . though something within her had a bad feeling about that. She at least hoped to find something to drink before she got too dehydrated. Thanks to all of the exertion that she had put herself through since leaving her apartment, she could feel her throat drying out by the minute. And she didn't want to consider the possibility that this lone road may continue on for miles upon miles without anything to offer but the lovely view of nature at its finest—a view that she wished that she could enjoy more, without the fear and anxiety gnawing at the depths of her mind.

She had just crested a low hill, and was met with the same continuous stretch of road, fields and trees, when something other than distant birdsong and her own footsteps reached her ears. She stopped to listen, turning her head. A far-off clattering kind of noise was coming from somewhere behind her. She looked back, her pulse picking up in anticipation of meeting another person, and squinted at the shape in the distance, moving steadily closer—much more slowly than a car. It took her only moments to realize that it was a horse-drawn cart. She felt the urge to run, but the feeling of fear that overcame her in her dreams at the approach of the black rider did not fill her now. Perhaps whoever this was wasn't a threat, but she couldn't use her dreams as a gauge for real-life caution, or a lack thereof. So she kept walking, knowing that the cart would catch up to her soon, and hoping that the owner could provide her with information and directions, if not a drink to sate her intensifying thirst.

She barely glanced over her shoulder as she heard what sounded like someone calling out amid the clatter of the cart. She suddenly felt rather nervous about an encounter with a stranger in the middle of an otherwise deserted road, especially now that one seemed to be accosting her. She kept walking, trying to gather the wherewithal to handle the situation that was about to be presented to her.

Then, the voice called out again—closer this time, and female, which made Nell feel a little better. She looked round at the girl and the older man sitting behind the horses, and immediately took in their garb. The girl, with her long auburn hair, was dressed similarly to herself—dark-blue jeans, a light-green sweater, and vibrant yellow-green tennis shoes—but the man . . . she could only wonder whether she had stumbled onto the site of some sort of medieval reenactment. She turned her eyes to the cart. It, too, looked much older in style than anything that she had seen outside of movies.

She had barely heard the girl's question as her mind had begun to whirl all over again. Something about . . . getting lost and not knowing where she was? Nell turned her attention back to her. "Um . . . I'm . . ." She swallowed, attempting to revive her dry throat. "I'm sorry, I . . . don't actually know . . . I'm kind of lost myself."

The girl hopped down out of the cart, patting the closest horse on the neck as she walked by it. "Were you on a hike or something? The guy I'm with is taking me to the closest town, Bree, so if you're from there, you're heading the right direction. I'm sure he could give you a ride too, if you want. I know this is probably going to sound weird, but I was asking in a more general sense . . . the last thing I remember, I was in Albany, New York." She talked fast, and, for a moment, a somewhat sheepish expression passed over her face. Nell took a step back as she approached, but frowned in confusion at the name of the town. "Bree . . . ?" Why did that seem familiar? She couldn't quite place it, but then the haunting image of the black rider flashed through her mind, as though part of her subconscious were trying to tell her something, and a pit grew in her stomach. "I'm . . . not familiar with a Bree . . ." And, wait . . . Albany?

The girl's eyes widened. She glanced back at the man in the cart. Then, she stepped closer to Nell and lowered her voice. "The guy I'm with said that's the closest town for miles around. I've never heard of it before either—it's certainly nowhere near anywhere I'm familiar with." She bit her lip. "He seems helpful, but if he made up a town just to get me into the cart with him, then he's probably not good news. Are you from the area? If so, and you're sure there's no town named Bree around here, then I'll make up some excuse and see if he'll go on without me. If he lied about the town, I don't know what else he might be hiding."

Nell stared at the girl with a new level of concern and shook her head. "No, I'm not even sure where this is. I just . . ." She stopped, instinct compelling her to not want to sound like a lunatic, even though it seemed like this stranger was in a similar situation to her own. But she figured it couldn't hurt to be honest, considering what the girl had just told her. "I was just—walking down my road, at night, and"—she paused again, deciding to omit the phantom rider—"I almost got hit by a truck. Then, I was here." She rushed on, suddenly self-conscious: "I know it sounds crazy, but—you said you were just in New York? Albany?" She cast a quick glance up at the man in the cart, then at the neighboring field. "I don't know where we are, but . . . I have a weird feeling about this place."

"What?" The girl's eyes widened. "You mean, you . . ." She hesitated, then lowered her voice even further. "You teleported or something too? I was just walking out of a school in Albany, when there was a bright light and I felt like I was falling, then all of a sudden I was here. It was night there, too. I thought . . . I don't know, I was kidnapped or there was something wrong with my brain or something. I don't have any cell service, and I couldn't think of anything to do other than try to find some more people and figure out where I was." She paused for a moment, and her eyes widened, as if she had realized something awful. "Do you think we're dead? If you were about to get hit by a truck . . . I mean, I don't think there was anything dangerous around me, but I guess I could have been the victim of a drive-by shooting or some random airplane piece falling on my head. If it happened quickly, I might not have even realized it."

Nell's mind reeled as she tried to take in everything that the girl was saying. But she shook her head as the girl speculated about this being the afterlife. "Something tells me we're not dead . . ." She wanted to tell her everything right there, about her strange and terrifying dreams, and how they had leaked into her conscious mind directly before she had found herself here. But she felt that this was not the appropriate place to do so. And she suspected that the man in the cart wished to move along.

"I think our best chance for figuring this out is probably in Bree. I think we should go with him." She felt an anxious pang as she said it, for despite the name of Bree striking a chord in her, but she did not know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. All that she could think of was the black rider. And if the rider had anything to do with why she was here, perhaps Bree would present more danger than answers. But either way, she couldn't just wander aimlessly. She had to know.

The other girl bit her lip. "O-okay." She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders before turning to walk the few steps back to the cart. The man raised both of his eyebrows at her approach, but looked more impatient than truly curious by this point.

"Do you know this woman, miss?"

"Yes," the girl said. "I'm very sorry to have kept you waiting, but she's heading toward Bree as well. Would you mind if she rode with us? I can ride in the back, if there isn't room for the three of us on the seat."

The man heaved a sigh, but nodded anyway. "Of course." His gaze slid past her to Nell. "Come along, miss. The day isn't getting any longer, and I'd hoped to be back in Archet by night."

"Thank you," the other girl said, and she moved around to the back of the cart in order to let Nell sit up front. Suddenly, she paused and turned back. "I'm Yvonne, by the way. Yvonne Linden."

"I'm Siddel, son of Ortho," the man said, performing a sort of half bow without getting down from the cart or letting go of the reins. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Yvonne."

Nodding back at him with a smile, Yvonne turned to Nell expectantly, but her expression quickly faltered, as if she had wasn't sure what to say.

To prevent an awkward silence, Nell moved toward the cart, her attention directed to the man, and said, "I'm Nell," both for his benefit and Yvonne's, but she was careful not to direct her introduction toward the other girl, to avoid giving away their lack of prior acquaintance. The man nodded to her, exchanged pleasantries, then indicated that both girls would do well to climb onto the cart.

Nell felt a sense of relief as things began to feel a bit more normal somehow, despite the very abnormal circumstances. She turned to Yvonne. "I can ride in the back, if you want."

"No, it's fine," Yvonne assured her. "You've probably been walking longer than I have. It will be more comfortable up front." As she climbed into the back with the goods, taking a seat on whatever was available to sit on, Nell faced the bench on which the man was seated. She had never been too comfortable around strangers, but she had spent enough time in foster homes to know how to get over such an insecurity. With no more than a second of hesitation, she hauled herself up beside the man, and held on as the cart jolted when he ushered the horses onward. Yvonne had been right: Nell had needed a rest, and although the wooden seat was no luxury, it must be better than sitting among the sacks and crates in the back. She hoped that Yvonne wasn't regretting her decision.

She watched the fields roll by, hoping that the man wouldn't attempt to engage her in conversation. Her mind needed time to process. One particular detail was something that the man had said to Yvonne, about where he was headed after Bree . . . She wracked her brain for a few seconds, then remembered: Archet It did not strike the same chord with her as Bree had, but it, too, gave her pause. The name sounded quite foreign, perhaps something from England—which would explain the man's accent—or even something out of a fantasy novel or RPG. But it would do her no good to think on it too hard, for she would get no answers where there were none to be found.

After maybe half an hour passed, a small forest appeared on their left and the air gained a faint scent of moist earth. None of the three had said a word. Nell, for one, was quite content to enjoy the scenery.

Eventually, the scent of smoke reached her. The cart rounded a small hill, and a town lay ahead. It was surrounded by a hedge and wooden walls, with a gate where it met the road. A few dark smudges of smoke rose up from the other side of the wall, and there were various footpaths leading away from the gate that looked well-traveled. The twisting nerves steadily filled Nell's stomach once again. There was a man at the gate, carrying what looked like . . . rabbits hanging from his waist—the spoils of a good hunt, Nell assumed. Which struck her as odd. Was that a normal occurrence in this area . . . wherever it was . . . ? He knocked on the gate and, after a moment, was let through. The gate didn't open enough for Nell to be able to make out much of the interior, but from what she could see, she had a feeling that the man with the rabbits was a much more common sight here than she was used to. And whatever answers she and Yvonne might find, they probably wouldn't be with the help of the internet.

"Oh," Yvonne breathed behind her, apparently having reached a similar realization.

Nell hadn't really known what to expect, but some part of her wasn't surprised—not just because of Siddel's and the rabbit-man's clothing, but because of the sense of familiarity that lingered constantly in the back of her mind. And as they finally approached the gate, she was overcome with a new feeling: rain dripping into her face, her cloak heavy with the downpour, almost as heavy as the shadows of the night surrounding them—

Them . . . ?

The flash was gone, but her heart pounded, as if she had just awakened from a nightmare, though the feeling was suddenly faint. She shifted uncomfortably on the seat, ready to get down, but also unsure whether she should even enter this so-called Bree—though she knew that she must. Somehow, she felt that more than simply answers about where they were awaited Yvonne and herself beyond those walls.

Siddel called out, and the gate creaked open. The road beyond was muddy, and the smell of the town wafted out, one that was part woodsmoke, part livestock, and partially the smell of many people living in less-than-cleanly conditions. The houses were all wood and thatch, with the exception of a few stone buildings, and chickens roamed freely between them. Adults walked hurriedly about their business, and children ran around much like the chickens did, but there were also some children walking with the same purpose between buildings that the adults had. Except that . . . these children all seemed to be barefoot . . .

"Holy crap."

Nell looked round at Yvonne at the sound of her quiet exclamation, and was slightly alarmed by the pure shock on her face. She looked as though her world had just caved in. "What?" she asked, then turned back to the open gate, scrutinizing the scene ahead as the cart lurched into motion once more. It looked like a very authentic medieval reenactment, or a film set. She could understand why it might be shocking (she herself was more than a little thrown by the whole situation), but then she caught sight of one of the barefoot children from the front, and was taken aback to see that his face was that of a young man. And his feet were larger—and quite a bit more hairy—than she had initially noticed. Had Yvonne seen the same thing? Or perhaps something even more outlandish?

The pungent smell hit her more strongly as they began to make their way through the quaint, rustic town. She breathed partially through her mouth, but refrained from holding her nose, not wanting to offend anyone. She supposed that the citizens of Bree might not blame a newcomer for such a reaction, but considering that her clothing already set her leagues apart from everyone here, she at least wanted to act like she wasn't too out of place. However, the farther they rode through the grubby streets, the more self-conscious she grew as dozens of eyes scrutinized her, some less kindly than others, and all with severe levels of interest, confusion, or distaste. She found herself slumping down slightly on the bench, and wished that she had ridden in the back with Yvonne.

She hadn't realized that Yvonne had moved to the front of the cart and was at her shoulder until she cleared her throat. Nell looked at her, startled, and Yvonne spoke to Siddel. "Excuse me, but, um, is there an inn in this town called the Prancing Pony?"

Nell furrowed her brows slightly in confusion. If Yvonne was in the same position as herself, and wasn't even familiar with Bree, how could she know to ask about a specific inn? Nell's eyes moved to the cartman, more than a little curious about his response.

His own eyes shifted from the road to glance quickly at Yvonne, and quirked an eyebrow before facing ahead once more. "'Sright . . . Didn't know it was so well-known for one such as yourself to have heard of it back in . . . wherever your 'Binny' is." He seemed rather uncomfortable, and Nell felt bad for the poor man. But she agreed with him. She turned her attention back to Yvonne, waiting—hoping—for an explanation.

"Albany," Yvonne corrected, though she seemed as if her mind were suddenly elsewhere, as if it were reeling. Finally, she met Nell's eyes meaningfully. "Yeah . . . I didn't realize it before, because I didn't expect to be anywhere near here, but we have stories where I'm from about Bree and the Prancing Pony." She was trying to tell Nell something. Something that Nell could feel was very important. But she was totally lost. The only thing that felt familiar about Bree was that it touched on something related to her terrifying dreams—

"People tell stories about Rangers coming here and meeting wizards and hobbits. It's . . . it's very well known."

Nell's eyes widened. Hobbits.

Something inside of her mind clicked into place.

No way . . . it can't be . . . those hobbits . . . ?

Despite all of the reading that she had done over the coarse of her life, she had never had occasion to read the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, and similarly, she had never seen the series of film adaptations, as movies had never been a significant part of her life. But she knew enough for 'hobbits' to jar her fully into her new reality. She knew now why Yvonne had had such a strong reaction earlier, and knew that her own, current expression must be quite similar. She could only imagine what this was like for someone who had read the books or seen the movies, as Yvonne clearly seemed to have done. But if it was true . . . if she and Yvonne had somehow really ended up . . . inside that world—which was impossible—then . . . why?

Note: First of all, thanks for reading~ ^^ Secondly, I made a Discord server, with the hope of providing a happy place to escape for whoever might need one~ It's filled with inspirational "rooms" with many different themes, where you can post/talk about things related to those themes, as well as discuss movies, anime, books, etc., that you love, or just chat about your day and such with people who share similar interests~ I will also be posting writing-status updates for my fanfictions. (I will note that, since it's meant to be an escape, there will be no talk of politics/world events, and other controversial topics.)

Please message me if you're interested!