Thanks for the reviews. I'm posting as I write and I'm still developing what's gonna happen. But her's more!!



Chapter 4



As the morning sun rose high into the sky, five small figures sat around the remains of a camp and contemplated recent events. Frodo hugged his hand to his chest, staring out into the greenery. Though the June weather was warm, even hot, the chill in his thoughts could not be warmed. Every time his eyes caught glimpse of his four-fingered hand, the memory of that terrible evening in the mountain assaulted him. Over and over he was reminded that he had not had the strength to throw the ring into the fire, that he too, had given in to the power of the ring. It was over, and yet it wasn't. He wanted nothing more than to return to his beloved Shire, to rest and forget. Yet in his mind dwelt heavy, dark thoughts that might never leave. In his dreams, he stared into that great fire and felt the weight of the ring on his hand pulling him, pulling him ever closer to the madness which had hidden in the farthest corners of his mind. The remnants of that madness still were there, unable to scale the wall he'd built, but waiting for the moment when weakness prevailed. He missed Bag Ends, and yet.... When he returned, would it be the same? Could he relax into the old ways and be at peace?

His thoughts turned to Aragorn, his new King. A finer, more noble King could not be imagined and yet Frodo wondered at Aragorn's own reluctance to assume his birthright. The lines on Aragorn's face seemed deeper as he surveyed his kingdom and realized the work that must be done, ere all was made right. Was he reluctant to assume responsibility, or did he see the decay that would slowly creep into men? Did he see their future, where greed replaced nobility and cowardice replaced honor?

Nearly two weeks ago, Frodo had stood along side Sam, Pippin and Merry as they were honored for their deeds. He had felt neither pride nor honor, but relief that his task was finally complete. His eyes had followed a circle round his companions, noting their various expressions and wondering what might they be thinking. To his left stood Merry and Pippin, nearly 5 inches taller than Frodo remembered. But physical growth was not the only apparent difference in the two rigid Hobbits standing before him. On their faces were lines as had never been. Their eyes, once bright, merry and cheerful, now shone with tears. Knowledge of the world, of the evils that existed outside the comforting borders of the Shire had aged them. They were now warriors, dressed in armor, carrying swords. This saddened Frodo, for their innocence was lost.

Behind the Hobbits had stood Legolas and Gimli. Frodo smiled at the memory of the tall, elegant Elf standing next to the stout, grumpy Dwarf, a hand on the smaller male's shoulder. That these two, against all odds had become friends made Frodo ponder if not all changes had been for the worse. But even in these two, he detected a sense of loss. Both were battle-weary in a way neither had been before. Legolas, Frodo realized, had fought valiantly for the destruction of the ring, yet that very thing meant his people would diminish. How much conviction must it have taken? The Elf rarely revealed his emotions, nor were they often sought, Frodo realized.

His faithful Sam, however, had not changed. Sam was loyal and steadfast in all matters be they great or small.

**Does he know that his part in this whole play was much more important than my own?** Frodo wondered. He had yet to speak with Sam about that last night in Mt Doom. Frodo still felt shame, that he had betrayed his friend in the end, no matter that Sam did not believe this to be true. But it was Sam who had followed him blindly, without grumbling or weakness, never questioning Frodo, but instead offering support, comfort and unwavering friendship. Though he had never fought in his life, Sam had taken up a sword to defend that which he loved. No reward could offer him what he deserved.

In Gandalf, Frodo had sensed his own relief and also a sadness. For Gandalf, nothing had been so heart-rending as the knowledge that his master, his mentor had betrayed him. Though he hid it well, Gandalf grieved for the loss of his friend. Though Saruman still lived, the creative, wise wizard was gone, in his stead was left a wicked, husk of a man. When Aragorn had announced his plan to return with them to Rivendell, Gandalf had smiled, aware of the reason. He assured Aragorn he would be in Rivendell by Year's end, that he might be witness to Aragorn's wedding. In the meantime, however, his doings were his own and he had disappeared the very next day.

The remaining seven had then set off for Rivendell; Legolas with the intent of journeying on to Mirkwood with Gimli, whom he had promised a new tour of the Elven Kingdom, one in which chains and dungeons were not part. The Hobbits longed to return to their homes, their hearths and their quiet way of life. All had agreed to return to Rivendell to be guests of honor at Aragorn's wedding to Arwen. Arwen had requested that the wedding be held in Rivendell and both had decided that their new life together would begin in the new year, in the new Age. And so they traveled.



Aragorn was not surprised to find Legolas not far from the cliff, perched atop a large rock, waiting for him. Aragorn was now King, and still leader of their Fellowship. Smiling at Legolas briefly, the two quickly and efficiently made ever widening circles, searching for the body. As Legolas bounded over a large cropping of rocks, he was surprised by a large yellow wolf who stood near a tree, whimpering.

**Not a wolf, a dog, ** Legolas thought to himself. The creatures were kept by both Hobbits and Humans, he knew, though he himself had had little to do with the breed. The dog growled as Legolas approached, then began wagging his tail, as if sensing no danger in the Elf. Running his hands over the yellow pelt, Legolas realized the whimpering stemmed from a large thorn caught in the dog's great front paws. As he carefully worked it free, his sharp ears caught a faint call.

"Aragorn!" he cried and followed the call, accompanied by a new friend.



As Legolas found the dog, Aragorn placed his hand on a low-hanging branch to steady himself and was startled t to see it covered in red when he pulled away. Blood. His eyes caught sight of a figure huddled near an enormous tree.

**A woman, ** he was astounded to note. Her head has pressed down onto her up drawn knees, her feet scratched and bare. Soundlessly he moved towards her, not wishing to startle her, when her head jerked up. He took a step back in revulsion, for staring at him was the most hideous human he had ever laid eyes on.

"Legolas!" he shouted, halting, unsure.





*****



The world swam before her eyes as Miranda cautiously opened first the left, then the right.

"I am never drinking again!" she declared devotedly to herself. What a night! At least, she assumed it had been a 'what a night'- type of night. In all honesty she didn't quite remember what had happened.

**Water. Really need water, ** she thought and started to sit up. Big mistake. Huge. Every inch of her body began screaming. Miranda groaned and lay still. He shoulder was now throbbing hot and red. In her mind's eye she saw it as a red basketball, pulsating every time her heart beat. Her middle parts felt as though they'd been pummeled by something large and heavy. As her hands carefully drifted up her body, she noted huge scratches and gaping holes in the dress. When her hands reached her face, she pulled them away in shock, then slowly returned. It was bumpy! Her face had turned bumpy! Running her hands from ear to ear, she was relieved to realize it was dried blood. Dried blood?!? Suddenly, as though someone had hit fast forward, the events of the previous night returned at break-neck speed. The rude asshole, her flight up the hill, the strange screaming and finally, the fall.

She was lucky to be alive. The enormous leaf covered branches had broken her high fall, but had done plenty of damage. Taking stock, Miranda realized her left angle was either broken or sprained, her shoulder was most likely out of joint and every inch of her was covered in gashes. And she was in a forest. With a very muddy floor. And trees much larger than any she'd seen before, even the redwoods she'd seen in her trip to California.

**Where the hell am I?** she thought and, against her better judgement, she sat up, groaning in agony. Wedging her back against a trunk, she realized her horrors weren't over. A large, hairy black bug was slowly making its way up her left leg. The one with the hurt ankle. Tears began trickling out of her eyes and she watched its progress helplessly. Suddenly a hot anger overcame her and she brushed it off with her right hand, while using her left hand and good leg to push herself away, pain searing through her collarbone from her shoulder.

Her predicament struck her as she struggled to breathe.

**I'm uh...pretty badly hurt and god knows where! What do I do?** she thought. After a half hour of sitting, tears again fell down her face and she brushed at them angrily. Her hands came away red. A sharp intake of breathe made her lift her head. Ten feet away stood a very tall man, wearing what appeared to be a black leather trench-coat. His hair was dark and long, and on his face were deep lines of worry, yet he appeared to be under 40. It was expression that startled Miranda the most. He was staring at her with unconcealed revulsion. Then he opened his mouth and shrieked a strange word.

**Fuck. I've landed in the crazy-people world!** Miranda thought. Then screamed as he began moving towards her.