A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed! Yay! As for the time line, I have to admit to a small goof. I had written the first two chapters then got stuck, so I reread the end of RotK and remembered Arwen came to Gondor to be married. So I had to do some revisions, which I used Frodo-thought for. It follows the movie and books until May 1, 1419 (SR) when the celebration was held. Then it continues a bit differently, in that Arwen requests that Aragorn come to Rivendell for their marriage, and since it's more or less on the way home for the rest.... Having left the City of Gondor almost two weeks ago, I place them somewhere west of Helm's Deep in a random forest. All of the reasons for the differences will be clear farther on. I didn't see a need to mark this as AU since it was only the last few chapters that are alternative. I chose this setting because I wanted to look at how the Fellowship changed the characters and because I wanted my own story. Merely placing a new character into the original story, and then using original dialogue is not what I wanted (although no offense to anyone who has done this). So thanks and keep reading!



Chapter 4



The sun was now quite high overhead, and Gimli, used to the cool darkness of the mines of his homeland, was sweaty and uncomfortable. The Hobbits were also experiencing discomfort as they dutifully loaded the pack animals, manfully ignoring their hungry stomachs demanding elevenses. As a light wind began blowing, the five travelers set off to follow Aragorn and Legolas.

"You don't think it really was an left-over Orc, do you Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked conversationally.

"No, Sam," Frodo answered. "Sting would have told me. Besides, Gandalf said most of the Orcs not killed in battle were being rounded up by Rohan soldiers. I do not know what they plan to do after rounding them up, though."

"Hmmph!" grumbled Gimli. "I could tell you what a Dwarven-Thain would do with the lot! And all I would need is my trusty axe!" he added menacingly. The effect was lost on the four Hobbits, however, who had grown used to the threats and talk of the Dwarf.

"Mayhap we could lasso the lot, and use em in the gardens as pack animals!" Merry added, only half jokingly. He had not yet forgotten the screams of his fellow fighters when the Orcs had cruelly slashed them through. Frodo also preferred to avoid the topic of Orcs.

"D'ye think the Shire has heard of the goin-ons here yet?" Pippin asked hopefully. "I bet the lasses wouldna mind hearin the tale from one of the leadin characters!" he added, nudging Sam lasciviously. "Especially cert'n lasses tha already have a.....weeel, what ye might call an 'interest' in the story!"

"More like she'll yell at me for leaving without saying 'good-bye,'" Sam sighed. "She's probably forgotten my name already. Rosie's not one to stay alone long," he said glumly. Frodo, seeing his friend start down an unhappy path, placed a comforting hand his shoulder.

"I'm sure when we've returned home, she'll be there to greet you with open arms!" Frodo cried. This made Sam smile for a while, for he trusted Frodo and thought him to be quite clever and knowledgeable. Reaching a large outcropping of rocks, the five caught sight of Aragorn and Legolas near a towering tree, apparently talking to someone.

"Shhhh..."Aragorn said softly, "We aren't going to hurt you. Are you very badly injured from your fall?"

The woman in question, for she appeared human, stared at him wildly, her face bruised, swollen and bloody. Her legs were drawn up to her chest protectively, yet she leaned slightly sideways from the tree, her arm hanging limply to one side. Aragorn's earlier revulsion had been tempered as he realized that she was not horribly disfigured as he had first thought, but hurt. The strange scars were actually trails of blood, he noticed. She made no sign of having heard his question, but glared at him and Legolas alternately. Placing his hands low, palms up, Aragorn made eye-contact with the stranger and slowly advanced, going carefully down on one knee several feet away.

"I am Aragorn, King of Gondor. How came you to be on this cliff and to fall so suddenly?" he asked. Again, she gave no evidence of having understood his question. He thought perhaps she was a traveler from far afield and spoke no Westron, so again he asked in every language known to him, but she merely watched him nervously, one hand reaching slowly for a large stick lying within her reach.

Stepping up behind Aragorn, Legolas took his first look at the woman and winced at the damage done to her. Suddenly he was rudely shoved aside as the yellow dog made a dash for the woman. Her expression changed marginally and she cried out,

"Maggie!" Aragorn looked at Legolas, but this strange word meant nothing to either of them. The dog began enthusiastically lapping at the woman's face and she cried out in pain. Without thinking, Aragorn lunged at the animal, but quickly retreated when large fangs slashed at his hand. The woman said more strange words and then animal sat quietly at her feet, growling softly at the strange males.



"Aragorn! Legolas! What've ye found?" Pippin called out as the five came into view. They stopped short, surprised that their Orc was actually a human woman.

"Is she alright?" Sam asked, concern etching his forehead into lines. It was quite unusual, he knew, for a lone human woman to be this far from any human settlements. Her clothing was also different, she appeared to be dressed in naught but a shift with large rents in it. One foot was bare, the other was covered in a dress-slipper with a strange, pointy sort of heel. She was covered head to foot in gashes and cuts, her hair caught up with bits of leaves, twigs and mud.

"She does not appear to speak any languages we know," Aragorn said softly. "Or else she had been struck dumb from her fall."

"And yet she commanded the dog well enough," Legolas said. "Perhaps she has traveled farther than we first thought." They all stared at her and one by one spoke in languages they knew.



*****

They were gibbering at her. The tall, dark-haired man and even taller blonde man spoke to her, but it obviously wasn't English. Or French. Or German. Or Spanish.

**Bloody hell!** Miranda thought to herself. **In the fairy tales the strange, handsome men always speak English. Just my luck.** The sight of Maggie had overjoyed her, but the happy face-bath had sent shivers of pain raging through her. The trench-coat man made a grab for Maggie's tail, but hastily retreated.

**Not the smartest move, grabbing a strange dog's tail, ** she thought. She switched views to the blond man and realized he was wearing leggings and funny pointy-toed shoes. And had what looked to be a bow strapped to his back. And he had pointy ears.

**A Vulcan! I'm dreaming. Yes, that's it. I've fallen asleep and am dreaming.** Suddenly, other voices sounded and to her surprise five more people came into view.

**Ahh. The midgets. So it's one of those dreams!** Miranda giggled, slightly hysterically. But on closer inspection, she noticed their oddly large and grotesquely hairy feet. Four of the new people were small and curly-haired, while the fifth was someone taller, although still short, and looked exactly like a miniature Viking. She stopped her musings as a word penetrated her vaguely feverish musings. They had all been talking at her in strange tongues, but she thought something the Viking said sounded familiar. She looked at him and pointed with her good hand.

As the daughter of a linguist (and former Jesuit), Miranda had spent her childhood traveling from one remote place to another. Consequently she spoke several languages fluently and had a good grasp of language and language structure. Her father had often marveled at the ease with which she picked up new languages, this being virtually the only approval ever offered.

"She understands Old-Speak, I think!" Gimli crowed. "'Tis a very old Dwarven language, usually reserved for formal occasions," he barked at her in this old speech, but her face fell (as much as it was able) because it was still gibberish. Gimli's own face fell in disappointment.

**Right then, time to stop pansying around,** she thought resolutely.

"My name is Miranda O'Leary, PhD. from London, England, or rather born in Hertfordshire, (don't tell) and grew up in several places around the world. Err....Earth, that is. Because this apparently isn't earth. Because I am obviously dreaming!" She nodded affirmatively to her own declaration and was immediately sorry, as agony ripped from elbow to shoulder to clavicle.

Four brown heads popped up. They hadn't understood the odd utterances of the woman, but all four had easily recognized 'Shire.' They were not the only ones.

"Shire!" Legolas exclaimed. "She said something about the Shire! Do you think she's a messenger?" he asked doubtfully.

"Messenger from whom? We know not the language she speaks," Aragorn replied thoughtfully. The seven residents of Middle-Earth began discussing her possible origins as the sun reached its zenith, and slowly began to sink in the western sky. Miranda was becoming increasingly exhausted. She had no idea how long she'd been whipped around through whatever portal (no, her mind shied away from that word), whatever THING she'd come. Her hurt shoulder had swelled to twice its original size, and she noticed hideous blue and purple bruises forming along her ankle and lower legs. Her head was pounding, a heavy, dull thudding that resonated every time her heart beat. Trench-coat was currently shaking his head at something Vulcan had said, while both ignored Viking who was jammering away and gesticulating violently. The midgets were also embroiled in their own argument. Or at least two of them were. She closed her eyes in pain and began drifting off.

Frodo, having remained silent this while, studied the woman. He noticed her inappropriate clothing, but focused mostly on her face. She had seemed so frightened, he realized. Of them. And she was in pain, his heart told him. He wanted to make things easier for her and broke into the other's discussion.

"I think she may have fainted," he said unobtrusively. "She may be injured seriously," he added. Aragorn and Legolas felt shame creep into their hearts. They had been so caught up in the oddness of the woman appearing, they hadn't considered her injury.

Being an Elf, Legolas had been brought up with a fair bit of healing, as had Aragorn. Kneeling next to her, swift hands ran over extremities, searching for broken limbs.

"Her shoulder is disjointed," Aragorn decided. Together, dark head to light, they arranged themselves against her, using their own bodies to push her joint into place. A harsh hiss issued from the woman's lips and whatever color evident beneath the bruises on her face, vanished as she fainted, truly, this time.

Carefully bandaging what they might, the group agreed it would be best to ride on and make it to Rivendell as fast as possible so that healing might occur. As only Legolas and Aragorn were large enough to carry the woman with them, and Legolas also had Gimli, it was agreed Aragorn would take charge of the woman. This plan was short lived as his war-horse shied and bucked when the yellow dog came near. It refused to leave her side, so it was finally agreed that Gimli would ride with Aragorn and Legolas would take the women. His own Arod, quieted by his master, easily ignored the canine. As they mounted, Pippin caught sight of a large leather bag lying forgotten in the brush. He went over to investigate, but was immediately called to join the rest who were some ways away. Grabbing the sack, he flung it on top of his own bags and rode off to meet the others.