The next day—evening, rather—the company rode through the gates of a walled city. And I use the term "city" loosely. It was a motley collection of buildings winding up and around a large hill. At the summit stood a proud wooden hall with carved statues of horses all over the place. Despite my fatigue and professed nonchalance concerning royalty, I was kind of nervous. Kings tend to have a funny outlook on other people's behavior.

As if reading my thoughts, Eomer cleared his throat. "Lady Sky...I do not mind how you speak to me, but my uncle...please, show him proper respect."

"Well...what does that entail? How should I address him?" I asked nervously.

"Call him 'my lord'," Eomer replied, as if surprised that I had to ask. "And don't speak unless he speaks to you first. And curtsy when I present you."

"Excuse me? Curtsy?" What is this, the freaking Middle Ages? Well, yeah, a little part of me replied. It is. Fuck. "I suppose now is not the time to point out that, even if I had a dress to curtsy with—which I don't—I don't know how to curtsy."

"You don't—never mind," Eomer said, shaking his head disgustedly. "My sister will teach you. And give you suitable clothes."

"You don't have to sound so condescending, you know," I said irritably. "I can't help the fact that this place is a thousand years behind my world."

Eomer stiffened. "Aye, well, you're here now, my lass, so you'd best accustom yourself to our primitive ways."

That should have shut me up in a hurry, but it didn't. Why? Because I am, as I believe Abbi mentioned earlier, slightly moronic at times. "I'd like to see you do half so well in my own world, laddy-buck," I snapped, sounding for all the world like my dad's older sister when she's in a snit. "Fuckin' ape."

Happily enough, Eomer didn't realize that I was using unsavory language, but he caught the tone sure enough.

"How dare you speak to me in such a manner?" he growled, glaring at me over his shoulder. "I am a Marshal of the Mark--"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I sneered. "Not so refreshing anymore, is that it?"

"The charm has worn off considerably," Eomer said, rubbing his forehead. "Ah, lass, I'm too tired to quarrel with you."

"Likewise," I grumbled.

As we rode through the gates, one or two people who happened to be around looked up and cheered. Soon, as if by magic, the street was lined with cheering, waving people. Eomer finally relaxed and I could tell he was grinning, even though I couldn't see his face.

"Hail, Eomer!" someone shouted, and others picked it up, cheering his name with gusto.

As we approached the hall on the top of the hill, I saw a tall, blond figure race out of a set of thick oak doors. I knew immediately that she was Eomer's sister. When we got closer, I could see that she had the same strong face and wild hair. I also noted that she was really, really tall. When Eomer jumped down to greet her, she could nearly look him in the eye. For all her size and strong features, she didn't look masculine at all—more like a goddess. She was the most striking woman I'd ever seen, radiating confidence and sheer personality. Once again I felt rather small and worthless.

I slid awkwardly off of Eomer's horse and looked around uncomfortably, not sure what I should do. Thankfully, someone came to my rescue. It was last night's singer. I smiled gratefully at him and asked where the stables were.

"Why?" he asked curiously.

"Well, to put away the horse..."

"Nay, you'll do no such thing," he said firmly. "My lord tends his own horse."

"Oh," I said, feeling small again now that I'd lost my temporary purpose.

"My name is Eamon," he said, bowing slightly.

"I'm--"

"Lady Skyla Connelly," he finished with a grin.

"Er—just Sky is fine," I muttered, and almost cringed when I heard Eomer call my name.

"They don't bite, you know," Eamon told me with a smile.

I turned slowly and tried not to look like a guilty puppy. Eomer and his sister were more than a little intimidating. They had a sort of proud, regal, 'grovel before us, worm ' air about them. Then Eomer smiled and held a hand out to me and the mood dissipated.

"Eowyn," he said, drawing me closer. "This is Lady Skyla Connelly."

"A strange name," Eowyn commented, looking me over. Unconsciously, I straightened under her gaze. "Tell me, where is your home?"

"Far away," I said softly. "I don't know how I came to be here and I don't know how to get back."

"She will stay with us in the meantime," Eomer told her firmly, then seemed rather unsure of himself. "Er—I thought you could provide her with something to wear, but now that I look at both of you..."

Eowyn laughed, making her seem less forbidding. "Never fear, I'm sure I have something tucked away. Come, you must be tired. You can bathe while I find something suitable."

"Thank you," I said gratefully. I didn't care if she gave me a burlap sack—as long as it was clean and warm.

I followed her into the hall and instantly felt better. It was warm and comfortable and...well, homey. I don't know how to explain it. I looked around and everything seemed right—almost familiar. Eowyn noticed me looking and smiled.

"I think you will like it here, Lady Skyla."

"Please, just call me Sky," I said. "Only my grandmother calls me Skyla and only when I'm in trouble."

Eowyn laughed. "Then you must call me merely Eowyn. I dislike titles."

"Of course," I said.

"Here are my rooms," she said, and ushered me in. She led me into an antechamber where a steaming tub of water awaited me. Briefly, I wondered how they knew to have it waiting, but the thought was quickly dismissed as I let out a cry of joy and relief.

"Give me your clothes," Eowyn ordered. "They must be filthy."

Now, ordinarily, I probably would have at least hesitated before stripping in front of a complete stranger, but I was too eager to get into that bath. I tore off the dirty, smelly garments and handed them to Eowyn, who was frowning at my track uniform.

"Those are strange undergarments," she remarked, "and odd slippers..."

"Oh, they're not undergarments," I explained. "This is my track uniform. Everyone in my...company wears this when we compete. And the shoes are specially made for these competitions. Please, be careful with them..."

"I will," Eowyn promised. "What kind of competitions? Contests of arms?"

"Oh, no...running, jumping, um...spear and disc throwing...that kind of thing," I replied, and swallowed. "My—my cousin and I competed in the jumping events together."

"Your cousin...is she dead?" Eowyn asked tentatively.

I nodded. "Just a few hours after we found ourselves in this place."

"I am sorry," she said softly. "My own cousin died recently. In battle."

I nodded again and stripped off the rest of my clothes and sank into the bath with a sigh of relief. Upon inspection, I found a dish of soap and what appeared to be some kind of shampoo. It was frothy and smelled like herbs, anyway, so I figured it wouldn't make my hair fall out or anything. After I finished, I soaked for awhile, trying to process what was happening. It hadn't really hit me before, but I realized then that I might be here for a very long while, if not forever. Hadn't Eomer said that there was a war going on? I might never see my dad or my grannie or my aunts and uncles ever again. I wondered how my dad would take losing both me and Abbi. Not well. He had already lost my mother when I was five. This would just kill him.

It was probably a good thing that Eowyn interrupted when she did. I was beginning to feel distinctly panicky. She had a bundle of clothes in her arms and a big fluffy towel draped over her shoulder. She smiled when she saw me.

"Feel better?"

"Much," I replied thankfully, and took the offered towel.

"You came just in time, you know," she told me. "I was going to give all my old gowns to Hammond's daughter, but I think you have more need of them."

"I can't believe you're only twenty," I muttered.

"Aye," she agreed ruefully. "People are often surprised at my age. Well, put this on. It should fit beautifully, but I can find something else if it doesn't."

I pulled on an under dress sort of thing (a shift, I think it's called) and then a forest green gown with celtic looking embroidery on the hem and on the belled sleeves. Eowyn did up the laces in the back and turned me around. After a moment's perusal, she nodded.

"You're exactly the same size I was when I was your age," she said, then reconsidered. "Well, maybe a year or two younger. But I have plenty of clothes that will fit you, and that's what matters. Now put on these stockings and slippers and I'll do something with your hair."

"What's the occasion?" I wondered.

"You need to be dressed as befits a lady when you go before my uncle," she said, and I saw a brief flash of uneasiness in her face.

"Is he very hard to please?" I asked nervously.

"He wasn't until his... adviser came," she explained. "We must give them nothing to object to."

"Speaking of which, you need to teach me how to curtsy."

Eowyn stared. "You...don't know how to curtsy? But you are clearly--"

"Not a peasant, I know," I said irritably. "Nobody curtsies where I come from."

"Strange," she murmured. "Comb your hair and then we'll see what we can do."

Curtsying turned out to be not that hard, actually. In fact, it was much more difficult to work out how to hold my stockings up with garters. I could see Eowyn's face twitching with the effort it took not to laugh herself silly. I tried to console myself with thoughts of how awkward she would feel in my world. Imagine trying to put in a tampon or put on a bra if you'd never even seen one before. Unfortunately, these thoughts only reminded me of what I had lost and didn't help much.

Finally, she led me to a mirror and laughed at my startled expression. She'd braided portions of my hair back and looped or twisted it or something so that it formed a windy sort of design at the back of my head. The rest of my hair fell in long, snaky waves to my elbows. It was definitely the coolest thing that had ever been done with my hair. (If left to my own devices, I'd simply braid the whole thing or throw it into a pony tail)

And let us not forget the dress. It showed off my figure (that is to say, it showed my figure—what little I have, anyway) the way nothing I'd ever worn did, making me look slender and strong rather than skinny and wiry. Like a willow branch rather than a twig, if you want to get poetic about it. I mean, I'm on the better-looking side but northing special. I'd never cared much about clothes or hair and had never felt really beautiful (or at all beautiful) until then. And I did feel beautiful, even with a dark bruise covering one cheek.

"Wow," I breathed. "I don't feel quite so...worm-like anymore."

"There's nothing quite like a beautiful gown to boost a woman's confidence," Eowyn agreed with a smile. "And it does look lovely on you. Come, I'll escort you to my uncle."

I took a deep breath. "Here goes nothing."

"Pardon?"

"Never mind."

As we entered the hall, I got the feeling that something unexpected was happening. I don't know if it was the all-out brawl taking place in the middle of the room, the blazing white figure with a staff who appeared to be exorcising a cackling, moth-eaten figure on a throne, or simply the gob-smacked expression on Eowyn's face that did it, but there was a definite "dude, what the hell's going on?" vibe.

Suddenly there was a huge bang and a flash of light, temporarily blinding me. I shook my head slowly to clear my vision and then frowned. The old man on the throne seemed to be—changing. He seemed to be getting younger and stronger before my eyes. His hair turned from mossy gray to an only slightly frosted tawny mane and his shoulders straightened and broadened almost as if he had merely been slouching. But I could tell it was more than that. I glanced over at Eowyn and saw tears in her eyes. Before I could ask, she rushed over and knelt before the man (presumably her uncle), who took her face in his hands and kissed each cheek.

Feeling extremely awkward, I waited and tried not to fidget while Eomer and Eowyn greeted their uncle as if they hadn't seen him in years. Soon, however, things got interesting. The king turned his attention to a dark, slimy, pale man who was cowering on the floor. I couldn't hear what was being said, but I was too unsure of myself to move closer.

I watched with wide eyes as the king hauled the man up by the collar of his shirt and dragged him outside. Then, since everyone else did, I followed and peeked over a warrior's shoulder just in time to see the man spit at the king and rush off. This must be the adviser Eowyn had spoken of.

I was so transfixed by the nasty looking thing that I didn't notice the king coming up the stairs until he was right in front of me and looking at me with a rather disgruntled look on his face. I stared at him in shock for a moment and then dropped into a perfect curtsy, bowing my head as elegantly as I could and murmuring, "Greetings, my lord."

The king (what was his name, anyway?) tipped my chin up gently and asked, "What is your name, lass?"

"Skyla Connelly... my lord," I replied.

"A strange name." I—barely—resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I was getting really sick of hearing that.

"We found her with a company of orcs just outside Fangorn Forest," Eomer explained. "I offered her sanctuary here, Uncle. She has nowhere else to go."

"Hm." The king rubbed his chin contemplatively, looking me over. "Even more strange. She clearly is of noble blood. But from where, I wonder?"

That, too, I was getting sick of hearing. How the hell would they know, anyway?

"Skyla Connelly," the king said gravely, "you are welcome in Meduseld for as long as is necessary, but I warn you, your stay may not be as peaceful as you would like."

"T'will be better than what the orcs would give me, my lord," I replied, drawing a laugh from the lion-like man.

"Aye, lass, that it will," he agreed, and offered me his arm. Tentatively, I laid my arm over his and he grasped my fingers. "Come, my people, let us celebrate the return of our warriors and the arrival of friends. And then we shall prepare for war."

"Hail Theoden King!"

But I didn't miss the grim, almost disgusted expressions of the old man in white and his companions. I, too, was wondering why he was talking about celebrating first and preparing for war after, but I suppose his people had been through some hard times and needed a party before more hardship and pain. I was about ready for a party, myself. I glanced over and noticed the old man staring at me intently and looked away again quickly.

The king led me to a table at the head of the room and handed me over to a tall, blond, impossibly beautiful man. Upon closer inspection, I found that his ears were pointed. Well, fuck me, it's an elf, I thought bemusedly. Cool.

"I apologize, Lady Skyla, but I must speak with Gandalf and Aragorn," Theoden said courteously. "I am sure you will be quite alright with Legolas."

Legolas bowed and I curtsied in reply. I was pretty sure that's what I was supposed to do, anyway. I wasn't prepared for him to kiss my hand, however. I felt a shiver run up my spine and I found myself eying his flawless skin and clear blue eyes enviously.

"Lady Skyla, your seat," he said coolly, pulling out a chair for me.

I sat, trying not to look too nervous, and then jumped about a foot in the air when a very large—but very short—red headed (and bearded) man plunked himself down in the chair on my other side. A dwarf? What was next, the tooth fairy?

"Hello, there, lassie," the dwarf boomed. "You looked like you could use some rescuing from yon flower-blossom."

I smiled in relief, but replied, "I'm sure Legolas is a perfect gentleman."

"Och, aye," the dwarf scoffed. "So gentlemanly he'll bore you half to sleep."

"As opposed to scaring her away, Gimli?" Legolas said with a dry smile.

"Well, it looks like things will even out," I assured them.

Dinner turned out to be quite enjoyable. Gimli made things interesting and Legolas stepped in more than a few times to save me from an awkward moment. Halfway through dinner, however, I noticed him regarding me intently.

"Yes?" I inquired politely.

"You should know, Lady Skyla, that Theoden rarely does anything without a reason," he said without preamble. "He doesn't give charity. He is generous, but he always expects something in return."

"What are you saying?" I asked with a frown.

"I'm saying that you should think about what you are prepared to give in exchange for his hospitality," he replied cryptically, and would say nothing more about it.

His words disturbed me greatly. There was nothing I could give. I had come to his home with literally nothing more than the clothes on my back. Well, and Eomer's clothes, but I doubted he'd want those. I thought about it all through the rest of dinner, listening only half heartedly to Legolas and Gimli's banter. Suddenly my thoughts were broken by a noise—series of noises, rather. It sounded like drumming.

"Ah, the dancing is about to begin," Legolas said, leaning forward.

"Are you going to dance?" I asked curiously.

"I? No, I prefer elven dances...but this is interesting to watch."

I thought I would be watching as well, but Eowyn would have none of it. To my astonishment, I picked up the steps fairly quickly and immediately took back everything bad I'd ever said about learning to step-dance. It was eerily similar to these dances, only this was much more fun than dancing with my uncles and grumpy cousins who were also being forced to learn. I found myself paired with Eamon, Eomer, the dark haired stranger—Aragorn—and several other soldiers. Before long I was laughing and kicking up my heels with the best of them.

At the end, I followed Eowyn out of the hall and cast a puzzled glance back at the brooding, gloomy form of Theoden.

"Eowyn? Why does your uncle look so depressed? He suggested this in the first place."

Eowyn's bright smile faltered. "His son—my cousin—died while he was...unwell. He realized when he found that Theodred wasn't there to welcome him, but he wanted to put some joy back in his people's lives, regardless of his own pain."

"Oh," I said, cringing at the slight rebuke. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize..."

"It's alright," Eowyn told me, sounding contrite. "It still hurts, that's all."

"I know," I said softly, thinking of my own cousin. She would have gotten along with Legolas perfectly.

"Lady Skyla!" I turned to see the old man—Gandalf—striding toward me. I waited, puzzled, but felt my eyes widen when I saw what he had in his hands.

"My backpack!" I looked up at him in amazement. "How..."

"I came across it in the Fangorn," he explained. "Rarely do such things occur without a reason. When Eomer told me how you arrived in Middle Earth, I thought it might be worthwhile to show this to you."

"Worthwhile, indeed!" I cried, taking the bag gratefully. "Thank you so much, sir—I mean, my lord."

"Might I ask what is in it?" he asked curiously, his bushy eyebrows drawing together.

"Oh—yes, of course," I replied. I was practically itching to get my flute and piccolo out to make sure they were okay.

"Not here," he said, taking my arm. "Lady Eowyn, if you would escort us to the Council Chamber?"

Eowyn looked slightly startled, but acquiesced. I was kind of surprised, myself. Wouldn't they be talking about the war? The thought was quickly banished from my mind in my excitement, however. Once we were there, I barely waited for an introduction before setting my bag on the table and pulling out my flute. With a sigh of relief, I saw that it appeared to have survived being chucked at a monster very well. I put it together and saw the curiosity on Eomer's face. I could tell he was just itching to ask a dozen questions, just like the first night they found me.

"What is it?" he asked bluntly.

"It's a flute," I said with a broad smile.

"Tis unlike any flute I have ever seen," Legolas commented dubiously.

I resisted the urge to make a sarcastic comment and instead put my flute to my lips and played a little ditty, making sure that everything was in working order. When I stopped, I saw that everyone was staring at me. Had I done something wrong?

"What?" I asked nervously. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing," Theoden said, snapping out of it. "That was lovely. Where did you acquire such an instrument?"

"Um...My band director? I—I don't think you can find one anywhere in this world."

"Amazing," Eomer muttered. "It appears to be made of silver..."

"It is," I said with a smile. "And it has a gold crown and mouthpiece. The Music Den loaned it to us in hopes that we might buy one but then they just forgot about it and..." seeing that they were all staring at me, I muttered, "Never mind."

"What other wonders do you have in that bag?" Gandalf asked, as if he were waiting for something. "Show me."

"Okay..." I emptied my bag, showing my assorted pens, pencils, calculator, chemistry book, cell phone, piccolo (They asked me to play it, but I warned them that it would likely wake up everyone in the town and deafen those in the immediate vicinity), and notebooks...and tampons! My toothbrush! Sneakers! Luckily, they believed me when I told them that they didn't want to know what they (the tampons, I mean) were for.

"Tell me more about these," Gandalf said, picking up the calculator, cell phone, and chemistry book.

"Well, the calculator—the bigger boxy thing, there—it...counts for you," I explained awkwardly. I received blank stares. "Look—say you have twenty five people, but only ten loaves of bread. This can tell you quickly how much bread each person will get. Or add up large numbers or tell you how many loaves of bread it will take to feed a hundred people."

"Show me," Gandalf ordered.

I punched in the numbers with Gandalf looking over my shoulder and explained what each button did and what each number was (I guess they didn't have the same symbols for numbers in this wacky place). He was extremely excited, to say the least, but he held it in and bade me explain the cell phone.

"Oh—well, it's rather useless, to tell the truth," I said ruefully. "It's a communication device, but it's broken. Even if it weren't, it needs another like it to communicate with and I've only got the one."

"Like a palantir," Aragorn said, nodding.

"A what?" Now it was my turn to stare blankly.

"Nevermind," Gandalf said, waving his hand. "Tell me about this book."

"It's my chemistry book..." blank stares all around.

"What is chemistry?" Eomer asked with a frown.

"It's the study of matter and how it changes," I explained, looking around. No light bulbs. "Like...a candle burns because it reacts with something in the air and because something triggered the reaction."

"Something like a spark struck with flint and steel," Gandalf suggested.

"Exactly," I said with a smile. "When you rub your hands together, they get warm, don't they? When the flint rubs against steel, it creates heat as well—and the spark. Well, actually that's more physics than chemistry, but..." Suddenly, I had a lightbulb moment, but decided to keep it to myself for the time being. "Look, I'm really not good at chemistry at all...most of the stuff in here is pretty useless, anyway, but you're welcome to look, if you want."

Gandalf gave me a long, steady look. "I will, thank you, although I believe you will need to translate your runes for me. I have never seen their like."

"It would be a pleasure," I said, covering a yawn. It must have been well past midnight. "Sorry, it's been kind of a long day."

I gathered up my things and followed Eowyn through the halls, answering as many of her questions as I could and trying not to fall asleep on my feet. She opened a door not far from her own room and ushered me in.

"This was my mother's room when she was a girl," she said with a smile. "I think you'll like it."

"It's lovely," I replied, looking over the tapestries lit by candle light and the huge four-poster.

"I've put all my old things in this wardrobe, here," she said, crossing over to the large wooden structure and opening it up. "Formal gowns on the left, then everyday dresses, work dresses, riding skirts, nightgowns, cloaks...slippers and boots are all on the bottom. Those might be a bit tricky in terms of size, but they should do until we can have your own boots made for you...there are shirts and breeches in that chest, there...do you need anything else?"

"No...no, this is wonderful. Thank you." I stood awkwardly for a moment more and was shocked when Eowyn crossed the room to embrace me.

"I know this must be difficult for you, Sky," she said. "And I think you are doing wonderfully. Don't be afraid to ask for anything you need, alright? I want you to be happy here. We all do."

"Thanks," I whispered, a bit tearfully.

"Here, let me undo your laces and your hair." When she was done, she bade me goodnight and slipped quietly out the door. I pulled on a warm, comfy nightgown and sat down on the—my bed. It was too big, I thought dully. What do I need all that space for? I lay down and closed my eyes but found I couldn't sleep. The room, the bed, the smells and sounds...they were all too unfamiliar.

Sighing, I got out of bed and fumbled around for a cloak and grabbed one of the smaller blankets off the bed. There was one place in this god forsaken city that would be as familiar as I could get. After a couple of wrong turns, I made it outside and padded to the stables, cursing all the way. Of course I hadn't thought to put on shoes.

Carver Academy, in case I haven't already told you, is a boarding school. For years, whenever I got homesick, I would sneak down to the stables and sleep there. It reminded me of home and comforted me in a way letters never could. I hesitated before entering these stables, however, hoping that I wouldn't be attacked as a horse thief or anything. I was surprised, however, to see a torch flickering in a bracket on the wall. I tiptoed closer, wondering who (besides myself) was crazy enough to be out at this hour.

I found Eomer stroking and speaking softly to his magnificent chestnut stallion, Firefoot, who looked confused but not at all displeased with the attention. In fact, he looked so much like a sleepy toddler that I had to giggle. Eomer whipped around and then relaxed when he saw it was just little old me.

"Lady Sky, what in the world are you doing?"

"I—I couldn't sleep," I said, realizing how stupid it sounded.

"You weren't planning to sleep here, were you?" he asked incredulously, indicating my blanket.

"Er—well..." I sighed and closed my eyes. "Look, it's the only thing that's the same here as it is at home."

"Ah," he breathed. "I understand. In that case, there's a stall at the end that's always filled with hay. I believe it will do quite nicely."

"Oh." I blinked in surprise. "Well—thanks."

"I used to do the same thing when I was a boy," he said with a smile. "I still do, occasionally, but mostly I just talk to this fellow."

"He's a lovely animal," I ventured, coming closer. Firefoot stretched out his neck to sniff me and I stroked his nose gently.

"Aye, he is," Eomer said proudly. "He's descended from the Mearas."

"The who?"

"The Lords of Horses," he explained gravely. "There are precious few left. Gandalf rides one of the last, Shadowfax. I would introduce you, but I don't think he would appreciate being awoken at this hour."

"I think you're right," I yawned. "Where did you say that pile of hay was?"

"The last stall on the right," he said with a swift grin. "Sleep well, my lady."