The phone rang and Hannah jumped, causing her book to slide off her stomach and onto the floor. It was Sunday afternoon, and she had fallen asleep doing her reading for Eastern Philosophy.

With a groan, Hannah rolled over and grabbed the phone. "Hello?" she rasped, shoving her hair out of her eyes and squinting at the clock. It was 3:26.

"Miss D'Angelo?" a businesslike but urgent voice said.

"Yeah?" Miss D'Angelo croaked sleepily.

"This is Ron Keller. I'm afraid we have a… situation here."

Hannah woke up a little more fully. "What kind of situation?"

"Amondaur appears… agitated. He tried to leave the institution this morning, and was a bit upset when he was prevented. He has since refused to take his medicine. And since he doesn't speak English…" Dr. Keller paused. "Honestly, we don't know what the matter might be."

"Alright," Hannah groaned, rolling out of bed. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thank you. I'll send Mark to meet you at the door and fill you in," Dr. Keller promised, and hung up.

Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, Hannah brushed her hair out and pulled her shoes on. Grabbing her purse and her Sindarin dictionary, she headed out of the building and toward Grenville Psychiatric Hospital.

000

By the time she reached the front door, she was feeling much more awake and aware. She hoped Amondaur wasn't having some sort of psychotic episode; she wouldn't know how to deal with it. Besides the fact that it would probably scare her silly.

Mark opened the door for her when he saw her coming. "I'm glad you're here," he said earnestly as they headed off down the hall at a brisk pace. "It was sort of touch-and-go for awhile, when he tried to go out the front doors. He didn't seem to understand why we wouldn't let him go out, and then he got angry when we insisted. Of course, none of us could understand what he was saying, but it sounded awfully accusatory. You'll have to remind him that he is not allowed to leave the hospital, for his own good. Since he's provided no information on family or friends that might come and collect him…" Mark shrugged helplessly. "And since this morning's little episode, he has refused to take his medication." He looked sympathetically at Hannah. "I'm afraid you've got your work cut out for you."

They were now at Amondaur's door. "He also refuses to answer when we knock," Mark told her, knocking perfunctorily and opening the door.

Amondaur was standing at the window with his back to them when they came in, but he wheeled around. When he saw who it was, he advanced on them angrily.

"Nauthach i im pen-inn?" he demanded furiously, stalking over to them. Hannah automatically backed up, running into Mark. He put his hand on her arm as if about to pull her out of harm's way, but then the meaning of Amondaur's words struck her. She put her hand up, and Mark stilled his movement.

Amondaur had stopped right in front of them. He was so tall, Hannah felt like she was being addressed by a tree. "You think I am mad!" he repeated. "This is a madhouse! The other people here—they are mad. But I am not! Why have you put me here?"

He stood before them, seething, waiting for an answer. Hannah stared unblinkingly up at him, her heart racing.

"What did he say?" Mark whispered.

Hannah turned her head slightly to address him, but kept her eyes directed on Amondaur's face. "He is angry because we think he's crazy," she translated. "He apparently just realized this is an insane asylum, and that everybody else here is crazy, but he says he's not."

"Ah," Mark said, understanding.

"Why would you think I was mad?" Amondaur repeated.

"Because Middle-earth does not exist," Hannah finally replied firmly. "It is only part of a story, written by a man named John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, fifty years ago. It is not true."

Amondaur gave a bark of astonished, cynical laughter, and his lips twisted into a sneer. "Ae han nauthach, le pen-inn," he said plainly.

"He just called me mad!" Hannah exclaimed in exasperation.

"Here, let's all sit down," Mark said, moving himself and Hannah more fully into the room and gesturing to the chairs. He and Hannah took their seats, but Amondaur remained standing across the room from them, looking quite angry.

"I heard you say Tolkien's name," Mark told Hannah. "What did you say to him?"

"He asked why I would think he was mad, and I said Middle-earth didn't exist, it was only from a story which wasn't true. Then he said if I believed that, I was the crazy one."

Mark nodded, unsurprised. "It is a very common for schizophrenics to believe they are quite well, and don't need their medicine," he told her. "You could try to reason with him, but I doubt you'll be at all successful."

"He thinks I am mad, too, doesn't he?" Amondaur asked Hannah coldly.

She didn't answer. "Amondaur, what happened this morning? They said you tried to leave the institution."

"I did," he answered, allowing her to change the subject. He crossed his arms. "It finally dawned on me how many people here appeared to be mad. With some of them you cannot tell as easily, you know." Hannah nodded. "I had been out into the courtyard," he gestured to the large gardens out the window, "but I wanted to leave the institution. So I tried to do so." His expression darkened again. "The guards stopped me," he said, trying to contain his anger in order to speak calmly. "It was humiliating and infuriating."

"I imagine so," Hannah replied diplomatically.

She and Amondaur looked at one another for a minute in silence, then Amondaur moved forward and took his accustomed seat on the side of his bed.

"Those strange little things they want me to swallow—they are medication, are they not?" he asked.

Hannah nodded.

"I will not take them. I am not sick."

"Amondaur," Hannah said patiently, "Mark tells me that many people who have… the problem they believe you to have, think that they are not sick and refuse to take any medication." She noticed Amondaur's jaw hardening, and added, "If you want them to believe you are sane, it would help if you agreed to take your medication."

Amondaur looked very annoyed and a bit sullen at this pronouncement. "Very well," he said. Hannah had half-expected him to roll his eyes.

"He's agreed to take his anti-psychotics," Hannah reported to Mark.

Mark raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Wow. Good job."

"Let me see this book," Amondaur suddenly demanded.

"What?"

"You said Middle-earth was just a place in a story. Show me the book this man wrote with the story in it."

She turned to Mark, completely non-plussed. "He wants to see the book. Lord of the Rings."

Mark blinked. "He does?"

"Should we show it to him?"

Mark ran his hand through his hair, just as surprised as she was. "Well, I suppose so…" he said hesitantly. "Yes," he concluded after a moment. "I don't see why not. Do you have a copy?"

Hannah shook her head. "No, and I don't know anybody on campus who has a copy."

"There's the public library," he suggested

"That would work."

"I'll drive," Mark volunteered, standing up.

After a moment's hesitation, Hannah followed suit. "We are going to go find you a copy of the book," she explained to Amondaur. "We will return as quickly as possible."

Amondaur nodded, but did not rise nor bid them goodbye, as he had done the entirety of the previous week. They left his room wordlessly.

000

It wasn't a very long drive to the Grenville Public Library. In less than fifteen minutes, Mark and Hannah were marching up the wide front steps and into the large, classical style, stone building. They followed the signs to the fiction room.

"T… T-A, T-E, T-I, T-O… T-O-L," Hannah whispered to herself as she moved through the stacks. "Here. Fellowship of the Ring, The Two Towers, Return of the King…" She pulled the volumes off the shelf one by one. "We should probably take this, too," she added, pulling out the Silmarillion.

On the way to the front desk, Hannah made a detour past the non-fiction section and picked up the first book she found with both a U.S. and a world map in it. "Further evidence," she said to Mark before he even asked. "Do you have an atlas in your car?"

"Yeah…?" he answered, still a little puzzled.

"Good. I think it might come in handy."

Luckily, Hannah had a card for the public library: she had had to use do research there before when the college library didn't have what she needed. They quickly checked out the books and got into Mark's car again.

"I've never done something like this before," he admitted to Hannah. "They used to say that you should never challenge a patient's delusions, but opinion is beginning to change on that head. There's this thing called "collaborative empiricism"—the therapist becomes the patient's ally and they work through his delusions, beginning with the least firmly held and working their way up." He broke off. "Well, there's more to it, but that's the basics. But this—I'm not even sure this is a good idea. It might make him resistant to proper therapy later on."

"You think we shouldn't do it?" Hannah asked slowly.

Mark shook his head. "I honestly don't know."

They were both quiet for a moment, thinking. "You said it yourself," Hannah finally reminded him: "the only sign of schizophrenia he's displaying is his delusions of grandeur—if that is indeed what they are. Otherwise, he seems perfectly rational. He recognizes insanity in others, and submits to logical arguments—like that he should take his medication if he wanted to prove he really wasn't insane and just thinking he was fine."

Mark grinned and glanced over at her. "Is that the argument you used?"

Hannah couldn't help a small smile. "Yes. My point is—"

"—Maybe he'll react perfectly rationally to our little intervention," Mark finished for her. "I hope you're right."

"Besides," Hannah added, "he asked to see the books. If anybody asks, we were only fetching him reading materials." She grinned widely at Mark, who laughed in response.

As they pulled into the hospital parking lot, Hannah snapped her fingers. "Where's that atlas?" she asked Mark.

"Under your seat."

Hannah leaned over as far as her seatbelt would allow and rummaged until she located the book. They both looked at one another and took a deep breath. "Here goes nothing," Mark said, opening his door.

000

When they entered the room, Amondaur was sitting where they had left him. Mark and Hannah put the books down on the end of his bed, along with the atlas.

"There," said Hannah.

Amondaur picked up one of the books cautiously and opened it. "I cannot read this," he said.

Hannah sat down beside him and took the book—The Return of the King. Flipping it open, she suddenly remembered that most of the events in the trilogy wouldn't have happened yet for the character Amondaur was playing. So she opened the book to the appendices.

"How widely known is the story of Aragorn and Arwen?" she asked Amondaur.

He looked startled. "…Some of the Rangers and the Elves of Rivendell know it," he said slowly.

"Do you know it?"

He shook his head. "Only the barest of outlines."

"Well then, you will learn something today," Hannah said ruthlessly, and began to read from the book, translating directly into Elvish.

When she reached the part where Aragorn and Arwen were meeting in Caras Galadon, Amondaur put his hand over the page. "Stop. Stop!" Hannah halted and looked up at him.

"I do not think it is right for me to know this," he said self-consciously. "Such things are very private. It is not right." Hannah shut the book. "How did he know all of this?" Amondaur asked. "All these private details about their lives?"

"Because he made them up," Hannah said slowly and distinctly. "He invented Aragorn and Arwen. They're fictional characters. They don't exist."

Amondaur was shaking his head emphatically. "No, they do exist. I have spoken with Aragorn, and seen a glimpse of the Lady Arwen's beauty from afar. Gilraen lived in our village when she left Rivendell, and I have enjoyed Lord Elrond's warm hospitality. No, these people are real."

Hannah pressed her lips together in a narrow line. Grabbing The Fellowship of the Ring, she opened it to the map on the first pages. "Does this look familiar?" she asked him.

Amondaur took the book from her and looked at it closely. "Of course! It is Middle-earth." he stated.

"And this?" she continued, passing him The Silmarillion, open to the map of Beleriand.

He took it and scrutinized the map, nodding.

"Now," Hannah continued, picking up the atlas. "Do you see this map?" she opened it to a map of the area and pointed to it. "This is the town we are in: Grenville. This is the state park, and the highway where you met the policemen. Now…" She flipped a little farther to a view that showed the surrounding states. "Here is Grenville, and the borders of the state." Leaving him to look at that, she picked up the book on geography and flipped to the U.S. map. "And the borders of the state, inside America." Finally she turned to a world map. "And here is America. This is a map of the entire world. Now. Where is Middle-earth?"

Amondaur slowly and cautiously took the book from her hands and stared at the world map. "This cannot be the whole world," he muttered under his breath. He began frantically to flip through the maps, searching for a familiar feature. "No, it cannot be," he breathed desperately.

Finally his shoulders slumped in defeat, and he shut the book and handed it back to her. He rested his elbows on his knees and put his face in his hands. Silence fell for a moment as he neither spoke nor moved.

Hannah watched him with concern. She had not expected him to be that easy to convince. But then, perhaps this was part of the role he was playing—a Ranger of Middle-earth sent to modern Earth by magic.

After a long, still silence, Amondaur passed his hands over his face and rested his mouth on his fist. He looked like he was about to cry. Hannah quickly stood up and began to stack up the books. She couldn't stand to see men cry.

A few desperately whispered words made her look over at him again. "Perhaps I really am mad," he said to himself. "I must be dreaming, or hallucinating… This cannot possibly be true."

Mark touched Hannah's shoulder, causing her to jump. She had completely forgotten he was even in the room. "What's happening?" he asked her quietly.

Hannah looked back at Amondaur, who did not even appear aware of their presence, wrapped up in his own thoughts. "I think I've convinced him he's not in Kansas anymore," Hannah answered quietly.

TBC

AN:

Translations:

Nauthach i im pen-inn?: You think I am mad, don't you?

Ae han nauthach, le pen-inn: If that is what you believe, then you are the one who is mad.

dreamingfifi says: "There isn't a word for insane in Sindarin, but here is where the joys of neo-Sindarin come in. I used 'devoid of inner thought or meaning' in the place of 'crazy'." Once again, kudos and many thanks to our knowledgeable translator!

I feel honor-bound to point out: I am definitely not suggesting you go out and tell people who have a mental illness that "it's all in their head". This is fiction. In reality, I think Mark probably could have lost his job for that move. I am most certainly not an expert in psychiatry, and am not suggesting this course of action to my readers. Mental illness is a real and serious problem. Please leave it to the experts. Thank you. :)

geek-chick: Thanks! And nice sn, btw. :)

theycallmemary: Aw, tell the truth now. You'd think he was as nutty as a fruitcake. :) The medical gibberish wasn't difficult; I just googled "schizophrenia symptoms"! It's quite easy to find information on such things online. He probably tried speaking Westron, but since Tolkein left veeeery little of that language to us, there's no way anybody would recognize it. Being a Dúnadan, he does indeed know Sindarin, so he tried that, and Mark happened to recognize it. Thanks!

Faerlas: I think the mental hospital staff would notice if he had pointy ears. :)

Hermione at Heart: Yeah, it is sad. I loved reading your guess! But there's no way I'm telling you if you're right. :)

Cindy: It scares me you know the stats on that. lol Sorry, afraid none of this is going to be Boromir-centric. I hope you'll still like it anyway! As for your other questions, you'll just have to wait and see. :)

Princess Siara: Yes, I've caught myself typing "Katie" for "Hannah" a couple of times, now! That would be embarrassing. Like the "Larry" slip in Galathon's Robe… Although come to think of it, that one was just kind of funny. :) Yep, lost patience big-time. Well, he's either from ME, or he's totally wacked! You'll just have to wait to find out which. :)

Fk306: Nothing if not predictable! lol Thanks!

Mariko: Yes, he is; and the answer to the next question is obviously, Not very long. Lol Yeah, I thought the "Hannah hates Tolkien" would spice it up a bit. :) Thanks!

sweet as lemonz: You'll just have to wait and find out!

Thanks also to trecebo, Tara, Laer4572, Alexis in Wonderland, Bigglesworth, IwishChan, Coolio02, Spewilicious, Crecy, and Ravens Destiny! (I would thank you, Will77, but I'm pretty sure that even after an email, there's no way you'll be back to read it…)

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! I'm very gratified that everyone's taken the time to write!

Please review!