PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter IV: The Cool Points Scale

"You're firing me?" I stared across the wide desk at my restaurant manager, Rachel. She did not release my gaze; she was determined in her decision. There was a pang of regret in my chest and I wished I could call her unfair, but of course, she had every right to fire me. Sighing, I untucked my black waitress shirt.

"I know, I know," I said. "I skipped a day of work with no explanation."

"Sorry," said Rachel. "But we cannot have this kind of irresponsibility—"

"I got it." It wasn't like this was something new to me. The amount of times I have been unable to show up for work because I had Skipped to Middle Earth was countless. The number of times employers have fired me for not showing up was countless, too. It was a fact of life I had learned to live with.

"I'm sorry, Ana," said Rachel. "Honestly, I am."

"I got it." From somewhere deep inside of me, I pulled out a smile. "I'll go find work somewhere else. It's not a big deal."

"Ana…"

"See you around." I left her office without another word. As I made my way through the kitchen, a couple of the restaurant employees awkwardly waved good-bye to me. No one came forward to say anything. Whatever. Let them be. I'd only been working there for a few months and I hadn't been old enough to go out drinking with them after work. None of them knew me well enough to care.

The restaurant door closed behind me as I stepped out onto the street. It had been two days since my return to Ohio, and already life had gone from bad to worse. Bonnie and Nick were officially on the missing persons list. I'd spent the last two days talking to the police about what had happened and trying not to look at Nick and Bonnie's distraught parents. On top of that. I was failing half of my college classes because I had too many absences, and now I was fired from my waitressing job. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as I stood on the curb of the parking lot. The chilly autumn air bit at my exposed face and neck.

I pictured Bonnie, with her red hair and freckles, and Nick, lanky with soft, brown hair. They were the only two people who had accepted my disappearances with minimal questions. And look what they had gotten for it. Where were they now? Wandering about Middle Earth? Perhaps they had encountered an orc. Perhaps they had a run-in with a troll. My stomach twisted at the idea of a blade through Bonnie's heart or an arrow through Nick's throat. I shook my head to clear the images and plastered a smile on my face. Well, there was no work shift keeping me back now—what was a new way to risk my life?

I walked along the sidewalk, heading for the busy main road. My hands were shoved into the pockets of my leather jacket and I hummed off-key as I went. Just as I was debating stepping out in front of a car, my cell phone rang.

"Hello?" I asked, holding the phone up to my ear.

A perky voice cracked through the phone line. "Ana, hi!"

"Hi, Mom. What's up?"

"Thanksgiving is coming up soon."

"Yeah?" There was a sinking feeling in my stomach. I knew where this conversation was going.

"Well, your dad and I were wondering if you were coming home for Thanksgiving."

"Er—maybe." I glanced at a heavy truck that roared by on the main road. With my luck, if I said yes to Thanksgiving, I would Skip to Middle Earth and not come back until Christmas.

"We need a definite answer soon, honey," said Mom. "We need to know how much food to make."

"I'll try," I promised. "If I don't get back to you before Thanksgiving, then the answer is no."

I could practically hear Mom frowning through the phone. She did not like that answer, and who could blame her? Though she should be used to such answers from me by now. I had learned a long time ago that commitments were not something I could give.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." I grinned. "But you and Dad don't need me—you like your romantic Thanksgivings together. It's part of the empty-nester lifestyle."

"Ana…"

"Love you, too! Got to go!"

I hung up and slipped the phone back into my pocket. That went well. Sometimes I wondered if it would be easier just to tell them the truth, but then I remembered when I'd been six years old and my parents convinced me it was my overactive imagination. No one would believe me. It was better to keep lying to the police and hope I could find my friends myself.

With a sigh, I stepped out into the road.

The blast of a car horn.

The roar of a crowd.

Soldiers, dressed in metal armor with the imprint of a tree on their chests, looked up at someone in front of them. I was near the back of the cheering crowd, around me, the soldiers pumped their fists as they yelled. I ducked down and tried to escape the stamping, shouting men. At the very back of the crowd, a group of women in long, colorful dresses stood, clapping daintily. I settled in a spot next to them, though they kept shooting me and my pants disgusted looks.

A celebration was taking place in the courtyard just inside the main gates of the White City. I had been here on a previous Skipping adventure, and I recognized the statue of a soldier riding to battle. The courtyard was filled with some civilians but mostly soldiers, all cheering and gazing up at a tall, proud man on a horse who stood just below the statue.

With a little distance between me and the soldiers, I could hear what they were shouting—"Boromir! Boromir! Boromir!"

"Who's Boromir?" I asked the woman closest to me.

She gave me a poisonous glare and edged away. Apparently, she was afraid that my pants-wearing was a contagious disease.

"Okay…Nice talking to you." I watched as she started whispering to another haughty noble woman.

"It is not often we see a woman wearing the clothes of men."

A tall man with dark brown hair came to stand beside me. He would have been forgettable if not for his kind, gray eyes. His armor was of a different make to the other soldiers. His chest bore the same outline of a white tree as the others, but this armor was a deep red-brown and made of leather rather than metal.

"And you are?" I asked. I couldn't help but wonder why he bothered to talk to me—a short, young woman with a questionable taste in clothing.

"Faramir, son of Denethor."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Ana Stonbit."

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as if I'd done something suspicious. The women who'd avoided me earlier were now watching with open curiosity, and I wondered if I was supposed to recognize this man. Ah well, the damage had been done,

"So, who is Boromir?" I nodded to the man on a horse.

"His is the High Warden if the White Tower and our Captain-General," said Faramir. "He is also the son of the steward. I am surprised you do not know."

"I don't live here," I said. "I'm just passing through."

"You do speak in a peculiar manner," said Faramir thoughtfully, "and your clothes are not of any make I can name."

"So," I said, before he could ask me where I came from. "Why are they all cheering for him?"

The crease between Faramir's brow warned me that he knew I had avoided giving answers. However, he simply said, "Boromir has returned to the White City after reconquering Osgiliath from the hands of the Enemy."

"Good for him."

The soldiers had stopped cheering and had brought out the ale. They passed mugs of frothing liquid around, drinking and laughing and sharing stories amongst themselves. The noble women gave the men some space so they wouldn't be trampled by the excited soldiers. I scanned the crowd but I didn't see Nick or Bonnie anywhere. If they weren't here, it seemed like a waste of a Skip; I'd stepped in front of a car for nothing.

I wondered if there was anything else I could do while I was here. I should see how the Company was doing. After all, last I saw, they were being chased by orcs and wargs through the Trollshaws.

I glanced up at Faramir. There was something calm and comforting about his presence. He seemed like the type of guy that my parents would describe as having "a good head on his shoulders", and because of that, I found myself asking, "I'm not anywhere near the Trollshaws, am I?"

"The Trollshaws? I have not heard of such a place."

"Right. I'm in Gondor. A long way away from the dwarves."

Faramir frowned. "I have not heard that phrase before. Is it common in your home?"

"It's not a phrase," I said slowly. "I meant literal dwarves. As in I'm far away from these dwarves I know."

The way Faramir was staring at me, you would've thought I was insane. Then, softly, as if to himself, he said, "You do not hear talk of dwarves in Gondor except in old legends."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, nodding. "It is a strange thing. Look, it's great for Boromir that he conquered a city, but I have more important things to do. I'm looking for two of my friends who I lost on the way here—there was some, um, turbulence, and they didn't end up in the same spot as me. But I think I ended up in the wrong place or maybe time period—maybe you could help me?"

Faramir blinked. "Turbulence? Time period?"

"Or maybe not."

"Brother!"

Faramir and I turned at the same time to see a broad man with dark brown hair and an easy grin. It took me a moment to realize he was the man on the horse, the one the soldiers and civilians had been cheering for. Boromir wrapped his arms around Faramir's shoulders in a tight embrace.

Even if Boromir hadn't called out, I would've known they were brothers. While Boromir was broad where Faramir lean, they had the same gray eyes and sharp noses. Boromir's smile seemed to come easier, however. His gestures were bigger, and he moved with a loud confidence that was almost jarring in comparison to Faramir's quiet manner.

"I do not know why you let them call my name when you were on the front lines with me," said Boromir as he released his brother and stepped back. "You should have joined me up there."

Faramir gave the slightest shake of his head, apparently not one for the spotlight. "You are the hero today, brother."

"Yes." Boromir looked as though he might say more, but then he caught sight of me. He grinned at Faramir and said, "And who is this lovely lady wearing the pants of a man?" Unlike the noble ladies, Boromir didn't seem offended in the slightest by my clothes.

"I'm Ana Stonbit," I said.

"I am Boromir, son of Denethor, Captain of Gondor, Warden of the White Tower and Steward-Prince of Gondor."

"Yeah…I don't understand any of that."

"She is a traveler from a far-off land," explained Faramir. He shot his brother a meaningful glare.

Boromir's amused smile faded a bit, and he looked over my curiously.

I had the feeling Boromir had mistaken me for something else and was sincerely glad Faramir had corrected him.

"I'm jealous," I said. "I've always been an only child. My friends said it's a good thing since my parents would never be able to handle two of me."

Boromir listened to me with curiosity, and then he asked, "Where did you journey from, Lady Ana?"

"Just Ana." (Though the idea of being called a lady was flattering, maybe I should have let him continue using that term.) "From a land far, far away called Ohio."

"Ohio?" repeated Faramir.

"I have never heard of such a place," said Boromir. "Is it in the east?"

"Something like that. I'm just passing through, really. See, I'm looking for some friends of mine and some dwarves. But I don't think they're here…"

"Dwarves?" asked Boromir. "I do not think dwarves have been seen in these parts for a hundred years." He glanced at me and, observing my height, added, "Though I suppose you prove me wrong."

"I'm human," I said. "I just happen to be short." I addressed Faramir, asking, "Is your brother always like this?"

Faramir sighed, and that was answer enough.

At that time, Boromir called for his squire (I think it was his squire) to bring him some ale. I watched as the boy brought him two mugs of the frothing drink. Boromir handed one to Faramir and then took a long draught of his own.

Boromir noticed my curious stare and asked, "Do they not have ale in Ohio?"

"They do," I said. "I've never had it before."

"Would you like a taste?"

I think Boromir was half joking when he made the offer, but well, I took him as serious. I hadn't gone out drinking on my twenty-first birthday, and my friends had Skipped to Middle Earth. Maybe if I hadn't been such a stick-in-the-mud, my friends would still be in Ohio. Not the most rational thinking, but that's what went through my mind as I lifted my chin and said, "Bring me some ale—I want to try it."

Boromir seemed rather taken aback for a moment. Then he laughed and called for some more. "I should expect nothing less from a dwarfish woman who wears pants!"

I accepted my mug of ale from the squire and eyed it suspiciously for a second. Then, I chugged down the whole mug (I was rather impressed with myself). The liquid burned my throat and, barely managing to swallow the last of the drink, I coughed.

Laughing, Boromir called for a refill of my mug. Faramir, on the other hand, looked exasperated. He tried to stop us from getting too drunk, but Boromir and I charged full-steam ahead into a drinking game.

"I have never seen a woman drink her fill before," said Boromir.

"Probably because you don't spend enough time with female friends," I said, taking a huge gulp of ale. "Besides, you forget—I'm a dwarf. It is in our nature!" I laughed. "Thorin would skin me alive if he ever found out that I claimed to be a dwarf."

"Thorin?"

"Thorin," I said, lifting my mug into the air. "King Under the Mountain! He's known for his majesty." I chugged down the rest of the drink. "More!"

"Drink hearty," said Boromir.

Faramir sighed. "I see it now. This will end in disaster."

"Don't be a party pooper," I said.

"What did you say?" Faramir looked offended.

"It is another of her odd expressions no doubt," said Boromir. "Though I rather like this one. A party pooper."

"It means you're ruining the fun," I said.

"That is Faramir!" cried Boromir, thumping his brother on the back. "You know him so well and yet you have only just met."

"It's called skill," I said, drinking some more. "I'm winning, by the way."

"We cannot have that," said Boromir, and he finished off his mug and called for a second.

It was easy, I found, to get along with the brothers. Boromir was the brash soldier where Faramir was the intellectual leader. They balanced each other perfectly. Boromir happily recounted to me how he'd driven the orcs from Ithilien, the lands of eastern Gondor, while Faramir made wry comments about the intelligence of the orcs. Then, Faramir told me tales of their childhood, and the arguments they used to have over who would play the role of knight and who would be the dragon in their imaginings. They were fun, they were best friends, and though they didn't know it, their company was what I needed right then in my life.

"He is coming," said Faramir suddenly. He bowed his head ever so slightly, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the ground.

I turned around, searching the crowds to see who the dreaded one was. It wasn't hard to figure out. A tall, imposing man with gray hair and the same large nose and sharp jaw as Faramir and Boromir, though his skin was marred with wrinkles, approached. He was not dressed in armor, but rather in lordly, black velvets.

Boromir half turned away as he muttered, "One moment of peace, can he not give us that?"

"Oh," I said, "so he's the real party pooper."

"Boromir, my son!" Denethor flung his arms around Boromir's neck, so enthusiastic that Boromir spilled some of his ale. (It no longer counted as a full mug in the game. Just saying.) "They say you vanquished the enemy almost single-handedly. Led the men into battle with that horn blasting with the strength of Gondor."

"Father," said Boromir, patting Denethor awkwardly on the back. "Come to congratulate us, have you?" He looked pointedly at Faramir.

Denethor released Boromir and stepped back. His hands still resting on Boromir's shoulders, he said, "But for Faramir, Osgiliath would still be standing." He glanced at his second son. "Were you not entrusted to protect it?"

"I would have done, but our numbers were too few."

"Oh, too few." Denethor dropped his hands to his sides. "You let the enemy walk in and take it on a whim. Always you cast a poor reflection on me."

"That is not my intent."

"You give him no credit," said Boromir, unable to listen in silence. He handed his mug to me and I took it, helping myself to the ale. Using his now free hand, Boromir grasped Faramir by the arm as if hoping to give his brother energy by physical touch alone. "Faramir was incredible—did you hear that, Father? His leadership is beyond my capabilities."

"Faramir knows where his faults lie," said Denethor. "He does not need your compliments to know his worth."

Faramir smiled meekly. "Of course, Father."

I was more than a little drunk at this point, so I probably said somethings that I never would have dreamed of saying to the Steward of Gondor sober. Sloshing my ale around, I cried, "Oh my God! Stop! I can't listen to another word!"

Denethor turned to stare at me, his gray eyes narrowed with distaste. "And who might you be, little boy?"

"Boy?" I snorted. (Alcohol does not do kindly to me). "Boy? Do you not see my breasts? I'm obviously female. I mean—sure, I'm wearing pants, but a woman in pants is not that strange."

Denethor look appalled beyond words. Not that I blame him for that as the Steward of Gondor he probably wasn't spoken to like that much in his life. I'd like to think it did him some good.

"She has had a bit too much to drink and it has gone to her head," said Faramir, quickly moving to take away my ale.

I pulled the mug away, slapping Faramir's hands. "No. Bad. You must listen. Ana has wise words of advice for you."

Faramir looked mortified at the idea of accepting advice from me, while Boromir was trying to suppress his laughter.

"Your dad is being mean," I said. "But you should know you're just as awesome as Boromir. I like you both and you are both cool—even if your father is rude." I paused to take another drink. "You have the approval of a dwarf. Or the approval of a dwarf-approved little person. I don't really know what I am any more. But you're cool."

Boromir had given up trying to hold it in and laughed freely. Denethor just looked plain confused, and Faramir was still trying to take the mug of ale away from me. Apparently, my wise words weren't appreciated.

"Who is she?" asked Denethor. "Where did you find this whore, Faramir?"

"I thought the same at first glance," said Boromir. "But she is not, Father. She comes from a far-off land."

"She has drunk more than her share," said Faramir. "Do not mind her, Father."

"Don't mind me!" I cried. "Faramir! You're losing cool points by the second!"

Faramir slapped a hand over my mouth in an attempt to silence me, but unfortunately, drunk me didn't want to stop talking. I ducked under Faramir's arm and finished the remainder of my drink.

"No more," said Faramir. "You are going to drink yourself to sleep."

"Meh. I'm just going to Skip back home."

The brothers frowned at this word. However, drunk me didn't notice anything odd and continued talking.

"I'm winning, by the way," I told Boromir. "Though, you're winning on the cool points scale."

"The cool points scale?" asked Boromir. "Can you measure the weather in your land?"

Faramir glanced at their father. Denethor had been momentarily distracted by some soldiers congratulating him, but now he turned back to hear what I was saying to his sons. Things probably would have gone much better if Denethor had stayed distracted.

"No, no, it's not weather related," I explained. "It's likeability related. Let me see… So, Faramir has plus five cool points because he talked to me first. Though I suspect he did it because I looked suspicious. You have plus five cool points because you're having a drinking contest with me. Lots of fun. Faramir has plus five cool points because he's Faramir. But then he has minus two cool points because he's stopping me from drinking. Oh, and Denethor has minus fifty cool points because he's kind of mean to Faramir. Though he is steward of Gondor. That's pretty cool. He gets a plus three for that. So, in the end, Boromir has a plus ten, Faramir has a plus eight and Denethor is at minus forty-seven."

"And where might you be on the 'cool points scale'?" asked Boromir who, unlike his brother, hadn't noticed his father listening in.

"I'm at positive fifty-thousand," I said proudly.

"This is absurd," said Denethor.

"He's just jealous because he's in the negatives," I said in undertone to Boromir.

Unfortunately, I said it just loud enough for Denethor to hear. He glowered at me and said, "I am not jealous of a foolish little girl."

"Nah," I said. "You missed it, but we've already established that I'm a dwarf."

"You are not a dwarf." Denethor's voice was low and deadly, but I didn't notice because I was too drunk and too busy having fun with Boromir and Faramir.

"She is friends with dwarves," said Boromir, trying to ease his father's temper. "And she is very small." He held a hand over my head to show that I didn't even reach his chest.

"Do not be foolish," snapped Denethor.

I rolled my eyes and muttered under my breath, "Party pooper."

Denethor's face was red with anger, his hands curling into fists.

Boromir was laughing again. Apparently, he found the phrase "party pooper" immensely amusing. He tried to swallow his laughs when he saw his father's face, but failed miserably.

"I will not have any more of this," said Denethor. He turned and pointed at me. "This woman is an intruder. She has insulted me and my family. Seize her and throw her into the deepest dungeon of Minas Tirith."

At first, I thought he was joking. I was just having fun drinking with his sons…and maybe questioning his parenting skills and making jokes at his expensive. But then, at the loud, commanding words of their steward, the soldiers had stopped their partying and turned to stare at me. After a moment's hesitation, a few of them drew their swords.

My stomach lurched and I started backing away. "That's a bit of an overreaction!"

"Father!" cried Faramir.

The soldiers were drawing closer.

"Stop—" began Boromir, but I never heard what he had to say in my defense because I Skipped.