PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter XLIX: Dreams And Tears And Angst

I don't remember dying. I mean, don't worry, I didn't die. Not yet. It wasn't time yet. Oh frig, that's not how I want to say it. Don't. Not yet. You know what I mean. You get what I'm trying to say. I don't remember a lot of what happened after the bullet hit me. I just know that the bullet didn't kill me. The Skip that time was nice to me. It took me to one of the few places and people in Middle Earth that could save me from a bullet to the chest.

My memory of this is scattered and probably not all that reliable, but I will try to relay what happened as best I can.

I think getting shot was painful. I remember hearing a lot of screams. High-pitched screams that ripped through the air like a daggers. They broke my ears and tore at my throat. I howled and moaned and thrashed about. My chest was red. It was on fire. And yet, I couldn't feel a thing. I don't know if that was good or bad. Probably bad.

Éomer's face appeared above mine. His lips moved soundlessly.

"Ana, what happened?"

Oh wait. Maybe that was him speaking. Yeah. That makes sense. Éomer was saying my name. "Ana…"

"No! I'm—" A scream broke through "—not okay." I gasped for breath before shrieking again "Make it—" The pain was unbearable "—stop." Like someone had reached into my chest and was trying to tear me from the inside out. "The magic rock! The ma—" I groaned. "—gic rock! It Skipped me—" A scream, my scream, filled the air. "—too late! Stupid—" Breathing hurt. "—rock!" I screamed, long and unrestrained. My voice shattered like breaking glass. I writhed about, gasping, panting, struggling to find air.

I remember Faramir's face appear above me as well. His face was pure white, and he looked kind of sickly himself.

"Someone help her!"

Aragorn's face replaced Faramir's. "I am trying. I have never seen a wound like this before."

Screams consumed the rest of the conversation. I think they might have been my screams.

"Ana…"

"Legolas, she is going to die!"

"She cannot die."

"You can fight through this. You may not think you are strong enough, but you are. You have survived far worse than this."

I thrashed about on the bed, howling until there was nothing left in me. Then, I lay there, my eyes open but I can't remember seeing anything. Maybe my eyes were closed then.

"She is the Senturiel."

The pain was building up inside me until I felt like I might break at any moment. "It hurts! Make it stop! Please, make it stop!"

"Aragorn, help her!"

"Ana, you will survive this. I will make certain you survive this."

Images flashed before my eyes. Usually that means you're dying. At least, that's what people always say. I didn't die, so I guess it only happens when you're near death but never actually reach it.

I was playing in the sandpit as a child. My parents were watching me curiosity. A woman smiled at me, tears in the corners of her eyes.

My parents made me a special coffee cake after I hadn't been home for a long time. I had just Skipped to the Ettenmoors and almost been eaten by trolls. I'd cried upon seeing my parents' loving smiles.

Nick and Bonnie were sitting on my couch as we watching the Super Bowl. Nick and I had very little interest in sports, but Bonnie was screaming at the television screen, cheering on her team. When they won, she danced around the living room while Nick and I laughed.

Legolas and Gimli watched as Boromir tried to give me tips on how to use the Sword Breaker. They laughed whenever I tripped over my own feet and even Boromir snickered every now and again. Soon the rest of the Fellowship, even Sam who knew nothing about fighting, stared giving me tips.

Bofur and Ori sang a duet in front of the fireplace, while the rest of the Company and I clapped along. Fíli and Kíli even had a dance routine to go along with the tune. Thorin smiled as he watched his nephews.

My dad carried me on his shoulders through a crowded street. There was a fair going on, and my mom soon returned with some pink cotton candy. She complained that it would give me a sugar high, but she still smiled as she watched me eat.

Thorin held my elbow as he helped me climb the Misty Mountains when the rocky, rough path became too steep.

My dad handed me a birthday present, smiling at me over the table. He looked the same fifteen years ago as he did not. He promised me that everything would be okay. That he would always look after me. My mom helped me blow out the candles when I failed to get all six of them. She told me that I was her little princess.

Then the world fell away, leaving me alone in the dark silence.

My chest hurt. It wasn't the same agonizing, heart-ripping pain that it had been in previously, more like a dull aching that never ceased. I opened my eyes. The world was fuzzy. It was spinning. Like a top. Round and round. I blinked. Some of the fuzziness went away. I blinked again. There were bandages on my chest. Oh. Right. I had been shot.

"You are in the Houses of Healing," said a soothing voice.

I rolled my head to the side and saw Éomer sitting in a wooden chair, his brown eyes watching me carefully. For once, he was not wearing armor, but a simple white runic and gray trousers. He seemed tired, dark shadows tracing the bottoms of his eyes.

"Hey, you," I said. It hurt to smile, but I managed one. I was quite proud of myself.

"You." Éomer paused and shook his head. "What have you been doing?"

"Me?" I turned my head back so that I was staring up at the ceiling. It hurt my neck to look anywhere by straight. "I was in the land of Ouch leading the Unicorn Stars Army to victory against the Evil Overlord. I had arrived late to the war because I overslept and everyone was mad at me. And you were there and you slapped me, and asked if I was an idiot."

Éomer laughed softly. It felt as though it'd been a long time since he'd laughed. "It is good to see that you have not lost your sense of humor."

"Sense of humor?" I asked. "I'm serious. That really did happen."

"It is called a dream," said Éomer.

"Oh yeah. Those things exist, don't they?"

"Yes."

I was lying in a bed. Not quite a hospital bed, but it certainly had the same feeling. I was in a stone hall with multiple cots lining the walls. The gray pillars supported an arched ceiling, the stones carved with the images of trees and rivers. Matronly woman and some men wandered about the hall. They carried bandages and bottles with them, tending to the men lying in the beds around me.

"Where am I?" I asked.

"You are in the Houses of Healing," repeated Éomer, "in Minas Tirith."

"Well, that's convenient," I muttered. I couldn't have Skipped. It was too convenient. I get shot and I end up in one of the few places in Middle Earth with the ability to heal me. "How'd I end up here?"

"You just appeared here," said Éomer. "Or Skipped…that is your name for what you do? You Skipped here. I was at Éowyn's bedside when you appeared." He hesitated. "You were covered in blood and you were screaming."

"I was shot."

"Not by an arrow."

"By a bullet."

Éomer frowned. "They pulled a little metal object out of your chest."

"That's the bullet." I sighed and found the energy to roll onto my side. Pain—like a thousand knives—washed over me, and I gritted my teeth. Eventually, the pain faded. I opened my eyes to see Éomer watching me with the most pitying expression. I smiled. "I Skipped too late. There was a robbery in my world, and I was in the middle of it. The guy shot me."

"Why did he shoot you?" asked Éomer.

"Because I ignored his orders and insulted him."

"Oh. So you are partially at fault for this." Éomer ran his fingers through his dark hair and muttered, "I should have known."

He didn't seem angry at me, exactly, just frustrated. It occurred to me that he'd been sitting by my beside, which meant that he had been waiting for me to wake up. He had been worried. He had been worried about me. It was strange to think that in this world that I Skipped to on and off someone would care enough to worry that I might die.

"I thought I would Skip before the bullet hit me," I said softly. "That's what usually happens." The dull aching in my chest had increased so that every time I breathed there was sharp, rigid pain that shot through my lungs. "At least, the Skips had the courtesy to bring me to the Houses of Healing. It's probably apologizing for being an—" The pain in my chest suddenly increased and I gasped. But as quickly as if had come, it disappeared. "—inconsistent asshat."

"What is the matter?" asked Éomer, leaning forward.

"I'm okay," I said. I didn't want him to know how much it hurt. He'd worried enough. This was my pain. My fault, my pain. No one needed to bear it with me.

He watched me for a long moment, his eyes narrowed as an internal debate flickered through his mind. Then, Éomer nodded once and leaned back in his seat. "You are fortunate that Aragorn was here."

"Aragorn's here?"

"He is outside the city camped in Pelennor Fields. He is unwilling to enter the White City, except when his skills were needed in the Houses of Healing."

"Whoa," I said. The wrenching pain in my chest as subsided a little. "Not only is Aragorn an incredible fighter, but he's a frigging doctor as well. Call me impressed."

"Kingsfoil," said Éomer. "It is a healing herb used by the kings of old. Aragorn still remembers its abilities and used it to heal you along with the captain of Gondor and my sister."

"Éowyn?"

"She was severely wounded in the Battle of Pelennor Fields." A shadow crossed Éomer's face and he refused to look at me, his eyes were fixed on the stone floor beneath my cot. "She disguised herself as a man and joined the army."

"Nice," I said, nodding. "That woman is a badass."

"Some what?" Éomer shook his head. "The battlefield is no place for a woman."

"What am I? A duck?"

"You were not on the battlefield."

"I've been in more battles than you know and I don't even know how to use a sword."

Éomer sighed. "You should not be in battles either."

"I agree. But Éowyn is a badass, and if she wants to fight to defend her people, why can't she? Me, on the other hand. I'd rather stay in Rohan. I don't want any of those pointy sword things anywhere near me." I paused. "That sounded really weird."

Éomer frowned. "I do not understand."

"Pointy swords."

"Yes," said Éomer slowly. "Swords are very pointy and dangerous."

"Éomer, Éomer—pointy swords."

He stared at me blankly. "Is there something that I am not understand?"

"Think of sword being the equivalent of something else. Something men have that women don't."

Éomer blinked. I watched his face change as understanding dawned. His eyes grew really wide and then they scrunched up. His whole face seemed to fold as a look of disgust wrinkled his features. "Was that absolutely necessary? I shall never see a sword the same way again."

"Glad to be the one to ruin it for you," I said, grinning. My smile quickly faded as the pain in my chest reached new heights. I took a deep breath.

"Is your wound hurting?" asked Éomer earnestly. "Do you need anything?"

At this point, a matron realized I was awake. She bustled over and shooed Éomer away, saying I was not ready for visitors. She gave me some medicine, and before long I was fast asleep.

You were in my dream. Can you believe it? Well, maybe you can. I was pretty crazy at that point. It only made sense that my dreams would be crazy too.

But would you believe me if I told you the dreams weren't crazy? The past and the future. My memories and someone else's memories all bleeding together. What was real and what was imagined and what had changed, I couldn't remember.

You and I were walking through the mountains, snow falling all around us. You were staring up at the gray sky as the snow fell on your hair and lashes. I wrapped my cloak closer around me only to feel something heavy bump against my back. I was carrying a crossbow. I stared at it. I didn't know how to use a crossbow.

Then the scene changed. You had disappeared. I was having tea in Bree with Hildifons Took. She was a fat little hobbit woman with graying curls and squinty brown eyes. She kept offering me tea. I politely declined and asked her where my father was. She told me that she didn't even know who I was only that I had showed up on her doorstep, confused and disoriented and saying something about the Senturiel.

The scene changed again. I was alone on the edge of a white cliff, watching as dark clouds rolled over the ocean, heading west. The salty wind whipped my cheeks and caused my eyes to water. I watched at the waves lapped against the base of the cliffs, wearing away the rock.

The first of the rain droplets started to fall.

Great. My dress was going to be ruined. It was a gift, though I don't know how I knew that, a dark red dress that showed my ankles because it was made for a hobbit. I ran towards the nearby forest, hoping the trees could save the dress from ruin.

It turned out that the forest was not a forest of trees but a forest of mirrors. The mirrors were everywhere, jutting out from the ground like trunks. They had no frames, only sheets of reflective glass underneath the gray sky. And then I saw someone in one of the mirror. A tall man, somewhere in his thirties maybe, with hair the color of my dress. He was dressed in Middle Earth attire—tunic, trousers, boots, and metal armor. He grinned at me, though his eyes remained cold.

"You cannot be rid of it so easily," he said.

I frowned. "Be rid of what?"

"Do not lose your mind." He looked so grave and serious that I actually took a step backwards.

"I don't want to," I said.

"That does not mean you will not."

I snorted. "That's comforting."

Tilting his head to the side, the man stared at me, taking in the features of my face. Then, he said, "Go to the western shore."

"Huh? Why?"

The mirror smashed.

I didn't do anything. I didn't move a muscle. But that didn't stop the glass from imploding. There was a loud cracking noise and then the mirror shattered into a thousand pieces. Like deadly raindrops the shards of glass splattered on the forest floor, spraying in all directions. Another crack. Another mirror broke. The shards flew towards me. I covered my face as the sharp edges lashed against my skin, drawing streaks of red blood. Another crack and another mirror. One by one the mirrors shattered. The forest became a rain storm. Glass droplets flying every which way.

"Ana," someone called my name from far away.

My eyes ripped open, and I sat upright in bed. A jarring pain shot through my chest. I gasped. The room was so bright.

"Ana!" A hand touched my shoulder.

I was sitting in the same bed as before with bandages still wrapped across my chest. This time, however, it was not Éomer who sat by my side, but Faramir. His gray eyes were frantic, and his right hand trembled as he touched my shoulder, steadying me. A matron was standing next to Faramir, also at a loss as to what to do. There were other patients to see, I supposed, and she couldn't spend all her time on one crazy girl.

"I'm okay," I said, managing to regain my breath. "I'm okay. Just a bad dream."

The matron hesitated before scuttling away to help someone else.

"Just a bad dream?" asked Faramir anxiously as he settled back in his seat.

"Yeah." It took me two tries to fake a smile. "They happen, you know. With me going insane and all. Sometimes I'm like, 'Oh, it's a normal day,' and other times I'm like—holy fudge, mirrors are breaking and I'm a frigging weirdo. It happens. I'm used to it."

Faramir regarded me for a moment, the corners of his mouth turned down. "I did not understand a word you just said."

I took a deep breath and, careful to pause after each word, I said, "I am going crazy."

"You are not going crazy, Ana."

I stared at Faramir for a good long minute.

He corrected himself. "You are crazy, but that is just you. It will not destroy you, Ana. You are stronger than that, I think."

He was staring at me with wide, earnest eyes. I would like to take this moment to fangirl over Faramir. I'm sorry, but he needs to be appreciated. To this day, Faramir remains the nicest, most sincere guy I have ever met. He just wanted to make everyone happy, and he tried so hard. He grew up listening to his father say, "No, Faramir, you suck. Just look at your totally awesome big brother." (who, by the way, is actually totally awesome). And poor Faramir grew up just wanting his father to be proud of him. And he tried so hard and he was so nice and he just needed more love in his life. I mean, he knows my situation, and then there was Boromir…and Faramir still wanted me to be happy.

"Ana?" asked Faramir. "Are you all right?"

I was crying. Again. I swear, after almost dying— I mean, after being shot, I was like a leaky faucet. "I love you so much."

Faramir blinked. "Um, thank you."

"You…" I couldn't find the words. "You…you…you…"

"Calm down." Faramir placed his hand on my shoulder again. "Take a deep breath. We are in no hurry."

"Why don't you hate me?" I somehow managed to get the words out. They burst forth like a hurricane and the moment they had passed through my lips, my tears doubled. "Why can't you hate me?"

Faramir stared. "What?"

"I told you. I told you. I told you that I would save Boromir. That I wouldn't let him die! And I lied. I let him die. I saved him. I saved him. I took him away before the orcs could kill him. He was fine. He was alive. And then, I brought him back. I brought him back to die. I killed him."

I never knew crying could be so painful. It was as though my insides were being ripped to shreds. I think my wounds reopened. It was agonizing. My chest was on fire. My eyes were burning. My throat was sandpaper. Crying took all my effort. My hands rubbed my eyes as high-pitched whimpers rose in my throat.

"Ana," said Faramir.

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry! I tried so hard, but I brought him back to die. I'm sorry. I promised you…"

"Ana."

"I promised you. I promised you that I wouldn't let him die!" The next few apologies that came out of my mouth were a jumble of crying and whimpering. They weren't even distinguishable as words. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't want this. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. He was my best friend."

"Ana."

"I'm sorry. I can't fix it. I'm sorry. I'm—"

"Ana, will you close your mouth and let me talk or are you going to keep apologizing and acting as though you are the reason for Boromir's death as though the entire world revolves around you?"

Well, that shut me up. I stopped sobbing (though there was still a little sniffle here and there) and stared at Faramir in wide-eyed shock. I think that was the first time I had ever seen him yell. It was scary. The other men in the ward had turned in their beds to stare at us.

"W-w-what?" I stammered.

"Quiet," said Faramir.

I was quiet.

"Good. Now I may talk." Faramir took a deep breath and began. "I know my brother. He was a hero. He was a courageous, chivalrous, patriotic, bold, brash, idiotic hero. He would never allow you to be responsible for his death. Boromir would rather die a thousand times over than allow anyone else to be responsible for his own death. He would walk to his own destruction with his head held high because he knew what had to be done. Not because you forced him to, but because he knew he had to die for the world to find some happiness. Do not dare feel any responsibility for his death. Do not dare take a sliver of credit for his deed. That is his alone. Do not take it from him. Boromir is a hero. So only he could be stupid enough to walk to his own death. And that is why we love him."

Neither one of a spoke. Faramir was crying—though he looked much better than I did when he cried. Gentle tears fell from his gray eyes, and his bottom lip trembled ever so slightly. I was crying too. My eyes were puffy and swollen, and my throat was filled with phlegm. We probably looked stupid. Two stupid idiots crying like the stupid idiots that we were.

"Some people," I said. "Some people are meant to die. Aragorn told me that once." I wiped some tears from my face. "He said that some people are meant to die so that the world can turn good again. But I don't think they're meant to die. I think they choose to die so that the world can turn good again."

"That is Boromir," said Faramir. "He died so Middle Earth can be green."

"It'll be green again, right?"

Faramir hesitated, perhaps wondering if he should lie to me in my fragile state or not. He chose honesty. "I do not know. Maybe."

"It will," I said. The tears had stopped flowing. "I'll make it green. Even if I have to grab a paintbrush and paint it myself, I will make this world green again."

"Two paintbrushes," said Faramir. "I will help."

I started crying.

Again.

This really has to stop.

Seriously.