PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter LXIV: A Lesson in Horseback Riding

Do you know what one of the worst parts of Skipping was? When I ended up in the middle of some random stranger's house, trying to explain why I was breaking and entering. I've once had to lie about testing the poor person's security system, and I've once been chased out of a village in Dunland with pitchforks and knives. Needless to say, Skipping into the middle of someone's house was one of my least favorite experiences.

When I Skipped from the White Tower, I ended up standing in the middle of a cramped kitchen. There were pots and pans on the walls, and a sink of dirty dishes. The walls looked worn and tired, the wood splintering in places. Everything was covered in the strong smell strongly of lake water and fish. In the kitchen with me were three children—a boy and two girls, one older and one younger. They must have been siblings because they all had the same curly brown hair, round faces, and brown eyes.

The little girl screamed.

"Calm down," I said, lifting my hands into the air and trying to look innocent. "My name is Ana Stonbit. I'm not trying to kill you or steal anything—I'm unarmed. Just passing through."

My words didn't comfort the girl in the slightest. She tried to hide from me behind her older sister's brown skirt. The boy was holding a wooden spoon like a weapon, and the oldest girl looked like she'd fight me with her bare hands.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I said again. The children were looking at me skeptically. "Look, I'm smaller than this brat over here." I gestured to the boy. "I'm pretty sure if you wanted to, you three could beat me up and tie to a chair."

The children stared at me nervously, their hands shaking ever so slightly. However, my argument seemed to convince them a little. Their shoulders relaxed a little, and the youngest girl stopped shrieking.

I spotted an open window at the back of the kitchen, and through it, I could see churning gray waters and cloudy sky. "Where am I?"

The eldest girl exchanged glances with her brother. The boy said, "Laketown. In the house of Bard the Bowman."

"Bard?" I asked, my eyes widening in surprise. "Bard the Brat? This is his house? No way. What's he been up to?"

"Bard the Brat?" repeated the eldest girl. "Why do you refer to my father in such a way?"

"I guess Bard the Brat has grown up a little," I said, looking at the three children. Now that I knew, I could see that the boy had his father's nose, and the eldest girl had his chin. I grinned. "I'm Bard's Aunt Ana—which I suppose makes me your Great Aunt. Wow, I feel old now."

"You look younger than our father," said the boy.

I waved away his comment with a careless hand. "Age is but a number. You can call me 'Aunt Ana' as well. I don't like this whole 'Great' thing. Makes me feel older than I actually am."

I think my smiling and laughing made the children seem a little more at ease, because the eldest girl said, "My name is Sigrid, and this is Tilda." She gestured to her younger sister.

"Nice to meet you," I said.

Tilda managed a small smile.

I glanced at the boy, who was the oldest of the three, but he seemed unwilling to give his name. He folded his arms over his chest and watched me stiffly until, finally, Sigrid said, "He is called Bain."

"Bain," I said, nodding, "son of Bard. It's a good name."

"What brings you to our household?" asked Bain. He was trying very hard to dislike me, and I figured it was out of some duty to protect his sisters.

"I'm just passing through," I said. "It happens—"

A face, blue-gray and puckered, appeared in the open window. A muscular body dressed in leather armor followed so that the figure crouched on the window ledge.

For a second, I was stunned. Then, just before it leapt blade-first at Sigrid, I pulled her out of the way and screamed, "Orc!"

Sigrid stumbled backwards as the orc landed on the wooden table. Bain raised his wooden spoon, but it obviously wasn't going to do much against the orc. I reached under my coat and pulled the Sword Breaker out of its sheath.

"I thought you said you were unarmed!" cried Bain.

"I lied," I said, not tearing my eyes away from the orc in front of me.

Tilda shrieked. I head the splintering of wood before the roof collapsed under the pressure of another orc. Wood and thatch came crashing down to my right, while Sigrid and Tilda scurried behind their brother. I doubted the wooden spoon would do much to protect them, but whatever made them feel safer worked

I wish I could say that I defended Bain, Sigrid, and Tilda heroically. I wish I could say that I saved their lives and that they were eternally grateful to their Great Aunt Ana. But, unfortunately, I only managed to stumbled backwards from the orc's attack, swinging the Sword Breaker in an attempt to defend myself.

Another orc dropped in from the ceiling, and another kicked down the door. One orc caught sight of me and swung his sword. In my desperation to escape, I tripped over a wooden chair. The Sword Breaker was knocked out of my hand and skidded across the floor. I scrambled to reach the Sword Breaker, crawling on my hands and knees. Behind me, Bard's children were being cornered—Bain was waving the wooden spoon, trying to keep the orcs away from him and his sister.

I knew I couldn't save them; I could barely save myself. But they were Bard's children, and I couldn't just abandon them to the orcs. Of course, the Skip wouldn't leave me any choice.

We were saved by arrows.

I rolled over, the Sword Breaker clutched in my right hand, as an orc raised its scimitar over my head. I was wondering if this was when I Skipped away when suddenly the orc froze. It dropped the scimitar and raised a hand to its neck. Then, I saw the arrowhead, purple with blood, protruding through its throat.

"Av-'osto," murmured a familiar voice.

The orc crumbled to the ground in front of me, and when I looked up, I saw tall pretty boy, Legolas and the Captain of the Mirkwood Guard, Tauriel. Tauriel's knife flashed through the air, making easy pickings of two orcs, while Legolas spoke in a gentle voice to Bard's children.

Then, Legolas turned on the last remaining orc and asked, "Why are you here?"

The orc responded in the black speech, which none of us present understood—though I did recognize the word "Oakenshield". Then, the orc threw his scimitar at Legolas. The elf managed to duck at the least second, the knife burying itself in the kitchen wall, and while he was distract, the orc leapt out of the window. Tauriel tried to chase after him, but before she could jump out the window, the orc had disappeared.

"Nadorhuan," she hissed.

"Ana?" Legolas saw me for the first time.

"Hi," I said with a wave. "Just passing through." I refused to thank him for saving my life. "What are you guys doing here?"

Legolas and Tauriel exchanged glances. They spoke in rapid Sindarin, and then Legolas turned back to me and said, "We were hunting a party of orcs that passed through the Woodland Realm. I believe they were tracking our prisoners, and the scent of dwarves led them to this house." His eyes narrowed. "You would not have any information regarding our escaped dwarves, would you, Ana?"

I tried to make my eyes wide and innocent as I stared up at Legolas. "Me? As if I'm talented enough to help dwarrows escape from prison."

"That is true." Legolas agreed with that statement a bit too readily for my liking.

"Did you give shelter to a company of dwarves?" Tauriel asked Bard's children.

Sigrid had her arms wrapped around Tilda's shoulders as they stood beside a shaking Bain who still hadn't put down the wooden spoon.

Slowly, Sigrid nodded. "They visited with my father before departing for the Lonely Mountain."

I screwed up my face behind Legolas's back and shook my head. Hopefully, Sigrid would get the message.

However, Tauriel must've seen what I was doing, because she stepped between me and Sigrid and asked, "Why did they visit with your father?"

"What does it matter to you?" asked Bain. He sounded much more confident that a boy holding a spoon against two armed elves should've been.

Tilda shied away from the sharp eyes of the elves, but Sigrid kept a firm hold on her sister as she said, "My father wished to tell them about the black arrow."

"The black arrow?" asked Legolas.

"It has been passed down in our family for generations," said Sigrid. "When Smaug came down from the north, Lord Girion of Dale fired black arrows, forged in the halls of the Lonely Mountain, at the dragon Smaug. One of the arrows loosened a scale in the dragon's hide."

"Only one black arrow remains," said Bain. "And it belongs to our father."

Sigrid nodded. "Our father wanted to warn them about the doom foretold of Laketown if the dragon Smaug was to wake again. He believes the mountain is best left alone."

I bit the insides of my cheeks. I could only imagine Thorin's reaction to being warned to stay away from the mountain.

"Are the dwarves still in Laketown?" asked Tauriel

"No," said Bain. "The Company departed not a day ago."

Tauriel turned to Legolas, and once again, they conversed in Sindarin. I glanced at the children, who were looked at each other with puzzled expressions. What a strange few days it must have been for them—first dwarrows, then orcs, and now elves. And, of course, there was me, showing up in the middle of their kitchen with no explanation.

Tauriel said something about "Thorin Oakenshield", and Legolas shook his head. He gestured to the window. Tauriel looked as though she wanted to argue more, but then she lowered her head and nodded.

"We should depart now then," she said, already half-turned to the door. "The orcs will escape up if we tarry too long."

Legolas glanced at me. "I will follow."

With a short quip in Sindarin, Tauriel turned on her heel and left through the broken, wooden doorway. Her red-brown hair danced behind her as she walked, and she twirled the knife in her right hand as she went.

"Quite the eager little hunter," I said as she disappeared around the corner and out of sight.

"She has always possessed such a temperament," said Legolas. There was a hint admiration in his voice.

I smirked at him. "I hope she rejects you bad."

A crease appeared between Legolas's brows, and he murmured, "I never have understood your manner of speech."

"You just don't want to admit that you understand me," I said.

Legolas chose to ignore that and instead said, "You know how the dwarves escaped the Woodland Realm."

"No idea," I said. "It'll have to be one of life's greatest mysteries."

His eyes narrowed. "I have no desire to pursue the Company, Ana, and I persuaded Tauriel that hunting the escaped orc would be a more worthy pursuit. I only wish to know in order to secure my land's borders against the escape of—"

Legolas broke off, his head tilted slightly to the side. Then, I heard the thundering of footsteps on stairs. The three children and I turned towards the kitchen doorway, which was broken in places, the odor hanging off its hinges. Bard appeared, his brown eyes wide and sweat on his brow. Gasping for breath, he looked around the kitchen and didn't relax until his gaze fell on his children.

"Father!" Tilda rushed from her sister's side into Bard's arms.

"Are you harmed?" he asked, pull Tilda into a hug and looking over at his two older children. "What happened?"

"We are fine, Father," said Sigrid, crossing the kitchen to embrace him.

"There were orcs," explained Bain. "Four of them."

Tilda looked up at her father. "We were talking to Aunt Ana when they appeared."

"Aunt Ana?" Bard saw me for the first time. "Why are you here?"

"Hi." I waved. "Just passing through. You have three lovely children."

"Aunt Ana protected us," said Sigrid.

"Well, uh, it wasn't all me." I glanced to my right, but the blond elf had disappeared out the window. I glared at the spot where Legolas had been—I should've expected as much from a pretty-boy elf.

"There were elves here too!" cried Tilda.

Bard hadn't taken his eyes off me throughout this entire exchange. "Aunt Ana, what happened to my house? What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!" I cried. A statement which was, unfortunately, all too true.

"You visiting my house and my children only to be followed by orcs cannot be coincidence," snapped Bard.

"I—"

Skip.

Well, I can tell you now that the Skip wasn't doing anything to help prove my innocence. Bard was going to none too pleased when he saw me again.

However, I had bigger things to worry about than my relationship with my nephew. The Skip had taken me to the middle of a field with brown grass and fresh corpses. I remain still for a second, trying to get my bearings. The first thing I noticed was the body of a dead orc, the head cloven in two. Secondly, I noticed the corpse of a rider of Rohan, a spear through his stomach. Then, I heard the thundering of hooves on dirt and the clang of metal on metal. Swords flashed, people screamed, horns blew, people shouted—and I was in the middle of the Battle of Pelennor Fields.

"This isn't funny, Skip!" I cried as a massive brown stallion galloped past me. Its hooves pounded on the dusty ground, dangerously close to my feet. I leapt backwards, my hands clutching the Sword Breaker.

"Afar vadokanuk, mat!" An orc stood behind me, its face pudgy and pink. At the sight of me, trembling and afraid, his upper lip pulled back into a sneer, and he lifted his jagged sword into the air and swung it at me.

I raised the Sword Breaker and, by some miracle, caught the orc's blade. Before I could twist the Sword Breaker, the orc wrenched his sword out of the teeth. He started towards me again with the sword.

Oh God, I didn't think I could do that again. My Sword Breaker skills were ninety-percent luck…maybe ninety-five.

A horse whinnied, accompanied by the sound of hoof beats. The orc and I turned to see a horse and rider galloping full-speed towards us.

I know you always laugh a little at my fear of horses, but you have to understand—Do you not see those hooves? The hooves that can bash a poor woman's brains out or break all the bones in her body? How can you not be afraid? Every time I go near a frigging horse all it takes is one misstep, and I could die.

The orc sensed my fear. He laughed, a grating noise. "Mirdautas mat."

However, despite my fears, the horse didn't trample me into dust. At the last second, the horse veered to the side, and a strong, large hand scooped me up off the ground. For a moment, I was suspended in the air, held up only by a hand and the arm attached. And then, I was seated in the saddle of the horse with two strong arms holding me in place.

"What?" (That was the only word I was capable of saying right then.) "W-what? What?"

"Calm down, Ana."

I peered over my shoulder at the soldier of Rohan who had rescued me from the orc. He was wearing a helmet over his dark blond hair which was why I hadn't recognize him right away.

"Éomer!" I wailed. I couldn't hug him, so I elbowed him in the stomach in greeting. Bad idea, since he was wearing metal armor. A spasm of pain shot through my arm. "Don't scare me like that! I thought I was going to die!"

"This is the gratitude I receive?" asked Éomer. "Perhaps I should put you back on the ground with the orc."

I began to say "I'm good here, thanks" but the words died in my mouth when Éomer dug his heels into the side of the horse and the creature ran at an even faster pace. I screamed and grabbed fistfuls of the horse's mane in an attempt to steady myself. What I ended up saying was "Get me off this horse! I'm going to die! I'll take my chances with the orc!"

Éomer (curse him!) only laughed at that and said, "I am going to save your life whether you appreciate it or not."

Later, I would appreciate that Éomer cared enough to look after me in the middle of a battle that would determine the date of Middle Earth, but for the time being, I could only swear at him in my head and pray that I would survive this horse ride.

And then, Éomer thought it would be a good idea to hand me the reins.

"The hell you think I'm steering this frigging thing?" Suddenly, the swearing was no longer in my head.

Éomer didn't hear me as the horse galloped straight into a fray of men and orcs. He swung his sword, Gúthwinë, and it sliced through the shoulder of the nearest orc. The orc howled in pain, blood splattering the white hide of Éomer's stallion. But the horse didn't seem to notice, and he continued racing through the battlefield.

I stared at the reins in my hands. What was I supposed to do? Did he expect me to steer the horse? Didn't he know I'd never steered a horse in my life?

"Éomer…" I said slowly. He wasn't paying attention to what I was doing, preoccupied with killing orcs and making sure we didn't die. I tried again, "What am I supposed to do?"

At first, Éomer didn't answer, which was understandable, because right then, he drove his spear through an orc's chest. "It is not difficult. You only have to tug the horse's head in the direction you wish to turn."

"Why am I the one steering the horse?"

"Would you prefer be the one killing the orcs?"

I didn't answer.

The horse, who I later learned was named Firefoot, was running around of his own free will at this point. It was only because he was a horse of Rohan that we hadn't been thrown from the saddle and left to fend for ourselves; Firefoot was far too loyal to Éomer to betray him like that (though, if the horse had the option, I'm sure I would've been dumped on the ground and trampled into the dust a long time ago).

Firefoot broke free from a cluster of orcs, and Éomer snatched the reins from me.

"It is not difficult," he said, once Firefoot was under control again. "Here!" He shoved the reins back into my hands. "Now pull them lightly this way to get the horse to turn that way." Éomer tugged at my arms to get me to move the horse's head. The horse responded to the movement…and I kind of sort of freaked out.

"Oh my God!" I cried. "It's moving! It's listening to me! Why is it listening to me?"

Éomer sighed. I couldn't tell if he was entertained or frustrated or maybe both. "Firefoot is a horse, not stupid."

I pulled the reins in the opposite direction. My heart leapt into my mouth as the horse responded and galloped off in the direction I indicated. I gasped and clutched at Éomer's arm. "It's working! This is so cool!"

An orc lunged at us, his black eyes wide and his teeth barred. Éomer swatted the orc away with his sword and snapped, "Can you not see that we are in the middle of a riding lesson?"

"How rude," I said with a small smile. "So how do I slow him down?"

Éomer showed me how to pulled back on the reins, and the horse slowed to a canter. I gasped at this revelation and then started experimenting with going faster and slower. Éomer killed a few orcs while I practiced.

"Can you go over there?" asked Éomer, pointing to a spot on the battlefield where several riders were outnumbered by orcs.

Using my newfound horse-riding skills, I urged Firefoot to a gallop. The horse responded in one easy, graceful movement. Not a moment's hesitation. "Did you see that, Éomer?" I asked. "This is awesome!"

Éomer didn't respond since he was, you know, fighting.

We charged into the group of orcs and riders, and Éomer, with a sword in his right hand and a spear in his left, dealt with any orcs that came within his range. One of the orc lunged at Firefoot, scimitar coming dangerously close to the neck, but Éomer dig his heels into Firefoot's sides and the horse lunged forward, out of the orc's reach.

Éomer wielded two weapons, protected all three of us for the orcs, and controlled Firefoot's speed. What did I do? I steered.

I'll have you know, I was a horse-steering prodigy. I was doing pretty well considering that was my first time and we were in the middle of a battle. I thought we had a good system going, even if Éomer was doing most of the work.

At least, until the oliphaunts arrived and screwed everyone over.

The riders of Rohan had thought we'd won. Most of the orcs were dead, and we now had the advantage in numbers. It seemed like a done deal. Éomer even laughed a little when I accidentally steered Firefoot in the wrong direction, and King Théoden was shouting about "Make save the city!" which still had smoke rising from its lower levels. The battle was almost over, we thought. We did it.

And then, those stupid Haradrim with their stupid oliphaunts showed up.

I remember a sudden silence falling over the Rohirrim. I followed the riders' lines of sight and found myself staring at the edge of the battlefield where seven oliphaunts and what looked like a hundred-thousand Haradrim soldiers were approaching the battlefield. I'd seen an oliphaunt before, and at the time, I'd just thought that they were cool, giant elephants. But now that I saw them in their red-and-black war paint and carrying archers on their backs, I realized that oliphaunts were terrifying. Some of the oliphaunts had wooden beams with spikes that connected their two tusks together. I didn't want to know what the spikes were for.

"Éomer…"

"Yes, Ana." He spoke in the same slow, stunned voice that I did.

"I think you should take the reins."

"I think I should take the reins too."

He handed me his spear (what was I going to do with that?) and then took the reins in his left hand. He slowed us to a trot as we watched, with growing fear, as the oliphaunts drew nearer.

"Any ideas?" I asked.

"I have a few," said Éomer.

"Good," I said. "Because I have none."

I think he smiled, but I couldn't be sure since he was sitting behind me. "I was not expecting you to have any."

"At least we're on the same page," I said softly. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the oliphaunts. Even though Éomer said he had some ideas, I couldn't imagine the riders of Rohan managing to take down even one of those giant beasts.

Éomer kicked his horse back into a canter. I held onto the front of the saddle, letting Éomer's left arm keep me in place. He steered the horse to where the riders were shifting their horses about and forming ranks as Théoden shouted, "Reform the line! Reform the line!" at the top of his lungs.

My fear of horses suddenly jumped back into being, as strong as ever, as I found myself surrounded on all sides by huge, sweaty, panting horses.

"Ana?" A gruff voice called my name. I glanced to my left and saw that Taysend was smiling at me from beneath his helmet.

"Hey," I said. "You survived."

"So far," said Taysend. "You decided to join us?"

"Didn't have much of a choice." I grinned with triumph and said, "Éomer taught me how to steer a horse!"

Taysend laughed. "Maybe you should switch riders. Éomer might get you killed. He has a bad habit of going to where the fighting is thickest."

"What?" My voice squeaked.

Right then, Théoden shouted "Charge!" and all the horses and their riders started running towards the oliphaunts. I didn't even have time to say good-bye to Taysend as he raced forward. I clutched Éomer's spear and felt my heart racing off with the horses.

"Éomer," I asked over the thundering of Firefoot's hooves, "what did Taysend mean by that?"

"He was only joking," said Éomer a little too quickly.

I gulped. "I suppose it's too late to take my chances with the orc."