In this chapter, I will be attempting some Westron. If I have found wrong words or my interpretation of someone learning such a language is off, feel free to leave a review. Note: I do not have the ability to put accents and such above letters, so forgive me.

Alex hummed a tune underneath her breath as she doodled on her page of notes on the quadratic formula. She cracked open her algebra book for one of the final homework assignments of the year before high school and yawned. She turned to page 509 and began to work. She was having trouble with 'square rooting' as it had become known as amongst her fifth period math class. She used to have a calculator, of course, but then Scott had borrowed it and lost it. She let out a sigh and started on the first problem, writing out the quadratic formula (negative B plus or minus the square root of B squared minus four times AC, over two A) before plugging in the numbers.

Loud footsteps echoed through the hallways as Scott opened the door and stepped in. He was a slight man, standing at a meager 5'8'', with dark hair and blue eyes. He wasn't what Alex would call handsome, but apparently her mother thought he was sexy. She shuddered at the idea. She cleared her throat and took a swig from her Evian bottle before turning her attention back to her homework, intent on ignoring Scott.

"Hi Alex." He greeted.

"Mmhmm." She replied.

"What are you working on?"

"Math."

"Need any help?" Scott inquired.

"No."

"What's wrong?" He almost looked concerned. Almost.

"Piss off."

"You will NOT show disrespect for me, Alexandra Marie Evans-Johnson!" He snapped angrily. He didn't like his new girlfriend's daughter, but the fact she thought she was so great that she would be so rude was over the top.

"Excuse me? My last name is Evans." She said coldly. She hadn't let her mother change her name to include both of her parents' names, because in the case that her mother got married again, she would also carry her stepfather's name. That would never happen. "Just piss off, Scott. I don't want any crap from you."

"Alexandra! I don't want to hear those words from your mouth!" Her mother, Julia, snapped as she walked down the stairs and went up to Scott.

About two seconds before they were about to kiss, Alex shoved Scott aside as she headed for the refrigerator. She smirked as she walked away from them and as her mother started to go off on some rant about how it was HER household and Alex would have to accept anything and everything she did in it. The teenage filled up a mug with orange juice, humming underneath her breath.

"Are you listening to your mother, young lady?" Scott asked, his eyes wide with rage.

"Does it look like it?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Go to your room!" Julia shouted.

Alex sashayed her way back to the table and sat back down, placing her earbuds into her ears and turning her iPod on, her last Christmas gift from her dad before he went off to Iraq. She quickly turned the volume up as both adults in the room started to scream at her. She blocked them out and finished up at least five problems before Scott stormed over and pulled the iPod away from her.

"GIVE IT BACK, FREAK!" Alex screamed, throwing her pen at him.

"I will when you begin to obey us."

"Yeah, because that's going to happen." She retorted sarcastically. "Just give it back and I might." She put her hand on her out-jutting hip and waited expectantly.

"No. Now get to your room, Alexandra Marie." Her mother ordered.

"Mom! Make him give me back my iPod! Its mine! Dad gave it to me and I'll flay his ass before he takes it away!" She shouted.

"No, he will give it back when we think you are obeying us." Julia said.

"We? You mean him." Alex clarified. Her mother didn't budge on the subject and she smirked at Scott. "Bitch."

Scott merely smiled patiently and turned away to put the iPod somewhere Alex could not access and dropped it. The metal backing cracked audibly as it smashed into the ground. The teenager gasped, turning around and running to her room. She slammed the door shut and fell onto her bed in tears. She looked at her journal that was lying open and picked up a pen.

Hey Daddy,

Scott dropped my iPod today and broke it. He yelled at me, saying I shouldn't disrespect him and then a whole fight ensued. Mom took his side! I can't believe it! She's been really crummy lately, ever since she started dating Scott. I hate him. I physically hate him. And now I'm all crying because he destroyed my Christmas present from you. I wish you'd come back. You're in danger and life sucks without you. I mean, you were always there. You were the one that helped me with my homework and who stayed up late with me so we could watch a game and who let me go to church. Its hard to sneak out of the house on Sundays to get to church and one time, Scott caught me and started to yell at me. I hate him. He seems to think that its his house and that Mom's going to marry him so I might as well get used to him being under control. Yeah, because that's going to happen. Yeah, whatever.

A §

ooo

Mike woke out of a refreshing sleep to his pain. It overwhelmed him and threatened to send him into unconsciousness. All of his wounds were bound tightly and the pain level was significantly lowered, but the sleep had been nice. He didn't remember the last time he had slept so soundly and without dreams. He yawned, and then winced. He had aggravated an open wound on his jaw. He wasn't looking forward to the next few weeks; he was the worst patient in the world.

"Strider." He rasped, surprised at the lack of moisture in his throat and mouth.

"Nin." Strider identified 'water' with a word in what was probably in his own language and held a sort of water bottle, but made of skin with a wooden stopper. He put the skin to Mike's lips and then tipped it, sending fresh water cascading into Mike's mouth.

The journalist drank as much as he could, enjoying the sensation of moisture falling down his sore throat and into his stomach. He leaned his head back onto a pillow of sorts and let out a small sigh. His ribs still ached, but he was relieved to know he'd recover. He couldn't wait to find a way out of this place. He looked around, still very uncomfortable with his surroundings.

"My-kul." Strider called to him, and Mike looked up and saw the scruffy man holding a plate of sorts holding an animal. It could have been beef, but Michael was useless at identifying anything. It came with his good looks, sense of direction and writing skills. A voice in the back of his head was laughing uproariously.

"Tapuk." The man said, pointing at the meat and then imitated bunny ears.

'Rabbit.' Mike thought as he fought not to break out in laughter. He did not intend to be disrespectful to this man who had saved him. A small peal escaped his lips and he blushed, underneath the layers and layers of grime covering his face.

Strider laughed a deep rich laugh and Mike could not help but feel like a child. Here, this man who could have easily passed as his junior was doctoring him and the journalist felt like a child. He felt helpless and weak and struggled to come to terms that in a few weeks, he would be up and about as if nothing had happened, hampered by only his broken arm, which he cursed angrily in his mind. Strider saw the flicker of anger in his charge's eyes and sighed. He cut up the rabbit meat and left the fork so Mike's pride would not crash entirely to the ground as most men's prides did whenever they were forced to be spoon-fed. Strider himself was one of those that would swear off food until they could eat themselves.

Michael nodded his head. "Thank you."

Strider looked puzzled, but guessed by the tone that his patient was grateful. He smiled broadly and nodded. He could infer, just as Mike had, that this man was different. He was foreign in manner, speech and garb, but despite that, there was a ringing sense of the same courage Strider often witnessed amongst his rangers and in Mithrandir. Speaking of which, the wizard would be visiting soon to discuss their latest escapades regarding a certain slimy creature…

"Nin?" Mike struggled to pronounce the word after taking several bites of food as best he could with one hand.

Strider nodded and picked up the waterskin again, assisting the man in drinking. He dipped a cloth into a nearby bowl of water and athelas and encouraged Michael to lay back. He cleaned his patient's facial wounds and cleaned his face in doing so, and he could see the look of relief on the man's face. He grinned and continued to clean what wounds he could reach and that were unbound; he would rebind Michael's ribs later, after he and Halbarad had tended to the one called Day-veed.

Mike nodded again in thanks and Strider nodded. The man, however, pointed to Strider's bag and looked inquiringly for a word to identify with it.

"Laban." Strider clarified and nodded again before exiting the tent, heading towards the next tent, containing the darker skinned man.

David was awake when Strider entered and the dark man nodded, his eyes distrustful. Strider did not miss the look; he knew a soldier when he saw one and as such, David was looking out for danger to befall him. The elvish in his blood, small in amount as it was, told him it would be useful for the man along the path of his life. The "check-up" went smoothly, David only stiffening whenever Strider touched his wounds. He was otherwise silent and his eyes burned with a challenge, one that Strider felt no temptation to accept.

Halbarad met him on a ridge several meters from their camp and there the two men sat, each puffing on his pipe. Strider exhaled heavily, his eyes up in the stars. He traced Earendil finish his journey across the sky and dawn was approaching. Both men watched the sunrise with anticipation for the new day. Strider's mind was occupied and it showed as Halbarad smiled.

"What is your plan, Strider?" He asked softly, as to not disturb the rising day.

"We must continue to move, though My-kul and Day-veed are injured. It cannot be helped, and Lord Elrond would want to know of this. Times are growing darker, and I would not risk orcs attacking us while we are vulnerable." Strider answered pensively, his voice scarcely above a whisper and Halbarad strained to hear him.

"Aye." Halbarad agreed. "What do you think of them?" There was no reason in explaining who 'they' were.

"Strange." Strider replied. "I have seen many strange things, both humorous and horrifying. This surpasses them all. They cannot even speak a language I have heard snatches of and they are frightened, almost like children."

Halbarad nodded, having sensed the same thing.

"We should get back to camp." Strider said as they both stood up.

"Worry not, Strider, all will be revealed in time. Mithrandir shall visit soon, as you have said. Perhaps he can provide us with answers. But if he is stumped, we shall have good amusement for a time, so it all works out well for us either way." Halbarad quipped with a grin.

Strider relented and a small smile slipped over his lips.

"That's the spirit." The two Rangers walked back to the camp to see the men rising and breakfast being handed out in the form of cram. Strider swallowed and forced himself to look indifferent as he took his cram. There were some things he would never become accustomed to when it came to being a Ranger out in the wilderness for long months at a time.

"My lord, where are we heading?" A young Ranger asked as Strider passed.

"We shall be heading towards Rivendell. The two men we found are in dire need of his healing." Strider explained. "Now, come, Faelion, I am in need of your assistance."

"Really?" The young man's eyes widened. He was merely twenty-two years and surely the Chieftain would not need his help.

"Yes. I need you to bear Day-veed on your horse. He is not nearly as injured as My-kul, who will be riding with me." Strider put a hand on the man's shoulder. "Can I trust you with this? It is important that Day-veed heal. He and My-kul are friends, from what I can tell."

"Yes, my lord, I shall protect Day-veed and bear him well."

Strider smiled. "Thank you. That will be most helpful."

The Dunedain Chieftain let out a sigh as he turned to the morning and whispered a prayer to the Valar for Arwen. He longed to see her; it had been seven years since he had seen her, yet his love still burned for her. Every day he allowed himself the luxury of thinking of her, he fell head-over-heels in love with her again by simply recalling her soft words and her lovely smile and the way her blue-gray eyes watched him carefully as they spoke together. He was looking forward to seeing her again, if fate was kind to him.