Plain Jane - A Story of the Wrath of Fan Fiction

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Plain Jane – Chapter two

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Ten seconds later, the staring contest was not going well. The man was definitely winning, his pale green eyes were narrowed and his hands were on his hips, whereas Jane was shivering at his feet, gazing at him horrified.

"Hello..." said Jane, experimentally. The man's eyes narrowed further and he said something in an unrecognisable language.

"What is a child of Rohan doing sitting in a river like a simpleton?" he demanded. What on earth was he saying, thought Jane. Who is this strange man? Where the bloody hell am I now?

Then, of course, it came back to her; she had insulted fan fiction and fan fiction had punished her by sending her into a fandom and she was pretty sure this was not Harry Potter. This was Middle Earth...a world akin to the Middle Ages in real life, where chivalry, nobility, chastity and funny clothes prevailed. And of course, evil orcs that would rape and kill her and all manner of other horrible nasty things. Crap.

"Speak, child!"

The man was talking again, bringing Jane back from her realisations...but now an even worse one occurred to her; they didn't speak English here! At all! They spoke Westron!

"I've no idea what you're saying, you great lump, so shut the hell up," she said grumpily, dragging herself up and standing proud in front of him, her hands on her hips and her head held high, mirroring his stance. This would have been far more impressive if she hadn't been wearing her ripped and ragged pyjamas.

"I know not who you are or what language you can speak...nor what on Middle Earth you are wearing...I can only presume that you have suffered some attack...or are mad. I shall accompany you to the nearest village," said the man. He turned around and started walking towards his horse.

Jane watched as he turned around and walked towards his horse. Ooh, a horse, she thought. Jane liked horses and this one was especially fine, it was larger than any horse she had ever seen, a dark tan coat and bright shiny eyes. It had lovely golden hair and seemed proud, fierce yet friendly at the same time. It looked intelligent, almost as if it understood her. This could not be said for the grumpy man.

He was tall and rather old, she noted. Perhaps about forty and he look strong and seemed to be built like a wall. His hair was shaggy, he had an unkempt beard and he was wearing a thick cloak and furs and a tunic with a barely visible white tree on it. He looked fierce and noble at the same time, rather like the horse, except the horse looked far friendlier and a bit better looking. Not that he was ugly, only he looked like he didn't have a sense of humour. He had a big nose and heavy features and Jane thought that although he was handsome enough, she wasn't in danger of losing her heart. Criticism indeed, from a young woman who looked like she had been dragged through a bush backwards, was coated in white powder and was wearing soggy, blackened, ripped pyjamas. If she had seen herself then she would have agreed with the man, she looked half mad.

The man turned around and looked at her expectantly, his hand on his hip keeping his cloak from swishing around him, also revealing a large horn. Jane noted the horn and her heart clenched suddenly, this was Boromir! He must be on his way to the Council in Rivendell. Suddenly, she felt much better, all she had to do was get to Rivendell, and then she could live out the next year in relative finery and beauty and most importantly, cleanliness. The elves were the sort of people who seemed to view hygiene as a priority, she mused, gazing at her sooty bare feet and sighing. Sorted! She started walking towards Boromir, suddenly aware that she was rather wet and extremely sore.

"Ow," she said. Luckily this word is universal and Boromir realised she was in pain and gave her a swig of his hip flask to perk her up.

"What is your name?" he asked, suddenly. She looked at him blankly, so he pointed to himself and said "Boromir."

"Ahhh, I see-"

"Ahhh-I see? Odd name but then you are an awfully odd creature," mused Boromir.

"No! Jane. Jane." Jane protested, not wanting to have to reply to Ahhh I see for the next twelve months...she giggled when she realised that if she was Jane that made him Tarzan. Boromir raised his eyebrow. "Jane," she said firmly.

She was about to stick her hand out and shake his but her lifted her onto the horse rather suddenly (she said "Hey Boromir!") then clambered on himself and dug his heels in and they were off.

Over the next few hours Jane found that Boromir wasn't really inclined towards conversation and preferred to ride on at such a speed she was amazed the horse could handle it. But then again, she mused, these were horses from Middle Earth, they were bound to be a bit special, weren't they? So she contented herself with staring at the scenery, which was pretty amazing. The air was cool and fresh and it made her cheeks pink as they galloped along, green whizzing past them and mountain's slowly disappearing. The colours were so amazing, it was like a vibrant Turner painting, all light and darkness and effervescence. However, it was rather boring to ooh and ah over the scenery and she had had a rather trying time of it lately, and so, eventually she fell asleep, which she was later angry at herself for, but she had had a rather unpleasant day, so she forgave herself.

When she awoke she was lying on the ground (which was becoming something of a tradition) and it was nightfall, the sun hanging barely above the trees. Boromir was tending to the fire.

"So you're awake," he said, when he observed her stretching.

"Do we have any food, Boromir?" she asked, sitting cross legged across from him. He stared at her, frowning at the odd way she was sitting.

"I assume you're hungry, I have caught and skinned a rabbit, I have only to find some more firewood and then I shall cook the food," said Boromir.

"Huh?" said Jane. Boromir waved a stick. "Oh," she continued, "You need more firewood. No problem, I'll go get some, I could do with a bit of a walk," she told him, and so got up, stretched and yawned again and walked off.

"Where are you going, Jane?" He called, exasperated. He admonished himself, "Perhaps she needs to relieve herself." He sighed. If he was lucky, maybe she wouldn't come back and he would not have to help her; although she was not particularly heavy, she was slowing the horse down if she had fallen asleep after barely an hour, he did not know what he would have done. Her constant chattering was annoying the Mordor out of him, it would have been tolerable if had been in a language that he could understand! This trip was not going as well as he had hoped. He did not want to be here, he wanted to be in Osgiliath, in Gondor, fighting for his people, not trying to find a place that no one knew where it was. Or looking after a mad girl who didn't speak the Common Tongue, or, by the sounds of it, the language of Rohan, although she had long blonde hair like them. He hoped there was some logical explanation for her origins, and her odd burnt clothes, otherwise this stunk of witch craft.

There were two things Boromir didn't like; things he didn't understand and teetotallers. Women, he didn't understand...and if he were being totally honest with himself, he was a little scared of them sometimes. Moody and silly and superficial, they were and they always wanted to marry him! And not Faramir, which he didn't understand, as Faramir was charming and sensitive and read books that weren't about warfare. It was damn annoying. Boromir knew that he had to get married one day, he just wasn't looking forward to it. He liked the camaraderie of the army, he liked male company better as they strictly no-nonsense most of the time anyway and they didn't expect to be brought tokens of his affection.

She was coming back. He sighed; she hadn't been eaten by a stray warg. She was carrying a bundle of dry firewood in her arms and looked fairly pleased with herself and he smiled at her...she had redeemed herself for drooling all over his tunic. She handed the firewood to Boromir, who added it to the kindling and he soon had a decent fire going. They sat around the fire and waited for the rabbit to cook as the shadows grew longer and the flames danced and licked the wood.

"So," said Jane and Boromir groaned, couldn't she give it a rest? "How do you say 'My name is Jane'?" she asked. He looked at her despairingly. She pointed at him, "Your name is Boromir," she pointed at herself, "my name is Jane." Boromir understood, she wanted him to teach him Westron. Not for the first, nor for the last time, Boromir wished that Faramir had been sent on this mission.

Two Long Long Weeks Later, Southern Border of Eriador

Boromir hated Jane. Utterly utterly hated her. They had lost the horse through NO FAULT OF HIS OWN and she had given him this look, oh it was such a look, it combined the high expectations of his father and the incredulity of Faramir when Boromir had done something particularly reckless and something entirely Jane. Probably condescension, as if she was saying, I didn't think that even YOU Boromir, were that stupid. So Boromir was doing the manly thing and sulking.

Jane sat opposite Boromir, around the fire. They were both thoroughly miserable, wet, scratched and had had several arguments over the last two weeks and Jane was thinking that she would rather be in orcs' company than Boromir's. He had insisted on crossing the river at a dangerous ford and they had lost their horse, Atanatar. Poor Atanatar, sniffed Jane. This place was miserable...it was grey and cold and the leaves were falling off the trees.

The river had been awful. She had felt strange, nostalgic almost, for a time that she had not lived in, when this place had been full of people. It was a wide river but Boromir said that it was shallow but that it was full of old ruins. She had said that she had a bad feeling about this, and Boromir had looked like he was going to through her into the river. The river had been shallow, for the most part, but full of holes and it was marshy and muddy, algae swimming around her legs like green eerie fingers. She had taken to wearing Boromir's spare tunic that was like a dress on her and extremely baggy but she still didn't have any shoes, so she had tentatively and gingerly had waded through the river. Boromir held her by her upper arm and pulled her out of the water when she fell in.

She thought that there was a bridge underneath the algae, it seemed that she could feel flat stones underneath her feet.

"Boromir, what river men stone..."she mimed a bridge with her free hands. Boromir grunted and said yes. "What name?" she asked, hopefully. Sometimes Boromir didn't bother telling her new words, he was the worst, most impatient teacher ever. She still hadn't forgiven him for trying to fob her off to a bunch of poverty-stricken peasants who lived in a rickety little cottage and seemed to live of mainly roots.

"What IS IT CALLED?" he stressed, pulling her out yet another hole. Couldn't she manage not to fall in every single bloody hole, he thought? It was bad enough trying to lead a nervous horse along an extremely old underwater bridge with one hand, he didn't need the hassle of pulling Jane up with the other. She had proved extremely clumsy and accident prone and he had tried very hard to convince her to stay with the lovely village people he had met. They had been poor, yes, and had barely any teeth, yes (something Jane had seemed horrified by. She did have all her own teeth and they were very pearly, he had noticed, which probably meant that she was rich, wherever she had been before he had found her sleeping in the river) and they were wearing what appeared to be large shapeless sacks. But so what if they had been poor and she would have lived a miserable life toiling in the fields among people who didn't speak the language with her? At least he would not have had to answer her many questions, face being laughed at whenever something amusing occurred to her and even worse, be smirked at. She was always smirking at him, as if she knew something he didn't. He wished she had stayed with the peasants, she would at least be safe from the dangers of Eriador, which was full of ruffians and possibly bands of orcs and she would have lots of roots to eat. So far they had been lucky but it was a strange land. Boromir didn't like it.

"Bridge," he said gruffly. Atanatar neighed angrily, he was very unhappy about being dragged across this river.

"Bridge," repeated Jane.

It happened very suddenly. Atanatar was a big horse, a muscular horse that could carry easily in full armour and the sunken bridge they were tramping across was old, very old and crumbling under the water, the algae slowly pulling it apart. Boromir remembered the moment perfectly afterwards and replayed it in his head many times. It was mid-afternoon, they were three-quarters of the way across the river, maybe only fifty metres to go and it was a clear day, no clouds. The Barrow Down Mountains could be seen distantly and the grass on the other side of the Grey looked unbelievably inviting. Jane was concentrating on walking, frowning, her hair falling into her eyes, mumbling about bridges.

Part of the bridge gave way and Boromir, Jane and Atanatar were plunged into the water.

Boromir sank like a stone, but quickly used his shield to hold onto part of the bridge that was still standing. The water was murky, unclean and full of bubbles due to the algae that was thick and streaming upwards, he looked around quickly for Jane who was floating beneath him. A tentacle something green had twisted around her ankle and she was violently tugging at it. Boromir pulled a dagger out of his boot and leant down to hand it to her; she eagerly grabbed it and cut herself free while Boromir tried to find Atanatar.

He was tangled in a hundred green tentacles, frantically struggling, too far away to reach. Boromir felt his heart sink...he couldn't save his horse, his beloved Atanatar. So he pulled himself up onto the bridge with his shield and pulled a swimming Jane to him. They tentatively and silently limped over to the other side, steadfastly ignoring each other's pained expression. When the riverbed was in sight, they fell eagerly onto it and Boromir stole a glance at Jane, to see the look that seemed to squeeze his heart, the look that combined Denethor's high expectations and Faramir's incredulity and Jane's...something.

She had trusted him. Unequivocally and he had let her down, he had drowned her precious horse (he had begun to think of Atanatar as her horse when he had found her braiding his hair and amazingly Atanatar had let her. When he had seen her sneaking the horse part of her meals, talking to him when she was supposed to be sleeping, treating him as more of as a friend than she treated him...that's when he started thinking of Atanatar as Jane's horse) and almost killed her. He was a failure and he had never failed at anything before.

All his supplies had been in the pack on Atanatar. Even the kindling and so he had to start the fire from scratch, while Jane sat on the ground, looking like a drowned rat and as miserable as he felt. She was shivering and staring at the ground. She is probably wishing she is with the toothless peasants, he thought, bitterly.

Jane was bloody freezing and Boromir was taking forever with the fire. She sneezed. Boromir looked up at her, his face so dejected and distressed that her heart softened, she missed grumpy and annoying Boromir, she didn't like Blue Boromir, whose green eyes looked so cheerless. She moved closer to him and gave him a hug, her hands stretching wide across his frame.

After about ten seconds this became uncomfortable and she retreated, but Boromir looked a bit less like he was going to off himself, so Jane felt satisfied. Two seconds later he managed to spark a light and so the fire started and they sat companionably side by side, dripping and thinking about their poor dead horse.

After that, Boromir and Jane became much better friends. However, their situation got steadily worse.

The ruffians saw their pathetic fire and decided to attack them. This was an unwise move on their part, as Jane found out, as Boromir valued his sleep and was greatly angered if he was woken from it by violent and desperate outlaws.

He was a great warrior, she realised, as he swung his sword about with strength, grace and accuracy. There were only about ten men, and they all looked deranged, thin, emaciated even, their skin 

yellowing and discoloured, their clothes looked ragged and their fingernails long and sharp and they were carrying long daggers. No match for Boromir's sword. Jane, who still had Boromir's dagger, waved it menacingly at the man who came near her. He was shorter than her, with a long scraggly beard. He seemed to know intuitively that she was an innocent and was smiling and laughing at her in a menacing way.

Jane was scared, so scared. Falling into water and possibly drowning was bad enough, losing her horse was upsetting, hugging Boromir was traumatic enough, but a savage man growling at her, she couldn't handle. She freaked out and kicked him where it hurts and ran over to Boromir, who had picked up a stick from the fire and was waving it at the men and with his other hand, piercing them with his sword. It was really quite impressive.

He took care of the savage man easily and all ten men were dead before the sun had set. Unfortunately, this meant they had to move their campsite.

They spent the next two weeks continuously walking, as Boromir was (paranoid, in Jane's opinion) sure that evil was afoot and they walked/limped many miles every day and sometimes well into the night. Boromir, who was unsure where Rivendell actually was, felt frustrated he had not found it yet, as he had been travelling for many months and Jane was sometimes too tired to improve her Westron, but they arrived in the valley of Imaldris soon enough. Its wondrous beauty kept even Jane in silent awe.

Mostly she was looking forward to meeting Aragorn, who she thought sounded like a bit of a looker and anyone that Boromir didn't like was her biggest hero.

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N.B. Thanks to all those who reviewed! The first month of Jane's expedition in Middle Earth is covered! What do you think?