The fourth installment of what happens when fan fiction goes wrong! What exciting adventures will Jane get up to next? Will Boromir murder her through sheer frustration?

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Plain Jane - Chapter Three

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So the basic premise is that a beautiful, talented, perfect woman would be thrust into a glorious but savage world where a rough but kind man would be waiting for her. They would bond, he would be awed by her singing talent and her quick ability to learn any weapon and she would be bowled over by his rugged but noble charms.

This thought Jane, as she limped along the plain, her feet blistering and sore, is what is supposed to happen. How on earth could anyone think that living in the wild, for months on end, was conducive to a romantic relationship? A meaner part of her wondered how anyone thought a romantic relationship with Boromir was possible.

I mean, she thought as she walked across the rather bouncy grass, he was completely impossible. And he wasn't exactly inclined to romance but then, neither was she.

She was completely exhausted. She had lost lots of weight and muscles had grown in their place, everything ached, especially her poor bare feet. Boromir wasn't looking fresh either. Even making nice with Boromir was not on her mind, never mind more amorous feelings.

How was anyone supposed to fall in love on the road? She supposed that they were forced into each other's company more than they would be, were they in a city. But familiarity had bred, if not contempt, an aversion to each other.

Boromir would teach Jane ten new Westron words a day and while they would walk together, conversation was not encouraged. This kept Jane from ranting at Boromir at how he was the worst leader in the history of Middle Earth, which had been her favourite topic after she found out that he had no idea where he was going and was rather lost. Boromir refrained from mumbling under his breath about how he wanted to throw Jane into the River Bruinen and just run away.

She felt very silly now, for the long hours that she had spent reading stories that were so unrealistic and simplified, instead of learning how to skin a rabbit, or tell the difference between poisonous plants and the edible ones, start a fire or hike up a mountain without getting a stitch. How stupid of her for indulging in escapist bodice ripping fairy-tales and chocolate. God she missed the escapist bodice ripping fairy-tales. She could do with some light hearted relief, she had blisters on her blisters, she had been wearing Boromir's spare tunic for weeks and her hair was so greasy that it had begun to clean itself. Once, in a fit of desperation, she had asked Boromir if he had a comb. He had stared at her for a minute then he had laughed until he cried.

She didn't remember Boromir having such a sense of humour. But then, J.R.R. Tolkien had failed to mention several things about Boromir, or perhaps she had never noticed before. Firstly and most annoyingly, he snored. Loudly, so loudly that she had thought he would attract trouble. Secondly, he was very grumpy and mumbled what seemed to be threats under his breath. Thirdly, he was sweaty and dirty and didn't really seem to care. In fact, he seemed to relish in it. Jane had not seen her own reflection for over a month now and was terrified that whenever they arrived in Rivendell she would be mistaken for an orc. She had scraped her tangled hair back and tied it out of her way, but she still felt unbelievably gross. But by far the most unsettling thing about Boromir was how sad he seemed, 

no one had ever really picked up on that. Whenever Boromir allowed them to make camp (which was getting later and later every night, she had noticed) he spent his time gazing into the distance, his expression so melancholy.

Jane was starting to feel a sort of compassion for Boromir. Even though, she reasoned, he was a fictional character and died in less than a year so there was no point getting attached. As soon as she thought that, she felt unbelievably cruel and shocked at herself. He was alive, he wasn't just a flat fictional literary character, and she could see him breathing...and sweating and accumulating dirt.

He must have had a hard life. As far as Jane could remember, his mother had died when he was young and his father was a tough authoritarian that relied heavily on Boromir. And he had a younger brother called Faramir, who was a bit fey and romantic, totally the opposite of pragmatic Boromir. His poor country was overrun by orcs and it was his job to defend it; what a responsibility!

This didn't stop Jane thinking of Boromir as an ass though.

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Two weeks ago, somewhere along the Bruinen River

Jane had only seen various animals over the past few weeks (she included Boromir in that generalisation) and had almost forgotten that this world was full of monsters. Except of course, that's not really something that completely escapes your mind, so it was there at the back of her mind, hanging like a grey cloud over her. It had been a cold day, cold and windy and grey. It was dusk, the sun was almost set and still they were walking. Jane was glaring at Boromir, who was steadily ignoring her. Jane's feet were freezing, wet and wrinkled like prunes, a condition that made her unwilling to walk any further and she was about to start shouting at him, but they heard movement behind them. Boromir quickly grabbed her upper arm and thrust her into the undergrowth. With his hand over her mouth, he had pulled her down and pulled her close to him. A big rabble stray orcs had run through past them, screaming with their high pitched, piercing voices that seemed too ugly to be real.

Jane's heart was in her mouth, beating tellingly like Edgar Allen Poe's. The last time she had encountered orcs she had been running on adrenaline and the revulsion had not hit her so hard. They were disgusting creatures, putrid and mouldy looking, oozing blood and sweat and tufts of hair protruding their ugly faces. Worst of all was their eyes, green and flashing in the moonlight.

Jane had never been so terrified in her life. Boromir and Jane had no chance against such a large group of orcs, especially in the dark and so had to keep very quiet while they ran past them. She was convinced the orcs could smell them, with their huge grotesque noses. Unconsciously, she gripped Boromir's other hand.

It was an almost moment. This could have been the bonding moment, where Boromir fell for Jane's fragility and vulnerability and Jane fell for Boromir's manly protection. This however was not to be, as they had barely reached amicability. As soon as the orcs ran past, Jane let go of Boromir's hand and blushed with embarrassment and shame for being so weak and needy and had clambered away from Boromir as quick as she could. She didn't want to be cutesy, like Marilyn Munroe, or Mickey Mouse.

They had walked for some time in silence. The night air was refreshing and everything was calm and still, but Jane knew the threat of danger was still there. They had made camp, wearily lay down on the ground, hungry and exhausted. As soon as Jane laid her head on her bed of leaves, she drowsily began to sink into sleep. But unfortunately, sleep did no claim her, but her subconscious tried to contact her.

There is something, it said, over there.

Shush, said her conscious, I am trying to sleep.

Why does no one ever listen to me? The subconscious asked infuriated. I am trying to save our life.

What?

There is something in those bushes.

What bushes, asked the conscious, suspiciously. Is this just some ruse for me to pay attention to you?

Don't ask stupid questions, save our bloody life!

Jane opened her eyes, aware something was very wrong. She didn't move but listened. The first thing she heard was Boromir's snoring, reassuringly familiar. Then she heard the wind rustling though the trees...except that wasn't the trees. That was the bushes, the bushes not two metres away from them! Her heart froze, as it was suddenly transformed into lead and every nerve on her body was filled with powerful electricity. She turned her head to Boromir's immense lump of a body, which was still snoring. How could he be asleep? They were going to be attacked!

"Boromir," she whispered. He continued snoring. "Boromir..." she whispered again. "Boromir!" she hissed.

He spluttered and turned his head towards her. "Jane. This better be good," he muttered in Westron, his eyes sleep.

"Orcs," she said. Boromir became alert immediately. He nodded, his hand clasping his sword. Quick and light as a fawn, he jumped up and into the undergrowth and was enveloped by the bushes' leaves. Jane stood shakily up and unsheathed her dagger and walked slowly and warily towards the bush. Why couldn't she hear anything? What was Boromir doing? Was he alive? Her breathing was heavy and frantic and then suddenly! Boromir burst through the undergrowth again (did this man do nothing gently?) grinning like a madman.

He was holding up a little grey bunny rabbit.

"Orc," he said, smirking at her.

She gaped at him for a second then hit his chest. " You Orc," she said, meaning him. He laughed, heartily, his rich voice pushing away all her fear and replacing it with annoyance.

Boromir dropped the bunny rabbit which hopped slowly away and put his hands on his hips, beaming at her.

"I'm going to sleep," she said, angrily and flung herself on the ground. She felt like an idiot. Boromir followed her after a while, still chuckling to herself.

The next day, he would jump while they were walking and gasp. Jane, every time, would say "What? What!"? And he would point at a leaf, or a stick and say;

"Orc!" then burst out laughing.

Jane wished fan fiction had landed her in Mordor, rather than face this humiliation.

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When Jane had learnt to speak Westron slightly better (as in, she didn't solely rely on hand gestures and looking beseechingly at Boromir) the Elves asked her about her first view of Rivendell. They asked every visitor to their beloved city this question, except Boromir who was scared of them and avoided them, and they were especially interested in Jane's answer. They thought Jane was exotic, with her wavy blonde and pale skin, interesting because of her odd turn of phrase and strange behaviour for a woman and because she was the only human who had dared wink at Erestor.

Jane had said that Imaldris was like water after being in the desert for so long, which satisfied the Elves because it was poetic. Jane, of course, had carefully dodged the question. She wasn't even paying attention to Imaldris when she first entered it.

She was too busy arguing with Boromir and lamenting the extreme pain her feet were in.

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"Boromir," moaned Jane, "Dark and wet and cold," she complained. It was, though, she reasoned when Boromir sent her yet another contemptuous look. Although the death of their horse had brought them together in some ways, it had driven them apart in others; Jane no longer had a sympathetic ear and Boromir no longer had an equal. And Boromir pointing at various rocks and saying "Orc!" then laughing was very quickly getting old.

Jane's feet were quickly developing extremely thick skin, rather like a hobbit's, as they had still not obtained shoes for her. They still hurt though, but that was nothing compared to how hungry she was, and how tired she felt. Her muscles had staged a rebellion. Even Boromir looked tired, his skin haggard and he was walking more heavily than usual.

Jane didn't even want to think about bad they smelled.

"Stop?" Jane had learnt this word early on and tried to muster up some strength to give him the puppy dog eyed look. Boromir shook his shaggy haired head. Jane started swearing at him in English, calling him all manner of rude words.

Boromir tried to ignore it, he was getting a headache and he was very worried about being late. He wasn't sure what for, but surely it was his Numenorean blood trying to tell him something, that there was something he was not supposed to miss and Jane was slowing him down. And so, accordingly, he had started waking Jane half an hour earlier every day, until they were barely 

sleeping four hours a night. The first few nights she had not noticed, and it was strangely satisfying, Boromir found, to get something past her hawk eyes. It was a thankless task, however, as Jane would "accidentally" slap Boromir in the face every time he shook her awake and had stopped even trying to apologise after the first few times.

His nose was still throbbing.

He had always been under a lot of pressure, he mused, while Jane moodily stomped along behind him, kicking the undergrowth and swearing at him (he could just tell). His father expected a lot, for him to be a great warrior, to be noble and courtly and protect Gondor at all costs and he would do it. He HAD done it, for the last twenty-five years he had been in the army, training, fighting always fighting. He was good at fighting though, he felt more at home in the army than he did in the court, surrounded by simpering ladies and arrogant politicians. Luckily Denethor had married late himself and was not pushing him towards marriage as of yet. Denethor seemed to realise that Boromir preferred to be outdoors where there were usually no women.

But this dream he had, this prophecy, this was so intangible and frightening. As I said earlier, Boromir did not like things he did not understand and strange prophecies were in this category. So he did the only thing he could do; walk faster and frown. And relive the tension growing in his neck by arguing with Jane or making fun of her. It was so very therapeutic.

"You don't even KNOW where we're going!" yelled Jane, aware Boromir didn't understand her and was striding on ahead pretending not to listen. "I read the book, you know, you have NO IDEA where we are, you stupid man, yet you insist on walking like we've got a host or orcs behind us!"

"You are going to bring a whole host of orcs on us with your incessant ranting!" replied Boromir, "You silly woman! Can't you be quiet for one second!"

"I hate this stupid place, it's full of nettles and I haven't even seen a proper village yet! Where are all the people? Where the HELL are we? We're probably in the back end of beyond. Bloody fan fiction, I mean, all the amazing people I could have ended up with, the legends, the heroes, it had to be you, didn't it? I could have been in Minas Tirith, or Rivendell, or even Edoras but no! And you got Atanatar drowned, you insisted on crossing the Greyflood-"

Boromir who was grinding his teeth, understanding her tone, if not her words, picked up on his horse's name and almost growled.

"Do not start on that again, woman! He was my horse first and I miss him too!" He quickened his pace and strode off.

Jane stopped and her face fell. Her anger at Boromir really stemmed at having spent a month walking continually, sleeping on the ground and eating the bare minimum and the embarrassment she felt for mistakenly thinking a rabbit hopping around in a bush was a dangerous, murdering orc. To make matters worse, everything ached, muscles ached in places she didn't know she had muscles and she felt so unclean, despite several extremely cold dips in the river they had been following. It just wasn't the same as home, with soap and body wash and deodorant. How unclean she felt was always on her mind.

She was also slightly worried about her mental health; only now had she realised that she had been sent into a fictitious world by what was essentially a personified literary genre. How had she not noticed this before? Perhaps it was too surreal to be questioned? Usually when one is in a situation that is...unexpected, unlooked for, dangerous, adrenaline prevails and one usually doesn't have the time to question whether or not you are hallucinating. At least that's what she kept telling herself.

But just because she had not immediately thought, this is not normal, I must be mad, did not necessarily mean that she was mad. Although, looking at the evidence she was slightly concerned. Perhaps she was in a coma? Perhaps her room really had burnt down and she was horrifically burned and her subconscious had not known how to deal with it and so had retreated into something more comforting.

She dismissed this idea; she had never been more uncomfortable in her life and had blisters everywhere.

And so to suppress the growing fear she was insane, she took out her fear by bickering with her least favourite fictional character, the Captain-General of Gondor. As for the Man of Gondor, he tried to suppress the ever increasing desire to tie Jane to a tree and just leave her there by imagining gagging her.

But perhaps it was best he had stormed off, she thought, starting to move again, so she didn't have to look at his stupid face or listen to him muttering under his breath in Westron. Except now she felt doubly alone.

It was so quiet. For the first time Jane took notice of her surroundings, the soft grass beneath her feet and the cool breeze. They had been following a river for many weeks now, the one that they had lost Atanatar in, and had crossed it again much to Jane's anger. It had been completely pointless to cross the same river twice, but luckily it was much shallower the second time.

The river was very noisy usually and it was quieter now and shallower, the deep green of the algae had been muted. It was less creepy now, as you could see the river bed and knew there were no corpses below. Tall mountains could be seen in the distance, their peaks shrouded in mist and trees were thicker on the ground. Jane had seen a stag not two days ago.

Jane had spotted it and nudged Boromir, who had turned to her with an unsurprisingly suspicious expression on his face. It had softened though, when he spotted the stag she was gazing at. He was majestic, strong, proud, a beautiful flaxen colour with soft shiny fur. Jane wanted to pet him and had walked towards him but Boromir had pulled her back just as the stag noticed their presence and fled back through the trees.

The trees seemed straighter here, taller and older, the air fresher. It was calm and beautiful and Jane doubted that evil could exist here, it would melt into nothingness at the borders.

Jane smiled. She liked it here. Her feet seemed to ache just that little bit less. Of course, like any really good thing, it had crept up on her and neither she nor Boromir had realised that they had arrived at their destination.

They had been following the river for some time now, but due to their petty arguments had failed to realise that they were traipsing into a valley. A valley of greenery and beauty that seemed to transcend them...Jane felt like she was floating on the grass below her feet and the soft breeze was caressing her cheeks.

When they eventually reached the Last Homely House, Jane almost cried with happiness. Luckily no one mistook her for an orc and a kind Elf took her to a room to sleep and have a bath.

Boromir was ushered into the Council of Elrond. Even if Jane had been feeling up to going to the Council of Elrond, even if she had been allowed to (which was very unlikely) she wouldn't have wanted to. She already knew what was going to happen and so what if it was history in the making? There was no way in hell that she was moving from Rivendell in the next 10 months and two weeks. She would live out her imprisonment in finery and splendour, where personal hygiene was king.

By now you would have thought that Jane had realised she had no say in this. Silly girl.

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I'm going with the controversial decision that Jane will miss the Council! Not much dialogue today, but Boromir and Jane don't really converse. Next chapter will be nice and chatty. Well, what do you think?