A/N Once again, I must thank my wise and wonderful beta, Nieriel Raina. Any errors are my own, and not hers.

The only thing we have to fear is fear itself….

FDR first Inaugural, March 4,1933 –

Chapter 3 Fear

Grace blinked. The light was so brilliant, it temporarily blinded her, and there were still black spots lingering in her vision. She made to take a step, but gasped as her head swam and her stomach did a flip. She leaned over and put her hands on her knees as she took a moment to get her bearings. After a few deep breaths, Grace began to feel better, and straightening up, she turned and called out to her brothers, "Did you see that? What was it?" She frowned when there was no reply. That was odd; she knew they could not have missed the light show, in truth, she was somewhat surprised they had not run immediately to make sure she was all right. "Matt, Mark," she called, "where are you?" Worry began to curl within her, something wasn't right.

She started towards the gap in the trees where the gravel path led to the car park. 'Wait a moment,' Grace thought. The trees looked "different"; they were thicker, and there were types of trees she had never seen before. She pivoted her body in a slow circle, looking around her as she turned. The air smelled different: fresher, cleaner, and the sun was in the wrong place - it had been dipping towards the horizon in the west, but now it was just past its zenith. The boulder she and her brothers picnicked on was gone, and a small stand of saplings stood in their place. The whole clearing looked different, and a sharp feeling of panic clutched at her.

She called again loudly, "Matt, Mark?" When they did not answer, she started walking towards where the path should be, her feet picking up speed as she went. Frantically, she searched for something, anything that looked familiar. This wasn't possible, places didn't just change. Perhaps, the flash knocked her out, maybe she was hallucinating, or maybe it was some type of bomb and she was dead. Was this heaven? She rebuked herself, 'oh, wonderful, that was a comforting thought.' If this was heaven, where were the angels? And her mom surely would be here to greet her. What was happening to her, and why were her brothers not answering her? She called their names again all but screaming them in her alarm.

On the ridge above, Gandalf rose to stand by the elf. Aragorn joined him, while the rest of the fellowship stood around them and watched the panic stricken woman search frantically for something among the distant stand of trees. All the time, her voice was calling over and over again as though she was looking for someone.

Aragorn turned to Gandalf, "She will raise every Orc within miles if we do not quiet her."

Gandalf nodded his head, "Yes, and we can not leave her here, hoping a passageway back to her time will appear." He sighed, "It appears she must join us, and I do not think she is going to be receptive to the idea."

Legolas turned and said sharply, "I do not wish to frighten her; she is already near terror."

"We will do our best not to, but I fear it will be inevitable," Aragorn replied. He jumped down to the grass below the small wall they stood upon. Legolas followed.

As Boromir made to join them, Gandalf placed his hand on his arm, "We do not wish to overwhelm her; wait and only go if they need your aid." Boromir nodded, and they turned to watch as the elf and human made their way to where the frantic woman was.

Grace continued to walk along the tree line, calling her brother's names periodically. There was nothing, nothing that looked familiar. The gravel path had disappeared; the wooden post that marked the trail head along with a map of the complete route on it was gone. The trees were thicker, and it was dark where she peered into the forest. She felt oddly reluctant to enter the woods. At least here there was a clear view of her surroundings; within the trees she could very easily become lost. After all her brothers knew where she was, they must be aware that something bizarre had happened; they would look for her.

Her musings were interrupted by a soft musical voice. The language was unfamiliar to her, although the intonation at the end of the sentence made it seem as though a question was being asked. She turned, and what she saw made her bite back a smile. The wilderness of the Appalachians attracted all types: in the summer there were numerous organizations that hosted highland games honoring the Celtic roots that many of the first settlers shared, and Civil War reenactors were common. While she was in undergraduate school, there was even a group that used to do a Robin Hood type of expedition. They were more into the drinking and wenching thing she suspected. These two men before her must also be involved in a similar type of activity. They certainly looked authentic; she would give them that. They had gone all out on costumes, weapons, 'and maybe even wigs,' she thought, eyeing the long blonde hair of the tall lean man before her.

"Did you see that flash of light earlier?" Grace asked. The two men looked confused, as though they did not understood her. She tried again, "Do you know what's happened? I can't find the path to the car park, and I can't find my brothers. It looks as though everything has changed. Frankly, I am little freaked out right now."

They shook their heads at her, and the blonde replied in the strange language he had spoken in before. She wrinkled her brow. The cadence and tone sounded familiar. Ah, yes now she had it. It reminded her of Astrid, a friend from college. Her parents were Norwegian, and her home was bilingual. She had taught Grace a few phrases, and the words they spoke reminded her a little that language. Racking her memory, she came up with a phrase that would seem appropriate.

Haltingly, she said in Norwegian, "My name is Grace Winters."

They still seemed confused. The dark-haired man pointed to himself and said, "Aragorn," and pointing at the blonde, he said, "Legolas." Then, he went on to say something else, and she frowned in concentration. A few of the words seemed familiar. They reminded her of a very old form of English. She recalled learning to speak some of it for a class she took, and still remembered slugging through Beowulf in Old English. Maybe these people were so into their roles, they had adopted the archaic language to go with it.

She shook her head in frustration and asked, "Do you speak English?" Grace was so intent on trying to understand what they were saying, she did not immediately notice that the taller blonde-headed man was slowly edging around behind her. Now, a fission of unease rippled down her spine. She had lived in New York and attended college there for her undergraduate degree; and her dad had insisted that she take a self defense course, one thing they had taught her was to trust her instincts. If a situation makes you uncomfortable, remove yourself from it. When she first saw these two, they seemed a welcome sight, but now she was suddenly conscious of her isolation.

The dark haired man said something to her, and pointed up the slight grade to the trees. Grace shook her head and shrugged. A few words seemed tantalizing familiar, but she still couldn't understand them. There was the merest hint of a pause, before the one named Aragorn said something else to the man standing behind her Grace heard him answer in the strange tongue, she sensed him moving closer to her. Grace had hoped she was wrong, but now she knew she needed to get away from these two. She wasn't going to wind up another statistic on the evening news. Stepping slowly away from them both, she tensed to run.

A barely perceptible nod from Aragorn to Legolas, and the man behind her wrapped one arm around her waist. Legolas murmured something that sounded comforting in her ear, but she was definitely not comforted, she was terrified. Grace screamed as loud and long as possible until a large hand covered her mouth. Reaching back with her foot, she kicked the shin of the man holding her as hard as possible. She heard a grunt of pain, and he loosened his grip just enough so that she could ram her elbow into his diaphragm. He let go, and she ran as fast and she could. Those trees that seemed ominous before, now suddenly, seemed very friendly. She could hear no footsteps behind her, but resisted the urge to look back, knowing it would slow her down. She would like to keep on screaming, but did not want to waste her breath.

Just before she could reach the cover of the woods, a hand closed over her arm, spinning her around. The blonde named Legolas stood before her, and she could swear there was sorrow in his eyes. His tone was kind and concerned when he spoke to her, but she continued to struggle. She tried to yank her arm away, but he was far too strong, and she was surprised she was able to get away from him the first time. She opened her mouth to scream again, but Aragorn, who came up behind her, clapped a hand over it before she could get a sound out.

Grace continued fighting the hold the blonde had on her until finally, the dark haired man sighed and tied a gag around her mouth. Legolas picked her up, and they turned and began to climb up a hill. Grace stayed still, tears running down her face. She closed her eyes and promised herself she would do everything she possibly could to survive what ever was going to happen. She would not give in; she did not want to die.

A/N Reviews are welcomed and even requested. They really do motivate me to work harder on my stories. If you are so inclined I would greatly appreciate hearing from you!