A/N Thank you to the best beta ever, Nieriel Raina. Any mistakes are my own and not hers.

Chapter 8 Puzzles to Solve

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."…… Hamlet: Act 1, Scene 5

---William Shakespeare---

Most of the small group of travelers gathered around the fire and talked. This was the first day of rest taken since their departure from Imladris. Occasionally, they would glance over at the young woman, who having spread her cloak under a large Chestnut tree, sat quietly. Sam brought her a cup of tea, which she accepted with a distracted smile and a soft thank you. Now, she was still, staring into the distance with a look of great concentration on her face.

All of them visited the lake to bathe and swim at some point throughout the morning, but when the noon meal passed with Grace eating nothing more than an apple and some nuts, Gimli stood to walk over to her. She was obviously distressed and he was worried about her state of mind. She had treated him with kindness as they traveled together. Dwarves were not the most beloved race in Middle-earth, so he had some experience with being an outsider. He could only imagine what must be going through the young lass' mind. Before he could reach her side, Gandalf called out to him, and detouring, he turned to the other side of the clearing where the wizard was talking with Aragorn and Legolas.

"Leave her be, Gimli," he told the dwarf. "I think that she needs this time to make sense of what she is only beginning to realize."

The dwarf sat down heavily beside them. "I do not like to see her so shaken."

Legolas turned to look at her, concern evident in his eyes. "None of us do, but she must come to the truth on her own. When she does, she will have need of us, until then we can do nothing. Although," he continued, "I think that perhaps there is another who could use some encouragement and company. His burden is far heavier than any of us carry." He directed Gimli's gaze to where Frodo sat in solitude. All of the Hobbits spent some time at the water during the morning. Sam dabbled at the edge of the lake, but would go no farther than that, but Pippin, Frodo and Merry had splashed and swam in the deeper water. Now, without company beside him, Frodo assumed the saddened and pained expression that was far too often on his face. "Gimli, there is one who could use some cheer. I suppose I must try to alleviate his sorrow. Valar knows, the thundering glower of a dwarf will do him no good."

"You think that dwarves do not make merry, Master Elf? I wager we could instruct even the wood elves in gaiety. We would surely be able to teach you to drink something better than that swill the elves call wine."

Legolas gazed at the dwarf and lifted one imperial brow. "Swill, Master Dwarf? I will have you know that my father serves only the finest vintages, the exquisite taste of such I am sure would lost on the palate of a mere dwarf."

Gimli snarled at the elf, and Legolas stood to tower over him.

"Ahmm," Gandalf interjected, "I believe that you were discussing offering some support and joy to Frodo. You both seem to have wandered rather far from the subject at hand. "

Glancing at each other, the elf and dwarf turned as one to make their way over to the unsuspecting Hobbit.

Aragorn stood and stretched, arching his back. "I suppose I better go along with them, otherwise one may not come back at all, and no good would have been done in lifting Frodo's spirits, unless, of course, he would take joy in the dismemberment of elf or dwarf." Giving the wizard a slight nod and smile, he moved to join the duo standing in front of the small Hobbit.

Grace sat on her cloak, her mind spinning with thought, OK, Grace you can figure this out. This is what you have done for the past two years, collect data and analyze it. First, the data: the light flash was definitely the place to begin with her ruminations. After that moment, everything changed. She no longer recognized the clearing she and her brothers lunched in. It was as though in a brief moment, she was transported to a different place. She grew up near the Appalachians, and she knew the scenery; the plants and trees that marked their journey were not part of the Appalachian region.

Then there were the travelers she was with and their claims of belonging to mythical races. The Hobbits looked nothing like any kind of creature she had ever seen, and while plastic surgery may have something to do with that, she now doubted it was the case. There were none of the tell tale signs such drastic steps taken to change their appearance would leave behind. Grace recalled watching a TV show about a woman who wanted to look like a cat; her appearance afterwards was freakish and noticeably, not natural. The four Hobbits' features were very much a part of them. While their ears and feet were unusual, they were obviously real. The same applied for the dwarf and the elf.

The elf moved, spoke and looked differently than the two men did. Subtle differences, but they were there. He moved with a sense of surety and grace, almost as though he were one with his surroundings. He looked so young, and yet his eyes reflected wisdom, knowledge, and confidence normally found in those far older than he. Legolas was a conundrum. She remembered the feeling of flying through the trees in his arms. He moved through then as though it were a walk in the park, instead of dangerously soaring far above the ground. She knew of no human who had such ability. Even Tarzan used vines to swing through the trees. She kept her eyes closed for much of that journey, but the brief glimpses she risked remained burned into her memory. She could swear that the trees themselves smoothed his path, placing and moving their branches to help him move quickly and safely through them.

The dwarf looked as though he had been molded from the very stone that he so adored. He called himself a dwarf, but the resemblance to any little people she knew was non-existent. He was perfectly proportioned, and he fairly radiated a sense of stability and a solidness that bespoke his nature. Gimli treated her with kindness and care, and carried a sense of nobility in his bearing, which made her feel ashamed that she could ever doubt him

That brought her to Aragorn and Boromir, two men, yet very different. The one thing they held in common was the code of honor they both lived by. Grace had talked with each of them at length, and while they were different in the way they expressed themselves, Aragorn, was quiet, where Boromir was more outspoken. She felt she could easily place her safe keeping in their hands and rest peacefully knowing they would protect her even at the cost of their own lives. They seem to represent heroes from the legends and myths she studied so industriously while in college.

The wizard she left for last. He was an enigma Grace had shoved to the back of her mind, uncomfortable with examining the power he so apparently exuded. He used it on her to calm her and soothe while she was in the first throes of panic and fright. The language he imbued her with was so unexplainable that she had refused to even examine what it meant. She no longer had that luxury; the veils she tried to hide behind were rent in two, the proverbial scales ripped from her eyes. She couldn't pretend this was a somewhat odd adventure that was going to end with her returning home carrying an exciting tale to tell. Gandalf gave her knowledge that she did not originally possess. She automatically spoke a language she never had studied or even heard before. Through practice, she discovered that she maintained the ability to speak her native tongue, but she needed to make the effort to do so. In unthinking communication, it was the language that Gandalf told her was Westron or the common tongue that flowed from her lips. No mere man would have been able to give her such ability. She shook her head ruefully; she truly had ignored much in her attempt to believe that these were just some strange individuals playing at a game.

But the concept of changing time and place? Surely, if things like that happened, it would be recorded somewhere. Then, she remembered a documentary she watched about the Bermuda Triangle. There was a story about two squadrons of planes that disappeared over the area never to be found. What was it one of the pilots in the first group to be lost had said over the radio while asking for help? The sky looked funny, and the horizon wasn't where it was supposed to be; everything was different. Those words seemed ominously similar to the way she had felt after the burst of intense light that changed everything.

The way this group functioned and treated her pointed to them being exactly what they said they were. What she first thought were costumes, unmistakably were not, these clothes were lived in, familiar to the ones who wore them. Remembering the hobbits going though their things to give her clothes, further confirmed that impression. Thinking about what Aragorn wore, she smiled. Certainly he would look for a costume that was less dirty, torn, and so noticeably lived in. She once handed to Gimli the helm that the Dwarf wore almost constantly, and it was no light weight costume piece; it was heavy and the workmanship remarkable, and very foreign to her eyes. Remembering the feel of the material pressed to her cheek while the elf held her in his arms made her realize that she had never felt anything like that fabric either from a natural or synthetic source.

She remembered something she had read in some detective novel, "Eliminate the possible and whatever is left, however impossible must be the truth." She took a deep breath. The manner in which each member of the party behaved was totally consistent with what they first told her. They never tried to hurt her, they made sure she was fed and cared for, and they offered their friendship. It was true that trust had not been extended to her, at least regarding what their quest was, but she could hardly blame them for that. It was bizarre, implausible and sounded mad, but it fit, it made sense and analysis of everything she learned supported it. Gandalf had told her the truth.

At that moment of acceptance, a raw sob of grief escaped her lips. She was never going back, never going to see her dad and brothers and friends again. They would never know what happened to her. Everything that mattered in her life, her hopes and dreams, were stolen away in a brief moment of what seemed to be a horrible cosmic joke. She was in a strange place and time with people she didn't know, and she could never return to all she loved. She felt consumed by heartache as sobs shook her small frame.

Gimli, Legolas and Aragorn returned with a happier Frodo. Legolas found Grace sitting in the same position she was in before they left camp that afternoon. It looked as though she had turned all awareness inward, her eyes unfocused, and her posture stiff. He watched the play of emotions cross the young woman's face. He saw the moment of acceptance and then the insurmountable pain that followed. Immediately, he was on his feet crossing to her. He enfolded her in his arms and spoke soothing words of comfort. Grace clung to him, as though he represented the only stable point she could find in a storm tossed sea, and cried wrenching tears of sorrow. He shared the sorrow she felt, but could not deny the bittersweet joy it gave him to have her in his arms.

Grace whispered through her sobs, "Thomas Wolfe was right you can't go home again." The elf holding her drew back and looked down at her in confusion. She had a mad impulse to laugh. Of course, he did not know who Thomas Wolfe was, no one here did. She permitted him to pull her back into his arms, and she rested her head against his shoulder, as she allowed this being who was not human to comfort her in a time and place that was not her own.

A/N Reviews are always welcome. I really, truly read and enjoy each one!