Thanks to all the reviewers; here's Jake again, but where is he? Can you guess? Where ever he is I don't own it (of course; imagine real estate values in middle earth)

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He woke to wetness, and coldness and a general uncomfortable feeling. His head hurt, as though he had got smashed the night before, but he couldn't remember that happening. He would only have been able to afford a bottle of the cheap beer that Adam's friend's cousin sold to those who hadn't got their fake IDs sorted, which he hadn't been able to do. The guy had wanted more than he'd been able to pay, so it was the doorstep for him when his mates were in the pub.

Jake tried to think back to the last thing he'd done, but came up with nothing. He remembered having to miss Football training because…because of his essay and little Miss Katherine's hissy fit. What class had it been? English, yes definitely English because he'd been given a book…a book called…something. He couldn't remember.

He must have ended up in the park or somewhere like that anyhow, because the wet stuff under him was grass. He groaned; his dad was going to kill him. Slowly, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, not opening his eyes so he wouldn't be forced to let in the light he knew would make his headache worse. It was cold in his school uniform, and he realised he wasn't even wearing his blazer. He hoped he hadn't lost that or he'd really be for it. His shirt was wet through, and so, he realised were his school trousers. He groaned again. His mum was definitely not going to like this at all.

It must be really early in the morning. No way were the streets of Barnet this quiet any other time. And there wasn't the familiar smell of traffic fumes, he realised, finally the placing the source of the unsettled feeling he had had since he woke. That was really strange. Even when there wasn't traffic, there was still traffic smell.

He opened his eyes.

He shut his eyes again.

Help.

Where on earth was he?

The yellow plains around him stretched as far as he could see, until mountains raised their crests to the icy blue morning sky. Gigantic rocks, lumps of granite, were scattered like they had been thrown by some gigantic hand. This was not Barnet, or any of it's environs. What had he taken last night? It must have been something seriously hard to do this. How had he got it? How had he paid for it? Why had he got it?

He was not one of the rich kids, who took a few drugs here and a few drugs there, artfully sniffing cocaine to make them look cool, and convince them that they lived on 'the edge'. Jake and his friends didn't take drugs because they simply couldn't afford them, and he did not find their allure even faintly attractive to him. Many of his friends smoked, but their families were like that. His family was straight laced; if his parents saw any of their kids smoking they would blow up, and woe betide the one who came in even smelling of the stuff. His mum tried to keep the place as clean as possible, and she didn't need her sons making it stink.

So what on earth had come over him?

He opened his eyes again, and stood up, his head protesting this as a bad move all the while. Groaning, he scanned the horizon, hoping to catch the drug out and reveal a face or something staring down at him through the blue above. Any minute now he would start to panic, and he tried desperately to dampen that feeling. They had all listened dutifully to the drugs talk, and he knew that any agitation would make the drug's affects even more potent. You had to wait until it was all over. But he could feel the grass under his feet, feel the springiness of the long stems under the soles of his school shoes, and he could definitely feel the coldness, penetrating, it seemed to him, through to his mind, drugged to the ears as he might be.

Basic football training took over. 'If you're cold, then warm up', coach would say when they complained at temperatures of minus 3°C. He began to run; slowly feeling warm blood running through his veins again as freezing cold air filled his lungs. He heard a screech overhead, the first sign of life in this wilderness, and he looked up as he ran, to see a massive bird of prey, an eagle he guessed, though probably that name sprung to his mind simply because it was the only bird he associated with such a huge wingspan. It was flying high in the sky, wheeling overhead as it passed him, to circle him once before it flew on.

Jake was impressed that his mind could conjure up such an image, even on drugs. The bird dwindled to a speck over the mountains, and he was half sorry to see it go. Even though he did not wish to be attacked by a hallucination of a giant eagle, the bird had been the only other moving thing he had seen. He was perfectly warm now, and he was content in the knowledge that he could keep this speed up comfortably for perhaps two hours, if he really needed to. He hoped he wouldn't; it seemed unfair to him that he had to work so hard just to keep warm in his own mind. If this was his own fevered brain imagining things, didn't he get a choice?

Before too long had passed, he saw on a small crest not too far away, a drift of smoke. He was not close enough to see any detail, but the smoke stood out clear against the sky and he made for it eagerly. He was hungry by now, and if this hallucination had any kind of decency, it would produce some food for him.

His mouth watered; what he wouldn't give for something hot to eat. Breakfast was usually a 'grab what you can meal', unless Dad was on a long haul and wanted porridge, but he usually grabbed quite a lot, to make up for the lack of lunch that was the usual order of the day. What would be really great would be a big fry up, like he was given when he accompanied Dad in the cab of the lorry, and they stopped at a Welcome Break or a Little Chef.

As he got closer, he could make out a building on the very top of the hill, glinting in the sunlight. It must be a building of some sort, though he couldn't believe even something as stupid as his own brain could come up with the idea that someone would build in the middle of nowhere, without any roads to be seen at all, as far as he could tell. He couldn't even see any telephone or electricity pylons.

When he was perhaps 500 metres away from the hill, he stopped and gaped in astonishment. It was a town from the dark ages. He couldn't believe his own mind was this warped. Smoke rose from chimneys, and the massive hall on the hill was thatched, with such bright straw it could be gold. There was a palisade wall, and a gate that was flanked on either side by watch towers, also of wood and straw. He could hear people's voices, carried clearly on the morning air, and he caught the whinnies of horses, and the shouts of a market, he guessed. They certainly had the tone of the market sellers from Barnet anyway, though perhaps, he thought, they probably weren't selling two pounds of bananas for three-fifty.

The thought of food was enough to override even his shock at arriving at a medieval village, and he started to jog again. When he reached the gate, however, he was pulled up short by two men, armed with spears. They seemed surprised at his appearance as well, and he could well believe it; his charcoal grey school trousers, white (probably grey too now) shirt and red and black school tie contrasted sharply with their dirty armour and weathered cloak. They levelled their spears at him and spoke in a language he did not understand.

Help again.

AN; Yay hope you liked that. You have two choices;

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