9AN: This story is very raw, and I will have to rework the beginning as I hadn't done all that much research when I begun writing. For one it was winter during the dealings at Amon Hen so I'll have to change Latoya's reactions to temperatures, for example. Any other illogicalities I would be pleased to have pointed out!
The radio was blaring a catchy tune as Latoya tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, looking about in the traffic. She hummed to herself, cranking her boot on the gas as the lane sped up.
She had been driving for two hours now, on her way to visit her family. She had missed her siblings, no matter how explosive their relationship was. Another hour of driving was still ahead before she would reach her childhood home, but at least she had already passed the halfway mark.
There was a sudden crash, immediately followed by a shudder in the steering wheel. The car started wavering from side to side by the force of the hit it had gotten to the back, and Latoya let go of the gas, fought to keep control of the car, but it turned sideways on the lane. She cursed violently as she laid her foot back to the gas, trying to turn the car, but couldn't manage it before another car hit her car, halfway through the turn, pushing the bumper against the railing of the bridge. Panicking, Latoya looked around, seeing the chaos wreaked forward in the lane by the car that originally had bumped her into a side slide. The sound of hooting horns, ripping metal and screeching breaks was ear-blocking, drowning out Latoya's scream as another car pushed the front end of her small Skoda through the railing.
The water rushed closer.
In terror Latoya watched the water flow past the windshield. She latched onto the door handle as water soaked through her shoes, rising at an alarming speed. The door didn't budge. She pushed on the crank, trying to pull down the window, but as the water was all around that was of no use.
Almost hyperventilating, she released herself from her seatbelt, scrambling into the back seat, dripping wet waist-down, and dove into the boot, searching among the bags until she found a her hammer. Without thinking any longer she swung the hammer into the side window of the boot, the gush of cold water disorienting her as she was pushed back, spluttering. She only had time for half a breath before the air escaped, and she plunged forth through the window. Her shin got nicked on a shard of glass, she had lost her glasses, but it was irrelevant, as she pushed away from the car and started a frantic swim towards the surface, that she knew was too far. She squeezed her eyes shut.
The need to inhale was burning at her lungs as she kicked her feet and pushed on the water with her arms, fighting against the compulsion to breathe, but finally she couldn't hold any more, and gulped in right on the moment when she broke the surface. A gush of wind blew water on her face, leaving her coughing, confused, trying to focus on the land she saw. After the cough fit ceded, Latoya started to weakly swim toward the beach, spitting out the water that seemed intent on getting into her mouth.
Finally she crawled onto the beach, ready to just lay on the sand face-down. In stead she was attacked by another round of coughs, and as she hacked out whatever residual water was left in her windpipe, several pairs of running boots approached.
Latoya felt too weary to lift her head as she was carefully helped up. Her light curls hung on her face as she looked up to the man who had helped her. The man's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of her face, but still, he spoke to her. Latoya furrowed her faintly furred brow.
»I'm sorry, I don't speak that language», she said raspily. She had not the faintest idea what he was saying, the language sounded like nothing she had ever heard before - perhaps closest to Italian - and after she had spoken the man returned the confused gaze, taken aback, then spoke again. Latoya assumed he tried another language.
She shook her head slightly, regarding the tall man and his companions; a another man, strangely androgynous, a short, stout, bearded man, and three petite men with curly hair. All were dressed strangely in what to Latoya seemed like leather and linen, dyed with soft natural colours. As disoriented as she was - she had nearly drowned mere moments ago! - she shrugged it off, thinking perhaps the men were some sort of LARPers who took their games a tad too seriously, and as the tall bearded man gently led her away from the beach, she followed to their campsite.
Latoya wrapped her arms around herself, trying to shield away the cold. Huddled into her wet denim jacket she looked at the men as they spoke to one another in that strange language. The tall bearded man returned his attention to her, once again speaking, and motioning to her jacket. She took it off slowly, the hairs on her arms raising to an end as the air touched her wet skin. The man went to the pile of bags and took out some fabrics from one of the backpacks, giving them to Latoya, who in turn gave the wet jacket to the man, who didn't really seem to know what to do with it. Latoya studied the cloths she had been given; a man-sized tunic and a rag that Latoya assumed she could use to dry herself with. She put the clothes on a stone while she wrung out water from her off-white curls, then she took off her tank top and dried any of her bare skin before pulling the large tunic over her head. Her bra was such thin fabric it would surely dry fast. She picked up the top and wrung out as much water as she could.
»Do you have any pants?» she asked the bearded man, but as he only blinked, she pointedly picked the hem of her long skirt between two fingers. »I could get hypothermia if I don't get out of these wet clothes, you know», she said, although she had the nagging feeling he truly didn't understand a thing she said.
The man seemed to get her point, however, and brought her a pair of pants, and also wrapped a grey cloak around her shoulders. It immediately warmed her, and she shed her skirt and stockings, rubbed her legs dry with the rag and pulled on the pants, that had no zipper, no elastic on the waist, but the waist was cinched in with a drawstring. The pants were slightly too tight around her belly and bottom, and she had to roll up the legs a bit, but at least they were not too small to fit at all, nor so large they would fall off her. Once she had dry clothes on, her spirits lifted considerably, albeit she worried what to do about her wet boots.
Latoya twisted and wrung her skirt and stockings to squeeze out the water, then spread them onto the ground for lack of anything to hang them on. They'd never be dry, she thought darkly and turned her attentions to her boots, trying to shake out residual water, then placed them close to the fire to dry before sitting down herself, rather uncomfortable in the tight pants.
The bearded tall man spoke to Latoya again, motioning towards himself and saying a word Latoya supposed was his name, then motioning towards the young woman questioningly. »Latoya», the girl said, placing her hand on her chest. The man repeated the name thoughtfully.
The men had all seated down around the fire after the excitement of finding the near drowned girl, and were now discussing something. Latoya followed the discussion with her eyes, of course unable to tell what the exchange was about, but she got a distinct feeling that they were expecting something. She could not keep her eyes off the man with pointy ears, nor the smaller men, and the few words she recognised in their speech made her queasy. The whole situation was so absurd, like these people were acting out a scene from Lord of the Rings, except they weren't acting. She wanted some reassurance.
»Hey, you», she said, waving her hand in an attempt to gain the attention of the elven looking man, »yes, you, what's your name?»
The man looked at her with question in her eyes. Latoya sighed, exasperated, then pointed at herself. »Latoya», she said, then pointed at the man, canting her head questioningly. The man smiled slightly, and replied: »Legolas.»
Latoya bit her thick lower lip, then slowly reached out and touched his ear. He pulled back a bit, but let Latoya touch his ear despite looking like he was not sure if he should. Latoya tried to find a seam, a rubbery feel, any proof of the pointed tip actually not being real, but none was given. It was all one piece, all flesh and cartilage. Latoya let her hand fall, her mind reeling. She could not understand what was happening. The elven man - Legolas - looked at her, worried, speaking soothingly in the language she could not understand, but from his intonation she could tell he was asking her something - probably if she was alright, or what had upset her so. She just hoped someone would burst out of the woods and tell her it was only some sick joke.
Like a reply to Latoya's wish, a grave man walked from the forest. He stopped as if to count the people present, his eyes idly travelling over Latoya, then retuning to take a second take. He spoke to Latoya in his language, but got his reply from the tall bearded man. He nodded, then sat down, his eyes cast down. Latoya followed him with her eyes, wondering what was going on. The tall bearded man and the newcomer spoke for a while, and apparently something the newcomer said did not amuse the tall bearded man. One of the short curly haired men rushed up, shouting something, and the other short men chimed in with their comments, and suddenly everybody was talking and then - running off to different directions, some of them shouting something like »Mawrah! Mawrah!». The only one who seemed to have kept his wits to himself was the tall bearded man, who said something to the newcomer - Latoya picked up the word »Boromir», and it made her shift uncomfortably - and then the newcomer ran off after two of the small men.
The bearded man gave Latoya a short look, then turned around and ran to the forest. Latoya scrambled up and ran after him, cursing the tight pants under her breath. She felt like they would tear if she took a leap too big, but she still ran after the man to keep up with him. They come to a clearing surrounded by rowans, and caught up with one of the small men, this one more chubby than the other two. He was out of breath, and was also shouting »Mawrah!».
The tall man spoke to the smaller one, then started to run uphill, following a trail on the ground. Latoya and the small man - a hobbit?, Latoya guessed - ran after the taller man, whom Latoya suspected to be Aragorn. Neither Latoya or the small man had Aragorn's tall legs, and both were soon left behind. Latoya noticed the small man had stopped, trying to catch his breath. Latoya stopped too, and looked at the small man. This had to be Sam Gamgee, she thought. Suddenly the man slapped his hand onto his forehead. He seemed very upset about something, to the point of his eyes filling with tears, but Latoya, as she did not know what was happening, only stood there, dumbfounded. Finally the small man seemed to come to a decision, and turned and ran downhill. Latoya looked after him as he disappeared into the trees, then she turned around and started up the hill in hopes of catching up with Aragorn. As far as she knew he was not going to get himself killed, so she should be safe with him.
She ran into him not long after the first blow of Boromir's horn had echoed in the forest. The man have her a look, the ran past her in hurry and continued downhill. Latoya turned around once again and continued behind him, now intentionally keeping farther away from him, for if her memory served, he would have to kill some orks, and Latoya would rather keep away from any swordplay… Or arrows for that matter.
Latoya followed after Aragorn into a small clearing near a lake, where Boromir sat by a great tree, impaled by many arrows. There were many dead orks around, and Latoya stayed back, swallowing, the sight tickle of tears in her eyes. She blinked, then backed away a bit more. This wasn't her place. Strider had knelt by Boromir, and the two were speaking quietly. Latoya could pinpoint the moment when the man of Gondor passed on, and as Aragorn lowered his head and cried, the girl turned away to give him some privacy, and thought about this. She had already accepted that somehow she had been thrown into a world that as far as she knew was only fantasy. She didn't know how or why, but what she knew was that it was real, no matter what. She could feel the bark of the tree she was leaning onto, the earth under her bare feet, she could see, taste, smell… It was all real, and even if it wasn't, this was not like lucid dreaming where she would have any control over her surroundings. Even if she wouldn't believe it was real, she had to treat it as such. Denying the reality of the situation would get her nowhere, she decided.