Wander

II. A Familiar Stranger

When Rowan regained consciousness, a pounding headache from Tobias' warhammer hitting her didn't greet her. Yes, the right side of her temple felt tender, but it wasn't agonizingly painful. To be knocked out by the simple prop, she had expected pain, nausea... something, but not just a slight throbbing.

She swallowed; not finding any aftertaste of medicine. Odd; very odd. The film crew had to have given her something to dull the pain, but she couldn't taste it or feel the memory of a needle in her arm. Whatever they had used, though, was fantastic.

Rowan opened her eyes to see the trees stretching high above her. The sun still hung high in the sky, so she hadn't been unconscious long. A songbird's tune echoed through the forest and a petty breeze blew across her clothes, making some strands of hair tickle her face.

But the scene confused her. Why was she outside? The grass was comfortable enough, but why hadn't they moved her under the director's tent when she fell, lying her on Tyler's couch? Why didn't she hear worried talking? Why wasn't there someone bending over, checking on her?

She brushed the wisps of hair away from her face as she sat up.

"You're awake," an unfamiliar, low male voice said; she looked over.

A man sat across from her, smoking a pipe. He wore dark colors, mud-splattered and ragged; a dark green cloak sat over his shoulders, with the hood up to conceal his face. Whatever weed he smoked had a pleasant blend of spices and cedar with a slightly sweet smell. She looked him up and down; she didn't recognize him. There didn't seem to be an evil air around him... but she felt cautious.

Her eyes scanned their surroundings—not finding any of the filming equipment or people. "Where are the others?"

"You were traveling with a party, then. But that troubles me: there are no tracks... How did you come by here?" he asked.

She turned back, blankly staring at him. "What?"

"You don't remember?"

Rowan stared at him. She fought the goblin actors when Tobi's warhammer broke and knocked her out. There wasn't anything even similar to a caravan of people in today's shoot—the schedule had her defending one three days from now. What was he talking about? "What party?"

"You have forgotten?"

"Forgotten what? Look: there was no party of people in today's shoot. Today, we were fighting goblins."

He took the pipe out of his mouth. "Goblins? In the daylight?"

She looked at him in disbelief. He honestly couldn't be so naïve to believe goblins were real. "They weren't real; they were actors."

A stunned silence developed between them. "You hit your head worse than I thought..."

It sounded like he had treated her head injury, not the multitude of crewmen or emergency personnel at their set like she expected. Her eyes traveled around them again. Where had they gone? How did this one man find her, and dressed as he was—similar to her—but she didn't know him? Nothing made sense.

"What's your name?" she asked.

He hesitated. "I'm known as Strider."

Strider... Other than being a strange name, why did it sound familiar? That had to be the name of the character he played for what mother would name their child in such a way? But it tickled a memory.

"And your name?" he asked.

"Rowan."

He nodded, then stood and headed over to her. "Since Bree is the closest, your party is bound for there. I have business to attend to there also, so we will travel together." Strider offered his hand down to her. "Come."

This man didn't make her uneasy or uncomfortable. She actually felt like she could trust him. Even though Rowan wanted to know where the film crew or anyone was, she took his hand and he pulled her to her feet.

***

As Strider led her through the forest, Rowan tried to place his name. She had heard it somewhere, along with the town name of Bree... He wasn't that talkative at all and when she asked him if he was an extra, he looked at her, confused. Every time she mentioned the movie being filmed right now, Strider continued to give her these bewildered looks.

The sun had dropped little when it began to rain. Rowan raised her hood, but the weather bothered her—the news hadn't forecasted it to rain today. Their trek around trees and past bushes continued in silence.

Eventually, they broke out of the forest onto a muddy road. The heavily traveled path had deep tracks from wagon wheels, many hoof shoes, and evidence of people trampling through the mud. An enormous wooden wall stood opposite them with a single door and two closed peepholes set vertically. Strider headed straight for it.

Rowan ground to a stop.

It all clicked. The names: Strider and Bree. His distressed, travel-worn attire. Why he didn't understand her talking about the movie? The sudden rain. The wooden barricade on the side of a road... This was The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. She was in the movie! To imagine herself in the film, filmed sixteen years ago, she had to still be unconscious.

"No... way..." she whispered.

Strider looked back at her, who she knew was actually Aragorn: the future king of Gondor. "Why are you smiling?"

She quickly composed her face; she would play along and see what her imagination could come up with. "Nothing; just a thought."

Strid—Aragorn turned back around, went up to the door, and rapped his knuckles on it. It only took a second before someone sloshed through the mud, and the eye-level slit slid open. The lower peephole at waist-level was so the gatekeeper could see dwarves and hobbits.

An older man with wrinkly old skin in a hood looked out at them—a strand of white hair hung on his face, drenched from the deluge. He took one look, then closed the slide; locks clinked, then the door creaked when he opened it. The man held a lantern high so he could see; his eyes widened when he recognized Aragorn.

"Oh, Strider. I didn't know it was you with that lady by your side." He stepped to the side so they could enter. "Welcome back to Bree."