Warmth. Comfort. Fresh air. No pain.

That's what Rowan felt when consciousness came to her. The bed she lay on was plush, a blanket had been draped over her, and a cool breeze blew on her face. Her left arm wasn't numb anymore and her waist wasn't on fire. Even though still sore, her temple didn't feel like it was crushing in on itself.had gotten her to Minas Tirith quick enough for Gandalf or the healers to save her.

She'd have to make a trip back to Lothlórien so Lady Galadriel could see that she had been wrong. Rowan wondered how many times that had happened.

Now awake, Rowan opened her eyes, and she scowled at the ceiling: it wasn't the white, hard walls of a room like Faramir's, but the slightly billowing tan fabric of a tent. The purple blanket on her caught her eye next. Purple wasn't a color used in Arda.

Scared now, Rowan sat up, looking for Éomer. Aragorn. Legolas and Gimli. Or Gandalf. Or any of the four hobbits.

Hands grabbed on her left as a familiar voice said, "Woah, Rowan! Not so fast!"

She hadn't heard from him in a long time. Hoping it was a dream, and she wasn't truly back, she turned to meet Tyler, the director of Dance of the Guardians: The Crimson Grail. He was dressed as she last saw him in a blue button-up, black Raybans hanging on the chest, khaki shorts, and white tennis shoes.

Her eyes roamed around the tent, now recognizing it as his director's tent—the one she had expected to wake up in when Aragorn found her outside of Bree. Multiple television screens so he could review footage or hold a PolyCom conference with the second unit stationed in London. A small table covered with spiral notebooks or stapled papers folded halfway, and coffee mugs or paper plates. Foldable chairs. The dark couch she lay on.

She held onto the hope that she was still dreaming.

"What happened?"

"Tobi's warhammer broke and hit you in the head. It knocked you out cold, and you've been out for five minutes." He chuckled. "You scared us shitless."

Five minutes. Only five minutes, when she had spent almost a year in Middle-earth. Time had practically stopped here. It was just as Lord Elrond said.

Rowan's thoughts were everywhere. The friendships she created. Love. A fondness for the peoples of Arda and the beautiful lands. Her identity she had made there. Sense of belonging. All of it, lost.

She had to get back.

But how?

Maybe she could revisit the spot where she was hit and knock herself out... Perhaps she'd climb one of the trees and let go, hoping she would fall through the same portal J. R. R. Tolkien did to get transported to Middle-earth...

If Rowan somehow made it back, though, when and where would she end up? Outside Bree again? At the beginning of the Fourth Age, right after the Ring was destroyed? Later? Before the Quest began?

Would Éomer still be living? Would any of her friends?

She jumped—coming out of her head—when Tyler touched her hand. "You okay? Something seems to be bothering you."

Rowan shook her head. There was no possible way she could explain, and he'd believe her. He'd probably say she was dreaming. "No, I'm well. Only thinking."

"Well?" he repeated. "I've heard brain injuries sometimes change a person; did it make you formal?"

He meant it as a joke—and brain traumas did affect people's personalities and manner of speech—but she'd have to revert back to speaking like normal. Rowan would have to be careful with what she said before readjusting.

She forced a chuckle. "Sorry. I'm fine."

"Well, stay here. Lay back. The paramedics are on their way, and hopefully they'll say the same thing when they check you out."

Tyler stood. "I'll go let everyone know you're back and look to be okay. Tobi's been a mess, so he's probably going to come apologize—it'll be the hundredth time I've heard him say sorry. I bet Claire will run in here, too."

The director gripped her shoulder comfortingly, then headed out of the tent.

Rowan flopped back with a huff. She wanted to cry, scream in frustration; go out to the set and find a portal. But she couldn't do any of it. Tobi and Claire would be here soon, so she couldn't be red-faced from crying or they'd think something was wrong. Any noise and Tyler and others would enter the tent, thinking the same thing. And she, as the victim, couldn't be missing when the paramedics arrived, or there'd be hysteria.

All her musings from before deflated her hopes and wishes of a dramatic, triumphant return. Since she had spent nearly a year in Middle-earth while only five minutes passed here, how much time would be gone as she would probably use days searching for a way back? Years? Centuries? A hundred years or more?

No one would still be alive if the latter, except for Legolas, but he'd be in Valinor across the sea with Gimli by then. So she'd be alone.

She took in a deep breath and sighed it out. It'd be best if she just accepted being back and that there probably wasn't a chance she could go back, picking things back up with Éomer like she had never left... living beside him as his wife and queen of Rohan...

Running footsteps sounded outside the tent, growing closer. Rowan wiped her mind clear of her longing to go back to the king of Rohan and Arda as she sat up to greet her visitors.