Summary: Maggie Campbell was a military medic. During a tornado on a weekend trip, she mysteriously ends up in Middle Earth. Convinced her Earth-body is probably in a coma, she plays along anyway. Might as well do what she can.

Pairings: OFC/Boromir, so far

Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings or anything Tolkien-verse related. I also don't own anything I shamefully borrow from anywhere else. This is a work of fanfiction, written entirely for fun. I will try to source my references when I remember to!

Author's Notes: I haven't written a work of fanfiction in well over ten years, and my old account no longer exists. I have a lot of time on my hands recently with little to do with it, as I've recently become disabled and am stuck on my back a lot. This is just an exercise in sanity.

I am using a well-travelled trope for this work, but I will do my best to ensure it is not particularly Mary-Sueish, though any original female character is bound to have a smidge. This is by far not a self-insert, as I am a geeky, non-athletic cripple with an art degree.

Here goes.

All of my chapter titles will be song lyrics. Internet cookies to whomever figures them out.


Chapter One - And the stars look very different today


Maggie pulled her uniform shirt over her head and replaced it with a plain black tank. Slamming her locker shut, she shouldered her bags, tucked her jacket under her arm, and waved to the fireman leaning back in his chair, reading the morning's paper.

"I'm off, Jeff," she said, nodding.

"Any interesting plans for your downtime?" Jeff asked, lowering the paper.

"Off to the cabin, fishing, shooting, the usual."

"Great, enjoy it! Later Mags!"

She made her way out into the parking lot, where her old blue Ford pickup was parked, already loaded for her trip. Lifting the cover of the truck bed, she carefully placed her two bags inside. She pulled on her hoodie, pulled her keys out of the pocket, and started the truck.

As Maggie headed out onto the quiet roads of the Manitoba plains, she noticed a dark cloud on the horizon to the west. Worried about the potential danger, she pressed down on the gas a little more, speeding along the country road in hopes of getting to her cabin faster. She started to think about her grandpa, and where she was headed.

The cabin had belonged to her grandfather, it had been their special place. He had taught her how to hunt there, how to enjoy the feel of a butt of a rifle against her shoulder, a stag caught in its sights. He had been a veteran of WWII, and had been incredibly proud of her the day she graduated from boot camp. Her grandparents had practically raised her - a horrible car accident had taken her parents away when she was eight years old, and she'd spent the rest of her childhood on their farm in rural Canada. Her grandmother had died when she was away in Afghanistan, and her beloved Grandad had followed soon after. At least she had gotten home in time to be at his side before he slipped away. The grief had been deafening, and as soon as she had gotten out of the army, she had thrown herself into work. The army had been the best way to get some schooling, as her family hadn't the money to send her far away to university. She'd signed up and had become a medic, completing two mandatory tours of duty in Afghanistan, and a third voluntary one before coming home. She'd attained the rank of sergeant, something which had pleased her immensely.

Once she'd been discharged, she'd taken on a job in a small town in southern Manitoba, with the fire service as an emergency medical technician. She had been born in Winnipeg, but her grandparents had lived in the small town, and she was so used to rural life that she had gone back to it upon coming home.

She found her job incredibly challenging, and loved the adrenaline rush. She'd done everything from rescuing people who were trapped on the mountains, to delivering babies, to searching for people lost in the woods, to more everyday things like heart attacks and strokes.

A staccato spattering of large raindrops hitting the windshield tore her out of her reverie.

"Shit," she swore, flicking on the wipers as lightning cracked across the sky. She glanced over her shoulder and noticed a funnel cloud forming in the distance. "Double shit."

She hit the accelerator and looked around frantically. There was nothing but plains for miles in either direction, no ditch to hide in, and no homes in sight. She knew very well that she would not be able to outrun it if it kept coming her way.

The rain was pouring down so hard that she could barely see, her wipers moving frantically as she desperately tried to stay on the road. She prayed the tornado would change direction.

She heard a roaring in her ears, a hurricane of rushing water, and her heart pounded wildly. Suddenly, the truck spun out of control on the wet pavement, and the next thing she knew, her vehicle was spiralling through the air, wind rushing past. She tucked her head down and gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white, as she braced for an inevitable impact.

Everything went dark.


Drip... drip... drip...

Consciousness came back to Maggie very slowly. There was a white hot pain behind her eyes, and she couldn't feel her left leg. Her mouth felt like it was full of cotton, and her stomach roiled. With a groan, she opened her eyes.

It was completely dark. She squinted, trying to adjust her eyes, and trees came into focus. She wondered just how far she had been thrown. She did a quick assessment of her body. Her head hurt, but her limbs seemed to move. Her left leg seemed to be trapped under something, but she wasn't sure entirely what in the darkness. She slowly eased herself into a sitting position, and reached forward, running her hands over the object.

It appeared to be a portion of her truck's engine. Swearing under her breath, she heaved with all her might, and managed to wriggle her leg out from underneath it. She rubbed her ankle a few times, trying to get the circulation back, but it didn't seem like anything was broken, though it was certainly quite bruised. Her head hurt quite a bit, but there didn't seem to be any bumps.

She pulled herself to her feet, favouring her left ankle, and took a good look at her surroundings. She was in a clearing. The sky was free of clouds, and the stars shone brightly. Her truck was in pieces, strewn across the clearing, one of the doors hanging from a particularly sturdy tree branch. She located the bed of the truck, which was still, thankfully, in one piece, though the corner of the cover was bent and the lock was jammed shut.

Remembering that her keys should still be in the cab, she decided first to find her flashlight.

She reached into the hole where the cover was bent, and felt around inside. She found the strap to one of her bags, and pulled it towards the hole. Suddenly, she was glad she'd brought her medkit home to do inventory, as she'd reloaded it at work that afternoon. Fumbling with the zipper, she pulled out her penlight, and twisted it on. Soon a bright beam was sweeping around the clearing, and she found the cab beneath a tree, where it had rolled on impact. She made her way over slowly, avoiding the debris in her path. The cab was lying on it's side, so she lay on her stomach and shimmied her way in to pull the keys from the ignition. She pulled open the glove compartment, and grabbed the emergency supplies inside: a small flare gun, an emergency blanket, some matches, and a map. She also pulled the plaid wool blanket from the back of the seat.

She went back to the bed of the truck, and unlocked it. Using a fallen branch as leverage, she managed to wrench it open enough.

She took a quick inventory of her first responder med kit, which was pretty complete. She had several kinds of bandages, syringes, important emergency medications, a box of gloves, a good tourniquet, her stethoscope and sphygmomanometer, disinfectants, tools for performing minor procedures like stitches, an IV kit and bag of saline, tools for assisting birth, a thermometer, and some CPR face shields.

She tugged out an elastic bandage, pulled off her left boot, and wrapped her ankle expertly. She found her bottle of Tylenol in her bag, and swallowed two of the capsules dry.

She dug back around in the truck bed. She located her rifle, which she loaded, and grabbed the extra ammo. She also found her handgun, and ten extra clips, which she had planned on using for target practice. Not knowing how long she was going to be out in the woods, she tucked the extra ammunition into her med kit.

She usually kept clothes and food at the cabin, so she had only brought a few essentials. The cabin didn't have drinkable water, so she had brought a few litres in plastic bottles. She also had a loaf of bread, a box of cereal, a can of beef ravioli, some apples, a box of Kraft Dinner, and a bag of ketchup chips. She had a pair of pyjama pants, a couple of tank tops, her fatigue pants, and some socks and underwear. She stuffed the plastic bag containing her groceries down far in the truck bed.

She looked up the stars, trying to get her bearings. She furrowed her brow in confusion. She couldn't locate the North Star, nor even the Big Dipper.

Figuring she wouldn't be travelling anywhere tonight, she wrapped herself in the plaid blanket from her truck, climbed in the truck bed, so the angled lid acted as a roof. She laid her head on her duffel bag, and dozed off.


The sun crept over the horizon, sending streaks of pale pink, lavender and yellow across the sky. Maggie woke up to the sound of birds in the trees nearby, and she stretched to relieve a crick in her neck. She rolled up her blanket, shoved the duffel bag down into the bottom of the truck bed, and set about making a fire.

Once she'd gathered enough timber, she soon had a roaring blaze going. She took her Swiss Army knife and a stick and split it to hold a slice of bread, which she toasted over the fire. Plain toast and water wasn't exactly the most exciting breakfast, but it filled her growling stomach well enough. She dug her toothbrush and toothpaste out of her toiletry bag and cleaned herself up as best she could.

As she was puttering around her little camp, trying to figure out as best she could exactly where she was, she felt like she was being watched. She walked back over to her camp bed, and attached her pistol's holster to the belt on her jeans. She didn't want to chance running into an angry moose or a bear unarmed. She started to walk away from the truck bed again when she heard a branch snap behind her.

There was a man standing there.


Boromir watched the strange woman in the clearing for some time. She was standing amid large chunks of what looked like shiny blue metal, dressed very strangely. She was obviously female, but with a very boyish shape - fairly tall, with small breasts, narrow hips, and long arms. Her reddish-brown hair was cropped short to her head, and she had pale skin. There seemed to be some strange markings on her shoulders and bicep, like they'd been painted on with ink.

There was a fire going in the middle of the clearing, built with some measure of expertise. He watched her walk around the clearing, and noted that she seemed to be favouring her left leg a little. He noticed that she was injured, and wondered what she was doing out here all by herself. The wilds were no place for a woman alone.

He was snapped out of his reverie as she walked closer to where he was hiding behind a copse of trees. He knelt swiftly, peering through the brambles at the base of the tree. She was glancing around with eyes narrowed in suspicion, and reached for something that she attached to her belt.

Wondering if she might need help, he decided to make himself known.

The two stared at each other for quite some time. Her eyes were blue-grey, he noted, and she had a smattering of freckles across her nose. She noticed only that he was dressed like an escapee from a LARP.

He broke the silence first.

"Milady, may I inquire as to why you are out in these woods all alone?"

Hearing his accent and the archaic language he was using, she furrowed her brow, wondering if he was some kind of psycho.

"There was a storm. My truck was lifted by a cyclone and I was thrown from it. Can you tell me where I am?"

He has no idea what a truck was, and there certainly hadn't been a storm. Boromir narrowed his eyes as he sized her up.

"You are in Eriador, about two day's march from Rivendell."

Her eyes widened as she took in this information. She shook her head, confused, as he was acting like they were in 'The Lord of the Rings', which was impossible.

"Come on, be serious. I know you're dressed like you're coming from a Ren Faire or something, but I'm lost. I need help."

"I do not jest. That is where we are," he responded, raising an eyebrow and lifting his shoulders in a gesture of surrender.

"Who are you?" she asked, taking a small step back.

"I am Boromir, son of Denethor, the steward of Gondor," he replied.

She wondered what the everloving fuck was going on here.