Somewhere rural! Those are lovely mountains which she's definitely never seen before, in person or in pictures, and twenty miles away or so down in a valley there's a village which...looks like maybe it was an experimental project by blind people or small children or people exclusively working with their bad hand? Orc territory doesn't have many rural areas but orc buildings would be prettier. There are people going in and out and about. They look more like Elves than anything else but half of them have their hair short and the other half have it loose. 

There's another, similar village farther down the river and beyond that the river turns behind some landscape features. 

They're not even small children. What in the world is wrong with their hair.

They don't seem to have chips so she will have to go over there to find out. She goes over there.

This village smells. That is probably because they appear to throw their sewage out the window into the street. On closer inspection the people are also shorter than Elves, and some of them have skin that is wrinkled and creased and crumbly, and most of them who are fully grown appear to either have rotting teeth or no teeth. 

What in the world.

What language are they speaking?

Unfamiliar. She's pretty close now but they don't seem to have noticed her yet.

Completely unfamiliar -?

Yup, no particular resemblance to Quenya or any language on Endorê.

She approaches anyway.

When she's very close and the smell is very unpleasant they notice her. There's nervous chattering. Some people pull their children inside where the children promptly peek through the curtains (the windows don't have windowpanes). Some people sort-of bow. At least a few of them awkwardly put a scarf over their hair.

...that's nice of them. She tries Quenya, not particularly optimistically. "Do any of you speak Quenya?"

A woman looks at her dubiously and then goes inside and helps another woman, this one with paper-thin nearly translucent skin and lots and lots and lots of wrinkles and a general air of intense fragility, out to look at Mirelótë. The second woman has a creaky voice. "A star shines on the hour of our meeting!" she says in Quenya, with the air of someone who knows exactly one phrase of Quenya.

"Hello," replies Mirelótë. "Can you tell me where I am?"

"Framsbah," the woman says, gesturing at Smelly Disaster Village. And pointing at the mountain ranges, "Mithrim", "Hithaeglir".

Mithrim sounds Thindarin. "- is Thindarin better," she says in Thindarin.

Lady gestures at her ears.

"...I have noticed that you are not an Elf. I'm not sure what you are."

She mutters something in the language Mirelóte definitely doesn't speak.

...Mirelote tries the two orc and two Dwarf languages she knows, not very optimistically.

"I said," she says in Thindarin after thinking on it a while, "you'll have to speak up I can't hear you very good."

"Oh!" says Mirelótë more loudly. "Is this loud enough? I'm sorry."

"Louder!"

"IS THIS LOUD ENOUGH."

"There you go, dear, you have to speak up or how will I hear you. What were you saying?"

"I AM VERY LOST AND TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHERE I AM."

"You're where the Mithrim mountains meet the Misty Mountains," she says. "The Elves live that way -" gesturing away from both sets of mountains, at a forest - "but they're not your kind."