The rain pounded against the cracked and dusty glass that filled the window panes, however from inside the sound was barely hearable, being drowned out by the raucous laughter and shouts of eaters and (mainly) drinkers that filled the inn. The room was smoky, hot, and full to bursting, which guaranteed an acceptable degree of privacy. The wizard's sharp blue eyes watched Thorin's back as he made his way out of the door and into the rain. The dwarf reminded Gandalf of a wild animal constantly alert for danger, but the wizard did pity him for his losses. He hadn't really expected Thorin to refuse his offer, he could see the all-consuming desperation and longing for his homeland carved in the lines on his dark, untrusting face. It was the next person he had to see that he was concerned about. Heaving himself out of his chair, Gandalf the Grey pushed his way to the bar and asked for the room of Penelope Cotton. The bartender told him. "If she's even there." He said, wiping a dirty glass with an equally dirty cloth. "Ain't seen hide nor hair of her since she paid a month's worth of rent three weeks ago."
The wizard nodded his thanks. He seriously doubted whether the bartender would have even noticed her coming and going, she had a talent for going unnoticed and he seemed far from observant. Once outside her door, he paused slightly. It had been many years since they'd last met, even by his standards. Would she be happy to see him, would she even remember him? The wizard smirked at that, he was not proud by any means, but he knew he had a talent for impressing himself in other people's memories. Raising his hand, he rapped the door, once, twice, three times. No answer. He frowned and tried again. Still nothing. Perhaps the bartender was right and he wasn't there. But there was nowhere else she would be. Hesitating only a moment, he lifted the handle and stepped into the room. It was a non - descript bedroom, exactly the same as all others in the inn. One small wooden bed was nestled in the corner, next to a large open window that looked directly onto the streets below. If it were not the middle of the night; the slopes and hills of Hobbiton, and all surrounding villages would be visible in the distance. There was not much else in the room, a small table on which was placed a small washbowl and candle, a large chair, and a wardrobe that looked as though it had seen better days. Gandalf narrowed his eyes and took everything in. There was a large (and open) pack on the floor, the covers of the bed were folded back and the candle was still burning. She had been her recently. But to have the window open on a night like tonight...did she hear a knock at the door, late at night grow suspicious and escape through the window? It seemed unlikely, even the most forgetful of travellers would remember to take their pack. He made it across the room in less than three strides and looked out of the window. As soon as he leant forwards slightly, something small and sharp was pressed against his back.

"What's this?" said a low voice, slightly tinged with amusement. "Gandalf the Grey in my bedroom? Should I be fearing for my life?"

The wizard let out a dry chuckle and twisted around. "If anyone did attempt to break in here my dear, I imagine they would instantly regret the decision."

"So, old friend." Penny said a while later, placing a mug of ale in front of him and placing herself in a chair across the small round table. They had gone downstairs to the main room and tucked themselves away in a corner, more out of habit than because of potential danger. "To what do I owe the pleasure? It's been a long time."

Gandalf looked at the woman opposite him. It had indeed been many years since he'd last clapped eyes on 'The Incomplete Child of Waymoot', as she had been known in these parts. When he'd seen her last, she had been very young, around 14 years by human standards, forced out into the world by horrendous circumstances. After her father's death, the Shire had not been a welcoming place for her and Gandalf had urged her to travel, and find a new home, with distant relatives who lived half a world away, near the Blue Mountains. In his last memory of the young girl, her pack was almost as tall as her, and fear and her natural shy disposition weighed heavily on her shoulders. But time, like it so often does, had changed Penelope and she had grown into a woman, perhaps 37 years old now. Her hair, which used to fly in wild, deep red curls around her face, were now neatly pulled back into a flattering braid, although the wizard suspected that when pulled loose "the mane", as he used to affectionately refer to it, would once again be free. A few loose strands hung by her wide, strong jaw, drawing attention to her proud nose and heavy eyebrows. However, her eyes still seemed too big for her face. It was her eyes that hinted at her complicated heritage, Gandalf thought. It was likely many felt pinned to the spot when she looked at them. The right was the colour of the sky in the middle of the heat of summer, the left the shade of the dark green grass. She had a way of seeing through people, dissecting them and almost knowing them, in a way that unnerved them. Her rosy cheeks and bright, wide smile, amply compensated for what most people considered to be a defect, however Gandalf found them charming. He had always had a soft spot for those who seemed to be at odds with the conventions of their society.

Why did they call her 'The Incomplete Child?'. Her curls, smile, and blue eye came from her Hobbit mother, whereas the colour of said curls, nose (which, it had to be said, was impressive) and green eye came from her Dwarf father. She was not what one would call beautiful; too slight for a Dwarfish beauty, too broad for a Hobbit beauty. But she attracted attention wherever she went.

"The years seem to have treated you well." The wizard remarked, noting her full figure and the healthy glow of her cheeks. "I take it your relatives were good to you?"
Briefly, a shadow passed over the woman's face, distorting her features for a moment. "Hardly."
"What do you mean?"
She sighed and rubbed her eyes. "They refused to take me in. Called me a misguided mistake of my father's and slammed the door in my face."
Gandalf mouth turned down in displeasure. "That was not what I had hoped would happen."
Penelope let out a bitter laugh. "It was not in my list of preferred reactions either."
"Why did you not come to me, I would have helped you."
Her laugh was no longer bitter, but sweet, as she placed her hand (rough, he saw, evidence of hard labour) on his sleeve. "You, old friend, are not exactly the easiest person in the world to find."
"But then what did you do?" The wizard pressed.
"I made money anyway I could. Working on farms, selling my possessions, even begging if the occasion called for it." She replied abruptly, obviously unwilling to broach the subject. "I travelled, using money I made to buy food. I had no direction, no plan. I've been aimlessly wandering around for all these years, but oh, Gandalf, the things I've seen."
Her eyes glazed over with nostalgia and she suddenly looked so very young again, the light from the fire smoothing out the lines that had formed between her eyebrows. Then, the moment passed and her mouth tightened.
"But times change, and so do people."

Hours later, as the cold light of day appeared on the horizon, the two sat in Penelope's bedroom, the wizard in the chair by the window, the woman sitting on the bed, her feet tucked neatly underneath her. What was also neat was the glare on her face, currently directed at Gandalf. "Wizard, you cannot be serious. You know full well what lies in those mountains. Tell me, do you wish me to die before I am middle - aged?"
"Penelope, you are essential to the success of this journey."
"How? You have thirteen dwarves to cause offence and havoc wherever they go, and one overfed, sheltered, lazy Hobbit to complain and moan about the weather. What good would it do to add me to the mix? I would hardly make the situation more pleasant."
Gandalf grunted. "I know you are not particularly fond of Dwarves or Hobbits, and you have every right, but your stubbornness ties you in an unbreakable bond with both races, God save me from it! You are half Dwarf, your father brought you up on the tales of the gold of Erebor. I was there when you on his knee and swore that you would one day see the Arkenstone for yourself. And now you are no longer that child, you are a woman. You have travelled Middle - Earth on your own, the fact that you have survived gives me some idea as to your fighting ability. You know this world like the Rangers know it. Being both half Hobbit and Dwarf you will be able to connect to both races and bring harmony to our group. You would be a valuable asset. And," the old man paused for a moment, "truth be told, I want you there for you. The company would be gloomier without your presence."
"Gloomier? Do you jest? You have thirteen dwarves already committed, I wager there'll be fights every night." Penelope replied sharply, but with a smile on her face. "Gandalf, I'm tired of travelling, I'm tired of the constant danger, I just want a bit of time to feel normal again."
The wizard cracked a wise old smile. "I affectionately disagree. I think travelling is in your blood now. You would not be content in a hole under the ground, no matter how comfortably furnished, nor would you be happy stuck in the deep caverns underground with your Dwarf kin. I'd wager you already feel restless in this room, restless with the desire to move on and see more."
"Perhaps you are right. But even if that is the case, where is the motivation for me to join your quest? While the aim is certainly...admirable, I have no great desire to see a dragon, nor any great desire for treasure. I would gain nothing from it, be no help, I would be nothing more than a nuisance, wanting to stop and stare at everything. I can just as easily travel by myself if the desire takes me, I have heard the stories of Thorin Oakenshield, and the rest of his family, and I highly doubt he will accept me. I have no great role in this story, and my Dwarf heritage is obscure at best."
"Yet again my dear Penelope, you are wrong. You know the lands like no one else, you can be our guide." Then the wizard gave a smirk that made him look far too mischievous. "But even disregarding that," he leaned forwards and placed his elbows on his knees, fixing her with his time – worn gaze. "I know you, Penelope Cotton. You crave adventure, the thrill of exploring the unexplored and discovering new wonders. Even when you were young, reading about the great sights of our world was never enough, you always wanted to see them for yourself, and I highly doubt your time travelling will have dampened that desire. You will join us because you won't be able to resist."

The words were not said unkindly, but Penelope was still unable to prevent a stubborn scowl from flitting across her face. Damn wizard knew her too well.
"Thorin does admittedly have a…rough exterior, but he will admire your loyalty to the group, should you choose to give it. Look at you! You have travelled across Middle – Earth, on your own, facing dangers unknown, yet here you are alive and unscathed, laughing with me!"
She looked down at her hands. "Not all scars are physical, old friend."
The wizard tilted his head at her, but she did not meet his eye, and abruptly changed the subject
"If I were to agree to this, ridiculous venture, and that is a big if, Gandalf! Where would I meet you, how would I know where to find you? You say you believe a Hobbit will be acceptable as the Burglar, but there are many Hobbits in Middle - Earth."
"I shall start my search in Hobbiton." Gandalf said decisively. "I used to know someone who would have been mad for something like this. Let us hope time has not altered him. Come to Hobbiton first, and look for my sign. There you will find us." His eyes twinkled. "Does this mean you accept my offer?"
She laughed. "Not at all, you presumptuous old coot! But if I do decide to fall victim to the insanity that seems to have claimed you, I would like to know where to find you!"
"I like my chances." The wise old wizard twinkled at her, pulling himself out of the chair and moving towards the door, but not before planting a kiss on her forehead. "I must be going now. Day approaches and so does my journey." She tried to scowl as he winked at her, but couldn't stop the grin spreading over her face. "I feel sure we shall meet again."
She stuck her tongue out at his retreating back. When the door closed she reached over to her pack, and pulled out her worn map of Middle Earth. Tracing a finger over the small picture of The Lonely Mountain, she let out a sigh. "You always were a hard person to turn down, old man."