Down the Hobbit Hole
Chapter One
The Beginning Before the Start
~Enlistment
Our perceptions of the night reflect our innermost emotions. In our darkest moments, the saturnine sky smothers us in inescapable blackness. The wind howls, bites our ears; the stillness of the world is like the silence after death. But when our hearts are happy, Nyx becomes a beautiful, generous goddess. Starlight brightens the sky to a stygian blue and the moon casts the world in a silver glow. If the world is still, then is a serene calmness. If the wind is dancing, then we see that the world never sleeps, that there is life after day, fireflies and cricket song.
The night is not inherently anything. It is what we make it.
On that night, I wasn't really feeling anything. I was just a kid hurrying home, cradling my backpack tight to my chest and breathing into its folds. Brisk wind kissed my neck and I craved a hot chocolate. It was mid-December, and despite Maryland's previous luck no school had been canceled for snow; a dismal three inches total for this season's winter, and weather reports didn't look optimistic. Still, I told my siblings to turn their pajamas inside out every night. Who know, maybe we'd get lucky.
I had one block to walk, but I hurried. The cold was uncomfortable, to say the least. I much preferred winter nights from the safety behind my window.
Rearing my street, I began the downward slope to homebound. All the houses were the same here; red-and-brown brick, two stories and plain-shingled roofs. Everything was the same in Brentbrook, my neighborhood and home. We were the suburbs- an abundance of trees and cars, wildlife and shops, nature's green and mankind's steel and brown. Not nearly as bad as the city, as the air was fresh and the night sky somewhat scattered with stars. Actually, a quaint little wood had an entrance just behind my neighbor's house, filled with thick trees and wild brush and deep enough that you could pretend to get lost. Sometimes, after having read a good book or finished an intensive TV series, I'll wander off the forest path and have a small adventure of my own. But I was always home in time for supper.
I smiled- that was a joke, you see, a little reference to the treasures of my childhood. It had been three days since I saw Peter Jackson's final film in the Hobbit trilogy: Battle of the Five Armies. Three days, and still my mind swam with images and sounds. Middle Earth, Tolkien's brilliant world, had a special place in my heart. The Hobbit in particular, since I related to Bilbo almost spiritually. It's been a childhood dream of mine to go on an adventure. I mean, I lived in the Suburbs. With its lack of excitement, it may as well be Hobbiton, minus the cute Hobbit-Holes. Peter Jackson and Tolkien, at least, provided me the opportunity to have one, be it through screen and book.
Home at last. I trudged up the front steps and unlocked the door. Taking a moment to collect the mail, I riffled through the bundle of bills and junk. As I stepped inside, I picked out a small yellow envelope addressed to me.
Natasha Blinc
187 Netherview Dr.
Maryland, Brentbrook
"It came!" Excitedly I ripped away the packaging and tossed it aside. Within was a thick folded parchment. Astonished, I brushed my fingers cross the scratchy paper. The quality was superb, much better than I had hoped for. I made a mental note to give the Etsy seller a raving review as I carefully unfolded it.
It was Bilbo's contract.
Only, it wasn't signed. I had intended to buy it and hang it on my walls the moment the Battle of the Five Armies finished. There was something both sentimental and fulfilling about having a contract of my own. It was a stupid movie prop, but it was the ticket to Bilbo's adventure. I just had to have it.
I grabbed a pen from my backpack and stared at the blank space. I wanted my signature to look neat, crisp and careful. Slowly, thoughtfully, I swooped the pen in practiced motions. I signed the paper with a deep maroon "Natasha Blinc". Finished, I folded it again and brought it to my room. My next step would be to frame it, but first I had to cook my little siblings dinner.
After careful deliberation, I decided to hang the contracts above my night table. It complimented the dusty, moonlight paint of my bedroom walls, and the archaic theme. My bed, a gift from my aunt, was large and grand, with a beautiful antique oak headboard. A golden mirror much like the Mirror of Erised stood by a tall chestnut dresser, and a more modern desk sat across my bed; on it were pictures of friends and 3-year-old me and a little black paperweight that said "crazy cat lady". Any real color came from my walls; blues and whites and purples from the Frozen picture above my desk, reds and oranges from the Desolation of Smaugs and green and gold from An Unexpected Journeys all over my room; Black and white comic-style images of X-men and an awesome wall-light in the shape of Captain America's shield. A yellow and black Hufflepuff banner hung above my bed bellow a wall mounted Katana that was mainly for decoration, and a large, well-framed map of Middle Earth took up a large chunk of wall across my bed, which overflowed with throw pillows and stuffed animals. My closet was a hazard only to be opened as a last resort, stuffed with clothing from my early years in high school, guilty-pleasure romance books, camping equipment, snow pants, and probably the upteen softballs I was too afraid to fish for.
Wooden staffs leaned precariously against the wall, a bag of white cotton uniforms beside them. Every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday I had kenjutsu training. I've attended a local Japanese dojo since 3rd grade, when a classmate flaunted his basic forms for Show-and-Tell. My mother, an F.B.I detective, was happy to sign me up, always a supporter of self-defense. I've had my red belt for two years now, slowly but surely working towards black. Several times I was near quitting, because a different shiny athletic caught my eye.
Easily distracted, easily inspired- I'll see a schoolmate play the violin and suddenly that's my purpose in life. It rarely amounts to anything though; my parents will refuse for a mountain of reasons and soon it leaves my mind. I don't play the violin, or any instrument for that matter. In 6th grade the school thrust cheep plastic recorders in our hands three times a week, and I discovered my incredible lack of musical talent. It was discouraging, and I never quite got over it; always singing off-key in the shower or jamming out on some crap guitar I found in the basement.
I loved my room. It was a bit untidy and original, perhaps even obsessive, but it was me. I loved going to sleep each night surrounded by mementoes of things I love, curled under a red fuzzy blanket, hugging Mumu, a blue monkey my friend once bought me, and looking up at the ocean of glow-in-the-dark stars glued to my ceiling. Yes, my room was definitely "me," a reflection of my loves and passions. My own little Hobbit Hole.
~An Unexpected Visitor
knock knock.
I stirred and turned over. Was it my imagination?
knock knock.
I groaned and forced myself to sit up. Rubbing my eyes, I peered at the window and out into the night. It was still dark- I was awake on Tumblr until 2am. Who could possibly be at the door this early?
knock knock.
"Alright, alight," I whispered, mind too muddled to know they wouldn't hear me. Half-dreaming, I crept out of bed and checked my phone. It was 4:23. Hell. I wrapped the Smaug-inspired blanket throw over my shoulders and tip-toed downstairs. Aware enough to realize opening the door to a stranger would be unwise, I looked out the peephole. All I saw was gray. "Who is it?" I asked.
"Well, I would think I would be expected," a deep, male voice said from behind the door.
"That...That doesn't mean anything to me," I faltered.
"Hmph. I suppose not," he said. "Are you Natasha Blinc?"
"...Yes".
"A curious name indeed. But pleasantries can wait- I come on behalf of Thorin's company."
"Is this a joke?" I asked, opening the door, expecting to see one of my friends shivering outside. It wasn't. I blinked a few times, not quiet...registering.
"Oh! There we go, I thank you. These nights are miserable." The man stepped inside. He was tall and white, swallowed up by a gray cloak and robes and a fantastic white beard. He held a long brown staff, and wore a crooked pointed hat above his head. He casually looked about the house, taking in all he could see by the front door; the splintering staircase leading upstairs, the den to the left and dining room to the right, and the slightest sliver of a kitchen at the end of a hallway. "A lovely home, milady," he said.
I didn't say anything at first. I couldn't- I was 100% certain I had no idea what was happening. Was I dreaming? Delirious, hallucinating? I tried to find my voice, if only to see if I was really there. "G-...Gandalf?!"
"Ah! So you know me after all," the man said.
"I...what...how are you…" I tried to find words, any words at all, but found myself lost in the man's old blue eyes. His gaze was sharp and piercing, smiling and old and wise. There was no way that was any of my friends hiding under a white costume beard- the man looked...exactly like Ian Mckellen...dressed up as Gandalf from The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. But that was impossible. What the hell.
"Are you asking how I am faring on this particular day, or how I am here at all? Or perhaps why I am here to begin with, since that is a more interesting question," he asked. "For you, and a cup of something warm, I will answer all three.
~There's a Wizard in My Kitchen
I stood, dumbfounded, before nodding absently. "Alright," I said stupidly, then hurried for the kitchen. I stopped halfway, and asked him if I should take his coat, but he waved me off with an impish smile and followed me into the kitchen.
I flicked on the lights and watched him from the corner of my eye. I just let a strange man into my house. My parents and siblings were sleeping upstairs and he could be deranged. A serial killer, even. And i just let him into my house and into my kitchen, and I was fixing him a cup of earl gray tea. Why did I let him into my house?
He stared whimsically at the light lantern above the kitchen table, and the three miniature matching ones above the island. He sat by the table; his staff leaned against the wall beside him, and was looking around the room curiously. His eyes widened slightly when I set down a cup and saucer, his steaming drink inside, a few moments later. "It's ready so quickly?" He asked, staring down into the drink. "Marvelous. But where is your fireplace?"
I looked at him strangely. "It's...there's a fireplace in the other room, but we don't need it for hot water," I said.
He took a sip of the tea and nodded. "What a strange place."
I took a seat across from him, hiding a kitchen knife in my lap under the table. I stared at him, but he didn't seem in the mood to start talking, so I made to say something. He interrupted me.
"Patience, child. I have come a long way. There is no rush, and I would like to warm up first."
I nodded and relaxed in my chair. There was nothing else to do but watch him drink his tea.
When he finished, the man- I was still to dubious to call him Gandalf, took out a pipe. I bit my tongue while he lit it, more tired than anything else to tell him not to smoke in the house. I just wanted him to start talking. I wanted to know who he was- and, let's be honest, a small part of me wanted him to be real. A small part of me didn't want to wake up from this dream.
He sucked on his pipe and thought a moment. Finally, he said, "I am well. You are much more welcoming than a little fellow I had met earlier this morning. Though," he added, looking out the window, "this morning seems to have been yesterday, by the looks of it. How late is it here?"
"It's 4 in the morning," I said. Then, I added, "It's actually very, very early."
"Yes," he said quietly, before taking a long breath from his pipe. I watched eagerly, and to my secret delight he puffed out a little smoke ring. I wondered if he could do more than just that. "Your time here must be ahead. Very unusual. But you must know why I'm here."
I shook my head.
"Well then, that can't be true. Did you or did you not sign the contract?"
"The contract?"
"That is what I said, yes."
"Sign...the contract...noo!" The contract? Hell, is that what this is about...what?!
"No?"
"No, I mean, I did sign a contract, but-"
"Wonderful! Then, you must excuse me, you will have to be more clear about what is confusing you," he said.
"Confusing me?" I said. "Well, for starters, there's an old man dressed like a wizard in my kitchen claiming he's Gandalf."
"Why do you say I am claiming to be myself? Surly I would not pretend to be anyone other than who I am; what would the point be of doing that?"
"I...You kind of lost me...there, sir," I said.
"Pleasantries can always be a toil," he said, taking another long breath of his pipe, and blowing another smoke ring.
"Fine. If you're really Gandalf the Gray, prove it. Blow something other than a smoke ring," I said, crossing my arms. The knife still sat on my lap.
"Very well. If but to convince you, child" He sucked on his pipe again, and blew smoke from his pursed lips. But instead of a smoke ring, a small misty cat sprang from his mouth and leapt across the air. I sat there, stunned, silent. "Have I proven myself worthy of my name, child?"
"But...How?"
"How did I do that? I would think that was obvious. I am a wizard, you have said so yourself. In fact, I am quiet curious to know how you knew my name, since I have never been in these lands before." He looked around the kitchen again. "Very curious indeed. But that may wait, as time does not. Are you ready?"
"Ready? For what?"
"For an adventure, of course!"
"An adventure?"
"Yes! Young master Bilbo is waiting. If we keep much longer, he might have to greet the company without us."
"Bilbo? Company? Do you mean...Like, the Lonely Mountain? And Smaug and Thorin and the Arkenstone?" I couldn't believe what he was saying.
"Yes." Gandalf paused, his eyes boring into me. "Although I do not recall any of that in the contract. Certainly not the Dragon Smaug's name. How have you come by this information?"
"What? I...Are you serious?" Did he not know about the books?
"I do not joke over such matters, not unless all my questions are settled. Could you be a seer? A reader of the future, perhaps?"
"You could say...I'm a reader of sorts." I said, unsure what it would mean to reveal the existence of the plot to him. Then, suddenly, only just registering, "Wait, you mean you want me to go on the quest for the Lonely Mountain with you?"
"You did offer your services," he said. "But, if your mind has changed, I am in a bit of a hurry…"
"No! No, um, wait. I'm...I'll go." I stopped, surprised by what I just said. This has to be a dream. But, hell, dream or not, I was curious. I've been waiting for someone to come knocking on my door, or for a letter or a dragon egg to fall from the sky, and start my adventure, for as long as I can remember. I read the book, watched the adapted movies, I know what happens. If this turned out to be real I would kick myself for not going. "But I'm not packed yet."
"Well, hurry child. We must be on our way."
"What do I need?" I stood from the table.
"Do you have a sword? Or other preferred weapon?"
"I...Katana."
"Hm. That is hopeful. You are trained?"
"Yes. Wow, I am actually." I never would have guessed my martial arts background would be of any actual use.
"Let us hope you won't be needing it. Now then, you will need a coat, and several changes of clothing, nothing to heavy, of course, as you will be carrying it all in your satchel."
"Ok. I can be ready in ten minutes," I said.
"Very well. Off you go!"
~Preperations
I had never packed so fast in all my life. My body worked while my mind thought about other things. I grabbed my black camping backpack and stuffed everything inside; four light shirts, two pairs of leggings and three rash guard pants, socks, underwear, two bras, deodorant, two travel-size bottles of Advil, hand sanitizer, my copy of the Hobbit and the Silmarillion, my spear-mint gum, my tooth brush and toothpaste, a handful of hygienic soaps from our complimentary-hotel-bottle collection, my hairbrush, and a random assortment of other survival-essentials that I had enough sense to grab: a self-cranking and solar powered flashlight, all-purpose pocket knife, a self-filtering water bottle, and a lighter and keychain fire starter. I took the contract from it's frame, and changed into snug black leggings, a black rash guard, my brown combat boots, and a bra. For a blanket I took my "never laugh at a live dragon" tapestry from my bed. I spent a minute deciding on which jacket to bring; I was stuck between my Hufflepuff sweatshirt and my brown leather jacket. Torn, I decided the leather jacket was more practical and tossed the hoodie aside. I removed my Tauriel cosplay from my closet (don't judge me,) and lastly climbed my bed and reached for my katana. I had just oiled it a week ago, and the sheath's intricate and stunning engravings winked at me with my bedroom light. I knew if I took it with me it would break, or be lost or taken. But I needed a weapon and my practice bamboo sticks wouldn't be much use against an Orc. So, though sentimentally and financially devastated, I took it from the wall and carefully carried it downstairs, waiting a few seconds at my bedroom door to soak in all my room had to offer one last time. I grabbed my coat pouch from the banister; stuffed inside was a super light-weight, super warm, super portable, down-stuffed coat, then snatched my mother's and younger brother's as well. Finished packing and panting slightly, I went back into the kitchen. Gandalf- gosh, it was so weird thinking of him with that name, was still smoking his pipe.
"Ready?" He asked.
"Should I wear this?" I asked, holding up my costume, "And what about my family?"
"I must agree your choice of clothing is unknown to Middle Earth," he said, thoughtful. "Very well, it seems sturdy and well crafted. And what of them? They cannot come along- this is a rough journey. You can leave a note, although time works curiously here. I imagine you could be back before sunrise."
I listened, nodded, and left for the bathroom to change. I stuffed the discarded clothing into my bag, and strapped the katana to my side. Panting, heart racing, I looked in the mirror and winced. Without makeup the skin of my nose and cheeks were oily, dotted with several faded acne scars, and colored a pallid pink ill-suited for the richness of my chestnut hair, which was fair and soft, slipping from a crude and disheveled bun I wore to sleep. My eyes were perched atop high cheekbones and were small and brown and curved like almonds. Overall I would say I looked weird...Blah. Some days I love my face and other days I hated it. I always had that healthy hydrated glow from constantly drinking water, I was fit and lean and I never needed braces. But my lips chapped easily and the skin around my mouth peeled without heaps of moisturizer and the splatter of freckles across my nose were sometimes a dark and popping contrast to my washed-out white. All in all I didn't know what to think about myself. No, you know what? I was whatever. I might not be a stunning golden ice-cream bubblegum princess but honestly, I didn't care. I looked normal, nothing less and nothing more, which was totally ok since my enthusiastic, overly-loud, and sometimes unintentionally irritating personality got me all the attention I needed. But standing there, dressed like a warrior with a sword at my side, I felt beautiful. Beautiful in a powerful, strong, tall and confident sense. My eyes shone fiercely and I felt brave. I felt ready.
I returned to the kitchen and grabbed several packages of nuts and beef jerky I found in my pantry, and forced as many as I could fit in the bag. Then, I jogged to the coat closet and riffled through my mother's pocket book. Snatching her key chain of keys, I singled out a small pill-holder and unscrewed it. Inside, instead of medication, was a key. Gandalf was watching but said nothing when I ran back up the stairs. Quietly, I sneaked into my mother's office and unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk. Inside was her handgun and a Taser. My heart drummed painfully as I removed the gun and checked its magazine. Empty. I felt like a trespassing thief as I scavenged for her holster, bullets, and batteries for the Taser. I didn't dare turn on the room's lights lest my mom wake up and notice. It took some time but eventually I found all three. Her stash of bullets was in a box in the closet under a pile of stray clothing that had no real business being there. For a cop, my mom wasn't great at hiding things. The reloading bullets were in organized, unopened containers, 100 to a box. I paused and took a moment to think. My mom had taken me shooting several times. I wasn't an ace shot- not even close. But I could hit a target. I've enough aim that missing altogether is unusual. That being said, I've only shot at paper in non-stressful situations. And who knows how long I would be in Middle Earth- I definitely didn't want to risk running out of ammunition. If Gandalf was wrong and I wasn't back before morning, and my mom found out I stole her gun and reported me missing, I would be in big stinking trouble. Not sure how good of an excuse the truth would be. But you know what, I was already screwed if caught, bringing five boxes of bullets instead of three wasn't going to make that much of a difference. Not here, anyways. Where I was going, the additional ammo could end up saving my life. Or someone else's. And besides, they weren't too heavy.
After double checking that I packed the spare batteries and the Taser, and the gun and holster were strapped securely to my thigh underneath a flap of cloth, I stood up, on instinct snatched the pepper spray sitting on my moms desk, and resolutely headed downstairs.
I looked at Gandalf, my chest burning with questions. "How did you get here, and how are we getting to Middle Earth? Is it like a different dimension or something?"
"For a young girl, you are very curious," he said. "Middle Earth is…" he hesitated, "quite some distance away. I do hope to return here one day, and learn about all these interesting little things. But that can wait, if you're ready, we can be on our way."
"Yea. I'm...I'm ready," I said.
And Thus Ends The Days in Brentbrook.
A Long Road Lies Ahead.
(~AN: Hi everyone! ^.^ I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and all the rest to follow! Call me Kitty. ^.^
So, I feel the need to explain the protagonist.
I want her, her actions, and this story to be as realistic as possible. For you, and for me. ^.^ I'm living vivaciously through this story, and I want my experience (and yours as well) to be as realistic and truthful as can be. :P I'm tying my best to keep her far far away from Mary-Sue-vill.
If you don't like/agree with something, please feel free to tell me in any way you see fit.
~PS: I added in her katana and martial arts skills simply because I do need her to last. Without any fighting ability she would die within seconds and there would be no story. xD Her fighting background is an unfortunate Mary-Sue skill I just need her to have to keep the plot realistic. But she's not a perfect fighter. Far from it- read on and you'll soon discover that for yourselves. Enjoy! ^.^ )
