Hey there, hello! So this is an attempt to write and actually finish a story. Any story, but I picked the Hobbit because it's the last movie I saw, and I'm inspired. So there's that. I've written- er, started- other fanfics but that was maybe ten years ago, and I haven't had time or desire since to write again. But now I'm getting older and I want to start writing original fiction, so this is kinda like an exercise. Feel free to critique! I don't have a Beta or anything so any mistakes, feel free to point them out. If the characters feel flat, let me know. I think the first part might be a little dull, but it's just setting the scene. Let me know what you think! But I promise you, I will finish this story! I've already written the first few chapters. And yes, it's kinda like a Mary Sue, but I hope it's not ridiculously bad...

I do not own LOTR nor am I making any profit from this work. Though wouldn't it be nice if I did? *hard look at Cassandra Clare and E.L. James*

Winston Marciel Weatherington the Third. With such a name as that, it's no surprise that his name is a synonym with Douchebag Asshole Twat, the Third.

This Douchebag Asshole Twat is my ex-boyfriend. Thank god for that Ex- part. I could have been Mrs. Douchebag Asshole Twat, the Third. But luckily for me, I get to stay Margaret Ann Hunter because three days after he proposed, I came home to find him boning my sister.

My married sister, mother of 4 young children, wife to a wonderful man who worships her. Not so perfect now, are you, Cass?

Prior to this incident, we were happy. At least, I was happy. Winston came from a well to-do family and well, he was loaded. Not that it was a factor to me dating him, I wasn't a gold digger or anything. I didn't need his money. I also came from a well to-do family.

Winston was extremely handsome. He had great hair, all honey blonde and wavy. His crystal clear blue eyes that just begged of the Caribbean in the summertime. He hit the gym about 4 times a week and had a great body to prove it. And a fantastic ass.

We had lots in common. Both of our fathers worked together as judges so I knew Winston most of my life, or at least had heard of him. He had been sent to a male boarding school in Toronto for most of his school years. We really met during law school. I was tutoring him in some classes, and we just had great chemistry.

He always had issues with my tutoring him. I think he felt threatened by me even though I didn't think it was a big deal that I made better grades than he did. It's not like I was a straight A student, but I didn't do horribly. And neither did he, when he applied himself.

When I figured out that I didn't actually want to follow in my dad's and sister's footsteps of becoming lawyers then judges, he was quick to encourage me to drop out of school. Which I did, and still don't regret, because I honestly couldn't picture myself in a courtroom every day and enjoying it. My passion just didn't lie in the justice or law fields.

However, convincing my parents that I didn't flunk out of college was oddly difficult. Despite being on the dean's list many times since I started college at age 18, they were under the impression I was stupid. Needless to say, we don't have a great relationship. In fact, since I was the "accident" child, born 12 years after my sister, I was pretty much left to my own devices growing up.

My sister, Cassandra, was the golden child of the family. Smart and gorgeous, she was the apple of my father's eye from day one. The day that she took over my dad's practice when he was appointed judge was the proudest day of his life. I was happy for Winston when Cassandra gave him an internship at the family practice. Just wasn't aware that I couldn't trust my own blood not to cheat on her husband with my fiancé. Her husband, John, is a stay at home dad. Their kids are little heathens so I don't envy his job. Grace and Maddie are 4 year old twins with a 3 year old little brother Darren and an 11 month old sister, Charlotte.

Thanksgiving had been a month after I dropped out. I hadn't really done anything in that time, except finishing moving my stuff into Winston's apartment. He had asked me to move in and I was happy to have a place besides my parent's house to live. My mother, a housewife, was ecstatic beyond measure for some reason when Winston proposed.

He had just toasted me and family and had dropped down to one knee next to me. I was so surprised, so thrilled! I just bet if I rewound time to replay that scene, I would see the glances and smirks between Cass and Winston.

It boils my blood thinking about it. If I believed in Voodoo, they had little dolls full of pins.

"Finally!" My mother had cried out. "There's the future housewife!"

"I'm not going to be a housewife." I frowned, my happiness waning at her weird comment. "I just don't know what I want to do with my life yet. Just who I want by my side." I stared up with a corny grin on my face.

Mother frowned. "Don't you just want to have babies and settle down? I thought that's why you dropped out?" She looked pointedly to my flat midsection.

"What! Mother, no! I'm not pregnant! Where did you get that idea from?" What the hell? I wasn't ready for kids yet! "No, I just don't want to practice law."

"Maggie, dear." Cass interrupted, after sipping her glass of red wine. "Perhaps Mother's idea is worth considering. Clearly, you are well suited to housewifery. Isn't that basically what you are doing now?"

I glared at her. "Not exactly." I gritted out. "Enough. I just got engaged, can we not concentrate on that?"

"Quite right, Mags." Winston piped in, as he slung an arm around my shoulder and tucked me against his side. "Soon enough you'll be my little house wifey!"

He kissed my hair as I scowled. I must have just missed the look that he and Cass surely shared.

My father of course was no help. Not even a word from him as he sat eating his turkey and thumbing through whatever on his smartphone.

But none of that matters anymore. Not my ambivalent parents, my conniving sister, or douchebag ex. Screw them all!

I couldn't do the Christmas season with all of that. I cannot face my sister and her smug face, nor can I face my parents who had such hopes for my marriage to Winston as if marriage to him would secure my future. As if this was the Victorian age, and women had no rights.

Ugh.

And this is why I am on a plane to England. I had arranged a surprise trip for Winston and me for when he graduated in May, but screw that now. I changed the reservations to today, just three days after the "incident." My parents were not happy, but who cares. I'm an adult, all decisions are mine to make.

I'm on a plane to England for a three week trip. I'm not sure what I'm going to do when I get there, but at least I'm far away from that mess. When I get back, I'll put my life back together. Figure out what makes me happy, and what I'm willing to do for the rest of my life. I'm only 26, I have time. And I'm a pretty smart cookie, so I'm sure something will come up. But I'll think about all that after my impulsive vacation, and not a day before.

I tucked the little airplane blanket to my chest. We would be landing soon, which is great because not only am I excited to be in London, but damn this is a long freaking flight. On which, I just couldn't sleep a wink.

I sighed. I didn't want to think about Winston and Cass anymore. If I did, I'd just start crying.

That was the odd thing. I hadn't cried yet. Maybe it hadn't processed, or maybe I'm just that mature (doubtful), or maybe I'm just blocking all the emotions that come with being betrayed. When or if I do start crying over my failed relationship, I don't think I'll ever stop.

The old lady next to me shot me a look as we were instructed to return our tray tables and seats to the upright positions. She must have heard me sighing.

"Going home, dearie?" She said in a lilting accent.

"No, actually. On vacation- er, holiday." I said and gave her a smile. I'd put her in her 70s, a plump grandmother type in a long sleeved, woolen sweater dress that hung down to the floor. It looked like she had wrapped a blanket around her and had it tailored to her. She looked very cozy. Her long white hair was pinned in a bun at the back of her head, but she had some long wisps that hung about her face.

I folded my blanket as she continued asking questions.

"Why all the sighs then? Do you not like London?" She asked, folding her own blanket.

"Oh, no. That's not it at all, actually. I'm very excited to be in London, I just thought I'd be in better company when I went, not just by myself." I winced as the words left my mouth. I'd seen Taken, I knew better than to tell strangers I was alone. Even kindly, old grannies.

"Indeed! A lass shouldn't be alone, especially not for Christmas! If you're staying that long?"

I nodded.

"Well," she said. "At least, it is good for young people to go out and travel the world. Goodness, how many people never see outside their hometown!"

"Yes, I know." I agreed. "My parents are like that. Thy tried pretty hard to convince to just save my money and not take this trip. But I've always wanted to go, and well, I'm not getting any younger."

"That's the spirit! Will be staying in just England or making your way to the Continent?" She pried.

"Ah. I haven't thought much about it. I'd love to go to Paris or maybe Prague. I haven't decided much of anything yet." I said. I really hadn't. I could do anything I wanted for these three weeks with nothing to lose and no one to account to anymore.

The jet engines were really whining now. We must be very close to landing.

"Well, I wish you the best of luck and love in your journeys, dear." She said. "In fact…" She trailed off. She looked at me with intense, judging eyes. She must have seen something she liked because she smiled grandly. "Yes. Yes, indeed. My apologies, my dear, my apologies! You've been asking all this time we've been jabbering. My, my!"

She dug out her bag from the seat in front and started rooting around in it, still muttering to herself as I looked on in slight alarm.

Um, what? I thought. She's a bonkers old lady.

She finally found what she was looking for and stashed her bag back right as the wheels touched the ground, jostling everyone around. It was a rather smooth landing actually. Not too shabby, there.

"How silly of me! I'll give you what you're asking, dear. An adventure, indeed." She said as she pressed something into the palm of my hand.

The plane finally slowed and was taxing to gate.

"What was I asking for?" I said distractedly. I looked at the silver foil packet she had given me.

"It's just what your shirt says." She said, matter-of-factly.

"My shirt?" I looked down. I had picked up a couple new things for the trip and this shirt was one of them. It said in big bold letters against a sunset background: Take the Long Way Home.

"You need an adventure, and I'm giving it to you. Go on then, don't be rude, lass."

"Oh. Ok." I said. "I can't accept this, I've only just met you." I tried to give it back to her, but she wouldn't take it.

"Nonsense! It's nothing dastardly, child!" She said. I hadn't been thinking that, but it would be my luck that she was unloading drugs on me to get caught going through customs with. That would be just peachy. "I simply do not think a pretty girl like you should travel alone, especially not when your heart is broken."

"I'm not heartbroken!" I exclaimed. I was, of course, and really bitter about it, but how could she have known?

"Are you not? Well, then, there is some reason you've looked so glum and sighing all over the place. I'd guess just broken up with boyfriend."

I frowned. "Fiancé, technically, but it's for the best. We would have never worked long term, anyway."

"Really? It sounds that it is for the best as you say. Go on now, open it. Don't be rude."

The plane had reached the gate now, and the people around us were collecting their things, which is what I wanted to do, but the lady was dead set on my opening the gift here and now.

"Alright, then" I looked down at the lumpy silver package that fit into the palm of my hand, just a little envelope with a piece of tape enclosing the flap. I slid my thumb to break the tape and slid a necklace into my other hand.

A delicate silver chain with a little charm, a green leaf no bigger than the nail of my pinky fingernail. The chain was finely and intricately wrought silver, easily more expensive than the little leaf. Upon closer inspection, the leaf had dark green glittering jewels instead of inlaid paint.

"Oh, it's so pretty!" I breathed. "But this is too much, I'm sure I can't accept something so nice!" I was putting it around my neck, before I even registered I was doing it. Like my hands had a mind of their own. I simply couldn't help myself, I'd never been so rude!

"Nonsense! It's a gift! You cannot return it now!" She grinned. She bent down to pick up my book I had been reading during the 9 hour flight from Atlanta, and dropped sometime while I was trying to sleep. I guess it had slid to her side. "Such a great book. I knew you'd be a wonderful choice." She handed The Hobbit back to me with a wink of her twinkling eye.

Slowly people had been filing into the aisle gathering suitcases and duffle bags. I turned to grab my purse from under the seat in front of me and tuck the book in. When I looked back up, the granny was gone up the aisle and off the plane.

"Weird." I thought as I too got off the plane with all my belongings. I went through customs, watched with a bit of pride and a great deal of satisfaction when they stamped my passport, and trudged to baggage claim.

The thing about winter in London? It is damn cold! The airport was freezing, but I guess all airports are. I was running my hands up and down my arms while waiting for my bags to pop up on the carousel.

"It's worse outside, trust me." A deep male voice said behind me. I turned and discovered a tall, dark haired British man behind me, rubbing his hands together before sticking them under his arms.

I just stared.

"What?" He said. "It's the off season for a reason." He shrugged, looking slightly ridiculous in his black leather jacket and jeans, multicolored scarf wrapped around his neck, and his arms crossed his chest with his hands up under his armpits. He had leather boots on as well, and if he hadn't spoken with a British accent, I'd say he was American.

His face was beautiful, just straight chiseled perfection: High cheekbones with a 5 o'clock shadow. If this was how all British men looked, I was in big trouble, because I would never leave.

Unless of course, it got colder than it was now, because no way could my thin Southern blood could cope with more cold weather. And I hadn't even gone outside.

He was staring back at me now with a raised eyebrow. I shook my head out of its fog.

"You think I'm a tourist?" I asked.

He gave me a look. "Are you not? No, don't bother. I know you're a tourist." He gave me a dismissive nod.

I turned back around, just in time to spot my bright purple luggage mixed in with a sea of other bags flooding down the carousel.

"What's your name, lass?" He asked, as I was trying to grabbing my things. Trying was the keyword there. He reached in over me and jerked the larger case off for me.

"Um, thank you, I'm Maggie." I said. "What's yours?"

"Aaron. Aaron Shrider." He said. He shook my hand and then lifted the case handle for me before giving it back.

"Well, have a nice stay, Aaron, or welcome home if this is your final destination." I said hesitantly.

"Aye, this is home for me. But I don't think this is your final destination." He nodded at me.

I kind of smiled at him and then hightailed it out of there. The whole thing seemed awkward to me. I'm not really used to talking to strangers. One of the weird things about being Southern is people expect you to be friendly and I'm not saying I'm not, but I don't go out of my way to talk to strangers like that. I don't really have a southern accent either so maybe that's a reason why.

I felt the exhaustion creeping up as I exited the airport. So this is what jet lag feels like? Bright sunny outside, yet I feel like I'm missing my bed time. I breathed in the London air which disappointingly was a little gross with all the exhaust from the airport and the taxi line. As soon as I hailed a taxi, and we took off to my hotel, the real excitement began. One because I saw Big Ben out my window, and a lot of other cool sights like the London Eye and the Thames River, and two, because my driver drove like a mad man! Thank goodness for it though, or else I'm certain I would have been asleep.

All too soon I was at my hotel. A very cute building with a lattice front with ivy, and a cheery doorman that helped me with my bags. All the staff seemed to know what I was going through, I was definitely not the first guest with jet lag, so they were extremely helpful and even let me into my room before check in.

I was just going to drop off my bags and get something to eat, maybe explore a little bit, but when they said my room was available immediately, all those plans changed.

I took the tiny little elevator to my floor, put my key card in the door, dropped my bags, made sure the door was closed, and belly flopped on the bed. I tucked myself into the deliciously soft comforter and I was out within a minute.

As soon as my eyes closed it seemed like a moment before I opened them again, but this time into glaring white light.

So, heh heh... What do we think? Be kind, review! It only gets better from here!