A/N: I've been writing this silly (and silly being very much the operative word here) fangirl/Thorin story to get through my writer's block, I'm already posting it on AO3 but figured I might as well do it here (which means I had to change the you-pov to I-pov seeing FFnet does not like that, feel free to pick whichever version you prefer ;p). Enjoy~

(Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to The Hobbit, those belong to Tolkien/PJ/New Line Cinema)

Chapter 1

Bags filled with comfort food start to cut in my wrists as I rummage in my backpack for the key to my flat, as usual it ended up at the bottom where the useless items always seem to hang out just to make me lose the things I really do need in life. At first I'm too lazy to get my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans to literally shed some light on the badly timed disappearance, but after I've taken out not one, not even two but three old lip balm sticks, a handful of sticky chocolate bar wrappers, a tissue that's obviously been used but not properly disposed of, a leaking pen and the world's tiniest teddy bear that really has no reason to be there sentimental softie, I finally decide to be less of a stubborn idiot. The moment my hand reaches behind me to get my phone, though, I catch a glimpse of something metally that the buzzing and flickering streetlight overhead reflects off of.

I bury my arm up to my elbow in the backpack, close my fingers around the solid object at the bottom once my fingertips bump into it and cautiously retrieve it while feeling irrationally relieved it didn't bite me. In my palm now lies a key. Only it's not my key. It was heavier. Bigger. Very geometric in its design and with squiggly lines and triangles carved into the metal. It was very familiar. As a fangirl I'd recognize it anywhere, it'd be embarrassing if I didn't. The thing was though that I absolutely had no idea how it got there and I was pretty sure I didn't get myself an early birthday present and then forgot all about it. Which left but one option…

Was this it?! The moment I had been waiting for? Was I about to be transported to Middle Earth? Was I destined to escape from the clutches of my boring life and instead become the one previously insignificant person that would turn into an amazing heroine and save those three dwarves not because I cared that much about seeing the rightful king on the throne of Erebor but because he and his nephews happened to be too hot to die so young, and more importantly two of them simply too single to get skewered like a pair of roasted pigs and my imagination instantly sets to work in cooking up very enticing images of just how grateful the king and his heir would be to me once I saved their sexy butts…

I sigh dreamily then look down from the starry sky, excitement flooding me as my eyes find the key still in my hand and I decide there and then to do the dumbest thing possible: I try out a key on a door I know is my door with a key I know is not my key to said door. And it fits. Of course it does.. Wait what? It fits? It actually fits..?! There is no time to have the craziness of what just happened sink in when I turn the large key with both of my hands and the door emits a deep and muffled click. I pull the key back out, drop it in my backpack and then I really can't resist placing my hands on the door's surface any longer and push like I've seen Thorin do countless of times. The jaw-dropping sight that meets my eyes make me stumble forward like a drunk into the welcoming embrace of what I'm sure is the friggin' Shire. Okay. So it's not the Lonely Mountain which I sort of secretly hoped it would be 'cause that would've saved me a whole lot of walking but still, I would know those rolling hills and little rivers anywhere even now night had fallen and a myriad of little lights peep out wistfully from round windows in the equally round hobbit holes that dot the idyllic landscape.

I yank out my earphones to let in the sounds of crickets, far away laughter and snippets of lively conversations drifting towards me on the pleasantly warm night air. When I register the dull thud of the door closing behind me it is too late to do anything about it. I stare, disbelievingly but insanely happy all the same, at a large, green round door (painted a week ago I don't doubt) with a shiny bronze handle and a rune glowing a sickly blue scratched at the bottom. Kneeling down to admire it like a more educated person would a Monet (including letting out a tiny gasp of pure joy), I notice the rope dangling way above me. Then I see the bell at the end of it. Drawn to it like a bee to honey I can't resist the temptation, get to my feet again and pull with all that I've got. The moment a loud jingle resonates within my skull (I was standing a little too close and on tiptoes too) I actually hesitate between staying standing on the doorstep or running away and hide in the bushes so I can repeat the process to annoy the crap out of Bilbo. Before I can make up my admittedly childish and a tad evil mind I hear the patter of light (hairy?) feet and the door opens with a loud, protesting creak.

Bilbo whimpers as he sees me. He actually whimpers. Then he grumbles something to himself but I catch the words 'busybody' and 'pointy' and I don't need to be a genius to figure out where Mr. Baggins is suggesting a certain wizard can stick his hat. The hobbit plasters a very unconvincing smile on his face, mumbles a very disgruntled 'at your service' and swings the door wide to let me in.

"Do come in, Miss." He presses me bluntly and with obvious reluctance and when I'm about to open my mouth he holds up his hand in a tired, irritated kind of way, "Oh, don't bother introducing yourself. The sooner this is over and all of you are on your way the better. You'll find your companions further down the hall. I'm afraid they've already emptied the pantry, surprised they haven't started eating the furniture yet, but perhaps they're saving it for dessert, or breakfast! Ha!" The hobbit let out a weird and delusional sort of squeal before adding with undisguised suspicion and frustration, "For the past hours they've been talking non-stop. Plotting…" His nose wrinkles in heartfelt disgust at this.

"Something about a dragon, a treasure hoard and a certain map and key?" I guess smartly. Oh I was so going to enjoy this gift of foresight.

"Y- Yes." Bilbo stammered, a little surprised, then added sourly, "All Gandalf's idea, no doubt. Though he's lost this key apparently and the dwarves are none too pleased about it." He explains, making my gut churn in sudden guilt. Oh. So it really was the key. I clutch my backpack a little closer to myself hoping the hobbit won't notice. Luckily he is extremely vexed with the arrival of these unexpected visitors (which technically now includes me) that he doesn't and he simply pinches the bridge of his nose as if to stop a headache from plaguing him too.

"Just follow the noise.." Bilbo then vaguely waves in the direction he wants me to go and disappears in what I assume is the sitting room for an orangey glow of a fire comes from it and I catch a glimpse of a thick rug in front of it. I remain standing a little forlorn on the doormat catching the groan of an armchair as the hobbit sits down in it, the chink of a decanter and a wine glass making contact followed by a desperate sort of slurping sound and some more dark mutterings that involve a wizard and a whole range of pointy objects.

When I hear the booming and boisterous voices of what had to be the thirteen dwarves I was dying to meet I spur myself into action. I rather carelessly slam the door shut behind me and start down the tunnel-like hall that snakes its way further into the smial where I soon stumble upon the real eye-opener I'd been looking forward to. Gathered before me are my favorite dwarves in all of their rowdy, rugged, hairy glory… There in the far corner sit those lovely Durin brothers (a very fine pair of strapping lads indeed), and across from them Ori with his too cutsey fringe is nervously twiddling with his thumbs as he sits hemmed in between his older siblings, one sipping wine with a bored air, the other running a careful hand over his starfish hairstyle. And then there were Glóin, Oín, Bifur, Bombur and Bofur, seemingly eating and shouting at each other at the same time if the amount of crumbs in their beards and pieces of chicken and potato flying from their mouths and spraying across the table were anything to go by. Which left Dwalin doing his arms-across-chest-and-bristling-whiskers act while Balin seems to have just face-palmed himself as if he only just now remembered he had voluntarily allowed himself to be surrounded by the odd collection of the obviously not so bright crayons in the box. That leaves Thorin, looking all majestic and superior in his fur and leather getup and currently engaged in the noble sport of verbally beating to a pulp a certain gray robed wizard we all know.

…Holy crap this was really happening!

For a moment I simply mentally jump for joy as I take in the scene before me but then all of the dwarves' heated arguing stills instantly when they spot me and even Thorin and Gandalf (the latter obviously towering over the former though he seemed not in the least intimidated by that) pause their shouting match to snap their heads in my direction. I wasn't necessarily planning on a dramatic entrance but with the tense silence and the fact I'm still half hidden in the shadows it's too tempting a chance to pass up and I clear my throat importantly.

"My friends, look no further for you have found your burglar..!" I state melodramatically, taking a step forward with my hands on my hips and only just repressing a gleeful 'keeeee!' as my audience gawk at me as if someone hit the pause button. Damn, and that even rhymed too! Awesome first impression: check!

I elbow passed an obviously stunned Thorin and worm my way to Balin, spreading my arms wide as if in greeting, broad smile splitting my face, "Ready for that contract when you are."

Before the old dwarf can so much as blink Thorin's growling voice bursts out, "This is the burglar you had in mind?"

I slowly swivel around to face him, not liking the particular emphasis he put on that first word and even less the finger he's jabbing in my direction almost poking my eye out too. Gandalf only manages a dumbfounded and incoherent stuttering, eyes flicking between me and the dwarven king, judging by the saggy lines in his face and the nervous twitching of a bushy brow I guess he's been having a pretty lousy evening so far.

"Suggesting the hobbit to join us was bad enough but by my beard she is most definitely not coming-" Thorin rages on but I cut him short, "She," I repeat with the same acidity, "happens to be standing right next to you and has a name." Oh. Crap. Do I? Well, I have, obviously, it's just I'm not sure if it would fit my new life. Besides, using my own name would be so incredibly boring now that I actually had a chance to start over..

"And what would that be?" Thorin arches a brow at me, sounding not even close to caring.

Quick. I just had to think of one. A cool, yet elegant and beautiful name that would knock this grumpy dwarf right off his socks.

"Ehm.. I'm… I.." I desperately look around for inspiration, highly aware of all the eyes trained on me as I search all of their dumbstruck faces for ideas.

"Yes..?" Thorin presses me, clearly growing impatient.

"My name is.. Um.. Arandiel.." I drawl as I make it up then instantly screw up my face and shake my head, "No, wait, that sounds lame, way too long, and…elvish." I finish in a tone of disgust, nose wrinkling too as if I smelled something bad. I could swear Thorin's mouth quirked at this for a split second but then his lips are back to being the taut line they were and he simply continues to glare at me.

Shit. I was running out of time. My mind is racing through every name that had a middle earth-y ring to it and yet not one sounds like the right one. Still thinking hard with a rising sense of panic not exactly helping my efforts, my eyes stray to a red and seducing sparkle and I stare mesmerized at a ring around Gloín's stubby finger.

"Ruby.." I realize I have said it out loud when the group of dwarves finally unfreeze from their initial shock (one I seemed to have skipped but then I was confident I would find the time for a nervous breakdown later) and start to whisper to each other.

"Ruby?" Thorin repeats, not holding back on disdain, "You are named after a precious stone?"

Great. Looked like I was stuck with that one, it didn't even remotely sound impressive, more like the professional name of a wrinkled and shriveled porn star that refused to retire. Awesome... Well done, Ruby. And then there was something about the tone in which Thorin had spoken that made it pretty clear he thought there was absolutely nothing precious (or red for that matter) about me to justify the name.

"And you are a trained thief?" the dwarf king asked doubtfully, almost sneering even at the notion.

"Yes." I lie confidently.

"And why would we hire you and not Mr. Baggins?"

Improvise, improvise, improvise..! I chant to myself, once again racking my brain, begging it to help me out. As I clutch my backpack I feel a familiar shape at the bottom and know what I have to say to get to go on this quest, all the way to Erebor, and I wasn't going to settle for anything short of that.

"Well?" Thorin growled.

I straighten and square my shoulders a little, taking a deep breath and praying the poker face I practiced in front of the mirror for reasons that don't need to be disclosed here would survive the sparks shooting out of those insanely blue eyes- Wow. That color was just.. And that long, black hair, short beard and fiercely furrowed brows were just.. He was just.. The dwarf I showed every sign of drooling over cleared his throat in annoyance, boot tapping on the ground and rousing me rather cruelly from your epiphany.

"Right.. Um. That's easy actually."

His brows went up even higher though his boot froze mid-tap.

"You will hire me because I happen to have the key that goes with that map."

I point needlessly at the wad of parchment Thorin has clutched in a clenched fist and my statement is met with a complete and heavy silence. All the dwarves exchange looks ranging from outrage to confusion to downright despair, though no one looks as horrified as Thorin does. His eyes (those brilliant, crystalline, sapphire orbs, I muse dreamily…oh stop it!) widen and he simply stares at me in a way that ensures me he will bite. Game. Set. And…..match!

I triumphantly lean sideways, bum perching on the corner of the table as I lean over to Balin, arm slung cordially around his shoulders as I wink at him, "So... Where do I sign?"