Intro: A complete rework of something I started when I was twelve. Yes, it's immature and actually very stupid, but I remember enjoying it and hope to continue writing. It's been about ten years, but with the release of The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, I've rediscovered my love of this fandom and J. R. R. Tolkien's stories. I guess this is now an exercise in getting back in touch with my early teenage years. Ew, that sounds scary.

About the story: Nora is a 13 year old from New York who happens to get stuck in Middle Earth. She wants to return to lovely 2002 because there's no indoor plumbing in medieval times and showers are actually nice things to have when you've been riding a horse for the last few months. It's pretty simple, but (as far as intent goes) lots of fun. I hope you like it.

Chapter 1, part 1

I lay on my bed, wondering what to do for the day. The note Mom had left in the kitchen said that I should vacuum the dining room, but since there were a few more hours before she came home from work, I didn't have to do that immediately. Going outside was always an option, but for some reason it was never a very appealing one, even on warm summer days like this. I could clean my own room, which wasn't on Mom's note but I figured should be done anyway. The choices were overwhelming.

Eventually, I got up and went into the TV. I'd decided to watch a movie. I felt so good about having made a decision that I popped in The Fellowship of the Ring. Today was going to be a good day. Lord of the Rings was an old favorite ever since I had read the books a year before. I closed the curtains and turned out the lights, then plopped down on the couch and hit the play button.

Then everything went black.

Look, I knew the beginning of the movie is pitch black and I'd just drawn the curtains and it was supposed to be dark. I knew that. I'd seen this about a million times. But there had been enough light getting through the curtains that I could see some dust specks on the TV screen and it had annoyed me. I mean, I had been able to see the TV at all. This was absolute darkness. I couldn't see a thing. And then a voice whispered through that darkness, right next to my ear:

"I amar… prestar aen…" it said. "The world is changed."

"You'd better believe it," I thought as I realized what must be happening. "Mom got a home theater with surround sound and didn't tell me."

Part 2

"It began with the forging of the great rings…" Galadriel continued.

I gasped. I could see again, but I was definitely not in my living room. Those three elves from the beginning of the movie were getting their rings of power and looking at them and I was right in front of them. Half of me began thinking, "This is the best entertainment system I've ever seen," but the other half told me to shut up because it actually realized something big was going on.

"Uh, hey," I tried toward Galadriel. I figured since she was the one narrating, she might have something to say to me—like what was happening. But Galadriel either didn't hear me or I was too late; by the time I got the words out I was looking at some dwarves and couldn't quite grasp what had just happened. I stood with my mouth open for a moment before backing away slowly. But I blinked and suddenly the dwarves were gone and nine old kings were staring me down. I shrieked, half angry, half terrified. Scene changes make a lot less sense in real life.

Dry heat smothered me. I was in the entrance of Mount Doom, watching Sauron create the Ring from behind. I clamped my mouth shut, relatively certain that Sauron could neither see nor hear me (since no one else had reacted to my presence or my screaming), but even more certain that I didn't want to experiment with that theory at the moment. The more I thought about it, the less I liked the situation. This place wasn't safe. I wasn't sure how to get to a place that was, but I figured anywhere was better than the inside of a volcano with legendary-evil-personified standing less than twenty feet away. The more distance I could put between myself and that, the better.

Galadriel's voice was still narrating in my head when I turned around and made a break for the outside world, "And on the slopes of Mount Doom, they fought for the freedom of Middle Earth."

A battle raged before me, Sauron dominating the center. The scene had changed, and I was still unprepared for it. The words I had practically memorized over the past few months should have been coming in handy, but there were a bunch of people killing each other less than fifty feet in front of me and it was extremely hard to concentrate on movie trivia. Or, what I thought had been trivia. I didn't know anymore.

I hid behind a nearby rock and shut my eyes, praying to anyone who would hear, "Make me wake up. Wake me up. Make this all a dream, I don't want to be here." But when I opened them again, I was on a cliff ledge ten feet away from Sauron and had to watch him step on Narsil. I scooted back in terror, forgot to look where I was going, and fell over a dead orc. My right hand went out to catch myself, but something on the body—a knife or part of its armor—cut my palm open. I rolled off the corpse while clutching my hand to my chest and tried very hard not to start crying.

There was a great flash of light, and everything for one blessed moment was silent. But then Galadriel started narrating again and suddenly I was on the side of a road, watching Isildur and his convoy get attacked. Something forced me sideways, and I only just regained my balance to see two orcs pointing in my direction and reaching for their bows. I glanced at my hand, momentarily wondering if maybe they wouldn't shoot at an already injured girl, but hit the riverbank as soon as I realized how stupid that sounded. The orcs shot anyway, but missed. At least, they missed me. I looked to see where the arrows had landed, and was very still when I realized whose body I was watching float downriver.

In that instant—the time it took to see that I had lived while another had died—I felt very, very small. I had never watched someone get murdered right next to me. I wanted to freeze time, or rewind, or… just have a moment to sit and figure things out. Nothing was making any sense.

As if to slap me for feeling sorry for myself, I was dropped into a freezing cold lake. I flailed wildly, then remembered how to swim and made my way to the surface. By the time I had reached a shore (not even the one Bilbo was on, just the nearest rock face I could cling to), I was angry. Who does this to people? Who drops random teenagers into movies and battles and underground lakes? What if I hadn't been able to swim? I could have drowned. I could have gotten shot by an orc. I could be dead by now, all because some stupid Greater Power hadn't done a good enough background check on Its test subjects. This was stupid.

I was bleeding, cold, wet, and completely fed up by the time I found myself on Bilbo's doorstep on a bright September morning.

Part 3

I shivered, looking at the Hobbiton countryside. After the things I'd just been through, the Shire was wildly comfortable. It was sunny, green and best of all, peaceful. Even though this wasn't exactly where I wanted to be, I breathed a sigh of relief.

The door opened, and Frodo stepped out holding a large sign. He closed the door behind him, then looked up to see me and jumped. "Hello," he said, stressing the first syllable in surprise. "Who are you?"

"Uh, Nora? Johnson. Hi?" I managed to turn the "Hi" to a "Hey" at the last moment and cringed at how dumb it sounded.

Frodo's eyes widened and he grinned in excitement, then turned right around went back through the round front door, sign still in his hands. As the door swung further open in the breeze, I heard him calling through the house, "Bilbo! Bilbo!"

This was not the reaction I usually got, even with people I'd met before. Especially with people I'd met before. Interesting.

I took a step forward, intending to go through the door and listen to more of what Frodo had to say, but remembered my manners and instead made my way to the bench in front of the window. I had just considered the likelihood that no one would want to relax on a seat that I had dampened when Bilbo came outside.

"Good morning, good morning!" he called. "My dear girl, how— Why are you wet? Have you gone swimming? What happened to your hand?"

"I—Yes?" That was an awful lot of questions. I decided to go out of order but stick with the truth. I had, technically, gone swimming. "I, uh, cut myself. Sorry."

"No matter, we'll get you bandaged up in no time. You look absolutely chilled. Come, come inside and dry yourself off. I'm not sure that it's quite warm enough to be swimming at this time of year, but of course I'm too old for that sort of thing—at any time of year!" He laughed and took me by the arm.

"That's never stopped you, Bilbo," Frodo called from the front gate. He stood up, having finished securing the sign he had been carrying, and waved a book in the air. "I'm going to Eastfarthing Woods. Do you think he'll come today?"

"He must come today; he can't come any later and without missing the party. And I know he'll want to show off his whizzpoppers." Bilbo pushed open the door.

"I'm off, then." Frodo smiled and ran off down the path.

Bilbo and I watched him go. "He's so young," Bilbo sighed, and gestured for me to go before him into the house—er, hole. "At least, he was. Today's his birthday, you know."

"It's yours, too," I pointed out, trying to be polite. "Happy Birthday."

"Thank you! I don't believe I've introduced myself. Bilbo Baggins," he smiled to himself, then added, "At your service."

I couldn't believe I had let that birthday thing slip. I didn't entirely know how strange it was for a 13-year-old human girl to appear in the middle of the Shire, but I was aware that it had probably never happened before and, on a more universal note, it's creepy to meet people who know more about you than you do about them. "Nora Johnson. Sorry."

Bilbo apparently read my mind and said, "It's all right. The party's been in the making for ages. Of course you'd know all about it, even if you weren't invited. Neither have a few others, although I expect they'll show up anyway." He chuckled.

"Right," I said, grateful for his understanding. "Well, thanks for letting me… show up?"

"You're very welcome. Now here," Bilbo opened a door, "is a guest room. There's a towel on the chair, if you'd like to dry off now, and a bathroom down the hall, if your swim wasn't enough to wash off the dust from the road."

"Uh," I said, meaning to say thanks but instead looking down at my feet and realizing a few more problems with this entire situation. My clothes were soaked, and it didn't take much to figure out that they didn't have dryers in Middle Earth. "What should I do with…?" I tugged at the bottom of my green t-shirt. "I mean, it'll have to dry."

"Oh, I'm sure I can find something that will fit you in the meantime," Bilbo said easily.

"What?" I asked. "How—I'm—You shouldn't. I'm tall."

"I've picked up a few odds and ends over the years. You'd be surprised." He shrugged. "You can take those to the laundry room when you're done. It's the room right next to yours." He paused a moment, waiting for my answer to an earlier question.

It took me a second to remember it. "I'll just dry off, thanks."

Bilbo smiled. "If you give me a moment, I'll come back with something suitable. I'd start drying my hair, if I were you," he added when he reached the door. "Don't want to catch cold."

I picked up the towel and draped it over my shoulders and my hair rest on it. Then I sat down on the chair, ignoring the fact that my knees were practically digging into my chest.

The day had started with something so simple: what was I going to do? I rolled my eyes at the irony that I was still facing the same question. Some things never change.

Part 4

"Here we are," Bilbo sang as he came in through the door. He saw me dripping multiple puddles around my chair, hugging my knees and clutching my hand, and unloaded a bundle that included a shirt, a pair of trousers, and bandages onto the bed. "Is everything all right?"

"I'd be lying if I said yes," I admitted eventually.

"What's the matter?"

I held out my hand to him apologetically. "Well, I'm bleeding, first of all," I said. "And I'm dripping all over your floor. And I'm, you know… Wet." I had meant to say, "Cold." Actually, what I really meant to say was, "I'm completely lost and begging for your help and planning to stay at your place for the remainder of my time here, which may or may not be forever, but since I have nowhere else to go it is literally my only chance at survival in this world I previously thought was fictional. Hope you don't mind," but that sounded a little abrupt.

"Those are easy enough problems to mend," he smiled, taking a bandage from the bed. "Cheer up."

"Right," I muttered. I couldn't make myself say it. I couldn't ask for help. This was awful. I sat quietly instead, watching the bandage circle my hand. It was oddly calming.

He finished and started packing up the supplies. I inspected his work even though I had no idea what to look for. The bandage didn't feel like it would slip any time soon. He even tied the knot in on the back of my hand so that it didn't get in the way of anything I wanted to hold. I was impressed.

"When you're finished here, you can come into the kitchen. We've just finished second breakfast, but we can start elevenses early. I have some cake, if you'd like it."

"Sure," I said. I'd never had a problem with cake. I changed slowly, a little hampered by my bandaged hand. I kept the towel around my shoulders, though, to keep my hair from getting my new clothes wet. By the time I had put my t-shirt and jeans away in the laundry, Bilbo had made a kettle of tea and was pouring it into a cup. I stood in the doorway, admiring his kitchen.

"Those fit you better than I expected," Bilbo said, looking up.

"The pants are a little long," I said, "but yeah. Where'd you get them?"

"I had some friends stopping over once and they left them here by accident. I never got the chance to return them. Here," he said, gesturing to the table, "Sit, sit."

"Elves?" I asked.

"Sorry?"

"Were they elves. Your friends," I explained.

"Oh. Well…" Bilbo straightened up, examining the laden table. "No, but that's neither here nor there. Drink your tea. It's good and hot."

I took a piece of cake instead. Bilbo didn't say anything, but he did give me a look. "So this party of yours," I said, once I'd finished licking crumbs off my fingers, "Are you excited?"

"Oh, yes. That reminds me—I should be checking the replies. Not that I think anyone won't come. They've all been planning for this for as long as I have." He got up and went down the hall, calling back over his shoulder, "I'd drink that tea if I were you!"

I grabbed another piece of cake. I'd never really been fond of tea. Alone in the kitchen, it occurred to me that I couldn't stay here forever. That is, eventually Bilbo's and Frodo's party would end, Bilbo would leave for Rivendell, and I would be left to leech off of Bag End for as long as Frodo felt he had time for me, or until he left on his own adventure. This was getting complicated.

Bilbo returned with a stack of letters, muttering to himself. "Proudfoots, yes. Bolgers, yes. Hornblowers, of course, yes…"

"Hey, uh," I started, unsure of how to continue. I'd never had to ask to live with anyone before. "I… How long do you expect me to stay?"

"As long as you'd like," Bilbo said absently, sitting down. "Drat those Sackville-Bagginses. I don't have time to visit them now. The party's in a few hours."

"It's just that, uh," I mumbled, knowing he hadn't taken me seriously, "I don't… There isn't…"

Bilbo looked up and patted my hand. "My dear girl, you're a human child in the middle of Hobbiton. You're obviously lost. Stay as long as you want."

I was so taken aback by his kindness, I actually drank some of my tea. Bilbo went through his letters and mumbled to himself periodically. "Do lost people often go swimming?" I asked, filling a silence I wasn't sure should be broken.

"I don't see why they shouldn't go swimming as often as found people. One's state doesn't affect a nice day."

I restrained myself from saying something about how New York's pollution might and instead finished my tea and second piece of cake. Then I sat back and eyed Bilbo.

"Yes?" He finally looked up from his letters. There were a lot of them.

I sighed. "It's not that I don't appreciate…" Where were the words I wanted? "You taking me in and all. Your hospitality. I do. Thank you for the tea and cake—and the clothes. It's just that… Shouldn't you be asking more questions? I'm a human in the Shire! I'm wearing pants! You should be more suspicious."

"You're suspicious enough for the both of us, Nora Johnson!" he laughed. "I'm eleventy-one. That's far too old for a hobbit to be worrying about young girls in strange dress on his front doorstep. After all, the way fashion is these days, you'll fit right in!"

I doubted it, but laughed with him anyway and stood up. I apparently wasn't getting an answer out of him right now. I'd have to try later. "I think my hair's dry now," I said. "At least, manageable. Do you have, like, a comb or something I can borrow?"

"The guest bathroom is down the hall on your left. There should be a few things you may use in there." Bilbo got up, too. "I'll be in my study if you need me."

I found the bathroom with little difficulty, and had just finished toweling my hair when there was a knock on the front door.

"No thank you!" Bilbo called. "We don't want any more visitors, well-wishers, or distant relations!"

"And what about very old friends?"

Part 5

Gandalf! How did I completely forget about a wizard? Here I was, trying to make plans for the foreseeable future, and there was a wizard within walking distance who knew more about Middle Earth and magic than I did. What was wrong with me?

I combed my hair in a flash, and grabbed the door handle. I hesitated for a moment, but went down the hall and back into the kitchen. I found him positioning himself on the bench, moving my dirty plate to a place further down the table.

"Good gracious me!" The wizard started to stand up, nearly knocked over the entire elevenses spread Bilbo had put out, and folded himself back into his seat. "You'll excuse me for not rising," he said, gesturing at the table.

"No, it's fine," I said, smiling.

"I could make you some eggs if you'd like…" Bilbo interrupted, stepping past me to the fire.

"Bilbo! You didn't tell me you had guests over," Gandalf said. "And just tea, thank you."

"It's just the one," Bilbo protested. "Gandalf, this is Nora Johnson. Nora, may I present to you Gandalf the Grey."

He said it so impressively, and Gandalf nodded toward me so politely that I bobbed downwards in a half-stunted, uncoordinated mess that made me look like a marionette that had all its strings cut suddenly. Whatever air of grandeur had existed in that moment quickly disappeared, and I was left standing in a messy kitchen with two old guys.

I realized I preferred it that way, and looked at Gandalf carefully. He was inspecting me already.

"How old are you?" he asked quietly.

"Thirteen," I said.

Gandalf looked surprised and tried to hide it by taking out his pipe and filling it. "Are you really," he said offhandedly, looking a little too closely at his work.

"Yes?" I answered. What was I supposed to say, "Just kidding, I'm fifty seven?" Why did my age matter, anyway?

"She can stay here. I've an extra bed," Bilbo put in.

"Yes, but you're leaving," Gandalf said. "Have you told Frodo that you've left him with a guest? Or are you taking her to Rivendell with you?"

Bilbo was silent, but he looked at me with something I could only describe as fondness.

"Frodo would have to deal with fewer questions from the neighbors," Gandalf said.

Bilbo frowned. "He can handle a little harmless gossip."

"All the same, I think we shouldn't have any gossip about her at all." Gandalf looked at me thoughtfully and puffed on his pipe.

"Right you are, Gandalf, as usual!" Bilbo brightened up suddenly and busied himself with the kettle.

So I guessed that was done. I felt annoyed that neither of them had asked for my consent with this plan, but I didn't argue with them. It sounded better than anything else I could think of. Besides, I had other problems to work out.

"Can they find a way to get me home?" I said.

"What do you mean?" asked Gandalf.

"I mean, like... home. You know. Where I come from," I stuttered, knowing that if I mentioned New York, I'd have to mention a lot of other things.

Gandalf puffed some more on his pipe. "I suppose that depends on where it is."

I glared at him, realizing that I was no match for him in this game of riddles. "I suppose so."

He gave me a very intense stare. "No one can help you on that journey if you are unwilling to let them."

When I could look away, I rolled my eyes. "Maybe I should just try clicking my heels three times. I'd probably get more out of it than this."

"Pardon me?"

"Nothing." I sat down on the edge of the bench and sighed. There must be a polite, non-incendiary way of explaining to people that their entire lives don't actually exist. I just had to find it out.

Gandalf gave me another hard look, but was distracted when Bilbo finished boiling the water and needed help with the teapot.

I was relieved when Bilbo sat down and talked to Gandalf, further distracting him from me. Besides all the other trouble I knew I was in, I was beginning to believe that there was something that both Gandalf and Bilbo knew and weren't telling me.

When we were done eating elevenses and clearing up the kitchen, the three of us went outside to sit and relax during the day. Normally I would have been bored—after all, both of these people were roughly ten times my age or older—but Gandalf devised a game with smoke rings that changed color and floated all over the garden which kept Bilbo and me very amused for a good hour.

Then Frodo returned, breathless, and said that everything was ready down near the Party Tree. Bilbo jumped up and scurried into his hole, saying he needed to change into his clothes (he'd apparently been planning on wearing a special waistcoat). Gandalf shook his head at him, put away his pipe, grumbled something about his fireworks, and eventually went off in search of his cart, saying that he'd meet us later. When Bilbo emerged from the front door, he had a very fine red waistcoat, as promised.

"Nora, my girl," he said as both he and Frodo escorted me to the front gate, "this will be a night to remember!"