Jayla Fire Gal: Thank you so much; I feel so much better. *sniffle* I hope you enjoy! :) And thank you so much for sticking with; never let your weirdness falter. X)

Diem Kieu: Hopefully this ends up okay. :) I hope you like too! Ostensibly like we don't know if it'll turn out well yet or it would turn out well via different medium? XD

Gandalf comes to me in my dreams. I've dreamed of Frodo before; this doesn't surprise me, save that Frodo is nowhere in sight.

"Gandalf?" My voice sounds just the same. I'm disappointed; I look the same too. I want to be a hobbit, but I'll let it pass.

The wizard puts his hand on my shoulder. His fingers feel so real, but I know it is a dream for the fog-like emptiness that surrounds us on all sides.

He says my name, and I startle. He repeats my name, and I answer at last. He breathes a sigh of relief and chuckles. Then his face grows solemn.

"I have an assignment for you," he says sternly.

I nod. The fog clears, revealing the Council of Elrond around us. None of them are watching us, but I can see them all clearly . . . as it had been in the film. I gasp when I see Frodo: he's so small, and he stares at the Ring with such unadulterated fear. I wish I could help.

I turn hesitantly back to Gandalf, the only standing figure. The Council goes on around us, but Gandalf's seat is empty.

"You are to come assist the Ringbearer. I will pull you from your world and your time, but your assignment is not to fight. I fear that would kill you: you are to simply be there as a comfort to him. You will not say words, you will not interfere with events, you will just be there when no one else can be. Do you understand?"

I nod, confused why I would come up with this dream. If I invented a dream for myself I would have made my character a fighter, a socially incompetent creature as I was but with the power of a sword or a bow or some such. Apparently I feared being no such thing for dreaming it.

"Good," Gandalf says. He grabs me by the shoulder and takes me around Frodo's chair. The Ringbearer's hand lifts at that moment to rub his forehead, and his skin softly brushes mine. I stagger towards Gandalf, frightened by the sudden contact. Frodo's brow furrows, and he glances back towards us but doesn't see us.

His eyes look so pained. I realize he has been on Weathertop, and I stare at the ground.

Gandalf thrusts me behind a bush. Samwise sits in front of me, oblivious to the presence of both of us.

"Wait here," Gandalf orders. "And do not step out. I will bring you forth when it is time." He steps back to the Council, and I lean out to watch Frodo.

I open my eyes and yawn. So it was a confusing dream, but any dream with Frodo is well worth all else that occurred. I sit up and stretch, then blink with the unusual amount of light in my room. Then my eyes widen: a bush sits before me.

I quickly scan my surroundings and find it looks identical to where Gandalf left me in my dream. I sink back onto my side, shivering. This is a stark dream, I realize. I try to roll over, and I am successful, but I do not awaken.

"Wake up," I insist, shaking my head in a low hiss. I do everything I know to get me to wake up; I frantically wonder why I don't. Am I in a coma? I don't feel the drag of moving around in sleep. Perhaps I'm trapped in my own mind.

With a frustrated, worried sigh I slump to the ground. Then I glance over and realize that Gandalf is watching me: the Fellowship has just been announced by Lord Elrond. Sam barely missed me awakening right behind his hiding place, thank goodness.

I move to stand, then remember Gandalf's instructions. With nothing else I can do, I sit back and strain to see Frodo. Elrond dismisses the Council, and I barely catch a glimpse of Frodo walking away with his arm around Sam's shoulders.

Gandalf steps towards me, his expression stern. I scramble in place at his intensity; he stands at least eight inches taller than I do. Frodo is likely almost two feet shorter than I am, and I realize just how intimidating the world must be for a hobbit. I flick my gaze to my feet; they're not hairy, and they aren't large. But I'm not wearing shoes either; I'm wearing the simple brown shirt and loose pants I wore to bed.

I blush to be seen like this, but Gandalf tosses his head as though disregarding me.

"Come, Minah," he says nonchalantly. "We must prepare you for the journey ahead." I scramble to my feet and follow him.

"I'm going with the Fellowship?" I clarify as I trot after him. He takes long strides through Rivendell, and I'm hardly able to take everything in and keep up at the same time. The halls are graceful, and I see parts of the building they never show in the film. Everything is marble and white wood, accented with gold and other stones. I gape at the carvings, graceful elves and fauns.

Gandalf huffs irritably. "Did you not listen to anything I told you just ten minutes ago? You're here to guard Frodo." Then he pauses. "Well, not guard, I suppose; you're here to be a comfort to him, a healer if he needs it again, but do not interfere and do not speak. You are his servant."

I pause, analyzing this. "So his Baymax?"

Gandalf stares at me like I've just called him an old man in informal French.

"I suppose," he muses gruffly. "You no doubt will figure it out. The Fellowship will not address you, and you will not address them; I will tell them who and what you are, and they will leave you alone. I know you are aware of everything that happens here, although by what sort of magic I am not sure, and I ask you to try and influence nothing."

"How do you know what I know?" I ask carefully.

Gandalf cocks an eyebrow, as though uncertain if he should humor me. "I've seen future events in your mind, rather starkly."

I ask no more questions. I don't doubt he'll get irritated with me.

He motions me forward, on to where I am handed to three elf women. One offers me a pile of clothes; they seem to be a black tunic, matching trousers, boots, and a cloak. I don't protest: it would be difficult to follow Frodo around in a dress. I accept them and turn away, but one of the elves grabs my collar. She gently pushes me into a room nearby, one with a huge bed and a mirror and no windows, and shuts the door.

I hesitantly slip into the black garb. My hair never looked good with black, but I reason I haven't much of a choice. One of the elves knocks but doesn't wait for my response before she walks in. She has blonde hair, and reminds me of a younger Galadriel. She hands me a platter of food.

"Will I not be joining the Fellowship for dinner?" I ask.

She pauses, searching me up and down. I realize it must be odd for the elves to treat an unfamiliar guest, not from their own time besides, and one that wears trousers instead of dresses. Her emerald eyes flicker.

"All in due course," she says softly. Then she swiftly bows and turns to leave. I glance down at the tray; appetizers, I suppose, not dinner.

"Wait." She freezes in the doorway, as jerkily as an elf can; they are far too graceful to do it the human way. Then she turns to me, and I ask her name.

She bows again, more relaxed this time. "Nathadel." Her voice trembles as she continues. "Welcome to Rivendell, miss." She shuts the door, and I hear her gliding away hurriedly. I sigh and sit down on the bed; no doubt Gandalf will have me stay in here. He doesn't seem to like me, and why he chose me for this is beyond me.

I lay back on the mattress and wonder if I'll wake up. I want to see Frodo first, but even if I do Gandalf will turn me into a spotted toad for it.

Then I realize that Gandalf hasn't commanded me to do anything since he brought me out from behind the bush. I assume he wants me to stay in bed, but I have a cloak; I can slide amongst the shadows. I doubt anyone will pay me mind.

I rationalize that I ostensibly just want to ask Gandalf what I ought to do now, or see if I could explore. Even I know it's not that, but hopefully no one else will know. I slip out the door, glancing around outside before I continue down the hall. I search for where Gandalf probably is, but I know it's more likely that I'll get lost.

The cool air of the fading day stirs a chill in my soul. I shiver; maybe I don't need to move to Ireland or Alaska. I can stay in Rivendell. I chuckle softly to myself, then begin singing to myself. I forget that I'm here for Frodo, or that Gandalf brought me here. It's just so beautiful.

Then I remember I shouldn't be here; I don't belong with the elves. I sink against the wall, still humming. I hear voices, and I quiet.

It's Frodo.

I listen closer; he sounds so much more substantial than I remember. But instead of speakers, I actually hear him. His voice is not deep, but it is quiet, and I appreciate that. I'm not one for conflict, and I realize I shouldn't have come. I burrow against my column, then stand slowly. Gandalf is with him.

They approach enough that I can hear individual words.

"I'm sure it was nothing, Frodo."

Frodo sounds doubtful. "I saw you walking with someone; there's something off here."

I settle; Gandalf will kill me if he finds me out here. He doesn't want the Fellowship to pay attention to me, and yet he went to so much trouble to send me with them—I don't understand.

"That is a different matter," Gandalf assures. "She is a simple girl."

I breathe a sigh of relief to myself: at least he realizes I'm nothing special. I hope Frodo internalizes that as well.

They pass right by me, and I don't dare breathe for fear of being spotted. But then my head begins to cock; Frodo is perhaps short, but he's just like an elf. It's so surreal, to see him right where I can touch him. I almost misperceive that perhaps I've met him before, and then I realize I haven't. I swallow slowly as I realize that I've found him attractive for a long time, and I try to back into the shadows.

But as Frodo and Gandalf pass by, I knock into something. I squawk in spite of myself, only to find Sam standing behind me. He bows to me, shivering apprehensively.

"I'm sorry, miss," he stammers.

I swallow. "It's fine," I mutter in response. I hear feet approaching, and I slide behind Sam to crouch in the shadows. Frodo peers back here, then turns back to Gandalf.

"It's just Sam," Frodo assures Gandalf, but his eyes flicker to me anyway. I try to cower further, but the corner isn't large enough. I hope he can't see me very well; hopefully Gandalf doesn't send me back home. I want to see how this plays out and not mess myself up already.

Gandalf peers inside, and Sam shuffles nervously. Gandalf mutters something about confounded eavesdropping, and I do my best to contain my sympathetic chuckle.

Frodo flicks his gaze around, catching my eye. He peers into the darkness, but probably still can't see very well.

I decide to tell Gandalf I'm there. I know it's probably silly, but I try to be honest above everything.

"I'm sorry," I whisper softly, stepping out. "I didn't know when you'd be back—,"

Gandalf waves it off. He reaches past a frightened Sam and grabs my hand, yanking me out past Frodo into the hall. My cheeks burn; I didn't want to be introduced this way, but then again I'm too afraid to introduce myself.

"Samwise, go tell the others it's time for dinner," Gandalf orders sternly. His gaze follows Sam, who scrambles down the hall but waves to me politely as he goes. I like Sam, and I grin to myself in spite of my predicament.

"Frodo, this is Minah. I have summoned her here to assist you in your travels. I believe I have made quite clear to both of you that this is not a matter of acquaintance beyond you, Minah, being here as . . . well, more of a servant in the background of things."

I shrug. I don't dare look at Frodo. "A Baymax," I mutter to myself.

In my peripheral I see that Frodo's gaze hasn't left me. But he doesn't look stunned so much as, well, studious. I know he's intelligent; he's probably assessing me, and will likely leave me alone after he analyzes to his heart's content. As I nervously glance at Gandalf, I realize he doesn't entirely look like Ian McKellan. There are similiarities, but there is a distinct difference. His cheekbones are wider, and his mouth is fuller. I cock my head—I didn't entirely realize that there would be a change in what I understood to be the Fellowship and how they actually exist.

Gandalf claps my shoulder. "Dinner will be ready in moments. Come, Frodo."

Frodo pauses, looking me up and down. I shuffle my feet, folding my hands behind my back as Gandalf tries to drag Frodo away. I almost stare at him with the intent message that he should go, but just the feeling of him is so sweet and intimidating that I can't. Besides, I have a clinical aversion to socializing, and liking someone only makes it worse.

The hobbit waves his hand dismissively. "I'll be along, Gandalf. Would it be so bad if I were to talk to her?" I tremble nervously.

Gandalf hmphs. "Do as you will. But I did not bring her here to be your companion so much as a simple comfort. You are aware of this."

I don't understand why Gandalf is so intent on hammering this in to us, but I realize it must be for my understanding and Frodo's subsequent benefit. Frodo nods assertively, and as Gandalf hesitantly walks away Frodo begins studying me again.

My, but this hobbit is far more curious and persistent than I ever realized. He reaches up with soft, firm fingers, locking gently under my jaw until he coaxes me to look at him. I inhale and exhale slowly; I know how average I look, but I didn't realize how he would be when I got a good view of him. Unlike how I'd always seen him—much less envisioned him—he looks wiser. His eyes shift constantly; his jaw is not as strong and wide as I remember, and his nose is perhaps a little longer, I'm not sure. His mouth is a little less distinct, and doesn't initially turn to a smile. I stare at him intently when I realize perhaps I can communicate with this creature.

Frodo's hand slacks away from my face, and I swallow uncertainly. I am tempted to shake his hand, but I don't know what is polite for a servant to do and not to do.

He extends his own. "I am Frodo Baggins," he says gently.

I shake his hand, the skin tender in my grip. His bones are fine, small, and I release him quickly. "And you know my name, sir," I reply; my voice trembles, and I initially drop to one knee. My hand that touched his drops to the floor as well. "I understand I am to serve you in any capacity I may."

Frodo chuckles lightly. I can already hear the burden in his voice, the chill of the Morgul stab that I missed. My brow furrows as I realize perhaps if I'd been called when Frodo was still in the Shire I could have saved him.

"Perhaps Gandalf called you for such," he says, obviously amused. He lays a hand on my shoulder and I freeze; he puts light pressure into it, guiding me forward. I stand and follow him down to where I assume dinner will be. "But quite frankly I have nine companions that have already offered to serve me and have no need for protection."

I study his feet as he moves. They are quite large, and far more hairy than I realized before. He walks quickly for being so small—his hands are thrust absentmindedly into his pockets. He wears no cloak yet, and I wonder as I study him what it feels like to hold him. I've always wanted to; he's so small. I immediately berate myself for thinking such things.

"Gandalf didn't bring me here to protect you," I admit. "I think he brought me to be a consistent comfort; didn't he tell you?"

Frodo hesitates for a short moment. "I'm not entirely sure what he means by that."

I turn down the hall after him. I know the less I talk to him the more content (or at least dismissive) Gandalf will be. But I gather I ought to explain my perspective.

"This quest is not going to be easy." I pause, thinking of everything ahead of him. I eye the bright little hobbit and wince; how could anyone let anything this harsh happen to him? "I think Gandalf wanted an . . ." I pause. I think then of Boromir, and that moment in front of Moria when Gandalf said to trust no one. "An objective party, one that can't fight and isn't stubborn enough, one that is considered less of a creature and more an ambivalent asset that carries itself." My voice shakes as my mind quickly grows heated; now I think I know why Gandalf chose me. "Simply to hold you or physically support you when you need it, not as a person but as an object."

I bite my lip when Frodo glances back at me. He stops in the middle of the hall, and I nearly slam into him. I scramble back two steps; trampling him is the last thing I need to do.

"You cannot fight?"

I blink uncertainly at his question, and then nod. "I've never needed to learn," I say sheepishly. One of his eyebrows lifts a little; I don't want to make a bad impression, but I realize it's a little late for that. "Where I come from times are not physically dangerous." Then I think of everyone serving in war back home, and realize perhaps Frodo is no different. I glance at the floor. "Leastwise, not where I live."

Frodo takes my hand, and I stiffen. I am not one for physical affection, another reason why I haven't dated much. Then I realize perhaps this is condescending of him, and I grip his hand in response.

"I care not," he says with a light smile. I love his smile a great deal; I cannot smile well, and my eyes widen slightly. I tear my gaze from it and look into his eyes—indeed they are bright blue, but it is not the color nor is it the size of them that catches me: it's the light behind them, everything he contains that is good in the world. I wince again when I realize it'll be broken. "I suppose I'll need you; Gandalf is wise."

That condescension puts me to calling him "sir" further. He releases my hand and beckons for me to come with him. I oblige hesitantly; I don't want to come. I'm far too abrasive around people, especially when I'm scared. I'll probably have them all either roaring with laughter or staring at me like some orc hybrid.