DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Several people are suspecting that Jo has a "thing" for Frodo. Hmm… who knows? You decide for yourself. :) Jo meets her rescuer and a very famous wizard. (No, not Harry Potter!) Also, the first few chapters may seem to move slowly, because I want Jo to meet each of the hobbits individually. If she were to meet them all together, all at once, she would be far too overwhelmed!
I was fully awake within minutes, my brain and body alert to everything around me, the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I comprehended how remarkable my situation was. Wishes to return to my own world were short-lived.
Staring out the window at the greenery of the garden, I pensively fingered the fabric of the hobbit-made shirt. I looked on everything with a new sense of awe, touching all that I dared and reading what I could from the work left on the tables, not knowing that I was being watched by one of my rescuers.
In the hall, there was the sound of porcelain chinking, and someone cleared his throat inquiringly. I leaned forward from the bed where I sat to see half of a brunette head peering around the corner, a bright blue gaze fixed unobtrusively on me. "Jo?" a clear, accented voice ventured shyly.
"Yes?" I frowned curiously, waiting.
A hobbit slipped into the room, all of his attention on the silver tray he held. He was thinner and a few centimeters taller than Bilbo, and unmistakably younger, with large glinting eyes and thick dark hair that covered his fairy-tale-like ears in wavy locks. His face was smooth and oval-shaped, still hinting at the boyhood looks he must have previously possessed. Nearing the edge of the bed, he gave me a small smile, greeting me quietly, "Hello — here's your breakfast."
I took the tray from him thankfully, my attention momentarily taken as I observed his handsome form. I nearly laughed out loud at myself, grudgingly admonishing those dreams out of my head — he's a Hobbit, you're a Human. Leave it alone, Jorryn. All I said outwardly was "Thank you."
He shifted backward, clasping his hands composedly at his waist. His tunic was loose on his shoulders, partially covered with a burgundy-colored vest unbuttoned down his front. "I'm Frodo," he stated eventually.
I certainly knew this, but I was thrilled anyway, and I uncovered a bowl of steaming porridge to hide a cheek-bursting grin, brushing my hair out of my face. "Thanks for breakfast," I reiterated earnestly, in a very soft and timid voice, "and thanks for taking me in. This is a really big mess for all of you, probably."
Frodo's expression was clouded for a moment. "It's been no trouble. We were anxious for you, and it was the least we could do to help. My friends send their good wishes, and hope to see you soon. You're feeling better now, I hope?"
"I'm fine, just a little bewildered," I reassured him, thankful for his worry, and I looked down at my cooling food thoughtfully. "But I don't know anything — what happened?"
The hobbit dropped with a sigh onto a stack of thick hardback books piled at my bedside, staring up at me lucidly, and I trembled at the triggered current that he sent through my heart with that simple movement. "When I found you," Frodo remembered, "you were unconscious and terribly feverish. That was six days ago. Bilbo insisted that you be brought here to remain under our care."
"You found me?" I said breathlessly, watching my reflection in the silver tray on my lap, appreciation for my new friend bubbling in my chest.
Frodo nodded, his gaze fixed on some random spot on the floor before him. "I was in the woods not far from here, with two other hobbits, Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took. After I came upon you we were able to carry you to another of my companions, Gandalf, who was waiting at the Road. Since then, this is the first time you've stirred."
I picked up a fork and ran my fingers over the ridged silver, silent for a long contemplative while. A third "thank you" was trying to jump off my tongue, but I felt that those plain words would completely understate my gratitude.
It took the sonorous, grating voice of another to draw us both out of the heavy stillness. "Frodo — may I enter?"
Frodo twisted around, beckoning someone in. "Yes, Gandalf, please."
I had hazarded to try a taste of the only drink I had been given with my breakfast, and I found it pungently sharp and unpleasant. My eyes watering, I choked bitterly, coughing. However, my hacking grew even louder at the sight of an aged man ducking beneath the doorway. "A good morning to you, Jorryn, I hope you feel well," the man addressed me mildly. "Would you mind if I spoke with you?"
Gandalf the Grey, for that's undoubtedly who entered, was a towering silvery stone, a detached part in the warmth of the room, his swept-back, pearly hair brushing the ceiling. Part of his lined face was hidden by a full beard and mustache, and even before I could really be sure, I knew he had me skewered on the end of his intense gaze, scrutinizing and discerning. One thumb was tucked under the belt securing his rippling robes.
If meeting Bilbo or Frodo had scared me, it was nothing compared to the reverence and wonder I felt in the wizard's presence. His stern stature and probing gaze were only a veil over the power shrouded within him, which needed only a spark of anger or a magical command to be uncovered. "Good morning," I sputtered in reply, hastily discarding my goblet of fiery ale.
Gandalf noticed how I set the drink aside, and his piercing eyes shone. "You don't like spiced wine?" he quipped.
Wiping the dribbled beverage off my chin embarrassedly, I shook my head. "I've never tasted it, until now."
"I'll bring milk for you next time," Frodo offered accommodatingly, not leaving his relaxed perch atop the stack of books.
Stooping under ceiling beams, Gandalf moved and settled into a chair that he'd pulled up and positioned next to Frodo. "Now," he commenced, intertwining his long fingers, "has Frodo described all that has occurred this last week?"
I swallowed, nodding.
"What do you make of it, Jo?"
"I… I don't know, I suppose it's all really strange, and I don't know what to think."
I could not break away from his steady gaze. "Do you know where you are, how you got here?"
"No," I said pitifully, "I only know this is Bag End. I've never — I don't know how I ended up in the woods here."
Suddenly the wizard leaned forward, squinting keenly. I braced myself, waiting for a grave judgment. To my relief, Gandalf only revealed that he had made an ominously accurate observation. "You, Jo, are not from our Middle-earth, or the lost land of Númenor, or the realm of Aman, to be sure; in fact, I do not believe that you are anything of our Arda at all."
Having not read The Silmarillion or anything else vaguely Tolkienish, the name "Middle-earth" was the only one I recognized in Gandalf's statement, but, since I was feeling like a confronted criminal that had just been made to confess of committing some wicked crime, I simply nodded again.
Frodo looked from me to Gandalf, puzzled. "Where else could she be from, Gandalf, if not Middle-earth?" he wondered logically.
"You know of the Elves and Men that came from over the Sea, Frodo," Gandalf reminded, "but this Lady is obviously not an Elf, and though Men do tend to wander, they usually know where they are."
Both of their quizzical expressions turned to meet mine, and I sagged wretchedly under the weight of them. "I'm not from Middle-earth," I confirmed. That was the only fact I was really sure of. "I don't know how I came here or why… but I'm sure — I know my home is in another world." I tried to jump into another sentence, to attempt explaining myself, to verify my story with proof. Frodo interjected dubiously.
"Another world!" gaped the hobbit, his mouth open. "How can you know that?"
A mysterious air passed over Gandalf, darkening his ancient features. I waited fretfully. "Peace, Frodo," he said at length, "incidents like this are not entirely unheard of. There is the chance that a magic capable of doing such things exists, though I do not know of it, unless…" He did not finish his last thought. The wizard examined me from under his bushy eyebrows, pondering these new possibilities, hitting me with more rapid, terse questions. "What has happened to you to make you believe that your world is separate from ours? How can you be sure of it? Do you remember anything from before, of yourself, of your world?"
Reaching far within my mind, I delayed any reaction, mulling over what my answer should be. The thought that magic more powerful than Gandalf's was distressing, and it seemed to visibly disturb the wizard himself. "I don't suppose it should actually be said that I'm from a different world," I mused tentatively, recalling as many essays, articles, and encyclopedia entries on the subject as I could, "but from another time. You see," I continued quickly, blushing underneath the two others' skepticism, "I know about Middle-earth and the people in it, because I've read entire books about hobbits, elves, and everything else, but I thought that was just fiction. The author meant for the story to be set thousands of years before the time I knew, with imaginary characters and adventures. Up 'til now, I've understood everything in those books to be untrue, and when I suddenly found myself in the middle of an invented time… it's pretty extraordinary." My held breath flew from my chest in a shuddering pant. I had not meant to say so much, and I was embarrassed.
Brow furrowed, Gandalf harrumphed into his palm, muttering. "Extraordinary, indeed."
"I was sick before I woke up here," I put in.
"Yes, you were."
I shook my head, "No, I mean before, when I was still at my home. Like, my legs got numb and died, and I couldn't feel them."
"What else can you remember?" Gandalf questioned.
I closed my eyes. "It was summer, and we were selling fireworks to raise money for the business I worked for. I don't know what day it was — maybe Tuesday. I remember… I stood up really fast at the fireworks stand, and then it was like I couldn't feel myself anymore. Every part of my body was cold and numb. I… I fainted, I think."
"And… you know about Middle-earth? How much do you think you know?"
Unprepared to expose all that I knew, about their stories and lives and personalities, I said, "I — I know about you."
"Me?" the wizard said in surprise, his eyebrows lifting slightly. "Does your knowledge extend, perhaps, to the future of Middle-earth?"
Blood drained from my face. "Yes, it does, a little," I said. I realized then what a threat I could be to them and their stories, and Gandalf knew that he didn't have to tell me so. The dangers of time-travel all at once seemed too real. Frodo continued to look on, still confused.
Gandalf rubbed his jaw, pensive. "There is something at work here," he concluded finally, "I'm not sure what, yet. Do not trouble yourself with this matter," he said to me, touching the lump under the blanket that was my foot. "Your case is a special one, and I will sort it out accordingly." Walking around a motionless Frodo, the wizard granted me the pleasure of seeing one corner of his mouth turn upward amusedly. "Someone has had the sense to drop you into the middle of a very welcome company. I think you will be quite comfortable here at Bag End."
"I think so too," I replied with a grateful smile. "Thank you, sir."
Just before Gandalf left the room, he bent low under the doorframe so Frodo and I could see him. "I should think it was lunchtime for you, Frodo."
"I suppose so," said the hobbit absentmindedly.
"Jo, I am sure Master Bilbo would allow you to join us, if you think you're well enough to be out of bed." Without another word, Gandalf disappeared in a swirl of gray cloth. Undecided, I thought of my nearly untouched breakfast, and I chided myself for wastefulness.
Standing to stretch his short arms, Frodo startled me out of my plaguing feelings. "Would you like to take lunch with me and my uncle?"
"If it's no trouble — "
" — for you," he finished for me firmly. "You need to stay and rest if you are still unwell."
I beamed softly at him. "Then of course I'd like to come."