The day was growing hot. My sleeves were rolled up past my elbows and my forehead was damp with sweat. My hair stuck to my face in small, itchy strands that reappeared no matter how many times I brushed them away. Now, being from Salt Lake City, heat was no stranger to me. Our summers often reached absurd temperatures, but I was not used to trekking through uneven terrain whilst plagued by the heat. Patches of shade help cool me, and the breeze blew pleasantly through the thin fabric of my tunic so, in all, the temperature was not unbearable.

I almost immediately regretted my decision to stomp off to the front of the procession, but my fierce anger would not let me admit that to myself. I had to walk quickly in order to stay ahead of the ponies and to tell the truth, I wasn't one-hundred-percent sure where I was headed. I pictured the map of The Shire in my head, and decided we were probably headed in the general direction of the Brandywine Bridge. Probably.

The awkward silence my furious exit left had finally worn away and I could hear the dwarves talking and laughing amongst themselves behind me. Even Gandalf joined in every now and then. I was left to myself. I had made it clear, whether I had meant to or not, that I did not want the company of the dwarves. I sighed. No. I had not made quite the entrance I had expected. I wished I had been accepted into the dwarves company with awe, respect and friendship. Perhaps with time I would earn those things, but just then they were woefully out of sight.

As we passed through a particularly dense stand of oaks, my stomach made a rather loud and embarrassing growl. I peered back over my shoulder, but no one appeared to have heard it. I fished in my pocket for the apple Bilbo had given me before our mad dash to meet the dwarves.

It was small, about the size of my fist and a splotched with red and green. I dusted it off on my tunic and took a bite. My teeth broke through the tough skin with a pop. My face wrinkled as the sour taste hit my tongue. It tasted just like the crab apples from my grandfather's backyard. I swallowed my bite with a bit of difficulty, then gave the apple an accusing stare.

I guess in Middle-Earth they haven't learned to grow genetically sweetened apples yet, I thought.

I finished the apple anyway, tossing the core into the woods and listening as it rattled through brush and brambles. I wiped my hands on my pants and noticed that Brandywine Bridge was in sight.

It was a small bridge, wide enough for a small cart and pony to cross. Was that small? Or was that large by Middle-Earth standards? I halted at the center of the bridge, looking out over the river that bubbled and splashed beneath me. Downriver I could see hobbits standing on the banks. Fishing, cleaning pots or clothes, gathering water in small buckets. With the birds around me chirping merrily, the sun hot on my neck and the fish reflecting light off their shining scales, I was happy. I was in Middle-Earth. Well, I was dreaming, but I was in a Middle-Earth that felt real enough to content me. This was the world I had been longing to visit and finally, with the Shire's breeze blowing through my hair, I had found it.

The horses soon caught up and I had to choose between staying ahead of them or letting them overtake me. I decided to remain ahead of the procession, not wishing to face the awkward silence I knew would be waiting for me in the company of the dwarves.

Also, I had to think about what to say to Gandalf. He had left me to my own devices since his words in Bag End, 'We must speak of this City of Salt Lake and your . . . unique abilities'. Gandalf had spoken as if he knew something was up. He knew I was hiding something, and I suppose I didn't blame him. If a half-naked girl showed up on my doorstep during a secret meeting, I'd be suspicious too. But what was I to say to him? I couldn't tell him the truth, could I? There was nothing to say the wizard would even believe my tale.

I picked up my pace and strode once more out in front of the ponies. I followed the path as it opened up. The trees thinned out and gave way to farmland. Crops from corn to cabbages lined the path with only a wooden fence to keep passersby from snatching a vegetable or two. This line of thought lead me on to remember the Lord of the Rings, and I grinned to think that this was the very road Frodo and Sam would travel to take the One Ring to Mordor in fifty years time.


Bree was a lot farther from Hobbiton than I had originally thought. The farmland faded once more into forest with gently sloping hills on the horizon. By noon, my legs were shaking from exhaustion and my stomach growled with hunger. Neither the apple nor the bread Bilbo had given me seemed like much of a meal, and it soon became quite obvious that I was not accustomed to walking for such distances.

But I would not allow myself to rest any more than the dwarves did. I knew that if I showed any signs of being tired, Thorin would blame it on my being a woman and 'unsuited for such adventures'. Even thinking about it made me a bit angry and I funneled my temper into my legs, forcing them on one step at a time.

Not only was the walk physically exhausting, it was a bit lonely. With no one to talk to, the time seem to run on the long side. To occupy my mind, I began singing to myself. First I sang the more Tolkein-esque songs I knew, such as Misty Mountains, The Road Goes Ever On, Edge of Night, etc, but I quickly exhausted my rather limited supply and found myself singing Carry On Wayward Son, mumbling when I couldn't remember the lyrics.

But, as the sun began to set and my voice grew hoarse from singing, the romanticism and excitement of being in Middle-Earth began to wear off. The sun was shining through the trees behind me, stretching out my shadow before me. I was sweaty and dirty, and the heat of the day was soon becoming a damp chill. Honestly, I had no idea where we were. By my reckoning we should have hit Bree ages ago, but still the path wandered through the woods as if it didn't plan on ending anytime soon. I found myself in the depths of a weepy exhaustion, not far from tears. I wanted to sit down. I wanted to curl up on a couch with a blanket and my headphones. I wanted a shower and hot food and the comforting murmur of the television in the background.

I was just contemplating sitting in the dirt right there in the middle of the road when the clop of hooves sounded close behind me. I turned, seeing Gandalf perched up on his horse. The horse nickered softly, her nostrils flaring. I looked up at Gandalf. The old wizard was offering me one gnarled hand, a soft smile hidden beneath his mustache. I stared at the hand, unsure what he expected of me.

"Grab hold, my dear," he said, "I think you've walked quite enough for one day. Grab hold."

Slowly, I took the proffered hand and with a strength that surprised me, Gandalf hauled me up to sit behind him on the horse. I sat just behind the saddle, my legs straddling the horse's bare back. Surprised, gripped Gandalf's robes to keep from slipping off the other side.

"Can the horse handle two riders?" I asked. My voice was quiet and sore, but even I could hear the relief it held.

"She is a strong beast, she will bare us for as far as we must go."

And with that, Gandalf nudged the horse into a walk and we continued down the path. I, like all young girls. had absolutely loved horses, but I had never ridden one before. The feeling of her muscles moving beneath me was a magical experience. However, the dwarves soon caught up to us and my suddenly bright mood dimmed once more. I avoided looking at any of them in particular, which wasn't too difficult considering my face was nearly buried in Gandalf's mass of robes. I thought I saw Ori and Dori riding beside us, and I could hear Balin, Dwalin and Thorin muttering amongst themselves behind me. I strained my ears, but could not hear what they said.

I couldn't have cared less, even if they spoke of me. The fact that I was no longer walking made me as happy as could be, and once again I began to admire my surroundings. The sun was setting in earnest now and the stars were peaking out of their twilight nest. I gazed up at them, my mouth hanging open.

"What is it, lass?" Said Fili in a joking manner, "Never seen the sky before?"

I kept my eyes on the stars, ignoring Fili's humor, "No, I've seen the sky. But these stars! Oh, I've never seen such stars!" And it was true. The stars cascaded over the night sky like a scattering of diamonds, twinkling and glowing with merry light that would make even the stars of Utah jealous.

"The stars?" Kili said, craning his neck to look up for himself.

I nodded, my gaze still fixed on the heavens, "Yeah. You can barely see the stars where I'm from."

"Where did you say you were from again?" Fili asked. I could tell he was looking at me by the prickle on my neck, but I didn't return his gaze.

"The City of Salt Lake," I replied cooly. I still wasn't sure of the angle I was going with all of this. I had already decided not to meddle in the dwarves' affairs, but what would I tell them of myself?

"Where is that?" Kili continued. "Is it near Dunland?"

"No, it's," I hesitated, "much further away than that," I finished lamely. "Much further away."

"Ah, here we are at last!" Gandalf cried, urging the horse to a trot. I peered around the wizard and saw on a small rise the glowing windows and smokey chimneys of what could only have been-

"Bree!" I said with excitement.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw both Kili and Fili give me strange looks, but I ignored them. We were finally to Bree.

As we reached the gates an old man in a cloak, with a beard that looked like it housed a family of lice, rose from where he perched on a small stool before the stables. Gandalf swung easily from the saddle, leaving me to slide awkwardly over the horse's side.

"-And oats, if you will," Gandalf was saying to the man who nodded, already reaching for the horse's reins.

"I'll see to it they get properly stabled, master. It might be a tight fit, I don't know that we have room for sixteen ponies," the man said.

"I'm sure you'll find room," Gandalf said and slipped the man a copper coin.

The man pocketed the money without hesitation and smiled, "Yes sir, I think I can find room for them."

Gandalf nodded in satisfaction, "There's a good man," and, followed by the thirteen dwarves and the befuddled hobbit, trudged his way through Bree.

I fell in step next to Bilbo, who seemed just as awed by Bree as I was. The road was mud, and it splashed under my feet. The houses were little wooden things with glass windows and sagging doors. They were small, but at least they were made with humans in mind. The streets were narrow, and a pure, ungodly stench hung over the place, making me cover my nose with a sleeve to avoid retching. The smell of rotting food, sewer, animals and too many people living too close together. People ran to and fro. Women in dresses with muddy hems and dirty aprons with baskets of cloth or goods in their arms, their hair tied back in braids, men in trousers and knee-high boots leading animals through the mud, all trying to get one last errand in before turning in for the night. The sound of activity permeated the air. The crackling of a torch, a splash of a boot in a puddle, the nicker of a horse or the mournful cry of a goat. The sounds of voices and laughter faded around us as folks stopped about their business to stare at thirteen dwarves, a hobbit, a wizard and a girl pass them by.

One thing I did notice was that, once again, everyone seemed fairly short. I peered around me but the tallest man I could see could not have been taller than myself. The women looked to be about 5'2'' at the tallest. I shook my head in confusion. I had heard people were shorter in the olden days, due to poor nutrition and the likes, but I had never thought it would apply to Middle-Earth. In the movies, everyone was tall and fair, covered with artful grime. Not here. Not these people.

Bilbo took this all in at the same time as I did, raising a hand to his face as he tried to get accustomed to the smell.

"And how are you after your first day of travel, Mr. Bilbo?" I asked, noticing how he walked with a slight limp.

"A tad stiff from the saddle, but well enough I suppose," he said. In a low voice he confided, "I'd do anything for a hot bath and meal right about now."

I chuckled and agreed with him, "I've never ridden a horse before. It's a bit more uncomfortable than I thought it would be."

Just then, I heard the tinkling of bells and I looked up to see the dwarves in front of me funneling through a door into The Prancing Pony. I nearly giggled, half from excitement half from exhausted hysteria.

The Prancing Pony's interior looked exactly as I had expected it to look. Tables filled the large space, given a warm glow by a myriad of candles and a blazing fire in the back fireplace. A bar stood near the door, surrounded by laughing men and women who were obviously deep in their cups.

As Thorin saw to the rooms and Bomber saw to the food, I saw nothing else to do but huddle near the fireplace in an attempt to clear the damp from my bones. I pulled up a chair and sat before the hearth, holding out my hands towards the flames.

I must have dozed off, because next thing I knew someone was nudging my leg with a booted foot. I opened my eyes, blearily wiping away sleep-haze to see Bomber, offering me a plate of something. My stomach grumbled in recognition of an edible substance.

I took the plate quickly, "Thanks a lot, Bomber. This is just what I needed."

Bomber smiled under his massive ginger mustache and wobbled off, balancing many more dishes in his hands. I watched as he continued to distribute them amongst the dwarves before looking down at my own plate. A large hunk of dark brown bread, a bunch of grapes and a slice of white cheese. A large cup had been set by my side at the table, as well.

I took up the cup first, sniffing it carefully before daring to drink. Just as well that I did; as I sniffed the sharp, sickly smell of harsh alcohol hit my nose. I hastily put the cup down, not even tempted to taste the stuff.

I took up the bread and cheese and ate them, occasionally popping a grape into my mouth. This food was better than my breakfast of bread and apple simply because there was more of it. This was not a hobbit sized meal, for which I was very grateful.

I finished my meal quietly, listening as the dwarves drank and ate and laughed heartily amongst themselves. They were having a veritable party, with empty cups and mugs scattered over the long table around which they sat. Even Thorin was on his third or fourth cup of ale and was grinning mildly. I imagined they were all rather excited to finally be embarking on the quest to take back their old home.

I scowled as I noticed one party member was missing. I didn't see Gandalf's silver head towering over the dwarves. Just as this thought entered my mind, there was a heavy sigh and the creaking of wood as the wizard sat down beside me. Shadows stood dark and quavering in the folds of Gandalf's robes, and the firelight shone in his eyes.

"Good evening, Marceline. I trust you're doing well?" He said, setting down two mugs on the table and pushing one towards me. "Tea," he added when he noticed my doleful look.

I took the cup gratefully, sipping at the hot brew. It was a black tea that had steeped too long, but it was laden with honey and at that moment it tasted like heaven.

"Thanks," I said earnestly. "I'm doing okay, how are you?"

"Oh, fine, fine," Gandalf mumbled, taking his own mug in his hands. The smell of hot, sweet wine wafted towards me. "I've come to ask about your power," he said, broaching the subject. "Where is it that you are from?"

I licked my lips and took a breath, "I'm from Salt Lake City."

When Gandalf spoke his voice was quiet, but no less intense, "I am not familiar with that place, it must be quite a ways off."

"It is," I nodded.

"Then how is it that a young girl makes her way all the way to The Shire without a guide, a horse, or even food?"

I choked on my tea and coughed for a moment as I tried to get my scrambled thoughts together. God, Gandalf was nosy.

"I was robbed by bandits in-" I thought quickly, spitting out the first name that came into my mind, "-Ered Luin."

Gandalf's eyes narrowed. He knew something was up. "And you walked all the way to The Shire? Very commendable."

I nodded but said nothing, sipping at my tea.

"And you gained the power of foresight in Salt Lake City?"

I nodded again, "I had good teachers."

"And why have you come here?" Gandalf's eyes held mine with a gaze as steely and intense as a sharpened knife, "Have you come all this way only to accompany Thorin Oakenshield to Erebor?"

"I-" I stuttered, "It's my duty as a fortune teller to-to help Thorin on his quest. There is a lot at stake." Before Gandalf could begin to reply, I stood and set my mug aside, "I think I need to sleep. Do we have rooms here?"

Gandalf nodded, but eyes were still narrowed in obvious suspicion, "Up the stairs and first door to the right. I'm sorry to say you'll be sharing a room with the rest of the dwarves. Thorin insisted that you be treated as the rest of them."

I bit my lip, regretting my earlier outburst even more.

"Though, there's washing water up in the room. If you're quick, it may still be hot," Gandalf added, the earlier coldness gone from his voice.

I thanked Gandalf for the tea and, giving the dwarves one last look, headed for the stairs. They were still drinking away. Kili and Ori were both obviously sopping drunk. Ori's nose was a bright red, as was Kili's cheeks. Kili must have noticed me going upstairs because he raised one hand in a grand wave. He nearly fell from his chair doing so, but he didn't notice.

"Goodnight, fair lady of the company," he said boisterously, laughing. The others joined in, laughing and waving in very high spirits. Thorin didn't even look my way, but took a long draft from his mug.

Not knowing what else to do, I waved back and hurried up the stairs to the room.

The room in question was long, with five or six narrow beds lining the walls. Thorin must have gotten at least two rooms, because there was no way sixteen people were fitting in there, dwarves or no. A branch of candles was lit, and I saw a large pitcher and basin set on a low table. I crossed the room and put a hand over the pitcher. The water was hot.

I poured water in the basin and, with a clean cloth I found draped over the table, washed my face and arms. It felt amazingly good to wipe away the sweat and dust of the road. I set about scraping as much of the remaining mud from my feet. They were sore, the skin almost raw from walking so far without shoes.

A window hung over the table and through the foggy glass I could see that night had truly fallen. Only an occasional streetlamp illuminated the dark streets. Nothing stirred in the dark streets of Bree.

I thought about Kili's wave and laugh and wondered what he meant by them. I had read as many Kili/OC fanfictions as the next girl, and who could blame me? I mean, compared to all of the other hairy dwarves, Kili was downright pretty. However, now that I had encountered him in person, reality hit me hard in the gut. Not only was he a good foot and a half shorter than I, he was sixty years older than me. Sixty years. He could have been my grandfather. Not to mention he was a dwarf. He would live on long after I died, and that never turns out well for anyone involved.

My heart twisted suddenly in my chest as I realized.

I had read The Hobbit many times over and I was only all too familiar with the fate of the young heir of Durin. He wouldn't live on, would he?


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