Jayla Fire Gal: Yay! I'm glad you feel bad for her. X) I mean, as sadistic authors do . . . Merry Christmas to you too! :D And I am SOO looking forward to that one-shot. I'll be your beta reader if you need one. :)

Me and Not You 1001: Thank you so much for pointing that out; that's a draft name, and I sometimes leave it in on accident. :P I didn't want that to be her actual name, and Minah was pretty much a last-minute for the character. Well, we're just at Fellowship; magic and trouble ahead. ;)

Diem Kieu: Muahaahahahahaahaaa . . . ! Not as much juiciness as I would like, but there's a good one out there. Sort of . . . more like a BIG, romantic Sam. He still has a decent role to play in this. Thanks! And Happy New Year! XD

I take Frodo's advice to heart: I'm a servant, nothing more. I'm a walking piece of furniture. Frodo is my taskmaster—Minah is now a nameless beast, following him on behalf of his shadow. But although neither of us can or wish to speak for ourselves, I'm not a sizable substitute.

The next day is sunny, oppressive on my eyes. I quote many a sarcastic movie line to myself as I walk, wishing my older sister were here to empathize. But I haven't seen her in three months; while she doesn't live far away, she has three children and one on the way, not much time for her single younger sibling.

I miss the connection we had. I flick my gaze over the Fellowship; the closest one here to her personality is Sam, but her intellect far surpasses his, as does her perfectionism. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to at least try befriending him.

Soon I begin chatting with the three hobbits behind me. Frodo tilts his head towards us, and in fact joins us. I don't speak to him as much; I don't understand him at all. He acts pleasant towards them, but I manage to avoid talking to him. I bow out a little bit, becoming his shadow as he and his friends interact amongst themselves.

Later that night, the Fellowship is welcoming. Even Gandalf laughs at what I have to say. Frodo is still studying me, and it's almost a little irriating that I can't read him, that he doesn't see me as anything more than what he's told me I am. I feel like if he just gave me the chance, I could understand him better than anyone here.

Merry and Pippin cuddle with me a little as Gimli tells stories about his ancestors of the Lonely Mountain. Eventually Merry falls asleep in my lap and Pippin begins sifting his fingers through my hair; it's fluffy, he tells me. Boromir slips to me that perhaps I would make a great nurturer. I cautiously thank him for the compliment as he nods to me and backs away; Aragorn simply falls asleep, and Legolas helps me to roll Merry and Pippin in their cloaks. I talk to Sam for a while more, as I did in Rivendell—he is a sweet lad, and he is a little like my sister and mother, who are very similar in personality.

I clap his shoulder when we're finished. "Sam," I say, "I don't know how frightening this is for you. But I want you to know that you're destined for great things, to be a hero like you never imagined." I bend close to him and wink. "Give it time; Rosie will love you."

He gawks at me, and I clap his shoulder again, standing up. "You have a stout heart. While that alone cannot save you, it will perhaps save the lives of the ones you love."

Sam thanks me, a little stunned, and wanders off to bed. I smile and settle to sleep right in place, not close to the fire but close enough that—a few minutes later—I hear Frodo and Gandalf talking.

"You can say what you'd like, Gandalf," Frodo says, almost with a sigh. "But I believe you brought her here in an attempt to find me a match. I would like to let you know that over these past few weeks I've realized that there is no possibility of any bonding whatsoever."

Gandalf muses over this for a moment, although he sounds encouraging of Frodo's doubts in spite of his words. "Why not? Give it time; Bilbo is quite fond of her, as are the rest of your friends."

"Understanding what I do about her, it's impossible." Frodo sounds exasperated, and I cringe to myself. They continue on that for some time, completely picking it apart. My eyes roll farther and farther back, and my grip tightens on my cloak. I feel the blush on my face and neck; I avoid being an irritation at all costs, and have always been good at it at home. If I can't do anything right here, I might as well tell them this is how it will be.

I stand abruptly, and both of them jolt. I walk over to the fire, letting my aggravation simmer before I speak. Both of them stare up at me. Frodo stands after a moment of shock and opens his mouth to say something, but I won't take it. My hand goes up first.

"Now listen," I start. I don't stare at the eyes of either of them until I feel dead serious, which doesn't take long. "I didn't knowingly volunteer to come here. I do not complain for being brought here; I am aware of the circumstances, and perhaps a great deal more than either of you are familiar with. I'm not here to encourage any matchmaking, Gandalf,"—he lets his gaze fall to the ground at this—"or to settle familial affairs, Frodo." His gaze doesn't leave mine, and my voice softens. "I'm just here to help. And if I can't do that, I shouldn't be here."

There is no response. I nod to them. "Good night. I hope you both get sleep." I turn my back on them both and roll up in my cloak. I meant every word that I said, and I hope they take it to heart; but I feel sick. What if Gandalf sends me home?

I uneasily fall asleep not knowing where I'll wake up.