Well, well, well, look who didn't wait a full year between updates this time. Thanks to all y'all that left reviews- they mean a lot! This chapter is a bit...filler-ish, but I'm still very fond of it. The plot will come crashing back soon, I promise. I hope y'all are staying safe out there!

Chapter 13: Bed and Breakfast and Breakfast

"Now then," Bilbo said, piling so many seed cakes onto his plate that I could barely see the top of his curly head across the table, "where did we leave off yesterday? I believe you had just finished translating that lovely poem about birch trees."

I flipped through the tattered book and propped it open against a teapot. "Oh yeah, the Robert Frost one. Want to look at more of his poems, then?"

"There are more? Excellent, excellent—those are by far my favorites from your homeland. Oh, but do eat something, my dear, before we get started!" Ignoring my protests, the old hobbit tipped a few cakes onto my plate. "You really ought to eat more, you know. How the big folk can manage on just a single meal before lunchtime is beyond me."

"Oh, no—that's plenty, thanks," I protested, scooting my plate out of his reach. I'd learned that it was useless trying to explain to Bilbo that two breakfasts as well as elevensies would in all likelihood make me die of a heart attack by the age of forty.

It had been nearly two weeks since I'd arrived in Rivendell, though I found it hard to track just how many days had passed. To my fangirlish delight, Bilbo and I had quickly fallen into the habit of meeting over elevensies to share stories from our homelands. However, he'd been so disappointed that I didn't know any poems from my world to share with him that I'd gifted him the books I'd stolen from Saruman's hoard, hoping that would satisfy his curiosity. The hobbit had been thrilled by the books, but, much to my horror, he immediately conscripted me into translating the entirety of American Poetry of the 18th and 19th Centuries into Westron, and had taken to questioning me for hours over word choices and rhyme schemes.

"No, no, no," Bilbo hmphed for the fifth time in as many minutes, scratching out a few words with his quill. "A direct translation of that line won't do at all—the rhythm sounded much stronger in its native tongue. Let's try again, eh?" I nodded, stifling a sigh into my teacup and turning back to the book.

"Bee, there you are!"

"Amarien!" I looked up from Bilbo's notes gratefully. It had taken days of pestering her, but she'd finally agreed to stop calling me 'miss.'

The elf maid curtseyed gracefully. "Master Baggins, I do apologize for taking away your guest, but I am afraid Bee is needed at once."

The old hobbit barely looked up from his parchment, still poring over the lines I'd translated. He waved a seedcake in my direction distractedly, flinging crumbs across the table. "No worries; go on then, my dear. We will resume our writing tomorrow, if you like."

I waved goodbye and followed Amarien down the hall. "What is it?" I asked urgently when we were out of earshot. "Is everything okay?"

She burst into laughter. "Nothing is the matter, of course. I only thought you were in need of rescue."

"That's horrible," I chided, giggling despite myself.

"I meant no offense to our dear hobbit, of course," she said, still grinning from ear to pointy ear. "He is an excellent poet, but a bit overeager. Perhaps all mortal creatures grow more eccentric in their old age." She studied me sidelong. "I don't doubt you will be much the same, given time."

"Hey!"

"Well, I confess myself rather curious. Bilbo is the only elderly person I have ever met, you know."

"Oh…I hadn't thought about that." I softened. "That must be strange."

"I think I should very much like to know you when you are old," Amarien said with a grin. "Unlike Bilbo with his poems, you will no doubt spend all your days lecturing others about music from your homeland. Oh, what a character you shall be!"

"Um…thanks," I replied. I wasn't sure if she had complimented me or not, but my stomach twisted at the knowledge that, with any luck, she wouldn't get to know me when I was old.

"Have I offended you, Bee?" Amarien asked hesitantly. "I did not mean to, you know."

"No, no, it's fine," I said. "It's just…the idea of being stuck here all my life, never finding my way home." Amarien's face fell. "It's not that I don't like it here," I said quickly. "But I can't just sit around forever with no idea of what to do—"

"As to that," Amarien said, grabbing my arm, "I have an idea. Come with me."

With surprising strength, the elf dragged me down the hall, and I vaguely recognized the twists and turns as taking us to Elrond's library.

"Lord Elrond?" Amarien pushed the heavy doors open with a creak.

Elrond glanced up from his desk and sighed. "Amarien, need I remind you to knock before entering a room?"

She curtseyed, wincing slightly, and I grinned; Amarien may have been over two hundred years old, but it was often very obvious how much younger she was than the other elves I'd met. "Sorry, my lord. But I wished to ask for your permission to search through your library."

I raised an eyebrow at her. So did Elrond. "I did not know you to be particularly studious," he said.

"It is for Bee—Miss Beatrice, that is," she said, pushing me forward.

"Hello," I said. Amarien elbowed me. "Uh…my lord," I added awkwardly.

"I had wondered if perhaps Bee might find information about her homeland in your records," Amarien said excitedly. "If you would give us leave to conduct a search of your private collections…"

Elrond considered the matter. "Your idea may have some merit, Amarien. This library is one of the largest in Middle Earth, save perhaps Men's collection in Minas Tirith. Even I have not read all of its contents. But I must warn you, Beatrice, that it is unlikely you will find any mentions of your homeland, let alone methods of contacting your people or traveling back to your city."

"I understand," I said, warming to the idea immediately. "But it's better than nothing. I can't just sit here wondering if I'm ever going to make it back and worrying about Gandalf, not able to do anything about it. And I'm sorry to ask—are you sure there isn't any news, anything at all—?"

Elrond pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Beatrice, you ask me every time you pass me in the halls; for the last time, I will inform you as soon as I have any news of Gandalf or of the…situation in Isengard. In the meantime, peruse my library at your will. Amarien, perhaps you might act as a translator for your friend, as most of our works are written in elvish. I will tell Mistress Halthel to reduce your servant's duties, that you might have time to spare."

I picked at my sleeve uncomfortably. "Actually, Elrond—" Amarien elbowed me again. "Lord Elrond," I corrected myself. "I was wondering if I could help Amarien with her work."

He looked taken aback. "Is that so?"

"Well, it's been bothering me for a while, sir—uh, I mean, my lord—that I can't pay for my room and board here, let alone for a maid service or anything else."

"Ah, but that is not our way," Elrond said gently. "The Last Homely House is open to travelers such as yourself. We do not expect our guests to earn their keep in such a manner, especially not if they have come to us seeking shelter from great peril."

"But I'm not really a traveler anymore, or in peril, am I?" I protested. "I just don't like feeling useless—and who knows how long I'll be stuck here, doing nothing? Please, I just feel…weird receiving all your help without earning it."

"We will gladly accept any help you can give," Elrond said, looking bemused, "though you must understand that one mortal woman is hardly a burden to us. But if that is what you wish, you shall report to the housekeeper alongside Amarien tomorrow morning, and she will divide your duties accordingly. In your free time, however, by all means search for information about your Texas in my library. I wish you and Amarien luck."

"We've done it!" Amarien squeezed my arm as Elrond ushered us out of his office with a rather exasperated expression on his ageless face. Her happiness was infectious; I grinned back. "But you truly intend to act as a maidservant?"

I nodded determinedly. "It's like I said, I'm not used to having nothing to do. I've had at least one job since I was sixteen, even through college. And it still feels weird to have you draw baths for me and stuff. I may as well learn out how to do it for myself."

Amarien beamed at me. "How strange you are. But I thank you for it."

Mistress Halthel was far less pleased by my offer. An elegant, dark-haired elf who looked no older than thirty, she had a tightness about her jaw that seemed to have come from long-suffering impatience. "So, then, Beatrice. Have you worked in large households such as this before?"

"No, ma'am. I used to work in an office. It was mostly research, statistics, and writing—"

"Hmm. At least you are literate, though I presume you cannot read elvish?" I shook my head. Halthel sighed. "Then you will be unable to correspond with our traders and suppliers. But you certainly can sew?"

"No, ma'am."

"Can you knit? Or work a loom?"

"No, ma'am," I said again, withering under Halthel's glare.

She rounded on Amarien. "Teach Beatrice to mend clothes, then, and quickly; she shall at least be of some help to the ladies' maids. In the meantime, she can keep our guest quarters clean in case we receive new visitors. Luckily for you, Beatrice, we are not in dire need of housemaids or other services, or you should prove entirely useless."

Being berated by an elvish housekeeper was such a novel experience that I couldn't bring myself to be very offended. "I'm happy to hear it, ma'am," I said bracingly.

With a roll of her eyes, Halthel dismissed us.

Soon Amarien was dragging me out of bed at the crack of dawn to teach me housekeeping duties. My mornings became absorbed with learning to wash clothes without a washing machine and accidentally stabbing myself in the thumb with a sewing needle, and I found myself exhausted enough to be quite grateful for Bilbo's offer of multiple breakfasts. Still, I found myself enjoying the work. Amarien made for excellent company, and the work added purpose to my days, which no longer blurred together quite so much.

When I finished with my daily maid's duties, I would lose myself amongst the dusty shelves of Rivendell's library, pulling out stacks of leather-bound books and half-crumbling scrolls by the armful. I set up shop at a little mahogany table in one of the back rooms, warmed by a sunny window and stained with decades of splattered ink and wax.

True to her word, Amarien patiently translated line after line for me, sometimes skimming through entire books and giving tidy summaries of centuries of history, culture, and politics—anything that might make mention of other worlds, while I took meandering notes on a roll of parchment, muttering curses in English as I struggled to write with a quill and ink. If only I hadn't left that ballpoint pen back in that cell in Isengard…

Writing with a quill and ink turned out to be the least of my problems. Elrond seemed to have been right: nothing in the library had anything to do with travel or communication with my homeland. It seemed that, come what may, I was stuck in Middle Earth for the time being.

The weeks fell away, and before I knew it autumn had come to Rivendell. Ever so slowly, the thickets and forests exploded into reds and yellows, and a delightful crispness seeped into the air. Amarien laughed and laughed at my amazement at the change that had overcome the valley.

"You don't understand," I exclaimed, leaning wistfully on one of the balconies in the Hall of Fire. "I've never seen fall colors like this—most trees don't change color back in Texas."

"Do they not?" Amarien asked, a note of amusement in her voice. I'd told her all this several times already.

"This is all just so pretty. And I still can't believe it, it's actually getting cold, it never gets cold back home—"

"Yes, yes." Amarien patted my back indulgently, then spun around. "Oh—hello there, Lanion! You've not graced us with your presence for quite some time."

I nearly toppled off the balcony. "Lanion?"

The guard smiled at us as he stepped onto the balcony, his teeth flashing white in the evening sun. I thought I'd gotten used to the otherworldly beauty of elves by now, but I still felt blood rush to my face at the sight of the first elf I'd ever seen. His hair was so pale it seemed to glow…It should be illegal to be that handsome, I thought furiously.

"Forgive me, Amarien. My patrols have taken me far from our dear valley of late. And howdy, Beatrice. I am glad to see you looking well."

"What?" The spell of his ethereal beauty shattered at once. "Why—why'd you say howdy?" I cried, hardly able to breathe through my laughter.

Lanion looked quite taken aback. "You greeted me thus when I escorted you to Imladris. Is it not a term from your native tongue?"

Helplessly, I doubled over with giggles, unable to respond. Amarien patted my back sympathetically. "What brings you back from patrol so soon, Lanion?" she asked, ignoring my choking laughter.

He shook his head at me and turned back to Amarien. "There have been reports of enemy movements near Rivendell. I have just given my report to Lord Elrond, and must return to the wilds tomorrow. However, I do have good news for your friend here, if she might overcome her fit of madness," he added wryly, turning back to me. I stopped laughing and did my best to look apologetic. "My cousin Lhosdess mentioned that you are a violinist, Beatrice. As it happens, I had learned to play a century or two ago, and have an instrument that you might borrow."

I was stunned. "What, really? You're sure I can use it?"

"I doubt I will have much opportunity to perform while on patrol, after all." He slung a bag from his shoulders and handed me a cloth violin case.

I took the instrument reverently. "Thank you!" All embarrassment forgotten, I hugged Lanion around the middle and bounced on the balls of my feet.

The violin was beautiful, with the same pale, golden wood and inverted bow as the instruments I'd watched enviously in the Hall of Fire. Was it really centuries old? And the craftsmanship was astounding; it was certainly in a different league than my violin back home, which I'd bought secondhand on eBay—

"Beatrice!"

"Huh?" I tore my eyes away from the violin.

Amarien rolled her eyes. "I was saying, perhaps you might perform something for us, before Lanion returns to his post?"

"Oh, yes, of course…" I said, turning back to the instrument reverently.

My first performance in the Hall of Fire drew an enormous crowd, as most of the elves were wildly curious about music from beyond Middle Earth. I'd luckily outgrown stage fright from an early age, and was thrilled to be in my element again. But as it turned out, most of the songs I knew from the modern world were a bit of an acquired taste for elves. The classical pieces were too dull, the country and pop songs too strange. Soon only Bilbo regularly listened to my songs, and took to interrupting me every few minutes to ask me about the meaning behind their composition or their accompanying lyrics.

As content as I'd become with my violin, my research in Elrond's library, and my newfound friends in Rivendell, the weeks dragged on, the weather grew colder, and my high spirits faded away with the last of the summer flowers.

What were my friends back in Dallas doing right now? I couldn't help but dwell on it, even though I knew I was doing everything I could to get back home. Had Caroline chosen a topic for her graduate thesis? Had they all kept up with the string quartet now that I was gone? Had they found a new first violinist, or did they become a trio, unwilling to replace me? Was my mother still living by herself in the middle of nowhere, or had she gone to stay with her extended family out in Amarillo after she'd learned of my disappearance?

Each little question led to others, until they marched through my mind, one after another, as I ate my meals, as I made my way listlessly through the gardens and walking paths, as I lay in my little bed near the window, shutters drawn tight to keep out the autumn chill.

Were my friends planning their Halloween costumes? Had my office hired a replacement for me? I had vanished with Nathan's copy of The Lord of the Rings—had he bought a new one to replace it? It was his favorite book, after all. Was there someone new living in my apartment? I imagined so—it had been over two months now. Did the new tenants keep my old lime green sofa? God, I hope they did. I missed that hideous old sofa more than I could say, and couldn't bear the thought of it being tossed onto the curb.

It was with these thoughts and a thousand others that I found myself crying quietly on a bench in one of the gardens. The tears had overwhelmed me quite suddenly, and in my last moments of level-headedness I'd managed to slip away to a more secluded area, where I was less likely to be seen as I clutched my knees to my chest on a stone bench, pressing my eyelids to my kneecaps and sobbing until the faded denim of my jeans was wet. Amarien had helped me clean and sew up my old Texas clothes, and I'd taken to wearing them on days like this, when I was desperately sad.

"Beatrice?"

I didn't look up. "Please, go away," I moaned, clutching my knees tighter. Whoever it wasn't didn't reply, but I heard the soft tapping of a cane, then the whump of someone sitting down next to me. A child-sized hand patted my shoulder gently.

"Would you like me to send for some tea?" Bilbo asked after a long moment.

I shook my head. "I d-don't want anything. I just—I just wanna go home," I bit out, drowning in bitter waves of self-pity. I lowered my knees and buried my face in my hands, horrible choking sobs escaping through my fingers. Bilbo patted my arm again, only serving to make me cry harder. "How am I ever going to get back?" I said hoarsely. "Amarien and I are looking through the library almost every day, but we haven't found anything, not even a hint…" I wiped at my nose self-consciously. "I always wanted to have an adventure like yours, but how can I ever go there and back again if there's no way back?"

"You know," Bilbo said after a moment, pulling a pipe from his pocket, "after my adventures, I found that even the farthest points on a map aren't as distant as they may seem. Why, our maps in the Shire did not even extend far enough to mark the Lonely Mountain when I set out for it all those years ago, yet it was just as reachable as any other destination, if one was willing to travel far enough." He paused to fill his pipe, then puffed at it, stretching his wooly toes out in front of him thoughtfully. "It will not be easy, Beatrice. You've been swept far downriver, but as long as you continue rowing, you will find yourself back at your own front door in the end."

I shook my head. "I haven't so much been swept down a river, I've—I've plunged down a waterfall, and now I'm floating down the wrong river entirely. How do you row back up a waterfall?"

"Well, as luck would have it, I met someone recently who flew halfway across Middle Earth in a flying machine. That ought to be enough to get you up a waterfall, oughtn't it?"

I laughed weakly, before dissolving back into tears.

"There, there, my dear…" Bilbo patted my back. "Come now, pull your thoughts together. I have a question for you."

I hesitated and looked up at him with bleary eyes. "What?"

Bilbo smiled, and adopted a very serious expression. "Hard to catch, but easy to hold; what can't be seen unless it's cold?"

I groaned, wiping at my eyes impatiently. "A riddle? I'm not…I'm not in the mood, Bilbo."

He shrugged and patted my shoulder in understanding. "Ah, never mind, then."

We sat in silence for a while as I tried to gather myself together. Despite myself, I found myself contemplating his words. Hard to catch, easy to hold…It was hard to stew in my own misery when there was a mystery to be solved—and doubtless that was why he'd asked it, damn him. Can't be seen unless it's cold…Slowly my shoulders stopped shaking, and my breathing started to calm down as I thought—wait, wait! "It's breath, isn't it?" I asked.

The hobbit nodded and clapped his hands together. "Very good!"

I laughed at my own success; the sound took me by surprise. I thought for a moment and wiped the last of my tears away. "Okay…What can't be used unless it's broken?" I offered, my voice rather shaky.

"Oh, an egg, an egg, of course," Bilbo answered almost immediately, but he smiled appreciatively at my effort. "Now then: Now that you are given one, you're either left with two or none."

That one stumped me. "I don't know," I said at last.

The hobbit looked unbothered. "Do not worry. I quite like telling my riddles to someone who appreciates them. The elves always guess the answers so quickly—they are no fun at all."

"Gee, thanks."

"If you cannot guess it, ask me another of your own! I am eager to hear more riddles from your homeland."

I thought for a long time. "Oh!" I snapped my fingers in triumph as I remembered one I'd read on an old travel brochure. "Where do you find roads without cars, forests without trees, and cities without houses?"

"What are cars?"

"Oh, sorry," I said quickly. "Roads without wagons, then. Or horses."

"A map, is it?" Bilbo said, and clapped his hands in delight when I nodded. "Oh, now that is an excellent riddle. I should put it to rhyme." He asked me to repeat it, and jotted the lines down carefully in the notebook he kept in his jacket pocket. I puffed up my chest despite myself, feeling absurdly proud.

Our game went back and forth several more times (though I lost nearly every riddle the old hobbit threw at me), and I found myself smiling quite earnestly, the tears on my cheeks having dried without my noticing.

Finally I admitted defeat. "I can't think of another one," I said at last, pinching the bridge of my nose as I tried to think. "I'm sorry. I never learned many riddles. Wait…" A sly thought crossed my mind. "What have I got in my pocket?" I asked, and Bilbo laughed in surprise.

"Of course, you know of my riddle game under Goblin Town," he said, shaking his head. "It was not a proper riddle then, nor is it now. But I suppose I cannot fault you for asking."

"You can have three guesses," I offered.

"Hmm." Bilbo frowned, clearly not liking the taste of his own medicine, and I squirmed in my seat, already feeling guilty. The hobbit squinted calculatingly at my jeans, clearly wondering what objects could be found in the pockets of such strange clothing. "Money," he guessed after a while. "A coin purse, perhaps, from your homeland."

I shook my head, and he scowled. "A handkerchief?" he said, less certain than before, and let out a muttered curse when I shook my head again. The hobbit studied the guilty look on my face for a moment, and rubbed at his chin. "Hmph!" he exclaimed. "There is nothing in your pockets at all, is there?"

I laughed. "You're kind of right," I said apologetically. "It was a trick question. Look," I plucked at the fabric of my jeans, showing him the fake seam. "I don't have pockets."

"What?" Bilbo looked horrified at the idea.

"The seam here was added to give the appearance of a pocket, see? But there's nothing behind the seam. It's not fashionable for women's pants to have big pockets where I'm from, so they're sometimes made without any at all."

"Well!" The hobbit folded his arms and huffed. "Well. I suppose I deserved that, didn't I?" He chuckled, then sighed. "It was never a fair question in the first place, was it? Though it was not my fault, not my fault at all, after all Gollum was not playing fair either, was he?"

I winced; I hadn't meant to bring up unpleasant memories, but the hobbit had turned away, looking older and smaller than usual. He was silent for a long moment. "He would have killed me if I hadn't asked something," he muttered at last. I wondered if he'd forgotten I was there. "And I didn't mean to take it, I didn't steal it, of course I didn't…I found it, it was rightfully mine, I won it—didn't I?"

The last question was directed at me, and I quailed under the lost, pained look on the hobbit's face. "Yes," I reassured him. "You didn't steal it. Of course you didn't."

"I found it," he repeated softly, uncertainly, as though trying to remember a half-forgotten dream. "It came to me." I was startled to see tears in the old hobbit's eyes, and my hands twisted in my lap uncertainly. I didn't know what to do. I hadn't realized the Ring still had such a hold on him; he'd already given it up to Frodo, hadn't he? I felt like an idiot for bringing it up at all. Suddenly, despite what he'd told me earlier, I thought that maybe he hadn't come home from his adventure after all, not entirely.

I took a deep breath. "Well," I said with forced bravado, "you got my riddle right, technically. So now it's your turn."

"Oh!" Bilbo nodded, starting slightly as though waking up from a deep sleep. "Yes. Yes. Let's see now…"

Following several more rounds of impossible-to-guess riddles, I conceded defeat and made my way back inside, with the vague thought of changing back into my elvish clothes before dinner.

"Beatrice!"

I spun around. "Lanion! You're back from patrol already?"

"Indeed I am," he replied, shaking my hand gallantly. "Howdy," he added, grinning.

"Yeah, yeah, howdy." I rolled my eyes, glad to find myself less starstruck by him than before. The whole mocking-elvish-caprice shtick had effectively smothered my crush on him. "What brings you back to Rivendell?"

He shrugged. "More news to report to Lord Elrond. As to what brought me here, I thought you might like to know that an old friend of yours has just arrived in the valley."

"An old friend?" I cast my mind around—I had a limited number of friends in Middle Earth, and most of them were already here. "What, is Radagast here?"

"A close guess," Lanion said, clearly enjoying my confusion. "Not the Brown Wizard, but the Grey."

My jaw dropped. "Gandalf is here? He's okay?"

"He is speaking with Lord Elrond now in the library, but I am certain he will have a great deal to speak with you about—"

Lanion kept speaking, but I was already sprinting in the direction of the library.

End note (added Oct 2020):

I forgot to mention initially- Bilbo's riddle to Bee might be ~symbolically significant~ later on. Can anyone guess the answer? "Now that you are given one, you're either left with two or none."