PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter V: The True Meaning Of Thanksgiving

For the sake of my health, I decided it would be better not to put myself in any life-threatening situations for a while. I did, of course, realize that it meant leaving Bonnie and Nick in Middle Earth for longer than I wanted to, but I also realized that the Skipping would not take me to see them until it was ready. It seemed pointless and dangerous to throw myself in front of cars and off buildings in the hope of maybe, possibly finding them. I still had missed classes to makeup in a desperate attempt to pass this semester.

And besides, Thanksgiving was fast approaching.

You'll be happy to know that I did end up making it to my parents' house for Thanksgiving that year. I showed up on the front steps of our two-story, red-brick house the day before and rang the doorbell.

It was my mother (from whom I got my blonde hair and blue eyes) who answered the door, dressed in her usual tacky turkey sweater. It took her a moment to realize that I—her only and most beloved child—had actually made it to a family holiday gathering. She beamed at me and flung her arms around my neck. "You're here!"

"I know! I'm surprised too!" I said, hugging her back. "I didn't fall in a pothole this year or anything!" (That was my excuse for not coming last year when I showed up for Christmas with my arm in a cast. The arm had actually been broken when I was running away from goblins in the Misty Mountains.)

"Oh shush, you." Mom took me by the hand and pulled me inside the house. "I haven't seen you in an age!"

"I saw you this summer," I said.

"At the beginning of the summer."

"I was working."

"Right," said Mom. "I think you spent all of July looking for a new job."

"Can we at least wait until after the pumpkin pie tomorrow for you to start talking about how I fail at life?" I regretted the comment as soon as I said it, but well, I knew what was wrong with my life a lot better than my mother did.

Mom bit her lip before saying, "You're right, of course. I really am happy to see you."

"I know." I smiled. "I'm happy to see you too."

She led me to the kitchen where her Thanksgiving cooking was sprawled about the marble counter tops. Dad (from whom that I got my small height and wavy hair) sat at the kitchen table. He looked up from his book as I approached, and a warm smiled spread across his face.

"Ana."

"Long time no see." I kissed him lightly on the cheek before moving to the fridge to get myself a cup of water.

"I see you made it safely," said Dad.

"I called you three days ago to say that I was likely coming home for Thanksgiving."

"Yes, but usually when you say you're coming home, you don't." He placed the book on the wooden table top.

"Yeah," I said, taking a sip of the cool water. "Well, things come up."

Mom and Dad exchanged glances before Mom busied herself with chopping potatoes. "Never mind that," she said brusquely. "You're home now. You managed to get a few days off work?'

"Er—yeah."

Mom stopped chopping and placed the knife down neatly next to the cutting board. She turned to face me. "Ana, what are you not telling me?"

"Nothing." I slid into the seat across the table from Dad. "Are you making the mashed potatoes?"

"Ana, what aren't you telling me?"

I sighed. (Damn a mother's intuition—it'll be the death of us all.) "I got fired from the restaurant."

"Again?" she cried. (I was really glad she had put the knife down.)

"What happened this time?" asked Dad. He didn't sound angry at least, only tired.

"I missed a day or two of work without warning…"

"Again?" Mom was beginning to sound like a broken record.

Dad sighed. "Ana…"

I shrugged. "Time just sort of skips away from me."

"You're going to have to find a new job." Mom turned back to her chopping—though this time she wielded the knife with more force. The continual sound of potatoes being hacked into bite-sized pieces filled the kitchen, punctuating the conversation.

"I know, Mom. I've been through this before."

"Most places in the area have already fired you—where will you work now?" My mother looked so exhausted as she leaned over the chopping board. She had reached the age where there were wrinkles under and around her eyes. I felt the dull ache of guilt in my gut, but I did not know what I could do to rectify the situation.

"I'll figure something out."

"We cannot afford this," said Mom. She didn't sound angry anymore, just tired. "How will you pay for your apartment? We already pay your college tuition, and I know you don't want to be dependent. But it's just so hard. We try to call you, and your phone is always off…"

Dad was frowning, watching me throughout the conversation.

I rested my arms on the table top and fought back a sigh. "Sorry, Mom. I hope you don't get too many gray hairs because of me."

"I already have gray hairs!"

"Yeah, but you dye them."

Mom's eyes narrowed at me. The knife was clutched in her right hand, and I realized that maybe the joke hadn't been such a good idea after all. Trying to lighten the mood could be the death of me. One day I was going to make a joke in an attempt to ease the situation and—bam—sword through the jugular. I cringed. That was a situation I could imagine happening all too easily.

Mom turned back to chopping the potatoes, shaking her head and muttering under her breath. However, she said nothing more on the topic so—for the time being—I was safe. God knows how long that would last.

"So, Ana, do you have a man in your life yet?" My aunt Fiona sat across the table from me, after having yet another sip from her wine glass. Even though she and Mom had the same golden-blonde hair, dainty noses, and bright, blue eyes, their personalities were very, very different.

"The only man in my life is Nick," I said, between bites of mashed potatoes. The moment I said his name brought on a wave of guilt as I remembered that he was still lost in Middle Earth. I tried to bury my feelings with more mashed potatoes.

"That skinny boy you hang out with?" asked Aunt Fiona. "Goodness. How do you survive? I don't think I could last nearly as long without a hunk of a man to pass my nights with." Fiona elbowed her current boyfriend, Jason, in the ribs.

"Really?" said Mom. "At the dinner table?" She turned to me and added, "You don't need a, um, hunk of a man in your life, Ana. You just be your own woman."

Dad wisely decided to stay out of it.

Fiona laughed and took another long sip of her wine. "Galin's not speaking."

Mom sighed. "I can't win here, can I?"

"Cheer up, Lexie," said Fiona, patting Mom on the shoulder. "Since Ana still hasn't gotten a man, we can assume she takes after you. I remember you being a late-bloomer as well."

"I think she takes after her dad," said Mom.

"I think I take after the delivery man," I said, helping myself to more mashed potatoes. My love life was a favorite topic of my aunt, and I had learned the best was to deal was to just change the topic.

"Oh, she's a rotten one," said Fiona. "Pass me the cranberries, will you?"

"Only if you pass me the gravy." I picked up the bowl of red-pink berries and handed them to Fiona, taking the gravy boat for myself. "He was one good-looking delivery man. I remember. He was my first love."

"The delivery man?" asked Mom.

"Don't pretend to be innocent," I said. "You used to ogle at him too."

"I'm going to pretend I cannot hear this," said Dad.

"How come I never saw this milk man?" asked Fiona. "Lexie, why didn't you let me see the delivery man?"

"You sound like a child whose toy has just been taken away," said Mom. "This was years ago. Back when Ana was six—Ana? You were six and you had a crush on the delivery man?"

I shrugged. "He was a sexy delivery man."

"Aw!" cried Fiona. She gestured wildly, wine spilling over the edge of her glass and falling onto the red tablecloth. "I'm mad at you two. Keeping this secret from me."

"It was a mother-daughter bonding experience," I said.

"Not when you were six!" Mom looked to Dad for support, but he was busy helping himself to more turkey. He offered some to Jason, who politely refused with a shake of his head.

"It's excellent," said Jason quickly. "My compliments to the chef—I'm just stuffed."

"Eat hearty," I said. "The dwarves would be ashamed of you."

"Dwarves?" asked Fiona.

Dead silence filled the room.

I took a huge bite of mashed potatoes. Sometimes it gets hard to keep my two lives separate. Comments about dwarves should be saved for Middle Earth, not at the Thanksgiving dinner table with my family. I tried to answer Fiona, but the mouthful of mashed potatoes prevented me.

Mom patted me on the back. "Chew and swallow—then answer."

I coughed and managed to get down the mashed potatoes. "Man, that was a near-death experience."

"Please," said Fiona. "You've been in many far worse near death experiences in your life than that."

"Really?" asked Jason curiously. "Like what?"

"Well, twice she almost got hit by a car," said Fiona. "The second time was a truck actually. The truck swerved to avoid her, thank God. We weren't there, but her friends were calling up and panicking after it happened. They couldn't find poor Ana."

Mom nodded while Dad took another sip of wine.

"The first time was when she was ten," Fiona continued. "I wasn't there, but from what Lexie told me, they were out for dinner one night. One moment they were eating bread and the next, Ana's gone. Lexie and Galin searched everywhere for Ana—"

"We found her playing in the street," said Mom. "We called out her name—she looked up—and there's a car coming."

"I didn't get hit by the car," I said.

"It was a close call."

Jason managed a smile. "You certainly don't have a lot of luck with cars."

"That's not even the worst of her near-death experiences," said Fiona. "She fell into the Grand Canyon one day."

"I didn't actually." I was lying through my teeth at this point. "They thought I was lost, but actually I just sort of slipped and landed a few feet down on a pathway. While I have a certain number of near-death experiences, I am incredibly lucky." That might be the biggest lie of them all.

"I wouldn't call it luck," said Mom, shaking her head.

"What would you call it then?" I asked. "I managed to survive them all."

"Yes," said Dad. "That is why they're called near-death experiences." He placed his empty wine glass on the table. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm ready for dessert."

"And what do we have for dessert today?" asked Fiona.

"Pound cake," said Mom. "With a cherry sauce on top."

"My favorite," said Fiona. "You must have known I was coming."

"I always know you're coming." Mom stood up, tucking her chair in. "It doesn't matter if I invite you or not, you show up anyway."

Fiona laughed. "My loving big sister!"

"On the other hand…" Mom picked up some of the plates and headed for the kitchen. She paused long enough to say, "I invite Ana and she says she's coming, but she never turns up."

I groaned. Not this again.

"She misses the pound cake? Not my problem." Fiona shrugged. "It just means more for me."

"I love pound cake," I said. "Though Dad's rum pots are really good."

Dad grinned at me. "We only make those when your mother isn't home though."

I rolled my eyes and, for Jason's benefit, said, "Mom doesn't believe dessert and alcohol should go together." I got up as well and picked up the remaining plates. I followed Mom to the kitchen where she was washing the dirty dishes and putting them in the dishwasher.

Mom glanced over at me. "You know I was only joking about the never coming home thing." When I didn't respond, she asked, "Can you get the silverware for me?"

With a heavy sigh, I headed back out to the dining room. Fiona had already taken care of the silverware so I picked up the half-empty serving dishes—lots of leftovers to eat.

"Has your mom began the Talk yet?" asked Dad.

"Not quite yet. Are you going to come save me?"

"I'll let you two sort it out."

"Thanks, Dad. It's nice to know you've got my back."

I headed back to the kitchen, passing Fiona on the way out of the dining room. She smiled at me as she walked by. I took a step further down the hallway and then paused. Mom was waiting for me. Then the usual mother-daughter argument would come up. She'd start pleading with me to talk more about my struggles. I'd get upset because I couldn't tell her I Skipped. She'd cry. I'd storm off. Repeat as needed. Never ending. Poor Jason. He hadn't known what he was getting into when my aunt invited him for dinner. I took a deep breath and took a step forward.

Skip.

One moment I was standing in the middle of the hallway, holding a china bowl filled with turkey stuffing in one hand and a china bowl filled with cranberry sauce in the other. The next moment—nothing. I was no longer in that world.

"What sorcery is this?"

I blinked. One, twice, three times. I was still holding the turkey stuffing and the cranberry sauce. The dishes weighed heavily in my hands. I blinked again. I was standing in some sort of meeting chamber. A group of people of all shapes and sizes sat in a semi-circle in front of me. I blinked again. Directly ahead of me, there was a large group of elves, tall and slender with fair faces. Elladan and Elrohir were amongst them. To the right of the elves, a few dwarves were gathered. One dwarf I recognized—he had untamable red hair (though now it had streaks of silver) and a rugged face: Glóin. Next to him was a dwarf who shared his likeness, most likely a relative. I didn't recognize the other dwarves, though I did know the man to their right. It was Boromir. He stared at me incredulously, his jaw hanging open. There was another man next to Boromir; he had dark hair and proud features—highly attractive if I might say so. I later learned that his name was Aragorn. To Aragorn's right was Gandalf, still dressed in gray robes and blue hat. To Gandalf's right was a small hobbit, who I quickly recognized as Bilbo Baggins, though he had now had a head of white hair. Next to Bilbo, there sat an empty chair.

Everyone—elves, dwarves, men, wizards, and hobbit—gawked at me. A long silence stretched through the council room. Eyes were wide open. Mouths were quiet. No one understood how I had got there or even why I was there in the first place. I didn't even know where I was. I could only stare back at them blankly.

"Who are you?" asked a deep voice from behind me.

I turned around and saw a tall elf with long brown hair and an ageless face. Elrond the half-elven sat upon an elegantly carved chair at the head of the council. In front of him was a circular stone table on which there was placed a single golden ring. Another, much younger hobbit, with incredibly blue eyes, stood next to the stone table. He stared up at me with his mouth slightly open as if he wanted to say something but couldn't find the right words.

I glanced at Elrond. I glanced at the council. I glanced at the hobbit. I glanced at the ring. I glanced at the bowls of food in my hand.

"Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!"

I held out the bowl of stuffing to Elrond. "Would you like some? I have cranberry sauce as well. Though the turkey stuffing has always been my favorite."

Elrond stared at me as though I had grown an extra head.

"Ana?" asked a familiar voice. I turned around and saw Boromir. He was half-risen from his chair, still staring at me as though he dare not believe that I was real.

"Hey," I said. "I totally won that drinking competition, by the way."

"You came forth from the Ring," said Boromir.

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did," insisted Boromir. "The Halfling placed the Ring on the table and you appeared in the middle of our council."

I glanced back at the golden ring behind me. It seemed like a small, unimportant thing, but I had the suspicion that it was so much more than that—after all, that small, unimportant thing was already causing me problems. I turned back to Boromir. "Man, I thought you had some sense. Why on Earth or Middle Earth would I come out of a little tiny ring? I wouldn't even fit in there."

"Witchcraft," murmured one of the dwarves.

"Oh don't be so ridiculous," I said, waving the bowl of stuffing in the direction of the dwarf. "I Skipped here. I just happen to have, um, very bad timing." Even I thought that ending was lame.

"Ana?" croaked Bilbo. "Ana, is that really you? You have not aged a day."

I turned to Bilbo and managed a huge grin for him. "Actually, in my world, it has only been a little over a month since I last saw you. How long has it been for you?"

"Almost eighty years," said Bilbo.

I looked over his white hair and time-worn face. "You look good for a hobbit over one-hundred-years-old. I'm impressed."

"Do you know this woman who appears without warning?" asked Elrond.

"Of course."

It was not Bilbo who spoke. It was Elladan, seated comfortably amongst his kin. His long, dark hair fell amongst his shoulder, and he wore a rich robe of dark blue. He had not aged a day since last I saw him. He was still incredibly attractive in a fair, pretty boy sort of way—if you're into that look.

"Do you know her as well, my son?" asked Elrond, a hint of incredulousness creeping into his usually calm and grand voice. "Was this sorceress invited to my council without my knowing?"

"I did not invite her," said Elladan quickly. He hesitated and glanced at his brother.

"Neither did I, Father." It was Elrohir who spoke next. "We met her once in Lórien. Though she was much younger then. Lady Galadriel did not detect her entry into the forest. Her presence appeared suddenly, so much so that the lady Galadriel was bewildered. We were sent to retrieve Ana but she disappeared as swiftly as she had appeared."

"It must be some sort of witchcraft," said a dwarf.

"Senturiel," said Elladan.

"I have no idea what that means," I said. "But it's not witchcraft. I'm not a witch. Or a sorceress. I just sort of…Skip."

"She does indeed come and go at unpredictable times," said Gandalf. "I met her once on the road to Erebor with Thorin and Company."

"Thorin!" I cried. "That old grump, how's he doing?" I turned to Glóin, expecting him to have something to say, but a dark shadow crossed Glóin's face and he did not answer. A sickening feeling started to settle in my stomach.

"He—" Bilbo began to say.

"Never mind." It took a couple deep breaths for me to conjure another smile and say, "So nobody wants turkey stuffing?"

"What is this stuffing that you speak of?" Boromir eyed the dishes in my hands suspiciously.

"It's a mix of seasonings and bread and turkey and sausage," I said. "It goes best with some gravy drizzled on top of it, but…you know…I didn't really realize I was going to come here, so I just sort of had to make do. I have cranberry sauce too though."

"It looks poisonous," said Elrohir, examining the dish of dark red sauce with narrowed eyes.

"It's good," I said. "My people make it for a holiday called Thanksgiving. It commemorates our coming to the New World and how the native people helped us survive the first winter. Of course, we then proceeded to kill them off and take their land by force—but we tend to ignore that part of our history for the sake of the holiday."

"And in such a fashion are many folk's celebrations," said Aragorn grimly.

"I will try some of the stuffing," said Bilbo. "I was not permitted second breakfast today, and this council has dragged on far too long as it is."

"Of course!" I probably let more relief show in my voice than I intended. However, I sat down in the empty seat next to Bilbo (I didn't realize it was Frodo's seat at the time) and handed the old hobbit my bowl of stuffing. He used the serving spoon to gobble down the dish, and in no time at all, the bowl was empty and he had moved on to the cranberry sauce.

While Bilbo was eating, several of the council members had a quick discussion in elvish. Elrohir and Elladan kept using that word "Senturiel", and eventually, the council seemed to accept my presence.

After everyone returned to their seats and another chair was brought for Frodo, Elrond let out a long sigh and said, "Now that the Senturiel has had her seat—"

"The what?" I asked.

"—we need to reach a decision."

"About what?" I asked.

"The Ring," whispered Bilbo

I glanced at the little golden circle placed on the stone table. It was a tiny thing, nothing special about it. I mean, sure it was pretty—really pretty—but it was just a ring. "What about it?"

"It is the Ring of Power created by Sauron," explained Bilbo. "Sauron sits in Mordor and plots to destroy us all. His power is kept at bay at the moment because he does not have the One Ring." Bilbo gestured to the little ring sitting on the stone table. "We find ourselves in possession of the One Ring and now we must decide what to do with it."

"Oh," I said. "That's good. Can we use it against him?"

"It will destroy anyone who tries," said Gandalf. He was watching me with cold eyes. I suppose he still thought I worked for those "darker forces".

"Okay, okay," I said. "I missed that part of the conversation. So we can't use the Ring—"

"We can try," said Boromir suddenly. He leaned forward in his seat and his hands moved in big gestures as he spoke. "Take the Ring to Gondor. Our people have long held the forces of Mordor at bay and kept the lands of Middle Earth safe from the might of Sauron. We should bring the Ring to Gondor for my father—"

"To your father?" I asked incredulously. "I'm sorry, but if there's any weapon of power—I don't care if it's a teaspoon of power—I would not let it within ten feet of your father."

"My father is a proud and noble man of Gondor." At first, Boromir was indignant, but then he smirked. "You are upset because he tried to have you arrested when you last saw him."

"Well, yeah, but even then—"

"It does not matter if we brought the Ring to Gondor or to Rohan," said Aragorn. "No man, dwarf, elf, or hobbit can wield the One Ring. It answers to Sauron and Sauron alone."

"Tom Bombadil was unaffected by the Ring's power," said Elrond thoughtfully. "What if we gave the Ring to him for safe keeping?"

"Who's Tom Bombadil?" I asked.

Elrond fought back another sigh.

"Frodo met Tom Bombadil while he was escaping from the Shire with the Ring," said Bilbo quickly. "Tom Bombadil tried on the Ring of Power and it did not render him invisible to the eye or have any influence over him. The explanation we were given was that Tom Bombadil was first among all things and he will be last among all things. The world has no hold over him."

"Oh." I shrank a little in my seat. I could feel the eyes of everyone at the council on me. "Well that's handy. He'd be a good guy to leave the Ring with."

"We cannot leave the Ring with Bombadil," said Gandalf.

"Never mind."

Gandalf ignored me. "Bombadil will not leave his lands and he would not accept such an evil thing into his home unless all the peoples of Middle Earth begged him otherwise. But even then, Bombadil would soon forget about it or throw it away. Anyway, Sauron's darkness would spread across Middle Earth, until only Bombadil remained. We would only prolong evil."

"An unwise choice, then," said Elrond. "In that case, we have but one choice. To destroy the Ring in the fires of Orodruin from whence it came."

"And, um, what is Orodruin?" I asked.

There was a collective and barely suppressed groan amongst the dignified people assembled. Bilbo, however, turned to me and explained, with the utmost patience, "It is the Mountain of Fire in the heart of Mordor where Sauron forged the One Ring. It is the only place that the Ring can be destroyed."

"Oh. Well, that seems like a good idea."

Boromir sighed. "One does not simply walk into Mordor."

"Can we fly?" I asked. "Gandalf is a wizard."

"I cannot fly," said Gandalf with significantly less patience than Bilbo.

"But the eagles can fly," said Glóin thoughtfully. "The eagles rescued us before when we were attacked by wargs."

"The eagles will not carry us into Mordor," said Gandalf. "They would not fly far beyond the borders of Mordor before being struck down by the Enemy. No, we must enter by stealth."

"Yes," said Elrond. "A long, perilous journey it will be into the heart of enemy's lands." He paused, his mouth tight as he mulled things over. Finally, he said, "Nine companions, I think, will suit the journey best. Nine companions to go against the nine ringwraiths."

"Nine what?" (Do I have to tell you who asked this question?)

"Ringwraiths or nazgûl, as they are also called," said Aragorn. "After Sauron gifted nine human kings with rings of their own, the kings became bewitched under Sauron's power and have become servants of the One Ring. They have no visible form, but they wear black cloaks when dealing with corporeal beings. They are servants of Sauron who will stop at nothing to regain the Ring."

"Okay," I said. "So more dangerous stuff. This journey is starting to sound like fun."

Silence accompanied my words and everyone present stared at me incredulously (except Boromir who was trying to hold in his laughter).

"Sarcasm," I said. Not that any of them understood that word.

"Right," said Gandalf. "That was a—delightful distraction. Your sense of humor never ceases to amaze me." Considering he was using sarcasm to mock my sarcasm, I didn't think he had much right to judge me.

"The question still remains," said Elrond, turning the conversation back on topic. "Who will take the Ring to Mordor?"

A heavy silence filled the room. No one would look directly at Elrond. Eyes fluttered this way and that, looking around to see if anyone else was willing to take this monumental task. I knew I wasn't even in the running, but I still felt the pressure. I folded my arms across my chest, curling myself inward, hoping no one would notice me. All I could picture was the fiery volcano and the hooded ringwraiths surrounding me. Only a maniac would willingly accept this task.

And then, a soft voice, coming from the younger hobbit, said, "I will take it. I will take the Ring to Mordor." He paused and then added, in an even smaller tone, "Though I do not know the way."

The silence following his words seemed to last for hours even though it was only a matter of seconds. All gazes, that had desperately been avoiding the burden of this task, now settled on Frodo. I could see them seizing him up, wondering how, out of all of them, such a little hobbit could be the one to volunteer.

At last, Elrond nodded and said, "From all that I have heard, Frodo Baggins. This task was meant for you. If you do not find a way, no one will. It is a heavy burden and I do not force it upon you, but if you accept the task, then may the blessings of all peoples go with you."

Frodo looked kind of sick, but he did not deny Elrond's words.

"You cannot be sending Mr. Frodo to Mordor alone!" From a concealed corner of the council room, a chubby, brown-haired hobbit leapt up. The elves twisted in their seats to watch as the little hobbit sprinted across the room to stand by Frodo's side.

"You're not sending Mr. Frodo anywhere without me." The hobbit, who I later learned was named Sam, said firmly.

I looked from his hiding spot and then back to the hobbit in question. Under my breath, I muttered, "Interrupting a secret council meeting—the nerve!"

Gandalf shot me a scathing look. I can't imagine why.