PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter IX: Warning Do Not Hire

I swear the world did not want me to sleep. By the time I Skipped back home from the party at Bilbo's house, it was nearly midday in Ohio. I had just collapsed onto my bed, still fully clothed from the day before, and had just managed to close my eyes when my mom flung open the bedroom door and cried, "Ana, how long are you planning to sleep today?"

ARRRRRRRRG! (That is the sound of my internal suffering.)

I ruffled my already messy blonde hair and buried my face in my pillow. "What?"

"Breakfast has gotten cold. Rise and shine, sleepy head. There are things to do today." Her voice was cruelly cheerful on the ears of someone who had not gotten a wink of sleep.

I groaned and rolled out of bed. This was nothing out of the ordinary for me, to be honest. I'd long ago lost count of how many times in the last sixteen years of my life I had been forced to go without sleep because my Skipping would take me away in the evening after dinner and return me in the morning just before school. All that'd really come out of my Skipping were poor grades because of undone homework and an addiction to coffee from a young age.

Eyes still half closed, I stumbled across my bedroom to the dresser, grabbed some leggings and a sweater, and headed straight for the shower. Once, when I was sixteen, I Skipped to a town in Rohan right in the middle of showering. As you can imagine, that led to some awkward situations. I ran into some guy called Éomer who also happened to be the Third Marshal of the Riddermark, and we had quite the showdown. It ended with me being thrown in prison for public display of nudity. I spent six days in a prison cell, complaining to the guards about the food quality, before I Skipped back home. Ever since then, I'd been wary of taking showers. Of course, unless I wanted to be alone and friendless forever, not bathing wasn't an option. So, I compromised. I wore a two-piece swimsuit whenever I showered.

After I was cleaned and dressed properly, I headed downstairs and saw cold pancakes waiting for me on the table. I ate one pancake plain and room temperature before putting the rest in the microwave.

"You need to find a job," said Mom, who stood at the end of the marble kitchen counter, flipping through the mail.

I watched the timer count down on the microwave clock. "I know."

"The college semester has started already. I called and told them you were taking some time off."

"Do you think microwaved pancakes taste as good?" I asked. "I think they're more squishy."

"Ana," said Mom with a barely suppressed sigh, "You always do this."

"Do what?" I asked innocently.

The microwave beeped that it was done, and I extracted the plate of pancakes. On my way across the kitchen to get the maple syrup, I switched on the coffee machine—God knows how much I was going to need the coffee that afternoon.

"We can sell your apartment," said Mom.

"No." With a bottle of maple syrup in hand, I faced my mother properly for the first time since entering the kitchen. "I'll get a job. I want to go back. I still want to go to college. I think taking a semester off is a good idea, but I want to go back in the fall and finish my degree. For sure." I stared at my mother, trying to look confident and persuasive, but I knew she wasn't convinced. This was the woman who'd raised me. She knew my habits better than anyone. She knew I couldn't stay in one place longer than a couple weeks, that no matter what promises I made, within a few days I'd miss an appointment and then show up later, claiming to have gone on a spontaneous road trip. But she also knew how desperately I wanted to be normal. I wanted to graduate college with a degree I didn't really care about, I wanted to get a boring desk job working for a boss I hated, I wanted to fall in love with a plain, uninteresting guy, I wanted to grow old and die in a nursing home not remembering anyone's names. I didn't want my life, and I would have traded it for anything.

"I promise," I said again. "I'll get a job."

My mother released a long sigh. She stared at me for a moment, weighing my words. Then, when the coffee machine beeped, she stepped towards the fridge and asked, "Two milk as usual?"

I smiled at her. "Yeah."

Later that day, after breakfast was consumed and a few phone calls made, I had a job interview at the restaurant where the neighbor's son used to work. I didn't want to work there, I would rather find work in the city and move back into my apartment, but my mother insisted that I remain near home, at least for the rest of the semester.

I drove to the shopping center where the restaurant (which sold Americanized Greek food) was located and pulled into a parking space. I sat in the car for a moment, just letting the engine run and listening to the radio without hearing a word that was sung.

I didn't want to be there. I didn't want that job. I'd rather be at home, sleeping. Or even back in Middle Earth, searching for Bonnie and Nick. I had been looking and looking—Where were they? In the company of hobbits or elves? Or had they been caught by goblins or orcs? Or had they been left to die in the godforsaken wilderness? Or perhaps they had been caught in the fires of Smaug? I didn't know what had happened to my friends, but I had to find them. And soon.

But, of course, I possessed two lives: one in Middle Earth, where I was the crazy girl who showed up randomly and disappeared just as randomly, and one in Ohio, where I was the crazy girl who couldn't hold a job and disappeared for days at a time. Neither life was desirable, but I wanted to maintain the fragile balance between the two for as long as I could. Which meant I couldn't go jumping off buildings every day in an attempt to find my missing friends.

I turned off the car engine. It was time to go get myself a job.

"So, you were fired from your last job?"

"Yes."

The manager (she had primly introduced herself as Julia) sat in front of me. Her wrinkled face was pinched and her pink-painted lips were pursed as she watched me disapprovingly. She had already decided not to hire me—I could see it in her eyes.

"Might I ask why?" she asked.

"There was a personal emergency, and I didn't turn up for my sift," I said dully. It was the usual answer. I'd done these interviews a dozen times before.

"What kind of emergency?"

That didn't seem to be any of her business. Still, I said, "Two of my friends went missing. The police are still looking for them." I decided not to add that she could check the missing persons lists for "Bonnie Mitchell" and "Nick Hamersley". They were there. Thanks to me.

"I'm sorry," said Julia even though she didn't sound sorry in the slightest. "Did you explain that to your manager?"

I nodded. "She said I missed work one too many times for her to keep me on as an employee. Other than that, I was an excellent waitress. Very friendly and polite. I got great reviews from customers." On the days I could actually show up.

"So, skipping work is a common occurrence for you?" Julia's lips became even more pursed, the lower lip sticking out beneath the other.

"I was, um, having a rough time dealing with my friends' disappearances."

"You also have dropped out of college," said Julia.

"Taking a break," I corrected her. "I'll be back again in the fall."

"That's good," said Julia with a bland smile. She checked my resume again before asking, "Why should we hire you when you admittedly cannot come to work on a regular basis?"

"Because I am turning over a new leaf. Also, I had a hardworking employee and good with people. Seriously. I get great reviews from customers, and I have a lot of restaurant experience."

The manager stared at me. "Right. Thank you. Well, Ana, we'll get back to you concerning the job."

I smiled awkwardly as I picked up my winter coat from the back of the chair. "Thanks for considering me." (Not that she actually considered me for more than a second.) "I look forward to hearing from you."

"Of course."

As I rose from my chair, something slid out from beneath my sweater and clattered on the linoleum floor. I froze. Slowly, my gaze dropped to see a sheathed knife, about sixteen inches in length, lying on the floor in plain view of the manager. The Sword Breaker. Well, damn, I might as well just have a sign that says "Warning: Do Not Hire" hanging around my neck. I glanced at Julia nervously, hoping she'd somehow failed to notice the medieval dagger lying on the ground.

"Er—what is that?" (Well, so much for that hope.)

"That would, um, be the, um, Sword Breaker…" I scooped the blade up and stuffed it back underneath my sweater. "You never know what can happen to you out on the streets, you know. You, uh, can never be too careful."

Julia stared at me. An expression of pure horror crossed her face, though I have to say she swiftly managed to hide it. She forced a smile for me and said, "At least, you're prepared." She paused and then, in an undertone, asked, "Are you part of a gang?"

I blinked. "What? No."

"Well, you skip work all the time and you carry a knife around with you. Don't worry, I'll keep your secret."

"No. I-I-I—what?" My jaw was somewhere around floor level as I stared at the prim and proper manager before me.

"I used to date a gang leader back when I was in high school," said Julia thoughtfully. "Well, he wasn't really a gang leader, but he went to prison for robbing a convenience store a few years after we broke up."

I'm pretty sure my eyes were bugging out of their sockets. "Um. Okay. Well, I'm just going to leave. Call me about the job—please?"

I bolted out of the manager's office as quickly as I could…and found myself standing in the snow.

An icy wind blasted against my face. I stumbled backwards slightly and tried to shield my eyes. As I adjusted to the change in scenery, I realized that I was on a mountain ledge, standing knee-deep in crisp snow. The sides of the mountain dropped off into a rocky abyss, so deep that the bottom was hidden by a thick shroud of mist. Heavy snow fell from the gray sky overhead, while winds whipped about the mountain and the clouds rolled over one another like bulldozers. Every inch of me was hammered by the cold. I folded my arms across my chest, but it did little to help, and within minutes, my teeth began to chatter.

"Why here?" I screamed. "Why did you have to Skip me here?"

My voice died on the wind.

Dear God, I hope neither Bonnie or Nick ended up here.

I was not dressed for the weather. A waist-length winter coat, gray sweater, black leggings, and leather boots were enough to run from a car to a restaurant in Ohio's winter, but not enough to keep me warm on a mountain top. I breathed out and a curling fog emerged from my trembling lips. What was I doing here? Why would I Skip here of all places?

It was near impossible to even move through the thick snow. I tried, but my steps were long and slow, and I was exhausted within minutes.

Where was here? The Misty Mountains? The Lonely Mountain? The Blue Mountains? I ran through the list of mountains I knew in my head. It didn't help much. Even if I was in one of those places, I didn't know them well enough to recognize them through the wing and snow.

What was I supposed to do? Was I meant to wade through the snow until I almost died of the cold and then Skip back to Ohio only to be raced to a hospital for frostbite?

"Hello?" I screamed. "Is there anybody out there?"

The wind howled, but other than that, the mountain did not respond.

"I hate you!"

Nothing.

"I hope you burn in the fiery pits of hell!"

Nothing.

"You're a mountain so that threat doesn't mean anything to you!"

Nothing.

"But I hope you erode into dust!"

By this point, my voice was twisted and thick by unshed tears. I gulped and gasped, trying to keep control of the fear that was threatening to consume me. Still, the mountain said nothing in response.

"Screw you too, mountain!"

"Ana?"

My name. It was barely audible over the howling winds. Still, it was my name.

I spun around, almost toppling over with the movement, my eyes desperately searching the white landscape. Through the heavy snowfall and screaming winds, I could see nine figures, forcing their way up the mountain. At first, I couldn't recognize them, but as they grew closer, I saw that the two people at the front were Boromir and Aragorn. Behind them were the four hobbits with Gandalf and Gimli bringing up the rear. Legolas (that stupid elf) was walking on top of the snow, completely unbothered by the cruel weather.

"God damned elves," I grumbled.

Legolas smiled. "Are you lost, Ana?"

"Why are you here?" asked Boromir. "In such conditions?" He glanced at my leggings and short coat. "And dressed as such?"

"I Skipped here." I tried to wade through the snow and almost ended up face planting. "It's cold."

"Yes." As he reached my spot on the cliff edge, Boromor extended a hand to help me. I grabbed hold of it and dragged my feet out of the deep snow until I stood in a more comfortable position. Through the thick snowfall, I thought I could make out a smile on Boromir's face as he said, "We are climbing a mountain at the end of winter. It tends to be cold."

"Who decided that?" I wailed.

"Hello, Ana," said Merry as the hobbits caught up with us. "Are you out for a little evening stroll? Or is it morning now? I cannot tell in this weather."

"It's evening in my world," I said. "Though I don't think we run on the same times."

"We cannot tarry for long," said Gandalf. "The winds are too rough. We must continue onward until we find shelter."

"There will not be much shelter up here," said Aragorn grimly.

The Fellowship took my sudden appearance into stride. I don't even think I surprised them anymore. They just assumed that I would join them—since, really, what else could I do?—and continued their journey. After handing me an extra blanket from his pack, Aragorn plowed onwards through the snow. Legolas and the hobbits followed close behind him. Gimli greeted me gruffly as he passed, his beard covered in snowflakes, while Gandalf frowned at me, not at all pleased by my sudden and inopportune appearance. I tried to follow after Gandalf, but my legs were stiff, so I just stood there, shivering even as I wrapped myself in Aragorn's blanket, with Boromir beside me.

"Are you unable to move?" he asked.

I nodded.

"I am surprised," said Boromir. "The hobbits can make it through the snow."

"Whoop-dee-doo," I said over the howling wind. "They're better dressed for this than I am."

"Why did you not dress in warmer clothing before coming for a stroll through the Misty Mountains?"

"Well, I didn't expect to be on a freezing cold mountain when I woke up this morning now, did I?" I wrapped my arms tighter around my shoulders and glowered up at Boromir. "Unlike you, I don't get a say in these matters. I come and I go at the whim of the Skip—I'm luckily if I'm actually wearing clothes, let alone dressed for the weather."

Boromir laughed, though perhaps he noticed the hollowness to my tone because he quickly became serious and said, "We are trying to cross the Misty Mountains, if we can. The path over Caradhras is the shortest route to our destination."

"I'd come along," I said, "but my legs won't move."

Boromir regarded me thoughtfully. "I could carry you, I suppose."

I blinked and stared up at him. "You can?"

With only one arm, Boromir scooped me up and slung me onto his back. Afraid that I might fall off, I fastened my arms around his neck and clung on for dear life. When we were in proper piggyback position, Boromir followed the Fellowship along the roughly-made mountain path.

"Onward, noble steed," I said through chattering teeth.

"I am being generous carrying your added weight," said Boromir. "Do not call me steed or I shall reconsider."

"Are you calling me fat?"

"A little on the hefty side," teased Boromir.

We caught up with the rest of the Fellowship in almost no time at all. Boromir moved swiftly through the slow (though I supposed his long legs helped). From what I could tell, the Fellowship had a pretty good system going. Legolas would scout out the path ahead; then the tall Boromir and Aragorn would force a path through the snow. The hobbits and Gimli would follow close behind so that the snow wouldn't be so deep, and Gandalf brought up the rear, making sure that no one got left behind. I might have hindered their progress a little since Boromir was carrying me on his back, but he never said a word of complaint.

"I don't like him," I muttered, watching jealously as Legolas walked about lightly on top of the snow. "Can we push him off the mountain ledge? We could say that he slipped ,and no one would know who was responsible."

Boromir chuckled. "The elf has his uses. He is skilled with a bow."

"Meh. Aragorn can use a bow too. We don't need the elf."

"Your dwarf bias is showing," said Boromir.

I grinned. "My jokes don't even compare to the grudges elves hold. For instance, Thorin—when I first met him—kept saying I was an elf spy. It was like a broken record 'She's an elven spy, there's no way she's an orc spy, but she might be an elf spy.'" I laughed. "He has serious problems with elves."

"So it seems," said Boromir. I could hear the smile in his voice.

"I think he needs some serious counseling. Therapy for a good long while. Maybe I could be his therapist." I grinned at the thought.

"I think that would only cause him to have more issues," said Boromir. I was impressed he had managed to decipher the strange words I used; it meant that Boromir had spent far too much time with me during our two months in Rivendell.

"Probably." I shrugged. "Actually, I would get him to sing all his problems to me. Have you heard his singing voice? Well, no. Of course, you wouldn't have. Wrong time. But I could listen to his voice all the time, I'm obsessed."

"I cannot say I have ever been obsessed with a man's voice," said Boromir. "The bards in my father's halls do not possess the strong voices of old."

"Well, that's Gondor's loss," I said. "Besides, Thorin isn't a man—he's a dwarf."

"You continue to praise dwarves in front of me," said Boromir. "Are you trying to turn me away from my own people?"

Gimli, trudging along in the snow behind us, asked, "Are you corrupting poor Boromir, Ana?"

"He corrupted me first," I said, glancing over my shoulder at the dwarf. "Why do you think I started drinking?"

Gimli shook his head. "Boromir, you have created a monster beyond our reckoning."

"I did not know what I had created until it was far too late," said Boromir.

I scowled. "I'm not that bad."

Boromir glanced over his shoulder at Gimli. The two exchanged meaningful nods and then continued walking.

"No secret conversations!" I cried. "That's not fair."

"I do not know what you are talking about," said Boromir with feigned innocence.

I prodded Boromir in the side and he let out a bark of laughter. "I will drop you, Ana."

"Silence." Gandalf's deep voice stopped us mid-conversation. The wizard didn't speak loudly, but there was such authority in his tone that we had no choice but do what he commanded. Gandalf scowled at me—as if the conversation was entirely my fault—as he said, "There are unfriendly eyes everywhere in these mountains. If they did not know we were here already, then your constant talking will have certainly alerted them."

Boromir and Gimli exchanged guilty glances.

Now in silence, the Fellowship continued the trek along the cliff's edge. The winds howled, hurling snow and ice into our blistering, red faces. Even though the Fellowship tried not to show it, the weather obviously took a heavy toll. The hobbits looked ready to freeze to death at any moment, while Aragorn and Boromir moved at a slower pace than before. Eventually, Boromir had to set me down, and I stumbled along behind him with the hobbits. Gimli seemed determined to go on without wavering, though only out of stubbornness. However, every once and awhile he would have to stop walking to catch his breath. When he caught me watching him, he immediately straightened up and marched forward. After this happened a couple times, I took to pretending I couldn't see him, so he could get a proper rest. Even Legolas, who still walked above the crisp snow, seemed to have been worn down by the mountain. His pretty-boy face bore the shadows of exhaustion, and his bright eyes had dulled as the journey dragged on.

"We should not have come this way," said Aragorn at last.

Boromir nodded. "This will be the death of the Halflings."

"We cannot turn back," said Gandalf.

"Then let us light a fire," said Boromir. "Unfriendly eyes or not, we cannot die of the cold."

Gandalf hesitated, but in the end he relented. "If you can manage."

Boromir decided to make a campfire on a somewhat sheltered edge of the mountain (if you can call one wall against the onslaught of wind and snow "shelter"). On the hike up, Boromir had each member of the Fellowship carry a log for such circumstances as this. However, despite Boromir and Gimli's best efforts, the fire would not start. Not in the cruel winds of Caradhras could the skill of elves, dwarves, and men combined light a fire. Eventually, Gandalf stepped forward and mumbled a few words. Flames leapt to life from the end of his knotted staff, and the logs began to burn. The Fellowship and I gathered around the fire, trying to warm our icy fingers and toes.

"I do not know how much longer I can stand this," grunted Gimli.

"We must fight on," said Aragorn.

"There are other ways." Gimli inched closer to the fire. "We could go through the mines of Moria."

"No." Only Gandalf kept a distance from the fire. He looked over his shoulder at the rest of us, his gray hair and beard being whipped by the icy winds. "I would not go that way unless I had no other choice."

"We could head south and take the Gap of Rohan," said Boromir. "While there are rumors that the men there pay a tribute of horses to Mordor, I am certain that these are only rumors."

"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard and Saruman," said Gandalf.

"Isengard? Saruman?" I asked.

"Saruman the White is a wizard of my order," said Gandalf wearily. "He betrayed us and joined forces with Sauron. Isengard where he dwells."

"Oh," I said. "So Sauron and Saruman are bad. Why do their names sound so similar? Is there something about names beginning with 'S' that makes people evil?"

"I beg your pardon," said Sam.

"Sorry," I said. "But maybe there's some great evil brewing inside you too, Mr. S."

Everyone ignored me. I think they'd become accustomed to me going off on random tangents and had learned to just tune me out whenever I open my mouth… Smart of them.

"We cannot take the passage through the Mines of Moria," said Gandalf, "and I dare not take the Gap of Rohan. The journey over Caradhras is the only path I see."

"This weather is more perilous than anything Saruman can conjure," said Aragorn. "We can fight Saruman. We cannot battle a mountain."

Legolas paused. He turned to stare off into the distance, his eyes focused on something that the rest of us could not see.

Softly, he said, "There are fell voices in the air."

"Legolas." I groaned the elf's name. "Don't say such creepy things."

"All elves are like that," Gimli told me. "They think that since they are immortal, they can share eerie, cryptic comments and pass it off for wisdom."

"And how many elves do you know, Master Dwarf, that you have become an expert?" asked Legolas. He still hadn't taken his eyes from the clouds.

Gimli's eyes narrowed. "I know you, Master Elf, and you are one too many elves for me to know."

"Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves and the arrogance of elves," said Gandalf. "There are more terrible things about than your own personal disputes. Perhaps the fire was not such a good idea. We should put it out."

"No," said Aragorn. "We should not. The Halflings and Ana would not survive."

Gandalf frowned, but after a moment, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "You are right, Aragorn. The damage is done. It is no use to put out the fire now."

"I do not think hobbits were made for cold places," said Pippin through chattering teeth. "Why does this snow not go north, to the Shire? They would welcome it there."

Sam nodded, and a dreamy smile crossed his face. "I would build a snowhobbit."

Pippin grinned. "My snowhobbit would be huge—it would be a snowman. And then I would have a snowball fight with half the Shire involved."

"You would lose," said Merry. "Miserably."

"If Master Bilbo was still in the Shire, he would win beyond a doubt," said Sam. "I do not care if he is almost one-hundred-and-thirty. He would still manage to win the snowball fight."

The four hobbits laughed.

"He would enjoy that very much," said Frodo softly.

"I miss Bilbo," I said. "It feels like only yesterday I was partying at his house with thirteen dwarves and Gandalf." I paused. "Oh wait. It was only yesterday."

"Yesterday?" asked Sam. "The arrival of dwarves in Bag End was decades ago."

I silently cursed myself for not thinking before speaking. I managed a smile, pretending, and probably failing, to be mysterious. "Skipping is a curious thing, Master Samwise."

"I do not like it here," interrupted Legolas, saving me from any more questions from the hobbits. "These mountains are old and possess an unnatural awareness. They do not like our presence here."

"You're paranoid," I said.

And, of course—right when I said that—the mountain decided to come down on top of us.

I know, I know. I have great timing.