PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter LIX: The Sorrowful Tale of Ian The Skull

I was lying on my back with some uncomfortable dirt and pebbles digging into my back. When I tried to sit up, I saw that a skull was sitting on my stomach. In the dim light of the moon, a skull's empty sockets stared at me. I stared back at the empty sockets. Right, the skull had hit me on the head when I Skipped. Frig.

"I shall name you Ian," I said. I mean, really, what else do you do with a thousand-year-old skull sitting on your stomach?

The skull did not approve or disapprove of my name choice, so I assumed it was acceptable.

"Ian," I said. "Do you have any idea where we are?"

He did not respond. Not that I blamed him; I had very low expectations for a skull from Dunharrow.

I sat up, placing a hand on the back of Ian's head to prevent him from rolling off my stomach. We were on a dirt road curving through a rocky landscape. Gray mountain stretched up on either side of me, and a pale blue sky spanned overhead. There were scattered white clouds that drifted through the sky, sometimes shielding the sun from view. I got to my feet, keeping Ian propped up in my right hand.

"Have you ever been here before?" I asked.

I used my right hand to shake Ian's head from side to side in a "No".

"I didn't think so," I said. "I've never been here either. It's some kind of mountain range, it looks like. It's not the White Mountains, we were just there and they didn't have the same feel, and I don't think it's the Misty Mountains, I've been there before too, and it feels much darker. Same with the mountains of Mordor. So that leaves us with the Blue Mountains or the Gray Mountains." I frowned, trying to recall the maps of Middle Earth that I had seen.

Ian stared at me blankly. Geography apparently wasn't his strong point.

"I guess you don't know much about the world," I said. "Being stuck in the mountainside for so long. That must have been boring. I wonder if you're a ghost now. Probably. Probably one of the ghosts who tried to kill me on Ráoulidor's orders. Shame. You know, you're a very good-looking skull. I bet you had all the female skulls drooling over you back in the mountain." I gasped. "What if you had a female skull-lover! And I took you away from your one and only skull-love! Sorry! I'm so sorry! I should never have taken you away from that. It wasn't on purpose! I just kind of…Skipped."

I swear Ian was glaring at me.

"I'm really sorry!"

So there I was. Standing on a dirt road somewhere in the mountains, clutching a skull, bawling my eyes out, and apologizing over and over again for tearing apart such a beautiful skullmance—when who should come wandering down the road? Go on, guess.

Okay, I know you're not guessing. Fine. I'll just tell you.

It was Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain.

Thorin saw me almost immediately. He stopped walking, still half-hidden in the shadow of the mountain slopes, and just kind of stared at me.

I didn't see him at first, because I was too busy apologizing to Ian. It wasn't until I had calmed down a little, realizing I had to decide whether I should stay or wander this new place, that I realized Thorin, dressed in his dark blue travelling clothes, was watching me from further down the road. He looked as majestic as always with a short black beard and long hair that fell to his shoulders with two braids framing his stern face.

And then, like the idiot I was, I dropped Ian.

Ian struck the dirt with a loud clack and lost a piece of his skull. He rolled a few feet away from me before coming to halt between two flat, gray rocks. I yelped and chased after Ian, scooping him up into my arms.

Thorin stared. Understandable under the circumstances.

I clutched Ian to my chest, making sure the damage to his head wasn't too bad, before I turned to face Thorin. "What are you doing here?"

Thorin stared at me for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then he said, "I could ask you the same question."

I glanced down at Ian and then back up at Thorin. "I promise you that I'm not insane."

"If you say so," said Thorin. "Though it usually implies the opposite when you have to say it out loud."

I considered this and then nodded. "True. But I'm not insane. I promise. Though I suppose I may be headed in that direction." I stopped. I wasn't sure what I could say to Thorin. I didn't what time in Middle Earth it was, so if I talked to him and said too much, it might mess up the fate of the Company and maybe even the world. What if I accidentally revealed something about Bilbo or the Ring? But I couldn't not talk to Thorin. I squinted at him, trying to read his mind and failing miserably. He didn't seem like he knew me, though it was hard to be sure. It didn't help that he had one of the best poker faces I've ever seen.

It was Thorin who broke the silence. "Why do you have a skull?"

"Huh?" I glanced down at the fractured skull in my hands. "Oh, you mean Ian. There's a long story behind this."

Thorin stared at me, waiting.

"I was being attacked by an army of ghosts because their king was jealous that I might have a romance with an elf." I mimed throwing up. "But since I'm the Skipper—meaning I can move through time and space and worlds—I managed to disappear before the avalanche of skulls he unleashed as revenge against my not-lover elf could knock me down a hill." I paused. "That's the true story, I promise."

Thorin stared. This time, I think he was judging me.

"Maybe you had to have been there," I muttered.

"I am going to keep walking," said Thorin.

"Where are you going?" I asked. Thorin had started walking past me on the dirt road, but Thorin paused when I said that. He glanced at me for a moment, as if debating whether or not to answer, but then he said, "Away for awhile." And he started walking away again.

I didn't move from my spot on the path. "Away where? Where are we?"

This time Thorin didn't turn around to face me even though he did pause at my question. He just kind of stared off into the distance at the peaks of the mountains, but I didn't think he was seeing anything. He was thinking of something else. Finally, he said, "We are in the Gray Mountains on the road east."

"I knew it," I said proudly. "I knew it was either the Blue Mountains or the Gray Mountains." I glanced down at Ian. "Didn't I tell you? It's all about the feel."

When I looked up again, Thorin was gone. He'd fled so quickly that I almost didn't see him. It was only by luck that I saw him further down the road between two sheer cliffs. I stood there, rooted to the spot, watching his retreating back and wondering if I should try to follow. But my legs couldn't move.

Thorin was being strange. In fact, this entire meeting was strange; though I couldn't understand why. I felt as though I was missing a piece of a jigsaw puzzle, and yet I was still trying to put it all together.

I picked up Ian and stared into his eye sockets. He stared back.

"He's not always that weird," I told Ian. "We must not have met yet. Or he didn't recognize me. Or he's mad at me and is pretending not to recognize me. I don't know. All are possible options. But things aren't usually that awkward. Promise."

Ian stared at me blankly.

I groaned and plopped down on a patch of grass to the side of the road. My legs were stretched out in front of me, resting on the uneven stones. Ian was placed on my knees where he could watch me carefully with those empty eye sockets.

"The Skip brings me where it wants to," I explained, "even if I don't know where that is. Sometimes, I think the Skip has this great plan for me, other times I think it's random, and other times I think the Skip just as a really twisted sense of humor. I don't know. Mostly I lean towards the 'great plan' answer. Though usually when someone has some sort of destiny, it's meant to do something great, like save the world, but everyone I trust—Thorin, Aragorn, Faramir—keeps telling me that I'm not responsible for the world, and everyone who doesn't particularly like me—Gandalf and Galadriel—believe I'm meant to be the second coming of Atanalcar. I don't get it."

Ian didn't respond.

"Not that I expected you to get it either," I muttered. "Maybe I've just read too many fantasy YA novels. In those books, the main character is almost always important to saving the world. But chances are, knowing me, I'm rather insignificant to the grand scheme of things. In fact, I'm the type to screw things up even worse than they were and make things much more difficult for everyone else."

I nodded Ian's head up and down in the form of a "yes". He agreed with me. Still, as much as people told me that I didn't need to save the world, as much as I knew myself that I was more likely to screw the world over than save it, I felt as though I was responsible. If I could do something to change my friends' fates, then why shouldn't I?

"Well, what do we do now?" I asked, trying not-so-subtly to change my conversation with the skull to a different topic "We have two options. One, we can go exploring. I've never been to the Gray Mountains before. I wonder what there is here. Probably giant spiders." I shuddered. "There's almost always giant spiders in places like this."

Ian stared at me.

"That leaves option two," I said. "We stay right here and wait for the Skip to take us. What do you think?"

Of course, Ian had no input, so it was up to me to decide. All I could picture were giant spiders and orcs lurking in the shadows of the Gray Mountains, and I decided that I rather liked my dirt road that rested in the light of the sun. Besides, my body ached from the last few days, and I found that I would much rather rest than go on an adventure in the Gray Mountains.

Suddenly, I was overcome by a feeling of being watched. My mind jumped to giant spider—because what else was I going to expect?—but when I looked up, I saw Thorin walking towards me on the road in the direction from which he'd first come. His brow was furrowed, and while I couldn't read Thorin's mind, I could certainly read his facial expression—he was angry, frustrated, and confused.

A wide grin spread across my face. "Are you lost?"

"Of course not," said Thorin stiffly. (He definitely was lost.) "I wanted to see if the girl was still sitting on the roadside with her skull."

"Ian," I said. "His name is Ian."

Thorin's mouth twisted into a wry smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting," I said.

He frowned. "Waiting for what?"

"For the Skip."

Thorin looked over his shoulder as if expecting someone to jump out at him. Then, he turned back to me and asked, "When is it coming?"

I shrugged. "Maybe now, maybe not for a month. I never really know when it comes. It just sort of comes. It's like magic."

Thorin stared at me. I was beginning to see some resemblance between him and Ian to Skull—apparently today was stare-at-Ana day. Then, slowly, Thorin asked, "Is this our first time meeting?"

I blinked. That was usually my question. But perhaps he recognized me from when I was younger. "No, we met when Smaug attacked Erebor. And we're going to meet…or we have met… You know, I don't know what year it is."

For half-a-second, I thought Thorin wasn't going to answer. Then, he said, "I know that you Skip away from danger."

"Most of the time," I said. "There was one time where it happened to late and I got a bullet in my chest." I rolled my eyes. "Stupid Skipping. I don't get what it was trying to do. Oh, right." I glanced at Thorin. I thought he looked concerned but that might have just been wishful thinking on my part. "You didn't hear about this. Of all the things to almost kill me—not an arrow, not a sword, not a knife, not getting hit by a car, not jumping off a building, not getting stampeded by horses—it was a gun. A frigging gun. What are the odds?"

Thorin shook his head and said nothing.

My eyes narrowed. Thorin was being really weird. He seemed to know me. He knew that I Skipped. But what point in time was it? How well did he know me? Maybe he'd only met me a couple times, like in the Blue Mountains. Maybe he was journeying from his meeting with Gandalf in Bree to talk with the kings of the other dwarven houses. Only meeting me once would explain why Thorin was so weird. He was slow to answer and he kept staring. I didn't know how to deal with this weird Thorin. So I did what I always did, I started rambling so that I wouldn't have to face this confusing situation properly.

Balancing Ian on the palm of my hand, I said thoughtfully, "Poor Ian. He was torn ruthlessly from his home and his skull-lover and forced to come with an insane, majesty-obsessed girl to the Gray Mountains. The Sorrowful Tale of Ian the Skull. And this does not even include the chapter of his death or the chapter where his parents refused to acknowledge that he and his girlfriend are skull-mates."

Thorin stared at me for a long moment. Then, a slow smile made its way onto his face and he shook his head. He laughed as he started walking down the path again in the direction he'd just come from. "You have not changed."

I blinked. "Is that a good thing?"

Thorin didn't stop walking. He didn't even glance over his shoulder. "I do not know."

"Hey!" I shouted. "Hey! Come back! What time is it?"

Thorin didn't come back. He didn't even acknowledge that he'd heard me. And, before I could make up my mind as to whether to chase him or not, he disappeared as the dirt road turned sharply between two mountains ridges.

Five minutes later, guess who appeared on the road behind me, wearing a thunderous expression and looking as though he'd rather be anywhere but here.

"You can admit when you're lost, you know," I said. "I won't judge you."

Thorin glowered at me, and the phrase "if looks could kill" came to mind. Thankfully, looks can't kill, so I just grinned at Thorin, trying not to laugh too much at his challenged directional skills.

"Are you going to talk to me yet?" I asked. I balanced Ian on my hip and moved to walk beside Thorin. "What time is it? You know me, right? You know me well, right?"

Thorin looked as though he'd rather spend a week in the Woodland Realm than me talking to me right now. He grimaced, looking behind me as if wondering if he could escape. Then, he let out a long sigh and said, "Yes."

And then it hit me. Thorin knew me. He knew about the Skipping and he knew me well. This wasn't a he-met-me-once-in-the-Blue-Mountains kind of knew me, but he knew me well. This was Thorin after reclaiming the Lonely Mountain. But then why was he going away for awhile? King Under the Mountain should not "go away" from the Lonely Mountain.

"Hey, Thorin," I snapped, placing my hands on my hips and trying to look like a boss. "What do you think you're doing, shirking your duties like this? You're a frigging majestic king now, you can't go running off having adventures in the Gray Mountains just because you feel like it! You're not me! You have responsibilities.

Thorin blinked. "Are you scolding me?"

"I'm allowed to scold people every once in awhile," I said. "Don't you know how this works?" I pointed at myself and then at him. "I'm the stupid one. I'm supposed to be the one who avoids responsibility and runs away the moment things get to difficult. You're supposed to be the one always in control who does his duty even if it's not what he wants. We have to keep this dynamic straight. We can't go mixing it up, or I'm going to get confused and start doing the responsible thing, and no one wants me to do that!"

Thorin snorted, and then he laughed—as much as Thorin can laugh. It was just a small chuckle, but he was smiling at me, his blue eyes alight with amusement. I was so surprised that I almost dropped Ian.

"Are you laughing at me?" I asked.

"Yes," said Thorin. He shook his head and adjusted the straps of his rucksack. "To think that you show up and start scolding me."

"I know," I said. "It's strange. Quick, scold me and then all will be right in the world again."

"No."

"Come on," I pleaded. "Tell me I'm being stupid and I should be more serious. Or at least tell me I shouldn't try to save everyone."

Thorin sighed, and then as if it was the most difficult thing in the world, he said, "You should not try to stop people who are meant to die."

"How am I supposed to know who's meant to die?"

"If it is your fault," said Thorin, "then they are not meant to die."

"What?"

Skip.

Would it really be so hard for the Skip to let me stay in one place long enough to hear future-Thorin's advice? Sometimes, I think the Skip just wants to screw me over.

I blinked in the light of the sun. I was no longer in the unfamiliar Gray Mountains but standing amongst familiar rolling green hills and colorful round doors. I was standing on a cobblestone road, curving into the hillside. I could see a town at the base of the hill, hobbits walking up and down the path. There was a group of five or six hobbits making their way up the hill towards me.

Well, it looked like I was in Hobbiton. Oh shit. I was in Hobbiton with a skull. Based on everything I knew of hobbits, carrying a thousand-year-old skull around Hobbiton was not a good idea. They'd never let me back. Which meant no more hobbit parties and no more first breakfast/second breakfast/tea/lunch/dinner/supper.

In order to preserve my relationship with the hobbits, I needed to get out of the Shire or get rid of Ian, quickly. The group of hobbits was drawing ever nearer. Maybe I could just run down the hill and disappear into the cluster of trees at the bottom before any of the hobbits noticed me.

I took one step off the path—my foot hit a rock—and then, I dropped Ian. He landed on the grass (at least he didn't break this time) and then rolled backwards down, down, down the hillside slope.

Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, I stood completely still. For a moment, I watched him tumble down the grassy slope.

"No, Ian! Stop!"

He didn't hear me. He just kept rolling down the slope, further and further away from me.

I screamed as Ian disappeared from my side forever.

Skip.

Yes, the Skip really did bring me to Hobbiton and then Skip me away after I lost Ian The Skull. And now, this isn't the end of the Sorrowful Tale of Ian the Skull.

I didn't find out the rest of the story of Ian the Skull until Bilbo told me later during one of my visits to the Company. I'll have you know that the hobbits discovered Ian in a flowerbed a week later. A little hobbit woman was watering her petunias, when she caught sight of him. She ran for help, and the hobbit version of police showed up. The skull was bigger than any hobbit head, so they deduced that one of the Big People had been murdered in Hobbiton, and his body had been dumped in Hildifons Took's flowerbed. The only problem was that no one had seen any Big People in Hobbiton for so long, so the hobbit-police decided that the murder must have been an outside job, and they investigated the case no further. However, the murder of Ian went down as one of the greatest scandals Hobbiton had ever seen.

In the end, I think the Skip just has a weird sense of humor.