RE: I own nothing but the small sub plot and my OCs, the rest of it is are works of Tolkien and the 'The Hobbit' films.

Hey, thanks to all the people who sent me comments. All of them were well received and I was actually pretty nervous that I'd get someone ranting on about how bad my writing was.

I'm now aware that my character is a bit of a Mary Sue and I'll make sure to change that, although this chapter ispre-written so it'll happen mostly in the future chapters. Thanks a lot for the comment, please keep giving them!

Medusa101

Chapter 2: Thorin Oakenshield and Poor Sod

Perhaps it was the thought that I had spent a year in Middle Earth or perhaps it was simply the fact that I was in Bree, but I desperately wanted to get drunk.

In fact, that had been my plan until Gandalf had told me we were meeting a Dwarf called 'Thorin Oakenshield'. I wasn't stupid (well not completely stupid anyway), I knew by now the stories of The King Under the Mountain and the great dragon Smaug who had destroyed a whole kingdom and killed most of its inhabitants. It was a tragic story, and I really wasn't in the mood for tragicness or a broody Dwarf.

"You are aware that today is a year to date that I've been in Middle Earth?" I asked, a trace of annoyance in my voice.

The year in Middle Earth had completely changed me, I had appeared in normal clothes from home, and now, I found myself with not one item from home. I wore heavily furred boots, trousers that fit my now thinning thighs(I was muscular… I mean, I didn't know I could get muscular), a slim tunic that fell to the top of my thighs, a undercoat that was made of fleece, an overcoat of leather, and a heavy duty cloak. I had also acquired several weapons including a heavy dagger that held my family heirloom (Gandalf had given to me), twin swords, and a small axe.

As Gandalf had said when I had arrived, he would provide several items that would help me find my family. There was a letter my father had written, there was a notebook with a set of heavily detailed drawings, there was the dagger, and last but not least, there was a necklace with a heirloom charm on it.

My family heirloom was a heavily detailed star, with the same amount of corners to the Star of David only they were longer and the shape was completely filled in with gold. The actual trinket on the necklace was tiny but upon closer study I had realized that there were intricate carvings of swirls and circles inside the actual star. The best part, at the very bottom tip of the star there was a sword attached (A tiny sword obviously) that, was also intricately designed. The trinket hung off of a pure gold chain that was as thin as one of those factory made ones back at home. Every day when I stared I was shocked at the talent of the Dwarves… of us… so weird.

I had, of course, acquired a travelling pack which, thanks to Gandalf allowing me to do a few jobs here and there I had managed to afford proper bedding material, two extra sets of clothing, an extra cloak, a bowl that could act as a plate, a formula made by the elves that stopped my monthly period and a notebook (with charcoal).

"Yes and you have not yet accomplished your task," Gandalf reminded me, I had over time, grown a fondness for the wandering man who had turned out to be a wizard.

I liked to think that he felt the same for me… although that was highly unlikely, "I will stay with you until then, who knows, if I convince the Dwarf –which is unlikely if he is anywhere as stubborn as you – this may be your task."

I gave him a look but, as I did most of the time with the Wizard, I let the comment slide, "Does he know we're coming or are you surprising him like you normally do?"

Gandalf had the annoying habit of surprising people he didn't know, and meddling in their business, it was always, always annoying for me who was assumed to be his apprentice, "If I told Thorin Oakenshield that I'd like to stop and talk to him in Bree and meddle in his business do you think he'd be more or less willing to speak to me."

He wouldn't be willing anyway, I thought sarcastically and by the way Gandalf was narrowing his eyes at me, he was well aware of my sarcastic thinking, "I don't know Gandalf, have you ever though that you'd have more friends if you stopped surprising suspicious people… or interacting with overly suspicious people?"

"Now why should Thorin Oakenshield be suspicious?" Gandalf asked.

"He's a Dwarf for gods' sake Gandalf, isn't that answer enough?" I asked, momentarily forgetting I myself was a Dwarf. It was when Gandalf glanced at me that I rolled my eyes and dropped the subject.

Bree was terrible for weather, it was almost always rainy, in fact, not once when I had been there had it not been rainy. Then again, I'd only been in Bree twice. Poor Remy, trotting by my side with nothing but his fur (for once I had something warmer on than him).

We arrived outside the Prancing Pony and upon entering, I chose to keep my cloak on, it was the wiser thing to do in such a place. The tavern was filled with sketchy men and women, a pure black cat sat hunched on the bar as we passed and I pulled my hood down. Men and women glowered and jeered down at me but stopped short at the sight of Gandalf. My gaze flew to my first sighting of a Dwarf in all my time in Middle Earth.

Thorin Oakenshield sat in the center of the tavern, in front of him was a bowl of broth and two pieces of bread. He was, so far, not at all like I'd expected a Dwarf to look. He was a dressed in layer upon layer of clothing, thick materials that looked to be of good quality. His hair fell to below his shoulders in black waves with streaks of grey here and there. His nose was long and heavily sculpted and his chin was covered in a harsh and thick beard that had, like his hair, grey streaks. His eyebrows were thick but grey, not black and they were almost see through. The Dwarfs shoulders were broad like a tree and he held strength in the regal and authoritative way that he sat.

My eyes were drawn however to the main feature on his face; his eyes. They were beautiful but a rare beautiful like the sharp blue that you'd find in the thickest of ices or the darkest of oceans. I had imagined Dwarves to be mostly unattractive creatures as I had been told in fables but looking at Thorin Oakenshield I was shocked, well, he's hot, I decided glancing to Gandalf who seemed to be concentrating on something else.

Not entirely surprising, I was almost positively that Gandalf had absolutely no knowledge of the word 'attractive'. I had always imagined him as a 90 year old homeless person gone wrong.

Shady men stood all around the tavern, but the three that I picked out had one thing in common. Like us, they were staring at our Dwarf, and he was staring back at them. I watched as his hand wrapped around his sword, and it was at that moment that Gandalf plopped himself down in the seat in front of the Dwarf.

Someone's socially inept, I thought rolling my eyes.

Thorin Oakenshield's beautiful gaze fell to us, shock entering it when he spied myself who had been pulled down into the seat beside Gandalf, "Mind if I join you?" the Wizard asked.

I raised an eyebrow, usually you ask that after you sit down.

"I'll have the same," Gandalf said to the waitress, utterly unaware of the suspicious glances that were cast to myself and himself by the Dwarf in front of us, the wizard finally glanced to Mr. Oakenshield, "I should introduce myself. My name is Gandalf. Gandalf the Grey."

The Dwarf looked neither elated to see Gandalf or awed, "I know who you are," he said bluntly before turning his icy gaze to me, "I know not of your Dwarven companion."

Gandalf glanced to me. Normally, when we met someone new, Gandalf would cut me off when I tried to say something, "…what you want… oh, Stasi at your service," I said, making sure to use the greeting Gandalf had instructed me to.

"Thorin Oakenshield at yours," Mr. Oakenshield said with a slow dip of his head.

Gandalf, as per usual, sprung right into it, "Well now! This is a fine chance. What brings Thorin Oakenshield to Bree?"

Thorin glanced around, then to me, and then to Gandalf, "I received word that my father had been seen wandering the Wilds near Dunland. I went looking… and found no sign of him."

It was then that Gandalf grew solemn and I glanced to him, "Thorin, it's been a long time since anything but rumor was heard of Thrain."

It was a typical dismissal and I knew what Gandalf was trying to say, it was his way of saying 'your father's dead Thorin'. I had heard it more than once before.

"He still lives; I am sure of it," Thorin said. Passion rose in his voice and he glanced around suddenly, almost as if he had forgotten himself.

The waitress chose that moment to set Gandalf's plate in front of him and Thorin's gaze flashed with suspicion, from what I could see, the Dwarf was always on edge, "My father came to see you before he went missing. What did you say to him?" he asked, a desperation forced into a tone he tried to keep calm.

Gandalf did not hesitate, "I urged him to march upon Erebor; to rally the seven armies of the dwarves, to destroy the dragon and take back the Lonely Mountain. And I would say the same to you. Take back your homeland."

Thorin took his mug, taking a sip and frowning, "This is no chance meeting, is it, Gandalf?"

"No, it is not. The Lonely Mountain troubles me, Thorin. That dragon has sat there long enough, sooner or later, darker minds will turn toward Erebor," he said, "I ran into some unsavory characters whilst traveling along the Greenway. They mistook me for a vagabond."

"I imagine they regretted that," Thorin said at the same time as I said, 'they regretted that'.

We glanced to each other and I saw a small uplift of his lips before he turned back to the matter at hand, Gandalf the Grey was not smiling, "One of them was carrying a message," he said, laying out a sheet. I had seen maps before of the Lonely Mountain but the type of speech written into the cloth had never been associated with it.

"It's Black Speech," I said frowning as Thorin reached for it, he shot me a suspicious look but I dismissed it.

"It's promise of payment," Gandalf explained.

"For what?" Thorin asked.

I had made out the words quickly, one of the things that Gandalf had taught me was many different types of speech. Including Sindarian and black speech, "Your head," I said, my nose wrinkled and I stole a bun from Gandalf's plate.

"Someone wants you dead," Gandalf agreed rather abruptly, not at all noticing that I had stolen bread, "Thorin, you can wait no longer. You are the heir to the throne of Durin; unite the armies of the dwarves. Together you have the might and power to retake Erebor. Summon a meeting of the seven dwarf families, demand they stand by their oaths."

Thorin shook his head, as if he had thought such things through, "The seven armies swore that oath to the one who wields the King's Jewel, the Arkenstone! It is the only thing that will unite them, and in case you have forgotten, that jewel was stolen by…"

"Heads," I interrupted, watching as the shady men left, "that cannot be good."

Gandalf leaned in, "what if I were to help you to reclaim it?"

"How?" Thorin asked, scoffing, "The Arkenstone lies half a world away, buried beneath the feet of a fire-breathing dragon."

It was then that I noticed the gleam in Gandalf's eyes and my own eyes widened in horror, "no… you're not planning to…"

"Yes, I am," Gandalf interrupted sending me a scowl, "we are going to need a burglar."

I glanced to Thorin Oakenshield, his blue eyes scanned my own and I decided to glance away. Beautiful his eyes may have been, but pretty damn scary as well.

"A burglar?" I hissed in slight shock, "you're planning to steal the Arkenstone from the dragon?!"

Gandalf gave me a contemplative half smile, "I don't see why not, it's not as if he can be awake," he said, "not after all this silence from the mountain."

"He's right," agreed Thorin, "gone are the days when you could see smoke in the distance floating from Erebor, there is only a long and still silence."

"Yes, but an asleep dragon also means an alive dragon," I said shaking my head in disagreement, "it is quite unlikely that this dragon is dead, they are practically immortal if not murdered."

"Yes, he will have to be dealt with if he is actually in the mountain," Gandalf agreed somewhat dismissively, "that should be difficult, heroes are scarce these days, let alone actual Dragon slayers. They're all off fighting each other in the North."

I blinked slowly and frowned, "are Dragon slayers actually a thing?" I asked, "I've never heard of that."

"Most likely because they die while or after killing the dragon or because… well, the dragon isn't very big," Gandalf said, "I've never actually heard of any large dragons killed."

I tipped my head to the side and gave Gandalf a look of confusion, "and does Master Oakenshield's dragon constitute as a large Dragon?"

Gandalf nodded, "quite so."

We're fucked, I nodded slowly raising an eyebrow slightly skeptically, "so burglary it is."

Master Oakenshield who had been quiet for this part of the conversation glanced up at Gandalf in what I had decided was his signatory way. It was a dangerous upwards glance, and in my opinion, it prevented any man from looking down on him (not physically), for despite his smaller size, Thorin Oakenshield was quiet daunting, "where shall we find a burglar? Not just any thieving wretch can make it past a dragon."

"Also… who would try and steal from a dragon? I mean, our burglar's gonna be mad, the…"

Gandalf began to get up from his seat, "You leave that to me. Within a week you will be aware of where and when to meet, I bid you a farewell Thorin Oakenshield," he said before glancing at me, "we must travel to the west and then to the Shire Stasi, for I get the feeling that we will find our burglar, and our courage there."

I raised an eyebrow at him before turning to Thorin, "thank you Master Oakenshield," I said curtsying, "may the Valar bless the time our paths cross again," I said, oh god, what have I gotten myself into? Also… since when did I do formal good-bye's?

-{}-{}-{}-

Our trip to the west seemed to go by in a flash. I had never ventured to such a place as the Shire, but I found myself enjoying the simple beauty of green rolling hills, fertile fields and grasses, the happy laughs and giggle of children and general hum of family life.

The Shire was a beautiful place, completely stuffed with the simplest of loves and the most cherished peace. That was why the inhabitants of the Shire (the Hobbits) did not like us.

We were shot overwhelmingly suspicious glances as we marched through small neatened footpaths but following after the Grey Wizard, I dutifully ignored them and blamed it on Gandalf; he looked sketchy.

Anyway, my mind was filled to the brim with curiosity that stemmed from the fact that, we were actually looking for a Burglar. Why I was so curious, was because I would not have though that we could find a burglar in such a place that considered passerby's (although we technically weren't even that) disturbers of the peace.

I had assumed that our burglar would be some Hobbit that was a little different from the rest, I don't know maybe hairier. But no, our Hobbit was in fact, the most average Hobbit you could quite possibly get in all of The Shire

Bilbo Baggins was a small man; average for a Hobbit but small for one of my kind. He donned a head of curly brown hair that sprung from his scalp like twisted vines, and his average sized hedgehog-like nose was twitchy. His eyebrows were smooth and thick, and his face held Niki Minaj length lashes (meaning unnaturally long) that shielded a pair of hazel eyes. He wore a rumpled but expensive waistcoat, shortened trousers that fell to his calves, a neat undershirt, and in his hand, he clutched a pipe.

He sat on a small garden bench, his legs neatly crossed as he puffed away at his pipe like your average crack head… kind of anyway. He seemed unaware that we had stopped, so much so, that his eyes closed in bliss as the sun hit his face. Not to say that I blamed him, his garden was beautiful, daisies, tansy's, pretty much every manner of plant was there in abundance and I could smell the sweet smell of flowers.

His hobbit hole was a shiny round green door that had been dug into one of the larger hills, meaning that he was most likely one of the more wealthy hobbits… which would explain his slightly prominent belly.

Ignorance is bliss, was my first thought as an especially large circle of pipe weed smoke came our way and Gandalf eyed it. In a second the Wizard had transformed it into some sort of flapping smoke creature and it landed right on the Hobbits nose. Then, Bilbo Baggins opened his eyes, fanned at the smoke, coughed, and allowed his gaze to land on Gandalf, well, ignorance was bliss.

The look on the Hobbits face transformed to one of confusion as it met my own gaze and then to one of horror as he spotted Remy beside me. The dog was huge compared to me and from what I could see, I was taller than the Hobbit.

Also, I was pretty convinced he had farted because there was a suspicious smell of nachos gone bad.

Mr. Baggins seemed startled, confused and slightly aghast, although, if I was being stared at by a grimy woman and a weird Wizard, I would be aghast as well. Actually… thinking back on it, he may have been aghast because of the fart.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, pushing his pipe back in his mouth, and then out again. His gaze never left us for a moment and neither did his expression, "Good morning."

I opened my mouth to say 'good morning' back, because that's what nice people do, but Gandalf interrupted me, "What do you mean? Do you mean to wish me a good morning, or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not? Or, perhaps you mean to say that you feel good on this particular morning, or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on?" Gandalf said.

And there we are again, spot on at being 'normal' Gandalf , I thought to myself sarcastically, whilst desperately wishing I could be in any other place than right there. The poor Hobbit had an exceedingly confused look on his face… actually I was pretty sure that was his normal expression, "…all… all of them at once, I suppose?" he stuttered, glancing to me.

I gave him an apologetic smile while Gandalf looked on with notable disproval. Whereupon glancing back at the Wizard, Mr. Baggins looked completely bewildered, poor sod.

Mr. Baggins chose to address the next question to me, seemingly slightly daunted with the look that Gandalf was giving him, "I'm sorry, can I help you?"

I made sure to speak up, "Well, we don't know for sure yet sir," I said honestly, choosing to call him sir instead of Mr. Baggins, I didn't want to creep him out… not that he wasn't already weirded out, "we're actually looking for someone who wants to share in on an adventure with us."

Gandalf hummed in agreement while Mr. Baggins jaw dropped to the floor, and he began to look slightly flustered as he pointed his pipe in our direction, "…an adventure? Now… I don't imagine anyone west of Bree would have much interest in adventures," he said, almost as if he were scolding us. I watched as he stood to his feet, grabbing at his mailbox and pulling a thick set of letters out, "Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things. Make you late for dinner!"

Sassy, I decided with a raised eyebrow as he stuck his pipe (pointer) back in his mouth and began to grumble under his breath as he read through the letters. Gandalf and I stared onwards; Gandalf because he was still staring disapprovingly and myself because I was trying to figure out what he had against adventures.

Seemingly done with reading, he spared us a glance, hummed, bit at his pipe, nodded, and turned to leave, "Good morning."

Once again, I found myself interrupted by Gandalf as I made to say 'Good morning' back to Mr. Baggins: which is what a normal person should do, "To think that I should have lived to be good-morninged by Belladonna Took's son as if I were selling buttons at the door."

Is 'good morninged' a word?

At that, Mr. Baggins spun around, a look of shock on his face at the reference to his mother. He seemed both shocked and suspicious now, there was even a hint of anger in his gaze, "Be… beg your pardon?" he asked, pulling the pipe away from his mouth.

Gandalf stepped closer to the gate and Bilbo's eyes shot to it, I could practically hear himself chanting in his head; 'please don't come in, please don't come in, please don't come in'.

Gandalf instead, had nothing of the sort in his mind – I could only hope – "You've changed, and not entirely for the better, Bilbo Baggins."

Poor Mr. Baggins, he looked so confused now, a hint of fear seemed to be sparkling its way into his gaze, "I… I'm sorry, do… do I know you?"

Gandalf seemed slightly irritated now, "Well, you know my name, although you don't remember I belong to it," he said, "I'm Gandalf and Gandalf means… me.

It was then that Mr. Baggins seemingly recognized Gandalf, well, no one cares about the Dwarf, I decided rolling my eyes.

"Not Gandalf, the wandering wizard, who made such excellent fireworks!" he said stepping down one of the steps, and waving his pipe in our direction excitedly, "Old Took used to have them on Mid-Summer's Eve! I had no idea you were still in business."

My eyes widened slightly and Gandalf gave Mr. Baggins what could only be described as a black look, "And where else should I be?" he asked, a scowl settling upon his old and weathered face.

"Well..." Mr. Baggins trailed off with more awkwardness than a newborn deer trying to stand, and I bit at my nail, not sure whether to feel sympathetic for him or not.

I chose sympathy; poor sod.

Gandalf, who had one of his trademark scowls on his face was still glaring at the poor Mr. Baggins, "Well, I'm pleased to find you remember something about me… even if it's only my fireworks," the Wizard said sulkily, "…well then, that's decided. It will be very good for you and most amusing for me. I shall inform the others."

Gandalf had been walking away and I had been following him, but Bilbo had grown completely pale, "Inform the… What? No, no, no! We do not want any adventures here, thank you! Not today! I suggest you try somewhere over the hill or across the water! Good morning!"

Gandalf and I both stopped as he stormed into his house and I watched with confusion as Gandalf opened Bilbo's miniature gate and made his way to the door of the Hobbit hole, "… Janie mack! Gandalf what are you doing?! Leave the…"

There was a strangled yell to be heard from inside the house as Gandalf peered into one of the rounded windows and I rolled my eyes. Thankfully Gandalf left the Hobbit be and left Mr. Baggins garden, "what did you do?"

"…Remembers me for my fireworks," he said in annoyance as we made our way down the thin paths and past a grumpy looking Hobbit with a wheelbarrow of carrots, "still in business, what is that supposed to mean?"

I left him with his musings and instead thought to myself; where were we going to be meeting Thorin Oakenshield? Because without doubt, today was that day. A month's time since we had met him in Bree. And Gandalf hadn't said a word to me of it. How unsurprising, the bloody wizard!

What about the hobbit? How was he going to get to Bree when we had just left him? Actually, knowing Gandalf he'd kidnap him. Poor sod.