Here, have a second chapter... weeks later because retaking exams is harder work than I realised. So, updates are currently spotty but have more useless fluff - which you may recognise as poor attempts at humour because I can't help myself.
Still no idea what people think specifically of my writing or anything but the follow/favourite counters keep going up so something must be okay. I'm optimistic!
"Wake up, lass," someone whispered, shaking my shoulder. James was being a persistent arse, today. Weird.
"Go away or I swear t'god I'll kick your arse," I mumbled into my pillow and tried to roll over, groping for my covers. And promptly fell on the floor. "Bugger!"
A chorus of laughs broke out around me as I blinked the sleep dust from my eyes. I was in an old living room... surrounded by tiny Scottish men. No, wait, just dwarves. I stared up at Balin as he tutted at me, shaking his head. Ah, yes, yesterday. Still not a dream after all.
"Be quiet, Master Baggins is still sleeping in the next room. We need to leave now." Balin continued in undertone as he herded me into the hallway. It registered that the whole hobbit hole seemed spotless now and every dwarf was laden with bags and rolls of provisions.
"What? We can't leave without him." Not if I had anything to say about it.
"The hobbit made himself quite clear on the matter." Came Thorin's voice where he stood in the doorway. "If we have to transport you, I won't be weighed down. We are making way."
"No, look, you don't understand. Maybe my arrival changed something but I can fix this, if you'd just let me-"
"What did I say about meddling, Miss Elliot?" Gandalf's staff barred my way to Bilbo's bedroom. He levelled me with a piercing stare - one that I hedged all wizards trained in, Dumbledore was probably their teacher. I locked my jaw, and glared back at him.
"Yeah, whatever. Go ahead, if you want this quest to fail," I muttered, kicking at a random cabinet on my way out of the hole. Not my most mature moment, I'll admit. Great. They lost their hobbit and I lost my chance for some borrowed provisions. I was going to have to sell things after all to pay my way - if we didn't end up dead before we got to Rivendell anyway.
Outside, the sun was already shining on the hills as hobbits traversed the dirt tracks well below us in Hobbiton. I could finally see the greenery all around me, the flowers in Bilbo's garden and the ponies leashed to the fence. The dwarves must have been awake for a lot longer than I had. Now that it was bright outside, I saw that the ponies were actually right next to where I had appeared on the end of the path, and they were… tiny.
"Those… those are ponies. Small ponies."
"Aye, like I said," Balin murmured absently, untying them from the fences.
"I'm taller than them."
"Is there a problem with that, lass?" He stopped to look at me.
"I'm bloody taller than them."
"If you want a horse, you can try to barter for one in Bywater."
"When was this clarified? Never!"
"You were told about the ponies," Balin said stiffly, his bushy brow pulled into a frown - like I'd offended him or something.
"Where was it mentioned they were this short?" I gesticulated angrily at the height difference, hitting a pony in the face and getting an angry whinny in return. I withdrew my hand quickly.
"Have you never seen a pony, lass?" The dwarf with the strange hat asked, quirking an eyebrow at me in tandem with his pipe.
"Yes, I have," I argued, affronted.
"Then, you know… ponies are short," he enunciated slowly. There were a few chuckles. Har, bloody har.
I groaned. "That's not-"
"Enough. The size of the ponies doesn't matter, you will ride one." Thorin interrupted from the path ahead. He had already began walking with Gandalf, their mounts' leashes in hand.
"Yes, sir…" I muttered under my breath and grabbed the leash offered to me with all the dignity of someone who'd been firmly humiliated, shut down and shut up.
And we hadn't even left bag end yet.
By the time we had reached Bywater it was almost noon, and the excited chatter between the dwarves about the upcoming journey and the treasure at the end had dulled down. Why? Because I was currently holding onto the crown of the biggest thundercloud-having, party-pooping, joy-killing wet blanket with iron fists and steel teeth.
I'd just sold my entire collection of necklaces to some overtly jolly but judgemental hobbit for clothes that would barely fit me, other necessities (he chuckled to himself for over a minute when I tried to describe toothpaste), and, worst of all, a bunch of goddamn cotton and string. Boy, I wished I'd gotten that implant now. Two weeks down the line and the dwarves would be wishing that the me that had a hissy fit throw down in the bag end hallway was still with them.
So there I was, an overly heavy pack on my bag and yet another saddled on the pony I'd lovingly christened Shortstack, with a face like a tart lemon and an aura of Hate that had infused into everyone in a ten foot radius. And still no Bilbo.
"Would ye stop seethin' over there, lass, you're going to spoil the greenery," The dwarf, who I'd learned was named Bofur, called. Cue the undertone of laughter as we moved forward out of the small town.
"That won't be the only thing spoiled," I snapped back, "If we don't go back and get Bilbo."
"Oh for Maker's sake, girl, stop yer whinin'. The hobbit will be along." The big, bald one intervened. I hadn't worked up the courage to ask his name (they'd already told me, to ask now would to be to lose any dignity I had left). So I sat there resolutely (see: sulking), cheeks puffed out not unlike a rage-filled hamster until I could suppress my need to bicker and prod for answers.
"How would you know?" I failed.
"Because I'm going to win that bet," He raised his voice with no small measure of smugness.
"Like Durin's blessed arse, you are!" Shouted the angry ginger dwarf from behind us. I still couldn't remember his name, either. If only life would stick to the bloody books. There was another round of loud laughter. The homely people of bywater would probably be glad to see our strange lot out and on the road as soon as possible, the way they all scowled when a dwarf acted too rowdy.
After that, we all lapsed into silence again, though this time miles more comfortable. A strange weight had lifted since the large dwarf had said about that bet - perhaps there was some hope yet.
"So… this bet," I started off as nonchalantly as possible.
"Aye?" Asked the ginger dwarf, sceptical.
"Can I get in on it?"
"You got coin?"
"No… I spent the last of it on all that cotton and string," I grouched.
"Bit of a foolish thing to spend it on, lass."
"You won't be saying that in two weeks."
"Keep your future meddling out o' this. No coin, no bet." He muttered stiffly and I felt my cheeks flush an angry red. Future meddling, my arse, I was just looking after myself.
"What if I knew the outcome?"
"From the way ye were whining just now, you don't know yer behind from yer lughole." The one from before cut in. More laughter. I got the feeling that my stay here was going to be full of jokes at my expense.
"Care to say that in the common tongue, baldy?" I said, spitefully as I could, unable to stop myself. He rounded on me with a glower.
"One more word out of you, lass, and I'll hogtie you and string you to the top of the Green Dragon."
"I'd like to see you try. I'm taller than you, shortarse." Well, now I was just steaming right along since he got me fired up. Probably to my death. Yep.
Without further word the stocky dwarf grabbed me by leg and arm and hoisted me over his back like I imagined some hulking flannel-wearing, canadian woodchopper might with a deer. The latter woodchopper fantasy was nice but right now I was a squealing, red-faced captive on the former's shoulders subject to the torment and laughter of others.
"Quit fooling around. We've lost enough time waiting on this one." Called Thorin from the front of the trail of dwarves, with his super-death-cloud of brooding. He mounted his pony with a dramatic flick of his hair and everyone moved to copy him as we left Bywater.
The dwarf dumped me unceremoniously on Shortstack who had been obediently trailing next to his own, equally vertically-challenged pony. I wobbled and decided just to lie there for a second as it trotted along before trying my thin luck with sitting upright.
"You going to ride that pony or try to swim through it?" One of the younger dwarves joked as he rode past, posture all too high and mighty - even for a prince.
"You just wait…" I growled. And then promptly got a mouthful of pony mane.
"Wait! Wait!" Shouted a shockingly familiar voice.
There was a chorus of commands thrown at the ponies and they all stopped, except for Shortstack, who had to crash into Bofur's in front to realise it had to stop moving. Jolted, I almost listed off sideways and only just managed to stop by putting my hand on what I assume to be a foot… peg? Either way, I was absolutely missing Bilbo's big arrival because of my inability to sit on a goddamn pony. A goddamn pony that I was taller than.
"Everything appears to be in order. Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield." I could hear the old dwarf saying somewhere up ahead.
"Great! Yeah! Woo! Can someone help me up, please?" I called, well aware that the chorus of cheering was now devolving into jibes my way. A small, rough hand grabbed the free arm erratically waving around and pulled me onto Shortstack's saddle properly, forcing me to sit upright on it, too.
And for the first time that morning, I was looking on the goddamn blessed face of Bilbo Baggins. Saviour of bad pony riders and badder adventures.
"You have no idea how glad I am to see you, Jesus Christ," I gushed, and then fell towards him in an effort to rest my forehead on his absurdly short shoulders.
"Er, woah there, um…" He caught me again, awkwardly chuckling, eyes wide. They darted from side to side, hoping for help of some kind. For him or me, I wasn't sure.
"Give him a pony."
Suddenly, my leaning post was manhandled away from me despite his desperate pleas to walk and my pony was shunted forward by the appearance of his own, shiny mount. The amount of times I almost fell off in those few seconds are embarrassing and need not be given a number… ever (six).
"Thank the Maker for yer arrival, Master Baggins, I was beginning to think the lass would never shut up about you." The bald… I really should have asked his name again by now but I was far too proud and humiliated at this point to do so. So he was now Baldy. Forever.
"Because now I have a comrade in arms against the terrible plight of riding a pony. Also, would of won that stupid bet. Also also, he's way pivotal to this story." I could visibly see the dwarves roll their eyes at the last part. Seemed like they had all become disenchanted with the idea of them being in a book in my world, on account of how apparently wrong it was. "Besides, you love the sound of my voice. It's like sweet molasses."
"Oh aye, I'll cry such a pretty tear when you meet yer mysterious end off a cliff edge." He snarked back, pretending to wipe away said tear. If I could find any, there'd be ants all over his bedroll right now - and he knew it.
A pouch of coins flew past our faces and the ginger's grey-haired brother caught it with one hand. Then there was a whole flurry of them, soaring through the air. I watched as Baldy collected his share of the bet with undisguised jealousy. Even Gandalf was profiting from this - and I wasn't allowed jack.
"No, no, wait, wait, stop! Stop! We have to turn around!" Bilbo cried out, frantic. The hell?
"What on earth is the matter?" I heard Gandalf ask through the annoyed chatter.
"I forgot my handkerchief."
"Are you havin' a giggle? Are you seriously jerkin' my gherkin, right now?" I cried. What kind of sheltered pod-person had replaced the Bilbo from the books? That got me a dirty glare from a few people but I really didn't care at that point. How? How were we ever going to survive even the trolls?
"Here! Use this." I heard Bofur say in front of me, tossing Bilbo a rag of some kind. His face prompted more derisive laughter. If I wasn't feeling a little numb at our impending doom, I'd jump at the chance to laugh at someone who wasn't me for a change.
The thunderous king of buzz-killing himself stepped in and we began to move forward, Gandalf murmuring his own wise words to the hobbit. I didn't even notice Shortstack beginning to trot on again. We were doomed.
Doomed, I tell you.
I hope no one minds how terribly full of headcanons this is about to become - also the glacial pace it'll move at, because I love writing in minute boring detail. I'd love some feedback to see where I could improve and such and such!
Thanks!
