Thanks to the two who have reviewed so far, Elondra and Lady Elyn the druid of Serria! On to the next chapter!

Chapter 2:

I awoke sometime later to the bright sunlight of a fall day and the rocking of the wooden cart I was laying in. My headache had dimmed from earlier, but still lingered in the back of my skull. I groaned as I sat up, the blood rushing from my head was not helping matters. Gingerly I reached back and felt the large bump under my dark auburn hair where my pack had hit me.

"Ah, good to see you are awake."

I turned quickly, much to the protest of my head, and saw "Gandalf" driving the cart along the road through what, remarkably, looked like The Shire from the movies. I nodded my head and climbed up to the front of the cart, sitting adjacent to him.

"Where are we?" I inquired as I looked around the area, wincing since the very movements sent fire through my brain.

"Hobbiton. On our way to Bag End where my good friend Bilbo Baggins resides. I'm afraid you were unconscious when his nephew stopped by."

Hobbiton? Bag End? This could not be real. No, wait, it's not. It's a dream. Well, best go along with it. However, I had a hard time silencing the voice in the back of my head, presumably where the pain was, saying, 'If it's a dream, why are you feeling pain?'

I took a deep breath, "Hey, I'm . . . I'm sorry about what happened when I first met you. I don't trust people easily, which leads me to be a bit . . . . . condescending. And thank you, for helping me when I blacked out."

Gandalf looked over to me. "You are very welcome. A wise choice in your trust issue. Trust can be betrayed," he observed as he puffed on his pipe. I hate when people smoke around me, but I tried not to wrinkle my nose, so as not to be rude.

"Yes, that is how I see it, too," I agreed. "My name is Stephanie, but most people just call me Anie."

He cast another glance over to me. "A strange name." Another puff. Ewww. "Well, Stephanie, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He said tipping his hat to me. I smiled.

"You too, Gandalf."

At that point we had reached Bag End and Gandalf was hopping down from the wagon, adjusting his robes in the process. I hopped down as well and walked to where Gandalf was, staring at the house of his friend with soft smile on his lips.

The hobbit hole looked very much the same as it did in the movie, it was a little creepy. The tree growing from the roof was the same, as did the large, green, round door. Even the two foot fence with the sign saying "no admittance except on party business" was the same.

'Wow,' I thought. 'Apparently my mind is a sucker for remembering details.'

Gandalf looked back at me as we walked though the gate into the yard.

"Why don't you stay with the cart?" He suggested.

I opened my mouth to argue, but Gandalf silenced me with this withering look. Jeez, he could patton that look and have every father with a teenage daughter buying for it. I rolled my eyes and turned around, pretty much stomping my way back.

I proceeded to pull myself onto the seat and watched as Gandalf walked up to the door, knocking with the bottom of his staff. From inside the house came the faint yelling of whom, I could only assume, was Mr. Bilbo himself.

"No thank you! We don't need anymore visitors, well-wishers, or distant-relation!"

To which Gandalf fairly laughed out, "And what about very old friends?"

Quickly the door was opened and a man, no more than three and a half feet tall, walked out. You could tell that he was older by far than a lot of the other hobbits I'd seen working in the fields and yards. His hair was a soft grey and he seemed to walk with care. I could tell he had money too from his scarlet vest and dark breeches.

Bilbo walked out, seemingly in a daze as he muttered, "Gandalf?" quietly. It was as if he could not believe his eyes. I knew that look. I was pretty sure I had sported that look a few hours before.

"Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf drawled as he dropped to his knees to embrace his friend. "Good to see you. 111 years old! Who would believe it?"

Oh, right. Today was Bilbo's and Frodo's birthday. At the realization of this my heart dropped for a fraction of a second when it hit me that I was at the beginning of the story, before the quest to destroy that stupid ring even began. WTF man! Wait, I'm asleep. No worries then! This aught to be fun, if I sleep long enough to enjoy it.

Gandalf and Bilbo talked a little more as Bilbo ushered him in. It was then that Bilbo noticed my presence.

"Why don't you come in too, dear?" He shouted over to me. Shrugging I glanced over to Mr. Greyman who nodded his head in concession. I hopped down and ran over just as Gandalf followed Bilbo in.

"Welcome, welcome." Bilbo fairly shouted.

Both Gandalf and I had to stoop down to step into the hobbit hole.

"Oh, here we are," Bilbo continued. "Tea? Or something maybe a little stronger?" He took Gandalf's hat and staff, placing against the far wall. He then hurried down the hall, to what I can only assume as the kitchen, shouting as he went, "I've got a few bottles of the old Winyard left. 1296. Very good year. Nearly as old as I am. It was laid down by my father. What say we open one, eh?"

"Just tea, thank you," Gandalf answered. That was fine with me. I was starving and wine on an empty stomach was not a very good idea. I turned and ducked my head so that I may enter the parlor without another concussion, at which point I heard Gandalf's head come in contact with the same thing I avoided. Man, I think being smart and short.

I chuckled to myself as Gandalf stepped in, rubbing his head I noted. Both he and I took a quick look around at the various papers and maps that were scattered about. Apparently hobbits were not organized little creatures. I sat down in one of the chairs that wasn't covered and pulled up one of the maps to look at. Bilbo kept chatting away, but I stopped paying attention. I already knew what he was saying, having listened to it a thousand times before.

Gandalf placed whatever he was looking at down and followed the path Bilbo had taken just as the little hobbit entered from another door, saying something about making eggs. He looked at me confused, probably thinking where Gandalf had gone.

The wizard then appeared behind the hobbit, again asking only for tea.

I stood up and followed the guys into the kitchen asking for something to eat. I hadn't eaten all day, so I was a bit famished.

"Oh dear," Bilbo clucked as he turned to look at me. "What would you like?"

"Anything you have will be fine with me," I smiled to him. He nodded and set about looking for something. Gandalf looked back at me and gave me, yep; you guessed it, another of his looks. This one was saying 'that was rude to ask for that.'

"What?" I asked innocently. "It's true, I haven't eaten all day. Besides, he was offering." I pointed out. Gandalf just shook his head.

I placed the map I was looking at back on the table, then went and sat down in the kitchen, where Bilbo gave me some sponge cake. Not a fan, but food is food is food.

I began to eat when all of a sudden Bilbo threw himself flat against the wall as banging was heard on the front door. He actually looked kind of stricken.

"I'm not at home," he whispered urgently to us. The pounding on the door continued along with shouts of "Bilbo Baggins!" and "I know you're in there!" It took a lot of will power not to start laughing. I had always found this scene comical.

Bilbo crept softly to the window subsequently looking out, trying to see who was there.

"It's the Sackville-Baggines," he spat. "They're after the house. They've never forgiven me for living this long. I've got to get away from these confounded relatives, hanging on the bell all day. Never giving me a moment's peace!"

He crept back into the kitchen, looking out of its windows.

"I want to see mountains again. Mountains, Gandalf! And then find somewhere quiet where I can finish my book. Oh, tea," Bilbo seemed to have realized and hurried to pour the boiling water into the kettle.

"So you mean to go through with your plan?" Gandalf asked. Bilbo made a quick look to me and I gave him a sign that I'd stay quiet.

"Yes, yes. It's all in hand. All the arrangements are made."

"Frodo suspects something," Gandalf commented.

"Of course he does. He's a Baggins!" Bilbo exclaimed with pride. "Not some blockheaded Bracegirdle from Hardbottle." Now say that three times fast.

"You will tell him, won't you?" Gandalf insisted.

"Yes, yes," Bilbo dismissed with a wave of his hand.

"He's very fond of you."

"I know. He'd probably come with me if I asked him," Bilbo murmured as he walked to the window again.

I finished my cake and pushed my plate away, not wanting to disrupt the scene.

"I think in his heart, Frodo is still in love with The Shire. The woods, the fields. Little rivers." I could see Bilbo's hand slip into his pocket, no doubt caressing the Ring. "I feel thin. Sort of stretched like butter scrapped over too much bread." Leave it to a hobbit to compare something to food. "I need a holiday. A very long holiday and I don't suspect I shall return. In fact, I mean not to," the old hobbit finished firmly.

I raised my eyebrows in the serenity of that statement and peered over to Gandalf. He did not look entirely too pleased with Bilbo's convection. Seeing this as a good time to bow out, I rose from my chair, gaining the attention of both hobbit and wizard.

"If you'll excuse me, thank you Mr. Baggins for the cake. It was very much appreciated. I'm going to wait for you by the cart Gandalf. When you're ready." I smiled and bowed my head to them and left the hobbit hole.

As I sat on the cart and waited for Gandalf, my thoughts strayed to how the hell I got in this predicament. But most importantly how I was going to get home. For, you see, my mind had finally registered that, were I in a dream, I would not have been hungry, I would not have felt the pain in my head, and in fact I wouldn't have felt anything at all. Yet I did. I could feel the wood board under me, the wind on my face and the ground under my feet. I was really in The Shire. I couldn't figure it out but my dream of the story had become my reality. A reality that was all too real for my tastes.