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Onwards with the next chapter!

*edited June 2018

Chapter Two: High School Musical

I blink at Gandalf's words; unless he's talking about Mushu from Mulan (which I highly doubt) then, no, I haven't actually seen a dragon. He can't possibly mean a real dragon, now, can he? They just... didn't exist. I frown as he ignores my blank face and wide eyes. For an old guy, he sure can walk faster than I can. I struggle to keep up as I wonder who's crazier here: this guy or me. Well, if he's a figment of your imagination that just means you're double crazy, Libby.

Oh, that's right.

Damn.

"Gandalf," I begin wearily, "when you mean a dragon, you mean - ?"

"By a dragon, I mean a dragon, unless that means something else from where you are from," he challenges. I utter a quick 'no' and he nods, bringing his wooden pipe to his lips to puff at it again.

As we continue to walk for what seems hours, I feel the heel of my shoes beginning to digging into the back of my foot, almost certain that it's bleeding. Everywhere hurts and aches from forgotten and non-existent injuries; my arms, my neck, my feet, my legs and my face especially. I had tried to scrub away the dried blood from the small gash above my eye with the sleeve of my shirt, but I've probably just made it more prone to infection now.

Whatever magical being had seen to my miraculous, and rather downright strange, healing had decided that their job was done at mending broken bones and serious injuries. I was left with tiny paper cuts on my skin, itching and red like tiny ribbons.

All I want to do is sleep, to wake up in my own bed and have my mother yelling at me that it's three in the god damn afternoon so I better get my ass up or she's dragging me down the stairs. Ah, good memories.

It's silent for a few moments as my eyes dart around, eyes surveying my surroundings only to find very little in the way of buildings or, indeed, people. I wasn't a stranger to the country side, I grew up in Ireland for goodness sake. Every summer, my family and I would pack up the car and head down to good old Connemara where my father's mother resided; how the hills would roll on for miles and miles, the only living things being the fat lazy sheep grazing and sleeping in the fields. Sometimes we were lucky to have sun and the beauty, compared to the city, was nothing I thought possible. But looking around, this place looks as if Mother Earth herself blessed this area.

"Gandalf," I say, tripping up to walk beside him, "where exactly are we?"

"The Shire, young Libby," he answers. For every step he takes it is exactly four for me so I'm a little more winded than him for having to fasten my pace. "West of Farthing, home to Hobbits."

As if that answered my questions. Once again, what the Hell is a Hobbit?

Before I can touch more on the matter, a sharp ache explodes in my head. I wonder if they have any medicine here for the throbbing headache that is currently pounding in my temples. Rubbing both my index fingers in a circular motion on my temples, I can feel myself slumping as my breathing becomes laboured and loud. I'll never forgive myself for ditching P.E.

"Gandalf," I all but whine nearly five minutes after last speaking. My mother always said I could be a puppy with all the whining I do. She never really made any sense, to be honest. Maybe that explains all this loopiness going on: I had inherited her craziness. "Are we nearly there?" Where was there? Somewhere with food, a bed maybe, a place that wasn't going to make me feel like my skull was splitting in half because of disbelief. "I think my stomach is going to cave in on itself and I'm about to die of exhaustion."

At that moment, my stomach growls very loudly to prove a point. You and I stomach, against the world. I can hear Gandalf's irritated sigh at my constant whining but, hey, he's the one that decided to help me.

"Don't worry, my dear, for we are soon there then you may eat away at your heart's content," he reassures, amusing clear in his voice. God, was I just so funny that everything I did and said was amusing? I kind of hope so. It would make me seem a little more endearing. "And we must do something about your clothes; you can't be going around wearing clothing like that. I am certain Bilbo will trade them for more suitable ones."

I feel my brows furrow at this; what's wrong with my own? I look down at the only thing that shows that I'm from, well, where I'm from. Sure, they're torn, and one side of my pants is caked in mud and there are specks of dried blood on the shirt, but they remind me of home. Stop it, Libby, I chide myself, you're going to go back. It's fine. This is just some weird lucid dream and you'll wake up and be in your good old fuzzy pyjamas. Also, who the Hell is Bilbo?

The sun has settled fully now and so Gandalf and I must walk in the dark. There's something you must know about me, upfront: I get bored really easily. And when I get bored, I talk.

A lot.

Maybe because it was the silence, or I needed to distract myself, but I just needed to keep talking.

"Hey, you know what I was just thinking?" I announce.

"And what is that?" I could just sense the dread in his tone. Hey, I am a delight.

"Why do people associate owls with being smart?" I ponder. "Like, they're birds. They only say one word for their whole lives. Granted they can do that weird head thing where they do a full one - eighty turn. I'd like to do that. Imagine I could do that thing the girl did in the Exorcist and freak people out."

Gandalf shoots me a slightly baffled and bemused look which makes me smile brightly up at him. "When we reach our destination and our company, maybe it is best for you not to speak. If they ask you from where you hail just look to me or think of something. Maybe if we're lucky enough we can slip in unnoticed and get you changed into something less -"

"Gandalf!"

The voice that shouts his name out is one that I have never heard before. I can see eight men walk up to use with smile plastered on their faces. As they draw nearer I can feel my eyes widen in shock.

Holy crap.

When the men approach us, I can see that they are very hairy, with moustaches that would slay my Uncle Lucas', and beards that were (weirdly) braided. Seriously, who the Hell braids their beards? Eh, well, to each their own I guess.

That's when I notice that they're exactly (well some, a few are a bit taller or smaller than me) my height. This makes me want to gasp out in delight.

So, either Gandalf is a freakishly tall guy, or they are my height, normal people height. Considering everything, I safely (and hopefully) presume it's the latter.

Then, that's when the shyness kicks in because my God, they scared me. They were all big and burly, reminding me of bikers. If, you know, bikers braided their beards like these guys did and wore silly clothes and smiled a lot.

Oh, yikes.

I start to worry about the worst, that they would laugh at me for ruined clothes, or turning a bright red. It hasn't flown over my head that I'm more worried about social interaction than being in a strange place – which has not yet been proven to be real, so if this is a dream (which it is), so be it. I inch myself so that I hide behind Gandalf, hoping and praying that they won't see me, turning my back to them in hopes of running back down the path and disappearing like a crazy as hell fairy into the woods.

"Ah, Bofur," Gandalf greets as the men gather around him. "I see that you've all made it. May I introduce - ?"

I almost want to yell at the old man as he steps aside, leaving me to stand with my back to the group. Maybe, if I can't see them they can't see me! I think childishly, running a tongue over my bottom lip, making me wince as I poked at the sensitive flesh. Gandalf's hand grips my shoulder as he whirls me around to meet the group of strangers who are shocked to see me as I them. All eyes are on me and I want the ground to swallow me up. Hi, yes, I'm looking for directions for the deepest hole in the world to climb in and never get out of.

"- Miss Aurora Liberty Fernwright."

"Libby," I all but choke as I force myself to not let their stares get to me. Come on, it's not like they've never seen a girl before with the way they're staring at me, eyes unblinking and eyebrows rose. I start to grow even more uncomfortable at this new-found attention that I turn to Gandalf for an explanation. "Uh, Gandalf, why are they staring at me?"

"Female Dwarves are hardly seen this far away from the Blue Mountains, Miss," one of the Dwarves squeaks, "especially one that isn't... well, hairy."

My eyes widen in horror with my mouth falling making a 'o'. Hairy? Did this guy just say hairy?! And just what exactly was wrong with women being hairy?! Because, God forbid a woman having hair! I send a bewildered look, spluttering at Gandalf at the words the man said. "What - ?"

"The name's Gloin, Miss," one of them says, stepping forward, taking my hand. I blink at this contact but as he lets go another hand takes his place.

"Oin."

"Bifur."

"Bofur."

"Bombur."

"Nori."

"Dori."

"Ori."

By this time, I'm practically being tossed around the group of men. I can't remember half their names as they pass me to the front of the group. I try to splutter a quick hello, but I'm passed off to a new person before I could do so.

I'm about to tell them to hold up for a hot minute when the door opens.

For a brief second, I see who opened the door; a small man (even smaller than I) who looks very close to losing his mind, eyes wide and full of anger and disbelief. I'm about to smile at him and introduce myself when I feel the entire group of men fall over one another.

And I'm at the front so, ouch.

I yelp as I fall face first into the ground, the weight off all the Dwarves piling on top of me. I start to groan and wheeze as they shuffle and grumble under their breath. I would have laughed if I wasn't the one under the weight of eight men.

Fun? Hell, no.

How on earth did I end up here? It felt like as if one thing was happening after the other and I was not being allowed to catch my breath, just to take things as they go and not ask questions or allow time in my schedule to have a break down. Maybe if I pushed my four o'clock breakdown to five o'clock, I'd have ample time to sit in a ball on the ground and rock back and forth.

I feel one of them kick me in the hip in a struggle to their feet and I growl. I ignore whoever was yelping I'm so sorry, Miss and get to my own feet, using the door frame for help. Standing to my full height - which still wasn't much - I drop my bag onto the floor near the door before meeting the man's disbelieving eyes at how his home is being treated as I thrust out my hand.

He seems a lot friendlier than the men from before, having soft curly hair, nearly same height as me, maybe being just a smidge smaller than me, as I manage to stand closer to him, and he stands there, looking downright adorable and cute in his night - gown (if he ever heard me say that about him, he'd kill me for sure).

"Hi, I'm Aurora Liberty Fernwright, but call me Libby. Pleased to meet you," I smile brightly, more confidence towards the man in front of me than to the ones who stumble to their feet, scratching at the floor. Hesitantly, the small man takes my hand.

"Bilbo Baggins," he says, his eyes narrowing. "I am terribly sorry but do I - ?"

"Ah, Bilbo," Gandalf chuckles, ducking his head to get inside the nestled little home. Even inside he has to duck his head.

"Gandalf," Bilbo stresses, grinding his teeth. I feel a hand on my shoulder and I look up to see Gandalf.

"Why don't you get some food, Libby?"

You don't have to tell me twice. Or even once.

Even by the end of his sentence, I'm off running off to where the most noise was hoping that I do, indeed, find some food to cure my wailing and ailing stomach.

In the second I take to examine the home, I realise that it is very homely, almost everything made of a light wood with soft rugs and carpets. As I turn a corner I can see the eight Dwarves I have already met and two older men I haven't met yet. I pause for that brief moment, watching them lug out food by the barrels and open my mouth, as if to say something – mostly to myself to help comprehend what was happening. Deciding that food came before sanity, I walk into what seems to be a pantry and try to find something that I would know and like. I spy a loaf of bread on one of the shelves and I grab it, biting into it, overpowered with hunger.

I walk out of the pantry, accidentally bumping shoulders with - Bambor? Bumbor? - Bombur who was carrying three very large wheels of cheese. I gape at him as Bilbo asks him if he has a cheese knife.

"Cheese knife? He eats it by the block," one of the other Dwarves (Bofur, I think his name is) jokes and I let out a quick snort. Bilbo glares at me while the Dwarf sends me a wink. I quickly duck into where most of the Dwarves where sitting. I find myself wedged in between Ori (a sweet looking Dwarf with a smooth face) and an empty chair.

The world was moving so fast, nothing made sense; it felt as if I had been travelling on air throughout this entire hurricane of nonsense. At the back of my head, I could hear my common sense and rationality scream into dark void that my state of shock absorbed. It's fine, I'm fine, one foot in front of the other.

I always thought I was bad for eating but these guys just ate - as in they just did not stop.

I watch with a mix of fascination and disgust at the same time. Gandalf nudges himself into the small kitchen and sits down next to me. Some of the anxiety leaves me as I find more courage to reach out and grab food, confident that my hand wouldn't be torn from the wrist. With another loaf of bread, an apple, a 'pitcher of ale' - at least, that was one of the Dwarves had called it that when he offered one to me; with my thirst quenched and a slice of meat on my plate I begin munching away happily at my food and laughing with the men, who are quite baffled as to why I actually look like a woman and don't have a beard or deep voice.

Then they laugh at my shocked expression as I touched my smooth, soft cheeks, even checking to see if my voice wouldn't go all Morgan Freeman on me. I watch as Bofur throws a piece of food towards Bombur, who catches it proudly in his mouth which leads to the whole table to have uproar. The good - looking Dwarf who had given me a drink from before is suddenly walking on the table, making me grab my food so it won't be squished as he ducks the ceiling and food (that's currently being thrown around the place by the Dwarves) as he holds more drinks in his hands, a bright smile on his face.

God damn.

During this, my head feels as if it's being torn in all different directions; there's so much happening, and my mere mortal brain cannot comprehend it all at once; there is food everywhere, drops of drink slipping from tankards onto the table. The men have no qualms about starting a conversation with me and when I'm pushed into talking with one, I'm pulled away to talk to another. I can't put names to faces and I can't even remember half of them. Another face who hasn't a name is the guy who gave me the beer; his hair is a soft blonde (the same shade of my hair) and he has an impressive beard and moustache, braids threading them. What is it with these guys and braiding?

Beside him sat -

Holy Mary, mother of God.

Someone call the fire brigade, because I think there's something on fire. (I have never said something so corny and cringe worthy in my life. I feel like face - palming myself).

His hair is a dark brown, falling past his shoulders and his eyes were also dark. I couldn't actually see their colour, not in the dim lighting of the room, but I could just feel my insides melting as I briefly make his eyes. But, unlike his company, he has no beard, only dark stubble. His skin is tanned kissed by sun rays, and he's decked out in dark brown clothes, as if he's trying to match with the rest of him. Through the gentle lighting of the room, I can make out a single dimple in his left cheek, more prominent as his smile grows across his face.

He is honestly one of the prettiest and handsomest guys I have ever seen. It takes me a moment to recollect my thoughts that have suddenly become nothing more than a gush of girly shyness; if I were more inclined to such behaviour, I probably would have made a scene of fainting. But, by God, was he handsome. He's not a piece of meat you can ogle, Libby! He's a person! A very pretty, good looking, dreamy person...

Oh, just what would my mother say?

That thought makes me stop laughing; my heart feels as if it is seized up, forgetting to beat beneath my chest as a lump forms in the base of my throat. The world pulls up to a screeching halt and I feel all my thoughts catch up to me. Half convinced this wasn't real, half in a state of shock, I try to ignore the fear and terror that has been wrapping itself around my throat, thirsty for revenge after being pushed back for so long.

I miss her.

Even though we were never really close, and even though we fought more than we should have, I still miss her. Like, a lot. She's all I have left, just like I'm all she has. Blood is thicker than water, as they say. And love can be felt across dimensions.

Does she know where I am? Is she alright? Oh, dear God, what if she was dead? The mere thought of it is like a punch to the stomach, as I try to hold myself together, to not let my stitches fall apart and my tears burst forth. I wanted my mother, I wanted her to hold me and stroke my hair. To let me know everything was alright. I feel a nudge on my shoulder from Ori, who grabs his ale and, forcing all these thoughts from my mind, I take my own cup, clanging it with the others. I needed a distraction, needed to not think about the what if's. The more I dwelled on the reality of the situation, the more I lingered on thoughts of my mother, the more I was closer to breaking, the closer to falling apart.

The guilt I felt at ignoring all thoughts of home would eat me from the inside out but, for now, I would do my best to keep on keeping on.

I bring the drink to my lips and take a much-needed gulp before bringing it down, but I notice that the others are still drinking. They don't even come up for air. My mouth opens in disbelief as I watch the beer drip onto their clothing and onto the floor. When they do, however, put it down the burps begin.

Ugh, gross.

These men are unlike the others I've spent my whole life around; they were actual men. I stare at Ori as he lets out a massive belch that has the whole room silent. And I can't help my mouth dropping open, both in sheer disgust and some grain of respect.

"There is a woman present!" someone shouts in hope for them to act more gentlemanly but I'm too busy to care about that as feel the laughter bubbling in my stomach, bursting into fits of laughter, my face turning red and blotchy. My laughter is soon drowned out by all the others and I start feeling all sense of shyness fall away. After sobering myself up, I lean back in my chair, very full and content. I look down and cringe when I see the state of my clothes.

I down the rest of my drink and push away from the table in search of Bilbo and the hope of new clothes, as Gandalf had promised. I dodge a tomato as I exit the kitchen, watching with a disgusted expression as it slides to the floor. Gross. I find the small man sitting on a stool, stiff and rigid, his breathing quick and shallow. Anyone could tell he is seething with anger and would leave instead of bothering him.

But I'm me and I never listen to my own advice so, instead, I step into his line of vision with a sheepish smile on my face.

"Uh, hey," I say, causing his eyes to snap to me, narrowing, "I'm Libby. We met at the door."

"Yes, I quite remember," he sighs sternly, "the She - Dwarf."

I cock an eyebrow at him; is it really that surprising to see a girl who was small? I mean, there is really no need to call me that. And besides, he was smaller than me!

Oh, but I guess I've been calling most of other, uh, guests Dwarves for the entire night and most of them are taller than me. Was it discrimination? Was I going to get human resources jumping up my ass?

Or, is it Dwarf resources?

"Err, right," I continue on, sheepishly, "So, I was told that you could provide me with clothes. What with the state my own are in."

I gesture to my ratty and dirty clothes and Bilbo lets out another sigh. I could quickly tell he was the sort of man who would sigh at any chance he could get. I feel awkward as the man sits there for another few seconds not moving and not saying a word. I can just imagine the small man's head exploding with anger as he pinches the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb.

Trading my battered and torn jeans for breaches and simply getting all the dried mud off of my top, I step out into the hall where the men were singing.

Singing, of all things.

I'm in the process of retrying my shoelaces while hopping on one foot (not a good idea when you're as clumsy as I) when a plate narrowly misses my face. I give a shattered gasp of surprise, scrambling back so that I fall back onto my ass, clutching at where I can feel my heart threatening to leap from my chest. Trying to glare at anyone and everyone who dares to even laugh at me, I get to my feet, brushing down my newly acquired pants and shirt, grumbling underneath my breath and cursing the Dwarves.

"Blunt the knives and bend the forks," Mr Strange Dark Handsome Guy with No Beard sings in a very good voice. Damn, does he have to be so good at everything?

"Smash the bottles and burn the corks," Good – Looking Blonde Dude joins in as I stare at the both of them as though they have gone mad. What the Hell - ?

"Chip the glasses and crack the plates," the rest of them start to join as plates, cups and everything is starting to be thrown around.

What.

The.

Hell.

This isn't High School Musical where you can randomly break out into song! I guess this just proves that none of this is real. I step in from the hall to get to the kitchen, ducking and dodging. Couldn't they just be normal and clean up wordlessly and not make a big show out of it? I start to make out the words, wondering how they knew all the words.

"That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"

I avoid a fork that's thrown over head by falling to the floor. I feel like I'm trying to dodge lasers and not cups and plates and the cutlery. I try to keep calm as they continue to throw around the plates. Oh God, these people are going to be the death of me.

"Cut the cloth and tread the fat!"

Because, yes, suddenly breaking out into song is perfectly normal.

"Leaves the bones on the bedroom mat!"

How on Earth are they even keeping in time with the music?

"Poor the milk on the pantry floor!"

I'm surprised they haven't skewered (me) someone (me) with a knife (me).

"Splash the wine on every door!"

I stay close to the wall, my shoulder flush against the curve, as a cup narrowly, by a hair, flies pass me. I squawk, placing a hand over once again my racing heart. I can faintly hear the laughter, but I ignore them, trying desperately not to die.

"What in God's name?" I all but screech as I duck down from another plate, my knees stinging as I fall to the ground. I look to see Mr Strange Dark Handsome Guy with No Beard laughing at my reaction and I feel my face heat up, both in embarrassment of how I act to how close he was to me, so close, in fact, that I could just see the dark chocolate swirls in his eyes.

"Jerk," I mutter under my breath, standing to my feet (that no longer ached due to pulling my socks on properly).

"Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl!"

Keep calm, Libby, I'm sure it's some weird tradition cleaning up thing they have here.

"Pound them up with a thumping pole!"

Is that an axe in Bifur's head?! What the Hell?!

"And when you're finished, if any are whole!"

I spy Bilbo who looks frightened and close to having a seizure due to the Dwarves throwing around his priceless fine China - well, they looked like fine China. Did Chine even exist in the land of singing and Dwarves? The look of terror on his face as they throw around the precious plates and cups is something my mother would have related to since she used to keep hers in a drawer safe away from people.

Kind of defeated the purpose, really.

"Send them down the hall to roll!"

By now, Bofur has taken out a flute (where the Hell did that come from?) and playing it while managing to hit a plate perfectly with his elbow. Jesus Christ, that right there is skill, I think amusingly as I duck another cup.

"That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!

Somehow, without getting hit, I had shuffled my way carefully to Gandalf and watched with hawk eyes as the men sang and not missing a single beat or messing up a single word. But when I notice that most of the throwing is directed in front of Gandalf, I had made sure to keep well out of the way.

By the end of this cluster of weirdness, I began to notice that they are quite insane as they gather all the clean plates and dishes onto the table. I start to laugh, once again, as Bilbo stutters at them, eyes wide; obviously surprised there wasn't a chipped glass or a cracked plate. No, instead, they were all clean and sparkling.

I'm stuck to the side of Bofur who is smoking a pipe, choking on it as he chuckles. That's it: they're all crazy.

Everything is merry, and the mood is light, something that my mother would have a heart attack at. She hated everything to do with drinking or anything loud or out of order. I don't know how I'm her daughter; I guess I was a little like dad but that's it. I was everything she opposed. I feel my smile slip slightly at this, but I force myself not to look or feel so downcast. No, I can't afford to be thinking like this.

My cheeks are starting to hurt from all my smiling but that's when I heard it; a loud knock from the door.

Every Dwarf stops laughing and smiling, turning to the place where the sound was emitted from.

"He is here," Gandalf announces dramatically. It takes everything not to laugh at how everyone here seemed to be dramatic and odd. I glance around the room, eyes lingering on Mr Strange Dark Handsome Guy with No Beard (hot damn) before staring at the door. Gandalf stands and makes his way to the door, everyone in the room following him. I start to feel my heart in my throat for no particular reason as I wring my fingers.

"Ah, Libby," Gandalf suddenly remembers my existence, turning around to stare down at me. "Remember: do not speak or make yourself known until I can find a moment to introduce you."

What he means: shut up and make sure he can't see you.

But I don't argue like I normally would have. Instead I give Gandalf a quick nod and make my way where everyone stood, hiding behind Gloin and Nori. I peek over their shoulders, swallowing roughly, as Gandalf opens the door.

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