Bros, I am riding this train 'til it goes off the tracks. I hope you like the newest installment! Also, I do apologize for any changes in tense. I am nowhere near used to writing in second person or present tense, but I'm doing my best to keep everything in line.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

Bilbo is very kind to you, cooking you meals and giving you a guest bedroom to stay in. You couldn't be more grateful; the last thing you want at the moment is to face the Wild alone. You try to repay the hospitality by doing the dishes and listening raptly to his conversation, though the last bit is no trouble.

After breakfast the next day, Bilbo suggests the two of you go outside to get some air. You are all for it, of course. He grabs his pipe and heads out the door while you finish the dishes. Even such a mundane chore has you captivated with its context. You marvel for the millionth as you scrub the plates that you're actually here, actually in Middle Earth, actually in Bag End...

You make short work of the dishes and head outside. You stop at the window for a quick moment of reflection. Bilbo is seated comfortably on his bench outside, blowing masterful smoke rings into the bright blue sky. You smile slightly at the oddly familiar scene. And it is familiar for a reason: suddenly, one of the smoke rings morphs into a butterfly and flies back into Bilbo's face.

Your heart kicks into overdrive when you register the tall man in the grey cloak and pointed hat. You slide down the door as you relive the movies you've watched a hundred times at top speed. For all that you've swallowed in the past twenty-four hours, you simply can't wrap your head around the fact that you arrived the day before Gandalf came to drag Bilbo into the blue.

You mouth along with their conversation and don't startle when Bilbo storms through the door. He's aggravated until he notices you slumped in the floor. "Oh dear-!"

"I'm fine," you say quickly. "I'm fine-I-was that Gandalf?"

"Yes, it was-how did you know? Are you a friend of his?"

"I...well, I know of him, even if I've never met him. What did he want?"

Bilbo scowls. "A ridiculous proposal-adventures-but it's nothing."

You attempt to smile. Your heart is still racing. You take a seat in the parlor and stare out the window, trying to come to terms with the fact that this very evening you would be meeting Thorin Oakenshield.

You have of course watched the arrival enough times to know every line, every facial expression, every change in tone. You know every single thing that will happen in the next thirty months, thanks to having nothing better to do than feed your debilitating Tolkien addiction. Most of all, you know that the Dwarves arriving tonight will not take kindly to meeting you, an elf.

You bite your lip as the gravity of the situation sinks in. If you are truly on the very eve of the beginning of the quest for Erebor, you know that the culmination is grave. When you saw Battle of the Five Armies in theaters-on opening night, of course-you'd sobbed into your popcorn-scented napkin at the deaths on Ravenhill. You'd even taken the next day off of school for a day of mourning. That stubborn Dwarf-lord and his nephews that would soon walk through the door were fated to die, and this is unacceptable to you.

You whittle away the day making plans, rehearsing speeches, and steeling yourself for the impending evening. All the while you run your fingertips over your skin and the leather bracers on your forearms. It helps keep you grounded; it's very easy to forget that the decision you've made will have very real, very tangible consequences. You refuse to change your mind, however. You'd wished for an adventure. Now you have to go through with it.

"Lady Aniel, would you like some dinner?" Bilbo calls. You jump a mile and again your heart pounds.

"N-No, thank you," you return breathlessly. "I'm not all that hungry. I'd be glad to sit with you, though."

You sit at the kitchen table and watch Bilbo fry the fish for what he assumed would be a single dinner. You stop breathing when he takes it out of the pan, sets it on the plate, and settles in his own chair.

The doorbell tinkles quietly. It launches you into action. Bilbo's content expression hardly has time to flatten before you say briskly, "Don't let them know I'm here."

He blinks at you. "Excuse me? Them?"

"Yes, them. Don't tell them. When Gandalf comes, please send him to my room."

"I don't understand-"

"I know you don't, and honestly I'm really sorry for all I've put you through so far, but please trust me! Now go get the door!"

Bilbo scurries off. You start to run to your room, then pause. You can't bring yourself to miss out on the first introductions that you've seen so many times before. You dive into a hiding place with a view of the door just in time for Bilbo to open it.

It's Dwalin, obviously; he rumbles, "Dwalin, at your service," and bows.

"Bilbo Baggins, at yours," Bilbo responds bemusedly, tying up his housecoat. "Ah, do I know you?"

"No." Dwalin seems almost offended by the notion. He steps over the threshold. You've watched the same actions unfold before, but something about seeing them play out in real time makes you have to stifle a giggle.

The pair disappear deeper into the house. You tap your fingers on your arm until the bell rings again, at which point you eagerly peer out of your hiding place to see Balin. You hope that if all went well and you manage to talk your way into joining the company, you and Balin would come to good terms; his wealth of stories was something you wanted in on.

Bilbo is slightly less cordial this time around, whether due to confusion or your correct prediction of "them", it was unclear. Balin enters and greets his brother in the kitchen. You squirm impatiently during the exchange in the pantry; you refuse to return to your room until you see the next two guests.

The doorbell rings a third time. Bilbo, close to the end of his rope, opens it to reveal the two gorgeous heirs of Durin.

"Fili-"

"And Kili-"

"At your service!"

Had you been there to greet them, you would have welcomed them in and then some. But "Mr. Boggins" is less than thrilled at two more Dwarves joining the pair already raiding his pantry. Kili and Fili enter despite Bilbo's protests. Your heart flutters. They're even more perfect in person. But soon you remember your head and you sneak back to your room to await Gandalf.

You smooth your hair and clothes and improve your posture in an effort to appear as perfectly elvish as possible. Part of the act, you decide, is staring out at the stars, so you move to the cute round window. You count your rather uneven breaths until a quiet knock echoed through the door. "Come in," you near-whisper.

The Wizard himself enters. He doffs his hat out of respect. You can't help a small, awed smile; he would seem nothing more than a kindly pilgrim to those who knew no better. But you do know better.

"M-Mithrandir," you say as steadily as possible with a slight incline of your head. "It is certainly my pleasure to meet you."

"I would have your name to share the pleasure," he responds courteously.

"Aniel," you sigh, already wishing you'd picked a better persona.

"And what business can I help you with? Bilbo was very firm when he relayed your request, though that might be because he's currently hosting several unexpected guests."

You take a deep breath. "I want to come with Thorin to retake Erebor."

Gandalf's busy eyebrows immediately contract. "How do you know of this?" he inquires. The edge to his voice makes you shiver. "We were very sure to tell no one of our intentions."

"I wasn't stalking anyone! It's just that I know things that will help, and I'm afraid if I don't come-" You trail off and bite your lip. The consequences of Thorin's death would be very real, because the world and people around you were very real. "If I thought I could just tell you what I know and it be enough, I would-trust me, I'm not looking forward to sleeping outside in the cold without a tent-but it has to be me."

Gandalf's frown is even more pronounced. He says slowly, "If you know of Thorin Oakenshield, you know that neither he nor his kin are overly fond of elves."

"I'm aware," you sigh. "It's a hurdle and I'll just have to jump it. Will it be enough if I pledge my undying loyalty to him or something?"

"I doubt it. But do tell me, Lady Aniel, where your desire to accompany the Dwarves stems from, for it is most unusual for an elf to hold such a wish."

You obviously can't confess to Gandalf that you're basically in love with everyone in the kitchen and couldn't bear to see the tragedy at Ravenhill come to pass. That would be weird. So you phrase it a little more elegantly: "I want to come because what Thorin is doing is right, and to help him reclaim his homeland."

Now Gandalf raises his eyebrows at you. "Is it so simple?"

"Not in the bigger scheme of things, but for my motive, yes."

Gandalf mmms and stares hard at you with his piercing, wise eyes. You hold his gaze and refuse to break it. You hope he can discern your bare honesty but not all the secrets you have swimming around in your head. "Well," he says finally, "if you will not be swayed, you will have to convince Thorin. And, if I am honest, me."

"I can do that," you say heavily. "At least, I hope. Even if he won't let me come, I'll follow anyway. It would just be nicer to travel with company."

You skulk in the halls while the wild dinner party winds down. You sing along with the cleanup tune to ease your nerves. You're well aware of how harsh and mistrustful Thorin can be in general, let alone towards elves.

You hide again when the doorbell rings for the last time. The door swings open, and there he is in all his glory. You swoon a bit just looking at him as you had so many times before. This time, however, there was no glass screen separating you from a bunch of really attractive Dwarves.

"He looks more like a grocer than a burglar," Thorin remarks, earning laughs from his kin. Bilbo looks indignant. They move back into the kitchen and you return to waiting.

Instead of working up a moving speech, you daydream about galloping over the hills and surfing down the mounds of gold in the bowels of Erebor. You hardly notice when Gandalf says, "Now that that's settled, I must bring forth another matter that I'd like you to be open-minded about."

It's your cue! You jump up, quickly slip into character, and approach the gathering.

Shouts of outrage go up the moment the Dwarves register your clothing and ears. Some even reach for knives or ball their fists. You take a step towards the front door in case you need to make a break for it. This was already not going well.

"Open-minded!" Thorin hisses at Gandalf. "This had better be a joke!"

"No, just please wait a second!" you exclaim. They fall silent, shocked that you dared to speak. "It's not Gandalf's fault. He didn't know I was coming. I'm here to pledge allegiance to Thorin Oakenshield and aid in the reclaiming of Erebor!"

The silence deepens. Thorin rises and faces you. Though you're several heads taller than him, you gulp at his commanding and currently intimidating stature. "What use have I for the allegiance of an elf?" he snaps, putting particular venom in the last word. "I know how your people honor your oaths, and I have no time for treachery."

"I wouldn't!" you gasp. "I know you hate elves. You have every right to. Thranduil turned his back on Erebor when Smaug came. But I'm not like them, I swear!"

"Even if you do not come from the Woodland Realm, no other elves have proven trustworthy."

"How can I prove myself?"

"You cannot."

Your stomach flops at the dismissal. You blurt, "I know things!"

It sounded stupid even to you, so you're not quite insulted when the Dwarves laugh at you. Thorin's smirk is scornful. "You know things? What kinds of things?"

His attitude lights your temper. You were able to admit that your favorite Dwarf could be a dick and a half, but you're unable to bear his snark in such a dire situation. You open your massive Tolkien trivia vault and let him have it. "I know that at the meeting in Ered Luin, Dain said he wouldn't join you. I know that Gandalf persuaded you to try for Erebor one night in Bree at the Prancing Pony. I know that Lady Dis gave Kili a rune stone before he left. I know all the names of your company and how they're related. I know the exact location of the door that matches the key Gandalf just gave you. That's just the beginning. Shall I continue?"

No one is laughing now. Kili is slightly flushed about the revelation of such a private detail. Thorin is no longer smirking, to your great pleasure, but is regarding you with shock and a measure of mistrust. You cross your arms triumphantly.

"And how came you by this knowledge?" Gandalf asks. You note his hand twitching towards his staff.

"Er...foresight? And...hindsight? I'm not evil, if that's what you're implying. Listen, all I want to do is use what I know to help you. There's no ulterior motives or hidden agendas. I don't even want a cut of the gold. I just want to help."

It takes a while for Thorin to speak. "I do not know how you came by such information, but..."

You put a hand on your hip, daring him to discount the value of your knowledge, especially regarding the way into Erebor. Thorin squints at you like he can read your thoughts. He shoots at you, "If you can tell the future, tell me when my cousin Frerin will arrive."

"Frerin's your brother, and he won't be coming because he died at Azalnubizar," you respond smartly.

"And if you know so much about our relations-"

You have the family trees memorized, of course! "Thorin, uncle to Fili and Kili: brothers. Dwalin and Balin: brothers and cousins to Oin and Gloin, also brothers. Ori, Dori, Nori: brothers. Bifur is cousin to Bofur and Bombur, who are brothers. I can get into fathers and sons, if you like."

Thorin is fuming but he cannot deny that you are right on every count. The table begins an intense conversation, obviously in Khuzdul so you can't understand. Language had always been your downfall; you knew only a few phrases of elvish, most of them gleaned from parroting during the films. But you don't need to be a master in the Dwarvish language to know that they're arguing. You hope at least someone is on your side.

Finally Thorin turns to you once more. Dislike shines in his blue eyes. "You are certain you know the way into Erebor?" he demands.

"Yes."

"Then I suppose we have no choice," he says bitterly.

Your heart skips a beat. "Really? I can go?"

"Against my better judgment."

You kneel in front of Thorin, almost in tears from the joy. "I will follow you, Thorin Oakenshield, even though you got lost twice on the way here."

Thorin is unmoved by your display. "Get up. I do not want your loyalty."

"You have it anyway."

Bofur pipes up, "Is someone going to do something about the hobbit?"

You notice then that Bilbo is and has been out cold on the rug in the hall.

When Bilbo comes to, he accepts a cup of tea and declines being fussed over. Gandalf seats him in one of the parlors. You let them have their chat. You're far too interested in the truly enchanting occurrence about to take place. You sit cross-legged in the floor by the fire. You're fairly impervious to the dark looks the Dwarves cast you; you're sure-or you very much hope-that you'll win at least their grudging respect before the end. Thorin ignores you completely.

The song starts at some silent cue. Your breath catches when Thorin begins in his rich, deep bass voice that resonates through the room. The others harmonize flawlessly until your whole chest is filled with music. You mouth along with the words, awed that you ever had the chance to witness this in real time. It's like witnessing the signing of the Declaration of Independence, only a lot more relevant to your interests. You sigh dreamily.

The excitement of the evening dissipates as the night wears on. You consider going to bed. Tomorrow will surely hold an early start-what time was it? Ten? Eleven? You'll need to set an alarm for earlier so you can shower first-

But your shoulders slump slightly when you recall that there are no alarm clocks, showers, or even electricity where you are now. The prospect of not bathing for days on end makes your skin crawl.

Someone grabs your arm and yanks you to the side. You wince preemptively, but it's only Thorin. He glowers at you before saying accusingly, "You knew the words."

"Of course I knew the words," you say before you can help yourself. It's a bit of a habit of yours to take slights on your Tolkien knowledge as a challenge. You're like a low-profile Stephen Colbert.

"Let us make one thing clear, elf: you are only coming because you may be useful. If that fact changes, or if I suspect treachery on your part..."

You're able to smile at the situation, much to Thorin's surprise. You very much want to take him seriously, but after browsing pages of fanart of him wearing flower crowns, it's a bit difficult. "It's fine that you don't trust me, Thorin, but believe it or not, I'm not your enemy. My only goal here is to help you."

His eyes narrow. "Why?"

The honest answer is because he's majestic and great and you love him, but that won't fly as a response. So you simply say, "Because you're worth it."

The stubborn Dwarf-lord stares impassively at you a moment longer before sweeping down the hall. You shake your head fondly like he's a grouchy toddler (which in your eyes he basically is) and retire to your room. You suppose you'll have to sleep lightly to hear when the party leaves; Bilbo can be late, but you've got a first impression to make.