It annoys me when I read a Hobbit/OC fic and the girl is all like, "Yo, I come from another world. I here cuz of the Valar decided I was a precious snowflake," and Thorin co just shrug and roll with it. I mean comeon. If a random stranger strolled up to you and said "I'll let you in on a little secret; I'm from another dimension" you wouldn't take him seriously. You just wouldn't. So this is my take on how Thorin would react.

Cassiopeia

"Cassiopeia."

Thorin tested the name as if it were an unfamiliar language he was trying out, pronouncing each syllable with careful precision.

I tried not to cringe. "It's a constellation. Like I said, people usually just go with Cassie – it's easier to remember."

He arched one eyebrow. "A constellation I have not heard of." His voice was flat, betraying nothing.

The corner of my mouth twisted upwards in a wry smile as I remembered my confusion when I'd first laid eyes upon the night skies of Middle Earth. The stars had appeared scattered at random, new patterns mapping out the heavens. It had been the first concrete evidence, the first clue as to what had happened, and I felt a small surge of helplessness at the prospect of explaining it to Thorin. It just all seemed so… far-fetched. Like a bedtime story told to keep children quiet – once upon a time, there was a young witch who was struck by a curse and transported to another world.

Except I wasn't the virtuous little heroine children could look up to.

I realized Thorin was still waiting for an answer, although in my defense, his last remark hadn't really been a question.

"No," I admitted, "I don't suppose you have." What I had to do was put myself in Thorin's head, to imagine what I had to say to defuse this situation. No sooner did the thought occur than I realized its futility. Envision myself in Thorin's shoes? I didn't know the first thing about him! After weeks of traveling at his side, I couldn't even hazard a guess as to how he would react. It was almost laughable, how little I'd paid attention to my companions. Thorin had asked me who I was, but really, who was he?

I didn't know the answer.

Quite abruptly, I was seized with a mad desire to say something outlandish, just to see if he'd humour me. How far could I push this stranger sitting before me? How much – if any – of my fucked-up story would he be prepared to believe? Cassie Morgan – always cautious, always guarded – but it was too late for that now, far too late. I was treading on thin ice, cracks spreading web-like beneath my feet, but there was so little left to lose that I felt drunk with the recklessness of it.

Again, I spoke without meaning to, blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

"I think I might be dead."

Saying it felt like letting go of something that had been quietly suffocating me; relieving in its own small way. I'd mulled over the possibility of my death before, but always in the restriction of my own head. Now, at long last, I had given voice to the fears plaguing my mind and allowed myself to say the words out loud, to acknowledge them. How odd that Thorin, of all people, should be the one I finally break the news to.

To his credit, the dwarf king remained unfazed. So unfazed, in fact, that I felt compelled to fill the awkward silence.

"Well, not dead, obviously," I elaborated. "I know I'm not dead now. But I think I died." Now that I'd started speaking, it was very hard to stop. "I mean, it felt like dying, I suppose – everything was cold and I couldn't feel my body – but there's really no similar experience I can compare it to. Plus, I was hit by a killing curse, and no one survives that unless their name is Harr –"

Thorin's hand shot up, cutting me off as effectively as if he'd slapped me across the cheek.

"I have never heard of the constellation Cassiopeia," he said again, very slowly, and his eyes were hard, hard, hard.

I bit my lip, helplessness once again the dominating emotion. "It's… complicated."

He waited.

"Oh, Merlin's…" I trailed off, muttering my frustration. What did he need to hear? "Okay, first off, we were planning on telling you."

"You and the wizard." There was something unpleasant about the way he said it, like we'd been conspiring behind his back. In a way, we had.

I winced. "Yes. Me and the wizard."

Thorin's eyes flickered over my shoulder to where Gandalf was watching from afar. "Then why is he not here?"

"Because I asked him to leave."

"For what purpose?" He wasn't going to let this go; I could see it in the thin line of his mouth, the stiff posture of his shoulders.

I weighed my answer carefully. "This conversation doesn't concern him."

Thorin leant forwards, gaze narrowing. "Does it not? It was the Gray wizard who introduced you to my company. Your presence here is a direct result of his meddling. Gandalf asked for my trust and then fed me a lie."

"We had our reasons," I snapped, heat flushing to my face. "The main one being your little rant about witches!"

There. I'd said it.

Thorin took a deep breath, sucking in through the nose and out through the mouth, teeth clenched so the sound was a sharp hiss. "So," he said quietly, and it was worse that shouting, "this is your secret. You are a witch."

I wondered if I should feign guilt. The thought repelled me; shame was reserved for my father. I wouldn't be sorry – not for this. I straightened, chin forwards, shoulders set. Let him see, I thought. Let him know. For one powerful second our eyes met, and I felt tall. This is what I am, Thorin. Not weak. Not defenseless. A witch.

His nostrils flared sharply. "And you would have me believe you died." The bite in his tone was enough to deflate my confidence. Oh. Crap. He had been paying attention to my earlier ramblings. Well, it served me right for failing to keep my emotions in check.

"Like I said; it's… complicated."

He said nothing, only folded his arms tightly across his chest, but again I saw that glimmer in his eyes, that silent challenge – as if he were daring me to tell him. Daring me to shock him with my tale. And with a jolt I realized he wouldn't understand. How could he? How could this warrior, this exiled king, possess the means to deal with such knowledge? How could he come to terms with a world where light could be summoned without fire, where great distances were traveled in the blink of an eye, where portraits conversed with passersby?

Impossible didn't even begin to cover it.

"You won't believe me," I warned, and my voice sounded hollow with the truth of it. "You might even regret asking by the time I'm through."

His eyes flashed. "Where do you hail from?" he retorted, refusing to back down. "Where is London?"

Gandalf had told me once that Thorin deserved to know who he was trusting with his life. A small, irrational part of me still clung to the hope that the wizard had always known what he was doing. But deep down I knew he'd been just as desperate as I had; working the best he could with what little tools he'd been given. Now, I had to do the same.

I sucked in breath, a diver about to plunge into the deep blue, and exhaled my answer in one long whoosh. "You've never heard of Cassiopeia because it doesn't exist in your skies. I don't come from an island in the north, Thorin – London can't be found anywhere in Middle Earth." At that point my courage faltered and I skidded to a stop, mouth dry, pulse racing.

Sitting opposite me was the perfect poker face – a brick wall, cold and emotionless, so certain it rendered me powerless; as if nothing I said could possibly touch him. But Thorin's eyes were far from impassive. I saw anger there, mingled with wariness and disbelief, and underneath it all, an inkling of fear. Not fear of me. No matter how much my ego wanted to indulge in the concept, I knew he would never fear me. It was what I represented; the strange, the unfamiliar.

The unknown, my mind supplied. He fears what he cannot understand.

Thorin wasn't sure what to do with the fact of Cassiopeia, and he would rather die than admit it.

So I said, "In the Shire, you asked me why I was here. Why I wanted in on your quest. The truth is; I haven't the faintest idea." I closed my eyes, remembering my uncertainty at the time. It was easier to speak when I couldn't see his face. "London – the town I was born in – is the capital of England. England can be found in the European continent, north of Africa and east of Russia. In the west, across the Atlantic Ocean, lies the continent of America, and beyond that, Asia." I opened my eyes. "A different world, Thorin – that's where I'm from. And I don't know how I got here, except that I died."

The silence that followed my words was different this time. It was the eerie calm that comes after thunder, that oppressive hush where you hold your breath and watch the heavens in anticipation of another flash of lightening. Where would it strike this time? The silence stretched on and on and Thorin continued staring, his mouth a thin line. His eyes were shadowed by his brow, making it hard to read his face. I wished I knew what he was thinking.

Finally, he said, "Explain."

So I did.

Later, I lay stretched out on my back, staring at the dark space above my head. Heavy breathing rose up on all sides of me. The dwarves had eventually given up on waiting for our host to return and were sound asleep, sprawled out on makeshift beds of rolled-up cloaks and dry straw.

At night, Beorn's home seemed even bigger that it had in broad daylight. The ceiling was a vast black canvas, wooden beams swallowed entirely in shadow. I stretched my body, feeling each knotted muscle tweak in protest. The ground beneath me was cold and uneven, clumps of hardened earth digging into my back. The cow snorted and stomped the floor from somewhere close by. I imagined roasting its flesh over a campfire, the rich smell of cooked meat heavy in the air. My stomach rumbled loudly. When had I last eaten? I counted backwards, reminiscing the days since we'd left Rivendell, but they were blurry and distorted, like peering through a dirty window.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

I rolled to my side, glancing for the umpteenth time at the only source of light in the cabin; a faint flicker on the far side of the room. Two figures remained seated at the table, speaking in hushed voices. Fili's blond hair was just visible in the candlelight. His back was tuned, his attention focused on the dwarf sitting across from him. He looked agitated, his hands gesturing rapidly, emphasizing whatever point he was making. I bit my lip. This is necessary, I reminded myself. Thorin had let me argue my case without interruption – it was only logical he extend the same courtesy to his nephew.

The glow of the candle was not bight enough to illuminate Thorin's features. He was a shadowy figure, one hand resting on the table, index finger tapping the surface in a continuous beat – tap, tap, tap. That steady drumming was the only indication that something was amiss, as if his twitching finger were the only part of his body he permitted to express tension. He had begun the unconscious motion towards the end of our conversation – if you can call a half hour of uninterrupted monologue a conversation.

Basic geography had been my starting point, a description of England and its chief cities and rivers. From there, I'd moved on to a sketchy explanation of the Muggle world, glossing over the finer aspects of the diplomatic structure of Great Britan (my knowledge of such matters was hazy at best) as well as those of its surrounding countries. "They don't know about us," I'd said, in manner of explanation. "We keep to ourselves and try not to get in their way."

At that point Thorin had spoken – the only time he would do so.

"Who is we?"

I'd hesitated only a second before saying, "People like me. Witches – and wizards too. There are a lot of us where I come from; enough to form an entirely separate government."

Thorin had added nothing more, and so I'd ploughed doggedly on, at long last broaching the subject of the Wizarding World. I had been careful, every sentence I uttered followed by a pause as I judged his expression, ready to backtrack at the first sign of trouble. I spoke of the measures taken to ensure that magic remain hidden from muggle society, how we'd learnt from our past mistakes. "We weren't so secretive four hundred years ago. Muggles – non magic folk – grew suspicious. Magic practitioners were hunted. 'Course, the muggles didn't know what they were looking for – ended up burning a lot of their own. But enough witches and wizards were killed for us to realize that we needed to start taking precautions."

I explained how the Ministry of Magic was founded, how the use of magic in front of muggles became outlawed, how the Ministry had strived to ensure that our world be hidden from sight. In short, I spoke of everything I could think of – random historical events, trivial details – everything, except of myself. I probably would have gone on talking all night if not for Thorin's tapping finger; the unnerving reminder that time was tick tick ticking away. And when I ran out of irrelevant facts to relate, grinding to an ungainly halt, he only raised one eyebrow and said, "A fanciful tale, Miss Morgan." There was a patronizing edge to his tone, like he was addressing an imaginative child. His finger kept on tapping. "But you've omitted the most crucial part of it. How did your death result in you finding yourself in Master Baggins' hobbit-hole?"

He didn't believe me. I could hardly blame him – if our roles had been reversed, I wouldn't have believed me either. My shoulders slumped. I was just so damn tired, I couldn't even bring myself to care.

"I don't know any more than you do," I murmured. "I'm not religious – I don't believe in a higher power. But I know I died. There was just… nothing," I shivered, and for a fleeting second I felt the cold hand clasp around my heart, "and then I woke up in the forest near Bilbo's house." There was nothing more to say, so I lapsed into silence.

Thorin seemed to sense I had run out of steam. His eyes lingered on me a second longer, searching, then he grunted. "Fili," he called. "A word. You may take your leave." That last part was for me, though he'd already turned away. "I will speak with my nephew now. Doubtless he has much to say on the matter."

Fili appeared at my shoulder. He'd removed his furs, revealing a leather tunic embroidered with elegant runes. There was a cool air of confidence about him as he took in my dejected expression.

I slid off the stool. "He's all yours," I muttered as I hobbled away. "Knock yourself out."

Bilbo started to get up when I approached, but I turned away, heading instead for the corner where Balin and Ori had retreated. It was unkind of me – his hurt expression told me that much – but I couldn't explain it all again. I just wanted to sleep. Gandalf nodded as I passed him by. I ignored him and collapsed next to Bombur, who was snoring like a banshee.

The vast room gradually dimmed, shadows lengthening. One by one the dwarves shuffled over and settled down for the night. Thorin and Fili were still in deep discussion by the time the sun had fully set, pausing only to light a candle when it became too dark to see. Tired as I was, I found myself resisting the fatigue, fighting against my drooping lids. I vowed to stay awake until they were done talking, as if I could somehow influence the outcome simply by remaining conscious. And a small part of me was afraid of what might happen if I closed my eyes. If I relinquished control over my mind.

Something stirring in the deep.

Thorin's voice rose and fell, his words drowned by the creak of the chair as he shifted his weight. The candle was blown out in a quick puff. A few moments later, two pairs of footsteps shuffled past. Then, silence. I sighed and rolled onto my back, exhaustion crashing over me like waves on sand. In this all-consuming gloom, the barn smell was all I had to focus on. Again, I felt the itch in the back of my mind. Dry straw, horses, old wood…

My eyes fluttered closed. I couldn't delay it any longer – my body yearned for rest. I lay motionless, waiting for sleep to come.

And when it did, I dreamt of rain.

Yes. That is how I picture it would happen. Review?

I don't have a beta, so if you notice any mistakes, feel free to point them out.