Shiningheart of ThunderClan doesn't own The Hobbit. Thanks to everyone who reviewed!

Two days later, Gandalf and I arrived at the outer edge of Bree. It was good timing for a few reasons. One, it had started to rain about ten minutes ago leaving the both of us drenched and miserable. Two, we'd started walking at barely past the asscrack of dawn and had only rested a bit, leaving us drenched, miserable, and tired. Three, all of the cover stories we thought up was shot down by the other for one reason or another, leaving us drenched, miserable, tired, and positively homicidal.

At one point Gandalf had gotten pissed off enough to snap, "Perhaps we shall simply tell them you are an exceedingly hairless dwarf, for you certainly have the stubbornness of one!" It was probably an ill omen of my future self preservation skills that I was rather pleased in bringing out the old man's temper.

Those were the last words we'd shared for a few hours. But here in the gathering darkness, any petty resentments I had towards the wizard disappeared. I had mixed feelings about Bree, mainly because I didn't know what to expect. Beyond the scenes in Lord of the Rings and the opening scene in Desolation of Smaug (and even then I don't know if that was just the extended edition or the original), I didn't know what to expect. And I didn't like that. "How far is it to Bag End?" I whispered to Gandalf, eyeing some passing people hidden beneath cloaks.

Gandalf must have sensed my underlying tension, for he whispered back, "A few days travel west of here. We have all of tomorrow to buy you provisions and some... appropriate attire."

It wasn't the first crack he'd made about my Batman PJs, and I felt rather offended on the Caped Crusader's behalf. "True as that may be, Batman is a cultural icon where I come from! Children around the world aspire to be as brave and just as he is!" Or insane, depending on which aspect they decide to emulate. Running around and beating up thugs, great. Running around and beating up thugs while dressed as a big black bat? Not so much. The wizard got us a two-bed room at The Prancing Pony. Genuinely curious, I asked, "Are there actually any other inns in Bree?"

He grinned at me, eyes twinkling in good humor. "Yes, but The Prancing Pony has the best food and drink in all of Bree!" A hearty hale came from those close enough to hear, and Gandalf leaned closer to add, "Plus it doesn't smell as foul as the other inns." He winked and I had to cover my mouth to stifle a laugh.

Gandalf led the way to the room, and I admit a sigh of relief when I flopped gracelessly onto the bed closest to the window. There was a few minutes' silence of me just enjoying some softness beneath me while my companion readied his pipe and smoked some. I had to fight with myself to rise and sit properly on the bed to face him. "So, let's face it. Neither of us is going to come up with something in the next however many hours to tell the Company."

He hummed and puffed at his pipe, blowing magical shapes with the smoke. I counted a ship, a butterfly, an actual cloud… "Perhaps it would be best to, as you say, wing it." I thought it over. I was good at bullshitting stories under pressure, but that really only worked when I was the only one lying.

I nibbled on the knuckle to my pointer finger on my right hand, a habit of mine when I was in deep thought and looked up at Gandalf. "Okay, so this might be asking a bit much from you… but leave the lying to me."

I wonder if anyone else ever caused the wizard to choke like that. He had to pound on his chest to cough up some smoke before he gave me an incredulous look. "Why ever would you want all that responsibility on your shoulders? You realize if Thorin discovers your deception he might not respond kindly."

It was nice of him to care so much, but I remained firm. "Have you ever heard of the phrase '''too many cooks spoil the broth'?" He nodded slowly. "It's the same thing for lying. Too many people, too many stories. Eventually we'd contradict each other somehow or someway." He still looked unconvinced and I sighed. "I know I might be asking for more than I deserve, but I need you to trust me."

Gandalf wasn't happy, I could see that in his expression, but he acquiesced with a sigh. "I dislike not being prepared. What shall I tell the others if they ask about you?"

It said something about me that my answer was swift in coming. Not sure what it said, but definitely something! "It depends on the question, really. If it's something inconsequential, like whether I like something or what you think I'd like, answer honestly. If It's something personal, like family or history, tell them it's not your place to say or that I never told you."

The look in his eyes went from uncertain to shrewd and appraising, like he was trying to figure me out. "That... That could work. You are cleverer than you first appear, Miss Katie." Aaaand now I was blushing. Shit shit and double shit. Gandalf chuckled at me and motioned with his pipe to the pillows. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a big day."

Ugh, he had to remind me. Stupid wizard. I hated shopping.

Two days and more arguments later, we set out for Bag End. What Gandalf hadn't told me beforehand was that we'd be riding horses. At first I'd been excited because, you know, pretty horsies. Then I'd actually seen the beasts at the stalls and I'd pleaded, downright BEGGED, Gandalf to let me ride a pony instead. The horses they had were bloody massive. Like, the top of my head was parallel with the top of their backs.

He didn't laugh on the outside, but I just knew he was cackling like the madman he is on the inside. I say again, stupid wizard. "Of course you're riding a pony. As… entertaining as it would be to watch you attempt a horse, I fear the lack of dignity would be counterproductive in earning the dwarves' favor." He walked away to speak to the stablehand and I glowered at his back. I wanted so badly to throw something at his head, but the bastard would probably just dodge without missing a beat in the conversation.

In the end, I rode a bay-colored mare named Buttercup. She was a patient and friendly pony, and put up with my relearning. I've only ever had one or two riding lessons. I was competent enough by the time we were on the road, but I knew I wouldn't be entering any competitions when I got home.

At first it was quiet between the two of us. Gandalf led the way, of course. I kept myself occupied by making faces at his back and looking away innocently when he turned around, pretending to be observing the scenery.

And the scenery was beautiful. The road we were on was more of a natural track, trampled flat by generations of feet, hooves, and wagons. The ground alternated between bare earth, regular grass, and tussocks of weeds so tall they brushed the bottom of my boots that Gandalf insisted I get. Large trees rose up on other side and blotted out the sky, and while normally I'd find this rather ominous, I admit I rather liked the way it caused the sun rays to hit the ground in dappled beams.

Eventually, however, I did find myself more internalized. I thought of the dwarves we'd come upon, and I thought of all the fanfictions I've read. Of Kili's laughter and easy smiles, of Fili's silent strength and willingness to listen, of Thorin's bravery and hidden kindness... and made a choice. "Gandalf." The seriousness in my voice surprised even me, and I couldn't blame the wizard for gripping his staff tighter and glancing around, as if I'd spotted some type of danger that his superior wizard senses hadn't caught. "Calm down, old man. I just need you to promise you'll do something for me."

He relaxed at the assurance and glanced at me, looking slightly annoyed. "That, my dear, depends on what that something may be."

Frankly I couldn't blame him for that either. How many times had I given the same answer, or variations of it? But I needed him to understand this favor was necessary. "I'm not allowed to fall in love with one of them."

Whatever else he'd been expecting, it was obvious my request had caught him off guard. Gandalf stopped his horse point blank and turned to look at me with the look of puzzled disbelief on his face. "Why ever not? Love should be celebrated, encouraged even! It's a glorious thing, and in a world so dark and full of peril, one should seek whatever bit of light and happiness they can get. So I repeat myself: why?"

A lot of reasons, actually, but let's just focus on the first. "I wished for an adventure, Gandalf, but what do you think might happen when that adventure ends? I might not get a choice in leaving or not, and what happens if the Valar send me back in the middle of the night, when everyone is asleep? They'll think I didn't want to stay and that I didn't love them. Imagine the effect that would have on their confidence."

There was more, and usually I'd go on because I want the people who argue with me to know just how inevitable their defeat is like some evil overlord monologuer, but I wanted Gandalf to agree with me, not just give up. I knew I'd need his help on this. He hummed and hawed and stared at me before sighing. "Your worry is a valid one, my dear. Though I cannot promise anything, I will do my best to help. It will, however, be largely up to you. No one knows your heart better than you, after all."

I wanted to push the issue, but I let it go. He was agreeing to help, and I should just be happy with that. "So, tell me about the cultures that you know of. Will me being a woman be held against me?"

The next five hours were spent with Gandalf answering my questions. I didn't limit my curiosity to the dwarves and the impending quest, either. I've seen all of the movies, from both The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings. Tried to read the books too, but Tolkien's writing style bothered me for some reason and I could never get more than a few chapters in.

Turns out my being a women would have mixed reactions. Dwarf women were rare and so were cherished, hidden away from the world where no harm could come to them. The same thing went for every other race, except maybe elleths- which Gandalf told me female elves were called. Apparently every face had their own terms for the girls of their society. Elleths for Elves, dwarrowdams for the Dwarves (who preferred to be called dwarrows but I'm not THAT respectful), and women for Man. Hobbit women were just called lasses because apparently hobbits had NO creativity.

Okay, anyway. Mixed reactions. None of the Company will want me with them, but for different reasons. For half of them, they'll want to keep me safe and away from whatever dangers they might face. The other, they'll expect me to be a burden, someone soft and weak and unused to the harshness of the wilds.

All of that is true. I've been camping before, but always with my family and always with some comforts of home. Tent, blow up mattress, grill, and lighter to make fires. And honestly if it weren't for the way this whole thing would end, I'd say fuck the wish and wait at Bag End or Bree or something and live out the full year in relative safety.

But how could I possibly do that when I DO know how this turns out? I might not know them personally, but I know none of the royals deserved to die. Not even Thorin, who quite frankly was an ass to everyone, even his nephews, the entire journey. Gods, totally not looking forward to that. I'm either going to cower like Bilbo or bitch at him like Gandalf.

For three days we traveled. It was rather easygoing and so, SO boring. There was good weather all around, there weren't any attacks, and Gandalf must have worked some magic because the fire never grew dim. It took all the fun out of camping for me! Building a pyre bigger than me is one of my favorite things.

It was on the last day of traveling that I saw my first hobbit, an older gentlehobbit on a cart going the opposite way. He greeted Gandalf like an old friend while giving me a suspicious and wary look. Considering I was gaping at him, I was surprised he stuck around long enough to talk.

Because hobbits? Are fucking ADORABLE. Big, slightly pointed ears, short curly hair, and big feet with thick curly hair on top. I couldn't even tell you his name and I wanted to take Mister Cart-Driver home with me to cuddle at night.

Something of my thoughts must have appeared on my face, for Mister Cart-Driver was quick to get out of there. Gandalf took one look at me and actually whacked me with his staff. "No kidnapping the hobbit. No kidnapping any hobbits, no matter how adorable you might find them."

I pouted at Gandalf's back while rubbing my head. I thought wise old men were supposed to be against violence, but I guess Gandalf missed that memo. Or ignored it. I can totally see Gandalf ripping a paper to shreds and throwing it up in the air going, "I do what I want!"

Finally we crested a large hill, and the sight that greeted us took my breath away. Emerald green grass waved in the breeze, long enough to sway but short enough to be inviting, like it wanted me to run through it. The hills rolled ever one and on, further than my human eyes could see, and I had the insane urge to walk forever to see just how far they went.

Gandalf chuckled at my expression of awe and looked out over the hills with fondness. It was clear this place was important to him, though for whatever reason I didn't know. "Welcome, my dear, to The Shire."

Pages on Google Docs: 5

Words on Goggle Docs: 2480