I was surprisingly awake and dressed bright and early the next morning, though Bilbo had still awoken before me. He was in the kitchen, tinkering around to make us both breakfast when I walked in. He was humming an unrecognizable tune as he worked, and I couldn't help but watch him.
"Good morning," I announced cheerfully.
At that he jumped what seemed like five feet in the air and let out a high pitched yelp. The movement caused him to temporarily lose his gripping on a bowl he had been holding to mix dough. He was able to grab onto it before it fell, however, and he put it down on the kitchen counter before clutching his chest and breathing heavily.
"Sorry," I said, trying so hard to hold in a laugh. I had never been able to scare someone so easily before, and it was hard not to take full advantage of that. Oh, the tricks I could play on him...
"It's alright," he said breathlessly. "Just please don't do that again."
"Don't worry, I'll make sure to greet you quietly from now on," I chuckled, and sat down at the breakfast table.
"You know what I mean," he muttered as he picked the bowl back up and resumed mixing. "Anyway, good morning to you, too. Did you sleep well?"
"I did," I replied. I pretty much slept like a baby the whole night. Nothing had woken me or stirred me until I heard birds chirping and the sun started creeping through the window.
I continued to watch him make breakfast, and even offered to help, to which he refused, since I was "his guest, and guests shouldn't have to dabble in the household chores," according to him. He was trying really hard to be polite, and I wasn't about to complain about that.
At last he presented me with one of the biggest breakfasts I had ever seen in my life. He had prepared pancakes with hot syrup, oatmeal with apples and cinnamon, blueberry and blackberry muffins, eggs cooked in almost every single way possible (including omelettes), wheat toast, and heaps of bacon.
"Oh my God," I couldn't help but utter as he presented me with all of it. I looked up at him. "You made all this yourself?!"
"Yep," he answered, and he sounded pretty pleased with himself. He was standing on the other side of the table with his hands behind his back, looking so damn smug. "Well go ahead, try it!" he said excitedly.
I immediately bit into some scrambled eggs and bacon, and felt my mouth melt into mush. Damn, that was good. I knew hobbits could cook, but I didn't know they were this good.
"Man, I wish I could cook like this," I said between bites of pancakes.
By this time, Bilbo had seated himself, and began eating his own share.
"Do you cook?" he asked as he buttered some toast.
I laughed. "Oh, I wish. I could barely boil water."
He frowned. "Well, you should learn. There's nothing more rewarding in the world than being able to cook yourself a meal that is both delicious and can hold you over for quite sometime. Hobbits tend to eat frequently, so I figured if I eat more food in a sitting, I would be able to keep myself full longer."
"That makes sense," I replied. "So where exactly are we going? And when?"
Bilbo swallowed the bite he had just taken and wiped his mouth on a napkin.
"Well, we should leave relatively soon, and I was thinking of making our way to a town not too far from here, called Bree. There's an inn there that Gandalf frequents, so I figured we would start looking for him there."
I nodded my head in understanding. I remembered that place very well in The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring,both the book and the movie.
"The Prancing Pony," I said to myself, remembering the name of the inn. Bilbo seemed to hear me.
"Yes, that's the name of it. Did you read about it in that book you have in your world?" he asked me with a grin on his face.
"Yeah," I responded distantly. I was visualizing the scenes that took place there in the movie. Frodo had accidentally put the ring on his finger, the Ring Wraiths became aware of it and stormed the place, while Strider (Aragorn) helped the hobbits to safety. I had to keep reminding myself that none of these events had happened yet, so I couldn't give anything about it away.
"I hope we'll be able to find him relatively soon," I said, escaping my thoughts. "Gandalf, I mean. I don't plan to go on a journey that lasts several months."
"Well," said Bilbo, a little bit of worry lining his brow, "we can never be too sure how long this will take. Wherever we go, we will have to keep asking people if they had seen him, so it's almost impossible to determine how far and long we'll have to venture."
I sighed. "Alright. Also, I really hope that when we do find him, that he'll be able to help me." I sounded a bit depressed, and I jumped a little when Bilbo put his hand over mine suddenly.
"I know it's hard to be away from your home," he said with a gentle voice. "I promise, I will try to assist you in any way possible until you're back safely."
I looked up at him. He had sincerity in his soft blue eyes, and I almost wanted to rush around the table and hug him. But for the sake of avoiding embarrassment (especially on his part), I didn't.
"Thank you," I replied shyly, and he smiled.
He still had his hand on mine, and after a moment of awkward silence, he seemed to have noticed this. He pulled it back quickly, and his face started to get red again. We went back to our breakfast, hardly speaking a word to each other after that.
We cleared our plates, and as Bilbo started to pick them all up to wash them, I offered to help once more, and like before, he refused to let me, so I just went back to my room to get ready to leave.
Within just a few minutes I was ready to go, since I didn't have any cargo with me apart from my knapsack. I waited in the den for him, and when he appeared, I almost burst out laughing.
He had one of the most enormous packs on his back that I'd ever seen. There were pots and pans hanging down from it from all angles, and he looked like he was in a great amount of discomfort from having to carry all of it.
"Alright, I think we're ready to go now," he grunted, trying to shift the weight of his enormous burden.
I couldn't contain myself. "Bilbo, do you really need to bring all that? You look like you're in a great deal of pain." I started giggling then, and Bilbo didn't look too amused.
"The last time I went on a long journey, I didn't take enough with me. I had forgotten my handkerchief, and let me tell you, it was absolute torture to not have it at all times. I kept having allergic reactions left and right and I could do nothing about it."
At this point I was dying laughing. When I had seen The Hobbit in the theatre, I remember watching a scene where he had started panicking when he had forgotten his handkerchief.
"And even through all of the events that transpired on those adventures, didn't you ever realize that there were more important things than forgetting your handkerchief?" I asked him.
"Well..." He looked defeated. "I suppose so. But I hate not bringing the things I always need. 'Better to not need it and have it than to need it and not have it,' as my father used to say."
I nodded, smirking like a loon. There was no way he was going to be able to travel with that much on his back.
"Alright, silly, let's go through your things and narrow down what you should and shouldn't bring so it doesn't take us an eon to reach our destination."
After another ten minutes of sorting and arguing over whether or not to bring three pairs of pajamas, we were finally able to lighten his load enough so that we could walk comfortably. He had to get rid of his pots and pans, save for one big pot that he absolutely could not be parted with under any circumstances. I felt like I was traveling with a child.
"Right then, let's head out before it gets dark," Bilbo said somewhat grumpily. "Oh, I almost forgot!" He threw down his bag and ran down the hall. I groaned inwardly. What now?
He came back a few seconds later carrying a small sheathed sword.
"Here, take this," he said, handing it to me. "Just in case. I have one on me, too." He patted a slightly bigger sword hanging from a belt on his hip.
I pulled the sword he gave me out of the sheath and looked at the blade. It was too small to really be a sword. It looked like a simple dagger, except there was some sort of Elvish writing on the hilt.
"I found that along with this sword in a troll cave some years ago," he told me. I looked down at his own sword, and he had started to pull it out. I instantly recognized it as Sting, the sword he had used on his journey with the dwarves. Even though I didn't want to come across any goblins or orcs, I desperately wanted to see it glow blue.
"Thank you, Bilbo," I said gratefully as I slid the dagger back into the sheath. I strung it on my belt, and Bilbo flashed me a quick smile before he picked his up his bag and walking stick.
"You're most certainly welcome, Samantha," he said warmly, and made to open the front door. "After you."
I walked out into the front yard, and we made our way down the stone path, outside the gate, and down the road. We walked in silence for some minutes as I looked around at the scenery. Like the day before, I noticed a lot of hobbits out tending to their gardens, children playing in the meadows, and farmers tilling their soil.
I stopped dead in my tracks when I recognized the men that harassed me, the Riverhills.
Bilbo looked at me, surprised that I had stopped. He turned his glance toward where I was looking, and grabbed my arm, steering me away.
"Come on, you're with me, so they can't do anything to you," he whispered comfortingly. "Besides, I gave them a harsh talking to you yesterday. They have no reason to bother you again."
I nodded as we quickly continued down the road, keeping my eyes fixed forward. At least I now had a dagger to defend myself.
It took quite a while for us to reach the outskirts of The Shire, and by that time, it was late in the afternoon, so the sun was starting to cast long shadows. I was glad that I now had hobbit feet that could withstand rough terrain. If I still had my normal feet, and no shoes, it would have been a lot more painful and uncomfortable to walk.
Along the way, Bilbo and I chatted about general things, mostly habits of humans from Earth, and how we live our lives. I tried explaining it to him as best as I could without sounding cynical, since I had grown to greatly dislike my fellow species. Bilbo, in turn, talked about hobbit behaviors and habits, and we laughed when we found things similar about our two races. We were in pretty good spirits the whole way, and I felt like we were becoming fast friends. He was very kindhearted and he listened to me with unhindered fascination.
The last man that had treated me with the same amount of respect, as far as I could remember, was my own dad. He had passed away just a few year earlier, and I missed him terribly. He was the only one in my family who didn't treat me with contempt or ridicule. I had two older brothers and a younger sister, all of whom regarded me as a worthless waste of a person. My mom hardly did anything whenever my brothers would bully me senseless. And when my sister was old enough, she would endlessly tease me about not being popular, since she was popular herself, and had a new boyfriend every week, it seemed.
I tried to forget all about my Earthly troubles whilst traveling with Bilbo. I didn't want to be moody or depressed and have him worry about me all the time. I kept my focus on the benefits of getting to explore Middle-earth and seeing Gandalf. That was probably what I was anticipating the most. Gandalf was always my favorite character of the books and movies. He seemed like the wise grandfatherly figure that would take care of you, tell you stories of the past, and give you advice – good advice.
By the time we reached the edge of the forest and the outside of Bree, dusk was just starting to make its appearance over the trees. We knocked on the gate, and when the gate watcher first opened the small hatch a few feet above us to look out and see who was there, I laughed inwardly. This was just like how it was in Fellowship when Frodo had arrived.
The gate watcher opened a lower hatch and looked out at us.
"Oi! Whatchu little folks want?" he asked impolitely.
"We are here to stay at the inn for the night. We're just passing through," said Bilbo calmly.
After a moment's hesitation, the man opened the gate and let us enter.
We walked through the small town, and we both couldn't help but observe how everyone was rushing around hurriedly. We were in what looked like a market, and since dusk was approaching, all the vendors were shouting out last minute discount prices for the day.
There were a few times when I thought I had lost Bilbo from being separated by a cart or someone making their way between us. After being separated a third time, Bilbo finally just reached his hand out to mine, and motioned for me to grab it.
I'm not going to lie when I say that I felt my heart make a slight jump when I grabbed his hand. I looked at him and sheepishly grinned, and he looked just as uncomfortable and annoyed at our surroundings as I did.
As we continued on, I noticed that there weren't just humans in these parts. I saw a few scraggly dwarves shuffle through the crowd, about a dozen other hobbits, and an elf or two. This must have been one of those rare diverse towns in Middle-earth. As far as I knew, all the races pretty much kept to themselves.
I felt a slight jerk being pulled at my hand, and I saw Bilbo tilt his head toward a building to our left. I looked up and saw the swinging sign of The Prancing Pony. We maneuvered through the crowd until we reached the door to the inn, still holding hands. As soon as we walked in, we were greeted with an abundance of warmth, the sounds of a fiddle being played, and raucous laughter throughout.
We approached the front desk to talk to the innkeeper, and it was unusual to see how high up the counter was. I still hadn't gotten used to being this short.
A man with impressive side burns leaned over the desk and greeted us.
"Good evening to ya, little ones!" he said when he saw how short we were. "Aw, on yer honeymoon are you?"
Bilbo and I looked at each other, both equally confused, then simultaneously remembered that our hands were still clasped together. We both quickly let go, as if an electric current had passed between us. The innkeeper was now eying us in a peculiar way.
"Uh, no..." Bilbo stammered. "We – we're here to stay the night, if you don't mind, and we'll be on our way in the morning."
The innkeeper looked through a large book in front of him, his finger scanning the page.
"Ah, here we are," he said loudly. "I have just the room for you two. Should fit your size perfectly."
"Excellent, we'll take it," Bilbo replied, grabbing a coin purse out of his waist jacket and handing it to the innkeeper.
He took the small bag from Bilbo, emptied its contents on the desk, and inspected them for a few moments.
"Everything seems to be in order," he said finally, and reached behind him to grab our room key. He handed it to Bilbo.
"Thank you," we both said as we started to head our way toward the stairs to the rooms. It was at that moment when I realized how hungry I really was. I grabbed Bilbo's arm.
"Can we get something to eat before heading to the room? I'm famished," I pleaded with him.
He looked about the room, seeing the rowdy company that occupied it, and wrinkled his nose at the sight.
He sighed. "I suppose. It's been a long day, so we might as well eat now before heading to bed."
We found a table, and were able to order ourselves some dinner. After a while, Bilbo seemed to have warmed up to his surroundings, and before long, we each had a pint of ale in our hands, laughing up a storm.
"So I kept tugging on the pole, trying to reel in what I thought was this huge fish, and after several minutes of pulling and struggling with all my might, out pops this tiny little thing, barely three inches long, and the force of it launched me onto my back with a big thump! I remember looking at what I thought would have been an enormous dinner, but instead saw what could have barely passed for lunch!"
I let out another burst of laughter as Bilbo finished his tale, and some of the ale in my mug spilled onto the floor. Alcohol was not something I was ever able to maintain well.
"Oh, Bilbo, you tell the best stories," I slurred, taking another chug of the ale.
Bilbo seemed to be a lot more sober than I was, but then, he had barely taken a few sips of his ale, whereas I was more than halfway done with mine. After a little while, we noticed the room get gradually quieter, and we then noticed how late it really was.
"Oh my, look at the time!" Bilbo exclaimed as he snapped his pocket watch shut. "Let's get to bed. We still have to get up in the morning, remember?"
I groaned. "Alright," I said, defeated. I clumsily got up from the bench, and started making my way to the stairs as Bilbo made to grab his bag. We both walked up the long flight (well at least it seemed long, since I was shorter than I was used to), with me giggling and stumbling the whole way, and Bilbo shushing me.
At last we reached our room, and Bilbo stuck the key in the door and turned it. As soon as we were inside, he dropped the bag on the floor, and started to walk into the room, when he suddenly stopped. I was right behind him, so I bumped right into him.
"Oh no," I heard him say quietly.
I looked around him, and even though there was barely any light in the room from just one lit candle on a table, I saw what had made him stop. And even through my drunkenness I knew just what was so bad about it.
In front of us, instead of there being two separate small beds, there was only a single bigger sized one.