Chapter Seven

Pilgrimage

A joint-cracking yawn stretched Maggie's jaw as she scratched the patch of beard by the back of her jowl. The gentle clop of the pony under her was a soft, hushing lullaby and it took everything in her power to keep at least one eyelid open. The other was a complete lost cause. She rubbed at it vigorously, but it did nothing to help. Gandalf's horse trotted in front of her and the wizard hummed happily into the early morning air.

Old fart fluttered through her mind more than once as she watched his back. The morning had started before the crack of dawn. Belladonna and Bungo had greeted her in the kitchen with a small bag of warm bread and apples, another bag with cheese, and her traveling pack was by the door with her belongings. It was with quick hugs and a lingering kiss to baby Bilbo's forehead that Maggie left the only home she knew here with tears flooding her vision.

Now, though, she was about ready to just tip off one side of her sweet pony and do a barrel roll down the road. 'Why, at the ass crack of dawn… what's so important about getting there fucking now, Christ.' The sun glittered through the trees when it couldn't quite reach the canopy of leaves and it was still too weak to warm her skin. The birds chirped over her head and despite the beauty of it all, Maggie tilted her head back and frowned up at the chattering creatures.

"Why the long face, my dear lady?" Gandalf called back to her. Maggie snapped her head forward and stared at his back, but he made no movement aside from the sway of his mount. 'How…?' She frowned hard enough to pout and not for the first time wondered at his trickery.

"It is early morning, Mister Wizard," she replied softly and fought away another yawn. "I am not… what is word?"

"Not… routinely awake at dawn? Practiced?" Gandalf offered.

"No, no." Maggie yawned anyway, blast it. "It means… accustomed! That is the word."

Gandalf laughed merrily in front of her and his horse clicked its teeth. "It is very good to see that your speech has improved so tremendously, child." There is was again. Maggie knew she had already told the wizard her age, but yet he still continued to call her a child. She supposed it made sense since Gandalf's graying hair and sloping back were not the visages of youth, so that much was at least certain.

"Yes, it has made things much easier now." Maggie continued. This whole thing was very strange, still. Nearly a year was spent in this new and incredible world, but Maggie had found that so long as she stayed within the comfort and safety of Bag End, she could almost – almost – pretend that the rest of the world was normal like it had been back home. 'On Earth.'

"Perhaps you could be a - , hmm?" Gandalf's voice held a touch of humor and Maggie barely caught the word he used. She urged her pony forward and came up beside the wizard. He glanced at her and with a tilt of her head she conveyed her confusion. His mouth popped, "Ah, yes. Hm, you would not have used that word. A connection. A bridge between your kin and the Elves."

"Why would I need to be such a thing?" Maggie questioned. "Are hobbits not friends with the elves? Belladonna often took walks out into the forest looking for passing caravans of them…" Gandalf chuckled into his scarf and adjusted the hold he had on his staff with a shake of his head.

"No, dear Margaret, it is not the Hobbits I speak of," he grinned at her, "it is your kind, the Dwarves."

Maggie pulled a face. "Why would they not have relationships with elves? Does trade not exist for them? Is that why I never see more of… us?" It was so very strange to think of herself as anything other than human, even after so long. It had taken an uncomfortable amount of personal time and pep talks just to herself to get over the fact that her body had changed so dramatically, or that she sported a beard.

"Your race is the secretive sort." Gandalf tugged lightly at his beard. "They have a secret language, secret names, and they rarely mingle with others."

"But you know of them." Maggie countered. A whole race of people couldn't just go completely unnoticed, not if they were as bulky and hefty as she was, at least.

"Oh yes, we know of them. Caravans come and go between the Iron Hills and the Blue Mountains on routine trading missions. Sometimes they stop in some of the settlements of Men for supplies or to sell goods they would not trade amongst each other." Gandalf's horse threw its head back and whined angrily at something and the wizard reached over to pet its graceful neck. "So, again, we are aware of each other, but their most inner cultures and traditions are a mystery."

Maggie glanced at her pony's reins in her hands and rubbed the leather between her fingers thoughtfully. "Is this why you are taking me to Elrond? Am I to be placed into a populace with my kin?" The fear in her voice was unmasked and her earthy gaze flicked up to the wizard next to her.

Gandalf hummed. "No. Originally that was my intent, but you… I beg your pardon, my lady, but you have proven to be quite unique. I am afraid that to place you with your people would be a mistake."

"Oh," Maggie swallowed the lump in her throat. "Then why are we headed to the elves?"

"To help you learn, Margaret." Gandalf told her gently. "You are mystery to me. Your mind and your physical age do not match any of your mannerisms, and you behave more like the people of Men and Elves than you do of the Dwarves. I am hoping that Lord Elrond will be able to shed some light on you."

'Your first visit to a psychiatrist, Mags. What fun.'

…

The riding was uneventful and Maggie wasn't sure if she was grateful for such a thing. It took them a few days to get to the edge of The Shire and Maggie was amazed at the boundary of the land she had made a home within, unaware of its true distance. The camping was a new experience as she hadn't the time (or the desire) for it in her previous life. It did felt a bit like she was a cheat at it, though, because she had a wizard to light the fire and help her with her bedroll.

Even so, the nights were becoming her favorite parts of traveling. It was quite comical on the first night, when she noticed that the light around her wasn't coming from the fire in front of her. The light that bathed her was smooth and sweet, a gentle swath of silver and glitter. Startled, Maggie looked up and her mouth promptly dropped.

Above her was an explosion of stars that she had only ever seen in her astrology text books. The sky looked splattered from one end as far as she could see to the other with a paint brush's flicker of silver and white paint against a shadowy canvas. The moon was almost as blistering as the sun to look at and Maggie was enraptured by the jewel that floated in the sky. Her neck would hurt before she dropped into her bedroll for the night, but she didn't care.

It saddened her to think that she had missed such a thing back on Earth, 'and that's probably from air pollution and smog. That's painful to know.' A hunger struck in her stomach that started at the drop of the setting sun and it made her fingers itch, to reach up and take the stars from the sky and devour the scintillating gems as if they were scraps of food for her starvation. The feeling was almost overwhelming and to force her gaze to look away was difficult. She would have to learn to control that sensation, whatever the hell it was or where from within her it had started.

Now, though, for the first time in months, Maggie felt useless. She knew nothing of what to do in the wilderness and relied on the old wizard for all her answers. She couldn't even take care of her own pony and that alone made her heart sink with guilt. 'Poor animal has to carry my ass around and I can't even feed her or brush her without making her antsy.' Most nights Maggie found herself by the edge of the fire as the wizard went about his nightly routine of setting up the camp, tending to the animals, and making their dinner.

'I'm a sack of useless bricks. What was it that Belladonna said? If you don't know, ask. Yes, mom.' A small smile formed on her lips and after she threw her bedroll out by the fire and the boiling pot, she moved toward Gandalf and swallowed nervously. The wizard hummed a tune to the horse and it appeared as if the animal swayed with his brushing and melody. Maggie cleared her throat and the brushing came to a stop.

"Yes?" Gandalf asked with a small glance over his shoulder.

"May I learn?" Maggie asked politely with a point to the brush. "To… care for my pony?"

The wizard chuckled. "Of course, Maggie, and I believe dear Brussel would enjoy your company." He stepped away from his horse and held the brush out to Maggie. She took it with a nervous grip and pressed the bristles of the brush into her opposite palm as she walked toward her mount. The pony, Brussel, lifted his ears at her approach and his nostrils flared with interest.

'… annnnnd there goes my bravery.' The pony wasn't large, she knew it wasn't large, but the animal still made her anxious. There was a reason her pets back on Earth were nothing more than a cat and a fish. Both creatures only needed her for feeding and cleaning, the rest they did themselves. Maggie swallowed and jolted in her skin when Gandalf came up beside her.

"Now, this is no way to start." Gandalf easily moved toward Brussel and patted the pony upon the nose with affection. The wizard look to her, bushy brows raised in question. "He will not harm you, so long as you do not harm him first. Come, hold out your hand. He knows you, my dear; you have ridden on him for a few days now. He will welcome your affection, please trust me." Maggie nodded and took a few steps until she was near Brussel. She took slow and deep breaths to help her steady her nerves and relax her body. If she was tense, her animal would be as well. She could remember that much from caring for her cat.

"Hello, Brussel." Maggie spoke softly and a smile ticked at the corner of her lips as one of Brussel's ears flicked toward her. "Please, do not bite me. I do not want to start this journey with an infection." Gandalf's chuckle relaxed her and she felt the anxious heat release from her muscles as she let go. Gently and with as much love as she could muster without her jittery fingers interrupting, she took the brush to Brussel's neck and worked the stiff bristles down his muscle.

The pony relaxed at her touch and a real smile took over her face.

…

It was now a week a half on the road and she was about damn ready to kill someone (the wizard was looking like a tempting target). Her ass was completely sore and her left butt cheek had a blister on it that made her sit weird upon her saddle. Her ankles hurt from the heavy boots that she wore almost constantly now (because to take them off to sleep was just a nightmare in the morning) and her legs trembled from the effort to keep herself steady.

'How the fuck did the ranchers do this for months on end?' She grumbled, but never loud enough for the wizard to take notice. Maybe he did, and he was a vindictive old bastard, but he never said a thing about her sores or discomfort. Her back itched from the bedroll and the rocky ground they would sleep on, and her stomach grumbled from the lack of full meals. Belladonna, Maggie realized, spoiled her rotten with so much food and comfort. She felt worse off now than she did when she was on Earth.

The only things that managed to cool her ever rising temper at the situation was Brussel and her stargazing. The pony was affectionate and a cuddle-bug after the first night that she had attempted to brush him. Whenever she came near for his nightly cleaning, he would move his face into her chest and nuzzle with a snort. He would stay there until she moved him to reach beyond his neck and even then, he turned his head to look back at her.

The stars only got brighter and the feeling within her gut became hotter.

"Gandalf." Maggie called from across the camp. Brussel munched on the grass in front of him and the wizard looked up from the fire and gazed at her. "… May I ask you something, about me?"

"About you, Maggie?" Gandalf clarified. "What could I possibly know about you that you cannot know of yourself, my child?"

"No, no." Maggie shook her head and pointed to her beard and then her chest. "I do not mean what is in my mind, Gandalf. I mean to ask what… I want to ask about Dwarves. My… my people."

"Oh, I see." Gandalf nodded and then gestured toward her with his pipe. "Come, then. Ask me what questions you have in your mind, Margaret."

"I have this feeling," she began, a wayward thought going through her mind of he's going to think I'm crazy and she stepped toward her bedroll, "it is in my chest and I felt it most strongly…" she sat on her bedroll and then looked up toward the dark and sparkling sky. "I feel it whenever I see the stars."

"What do you feel?" Gandalf questioned. Maggie brought her gaze to Gandalf at the change of his tone to his voice. It wasn't playful anymore, but more curious and wary. Her heavy brow settled over her eyes and she tilted her head to one side.

"I feel as if I was hungry, as if eating the stars would satisfy my empty stomach." Maggie leaned back on her hands and looked back up toward the sky. "It is something strange when they light up the sky and this heat builds in my stomach. I want to take the stars from the sky, but I know that I cannot. That… is not right, is it?"

Gandalf sighed and tapped his pipe on the rock he sat upon. "I suppose it was a bit much to think that you would be so different from your kin that such a characteristic would not manifest in you."

"What do you mean?" His answer startled her. Was something wrong with her? She wasn't a rich girl back home, but she hadn't been a sticky thief that wanted every pretty bauble she laid her eyes on, 'wait a second…' Her earthy gaze flashed to the wizard. "Gandalf… is this greed?"

"Not completely." The wizard grumbled. "Dwarves are… passionate. Intense. There are no others as fervent in their love of their creations as the Dwarves are, and it is a dangerous trait within them. It is a fine line that they walk, between pride and madness."

"Madness…?" Maggie breathed. "Am I going mad?"

"No, Margaret. Not if you can control it." The old wizard nailed her with a steely gaze and Maggie could feel a shiver roll through her shoulders and down her arms. She sat up straighter and cast her eyes away from her escort. The wizard sighed heavily and when she glanced up, years had settled upon his shoulders. "Some dwarves lose themselves to their greed, but I believe you may be one who does not fall to it. It is only a problem when you can no longer manage your desire. It is a constant battle for Dwarves and one that you must not falter with, for failure…"

"… is madness." Maggie sighed. "I understand. I am sorry for asking."

"No, Margaret." Gandalf stopped her. "I hope that you continue to ask. I shall teach you what little I know of your people in the hopes that you do not make the mistakes that lead to ruin. You must be strong, dear… for Bilbo."

Maggie nodded, "I shall be. I thank you, wizard."

"Tharkûn." Gandalf replied suddenly. Maggie blinked and he continued. "To the Dwarves, my name is Tharkûn. Practice the word and perhaps the rest of your Khuzdul will come easier to your tongue."

"Aw, c'mon, you're kidding me." The English slipped and Gandalf raised a brow at her. Maggie shook her head with frustration and rubbed the heel of her palm over her cheek. "Must I learn another language? I can barely speak Westron, Thh-Thak, ugh… Tharkuun."

Gandalf laughed readily at her words, "Oh yes, I hope that we may be able to teach you more than just one! Khuzdul is secret, but Lord Elrond should know enough to give you a healthy start! And beyond that, if he is gracious and generous, you shall learn Sindarin."

Maggie flopped back into her bedroll with a childish whine.

Notes: Back from a long vacation! Hopefully we'll get the ball rolling again and I can keep you all coming back for more! Thanks greatly to tweetzone86 for her suggestions and advice, and to Borys68 who makes me question my own information! It's been a big help.

Please read and review!