Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not my own, yadda yadda yadda. I'm not making any money off of this. (Though I wish I could.)

My head hurt. That was the first thought came to me. It felt like someone had taken a hammer to the back of my head. I reached up and tenderly touched the back of my head where I felt a goose-egg forming. I opened my eyes to be assaulted by a too-bright light. I rolled over and grass tickled my face.

Grass?

I groaned. Loudly.

"I'm never drinking again," I moaned.

"Many people have made and broken that promise, my dear. Myself being one of them." A merry voice stated. I froze. It was not a voice I recognized. My eyes snapped open, despite the unbearable pain that the light brought. A tall elderly man was sitting on a log in front of me, dressed in what I could only describe as a long grey cloak. He had a tall, pointy hat on his head and was smoking from a pipe. His beard was long and streaked in various shades of grey. Even his hair was long.

I blinked a few times and looked at my surroundings. I was laying in bright green grass, flowers and bushes scattered here and there. Huge trees in hues of green I had never seen before rose up from the ground. The sky above was blue, hardly a cloud in the sky, and birds flitted back and forth amongst the trees and bushes.

I sat up slowly and felt, rather than saw, the old man's eyes on me.

"I'm sorry. Where am I?" I asked.

"Near Bree. Chetwood South, to be precise." The man took a puff of his pipe and blew out a ring. He smiled kindly.

"Uh… where?"

"Middle Earth."

I barked out a laugh, surprised to find that it hurt so badly. How much had a drank last night? I rubbed my hand over my face.

"Did my friends put you up to this?"

"No, no my dear." He answered. His eye brows drooped some. I moved to stand and he looked at me with some concern.

"Right," I snorted. "I am in Middle Earth, like some Mary-Sue fantasy. Yup. Uh-huh. I am going to go now," I tried to stand, but was surprised at how difficult it was. My vision swam and I had to swallow back rising bile.

"You should not try moving just yet. You've suffered a terrible ordeal."

"Terrible ordeal…? What terrible… Or…deal.." I trailed off as I looked down. I was not wearing my civilian clothes. I was wearing very tattered and stained ACU's. My boots were off and drying near a fire I had not noticed initially, as was my ruck sack and other gear. I licked my lips and swallowed hard. Wait a second.

I reached up with my fingers and touched the corner of my lip. It was swollen and so very tender. I stood suddenly and stumbled back, tripping over a very familiar looking branch. A familiar branch? Suddenly the events of the last 24 hours hit me.

"Where the fuck am I?!" I demanded.

"Miss Conner…"

"…..How the hell do you know my name?!" I snarled. He closed his eyes for a moment before gesturing for me to sit.

"Please. Let me explain, Miss Conner."

"Its Sergeant Conner," I snapped back. "I'm not sitting down until you explain."

"You are dead."

I sat down.

"Or rather, you would be, if you were still in your world. You were in a flash flood, yes? If I had not intervened, you would be dead. Instead, you are here, in Middle-Earth. I am Gandalf the Grey, and I am asking you to help me."

"This is insane. Insane. I must be hallucinating. That's it. I hit my head and I'm in the hospital and there are all these monitors and thingies and I'm hallucinating. Its all because I dragged Alicia," I swallowed painfully again, "to see that damn movie."

Gandalf grimaced.

"Sar-gent Conner," He said, articulating the word carefully. "This is no hallucination. I dreamt of you."

I starred at him, dumbstruck.

"I slept soundlessly until I heard a cry. In my dream I stood upon a cliff and watched as a river swept you away. In my mind, I heard words. 'Thorin does not deserve death.'"

He blinked slowly and took another puff, thoughtfully suddenly where before he had been cautious, treating me like a small animal who he was trying not to spook.

"Now that I hear you speak, I am sure those words came from you. What do you know of Thorin Oakenshield?"

"He's in a story. A work of fiction. It's fake. He's fake." I stuttered.

"I can assure you, he is not." He sounded stern now, his eyes narrowed. " I'll ask you again; What do you know of Thorin Oakenshield?"

His tone was suddenly much more demanding, his presence more pronounced.

"Uh… he's the dwarf king. Or, rather he should be. But he and his kin… are… Outcast. From Erebor because of Smaug. He is prophesied to return and take back the mountain."

Gandalf stood slowly and turned his back to me.

"And the death you spoke of?"

"I don't know if I should say anything… If I am really in Middle Earth… And this is anything more than a hallucination, which I highly doubt it is because this is fucking unreal…"

Gandalf cleared his throat and turned slowly to look back at me.

"It could change the course of the future. If I let something slip then I could ruin everything. Fucking hell, me just sitting here, talking to you, could change everything."

Gandalf gave me a measuring glance.

"I apologize." I started a little and starred at him. "You are correct, of course. Unless you were meant to come here."

"Come again?"

"It twas no mistake that I heard you speak and dreamt of your impending death. The Valar do not idly allow for such magic to occur, and the amount of effort I put forth into bringing you here would have not been possible without their assistance."

"The Valar…?" I asked breathlessly. "But that doesn't make sense. I'd be in the story."

"Not necessarily. If you were in the story, you would never have been here."

"…..huh?"

Gandalf just smiled.

"You had to read the story to gain the knowledge necessary to help on this quest. If you had not read the story, you would not be here. Therefore, you could not be IN the story."

"That still does not make any sense…" I trailed off, my headache over coming me for a moment. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, I hurt. There was not a part of me that did not ache. It felt like I had been put in a washing machine on heavy wash. I mentally made a run down of the worst pain.

I knew I had a bump on my head. My lip was no doubt split. There was a tenderness by my eye that told me my cheekbone was probably bruised. There were crusty patches on my forehead, part dried mud and part blood. My chest hurt, though it was more of an ache than a sharp pain, so thankfully nothing broken there. I felt an innumerable amount of small scrapes and bruises that protested each of my movements.

"Come, my de….Sar-gent Conner. Gather your things if you are able and we will head to a nearby inn where you can wash. It is a lovely place, the Prancing Pony. All sort of strange folk in and out of there, I hardly think you will be noticed…"

I let out a long, low, breath and tried to think. Not in the story, but still in the story. Help on this …quest….

My eyes opened and I leveled a sharp glare at Gandalf.

"Wait. Whoa, whoa. No. I can not help. What part of changing the story did you not understand?"

"What part about the Valar helping me bring you here did you not understand?" He questioned back, barely turning to look at me. He picked up a small bag from behind the log he had been sitting on and slung it over his shoulder. In his right hand he picked up an ornate staff. He gestured as if he was going to help grab my things and I scrabbled to pull on my boots- now thankfully dry. I hauled my ruck sack over my shoulder and steadied it, closing my eyes a moment as nausea overwhelmed me.

"Besides, Sar-gent Conner" He started after a long pause. "If I had any doubt about your meaning to be here, it was erased when I saw you clutching that branch."

"Why would a branch mean anything at all?" I asked, even more confused then I already was. I looked down at the branch and my heart ached,

"That, my dear, is a branch of Oak."