A/N: You can not get anywhere without first going there. I apologize that this chapter is a little long, and a bit of a filler, but I hate glossing over the small details of every-day life. I don't write nearly so well if I do not flesh out some of the minor details.

So, without further ado...

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 mind was reeling as I walked behind Gandalf. An oak branch. Middle Earth. Dead. I had had some crazy dreams in my life, but nothing had ever compared to this. I shook my head and endeavored to find out just how deep this rabbit hole went, so to speak.

I adjusted my ruck sack on my shoulders and realized that, despite all that had happened during the flash flood, I was not nearly as sore as I ought to have been. I frowned a little and trailed my eyes up to look at Gandalf's back. I took a few long steps to catch up to him, well used to having to change my pace to match the stride of those taller than I.

"Uh… ahem…. Gandalf? Not that I want to sound… uh… ungrateful. But why am I not sore?" I asked curiously.

"Much of the magic that brought you here also helped to heal you of your worst injuries," He answered simply. I had a morbid curiosity and was going to ask just what those injuries were when I thought of something else.

"My squad…." Gandalf cast a curious glance in my direction, "Rather, the people I was with. Are they okay? Do you know?"

Gandalf paused a moment and hesitated. "I can not tell you of their fate, only that they were hale and healthy when you were taken."

I swallowed and let out a shaky.

"Yeah. Okay. I mean, good."

I fell silent again and walked quietly beside the old man. I had always thought whenever I had read the books or watched the movies that I would have so many questions for Gandalf. He was so old and wise. Had seen and done so much. But now that I stood beside him, all I could think of was home. I hoped that Andrews and the others would make it back safely.

We had not walked terribly long when Gandalf paused and looked me over. He reached into his small bag and produced a long grey cloak.

"You are dressed strangely, even for Bree-landers that are used to the unusual. Please. Wear this for now." He said, holding it out to me. After a moments hesitation, I set down my pack and threw it around my shoulders. The smell of tobacco -pipe weed- wafted around me as the cloak drifted around my form. I clasped it around my neck and pulled the hood up over my head before pulling my ruck back on.

It wasn't long before the bustle of the small town made itself known. People on foot, in carts, and on horse back milled around as we made our way through the gates. I could not stop myself from looking around in awe. People were everywhere, calling out their wares at street side stalls. People watered plants out on their small balconies. There was a man up on a roof, pounding nails into shingles. Horses and ponies passed by, nickering and snorting as they went. And the people themselves! Their were Men and Hobbits' a plenty, as diverse as could be. They chatted in the streets amicably.

And, much to my amusement, they all ignored me in favor of the tall wizard I traveled with.

We reached a large two-story building that was near to the center of the town. Above the door was a hand carved wooden sign that read The Prancing Pony. With a gentlemanly flourish, Gandalf held the door open for me and guided me in. A portly looking man dressed in brown slacks and a stained white shirt greeted us nearly immediately.

"Ah, Gandalf. Back so soon? I though when you left with that roguish looking dwarf that we'd seen the last of you. Strange little folk, and that's with Bree being over run with the wee hobbits! Make no mistake, I am quite fond of them. They are a much friendlier folk then those dwarves, I can tell you…." The man rambled.

"Indeed, indeed. They are an…. Interesting folk, hobbits. But that aside, my companion and I could use a room. Is there enough hot water for a bath? I fear we've been traveling in the wild for some days and have had little chance to bathe."

"Oh, of course, of course." The man looked me over and drew himself up. He must not have known quite what to think of me, with my face hidden and my shape so odd under my gear. "Right this way,"

We followed him through the busy tavern, dodging hobbits and men alike. I was surprised it was so busy, but I suppose in a small town there was not much to do but gather at the local tavern, eat, drink, and be merry. A drunk young man fell over in front of me and I gingerly stepped over him.

"You'll have a hell of a hangover, tomorrow, friend," I muttered softly. The man answered with a loud snore that ended in a large stream of spittle and drool escaping his mouth and I shook my head. Yup. Never drinking again.

We made our way up the steps and, once I had dropped my things off with Gandalf, who promised to guard my possessions with his life, I followed the inn keeper to the bathing area downstairs. He turned me over to a busty older woman. She tugged me into the wash room before I could object and closed the door, flipping a little sign that I assumed was the signal for 'occupied'.

"Now, mister, no need to be shy 'round little old Becka. You just peel your clothes right on off and I'll get you everythin' needed to get yourself all clean,"

I looked around hesitantly.

"Oh, come now. Here's a towel if you want to hide your manly bits. We get all sorts here, mister, and if shy is what you are, shy is what you are. No shame in it,"

She clucked her tongue at me and thrust a towel in to my hand and ushered me behind a paneled curtain.

"Go ahead now, I wont peek."

She disappeared, leaving me behind the curtain, and I heard her bustling around the room, preparing this and that. I sighed in defeat, having a feeling that no matter how much I protested she would not leave. I pulled off Gandalfs' cloak and threw it over a nearby hook. My ACU jacket and pants followed, then my thermal shirt and pants, followed by my ACU under shirt and finally my undergarments. I reached up and attempted to tug my hair out of the bun that I had tied it in. It was impossibly knotted and snarled and I grumbled in defeat. Maybe this Becka could help me out.

I glanced at one of the panels, noticing that their was a mirror tucked there and I winced. If this was how I looked after I had been healed, I really did not want to know what I looked like before. I had a gash on the left side of my forehead, just above my temple. My left cheek bone was swollen and a nasty shade of purple. The corner of my right lip was split badly. My collar bone on the right was bruised and there was a near perfect circle imprinted in my chest. My vest must have saved me from more damage, and I wondered what happened to it. I had not been wearing it when I woke.

I had, as I earlier suspected, a myriad of bruises and scrapes over my arms and legs, including a particularly nasty gash on my shin.

"Are you ready, mister?" Becka called from behind the screen and I started, having been lost in my reflection. I tucked the towel around me, more to block the view of my injuries than for any true modesty. Something about having showered and lived with 80 + girls in the barracks had long ago stripped me of my modesty.

"Oh! Miss! Why didn't you say nothing? And here I am, going on about you being a man and all. I'm terribly sorry," Becka said, here eyes going wide when she saw me.

"Its, uh, fine, ma'am. Not like you could see my face," I smiled tightly and she frowned as she came closer.

"Oh, sweet sugar, what ever happened?" She asked. "Oh, never mind, never mind. Lets get you cleaned up. How is that? Let Auntie Becka fix you up. And none of this ma'am business."

The woman, who had been outrageously flirty and blunt when she thought I was a man, suddenly turned into an anxious hen. She led me to the large wooden tub in the middle of the room, and ushered me in, snapping the towel away from me with a flourish as she encouraged me to sink into the warm water.

I took a step in and hissed as the water- which was quite a bit warmer than I had been expecting- hit the many cuts on my form. I winced as I sunk down. As the water sloshed around me, I had an episode of near panic, my fear from the flood suddenly in the fore front of my mind.

Becka touched my shoulder and I jumped.

"Oh, little miss. Don't you pay no mind to me. You close your eyes and relax. I'll get that hair sorted out in no time."

I let out a weak smile of thanks. I was so far out of my element I could do nothing else. I tried my best to lean back and close my eyes, but it was no use. Every time I closed my eyes all I could picture was flashing light and the sound of thunder in my ears. Becka must have noticed my unease because, as she drew up a chair behind me, she began to talk soothingly of her life growing up in Bree. From her fathers house, to her husband, who was apparently the inn keeper. She talked about how much she loved him and the life they had built, about the children they had. I listened politely, but could not help but let my mind stray to my own family.

My mother had raised me by herself. She had literally used a sperm donor when she realized that if she waited any later in her life to settle down and have children, she might very well be too old. My grandparents had never really approved, but they loved me all the same. They had died when I was in my teens, my grandmother when I was 13, and my grandfather a scant six months later. I never had any siblings and, when my mother died when I was 19, I joined the military to fill in the gap. It had never really been a big ambition of mine, but it got me out of the small farm town I grew up in. That in itself made it worth while.

Becka's voice was soothing and I found myself relaxing as she washed my hair and worked it through with her fingers.

"Your hair is beautiful, if you don't mind me sayin so, miss. Its so long and dark, specially when its wet. And so straight! Many a Bree- girl would be jealous. Its hard to tame the curls so many of us are born with,"

"I've got my mothers hair and eyes," I offered up, feeling like I should share something, even so small as that, after all she had told me.

"Those eyes of yours must get all of the fella's, too. That dark hair, that pale skin, and those blue eyes. We'll get you cleaned up in no time." She pushed me gently to sit up and turn, and she resumed talking softly as she cleaned the wounds on my face and soothed my cheek with some sort of balm.

"You married, Miss?" She asked suddenly.

"Ah, no." I answered

"Betrothed?"

"No, ma'am." She smiled wryly at me.

"Well, all good things come to those who wait."

We fell into a comfortable silence as I finished washing and she bustled around the room. The water began to get cold and she helped me get out, leading me once more behind the curtains. I pulled on just my ACU pants and undershirt, tugging Gandalf's cloak over my shoulders again. I bundled up the rest of my clothes under my arm.

"Thank you ma'am. Becka." I said, giving her a short smile as she lead me back up the stairs into my room. I knocked briefly and, upon hearing Gandalf's voice within, entered.

"Are you feeling better, Sar-gent Conner?" He asked as he turned to face me. I nodded slowly as I closed the door behind me. I glanced around the room and noticed that, thankfully, there were two beds. Gandalf chuckled as I made my way closer to the bed farthest from the door where I had deposited my pack.

"I am going to go downstairs to procure us some food and some drink. I hardly think you would be up for the hustle and bustle of the rowdy bar below," I shook my head as he opened the door.

"No, not really. Not just yet. I need to change and… to think, I guess. Its been… a lot."

"I understand, Sargent Conner."

"Its Talya," I said suddenly. He turned his head towards me and cocked his head ever so slightly.

"My name. Its Talya. Seems stupid to call me by a rank that doesn't mean anything here," I said with a slight shrug.

"Very well, Talya. I will return shortly. Lock the door as I leave," He cautioned. The door closed and I walked back over, locked it, then closed my eyes, and leaned against it.

I could hear the faint rumble of voices below as I took in the small room I was in. There was a fireplace with a cozy fire lit on one side. A window sat on wall next to it. In the middle of the room, a small table and chairs. The beds were against the wall opposite of the window. The small fire made the room surprisingly warm.

I walked back over to my ruck sack and eyed it warily. I was terrified to find what had been lost or damaged in the deluge I had been caught in. If I truly was stuck here in Middle- Earth, I did not want to be without anything at all.

After tugging the clasp on the top of the pack free, I picked up the corner of my ruck sack and gingerly upended it on the floor. I plopped down and began to sift through it.

My extra clothes were still damp. A few pairs of underwear. Socks. A spare set of uniforms; undershirt, pants and jacket. My cover was tucked in there, too, balled up haphazardly and shoved into a pocket. My extra set of boots, my 'warm weather' set, were nearly untouched.

Lighter, shot. Too water logged to work. Ammo, useless. My rifle was nowhere to be found, and I could vaguely remember it being left behind in the ravine. Duct tape, ruined. My sleeping bag had been left in the ravine, as well, so that was out. I still had my tent stakes and my tent cover. Two canteens, one of which was untouched. I tugged out one of a few Ziploc bags and was relieved to find it was still sealed. After taking a glimpse at the contents- a picture of my mom and I, a few pictures of friends, a few letters- I set it off to the side. A tangled up ball of 550 cord came next, then a very water logged notebook. The five packs of MRE's I had packed were untouched. Of course they were, I thought to myself. They could probably survive the apocalypse. Another Ziploc bag that held camo makeup.

I picked up my back up poncho and shook it out, only to drop my very heavy k-bar knife on my ankle bone.

"God damn son of a bitch!" I yelped.

"Such language would make a Ranger blush," Gandalf said from behind me.

I'll admit. I let out a very girly-sounding shriek. I whipped around to stare at the wizard who had some how balanced two plates of food perfectly in one hand, and held two tankards in another.

"How did you…?" I asked, breathlessly. I glanced from him to the open door he was standing in.

"I am a wizard," He said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Right. Right." I picked up my knife and tugged it out of its sheath. It was damp, but nothing to worry about. At least I had some sort of a weapon, even it was just a small knife. The door thumped shut and I heard Gandalf walk behind me.

"Come, sit. We shall talk," Gandalf set out the plates, procured silverware from somewhere, and set down the tankards. He sat and gestured opposite himself. Suddenly bone tired, I stood and walked to the table before unceremoniously plopping into the open chair and setting my knife down. I glanced warily into the tankard.

"Its tea. Unfortunately, there is not much call for tea in an establishment such as this, so, alas, an ale mug is what I had to make do with. I hardly thought you wanted any more to do with beverages of the fermented or brewed variety, considering the severity of your prior statement. Something along the lines of 'never drinking again,'?" He chuckled and sipped at his mug. I drank the tea gratefully, hardly tasting it.

I glanced down at my plate to find a hunk of some sort of meat, potatoes, a pile of starchy looking things that may have been a carrots, and a hard roll. My stomach growled and I was surprised to find that I was hungry.

I cut off a bite of the meat and shoved it into my mouth. As in the army, I ate quickly, as though I had a time limit, and before Gandalf was done with half of his plate, mine was empty. I sat back and regarded him silently.

"So…. What is the plan?" I asked after a few beats.

"Tomorrow, Thorin Oakenshield and his company of twelve dwarves will call upon Bilbo Baggins of Bag End. I will meet with them."

"What am I doing?"

"I am not quite sure as of yet, which is why I wanted to speak with you. Unfortunately, dwarves are very… secretive and do not come to trust others easily. And with you being of the, ahem, gentler persuasion, I think Thorin will object to your presence."

"Sexist bastards," I muttered.

"What was that, Talya?" Gandalf asked, pausing a moment to look at me. He had finished his dinner now and was tugging out his pipe and a small bag.

"Nothing. Go on."

"Would you object terribly to hiding your gender for the time being?" He asked, looking at me, his bushy eyebrows furrowed together.

"Do you really think I'd be able to fool them? And is that really smart? I mean, once they find out I am a female, wont that just make things worse?" I asked, crossing my arms.

"I thought of that, as well. However. We do not need to tell them, per say, that you are a man. We shall just not correct them in their assumption."

"Making an ass out of 'u' and me." I muttered. Again, Gandalf paused and looked at me curiously. I sighed. I had a feeling I would be explaining myself a lot.

"Assume. If you break it up, its 'ass', 'you', and 'me.' When you assume something, you make an ass out of 'u' and 'me'. " I explained with a shrug. "Its just something we say where I am from."

"Indeed. In this instance, I believe that it is relevant. I dare say, once it comes to light that you are indeed a woman, I think I will rather enjoy seeing the look on the face of the dwarves. Thorin, in particular. He is not a dwarf easily surprised."

"…Right."

"So. We will make a few changes in your appearance… And perhaps if you dress in your strange garb, it will help cloak you even further. They will not know what to make of you."

"I have some camo makeup that I could use to paint my face. I mean, it won't be perfect, but it will at least skew some of my features."

"Camo…?" Gandalf asked, speaking the word slowly.

"Camouflage. You'll see. Anyways… Makeup could help. If I can get some strips of fabric, I can wrap it around my chest to tuck back the girls'"

At this, Gandalf cleared his throat very suddenly. I realized, belatedly, that I was in a culture that was much more reserved in the mentioning of unmentionables. I realized, with a wry grin, that Gandalf had, not once, glanced near the fire where my things were drying. If I didn't know better, I would think I had embarrassed the old wizard.

"I'm sorry. I guess the culture will take some getting used to. Where I am from we are very… open, I guess the word is." Gandalf gave a slight chuckle.

"Forgive me, my dear, if I embarrassed you. It merely surprised me that one from the race of man would be so candid. You will find, perhaps in time, that dwarves, and elves too, to a lesser extent, are much more lax in their speech and mannerisms when in the company of those they are familiar with."

I gave a short, dry laugh. "Not much embarrasses me anymore, Gandalf. I thought maybe I had shocked you."

"It is hard to shock an old man such as myself. Now. As we were. Perhaps you could cut your hair…"

"Nope. Not gonna happen." I stated bluntly. I loved my hair because it reminded me so much of my mother. I had not cut it going into the Army, and I was not about to cut it now.

"I can braid it. I can put it in a bun. I can corn-roll it…. Nevermind… But I will not cut it."

Gandalf sighed.

"As you wish, my dear."

He puffed on his pipe again, amusing himself with what seemed like his favorite pass time; making elaborate smoke -rings, if you could call them that.

"So if I help in this quest. If I do this thing… Can I go home?" I asked suddenly, my voice small. Gandalf blew out a puff of smoke and regarded me solemnly. After a moments silence, he spoke.

"When I said you would have been dead had I not intervened… I spoke the truth. If you were to go home, if such a thing would even be possible now, you would be returned to your exact predicament that you were plucked from. If you returned, dear Talya, you would die."

I swallowed hard and felt a sudden ache in my chest. I nodded, a little too quickly.

"So if this whole thing is real and I really am here in Middle-Earth… Then I am stuck here for, for better or worse. I will live and die here."

"I am afraid so."

There was a lump in my throat all of a sudden. It was true that I didn't have much at home. I had a small crappy apartment. No family. No pets. But I did have my few close friends. And though my belongings were few, they were mine. And now, nothing.

"I am sorry." Gandalf stated softly, in a very sincere tone. I did not realize that my eyes had welled up with tears until I felt one trail down my cheek.

"No. Its fine. Forget it." I muttered hastily, wiping away the unbidden tears with the back of my hand. I sniffed hard and cleared my throat.

"As you wish," Gandalf sat back in his chair and appraised me. It seemed as though he would speak a few times, but he merely puffed his pipe. We sat in silence once more, the dim hum of the bustle downstairs and the occasional crackle of wood in the fireplace serenading the suddenly heavy moment.

"Can you ride?" I startled a little, having found myself staring off into the fireplace.

"Sorry, what?"

"Horse back. Can you ride? Is there such a thing where you come from?"

"Yeah. I can ride. Its been a few years, but I grew up on a farm. I rode horses all the time."

He nodded slowly.

"Tomorrow, then. We will find you a pony to ride and you will come with me to meet with Mr. Baggins."

"No. No no no no no. I don't do ponies." I glanced up at him. "I've ridden all sorts of horses and I get along fine with them. Ponies and I do not get along well on a long-term basis. Besides. I don't have any thing of value to get any sort of ride. I'll walk. That I am used to."

"You can not walk. You will be traveling a far distance and you could not possibly keep up with the rest of us on the back of our steeds."

I was silent. In my overwhelmed mind, I thought of all the fan fictions I had read where the female character was suddenly forced to share a pony with Fili or Kili, or one of the other dwarves. I suddenly burst out in near hysterical laughter at the thought of being forced to share with Bombur. Gandalf starred, but chose to ignore my outburst.

"I have a few favors to call in, so do not worry about the payment of a pony. Or, rather, horse. If you require supplies, I have the extra gold to help you pack what you need. After all," He smiled thoughtfully, albeit sadly, "I brought you here. The least I could do is see you on your way."

I sobered quickly and feared for my sanity for a moment. Surely it could not be healthy for me to bounce from one emotion to another so quickly. I regarded Gandalf, debating whether or not I was going to argue. I decided against it.

"Thank you, Gandalf. I appreciate it."

"Not at all, my dear. Come now. We shall be off 'ere dawn approaches, and I dare say that you could use a good nights rest."

He stood slowly and made his way to his bed. He put out his pipe and tucked it in the sleeves of his robe before he placed his hat on the bedside table. He lay down, his ankles crossed and his hands clasped over his chest. Eyes closed now, he began to hum something softly to himself.

I nodded after him and stood slowly. I finished the dregs of my tea before heading over to my things. Glancing out the window, I realized it was dark now. It made me feel even more tired, if that were possible. With little enthusiasm, I repacked my now-dry clothes, boots, and whatever else that had been undamaged. Hair ties. Baby wipes. Toothpaste. A small Swiss army knife. Toilet paper folded and compressed into a Ziploc bag. A small stick of deodorant.

I debated taking my tent with me, and decided to leave the poles behind. I could not remember anyone using a tent in the movie, or the books. I did keep the cover, though. Never knew when you might need a tarp.

With everything repacked and rearranged, I hesitantly packed my Ammo. I really didn't want to leave it behind at the expense of someone's life. The now-dry notebook I tossed in the fire. It was crinkled and rumbled beyond repair, anyways. The duct tape followed. My k-bar knife I kept in hand.

My ruck sack, now completely dry and repacked, I placed off to the side of the bed. After tucking my knife under the pillow, I lay down and turned to my side, facing the door. It felt odd laying in a bed after all that had happened. I felt naked without my rifle and really did not like how vulnerable I was.

Gandalf's humming was lulling me to sleep. I fought to keep my eyes open, afraid to sleep. I was afraid to see where I would be when I woke.

Tomorrow, a horse and supplies. Tomorrow, I would meet the soon to be famous hobbit, Bilbo Baggins.

As I drifted off to sleep, something occurred to me.

"Gandalf?" I asked sleepily.

"Yes, Talya?"

"Take the bet tomorrow, and double it." I smiled softly to myself at his confused expression and slowly drifted off to sleep.