Thanks for the reviews guys! You spoil me _ They make me so happy! This next chapter is some world-building, which can be slow, but it makes the story more realistic. Here's a reminder of what the coin looks like in case you're curious: /product/treasure-of-erebor-gold-coin-the-hobbit-the-battle-of-the-five-armies/)

I'm going to be traveling a bit for the next week, so chapter 5 (when she meets Mr. Burglar himself) may come out later than normal! Just a heads up.

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"Sometimes, all we need is just one person who believes in us and who will never give up on us. Someone who sees beyond our weaknesses, beyond our faults. Who knows that though we walk in darkness, we can still find our way into the light." -Unknown.

~Chapter 4~

A Quest of My Own!

I lay there the next morning, staring up at the wooden rafters above me listlessly. Surely….if this were a dream I would have woken up by now. Dreams have never carried on this long. The feeling of despair has been swimming around like a fish inside, making my chest ache fiercely.

Also, if this was a dream then I'd be able to jump up into the air and fly away. Which I had already tried yesterday at the fabric shop. Twice. It only cemented the seamstresses' belief that I was possessed.

Sunlight glares harshly through the window, lighting up the wooden floorboards, wooden walls, and wooden furniture that make up my room. There's no plastic anywhere in sight, no synthetic materials of a hotel room. It's probably 11:00 am by now but when I had first woke up, my chest had tightened and tears sprang to my eyes as I went through yet another panic session. It was the second morning in a row that I'd woken up in an unfamiliar place. So I had curled up into a ball and cried very hard. More so than yesterday with Doctor Pudbrook because yesterday was yesterday. But today was a new day. AND I'M STILL HERE.

And after I had cried I had prayed, believe it or not.

When you're trapped in a fictional storybook, you begin to realize that God is actually not the craziest idea out there. In fact, there are more eyewitnesses and personal accounts of God than of people claiming to visit other dimensions, or time travel, or whatever the heck this is.

Nothing like a 'inter-dimensional fantasy-hopping mishap' to strike the fear of God into your heart, eh?

"God? If you're up there, please….please!...help me get out of here! Help me get home! Please! Help me wake up from whatever this is!", I had pled.

I unsurprisingly fell back asleep, still exhausted from tossing and turning most of the night because of strange and stressful dreams. Now I am awake again and...yes, I do feel a little better...but my prayer didn't work. I'm still in Middle Earth. In the Shire.

Well, so much for that.

So here I lay, feeling sorry for myself. I pull the covers over my head to hide the bright sun and strange room from my view as I feel a headache coming on. I'm super dehydrated from crying so much in the past 24 hours. I decide I am going to just lay in bed and feel sorry for myself until the Universe, God, or whoever is in charge of this mess feels bad for me and decides to send me back home.

Or until I die.

It will be like a 'passive-aggressive tantrum'. A peaceful protest of this horrible situation I'm in until someone gives into my demands. If a small voice in my head reminds me that this is a very immature and childish reaction to my situation, well, I ignore it. I have a feeling it won't work anyways, for the simple fact that the Innkeeper won't let me stay long enough to starve to death...and because my stomach is growling at me like an angry cat.

Honestly, if I really analyze my situation, the art that scares me the most are thoughts about my loving family, and knowing they will be worried sick when they find out I'm missing. In my imagination I can see my five older brothers all dropping work to organize an exhaustive and stressful search party for me, while my sister cries with my mother, and my father does his best to try and hold everyone together.

I need to think of a solution! If I came to a fantasy world, then there MUST be a way to go back, right? After all... J.R. Tolkien must have done it. Maybe there are clues to the events that happened yesterday? I try to see if there's something that I might have missed, going over details of how and where I woke up, only to give a huge horrible groan as I remember a very important part of yesterday's proceedings.

Thorin.

I cover my face in abject misery. I can't believe I met Thorin Oakenshield. THE Thorin Oakenshield!

The ACTUAL living and breathing (and young?!) King Under the Mountain had given ME, Peyton Silva, a pony ride out of the goodness of his heart. What must he think of me?!

I groan again in agony and place the feather pillow (very comfortable by the way) over my head in the hopes it will suffocate me as our conversation yesterday comes back to my memory like a mini sledgehammer. I had been so waspish in my disparaging comments and treatment of him.

I try to assuage my guilt as I remind myself I couldn't POSSIBLY have known that he was telling the truth. How could I have believed that I was in Middle Earth? It wasn't my fault.

But still, the poor guy...

All I had done was mock and ridicule him like he was an Amish weirdo. And even after that awkward pony ride, he still felt bad about leaving a mad human wandering alone on the outskirts of Michel Delving! Something akin to awe fills me as I admit that he's a really good guy. He was so kind to help me! And he obviously has reason to be wary of strangers. But despite his dislike for both humans and elves, he still aided me when I was in distress. I wish I could have thanked him better- given him one of my strawberry tic-tacs or something. Maybe even ask for an autograph on my arm? Nah, that'd be too weird for him.

I giggle into my now moist pillow at the craziness of the whole situation.

All I can say is that it's a good thing I will never see him again. That would be too embarrassing! I sigh and pull the pillow away so I can breathe properly again. Not sure when he goes on his ques-

Lightning strikes my brain in the form of inspiration.

I sit up on my creaky wooden bed. That's it!! The QUEST! The quest for Erebor! GANDALF! Gandalf will be at Bilbo's house for the quest! And HE can help me!

I throw the covers off of me and quickly leap out of bed; all thoughts of peacefully protesting myself to death are gone. Hope and purpose give me energy once more. I briefly lose sight of all that as my bare feet touch the chilly wooden floor and I give a hiss of pain. From how cold everything is, I estimate that it's currently very VERY early spring. I will never take indoor heating for granted ever again. Or at least a fluffy carpet. I think I'm beginning to understand bear rugs…

But I don't have time to think about that right now! I remind myself to focus as I grab my clothes off the cold floor. I've GOT to find a way home and Gandalf is the answer! He just has to be! I'm on my own 'quest' now. A quest to find Gandalf at Bilbo's house!

Crap, if that's true then won't that be tonight? I stand there, shivering, trying to figure out what part of the timeline I'm even in. Thorin is super young, and he was old (and ugly) in the cartoon when he reclaimed Erebor. But…how reliable is a cartoon anyways? He said he was heading towards Bree…so what if he is actually on his way to Bilbo's house and didn't tell me because it's hush-hush?

My heart briefly warms again as I think about how kind it was for him to offer to accompany a complete stranger to Bree when he's already busy with a quest. First things first though…I have to get to Bilbo Baggin's house and FAST!

Where even IS Bilbo Baggin's house?

A slither of panic runs through me as I try and fail to remember those kinds of details. I don't even remember the name of the town Bilbo lives in! I had always thought the name of where Bilbo lived WAS 'the Shire', actually. When Frodo and Sam talked about going home in the movie they never mentioned the name of the village but rather they always referred to going home to 'the Shire'. But wait….wasn't Bilbo's hobbit hole called 'Bag End'?

It's a start, at least.

I shimmy my old clothes back on. A few little splotches of dried mud cling to my jeans, not to mention the stink of pony sweat, but they'll have to do. I wish I could have taken Gertrude up on the offer to clean clothing but it's too late for that now. I'm in a rush.

I look around me to make sure I didn't forget anything. Cellphone, tictacs, and….

I pause, slowly pulling out the gold coin from my pocket and hold it in my hand. It glows bright yellow as it reflects the sun from the window.

I turn it over with my fingers, narrowing my eyes as I study the strange animal. It almost seems like a boar now that I think about it. The more I stare at it, the more certain I am because of the weird nose that looks like it has tusks. The Boar's Head Inn might have helped me with recognizing it. I flip it over and stare at the other side. I still have no idea what the T is. It reminds me of the T building from Teen Titans, but I know that's not it. I sigh and pocket it deep into my pocket so it doesn't somehow get lost.

The door leads into the inn's long planked hallway and I can't help the creak of the floorboards as I walk along. At the end of the hallway I reach the stairs and, try as I might to be quiet, my footsteps echo down into the inn's foyer with a clomp! clomp! squeak! clomp!

Sebastian is working again today. Ugh! I don't want to talk to him. I look around trying to spot Gertrude or ANYONE else to help me. But unfortunately he spies me first, "Good morning! Sleep well?"

I sigh and make my way over to him.

"Good morning." I don't quite manage a smile at him, but at least I'm not openly glaring at him. "Do you by chance know where Bag End is located?"

"Bag End?" He pauses and taps a feather quill against the wood desk as he thinks, "It sounds familiar...That wouldn't be the old home of the Dane of Hobbiton, would it?"

"Uhhh, maybe?" I frown, "Would their last name be Baggins?"

"Baggins is a fairly common name in these parts, miss."

"What about Took?" I ask, grasping at straws. If this doesn't work then I'm doomed. I can't go around knocking on every hobbit hole in the country asking if Bilbo Baggins is there.

I feel relief at his next words. "Ahhhh! Now there's a unique set of individuals." He nods knowingly. "Baggins and Took eh? You best be checking Hobbiton or Waymoot for your Bag End, then."

The Hobbit from Hobbiton. How original.

"Wonderful," I smile, "How do I get there?"

"You'll take the Great East Road and pass through Waymoot. Continue on to ByWater, but turn left at the fork instead of going to ByWater. Can't miss it."

I stare at him.

He stares back, "Are…are you traveling without a map?"

His shocked tone of voice immediately notifies me that traveling without a map in Middle Earth is like traveling without shoes. It simply isn't done. I look down at his large furry bare feet. Unless you're a hobbit, that is.

"Uhh, I lost mine...unfortunately." I scramble, thinking quickly. "Do you know where I can find another one?"

"There's a bookstore down this street here behind the statue." He beckons me to a round window and I see the statue of King What's-His-Bucket. Right behind him is a street people are walking in and out of. "Just a take a right at the blacksmith. It's across the street from the house with roses."

How did I survive before they invented Google maps? I'm going to get lost, I just know it.

I thank him and step towards the door before he stops me, "Wait, Miss, aren't you hungry? You missed breakfast, second breakfast, and now you're about to miss elevensies as well!"

I pause. I don't usually eat breakfast…but if I'm going to go galavanting about Middle Earth searching for a wizard, I might as well get some calories in me. "Uhh, yeah! I mean…yes, I am. What's for breakfast?"

"Elevensies," he corrects, "Scones, honey, and milk."

Sounds like breakfast to me.

"Sounds good.", I walk further into the pub section of the Inn, searching for an empty table since the one I used last night is full. It's still smoky. I find it interesting that hobbits smoke their pipe at all hours of the day and not just in the evening past times.

It's then that I notice that the stares are worse today than yesterday. I stop in place. The atmosphere is quieter as well with hushed whispers as people seem to watch me suspiciously. I sit down and gaze at the wooden table with a red face. Seems that word has spread since yesterday when I arrived and caused a scene.

"Here." Gertrude drops off a plate in front of me with a cup of milk.

"Thanks, Gertrude." I look at the 2 blueberry scones with jam and honey and can't help but feel strangely grateful that breakfast seems to be the same in this world as at home. Hobbits also seem to value good food. I don't know what I'd do if they served me pig's feet or something weird.

Gertrude doesn't leave the table. I look up at her questioningly and she tilts her head at me, curious "Where are you from again, miss?"

I clear my throat, "Uh. Nevada."

"I've never heard of it. Is it quite far?"

"…yeah." I take a bite of my scone, to try and avoid conversation.

She nods, "Some of the members of the town said that when you first came into town you were acting deranged; asking people if this is Middle Earth. Some are even saying that you fainted in the dress shop!"

News travels just as fast without cellphones in this town. Hobbits must love to gossip.

I'm at a loss for what to say, honestly. My throat feels dry as I remember the first man I accosted, asking for a hobbit costume, and the woman with her child, and finally the seamstress's shop. I try to swallow my piece of scone and it scratches my throat on the way down.

"Well…you see…I, uh," Everyone in the room is hanging onto every word, which makes me nervous, "I...woke up that morning in a strange place…. in the middle of the woods, and….I was very worried..." Avoiding eye contact, I shovel another bite of blueberry scone into my mouth.

"Well, that's a funny story. Why would you be worried if you were in Middle Earth or not?" Gertrude chuckles.

"I...I um...you're right. It is really silly."

I'm not sure what else I could possibly say. But thankfully the hobbit waitress laughs and before I can answer she gives me a pat on the back, "Silly human." and leaves to attend to other guests.

I let out a relieved sigh. I'm lucky she is so nice and is too busy to truly interrogate me. The other hobbits don't look at me too friendly though. They obviously don't believe me, and don't seem to take kindly to strangers accosting their neighbors and friends on the street.

I gulp down the cup of lukewarm milk, marveling at the taste. Must have been collected this morning since they have no refrigerators. It's the freshest and creamiest milk I've ever tasted.

I stand up and force a cheerful tone as I notice everyone watching me. Might as well address the room, "Welp! Nice to meet everyone. I'll just be going now!"

I head over to the front door to get out of the stifling atmosphere. I turn back briefly and notice that they are still staring at me, and are murmuring to one another.

I give a half-hearted 'Forrest Gump' wave, and step into the chilly air and bright sun. I blink up at the fireball in the sky and shade my eyes. I should have also asked the attendee what time it is, but I don't dare go back in there.

All around me, the square is bustling with activity. Michel Delving is in full swing, with hairy barefooted short people talking and meandering about to and fro. For a moment, I simply stand there in disbelief and watch the hobbits interact. It feels so quant and picturesque. I would have loved it here if I had come here on a vacation or something. Sadly, my circumstances don't allow me to find much pleasure in the scene although I wish I could. There's no 'concerning hobbits' music as well, which is a big let down, not gonna lie.

The only time I ever traveled to another country was when I went to China to teach English for five months. It was a MAJOR culture shock. Completely different language, architecture, food, religion, and mentality. It was as if I had stepped on an alien planet. My mental bubble had popped, and I realized that the world was so much grander and bigger than I had ever imagined.

Only now it's not an alien planet, I think to myself as I walk down the street. It's an alien universe. Traveling to another country is strange, but traveling to another time period with mythical creatures is even stranger.

I walk with wide-eyed wonder past the handwoven baskets of freshly picked vegetables and fruits that line different vendors on the streets. Wooden stalls are surrounded by baskets filled with shiny-scaled fish of all shapes and sizes. Large and small barrels of different kinds of ale and mead are piled high in one stall. Small buckets of grains, lentils, and beans are lined up nice and neat. Some of the stalls showcase beautiful, hand-carved, hand-painted toys for children.

The smell thankfully isn't bad, as hobbits seem to be actually very sanitary. More so than humans would be in this sort of time period, I'm sure.

Behind the marketplace stalls there seem to be more permanent businesses and shops set up in actual wooden buildings. The buildings aren't as big as in my world, maybe two stories but they are not human-sized stories, since hobbits aren't as tall as humans. I had always thought hobbits live underground? Maybe that's only in the country.

I feel a bubbling satisfaction that for once in my life, the size of everything around me makes me feel…tall! Just a head taller, but it feels surreal being able to look over the sea of curly hobbit heads quite easily as I make my way down the street.

One particular door that I pass by nearly knocks me off my feet by the smell of warm freshly baked bread. My eyes flutter in bliss, and I immediately float backwards to see what's going on inside.

I look inside and it is a high-ceiling room with three small stone ovens set on the far wall. A long, wide wooden counter dominates the center of it. The room is hot and smells very strongly of spices and yeast, pouring out steam into the slightly chilly spring air. There are hobbit maidens, ribbons in their curly golden hair with their pointy ears peeking out, kneading dough and conversing animatedly with one another. Others are chopping and mixing things on a table beside them, and a male hobbit is perusing a tall shelf of ingredients. The shelf rises to the ceiling high above and a rolling ladder allows him to reach little catwalks for one of three levels of shelves. A basket on a pulley at the end allowed the hobbits to send down their selections so they could climb the ladder with both hands. A hobbit opens one of the stone oven doors and I catch a glimpse of golden round loaves baking within.

The kitchen is a bright and warm space. The hobbits call out to each other in a good humor.

I can't help but grin at the scene. It's such a…simple way of life. But a good one, if their happy and animated faces are anything to go by. I just wish I had a camera-

MY PHONE! I gasp, remembering.

I quickly get my cellphone out and I snap a couple pictures of the happy occupants before they notice me in the doorway and pause their work.

I give an embarrassed smile and another awkward Forrest Gump wave as I quickly leave, continuing on past many shops with round hobbit doors. They seem to sell all sorts of things like clocks, furniture, hats, and shoes.

I have to stop and croon at on particular round glass window- the BEAUTIFUL and delicate porcelain teapots, bowls, saucers, cups, and plates on display are breathtaking. Each of them hand crafted and detailed with intricate designs I've never seen from any culture on Earth. If only I had money! I would buy each and every thing I see as a souvenir from Middle Earth. It would sell for a fortune back home. I itch to use the gold coin in my pocket, even though a tea set isn't going to save me from starvation. I should only use it in an emergency.

Suddenly, the reflection of the display glass catches my attention, and I see the shocked faces of hobbits whispering and staring in it behind me.

I turn around and gulp as I realize I haven't been as observant as normal, so distracted as I was by the splendor and exotic things around me. I look back the way I had come and I see a sea of faces staring back at me in various stages of curiosity or wariness and muttering to one another. I feel a rush of anxiety in my gut. Hobbits are friendly, aren't they? At least, Bilbo Baggins had always made me think so. Apparently, as I had walked along, people had stopped and stared at my jeans and hot pink hoodie that glows like a freaking beacon. I wonder if this is the first time they've ever seen someone wear hot pink since the dye would be pretty hard to duplicate. That, and I'm wearing jeans.

I spend the rest of my walk blushing furiously as a tomato, walking stiffly as I leave a wave of people in my wake staring at me from behind.

I continue meandering along until I hear the TINK! TINK! TINK! of a hammer over another piece of metal and I move towards the blacksmith's shop in awe. I've only ever seen such a thing in movies! It feels like magic as I watch the strong-armed hobbit pounding a hot piece of metal into a hook. He turns towards where I stand as he puts the metal into a bucket of water, the water hissing as it heats rapidly while the metal quickly cools. He has a braided red beard on his stern face. Wait a second….that's not a hobbit, it's a dwarf!

My thoughts turn to another dark-haired dwarf and I wonder if this dwarf knows Thorin? I begin to walk over there excitedly before immediately stopping as I remember the embarrassing conversation about Thorin's sword with the innkeeper.

Have I lost my mind? Of COURSE this dwarf knows Thorin! Or at least, he knows of Thorin. Thorin isn't some random Joe you meet on the street- he's their KING. I wonder why he didn't travel with an escort if he's so important?

I immediately turn right, passing the dwarf blacksmith, and go down the street that was indicated. I would rather not take the chance of saying something embarrassing in front of one of Thorin's people.

What was the next step that the innkeeper told me? A house with flowers? I keep walking until I see it; a white house with giant lush roses of every color spilling out over the wall. The sweet fragrant smell reached me from here. And right across from it is a building with an overhanging sign. The calligraphy is hard to read, but I recognize 'Book' as one of the words. Huh. I actually didn't get lost!

I walk in and the smell of leather and parchment hits me as I take in the wooden shelves and stacks of leather-bound books. There are no posters on the walls with owls encouraging kids to read more. Just windows allowing you to see the dust motes swirling in the air.

I can't help but walk to the books nearest me, admiring the interesting covers and titles. I open one, not unlike the book I had been perusing when the gold coin on me. It's titled 'The Tales of Lolly and Piper'.

I flip through it and based on the beautiful hand-drawn pictures, it's a children's book of two hobbit girls who get into all sorts of trouble. I love the slant of the ink as I read the beautiful calligraphy. I continue on, briefly perusing titles. I don't find anything that describes traveling to another world or how one can do so. This is more of a storybook shop rather than a research or history store.

"Excuse me, err…good sir hobbit?" I cringe at my attempt at medieval language as I come up to the Hobbit behind the counter. He watches me nervously. "Do you happen to have, uh, any maps of the Shire?"

"Maps? Uh, yes. Of course, of course." He stutters and stumbles, and avoids eye contact as he leads me over to one of the back shelves. This shelf, rather than harboring books, is stacked with scrolls.

They remind me of rolling pins to roll bread dough with and I gently touch the various styles of the wood handles. Some are pointy, some are intricately carved with runes or pictures, and some are plain and smooth with no embellishment. The hobbit teenager is busy opening and unrolling various scrolls looking through various maps of Middle Earth until he pulls one out that satisfies him.

"I believe this one will be of use to you…" he hands me the scroll.

"Thank you so much!" I gush with excitement and give him a big smile.

The teenage hobbit turns pink from head to toe and mumbles a "You're welcome" before hastily retreating back behind the protection of the counter. I smile to myself. He's adorable.

I place the map carefully on a small wooden desk sitting conveniently next to the scrolls and unroll it. Just like the books, the map is hand painted, and I breath over the beautiful brush strokes that made such a masterpiece.

When I see that Hobbiton is literally two towns over; I frown, straightening up and I pause, wondering at my luck. I could have woken up anywhere in the Shire. I could have woken up on the OTHER end of Middle Earth in Mordor, honestly. And yet... conveniently... I'm just a couple towns over?

A feeling of destiny tingles my brain. I could have also been found by any hobbit or dwarf. But THE Thorin Oakenshield isn't just any dwarf. Memories of playing with my five older brothers come to my mind.

Behind our childhood home, there is a canal and tree-fort that was the stage of our adventures. We played many different games and stories- Pirates, Dragons and Knights, GI Joe...but whenever we acted out Middle Earth stories, I always played as Thorin Oakenshield. It was unconventional since I was the youngest, but I liked it because I got to wear a crown and hog all the treasure. Plus, I was a bossy little punk, so my brothers thought Thorin suited me. And my mom made them.

It's so odd that HE was the one who found me.

Maybe luck has nothing to do with this. While both difficult journeys, both the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings stories conveniently have successful endings despite all the odds stacked against them. Maybe someone upstairs is looking out for me after all?

I shake my head. They sure have a funny way of showing it. Dropping me into a fictional storybook? Well, not so fictional anymore. But, you know, there's still the 10% chance I could be dreaming this whole thing in a coma.

A horse fly buzzes around my head before landing on my arm and biting me. The pain shoots into my brain making me yipe like a puppy, smacking the fly hard in annoyance...but I miss and it flies away. But I get the message as I stare at my skin where the bite is puckered and red. I'm not asleep. And on the….now 1%...chance that I AM in a coma, I have to remember that pain is a real thing and I need to avoid it at all costs.

I've already experienced hunger pains, cow poop, fainting, cold wet pants, and squishy uncomfortable shoes….if I really am in Middle Earth and not crazy, then I need to keep my wits about me. It's one of the most dangerous stories to fall into. I don't want to arrive home missing a hand or foot.

I get my phone out and make sure the little bookkeeper isn't looking before quickly taking a picture of the map.

I snap a picture of him as well, while his back is turned, but I get one of the whole medieval book store behind him. Evidence to show my family when I get home when they ask where I've been.

I spend the next 5 minutes studying the physical map and memorizing the way. It's not hard. Just go the same direction Thorin had rode, all the way to Waymoot. Then choose the road to Hobbiton, not ByWater. Only problem is I can't tell how many miles it is on the map or how long it will take me.

I bring the scroll up to the bookkeeper and clear my throat. He turns, wide eyed and I smile at him, "Thanks for letting me look at the map! Out of curiosity, how much would a map like this cost anyways?"

"3 silver coins."

Darn it...I wish I could have a souvenir like this! Could I put it on Thorin's tab as well?

I sigh. No, that's dishonest.

The idea of using the gold coin comes to mind again. But I can't. I can't get rid of it. Not until I know more about it. And I've already taken a photo of the map. I'll be fine.

"Hmm, can you tell me how far it is to Hobbiton?" I roll out the scroll and point to the next town over.

"Hobbiton? That's about four hours by pony…twelve if you walk."

I grimace. That's a lot of walking. If I don't have money to buy a map, I certainly don't have money to buy a pony.

"Ok. Well, thanks again! You have a really cool book store!"

"Uhhh, thanks." He smiles, confused at my expression, "I think?"

I head outside. The delightful scent of the roses right across from me immediately fill my senses and I take a few deep breaths.

Ok! Time to find Bilbo's house!

4 hours later...

Stupid road! Stupid quest! I should have just stayed in bed! I huff and puff as I trudge down the road.

I've been walking for hours. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and my feet hurt. Plus, the sun isn't warm enough to make this pleasant. I shiver and huddle in my hoodie.

I hear a wagon behind me and, like all the other wagons, I assume it will simply pass me by. I've been walking along the same dirt road since leaving Michel Delving and I've checked my phone only once. It says I've been walking for four hours.

I bemoan the fact that I didn't take Thorin up on his offer to go to Bree. But then I have to remind myself that if I had traveled with him, I would have eventually found out I was in Middle Earth and then HE would have had to fill in for Doctor Pudbrook. And that would have...just been awful. For both of us.

I sigh. It's actually not all that bad. My shoes dried out last night, and it's not too cold. Plus the scenery is amazing-

I happen to glance back at the sound of the rumbling wagon only to gasp and then shriek in terror. In a moment of reflex I dive to the side of the road with seconds to spare as a pony and wagon cross the same spot I was at.

"Whoooahh!" the driver calls out frantically, pulling on his reigns way too late.

I would have been trampled on by a pony. And then run over with a wagon. My quest for Gandalf would have been at an official end.

"Are you out of your MIND?!" I yell at him angrily, my heart racing a hundred miles a minute, "You could have KILLED me!!"

"Begging your most humble pardon, Miss! I didn't see you there!" the hobbit gasps, his eyes wide as he realizes as well what almost occurred. He jumps down from where he sat on the wagon, a hat on his head that he holds onto as he runs over to me- sprawled on the side of the road.

"How could you NOT see me?!" I yell angrily, gesturing to the VERY bright clothing that I'm wearing. He'd have to have to be blind to not see me in my hot pink hoodie! Everyone else can't seem to miss it!

The hobbit's face pales as he takes in my oddly bright clothing with wide eyes, "I-I-I'm so sorry miss!…. I dozed off for just a spell...I-I...W-we've taken this road so many times I just...I just thought I could trust my horse to lead the way!"

I blink. He was sleeping? Figures.

I turn my accusing glare to his pony who stands there, looking tired as well. The horse is old, I can tell, and might be losing it's eyesight. I sigh and my anger drains out of me as the fear of being road kill slowly leaves as well. I now feel a little bad for the hobbit that is now shaking like a leaf. I was already in a frustrated mood due to my 'walking holiday', so I might have snapped a little too loudly at him.

Still! He would have trampled me! The last thing I expected when coming to Middle Earth (not that I expected to come to Middle Earth) was that I have to worry about bad drivers in addition to all the other dangerous things out here.

"Yeah, well, don't let it happen again," I mumble, brushing the dirt and leaves off. And with that, I turn back to the road to begin my long trek once more.

"Oh! Please Miss, uh, forgive me for asking, but... what are you doing out on the highway all by yourself?" The hobbit calls out worriedly behind me.

"I'm trudging." I reply grouchily as I began to trudge once more. But I can't help the teeny smile I get as I quote my favorite movie. Not that he would get the reference. He can't see my smile since I'm turned from him, walking.

"T-trudging, Miss?" he responds right on cue.

I glance back to him, my past gloom slipping away, "You know, trudging? To trudge: the slow, weary, depressing yet determined walk of a woman who has nothing left in life except the impulse to simply soldier on." I feel overjoyed that I have now used that quote on someone at least once before I kick the bucket.

"But, uh, what are you trudging for?" He asks cautiously.

My bad mood comes back as I remember why, exactly, I am on this stupid road in the first place, "I'm trying to get to Hobbiton to find Bilbo Baggins, to meet a wizard, so I can get back home!" I growl and then go back to trudging along the trail, not expecting him to follow me. I don't really care if he understands or not. The fact that this is even something I have to do in the first place, is beyond frustrating. I shouldn't even be here!

"Hobbiton?! It's about three hours from here by pony! You'll never make it before dark walking! It is currently around 5:00pm!"

Dang it, I should have gotten out of bed earlier today.

"Yeah, well, I don't have much choice." I grind out with a huff, "The universe decided to poop on me and science by sending me to a mystical land of hobbits and elves and now I have to find a way BACK to my world. Making me walk in the dark? Just another candle on the cake to them, I'm sure!" I'm being belligerent, but hiking after eating nothing but two blueberry scones and some milk can make even the best person cranky. That, and I'm still a little peeved that this hobbit almost ran me over. Just something else to add to my list of grievances. I soldier on.

"P-poop on you? Your...world? I don't...I...wait! Miss!? The least I can do is give you a ride! It isn't proper for a lady to be by herself traveling!" The hobbit chases after me, his horse remaining where it is.

I stop and turn to him, not daring to hope. A...ride?

"You...you mean you'll really give me a ride?" I ask hopefully, hardly daring to believe my luck. All the other hobbits that passed by me were too wary to even speak to me, let alone give me a ride. Thanks to my strange clothing, I'm sure.

"I nearly ran you over, and for that, I'm truly sorry." The hobbit says, his gaze earnest. "I can only offer you the very back of my wagon, since I have no room up front, but if you're amiable to it...please allow me to make amends and restore my good name?"

My feet cry with joy, and I echo their sentiment, "Yes! Thank you! I really appreciate it!" I smile at him, and he breaths a sigh of relief.

"My pleasure, Miss. It isn't much, but the hay is fresh."

I go to the back of his wagon, full of sweet alfalfa hay, and I hop up. I call up to him, "Your good name is hereby restored...uh...I'm sorry, I didn't I even asked your name!"

"I'm Timothy, Miss! Timothy Dunsdo." He gives me a shy smile. "And yours?"

"Peyton! Peyton Silva."

"Well met, Miss Silva!" He turns to his pony, "Come on Daisy! Heee-yup!" And we're off.

I sigh in relief as I lean against the sweet smelling hay and look back at the dusty road I came down for the past four hours. All frustration and anger ease away and I'm so grateful to be able to rest. I had walked nonstop for four hours and I had 8 to go. I would have arrived at Waymoot at 1:00am. Another good thing is that even though the wagon is very rocky, every bump in the road is cushioned by the hay.

"So how did you end up, uh, trudging on the side of the road, if I may ask?"

"Well Timothy, it's a very long story. And it all started yesterday morning..."

End of Chapter

Whoo! This was one of the more difficult chapters to write. I had to really immerse myself into their world, you know? I feel like I'm making Peyton too silly though, what do you think? I want her to be a normal person and behave in normal ways on the outside while having funny crazy thoughts inside.