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Ok, it's Thorin time!

...

"If you're angry, count to ten before you speak. If you're VERY angry, count to one hundred." - Thomas Jefferson

~Chapter 7~

A Gold Coin

"Excellent!" Gandalf exclaims merrily. I blink at his sudden mood change. He's like the ocean...one moment peaceful and cheery, and the next, black and menacing. Rising from his bent knee, he stands tall, a smile playing on his lips.

He gestures to the round green door with his staff, "Shall we inform the others?"

I roll my eyes with a sigh, "Go ahead. I'll come in in a little bit." Better that he tell them, what with Thorin being… well, Thorin and all.

I walk down to Bilbo's bench by the road and the sound of the door opening and shutting echoes behind me. Settling down into my seat, I look out at the hobbit homes dotting the shire, feeling drained after my conversation with Gandalf. Warm light spills from round glass windows, casting a soft glow, while tendrils of misty smoke curls from chimneys. Bathed in moon light, the whole scene could easily pass as a Thomas Kinkade painting.

My feelings turn whimsical as I breathe in the magic of the air. For it must be magic. There's no other way to describe the faint tingling that permeates the place all around me.

Adventures, from what I've noticed, always seem to start out from a place of comfort. Not necessarily perfect or enjoyable, but familiar, a place where your routine is all you've ever known. Like the nursery for Wendy Darling in Peter Pan. Or District 12 for Katniss Everdeen. Or the Ant Hill for Flick in a Bug's Life.

As I look out over the scattered hobbit holes, I realize that Hobbiton could be symbolic of many things to many people. It could represent childhood, or innocence, or it could simply represent the comfortable yet stagnant stage of life, like a seed buried in the ground that is waiting for the rain. In short, every adventure story starts out in a place where a choice must be made: The choice of staying in your safe, warm routine OR….to go beyond your current limits and transform into someone new. Some people will choose to live their whole lives in their personal Shire, never growing or changing. Like Lobelia Sackville-Baggins for instance.

Sometimes that choice is made FOR you, like me being dumped in a field without any say in the matter.

For those of us who do choose to leave our personal Shires; we wonder if the transformation will be a good one or if we'll regret it. We have hope though, and that hope keeps us going. After all, life isn't about staying in our Shires; it's about what comes after.

Ugh, I still can't go through the spiders! But I'll have to cross that bridge when I come to it. I've already made my choice and transformation it is.

Turning from the peaceful scene, I stand and make my way up to the round door, opening it gently and letting it swing shut with a soft creak. I let out a soft squeak in surprise and cover my frantic heart when I see that a certain dwarf is leaning against the wall, quiet and solemn, and apparently waiting for me.

My nerves act up as I find myself staring at none other than Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain. His quiet and contained demeanor, coupled with his thick arms folded across his chest, is both intimidating and alluring.

I shake myself out of my reverie, "Do you make it a habit of showing up in unexpected places?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at him, a little annoyed that he caught me off guard.

"Do you?" He counters, his gaze reminding me that our conversation isn't over.

I blush. Honestly, I kinda walked right into that one. I attempt a smile, "Not usually. I'm a fairly predictable person."

We stare at each other, warily weighing the conversation to come. Finally, he breaks the silence, "Balin said you knew his name before he introduced himself. He also said that you recognized my nephews by their names, even though the knowledge of their relation to me is carefully guarded from outsiders." He takes as measured step towards me.

I grimace, "Well, I-"

"You also said very odd things at the table." He tilts his head slightly up, looking down at me, "Care to explain?"

I shrug my shoulders, feigning innocence, "Seer?" I suggest

Thorin frowns.

"You don't believe in seers?" I tilt my head at him curiously. I can't really say I did either until I learned about Boin and his portents. So these seers must be right some of the time.

"A seer from a world beyond, attending to the matters of Middle Earth?" He raises an eyebrow, a hint of incredulity, perhaps even amusement, flickering in his gaze. "Nay, I find that hard to believe."

I give in, "Look, I'm not a spy. I'm not that creative! And what would a spy be doing dressed the way I was when I first met you anyways? I knew the name 'Thorin Oakenshield' when you dropped me off in Michel Delving, remember? But I didn't think you were him! If I was a spy, wouldn't I have known who you were and accepted your offer to come with you to Bree?"

Thorin's voice deepens, a note of skepticism threading through his words. "How is it that you claim knowledge of me, when you are a stranger to Middle Earth?"

I hadn't been careful with what I said or did in the slightest, not thinking I would be going with them this whole time. Now, I have to do some damage control, since letting people know you know the future isn't exactly the smartest thing to do. For one thing, they'll always blame you when things go wrong, like Bilbo being cross with me for not warning him about our surprise guests.

"Look, Thorin…" I finally sigh, "I know how all of this must look to you. And I don't blame you in the slightest for not believing me, or for being suspicious. I totally would be too if I was in your shoes. But, I can promise you…" I do my best to look him right in the eye as sincerely as I can, "I'm not here to hurt you. Or anyone else for that matter! I want to help you in any way that I can. As for my reaction to Smaug, well, dragons don't exist in my world….so, it's hard for me to be afraid of something that has never existed before and that I didn't plan on seeing."

I try to go with honesty, but I don't DARE tell him that I think dragons are cool. That wouldn't go over well. I don't deny that I am a seer, but I don't try to convince him that I am either.

Thorin studies me carefully, his gaze as hard and unyielding as the mountain he seeks to reclaim. I see him weighing my words against his doubts and suspicions, and I do my best to give him a friendly smile. Please trust me. Please trust me.

Finally he speaks, his voice gruff but not unkind, "You speak well, Miss Peyton, and your words carry a weight of sincerity. But this is not a journey for the faint-hearted. It is a path fraught with danger and uncertainty."

He begins to circle me, much like he had with Bilbo, accessing my body and features. I do my best to stand still, but I can't help but follow him with my eyes.

"If you are to join this company, which I have not yet agreed to," he gives me a warning look to not get my hopes up, "What skills do you possess that would make you less of a liability than you already are?"

Skills? I frown and think hard as I stare in concentration at the empty barrel by the front door that usually holds apples.

I can sing pretty well, play piano, color between the lines, swim, and play video games. I'm not too shabby at dancing... But I have no experience with weapons. I'm not athletically inclined. Hell, I don't even know how to cook very well! I can't light a fire without a lighter, I learned how to tie ropes and identify plants at summer camp but I was twelve at the time and completely forgotten how, and I can set up a tent but this is more of a 'sleep under the stars' adventure.

I'm useless.

But I have to give him something! "I was...studying to be a nurse before I came to Middle Earth. So I know how to treat minor wounds and sicknesses." Come on, give him more! "I can read and write, and I'm very well educated. And... I can cook!" I'm totally lying. I can't cook. But if I hide behind Bombur's skill, then nobody will know.

His gaze turns thoughtful as he stops in front of me once more. Bilbo had been quite impressed with my ability to read and write, which meant that it's a rare thing especially for a human, sadly. So, I know that mentioning that as a skill won't hurt my chances with Thorin either.

But his next question is hard and to the point. "Are you skilled in the use of any weapons?"

Dang it! "No, I...never had to use any in my world."

Thorin's gaze turns solemn, his words heavy, "You know this isn't a merry hunting party, and you know there will be no comfort, commodities, or safety on this quest. We will face dangerous situations, situations of which you have no training for and would become a liability. And yet, you still hold the belief that you should accompany us?"

Oh gosh. When he puts it that way… he's right. The quest for Erebor ISN'T a party; they even starve a couple of times. Especially while going through Mirkwood BEFORE getting kidnapped by spiders. Which means I'll be too weak to even run away from the eight legged demons. Oh, Lord. Just pour me some pumpkin spice bleach when that happens.

But…Gandalf believes in me. Even though I don't believe in myself. Maybe Bilbo and I have more in common than I thought?

"Yeeeeessss?" It comes out a high squeak. I quickly clear my throat. "I mean. Yes. I believe I should come."

Thorin shakes his head, and growls, his voice laced with exasperation, "This is the most crucial quest of my life, and yet I am compelled to accept a grocer and a human fortune teller. Neither of whom, it seems, can contribute anything substantial to this company's success other than to faint and look pretty."

Oh, so Bilbo must have fainted already. But only one thing really catches my attention.

I smile, "You think I look pretty?"

His answers with an annoyed scowl, but I can see his face turn a hint of pink at my forward manner. Blushing, Mr. Oakenshield? Again?

I have mercy on him and give a huff, "Ok, as I said before, I'm a grown woman, not a girl. If you're going to insult me, do it properly. And second of all...I'm not a fortune teller." I give a shrug, feeling a little uncertain, "I'm not here to tell you the future but...I think that...that maybe I'm here to change the future? Just a little bit? The quest will be a success, so I'm not too worried about that. But it's what comes after the quest that Gandalf believes I'm needed for. If there was a way I could hang out here until that very moment, and then fly over to you guys on an eagle, believe me I would. But I guess I'm going to have to do this." I pause, my voice faltering slightly. "And, well, I think that perhaps things might turn out better in the end. Maybe?"

In the realm of inspiring speeches, mine falls flat on it's face.

Thorin listens intently to my sorry excuse of a pep talk before asking the dreaded question that OF COURSE he's intelligent enough to ask, "What is so drastic that it needs someone from another world to come and alter the events of Middle Earth?"

I pause, feeling caged. I had been willing to tell Bilbo anything he wanted to know if he merely asked, but that was before I knew I would be coming on this quest. Bilbo had not asked, even though he was sorely tempted to, but I have the feeling that Thorin will have no such compulsions about Middle Earth's future and would want me to tell him everything. Consequences be damned.

"I will tell you. But not yet." At his darkening mood, I try to explain, "Gandalf told me to keep my foreknowledge to myself, but...if something needs to change, I will keep you updated and inform you ahead of time" I raise an eyebrow as he still doesn't seem appeased, and cross my arms stubbornly. "Until then, you won't know. I'm sorry."

He takes a step towards me and says lowly, "How do I know then, that what you say is even true? Even if I did agree to let you come with us, which I'm BARELY considering…what proof do you have that you know of future events?"

I am momentarily distracted by the realization of how close he and I are. We have unconsciously moved closer and closer to each other to where I can easily reach out and touch his chest with maybe a foot and a half distance between us.

I flush, bothered as my mind flashes back to our pony ride together where I rode for two hours behind him...and then I realize that he is now waiting for an answer.

"Uh, something to prove that I know the future? Yes….ummm." I nod and frantically reach around inside my brain for some tidbit of knowledge. Something that isn't too much of a spoiler.

"Well, I know…". An idea finally comes to me, "I know Smaug IS still alive and asleep in the Lonely Mountain."

It's lame example, but Thorin admitted at the table that no one knew if Smaug was still alive or not since it's been 60 years. So it should be fine to tell him that Smaug is, in fact, very much alive.

His stare becomes a scoff and he looks me up and down, "It'll take months before I'm able to ascertain whether what you say is true."

"Well, I guess you'll just have to take me with you and see." I retort with a smirk, crossing my arms to mimic his stance again.

A fleeting, almost imperceptible smile tugs at his lips before vanishing.

"No." He says simply. His voice is devoid of anger or disdain, just a simple and resolute denial. He gives my face one last lingering glance, before turning and striding away, muttering over his shoulder, "It's too dangerous for a woman."

It's funny, because I had just gotten in a fight with Gandalf about not going on this trip and now that Mr. Macho is telling me that I CAN'T come because I'm a woman, I feel myself gearing up for another fight. Except this time I'm fighting because I want to come. I'm so weird. Are the Valar playing reverse psychology on me?

Time to use my last card.

"Oh yeah? Well how's THIS for proof?" I pull out the gold coin from my pocket, holding it up for him to see.

He glances back over his shoulder only to stop dead in his tracks. He turns to me once more, piercing blue eyes riveted on the gleaming golden object I hold beguilingly in my hand. I put a hand on my hip, with a satisfied smirk. I'm determined not to let his presence distract me.

"How did you come by this coin?" Thorin asks, curiosity evident as he comes back and stops in front of me. I willingly relinquish the coin to him, feeling a strange mixture of nerves and excitement as I press it into his large open palm.

"I found it in the pages of a very very old book at my university." I explain slowly, "My friend Matt and I were in the paleography lab late one night...oh, uh, paleography is the study of ancient writing and books by the way. I took the class for fun. Anyways, uh, I saw that the book which usually had a glass case on it wasn't there anymore. And I couldn't help myself and went to the book and touched it...which I'm not supposed to do...and this gold coin fell out of the pages. When I tried to pick it up, I just...woke up to a blue sky in the middle of the Shire. The rest, you already know."

Lesson 1 of Paleography is to NOT touch old books with your fingers because of the natural oils on them. Ever since the possibility that the coin might be the catalyst that brought me here, I have done nothing but lament my selfish and defiant actions. I had wanted to see what old parchment felt like and because I wasn't seriously studying the subject, it didn't really matter to me that the book was a priceless artifact. I was prideful, thinking of my wants versus the greater good.

I still remember the feeling as I gently opened the book, barely stroking it's delicate pages and feeling the 'thrill' of being a bad girl by touching something forbidden.

"I don't know how the gold coin was hidden in there since there wasn't an indent made by a coin wedged in the pages. Perhaps it was magic? But when I saw a flash of gold fall and heard it hitting the ground, I went into panic mode. If I somehow damaged that book I would not only fail the class, but I could potentially be kicked out of school for 'harming priceless property'. And yet, like an idiot, I did it anyways." Regret tinges my explanation as I recall my reckless actions. "My toxic trait is thinking that I'm the exception to the rule. But Karma is real. I should have never touched that book without gloves."

Thorin watches me carefully as I explain the coin's story, weighing my facial expressions and words to find any falsehood. I don't think he understood a lot of my phrases and words, but he seems to get the gist of it.

Thorin looks again at the coin almost longingly as he turns it over in his fingers. He frowns in confusion, "It is from Erebor but….it looks older than it should be. The eyes and mouth of Durin have been completely rubbed off."

"Wait, wait, hold on...what?!" I gape at him in amazement, "Erebor? This coin is from Erebor?! And what do you mean eyes and nose?" I go around his arm to crowd closer to look at the T shape on the coin.

"Here," He pulls out a brown cloth purse from an inner coat pocket and unties the drawstrings.

He pulls out a smaller, silver coin and shows it to me side by side with the gold coin. There, with edges very clean, is an effigy of a similar but different dwarf, though obviously made more recently, with eyes and mouth clearly defined.

Thorin's voice rumbles with a mix of pride and nostalgia as he holds up the two coins. "This coin, minted from the Blue Mountains, bears a resemblance to the one from Erebor, but they are noticeably different," he explains, his tone carrying a touch of reverence. "This is my face, on the Blue Mountain coin, and here is the face of Durin the Deathless, the great ancestor of my line on Erebor's." He points to the image on the coin. "And this," he gestures to what appeared to be a keyhole in the middle of the T, "is his nose. He is depicted wearing a helmet, a symbol of our proud heritage."

My eyes are suddenly opened as he describes the coin to me, like looking at one of those optical illusion pictures. I'm such an idiot, how could I not have seen that earlier? It's a face!

His voice softens as his gaze lingers on the coin, his thoughts are far far away from here. "These coins hold the weight of our history, a reminder of the greatness that once was and the greatness we strive to reclaim."

A gold coin from EREBOR was wedged in between the pages of the ancient red book. I wish I knew what the book's title was or what it was about.

I look up at him excitedly, "Do you think, if I take this coin back to Erebor and throw it in with the rest of the coins, it'll undo the 'spell'?" I make quotation marks with my fingers, "And I can go home?"

It sounds stupid as soon as I say it out loud but, in my defense, all this talk of gold coins reminds me of cursed treasure from Pirates of the Caribbean. Just spray some of Will Turner's blood on it- ghosts are human again. Just return the missing gold coin to it's rightful place in Erebor- Peyton can go home again. Easy peasy!

Thorin's brow furrows in thought as he considers my suggestion. "I do not believe that returning a single coin to the treasure hoard would undo any supposed 'spell' or allow you to return home," he replies, his voice tinged with skepticism. "Magic does not typically work in such simplistic ways."

He studies me with his piercing blue eyes, his expression unreadable. "However," he continues, his tone softening slightly, "you do seem to be a 'first' in many regards, Miss Peyton."

I beam at him for the underhanded compliment, and his face seems to relax even farther from his usually stern expression when he notices my pleased look. I belatedly realize that we are standing shoulder to shoulder with the coin between us, me pressed up against him from where we had both been intently gazing at the coin's intricate features together. How did I get into his space?

"Great! So I can come then?" I ask eagerly, trying to change the subject so he won't notice me casually back away to a safer distance. "I'm already packed!"

Thorin closes his hand around the two coins and gives me a look. "A gold coin is hardly convincing proof of your knowledge of the future. And you are still a liability."

Ugh! Come on already!

"Well, I was planning on leaving to Rivendell tomorrow morning anyways." My tone carries a defiant challenge, and I shrug "Now I can have an escort!" I'll find a way to convince him to let me come along to Erebor by then.

"What?!" He looks incredulous, "You intended to travel ALONE through the wilds of the Eridor? Have you a death wish?"

Embarrassment paints my cheeks at his horrified tone, and I reply defensively, "No! But I… I can't just hang around here forever! I have to get home!"

"Alone? Without a caravan or companions? Not even a pony?!" He growls at me, "I was beginning to think you possessed more sense, but it appears my initial assessment of you was correct: You are out of your mind."

That hurt. His words cut me like a shard of glass, stinging painfully.

My pride rears it's ugly head despite his logic. He's right. What if I ran into trolls, or wargs like the company will? And all I had for a weapon was a butcher's knife I got at the market this morning.

But pride and anger are ugly things, and if you don't control them, they will control you. I feel myself giving in to my anger, and I lash back, allowing it to take the wheel.

I glare at him, "Don't worry about me, Thorin Oakenshield. Madness doesn't run in my family."

A punch to his face would have been kinder (although it would have hurt my hand). His response- a soft, disbelieving huff- causes a strange tremble inside me. Almost as if my very spirit just gave a shudder of regret at the acidic words I threw at him. I regret my words instantly, but it is too late to call them back into my wayward mouth.

He is quick to rally himself, however, and a stone wall slams down in place over his eyes as his face turns cold and expressionless. Not before I see the faint glimmer of pain he keeps hidden from the world however. He studies me down the point of his nose, and seems to come to a decision.

His deep voice is controlled and intense, "You seem to know a great many things that you should not. And I would be a fool to allow someone like you to leave here unsupervised with all that you have heard and seen tonight. You will be leaving with us in the morning, Miss Peyton." His voice is hard and his face expressionless. And just like that, he turns and walks away.

My anger deflates out of me like a balloon only to leave me with a hollow empty feeling as I'm left standing there alone. It doesn't feel as much of a victory as I thought it would.

Why did I throw his family's issues into his face? How could I be so vicious?

I feel shame wash over me and begin to fill me up like a cup. I turn and go to my bedroom to hide myself, closing my door and leaning heavily against it. The regret from my words spill quietly down my cheeks in the form of tears. I let myself slide down until I'm sitting on the floor and I hug my knees to myself.

Why am I such an idiot? Why do I care if Thorin thinks I'm mad or stupid? I am mad and stupid sometimes! But I'm also desperate, which is never a good combination. So why did I allow his opinion to bother me so much? Who cares what he thinks?

I hate it, but I do care. I've always cared too much what other people think, but with him it's almost worse. I had been so embarrassed waking up in the Boar's Head Inn to realize that Thorin Oakenshield, a character from my childhood adventures, was indeed real and that he perhaps thought very poorly of me. But tonight, his only negative thought of me had been that I was lying to him as a spy, which I knew was untrue and could defend myself against. But being called stupid? It cut deeper into a wounded part of my soul that needs some TLC. And so, like a petulant child, I had sought to wound him as well. Like a wounded dog, biting the hands of those around it.

For a couple of moments tonight, it almost felt like he and I had come to a sort of understanding...but now I've ruined everything.

I pause at that thought and my pride tries to lick it's wounds. No, I didn't. I didn't ruin everything. I'm going on the quest now, and I'm going to throw that coin into Erebor's treasure hoard, and then I'm going home.

Nothing has been ruined, and you know why? Because Thorin's opinion of me doesn't matter in the long run. I brush my tears away as I try to convince myself of this fact, building a wall to protect my emotions and locking them away. And yet... there's something inside me that rebels. A small part (that I ignore) that won't allow me to completely lock it away or to believe the lies I tell myself.

My bedroom is situated near the back parlor that Gandalf and I had spoken in, and I vaguely hear Gandalf's voice through the walls as he cajoles Bilbo into coming on the quest. I notice that he takes a different approach with Bilbo than he did with me. Humph! I fold my arms crossly. I listen to him encouraging him through the crack under my door.

"Can you promise that I will come back, Gandalf?" I hear Bilbo finally ask, his voice fearful.

Holding my arms around my legs, I wipe my nose on the long skirt of my dress (something that would appall Bilbo) as I listen to some of the wisest, scariest words I've ever heard.

"No. And if you do…you will not be the same."

You can never be a kid again. You can never be innocent again. Things have to change in order for you to reach your 'happy ever after'. But change is scary because what if you regret it? You can't go back and change it; It's irreversible.

"Then I'm afraid I can't accept," Bilbo says, undoubtedly thinking the same thing.

I pause for a moment, as I listen to Bilbo's bedroom door shut. I sit there on the floor, thinking hard. Yes, change is scary...but what's the alternative? I try and imagine the alternative version of Bilbo staying in Hobbiton. A Bilbo Baggins who lived out the years of his life, never knowing anything beyond the Shire. Never becoming someone wiser, or stronger. Someone who allowed dwarves, wizards, and neighbors to walk all over him as if he were dirt forever. Ignorant of his own ignorance. In short...a complete waste of the potential and light that not only changed this world, but all the worlds that know of this unassuming honbit's story of courage and sacrifice.

Yes, change is scary…but the alternative is even scarier.

I pick myself up off the floor with a sigh. If there's a slight chance that Bilbo doesn't come and I'm the cause of it, then I have to be the one to fix it. I open my door, and peek out. The coast is clear, so I walk quietly down the hall to Bilbo's bedroom. I pass by a round doorway to the sitting room on my way there and I see all the dwarves are inside, sitting in chairs and smoking pipes. The lights are turned down low, and Thorin is talking quietly with Balin by the fireplace. I don't know how, but he somehow senses me pass and he briefly looks up. We make eye contact for a millisecond before the wall separates us once more. I blush and hope he didn't notice my red eyes from crying. I feel ashamed, but my darn pride doesn't want to die. I quietly knock on Bilbo's door.

Bilbo's muffled voice comes through, "I'd like to be left alone, if you don't mind."

"I just want to talk" I say gently, my hand resting on the smooth wood.

There's no answer. I sigh, feeling a little dejected when I realize he isn't going to answer. Suddenly, he does what Bilbo Baggins does best- which is to surprise you- and he opens the door, looking at me.

I smile at him, "Hi."

He looks down at his big hairy feet, "Hi." He replies sadly before his eyes snap back up to mine in shock, "Have...have you been crying?"

"Shh!" I snap at him looking worriedly towards the round door. I don't know how good dwarf hearing is. "I know this goes against all your Hobbit morals and everything, but can I come in? It will only take a few minutes since I need to get to bed soon."

He pauses, but then opens the door with a huff and throws his hands in the air, before moving back to his bed, "Oh, all right! It's not like I haven't broken a million and one things a respectable Hobbit ought to do today!"

I close the door behind me and he jumps at the sound, turning back to me with wide eyes. He's obviously terrified that we're alone in his bedroom.

I grin, "RELAX, Bilbo. I'm not here to steal your virtue, I just want to talk."

He blushes, and nods, acostumed to the blunt way I say things after two months of us living together. I get it, he's never had a woman in his bedroom before. I sit on the handcrafted wooden chest at the foot of his bed while he remains standing, his hands fidgeting awkwardly at his side.

"I'll be leaving tomorrow with the dwarves." I explain with a sigh, "Gandalf isn't able to send me home, contrary to what I've always believed. So I'm going to have to go to Rivendell after all. But…as much as I hate it…I'll most likely end up going all the way to Erebor. Gandalf seems to think the Valar won't let me go home until I complete a…a specific task. But since he clearly doesn't know everything I am hoping he's wrong about this. The gold coin got me here so hopefully it'll get me out too. I think if I rejoin it with the other gold in Erebor, I might be able to go home."

That, or I have to save the Durin bloodline. I'm still banking on the coin theory though because if it's the bloodline theory then we're ALL doomed.

He nods and starts pacing around the room, fidgeting with his different belongings, "Yes, well, Gandalf also tried to convince me to come too."

"Will you?"

"Of course not!" Bilbo lifts his hands out and gestures around him. "I'm not brave or adventurous! Respectable hobbits don't go out on adventures!"

Funny. He sounds kinda like me.

He starts pacing and gesturing frantically about himself, "I am a Baggins of Bag-end! I belong here! This is my home. My past, present, and future! I can't just pack up and go running off on a…a…." He pauses with a sigh, not finishing his sentence. An adventure.

"Why not?"

He stops pacing and gives me a frustrated smile while wagging his finger at me as if I'm being naughty, "Ah no. No, no, no…I see what you're doing!" He sing-songs.

I look at him innocently, "What? What am I doing?"

"You're trying to convince me to come along with you! That's what you're doing!"

"You caught me." I tilt my head and give him a cute cheeky grin.

He huffs out a shocked laugh that I don't even bother to deny it and shakes his head at the ground fondly. I drop the act and grin genuinely at him. He'd most definitely miss me.

I try again, "You know how Gandalf said he can't guarantee that you will come back?" I look at him earnestly, "Well, I can. You WILL be back, Bilbo Baggins."

He stops short. His eyes wide, "I-I will?"

I smile, "You're the main character. Of course you will!"

"I'm the….the main character? What?" He asks in awe. He slowly sits down next to me, gazing at the wall and seeing nothing.

"We're all the main characters of our life's story." I smile at him from the corner of my eye mischievously.

He shoots me an annoyed look, feeling like I had tricked him with my platitudes.

I laugh and nudge his shoulder, "But in your case, you really ARE the main character, Bilbo."

He looks a little lost, "But…why me?"

I clap him jovially on the shoulder, "Come with us tomorrow and find out!"

Suddenly, a deep hum begins to vibrate through the house. I pause, listening. Bilbo notices my expression, "What is…" he pauses too, listening in confusion.

Low throaty vibrations that remind me a cello or a base weave their way in and then a deep smooth voice sings out lowly, "Far over the Misty Mountains cold…through dungeons deep and caverns old. We march away at break of day to find our long forgotten gold…."

My mouth drops open in shock. Thorin?!

His deep voice is as mournful as it is beautiful. And I remember the deep voice I had briefly heard singing before he had come around the bend when I met him the first time.

I recognize the words from the book, but the way it is sung is the most mesmerizing thing I've ever heard.

The hair on the back of my arms and neck stand up as I realize this song is one that is being made up on the spot as well, just like the dishes song from earlier. There wasn't a song written beforehand about marching away to the Misty Mountains to reclaim gold in the morning, since it has never happened until now. Thorin is creating it right now.

The sound fills and shakes the spaces of air within my lungs, resounding within my chest. The sound of my heart beats in time with the vibrations that connect me to the music. It feels almost like the dwarves are casting a spell as they begin to combine their different voices to his. They harmonize and weave their voices in and out with hums and deep vibrations in their throat. They never had practiced this song before. It is pure magic. The strongest magic that I've truly experienced while here in the Shire, besides Gandalf's dark tantrum.

It reaches into me, and fills me with courage and desire and unadulterated longing. I can only describe it as…a call. A call to be more than what I currently am. Like the call of the sun to the little seed in the dark earth, it is the call of adventure. Or rather, in other words, the call of transformation. For that is exactly what an adventure does; It transforms you.

It's an electric feeling. If I could just…hold on to that feeling and NEVER let it go….I would always be happy. Or, if not happy, I would always be full instead of this cloying emptiness that I don't even realize is there until special moments like these come along and remind me. And I know that if I follow the call then it will fill that emptiness and turn me into more. I don't know what this 'more' is, but it's irresistible. And I know, based on the book, that Bilbo feels it too. His life is full of good and lovely things, but he's empty. He's been empty since his parents died and left him with a house full of memories.

He and I sit in awed silence as the dwarves sing the long and sad song of the desolation of Smaug, and their quest to get their home back.

At the end of the song, I don't say anything else to Bilbo as we sit there for a moment in silence. I can't. I merely lean over and give his hand a squeeze accompanied with a knowing smile before standing up and slipping quietly from his room. Based on the expression in his face I know we'll see him running out the door after us tomorrow.

End of Chapter

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