You're My Light in the Dark

Chapter 11: Who We Are

"Kat."

A poke.

"Kaaaaaaaaaaat."

A nudge.

I was on my side curled up in a ball. Blearily peeking one eye open, I was greeted to Lauren kneeling at the foot of our bed, bouncing her butt against her heels. She was already dressed and put together for the day, wearing a burgundy velvet dress with her hair in low pigtails. Probably already had her caffeine. I, on the other hand, felt like I'd been hit by a bus — my thoughts sluggish as if my head was stuffed with cotton. All-nighters were always like this for me. Alcohol, apparently, makes it worse.

"Come on, sleepy!"

"No."

And with that, I threw the quilt over my head and burrowed in the darkness. I gripped the blanket tightly, knowing all too well she would try to yank it off me. I felt cold air on my feet as she lifted up the corner closest to her, but I was wrong. No, instead of yanking at the blanket she dove under it with me, slithering her way up the mattress to lay at my side. I gave a sigh, releasing my death grip on the blanket as her blonde head popped into view. "But it's such a goooooood affffterrnoooooooon," she said, all goofy and sing-song.

"It is anything but," I replied in a snarky thank you very much sort of way. "How the hell are you so hyper?"

"Five cups of tea will do that to you."

"Shit. Five?"

"I miss coffee," she deadpanned. Something about her tone made me think she meant it more than any other time she's whined about its absence before. "I've been pissing like a racehorse—"

"Thank you for that image."

"You're welcome," she said, a wry grin pulling at her lips. "And I'm feeling a little jittery, which is new. Buuuuuut," she raised an index finger to accentuate her point, "At least I am now a functional human being."

I flashed her a pointed look. "Are you, though?" I teased.

That gave her pause for a moment, then she realized what she'd said. Finding yourself as a kind of, sort of hobbit in a fictional world tends to mess with your sense of identity and phrases of habit. We've been trying to point out when we have slip-ups, like that one. She groaned, rolling her blue eyes. "Shut up, Kat," she said, giving my shoulder a small smack. "Now get up! I need you for something."

"Is it important?" I asked, dreading the thought of leaving the warmth of our cozy bed. Surely I can go back to sleep for a little while…

"Well, no," she admitted. "But I did promise Merry and Pippin we were going to show them something. So unless you want them coming in here to wake you up next, I'd get my ass into gear if I were you. God only knows what they have up their sleeves."

"I hate you sometimes."

"Love you, too!" she sing-songed. Forever sassy, she blew me a kiss and scampered off, taking the quilt with her.

After a quick bath, I came back to our room to find that Lauren had taken it upon herself to lay out some clothes for me. Dark green velvet skirts (no doubt to match her own choice of velvet for the day), a bright yellow vest with brass buttons, and a cream-colored tunic with long billowy sleeves. Goodness, she must've dug deep to find those. They're not at all what I usually wear — a bit too fancy for day-to-day, especially if I'm just going on order runs or keeping house. I ran my fingers over the softness of the velvet, a little sad as the last time I wore velvet was at my last competition. Our new competition leotard had been a slinky thing of dark navy blue, bedazzled with white rhinestones. Simple and elegant.

No use for a leotard these days, though. I gave a deep breath, trying to clear my head of thoughts about days past, even as memories of Jill at the last competition floated to the front of my mind so easily. Her dark, unruly curls slicked down and tugged back in a massive ponytail, how her brown eyes glittered as she flashed that winning smile of hers. That confidence I always envied. "You ready to kick some ass?"

So much for those days. The memories are there, but I hardly feel like that girl anymore.

Turning back to the clothes my sister picked out for me, it didn't escape my notice she coordinated everything between the two of us with Christmas colors: green and yellow for me, dark red for her. She would. As I picked up the tunic, I found an envelope and note hidden underneath.

Kat —

Had Mr. Goodbody down the lane help me make these. Used the metal buttons off some old clothes Bilbo wanted to get rid of, so it was cheap enough. So no worries about how much it cost, ok? Don't worry about getting me anything. I got myself a pair too!

XOXO

Oh, Lauren. Inside the envelope was a pair of stud earrings, made from pewter buttons, as she'd said. They appeared delicate, despite them obviously coming from one of Bilbo's old custom-made vests. A small dragon was carved on each button, breathing fire, surrounded by a twisted vine — items which I can only guess he had commissioned after he returned from his trip to the Lonely Mountain. Why he'd given these to Lauren is beyond me, but I suppose he's never really been one to focus on the cost of things.

The earrings didn't really match the outfit — the muted silver of the pewter clashed with the yellow vest — but I couldn't really get myself to care. Earrings were one of those things we thought were lost to us. Maybe we should stop trying so hard to be something we're not. Maybe then I can start feeling like the girl I used to be back home, my now pointed ears be damned.

"What do you mean 'you have holes in your ears?'"

Pippin's startled question was loud enough that I could hear it as I walked down the hall.

"I know it's not the sort of thing done around here, but it's really not a big deal," Lauren said, sounding exasperated.

As I turned the corner into the den, it was easy to spot why my sister was so annoyed. Seated on the couch, her Took of a best friend was practically sitting in her lap, peering at her ears (which donned her own pair of earrings) like they were fascinating. "It's going through your ear."

"So she said, Pip," Merry said from the other end of the couch, his tone suggesting he wanted his cousin to just let the matter drop as if he was a little disgusted by the idea more than intrigued.

"But it's stuck through her ear," he said with emphasis like Merry hadn't heard him properly.

Frodo, barely turning his attention away from his book, explained, "It's a human practice. Uncle's mentioned the people of Laketown doing it."

"But she's not human," Pippin said, gesturing in Lauren's direction, as if that logic explained everything.

Leaning a shoulder against the mantel, I crossed my arms with a huff. "Peregrin Took, if I had a penny for every time you did something not hobbit-like, I'd be a rich girl."

Frodo didn't laugh, but he did glance up to flash me a tight-lipped smile.

"A Took's a Took," Pippin replied sensibly with a dignified sniff. "They expect it from me."

Lauren rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well. About that," she muttered, pushing him off her. "You should expect it from us by now, too. Can't imagine why we'd still surprise you."

Merry clicked his tongue at that. "To be fair, we never really know what you're going to come up with next," he said in Pippin's defense.

Lauren gave a shrug. "Touché."

"See, like that," Pippin said, pointing at her. "What does that even mean?"

"It means 'good point,'" I piped up.

"Then why not just say that?"

"She did — that's what touché means."

"No, I mean, why not just say plain old: good point?"

"It's easier to say, force of habit… take your pick."

"Do I have to pick one?" he asked petulantly.

I sighed, holding my head in my hands at realizing I crossed over into idiom territory yet again. Still, my meaning should've been easy enough to figure out. In true Pip fashion, he was simply being difficult for the sake of being difficult. Which also happened to be a not hobbit-like thing to do, so imaginary penny for me.

Lauren, who'd had enough at this point, stood up. "I was going to show you those clapping games you've been wanting to see. But you know what? No. Because you're being a shit."

I noted with some amusement that our friends barely batted an eye at her swearing. Pippin, slouched against the couch, merely pouted at that news. "But—"

"No."

I couldn't help but laugh. "So that's what you needed me for? A round of Miss Mary Mack?"

"Well, more the dirty ones," Lauren admitted sheepishly, playing with her left earring. "Those are way more fun."

"Maybe later then," I said.

"Pro'lly for the best," Merry said, getting to his feet and yanking his cousin up off the couch with him. "We've got to be headin' home anyway. Mum'll have a fit I'm not there already to help with party prep as it is. See you lot later."

As Merry dragged a whining Pippin out the front door, I frowned down at the fancy clothes Lauren had me wear before giving her a puzzled look. "The Brandybuck's are having a party?"

She sniggered, patting my arm as she walked past. "Nothing gets by you."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Coulda, woulda, shoulda. But didn't! Because I forgot. Happy New Year!"

That evening Brandy Hall was full to the brim with activity, a family party. It's a tradition that everyone looks forward to each year. The Brandybucks always host it in their grand hall, and everybody in their family or anybody as good as family is invited – which includes a huge lot of hobbits, you can be sure of that. The sun was dipping below the horizon by the time they reached Buck Hill Road, Brandy Hall finally in sight. Kate's been oddly hesitant about coming to this party. "But we're not related," she said worriedly for about the umpteenth time, so Bilbo shushed her yet again and pushed her and Lauren along heedless of her comments. Frodo followed after them, shuffling his feet through the cold snow.

"Almost three months of living under our roof, you pull your weight around the home and then some taking care of us, and I needn't say how fond I've become of you. You're as good as family. Better family than some of our actual blood relations, in fact, so hush now," Bilbo said firmly, leaving no more room for argument.

Frodo gave his uncle a hearty pat on the back. "Well said, Uncle," he said. Bilbo snorted and shook his head a bit at the remark, slowing his gait. The sisters, curious, slowed down to stay with them, but Bilbo waved them on. "Go on lasses, we'll be just a moment." With uncertain smiles they turned, pushing past the fence and up the walk. His uncle let the sisters travel ahead out of hearing range before he continued.

"I mean it too, you know, 'bout them being family," Bilbo said and wagged a finger in Frodo's direction with a pointed look. "Not much gets by me now. She may be different and I may be old, but don't think I don't see what's between the two of you."

Frodo scoffed a bit in denial. "Kate's just a friend, Uncle Bilbo, nothing more."

Bilbo's face broke out in a sudden grin. "I never said anything about Kate-lass," he said triumphantly, eyes alight with excitement, clapping him on the shoulder, "But it looks as if I'm not the only one who's noticed it. Prepare yourself for that."

Despite his uncle's teasing, Frodo knew what he was getting at. He knew it all too well. It's not the first time Frodo's been the hot topic of conversation with the Brandybuck rumor mill. There'd been much talk of his parents and their deaths, back when it all happened. Having to listen to all that speculation in his new home — how surely his father sunk the boat, how surely his mother pushed him in — has made him a little bitter about gossip.

Perhaps he ought to keep conversations short and to the point tonight. Maybe even leave early, before the heavy drinking starts.

As soon as he stepped into the ruckus of the party, he heard his cousin Merry exclaim, "Frodo!" and next thing he knew he was being strangled in a massive hug.

"Hello to you too," Frodo choked out and returned the embrace.

"Good to see you, good to see you!" Merry went on theatrically, letting his voice carry.

Frodo laughed, a bit confused at his cousin's antics. "Merry, you just saw me this morning—"

Merry's eyes went wide and he shushed him while glancing around nervously. "Mum doesn't know I celebrated in Hobbiton last night with you lot, so keep it down, alright?" At hearing this, Frodo rolled his eyes and couldn't help but let out a little half scoff, half-chuckle. Esmerelda Brandybuck has been dead set on getting her son 'straightened out' as of late. Which means she's been doing her best to keep Merry out of trouble. Apparently, that also includes keeping watchful eyes out for suitable hobbit lasses. Merry's barely into his tweens, so it's rather early for him to be thinking about marriage. But unsurprisingly that matters little to meddling Aunt Esme.

"How many lasses did she invite tonight?" Frodo asked, grimacing at the thought.

Merry shrugged. "A whole lot of 'em, it seems. That's why she has me on door duty, to invite everyone in." A new group of hobbits then arrived and he nodded at them as they passed, saying polite yet distant, "Welcomes" and "Happy Yules". Frodo shook his head at the noticeable lack of enthusiasm.

"You best watch yourself tonight," Merry warned, turning back to their conversation. "Tongues have already started waggin'."

"Just as we figured they would," Frodo replied with a wry smile.

Leaning in close, hand on his shoulder, Merry pointed toward the reception room just beyond the front hall. The usual table of drinks and nibbles was out in full spread, and there — just at the end of the table, next to the jams and biscuits — was Pippin, guiding Lauren and Kate through the line like a dutiful host. "I've asked Pip to keep an eye out for them until we can join them. Last thing we need is one of our charming relatives to say something particularly daft."

The sisters didn't really seem to mind having an escort, if their gentle laughter at the conversation was any indication. Kate looked unexpectedly at ease. Her eyes no longer scrunched with worry. Toffee colored hair fell in waves around her shoulders, so unlike the elegant foreign twists she so favored. It made her look older.

The fancy dress suited them, he decided. It was the first time he'd seen Lauren and Kate in proper clothes, not the eccentric, mismatched ensembles they normally wear. Velvet isn't something they can afford, he knew, but the hand-me-downs were a smart choice for the evening. They looked entirely respectable and well put together — if he hadn't known any better, he'd of thought them Shire lasses rather than foreigners. He smiled as Kate struck up a conversation with Maybelle Boffin at the nibbles table.

"I think they can take care of themselves," Frodo assured.

Merry pressed his lips into a thin line. Eyebrows raising into his hairline, his disbelief was all too clear. "Have you met my mum?"

Esmeralda, pretty as ever, was passing through the crowd on the other side of the room with easy hellos and grandiose laughter at every circle of chatting guests. Effortless, like a butterfly fluttering about flower petals. Her light brown hair done up with yellow ribbons to match her dress. He could see it, then, how every so often and ever so subtly her attention would drift to the Tamsins — glancing in their direction as they stacked their plates.

Those curious looks didn't sit well with Frodo. Not at all. Aunt Esme's been known to get snippy with lasses she thinks are beneath the Brandybuck name. And considering how much time Lauren's been spending around Merry… Frodo would bet money his aunt was not in favor of the match.

His cousin's frown matched his own. "Mum doesn't like me hanging around Lauren so much. Seems to think it'll give me ideas. Last thing we need is for her to be… herself… and try to get the lasses to think they're not welcome here or some such nonsense."

Frodo nodded, watching as Pippin ushered them to a table at the back of the room, pointedly away from the more gossipy relatives, and how several people's gazes followed them. "Good call," he said, "Much appreciated."

Merry gave a little bow. "I do have my moments of brilliance."

"Haven't seen you in a while, you know?" and "My, how you've grown!" comments are a customary thing at this party for Frodo. Acquaintances and distant relations, many of them older and turning gray. Dotty Underhill in particular always enjoyed hearing about Frodo's endeavors, especially so after she became a widow. She'd been close with his father's parents before they'd died. Sometimes he wondered if she liked watching out for him on their behalf.

The old hobbit's wild, white curls were pulled into a knot atop her head, and her spectacles were larger than Frodo remembered them being the last time they spoke. "Ah, there he is! Young Mister Frodo Baggins," she said, eyes alight with festive cheer as she nursed a rather large glass of Uncle Saradoc's famous mulled wine. She pulled out the chair next to her, inviting him to sit by giving the seat a pat. "These parties are never complete without our little chats. How are you, lad?"

"Good!" Frodo said, plunking his ale on the table and dropping into the chair. "How's life by the Brandywine these days?"

"Much the same as it's always been," she replied with a wave of her hand, a smirk pulling at her lips. "A spot of quiet gardening here, a case of missing chickens there."

Frodo snorted in disbelief. "Mister Ranton still hasn't learned to properly fence his chicks?"

"Nay, he's learned his lesson. But some troublemakers keep sabotaging the fence," she said. With the way she said it, pregnant pause and conspiratorial look, Frodo had a feeling the old hobbit herself was the culprit. "All in good fun," she assured. "They never go any further than the other side of the road."

Frodo nodded, biting down a grin. "He still yell at them?"

"Why do you chickens keep crossing the road?" they said together, then shared a laugh.

"It's a show every morning. I sit in my garden with a cuppa and watch the feathers fly," Dotty said, sipping at her wine. "You know, I actually answered his question the other day. 'To get to the other side, obviously.' He hadn't been amused. Then again, it's been how many years and he still hasn't noticed I put chicken feed on my walkway."

"It's the little things in life," Frodo commented.

"Here, here," she said. Dotty raised her drink in Frodo's direction, so he lifted his own and clinked their glasses. He found himself wishing yet again that his uncle would take a shine to Dotty. They'd make a good match. But alas, his uncle has never quite shown any interest in settling down.

After their drink, she smacked her lips. "Have you written any new songs? You promised me one last year."

He ducked his head, sheepish. "No, I'm afraid not. Things have been busy around Bag End as of late."

"Busy indeed. That's one way of putting it," she said mildly. "Or so I've heard."

"Oh?" he said, feigning surprise. "What is it you think you've heard?"

"Something about foreign housekeepers with nimble feet and charming smiles." Dotty flashed a cheeky, charming smile of her own, and Frodo knew she could care less who his new friends were, she just wanted to see him be happy.

"Aye, that sounds about right," he relented with a laugh, admitting defeat.

"I'm happy for you, truly. Just be sure you make time for yourself to write your songs! You have a gift, lad, much like your uncle. It'd be a shame to lose your poetry."

"Bilbo writes enough for the both of us, I'm sure. But nonetheless, I'll try."

"Try?" Dotty exclaimed in surprise, holding a hand to her heart. "Dear me, never thought I'd see the day a lass would turn your head. Never mind two."

And there's my cue, Frodo couldn't help but think. "My head is my own," he insisted, grabbing his ale and getting to his feet. At her teasing laughter, Frodo shook a finger in her direction. "You best be careful, Dotty, else I decide to write a song about you next. Maybe a ballad about stolen chickens."

"Best you do! I'll look forward to it!" Dotty said with no small measure of excitement, lifting her glass at his retreat.

And so it continued. It was similar talk, over and over again. How's your uncle? and How's life? then somehow inexplicably the conversation would turn to the Tamsins. As if no one could be bothered to talk to the two lasses themselves. But then again, perhaps there'd be no fun in that. Less speculation that way. And mayhaps people aren't intrigued by the lasses at all, but rather at how they found themselves as residents of Bag End.

Later on that evening, just as he finished the obligatory mingling and laughing off nosy questions, he could hear Bilbo trying to catch his attention.

"Frodo!"

With ale in hand, Bilbo was motioning for Frodo to join him. He was huddled with Merry's parents, which usually led to awkward conversations and gossip, nothing that sat well with Frodo's conscience. "Come here, Frodo-lad, that's a boy. Your aunt and uncle have been askin' 'bout you."

"Have they now?" Frodo asked lightly, raising his eyebrows a bit at his aunt's knowing smile. Something was up. He just knew it.

Esmeralda's eyes glittered. "Well, one is bound to be curious. You Bagginses have been kind enough to open your door to two pretty lasses. People have been talkin'."

Straight to the point, then. Frodo nodded, trying not to seem too uncomfortable. Aunt Esme likes to pounce on embarrassment, dig deeper to get to the jewel of truth underneath – a dangerous prize when wielded by one of the town gossips – and she's certainly one of the most talkative.

Bilbo just took it in stride and gave a hearty laugh. "Ah, two girls after my heart, to be sure. Don't know how Frodo and I managed without them for so long. Bag End seems like a home again, kept up as it should be. No more burnt meals. It's lovely, really."

Saradoc, only now truly interested, tilted his head to the side. "I've seen them running around town once or twice. What are their names again?"

"Lauren and Kate Tamsin," Frodo supplied.

"Our son is quite taken with Lauren, it seems," Esmeralda commented pensively. "Not that he would admit it. But I've been hearing an awful lot about their shenanigans around the East and West Farthings."

Frodo followed her line of sight to a table across the room, to Merry seated with Pippin and the Tamsin sisters. Pippin was talking excitedly, arms flapping about him. The group burst into laughter, Kate throwing her head back and hugging her arms to her chest in amusement, Lauren placing a hand on Merry's shoulder, turning to snicker against him. Merry pat Lauren's sandy-colored hair through his own laughter. Kate turned a little, trying to catch her breath, and their eyes caught for just a moment. It didn't matter that she was on the complete opposite side of the room, he felt his breath catch in his throat as she flashed him a brilliant smile. He realized then that he could easily watch her like this all night, for he loved when she smiled at him like that. But then the moment was over, because she was turning her attention back to Pippin, who was now demonstrating something by making a tower out of empty tankards.

"It figures," Esmeralda continued on, "That the one lass my son shows any interest for is the one I hardly know anything about."

"Now, now, Esme," Saradoc tutted. "Pouting doesn't suit you."

Frodo, not at all liking where the conversation was headed, toward engagements and marriages and probably his own interest in lasses, quickly took his leave with some mumbled, polite excuse.

I nearly jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder but laughed it off when I saw it was only Frodo. "Oh! I'm sorry, Frodo. I didn't hear you."

"She was too engrossed in my story, she was," Pippin boasted. "Told you it would scare you."

Lauren reached across the table to smack Pippin on the arm. "She's hardly scared of your childhood goblin hunts."

"Oi!" Pippin squeaked, giving her a frown. "Those goblins were terrifying I'll have you know!"

"Not to mention completely imaginary," she retorted with a laugh.

Pippin puffed up, indignant at that. "Yes, yes, it may be funny now… but back then they were terrifying."

"Sure, sure, Pip, whatever you say."

Frodo was giving me an interesting look, one I couldn't interpret. One of concern, possibly, or one of contemplation. I couldn't be sure. All I knew was that it was completely at odds with the cheery atmosphere of the party, at odds with his earlier mood. I laid a hand on his arm, the fabric of his shirt soft to the touch. "Is something wrong?" I asked.

He shook his head, seeming to come out of it a bit. He gave a small smile. "No, just thinking."

But even still, his smile didn't reach his eyes. I couldn't quite bring myself to believe him. "Are you sure?"

He shrugged a little in defeat. "I could use some air, I suppose."

I stood, grabbing my coat from the back of my chair and held out an arm. "Well then, Mister Baggins, would you care to escort me on a walk?"

This time the smile did reach his eyes, and he linked arms with mine. "Wouldn't dream of having you go alone, lass."

For some odd reason, I felt a sudden jolt of nervousness. It felt like we were being watched. I turned slightly and saw Bilbo from his place across the room with Merry's parents, his pointed smile. He held up a toast in our direction. That was when I realized that it was the judgment, the insinuation that was making me nervous, far more than Frodo alone could ever make me. All I could do was give Bilbo a small wave as we left.

It was a relief to be out in the cold winter air. The snow underfoot chilled my toes to the bone, but it was now preferable to the confinement, and judgment, that was inside. I couldn't help but wonder if this is what had been bothering Frodo. At his now relaxed demeanor, rolling his shoulders with a relieved sigh, it certainly seemed like it.

"Is there anywhere you would like to go?" he asked, his breath swirling white about him.

"Not anywhere in particular."

"Would you care to accompany me home, then?" he questioned, blue eyes probing.

"And leave the party early? Would that be all right?"

"Certainly. Not like we'd be too missed. Your sister is in the company of my cousins, Uncle Bilbo will be drinking with my Uncle Saradoc until the early morning, and the rest of my family will be too distracted by the late night supper to notice our absences for some time yet. I made the obligatory rounds of 'hello's' and 'how do you do's'." He suddenly seemed uncertain. "Unless you want to stay…"

I shook my head. "Come on then," I cut in brightly, leaving no room for argument as I pulled on his arm, propelling us down the lane.

Snow crunched underfoot as we walked. The night sky was cloudy, looking as if it was going to start snowing again at any moment. Snow is the same everywhere. Middle Earth, home, it doesn't matter. I'm thankful for at least some things being the same.

Frodo's voice brought me out of my reverie. "Are you happy here?"

The question was so sudden I had to catch myself. He didn't mean 'here' as in Middle Earth, compared to home, as I am so used to thinking about. After all, he still doesn't know my true origins. Nor am I sure when it would be a good time to tell him. If at all. But he's been so good to us, so the secrecy hardly seemed fair.

"Of course I'm happy here," I said honestly. "I'm happier than I've been in a long, long time."

"I've been wondering… if you and Lauren have decided to leave and travel again. Especially now that your injury is fully healed." Biting his lower lip, flashing me a sidelong glance… If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was actually nervous about my answer.

So he's worried that we're going to leave. That revelation threw me for a loop, just a little. It's nice to hear since I don't really want to leave. "Mister Baggins," I said teasingly, "Is this your way of telling me you want me to stay?"

He flushed a little, cheeks reddening ever so slightly. But perhaps that's just due to the cold. "Yes, it is," he admitted. "If you do decide to travel again, I would ask if I could accompany you. I've always wanted to travel. However, I wouldn't feel right leaving Bilbo here alone."

"He hardly takes care of himself as it is," I agreed with a small smile. "I guess it's a good thing Lauren and I weren't planning on going anywhere, then."

He seemed a bit relieved, but not completely. "Still…"

I came to a halt, and our arms were still linked, which caused him to stop as well. "Where would we possibly go?"

He glanced down at me and sighed, as if his thoughts should be obvious. "You must have seen so much of the world traveling. Bilbo has many stories of his travels and is very proud of them. Just because you and your sister have not spoken of your travels much doesn't mean you haven't had some adventures of your own. Magic, elves, dwarves… I wouldn't ask you to stay… wouldn't want to keep you from that, if that's what you truly wanted."

The guilt at those words made my heart clench. We have been here for months yet we have kept who we are and where we're from a secret. Lauren and I, we're not liars, never have been. It's not who we are. All I want to do is tell him the truth. Tired of the lies… of dancing around the subject. If only one person knew the whole truth. Because the entire time we've been here, I haven't been me, not really. I've been too busy trying to not bring attention to myself. But I'm done pretending.

"We have traveled a long way," I said. "I'm not even sure how we got here. But Frodo, if you knew what Lauren and I have been through, where we've come from… you will think we're crazy."

He seemed to understand the feeling, if his yeah, right smile and the shake of his head was anything to go by. It's not all that surprising, I guess. It's popular opinion that the Bagginses are a little odd, ever since the journeys abroad turned Bilbo into a 'crackpot.' Frodo is often seen as the poor, misunderstood ward that has picked up some of his uncle's eccentric tendencies. I guess it makes sense he knows better than to jump to conclusions based on appearances.

"I'm not going to judge you," he said slowly. "I'd be willing to listen, if you ever want to tell me."

His sincerity was palpable. I gasped sharply as his fingers cupped my cheek. Cold, cold fingers. I grabbed them with my gloved hands, rubbing them a bit to get some warmth back into them. "Perhaps this is a conversation best left to have indoors, huh? Look at me, keeping you outside this time of year."

The rest of the long walk back to Bag End was quiet. I didn't know what to say. And, Frodo, well… I knew he sensed my anxiety, if his worried looks were anything to go by. As we walked into the hobbit hole, stomping the snow off our cold feet on the entrance hall rug, I said quickly (before I could change my mind), "We have not been completely honest with you."

He seemed taken aback, eyebrows furrowing. At the hurt in his expression, I continued earnestly, "It's not because we wanted to lie to you. We just didn't know how to explain the situation. We haven't been able to understand it. And we figured – how can anyone here believe us, if we can barely believe it ourselves?"

I could sense his weariness. But to his credit Frodo didn't really say anything, just listened with a stony silence as he led the way into the den and started to pile up logs in the fireplace. He was withholding judgment until I'd finished saying what I had to say, just as he promised. I was thankful for that. It's not easy being told you've been lied to. That must be especially so when it comes from a person you've shown such kindness, and even welcomed into your home when they needed it most.

Taking a deep breath, I took the plunge. "I don't really know how to say this, but… Lauren and I… we're travelers, but not travelers in the way you think we are. We're not from here — we're not from Middle Earth."

He stilled and turned to face me slowly, the beginnings of a fire just starting to crackle behind him. It was as if he was certain he heard wrong. "What do you mean?" he asked, and it sounded like he had trouble getting the words out.

Jesus, this is probably one of the most difficult things I've ever had to explain. "I mean exactly that – we're not from here," I said, and pointed at the map of Middle Earth Bilbo had hanging on the back wall, "Or anywhere on there."

His gaze drifted to the map I was motioning to and the puzzled furrow of his brow was immediate. "You're from Valinor?" he asked in disbelief. "But that can't be possible."

Oh, that would be the logical conclusion, wouldn't it? That we'd be from the Haven across the sea — that mystical place the elves go when they leave Middle Earth. But sadly this whole shit show's been anything but logical.

I shook my head. "No, not Valinor. We're from a place called New Hampshire. It's in a country called the United States of America — the land of the free, home of the brave, yadda yadda. Us coming here, we don't really know how it happened. It was all so sudden. We just woke up here one day – that was the day you found me, you know. I woke up in the middle of that forest, no idea where I was or how I got there, feet injured from gymnastics the night before, stumbling around for hours like a lunatic and swearing like a sailor, and that's when you found me." It felt like I said it all so fast, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a flood of what must've sounded like nonsense. But it seems he was able to catch what I'd said well enough, even if he didn't fully understand it.

He blinked a few times, was silent for several minutes. Head tucked down and watching the floor, he paced the length of the room with his arms crossed, turning what I'd said over in his mind. His steps were slow, purposeful. The quiet – his silence – was killing me. I could feel the anxiety building up within me, with the dread slowly burning a hole in my stomach. I wanted to know what was running through his head. The easy, peaceful life Lauren and I could have lived through his ignorance – with the lies – was flashing before my eyes, and I suddenly had to wonder if telling him was the right decision. I could picture all too well the anger at our lies, or placation, forced smiles, and whispers behind hands as the people around us began to think us insane.

But he just rubbed his face as he tilted his head back with a hollow, humorless laugh. "I… wasn't expecting that."

"Sounds crazy, doesn't it?"

"Aye," he admitted. He turned toward me, frowning. I was worried what that frown meant. But then he said, "I don't… think I understand." Large blue eyes met with mine, an intense stare, as if he was trying to find the answers he sought simply by looking at me. With his pauses, it was obvious he was trying to speak his mind as delicately as possible. "This place you speak of… I have never heard of it. I don't think it exists. Yet… it must exist somehow if that is truly where you are from."

"Lauren and I don't understand it any more than you do. And where we're from, Middle Earth doesn't exist either." I didn't have the heart to tell him that I originally knew Middle Earth – even him – as part of a fictional story. It's a miracle Frodo is being as open-minded as he is. I couldn't help but think that mentioning the Lord of the Ring franchise from back home was a bad idea.

"So it was an accident… your coming to the Shire?"

"Yeah, pretty much. We didn't intend it." There was a growing sadness in his expression at those words. And I realized then it must seem like our friendship, Lauren and I staying in Bag End, was just a means to an end because we don't have a choice, and nothing more.

But that's not the truth, is it? Because even if we did have somewhere else to go, we wouldn't want to leave. Our new friends are truly an integral part of our lives now. "Our coming here has turned out to be a pleasant surprise. We've met a bunch of wonderful people that we never would've met otherwise," I explained.

He smiled at that, but the sad curiosity still lingered – I could see it in his gaze. Not that I could blame him. "This does explain some things," he admitted softly. Caught up in his own thoughts, he didn't elaborate. But I needed that explanation, to know what he was thinking about. There was still a part of me that doubted whether he truly believed me or not. I just had to ask.

"So you really believe me – well, believe us?"

"It is unbelievable. Enough to boggle the mind. But at the same time…" he said it all slowly, carefully, deliberately. I could practically see the gears turning in his mind; eyes alight with the possibility of such an incredible thing as he scanned every inch of my face. "I've met a lot of foreigners – Bilbo's friends from his travels. They have come 'round to visit on occasion. It's been a while since one of them have stopped by, but… you and Lauren have always been so, so… different from all of them. So many different stories… and how you always dodged our questions. It worried us, you know – me as well as our friends. We didn't quite know what to make of it."

"I'm sorry for lying to you all," I said again. "It's just, we didn't know what else to do. We didn't want to lie to you – we hated doing it. It's not who we are."

He grabbed onto my hand again, gave it a comforting squeeze as he let out a gentle laugh. "That much was obvious. I'm just glad it's something like this. We were imagining that awful things had happened to you and Lauren."

I couldn't help but cringe slightly at that. He caught it and began tracing the scars on the palm of my hand – the injuries from the tree a few weeks ago – with the tip of his index finger. "But something did happen to you, didn't it? In addition to… to, well, this travel."

What happened to Lauren and I – what our mother and coaches put us through – was difficult and unpleasant, yes. But, reflecting back on it now, perhaps the situation could've been much worse. I gave him a smile. "Enough happened. But it's okay. What we went through will be useful to us and worth it one day." I retracted my hand, deciding to leave the matter at that.

"You push yourself too hard sometimes," he said in reply, and I had a feeling he was thinking back to the training day he stumbled upon – the one where I fell from the tree. "You don't have to tell me what happened if you don't want to… but if I may request…"

Flashing him another smile I nodded, urging him to continue.

"Well, I was wondering if you would tell me about where you are from. What it's like. If you don't mind."

He seemed excited at the prospect of something new – and I had a sinking suspicion he also wanted to know more in order to validate my story. But that's fine. It's amazing he has been so accepting of it… or at the very least, that he heard me out.

Sheepish and holding his head in his hands, he continued, "Just, not tonight. I'd like to get used to the idea of this travel – that such a thing is possible. Thinking about it makes my head hurt a little. I know you are telling the truth – I feel it in my heart and I see it in the worry in your eyes – yet I can't seem to get the logic worked out in my head. I need some time to think about it all."

"I'm sorry it's all so complicated," I said, apologizing yet again. It felt necessary. Especially since Lauren and I still haven't been able to make heads or tails of why or how we arrived in Middle Earth, even after months of being here. "I'll tell you anything you want to know. When you're ready, of course."

With a nod he started to make his way back to his room to mull over my story, no doubt. And as I watched his retreating form, I knew something was missing. It just felt inadequate leaving things there. I couldn't leave things there. "Frodo," I called, and his name still felt so odd on my tongue – a part of me still couldn't believe this was all real. But it was. He was as real as the pain in my heart at the thought of the horrible things yet to come. As he turned, the fire highlighted his silhouette in the darkness of the room. He looked so lost, and in that moment I regretted saying anything to him. Knowing the truth about Lauren and I is a burden. I need him to know just how much I appreciate it and just how much I trust him with it. "Thank you for everything. Now that you know the truth, our fate is in your hands."

The small, close-mouthed smile he gave me right then was so familiar – one of the only expressions he shared with the actor that portrayed him in those movies. We shared an understanding in that moment. It was a step in the right direction. Even if that smile only served to remind me that I still had to keep some secrets from him. I can't tell him everything – certainly not about the Lord of the Rings franchise or of Tolkien.

After all, no one should know too much about their own future, right?