Chapter Two : Take Me to the Shire

"If you insist on smoking all of my pipe-weed in one setting, you could at least do me the courtesy of sharing."

Mia rolled her eyes, and reluctantly handed the pipe over from her place by the fire. She'd been traveling with Gandalf for a week now, if you could call it traveling. They'd barely made it three miles today. Her body had been kept in perfect health by the Valar's grace, but being healthy and being strong were two different things. Her first steps after waking up had been reminiscent of a newborn foal. She was shaky. She was weak. She fell over thrice. In the first half-hour.

Not her proudest moment.

She pulled her cloak in tighter around her shoulders to ward off the chill in the night air, and eyed the wizard across the fire speculatively. For someone who had supposedly spent decades on and off searching for her, he didn't seem particularly informed about her unique situation. It had taken three days of being called "my dear" before she'd realized he didn't even know her name. And his inquiries into her history had been few and far between.

Admittedly, they hadn't had the best first meeting.

When she'd opened her eyes for the first time, she'd screeched at the blinding light, arms flailing up in an effort to block it out. Arms that weren't any more coordinated than her legs had been. Yes, she'd knocked his hat off of his head with one arm, and smacked him in the nose with the other. Amelia hardly thought that justified his harsh covering of her mouth and command to cease her "mindless shrieking." At the time anyway. In hindsight, they had still been in goblin territory. Perhaps being quiet was prudent.

He'd explained later that her eyes were so sensitive because they'd never actually been used before. She'd been asleep since birth, trapped in that dark cave. It was common sense that her eyes would not be accustomed to light. That her arms and legs would be weak. That she couldn't walk a hundred feet before needing to sit down and catch her breath.

She'd been less shocked by all of that than she had been by the deep sideburns now apparent on the sides of her face, trailing down into a fine set of whiskers on her cheeks and chin. It wouldn't be obvious from a distance, the facial hair was the color of spun gold, only a shade or two lighter than her waist length curls (and weren't those a mess right now). She'd let it be. In the Before, she'd plucked a few unruly neck and chin hairs. Now, though, she wasn't quite sure if it would be termed sacrilegious of her to remove her facial hair. Wasn't it a mark of shame?

A week in, things were improving. It still took her almost an hour to walk a quarter mile, and her eyes still stung when the sun was at it's highest, but every day was better than the last. And she'd managed to find a stream to bathe in, and make a failed attempt at untangling her locks.

"Amelia."

And Gandalf knew her name now.

Mia lifted her eyes up to meet his. She wasn't sure how long she'd been staring at him, but it had apparently been long enough for him to notice and become bemused at her gaze.

"Sorry, Gandalf. Got lost in thought." She reached to take the pipe he offered. "I'm going to have to get my own pipe as soon as we reach, well, anywhere. This whole sharing thing isn't gonna work for much longer."

He huffed.

"As much as you smoke, we won't need to worry about that. My pipe-weed pouch will be empty in another week. If I'd known of your habits, I would have packed another two full pouches in the pack I prepared for you." That drew a laugh out of her as she wiped the stem with her cloak and put it to her mouth. "We haven't spoken about what your plans are, my dear."

"My plans?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Where are you planning on going? Living? Do you have family I can return you to?"

Lowering her gaze, Amelia pretended to be preoccupied with the pipe in her hand. She took a deep pull and bought herself some time with a smoke ring or two, quirking a smile when the ring reformed itself into a butterfly with a twitch of Gandalf's nose. She'd seen him do it more than once at this point, and had begun wondering which of the Valar was responsible for the Bewitched TV series, and whether or not Samantha's nose twitch had been inspired by the Maiar before her.

"I haven't given it much thought.." That was a lie. After her talk with Mahal, it hadn't taken her long to realize that she would be alone in this life. The Valar themselves had shown her the quest for Erebor while she slept. Her uncle was dead. Her cousins were dead. Would Dis welcome her just showing up and proclaiming herself family? This dwarrowdam who had lost everything?

"The Iron Hills, maybe? I mean, I probably need to find some other Dwarrow. I know the general attitude of the other races towards us tends to be pretty negative, right? So it would make sense to head toward a Dwarven settlement. So the Iron Hills? Or Ered Luin? I've got an Aunt that I've never met before in Erebor, I think, but I'm not sure about how she'd react to me showing up."

He nodded with furrowed brows. "The Iron Hills or Ered Luin are valid choices. However, I'm not sure if you'd want to go anywhere near Erebor at this point in time, considering the fact that it's currently occupied by a dragon."

Amelia froze.

"Smaug?"

"Ah, you know of him?"

"Y-Yes." She stuttered. "I was aware of the dragon, but I thought….the stories the Valar told me said…"

He interrupted with a hum. He'd made a habit of doing that anytime she'd mentioned any stories she'd been told about Middle Earth.

"The Valar told you exactly what you needed to hear, my dear." He gave her a pointed look. "Whatever information they provided you with was for your ears, and yours only."

"Right." Her reply was faint. "Gandalf?"

"Hmm?"

"What's today's date?" It was the first time she'd asked. Up until this point, she'd assumed everything she'd been shown was in the past. She'd been focused on herself all week, building up her strength, but what if…

He stared at her for a long moment, giving a pointed gaze at the pipe that was going out in her hand. She lifted it to her lips as he replied "It's September the third."

Amelia blew the smoke out of her nose, grounding herself in the sting of it as she asked "The year?"

"2939."

Gandalf had to round the fire and pound on her back to help her through the coughing fit caused by her shocked inhale. He was quick to take the pipe back from her after the coughing had stopped.

"I think you've had enough of this for now." He said, as he wiped the stem with his beard and returned to his bedroll across the fire. Leaning over, Mia grabbed her waterskin from her pack and took a swig, wishing desperately for something stronger, and wiped her chin. God, it was September of 2939. Seven months before the company was due to arrive on Bilbo's doorstep. The quest hadn't happened yet.

Thorin. Fili. Kili.

Her family was still alive.

And she knew what was going to happen. They'd told her. The Valar had told her what was going to happen. It wasn't just about familiarizing herself with Middle Earth. It was the future. It was a warning. Mia hadn't even realized she was crying until a handkerchief was offered to her by her companion. Taking it, she met his gaze.

"Take me to the Shire."

—

It took them almost three months to reach Bree.

Mia pushed herself, increasing her speed and endurance daily. She'd also begun a strength training regimen. One of her sons, Demitri, had been obsessed with wrestling as a teenager. For two straight years, he'd been sure that pro wrestling was his life's calling. She'd indulged him, buying every exercise machine and weight bench he'd wanted. Reading every book she could get her hands on about the mechanics of bodybuilding. Spending hours with him at the kitchen table, writing up schedules and menus with him to ensure he was going about things in a healthy way. That knowledge was now being put to use for herself.

She was broader in the hips and shoulders in this body, with shorter arms and wider feet. The very design of her frame screamed sturdiness. It was meant to be packed with muscle. She was going to fix that.

Gandalf seemed both intrigued and concerned at her new determination to get in shape, and advised caution in her weakened state. His eyes, however, had gained a glimmer of anticipation after their talk of Erebor and her subsequent demand to head to the Shire, and he did not attempt to stop her. At times, her antics even seemed to amuse him.

In the wilderness, improvisation was key. She had no machines to help her, but she had rocks, and trees, and most importantly, her own body weight. She'd gotten Gandalf to admit, during that first week, that Dwarrow bones were denser than the other races. Stronger. Harder to break.

Heavier.

She used that to her advantage.

And with every squat, every pull-up, every push-up, she thought of the opportunity she'd been given. With every lunge, every sprint, every interval count, she hardened herself with the knowledge that she would only have one chance. She had to be strong enough to survive the quest. She had to be strong enough to accomplish what she needed to.

She didn't know Thorin. Had never met him. Or Fili. Or Kili.

But she wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to. Mia had always loved the Hobbit. It had been her favorite story since childhood. The loss of the boys had never failed to make her tear up. The injustice of it. The thought that their mother would have to live the rest of her life with the knowledge that her luxury and comfort was bought with the blood of her brother and sons.

And now they weren't just words on paper. They were real. They were her family.

She'd been given this new life. But without them, she would be alone.

Amelia didn't want to be alone.

She comforted herself with the fact that she wasn't in that story. That was what had happened without her. She would be there this time. And she would do what she needed to fix things.

"You're pushing yourself too hard, Amelia."

If only Gandalf would shut his trap.

It wasn't the first time he'd confronted her on how strenuous her training regimen was. Normally, she just waved him off. But sitting in the Prancing Pony, still covered in sweat from her morning run around Bree, she wanted nothing more than to strangle the old codger with his own beard. Today was a test day. She'd been up before dawn, determined to see if she could push herself to finish a 10k in the hour she used to be able to.

She couldn't.

She'd finished the run, but it had taken her closer to two hours She'd failed, and now he was rubbing it in her face over breakfast.

"I'm fine, Gandalf." She wasn't. But he couldn't see the compression bandage she'd fashioned around her shin, and there was no reason to point it out to him. She knew she needed a break. She'd pushed herself too hard, too fast, and now her legs were paying the price. She'd have to lay off running for a while. The last time she'd had shin splints, it had taken her a good two months to heal from them. Of course, that was in the Before. She was hopeful dwarves healed faster than humans.

"I'm sure you are, my dear. I would, once again, advise caution." He huffed as finished his meal and pushed the plate away. "However, as you've ignored all of my warnings so far, I think I'll save my breath."

She snorted around her bacon and eggs, casting her eyes around the room. They been fortunate in their travels so far, but they'd kept mostly to the wilderness. Bree was the first actual town they'd stopped in. Already, Mia had felt the stares. The dislike.

She'd been excited to enter the iconic Prancing Pony for the first time. Excitement that had quickly ebbed when the innkeeper had attempted to charge her twice what Gandalf had told her to expect. She'd refused on principle, ready to sleep on the ground for another night, and walked away. When she'd met up with Gandalf again and relayed what happened, he'd sent her on her way to the market to peruse while he returned to the Pony to secure a room.

Even now, she could feel eyes on her. A hobbit at the bar. A couple of unsavory men in the corner of the room. The barmaid that was currently walking over to refill their ale. She'd never felt so scrutinized in her life, and that was saying something. If she'd thought the DHS interviews and home studies were thorough, they had nothing on the constant dissection she'd been under since they'd stepped foot in town. To them, she was a criminal, a lowlife, simply by virtue of her race.

"Why haven't I seen any dwarrow in town, Gandalf?" She questioned quietly, gaze sill scanning the room. "I didn't expect any to live here, but isn't Bree supposed to be a major crossroads? Surely there should be travelers."

"There are, dear. However, most passing caravans tend to camp outside the walls and only enter to do business. I'm sure you can understand why." There was pity in his eyes. She rolled hers in turn, and dodged the hand he attempted to place on hers in sympathy. She thought she'd broken him of that months ago.

"Can't teach an old dog new tricks." She muttered to herself as she grabbed her ale and leaned back in her chair.

"What was that, my dear?"

"Nothing." She replied, hiding a small smile behind her glass. She swore his sigh of irritation made even her aching shins feel better. "So they're just staying away?"

"It is wintertime, child. I thought for sure you would have noticed the time passing. If not that, then surely the considerable amount of snow that we've trudged through these last few weeks would have been a solid clue." He looked down his nose at her. "Which brings me to my next point. This winter is proving to be mild, but to travel the last leg of our journey now would be inadvisable. I've made arrangements with the inkeep to extend our stay."

"Inadvisable?" She growled with a raised brow. "You said you'd take me where I wanted to go. I need to get to the Shire." She kept her voice low, despite her desire to yell at him. There was no need to broadcast their conversation to the whole inn.

"And why is that? Hmm? You have not yet given me a reason as to why you are so determined to bed down in Hobbiton." He was fishing. Very well. She'd throw out a line.

Amelia leaned forward over the table and queried, "Was this the table you sat at with Thorin when you met earlier this year?"

He didn't look surprised. She hadn't expected him to be. Instead, he nodded to himself and accepted the information she had just divulged. "So you are aware of the quest." He eyed her intently. "And you know that the Company will gather in Hobbiton. Though surely not exactly when and where?"

She nodded in answer to both, even though only the last was a question.

"I want to get there early, Gandalf. I need to go on this…" she paused to take a drink and glance around to make sure wandering ears hadn't gathered within hearing range. "this journey. I've thought it over. I've lived a full life. But, here in Middle Earth, I'm not of age yet. I won't be of age until mid March. If I go to Ered Luin, they won't allow me to leave, and you know it."

His face was impossible to read, but he had not disagreed with her yet, so she continued.

"You plan to foist that lot on his doorstep with nary a 'By your leave.' Amusing it may be to you, but things will go a lot smoother if he's not alone in all of this. If he has a friend by his side to support him. Someone who can 'bridge the gap', so to speak.

"And if that friendship helps you gain a foothold in the company? My dear, you are planning on using the Hobbit." Too late, she remembered the codger's affection for the race. What was it with him and hobbits, anyway?

"I'm not just using him to help myself, Gandalf. I do truly want to aid him. I want to be his friend. He's going to need one. When…." He was humming again. Apparently she was treading too far into things that were 'for her ears only.'

"You have got to find a different way to tell me to stop talking. That one is getting exceedingly annoying." She was not going to roll her eyes again. She wasn't.

"My dear, if my hair weren't already grey, traveling the past few months with you would've done it." His eyes twinkled at her as he downed the last of his ale and rose from his seat. "You wouldn't part an old man from one of the small things that brings him joy, would you?" He winked at her hanging jaw.

"Have it your way." He said, leaning down to place a hand on her shoulder, careful to keep it from touching the large dutch braid she'd managed to get her hair into the night before. "We leave in the morning. I will get you to Hobbiton, and set you up with lodgings before I leave." He sighed as his back straightened again, and he turned to head to his room.

She could've sworn she heard him mutter "Valar save me from the stubbornness of dwarves." as he walked away, but she could have been mistaken.

Just to be sure, she grabbed the barmaid's arm as she came to clear the table and told her "We'll be leaving tomorrow. Whatever arrangement he made to extend our stay needs to be cancelled."

She wasn't surprised when the woman yanked her arm away. But the barmaid's reply made her want to curse. "No arrangements were made, sir. I've already got the cleaning girl ready to air your room at noon on the morrow."

That old, grey lying sack of…..