Author's Note: I just want to thank those of you who took the time to review, favorite, and follow this fic. I hope this chapter does not disappoint. I have taken some liberties of incorporating parts of the book into this fic, though the plot will mostly be following the movie-verse. Please feel free to let me know what you think about characterization, pacing, grammar/spelling, etc. I'd love to hear from you.

Author's Note 2: Have I re-written the trolls countless times? Yes. Am I finally satisfied with this chapter? No :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing except Laura.

It wasn't dream. It wasn't a dream.

As the last tendrils of sleep left me, that was all I could think. It wasn't a dream. This wasn't a dream either, I realized as I stared up at Bilbo Baggins' ceiling, under Bilbo Baggins' sheets, in Bilbo Baggins' body. This was real.

I could feel the tightness in my chest, my eyes stinging. I didn't bother trying to stop them when the tears started. I could feel my breathing turn ragged, my nose clogging but I couldn't stop. Crying was exactly what I had wanted to do all day yesterday and now I could let it out. I turned to bury my face into one of Bilbo's soft pillows. It was growing damp quickly, but I was more focused on the sobs that were spilling out now, curling my fingers desperately into the pillow, into the quilt, to ground myself.

I didn't feel any better once my tears finally abated. If anything, I felt worse. What rest I'd gotten last night had been sapped from me. My head was hurting now, my eyes puffy and sensitive, my nose still clogged. I took a deep breath through my mouth and stared at the golden warm sunlight that was streaming through the window.

I should get up, I told myself. But getting up meant an unfamiliar house, with curved walls and round doors. With a world outside that I didn't know. I shouldn't be here.

But I very much was.

It was a slow process. First, I had to gather the will and the strength to sit up. Then, I had to untangle my feet and swing them over the bed. I stared at them. They were just as big as I remember, with hair that was just as curly as the hair on Bilbo's head, that covered the top of my feet. The toes were big too, but at least they were hair-free. I wondered what Bilbo's shoes looked like. They must be even bigger that the dwarves' boots.

The hardwood floor was cool beneath my feet, but not in a bad way. It was only when I'd finished shifting my feet, finding my balance, that I heard a noise from down the hall. I froze. It wasn't anything like what the dwarves had been like, last night. A few more noises followed, just as quiet. It reminded me of my dad when he tried so hard to get ready for work without waking me, growing up.

That alone was enough to carry me down the hall – which was now empty, the dining table back where it'd started- and peer around the doorway to the kitchen.

It was Gandalf.

The kitchen fire was lit again, I could see it even in the bright morning light. Gandalf was bending over it, and when he straightened the tea kettle was in his hands. Our eyes met as he turned, and his face was soft as he looked me over. For a wild moment I thought he almost looked sorry.

"Good morning," Gandalf said pleasantly enough. He was pouring the hot water into the same teapot we'd used together yesterday. The kitchen table was clean of any food that Dwalin might've left behind. All that remained was the tea, and a few dish clothes.

My chin started to tremble and I could feel the tears rushing back for round two. Gandalf noticed too, and abandoned the tea he was pouring to bend over me. A moment later a too-large hand was running through my hair, my curls. I was surprised to find it was enough to stop my tears. I reached up to wipe at my eyes and Gandalf's hand retreated.

"Come, my dear," Gandalf said gently, and I was grateful to find he seemed in no real rush to remind me of our deal. "Have some tea."

Gandalf ushered me into the kitchen and I found myself back in the same seat as the day before, when Gandalf had first found me. The tea in front of me was still steaming, and there was a little bowl of sugar too. Gandalf made a satisfied noise and disappeared again, around the corner that would lead to the bedroom.

The tea did make me feel better, which was irritating. But at least my headache was receding.

By the time I'd finished my cup and poured a second, Gandalf returned. In one hand he had a few pieces of clothing, one a forest green, the other a deep burgundy. When he held them out to me, I took them without thinking too much of it. In his other, he had what looked like a hiking backpack in his hand, one made out of leather, the edges of the flap were embroidered with more leather, dyed a dark green as were the pockets on each side. It was a beautiful piece, even I knew that much.

I could also see that the pack was very clearly full. There was something that looked like a sleeping bag.

My heart dropped, my fingers clenched deep into the jacket. I forgot all about my tea. I was back on my feet before I realized it.

"Gandalf," I said, and I couldn't keep the tremble out of my voice, "Please. I want to go home. Can't you ask-"

What were they called? Valor? Valar? Gandalf spoke as if he knew them. I had to ask him to try.

Gandalf abandoned the pack in the doorway, and was in front of me now. He looked old again, older than he should.

"It is not in my power," Gandalf said, and he did sound sorry about it, "nor my place to question them. They have made it clear, have they not?"

I turned my head away, to stare at the golden light in the window. I couldn't argue that. I'd asked for time, for tomorrow, and tomorrow was here. And so was I.

"But Bilbo," I said, feeling a little sick and more than a little uneasy, "Is he – shouldn't he be," I paused and collected myself, then, reaching up and pressing a hand against my chest, "Is he here?"

How was this working, exactly? Was I, what? Possessing him? Could he see and hear me? Did he know?

"No," Gandalf said, and I let out a rushing sigh, relieved. "You are alone, Laura."

I thought over that more and I could feel a frown pulling at my mouth. I said carefully, "But you said you were looking for him, when you came here." Gandalf nodded and I continued, "Isn't he meant to be the one who- well."

"In truth," Gandalf said, thoughtfully, "I did not think much of it. Yes, I chose Bilbo Baggins, because I believed it would be very good for him and," Gandalf stopped, looking almost like he was going to smile, and then added, "very amusing for me. And that he would be perfectly suited. But with you here, I realize now that whatever importance I thought this task held is far more reaching than I considered."

Gandalf's task. He meant-

"This mountain," I started but realized quickly I didn't know how to continue. I didn't know what to ask, how to make sense of it.

"Erebor," Gandalf corrected. His eyes were bright as they considered me. Gandalf seemed to decide on something, but what I didn't know and said, "The greatest of the dwarf kingdoms of Middle Earth. Many years ago, it fell to a great calamity. It has not been reclaimed since."

I thought that over, thinking back to last night, the cheers I'd abandoned when I'd run away to hid. I asked, "The dwarves, that's where they're from?"

"Most," Gandalf said with a nodded. Then another look of amusement passed over his face, "Thorin is of the royal line and heir to the throne. Should we be successful, the mountain will return to him."

Thorin was royalty. This was sounding more and more like a fairytale. A lost prince reclaiming his kingdom.

"Why Bilbo?" I wanted to know. There was a loveliness to the Shire, a peacefulness that I could now see looking back at what I'd seen yesterday. Bilbo's home was just as lovely, very obviously well loved, and well used.

"Hobbits are amazing creatures," Gandalf said, and I was surprised by how fond he sounded, "Hardy good-natured folk, who are most at ease at home. Most do not bother with cleverness, but Bilbo inherited a great deal of it from his mother. Hobbits, too, are also skilled at remaining unseen if they wish, better than any other. They have a certain magic about them. I have no doubt this magic now extends to you."

Magic. Magic.

Well, it was hard to dispute it when I was a very obvious example of it.

"Why," I asked, after mulling over Gandalf's words and finding my next thread to pull at, "is that important?"

Gandalf was watching me again. There was something sharp in his gaze, like he was pulling back my layers, taking stock. I knew he'd chosen his next words carefully as he said slowly, "Erebor has been long been abandoned. There are many eyes that are turned to it now. Some with hope, others with darker intentions. Its position in the world would mean strength for those who hold it. And their allies."

Gandalf cleared his throat and explained, "The mountain will be difficult to enter. And it will be even more difficult to remain unseen. That is where you will take up Bilbo's task."

"You want me to get into a mountain?" I asked slowly. That sounded very simple for all that Gandalf kept stressing the importance of me being here. Of taking up Bilbo's place.

"That will be the first of it, yes," Gandalf agreed easily, "But your real work will begin once you are inside. Thorin's line is one that is meant to rule over all dwarves. There are seven dwarf kingdoms and Erebor is their peoples' summit. And the symbol of their right to rule is the Arkenstone."

"Arkenstone," I repeated, hoping to commit it to memory.

"The heart of the mountain," Gandalf went on, voice now suddenly very low, very solemn. "A great jewel that it is said holds the very magic of the mountain."

Magic again.

It sounded deceptively easy. I wondered if Gandalf was purposefully spinning it that way.

"So, go to the mountain, get the Arkenstone," I said slowly, disbelief coloring my words now. "That's across the world."

"Yes," Gandalf confirmed, his voice soft, "I'm afraid so. When the mountain was lost, ill-fortune continued to shadow their every step. It took many years for the dwarves to resettle and they did so without aid. Not from their neighbors. Nor from their kin. They eventually settled not very far from the Shire, in the Blue Mountains, to the west. And they have held onto hope that they would find their way home, one day."

Like I was now, I thought. I wanted to go home, too. Didn't that matter?

It was beginning to become clear that it didn't.

"Once we're done," I said, making sure to meet Gandalf's eyes. I tried very hard not to think about how long that would take. Days, weeks, months. I didn't think I could handle the real number. I'd just have to be patient. "I'll get to go home too? And Bilbo? What about him?"

"I imagine so," Gandalf said thoughtfully, "I suspect Bilbo will have a new part to play. There is still much yet to unfold."

I was nowhere near happy about it, but it would have to do.

And maybe, just maybe, this was still a dream. I might still get to wake up, after all.

"Now," Gandalf said, reaching into the folds of his robe. When his hand reemerged, there was a folded piece of parchment between his fingers. "There is one more matter we must address."

Oh, yeah sure. What was one more at this point?

Gandalf held it out to me, and I accepted it gingerly. When I opened it, it unfolded like a waterfall and didn't stop until it reached the ground. Like the map, I didn't recognize any of the characters, any of the writing.

"What is this?" I asked, though I really didn't want to know.

Gandalf gently tapped the edge of the document. "Your contract. With the dwarves."

Contract?

"You will be under their employ," Gandalf continued to explain blithely. My doubt, which returned full-force at his words must've shown on my face because Gandalf added, "but that does not mean you will be beholden to them. Quite the contrary, they will be responsible for your well-being, as will I. I have made an addendum that makes that quite clear, I assure you. All you must do is retrieve the Arkenstone."

"I," I said as my eyes raced over the contract a second time. None of the words were familiar. Not even close to what I knew. Something like panic was sparking in me now, "I can't read it."

Gandalf looked genuinely surprised. Then his face changed into something softer, "It includes your role, and your duty. It also sums what will be due to you, once business is concluded."

I could feel my eyebrows rise, disbelief overtaking the feeling of hopelessness that had made its home in my chest. That was very little put into a lot of words. "And that's all?"

"There is, of course, a great deal of speculation on unlikely events," Gandalf said genially. I didn't find any comfort in it. "And how those might be handled. But I can assure you, there it is nothing to fear."

Suddenly, there was a hand on my shoulder, heavy and warm. I glanced up to find Gandalf bent over me, eyes bright and expression soft. "Laura," I inhaled sharply, "I will look after you."

I could feel my eyes welling up again. I wanted to demand that he promise, but I knew how childish that would sound. I nodded instead.

Gandalf then pulled a quill and inkpot from his sleeve. I stared, suddenly tired again.

I looked down at the contract and found the blank space beneath what looked like two other signatures. This was it. I turned to Bilbo's table and smoothed out the parchment. I took a deep breath. And then another. And then a thought occurred to me.

I turned back to Gandalf and asked feeling suddenly lost again, "Should I sign it as Laura? Or as Bilbo?"

Gandalf watched me, eyes filled with sympathy. "As Bilbo, if you please."

"Right," I agreed, feeling very tired. That was who I was now.

There was an awkward moment where I wasn't sure how to hold the quill, automatically holding it in my left hand but something about it didn't feel right. I switched between the two before I realized that Bilbo was right-handed. Could this get any worse?

I took it slow, watching as the ink blotted and the curves of my letters became shaky. I lifted the contract up so Gandalf could see my signature. "Is this alright?"

"Yes," Gandalf said softly. "Quite."

The paper was plucked from my fingers and I watched as Gandalf blew gently over the ink before folding it back up -with surprisingly dexterous fingers- and tucked it away into his robes. I glanced down to find the ink and pen already gone. I narrowed my eyes. How had he done that?

"Now," Gandalf said more cheerfully than I thought was warranted, "Shall we?"

I fumbled with the new clothes Gandalf had given me. Gandalf, meanwhile, turned to take my pack and together we made our way to the front door.

Wait. I stopped suddenly, halfway through buttoning the green honest-to-God waistcoat.

"What about this place?" I asked, feeling guilt twisting in my chest. "Bilbo's home?"

"There is an understanding among hobbits." Gandalf said, placing a hand between my shoulders to shepherd me the last few steps towards the door. "An unspoken propriety. No one will touch Bag End."

Oh, I thought to myself. Well, at least that's one less thing- on a list of at least a dozen- I had to worry about.

Speaking of.

"What about shoes?" I asked next as Gandalf pulled open the door. Gandalf actually laughed.

Gandalf spend our walk down the hill explaining that hobbits had never needed nor wanted shoes. Their feet were sturdy, more so than even the best made boots. I thought it over as we walked together deeper into town, I couldn't help but glance at those we passed: farmers pushing wheelbarrows, pretty curly-haired women with baskets, small children calling to each other across the road. None of them were wearing shoes. But many of them were staring. At us. I did my best to ignore the stares, avoiding eye contact with everyone we passed. I tried not to wonder if any of them were Bilbo's family. His friends. If they'd worry about him while we were gone.

We crossed a, frankly, picturesque bridge to a large free-standing building. Iin front of it, already mounted on ponies, were the dwarves. This must be the inn.

"Good morning," Balin called from atop his pony, looking relieved.

Thorin, next to him, looked annoyed. "You are late."

I stopped, a little gobsmacked. That was precisely what I'd said to Thorin the night before. Surely, it was coincidental. Thorin was already turning his pony away, calling to the others to fetch me my own pony. Oh, my God, it was on purpose. What a little-

Dwalin was the one to push through the herd with a small creature in tow, a little brown pony with a golden mane. Dwalin stopped directly in front of me and stared. I stared back. I wondered if this was going to become our thing.

I'd only ever ridden a pony, or even a horse, once, as a child at the county fair. That pony actually looked a lot like this one, come to think of it. I had a feeling this news wouldn't be well received so instead I asked, "Does it have a name?"

Dwalin looked surly but he did answer, "Myrtle."

Myrtle? Adorable.

I accepted the reigns from Dwalin when he held them out. My first sneeze came just as Dwalin turned away.

Gandalf waited patiently with me, after he handed me my pack, as I tried to climb onto Myrtle's back. It took me two tries, but at least I didn't fall.

By the time I'd found an angle that was only partially uncomfortable, Gandalf was already on his own horse and the rest of the ponies were moving.

This was really happening. I still couldn't wrap my mind around it.

Gandalf stayed true to his word, as the day progressed. We stayed at the back of the line the ponies had fallen into. There was, perhaps, a little more distance between us and any of the others, but I suspected that was on purpose. Gandalf's voice was low as he explained we would need to keep our situation quiet. I was absolutely not going to argue. It stayed low as he told me more about hobbits, and the Shire. I tried my hardest to listen. I was a hobbit, even though it didn't feel like it. I didn't think I could pretend, act, but I could at least have some idea of what Bilbo and his people were.

By the time Gandalf moved on to teaching me the dwarves names, I was sneezing with regularity. Bilbo, I figured out quickly, was allergic to horses. It was between sneezes- Gandalf would pause every time another erupted, which was strangely considerate- that we'd worked out a strategy to remember them. The names rhyming was helpful, but so was a physical description. After we had lunch, which we didn't stop for but instead food was thrown between ponies, Gandalf was quizzing me. When we'd stopped for the night, I was flushed with pride as Gandalf confirmed I'd finally had them down.

Myrtle, the perfect little thing, stopped without any guidance from me. And she stayed still as I eased myself out of the saddle and onto my feet. She didn't even mind when I doubled over, pain swelling suddenly in my legs, my hips, my back. I let out a hiss. Myrtle nickered back softly.

I could feel tears prick at the back of my eyes. I rested my forehead against Myrtle's next and bit back another sneeze.

I wanted to go home.

Someone was speaking behind me, repeating something, and it wasn't until I felt a hand on my shoulder that I realized they were saying Bilbo's name.

Turning, I found Bofur, the dwarf with the hat.

"Alright there, Master Baggins?" Bofur asked, not quite cheerful, but certainly more friendly than I expected.

"I'm sorry Bofur, I didn't mean to," Ignore him. I needed to work on listening for Bilbo's name. It was all I was going to hear for the next – I didn't know how long. I switched tracks and said, "Thank you for asking. I'm fine."

If Bofur was bothered by my unintentional rudeness, or how I was fumbling with my words, he didn't show it. Instead, he asked almost conspiratorially, "Is this the first time you've ridden?"

I let out a huff. "Is it that obvious?"

"Well," Bofur said thoughtfully. I watched his eyes flit between me and Myrtle. He was making it very obvious that he was taking in that I was using Myrtle to prop me up. It felt companionable, almost.

I could feel my lips twitch up in spite of it all. Bofur looked pleased.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

My opinion took a complete one-eighty that night, when we were all spread out to sleep. Nori had been assigned first watch- something, apparently, we'd all have to do at some point, which I was dreading – and the others were quick to fall asleep.

I was not.

The dwarves snored. Every single one of them. And not a soft snuffle, the way Hayley would after a drink or two, but real unmistakable rumble, snorting, whistling. And with thirteen of them it was chaotic. Impossible to find a rhythm to drown out.

When I woke the next morning, I was in tears. I'd woken up on the hard ground, the noise of the others waking too. I was not back home. I was not anywhere I recognized. If this was a dream, it was the longest one yet.

The next few days fell into the same pattern. We'd rise and I'd cry a little, eat breakfast, pack up, ride, make camp, repeat. Sometimes Gandalf and I spoke but just as often he left me to my own thoughts. And sometimes, in the evening, I'd be given a duty like refilling the waterskins or collecting firewood. Largely, though, the days blurred together, almost monotonous in a way. It made it very hard not to let my mind, my heart, turn back to hope. That this was a strange dream. That it was almost over.

Bree was actually what shifted something in me. Shifted me out of the dream-like feeling into something sharper. I was surprised by it, mostly because it looked so – plain. Heavily walled and almost rundown looking, even from our distance as we circled it. The buildings were dark against the hills behind it, the forest on another side. It was the last settlement of men in the West, Gandalf said when we all came to a stop for the dwarves to weigh our options, and charming enough in its own way.

It looked real. More real than Gandalf, than the dwarves, than the Shire. It looked like a town that could have existed back home. If not further into the past.

So, when the dwarves decided that we wouldn't be stopping, thorny disappointment wrapped around my heart. Gandalf, next to me, seemed to catch it immediately. There was something soft in his face when our eyes met.

"Perhaps we could," Gandalf started, and I felt my heart flutter in excitement.

"What experience," Thorin said, very close. His pony was now only a few feet away. I hadn't even noticed him but, given how his eyes roamed over me – a little too critically to not feel hurtful – he'd noticed my face too. "Could your hobbit have, Gandalf, if he considers Bree worldly?"

Thorin was looking at Gandalf now, not at me. The others around us were very pointedly not looking at us, which of course meant they were listening to our every word. Hurt and irritation were brewing, swirling, low in my stomach. I didn't even hear what Gandalf said in return, as I was concentrating on biting my tongue. It would be so satisfying to kick Thorin off his horse. Bilbo's strange too-big sturdy feet could probably manage it.

When we continued on, Gandalf joined Thorin and Balin at the front. I didn't mind. My disappointment felt heavy, and I knew any attempts Gandalf made to try and soothe me would only make it worse. Was this what this task would be? Endless riding? Endless wilderness? It was a depressing thought.

"Master Baggins," someone said next to me. I was pleased that I'd recognized right away that they were speaking to me.

I turned, and found Fili and Kili. When I offered a hello, I knew it sounded flat.

"No need to look so down," Kili told me, voice bright. I stared. I wondered if he was trying to cheer me up.

Fili made a soft noise from where he was riding on Kili's other side. "Aye, a bit dreary, they say. Uncle's never been much impressed by it."

That was very obvious.

And it was also obvious now that they were trying to make me feel better. It was as kind as it was unexpected. Fili and Kili were young, according to Gandalf. I was surprised they were making any effort at all.

"I suppose," I told them, feeling a little more magnanimous. But I couldn't stop myself from glancing back over my shoulder at where Bree had disappeared behind the hills.

"Your Shire's far nicer," Kili said, and he seemed to mean it.

I could feel a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. If I was actually Bilbo, if I was actually from the Shire, I suspected it would've worked.

"Thank you," I told him but was stopped from saying anymore by Gandalf's sudden reappearance.

Gandalf's horse had fallen back and rejoined me on my other side. When his horse caught to Myrtle's pace, Gandalf cleared his throat pointedly. When I turned to look, Gandalf's face was far sterner than usual, his mouth a thin line, his brows furrowed.

Fili and Kili took that as their cue. I was impressed by their instinct. When they got halfway up the line they both glanced back. I held up a hand and waved.

They didn't approach me again, not that day nor the days after. And before I knew it, the monotony had turned the days into a week. It felt different though. Everything felt a little sharper, now that I'd seen Bree. Gandalf took advantage, offering me more details about Middle Earth, about the places in the world, about the people, and the things, that lived there.

It was sooner than I'd liked, getting a taste of the things Gandalf told me about.

We had set up camp one night up high on one the new hills, the fire crackling and dinner cleaned up. I'd found myself next to Gloin, and when he'd pulled out a locket with two lovely portrait sketches, I surprised myself – and I think even Gloin- by asking about them.

Gloin had a son only a little younger than Fili and Kili by the name of Gimli who, I learned quickly, was the apple of his father's eye. What reservations, what standoffishness the dwarves had shown so far, Gloin had none of it. He regaled me with story after story of his son covering everything from his first steps, to his first sword-fighting lesson, to his work as a goldsmith to how he had only a few weeks ago sliced a log clean in half at fifty paces with a throwing axe.

I loved every second of it, which was unexpected, perhaps by both of us. Gloin's voice was pleasant and his accent would wax and wane whenever he got to different points in one of his tales. Gloin was so clearly passionate, it made me want to listen. When I asked questions, it seemed to please him and he always answered. It was unexpectedly soothing and I was very grateful for it. I hoped, perhaps, that he'd tell me more stories, maybe not just about Gimli.

When there was an unexpected lull, during which Gloin turned to argue with his brother Oin – I'd figured out early that this was a common occurrence- a scream ripped through the quiet of the wilderness.

Fear shot through me, cold and painful. I turned wordlessly towards Gandalf, eyes wide.

Gandalf seemed unconcerned next to me, not acknowledging me ,and continuing to puff at his pipe- as was his habit after dinner I had learned- but I could see several of the dwarves shift uneasily.

"Orcs," Kili said solemnly to his brother, by way of explanation.

"Throat cutters," Fili agreed calmly, eyes glittering as he watched Ori squirm uncomfortably. "There'll be dozens of them out there. The Lowlands are crawling with them."

Orcs. I remembered what Gandalf had said about them. Twisted, hateful, creatures that favored the darkness.

I pressed myself closer to Gandalf to lean against him to soak up some heat and maybe by osmosis some of his unflappability. Gandalf still paid me no real mind but he did run a quick hand through my curls. It was surprisingly comforting.

"They strike in the wee small hours of the morning," Kili continued, voice grave. But something was off about his expression, something in the way his lips twitched. "When everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet no screams, just lots of blood."

Kili turned to his brother, grinning. My eyes narrowed in suspicion. Yeah, definitely mischief.

"I fail to see what there is to jest about," Gandalf said, finally breaking his silence. The grins fell off their faces immediately, and everyone's attention turned to Gandalf.

"We didn't mean anything by it," Kili said, subdued.

Gandalf remained unimpressed. "Then you are either simpletons or fools." Gandalf blew several smoke rings before continuing thoughtfully, "Orcs in Eriador. They are here for a purpose. I believe we will find out for ourselves sooner rather than later."

I shivered. "They're looking for us?"

"Certainly," Gandalf replied which did nothing for my racing heart. "There is a great darkness in the world, Bilbo. Weak it may seem but far more patient than most. It has been waiting for this for a very long time."

"The portents have been clear," Oin argued, shaking his head. "It is time for our people to return home to Erebor. A few pithy orcs will not stand in our way."

Gandalf hummed noncommittally, returning to his pipe in clear dismissal.

The rest of the night was a depressing affair. There were very few words exchanged, save for assigning watch.

Gandalf's words stayed with me. I was certain I wasn't imagining the subtext of Gandalf's words as they continued to swirl in my head even after I had laid down to sleep. It wasn't just the reclamation of Erebor that was causing this. It was my arrival, too.

Darkness. I shivered. I should've been more angry, that this was the first I was hearing of it.

But all I could muster was hope, hope that we'd be able to avoid it. That Gandalf knew what he was doing.

One of us ought to.

!

Three days later, just after we started our ride for the day, it rained. And for three more days, it continued.

I was miserable. The only consolation I had was that the others were right there with me.

Even Gandalf was in a mood. I knew that was my fault. On the second day, Dori had asked if Gandalf could do something about the rain. Gandalf, with a lot more words than I thought was needed, told us to wait it out. And when I'd not-so-innocently asked why he wouldn't do anything, Gandalf- for the first time since we'd met- actually glowered at me.

And refused to talk to any of us until the rain stopped.

I only felt a little bad. Truthfully, I thought he sort of deserved it, given what he'd pulled me into.

Then, on the seventh morning, we finally caught a break. Literally. When we woke, the rain had stopped during the night, and for the first time in over a week we saw the sunrise.

It, really, only improved our mood a little. Mine even less so. Bilbo's hair, so different from mine, was curling outrageously as it dried and, I suspected, frizzing even worse. I had to keep my hands tucked between Bilbo's jacket and waistcoat to keep myself from running my fingers through it in a futile effort to tame it.

That evening, as our clothes finally started to dry, we spotted a place to camp up one of the hills: a ruin of a farmhouse. Only the blackened frame of the building remained, even the stone chimney had toppled over. But it didn't look like it had been caused by time. It looked more like the result of a fire. The forest around the building had yet to creep into what was left of it.

I was uneasy about where we had stopped and was immediately validated when Gandalf murmured next to me, "This place is not safe."

The others were already setting up camp and unsaddling the ponies. If any of them were bothered by this place, they didn't show it.

Gandalf handed me his horse's reigns and I watched wearily when he marched off determinedly to where Thorin was examining the house's frame. If the turning of Thorin's head was any indication, Gandalf was telling Thorin his concerns.

I glanced to my left. Balin had stopped next to his pony and was watching them too. I didn't have high hopes. Gandalf's stubbornness was in a league of its own. But, given what I'd seen of Thorin thus far, he had the potential to give Gandalf a run for his money.

When I looked up again to see how they'd progressed, Gandalf was storming past us all back down the hill. If I wasn't so shocked I would've been impressed by Thorin.

"Gandalf?" I called out, aware I sounded just as worried as I felt. "Where are you going?"

"To seek the company of the only one who has any sense," Gandalf replied over his shoulder, not bothering to slow down.

I shifted on my feet, uneasy. Desperately, I raised my voice so he could hear me, "Who?"

"Myself, Laura!" Gandalf shouted over his shoulder, voice carrying over the hill. He sounded angry.

Great.

"Laura?" Kili wondered from further to my right.

I heard Balin sigh next to me. Well, it was nice to have someone echo my own feelings.

Thorin abandoned the ruins, returning to the rest of us. He was frowning but it didn't seem to hold more anger than usual and that was a relief to see. "Come on, Bombur, we're hungry. Fili, Kili, you keep watch of the ponies."

And that was that. Thorin said nothing more to the rest of us as Balin moved to join him, no mention of what he had spoken of with Gandalf or any information on when Gandalf would return. I don't know what I expected.

Dinner was always awkward, there was no getting around it. That night was no different, other than perhaps it felt even worse than usual. Gandalf always stuck with me, which was far more soothing than I wanted it to be, but now he was gone. The others always gathered together like they had in Bag End, talking – sometimes in what Gandalf called Common, sometimes in the dwarvish language- and often laughing.

They all had family with them. Brothers, cousins, and in the case of Thorin, Fili, and Kili- which I still couldn't quite wrap my head around- uncle and nephews. There was something close to envy that bloomed every time I looked at them. Something like loneliness too.

And there was a chasm between us, the dwarves and me. I was strange, by almost every measure. Partly, I suspected, because Gandalf was trying to shield my unfamiliarity of this world from the dwarves. Despite their relative cordiality, the dwarves didn't seem to know what to make of me. I didn't know either.

I glanced down the path that Gandalf had disappeared down. He hadn't come back yet.

None of them seemed worried that Gandalf was gone. Or why he'd left. That made me more nervous, as if I was compensating for the others' indifference. I agreed with Gandalf. There was something wrong with this place. I wished I was able to articulate what.

"Alright there, Bilbo?" Bofur asked just as I had finished scraping out the last spoonful of stew in my bowl.

"Yes," I said, unsure of what else to say. "Thank you."

Bofur smiled, he was almost always smiling when we spoke. It actually seemed to be genuine, too. Bofur had two bowls in his hands, and held them out to me, "Do me a favor, would you? Take these to the lads."

On instinct I reached out to take the bowls, as Bofur continued, "Fili and Kili are still with the ponies."

"Of course," I said automatically, before I could think better of it. Wandering into a forest at night wasn't what I had in mind. "I'd be glad to."

I focused on keeping my breathing steady and not let my mind wander to what could be in the trees as I entered the forest. Fili and Kili's warnings about orcs from the other night was doing its best to take over my thoughts and the other's voices fading behind me as I moved further in didn't help.

Thankfully after a few minutes of walking and rounding a rather large tree I found the ponies. But, after a scan of the woods, no Fili or Kili.

I frowned, my hair standing up again. I scanned the woods again, hoping I had missed them the first time. I strained to listen to the forest around me, to hear their voices however faint, but still nothing.

Abandoning the bowls on a nearby fallen log, I pressed on through the undergrowth in the direction of the little stream that I had been directed to collect water as part of my duties for the night earlier that afternoon. When I got there, there was more sounds certainly, the stream burbling quietly in the night air. But all I found was one of the waterskins that I must've accidentally left behind. No Fili, no Kili.

I made my way back up the hill to the ponies, tying the waterskin around my waist. At least something had come of my search.

By the time I had returned to the ponies, who were still unbothered and still grazing, I was starting to get nervous. Where could they have gone? Had I missed them going back to camp? No, I decided. Dwarves, I was learning, were neither quiet by nature, nor particularly subtle. I was certain I would've seen them.

It wasn't until I started pacing that I finally found my first clue. I paused and stared into the inky dimness of the forest. I could see now that trees were uprooted and underbrush was flattened, in a way that was almost certainly deliberate. They seemed to form a strange trail, wide and leading up into the hills.

Dread had now come to keep me company and I had a feeling that I knew exactly where those two had gotten off to. Before I could think better of it, I followed the path. Then, after only a few minutes, I saw a light, orange and golden, bright against the dark greens and blacks of the forest.

A campfire?

I moved again, quicker than before, my feet stumbling beneath me. Why had they built their own fire?

It was Fili's golden hair that told me I'd found them. It was just a flash, due to the angle of the firelight in the distance, but it was more than enough for me to spot them. I frowned. Both Kili and Fili were there, sure, but not at all close to the fire instead ducked low by a fallen log, their backs to me.

They didn't turn to look at me as I approached, not until I was only a few feet behind them and hissed out, "What are you two doing?"

Fili and Kili both jumped and then, in a way that looked instinctual, went for their weapons. Fili actually managed to draw a knife, I heard the soft schnick of it leaving its sheath, as they turned. Kili was still fumbling for his bow.

They both froze when our eyes met, then breathed out at the same time, "Master Baggins?"

I waved. Then I repeated, "What are you two doing?"

Instead of answering, they lunged at me and I felt one of their hands clamp over my mouth before dragging me closer and depositing me between them.

"Keep your voice low, Master Baggins," Fili warned, face serious. "Look."

I frowned, confused, before turning back to the light. We were still back into the forest at a respectable distance so a great deal of the trees and undergrowth obscured it. It took me a few moments of staring before I clocked what I had first mistaken for shadows: three enormous figures, I could tell even from our distance, shaped almost like boulders, and moving around the light. And I could hear voices. What the-

"Trolls," Kili breathed out next to me.

Oh, he had better be joking. Before I could voice my thought, I was being hauled again. This time over the log and much, much closer to the firelight. I dragged my heels to try and slow them down but they seemed unfazed and didn't stop until we had reached just outside the camp's light. And that was when I realized that Kili had been completely serious.

There were three in total. All of them were tall and round with long arms, stumpy legs, and squashed faces. They were hideous. And then, suddenly I was hit with a wave of stench. Like rotting meat and hot garbage. Ugh they smelled.

"They took the ponies," Fili whispered, pointing to, yes, where four ponies had been stashed inside a makeshift enclosure. My heart dropped as I realized one of them was Myrtle. I hadn't even realized she'd been missing from the herd. "When we noticed, we followed."

Fili and Kili then went silent. I turned to watch the ponies, who were shifting nervously and pawing at the ground.

"Should we," I started tentatively, already not liking my idea, "Should we get Thorin? The others?"

I could imagine his reaction already. A lot of yelling was involved.

"No, no," Fili said quickly, probably coming to the same conclusion I did, "Best not worry him."

Yeah, and I was sure the punishment those two would likely receive for not noticing literal trolls steal four ponies wasn't the reason at all.

"Then what should we do?" I asked, holding my breath as one of the trolls grew suddenly loud before reaching out to strike another. There was a howl from the one that was struck, but then they seemed to settle again.

God why did Gandalf have to leave?

"We?" Kili repeated, eyes bright and face suddenly hopeful. "You! Of course! This should be perfect for you."

Oh, hell no, was my first thought. Why, was my second. I didn't get to reach a third thought as Kili continued eagerly, "They'll never see you. All you must do is reach the ponies and set them free."

All I must do. Yeah, it'd be a total walk in the park.

"That's ridiculous." I whispered back, frustrated, I glanced over to Fili hoping for something close to support but only found a contemplative look on his face, "How?"

"Here," Fili reached into his coat and pulled out a small knife – dagger?- one of the many I had seen at Bag End that first night. "Take this. Don't worry we'll be here if it should go sideways."

I accepted the knife doubtfully as Kili pushed me closer to the makeshift pen where the ponies were being held.

I glared at them, ready to protest further, but in sync they both made shooing motions with their hands which was quite frankly insulting. What was even worse was that it worked. On instinct I turned back around.

Then, once I realized what I had done I turned back and said, ""Wait, I don't think-"

Only to find an empty forest behind me.

What just happened. What just happened.

I stared down at the knife in my hand, trying not to panic. I could feel my breathing turn ragged, my fingers around the hilt beginning to tremble.

I risked another look back at the camp. Yeah, still three trolls. My eyes flickered back to where the ponies were caged. To Myrtle. I couldn't just leave Myrtle to her fate. Even if Fili and Kili had left me, I had to try.

So, as quietly as I could, with Fili's knife in hand, I made my way towards the ponies. There must have been some truth to what Gandalf had told me about hobbit-magic because no matter where I seemed to step, I made no noise. It was reassuring. Maybe I could do this. Just get to the ponies, right?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I reached the makeshift pen and carefully kept myself in the shadows. I avoided looking up at the trolls, knowing my simmering panic would flare into a full blaze of terror if I caught sight of them, instead I assessed what I had to work with. The sides of the structure seemed haphazardly thrown together with whatever the trolls had on hand. Wood and rope and yes, I closed my eyes briefly to steel up my nerves, bone. There would've been no way I could get the ponies out without the knife Fili had given me.

I could hear the trolls clearly, now that I was so close. They were talking amongst themselves, discussing the merits of pony meat, voices raising every so often as they made their own point. I wanted to throw up. I bit my lip, so hard I was sure it'd draw blood. This was my chance, while they were distracting each other. I started to slice away at the thick rope, wincing near the end as my arm began to ache from it, before it finally fell away. I pulled the fence open, mindful of how close one the trolls were. After tucking Fili's knife safely into the inner pocket of my jacket, I reached for Myrtle.

Almost instantly Myrtle quieted, probably recognizing me. And to my relief the other ponies followed suit.

"Good girl," I whispered, heart pounding. My fingers dug under her chin as I tried to tug her in my direction. She followed me sedately. "That's it. Let's go now."

Once, Myrtle had moved out into the forest, the other three stepping into line behind her. It was surprising similar to how we rode every day with them, one right behind the other.

"Alright," I breathed out as we pushed deeper into the forest, leaving the troll camp behind. "Almost there, here we go."

Finally, I decided we were far enough away from the camp to let the ponies head back to the herd on their own. I released my grip on Myrtle and gave her a gentle push in the direction where the rest of the ponies were still grazing.

Myrtle, perpetually good-natured, did as I'd hoped and the other ponies continued to follow her. I smiled in relief, watching and then listening to the ponies push through the forest's undergrowth and back to camp.

Safe, or so I thought.

A loud roar echoed from behind me.

I froze, terror seizing me. I weighed my options. If I ran towards the ponies then we would be back where we started. If I ran back to where I knew the dwarves were, then I would be leading an ambush.

I stayed where I was. Eyes closed and heart racing, I listened to the trolls crashing through the forest. I could almost feel the ground shake as they drew near.

Finally, they had arrived and I think they almost missed me because of how small I was. But, of course, I couldn't be that lucky. I felt one of my feet slip, the wet ground and the steepness of the hill working together to catch me off balance. I gasped, flailing my arms just as one of the trolls said, very close, "Oi, what have we here?"

Suddenly I was no longer slipping, I was no longer on my feet at all. I could feel a tight pressure around my torso that made me think of a constricting snake. I was moving through the air now, and I knew I was done for. We were going back to their camp.

Gandalf where are you?

"Bring it here," said one of the trolls that didn't have me in their grasp. "Bring it closer to the fire."

My eyes flew open as I fell, a sickening bolt in my stomach, before the more pressing, sudden, pain of my knees hitting the ground. I made a soft noise, resisting the urge to cry out, and after a few more painful moments I pushed myself to my feet.

The trolls, at that point, had surrounded me. Their fire was before me, a pot so large that I could bathe in it comfortably was settled over the burning logs. Two of the trolls were to the left, the largest to my right.

There was no escaping this.

"What is it, Bert?" the smallest asked, reaching out as if to nudge me. The troll on the right, presumedly Bert, who I could see now was wearing an apron, knocked his hand away.

"Lemme see him," said the troll next to the smallest one, leaning in close but thankfully keeping his hands to himself. "I've neva seen anything like that before."

Bert grunted, as if thinking, then he too leaned in closer and demanded, "Oi, what are ya?"

"A hobbit," I answered, my voice sounding faint even to my own ears. When all three leaned in closer I tried again, though it didn't come out much louder, "A hobbit."

"A hobbit?" The trolls echoed together, drawing back as their faces scrunched in confusion. At least someone was as confused as I was about my current body.

"Yes," I confirmed, this time my voice finally reached a normal volume. I followed it up with, though for the life of me I don't know why, "Bilbo Baggins."

"Baggins," murmured Bert, frowning. The smallest pipped up and offered, "I'm Tom!"

Without even looking the larger troll next to Tom reached out and hit Tom so hard on the back of the head that the resounding crack that followed made me wince. Tom howled, clutching his head, "Bill!"

"Shut up," Bill and Bert said together, sounding cross now. I resisted the urge to shuffle nervously. Bill finally said, "Never seen a hobbit before."

I stared into the fire, feeling a little defeated because I still wasn't confident that I could describe a hobbit and answered, "Oh."

There was a surprisingly awkward pause, the trolls seemed to be studying me, when Bert asked, "Those your ponies?"

I nodded, hoping my expression didn't show the panic rising in my chest, and said, "Yes."

Bill leaned in close again, "Where are the rest of ya?"

Oh God. Well, at least that meant that they hadn't noticed our camp when they had found the ponies which also meant they didn't know about the others. But I knew what they were angling at. One hobbit and fourteen ponies didn't add up.

"Look at him thinking up some story! Don't you try to lie!" Tom shouted, advancing on me too, "Little thing like you managing all those ponies?"

"It's just me," I protested, before I could think it through. Though, I decided, this was probably the best option. I couldn't risk the trolls ambushing the dwarves even if Fili and Kili had made it back to tell them. But it also meant I was going to have to fend for myself.

"How?" Bill demanded, face twisting meanly.

"They're sweet ponies," I explained and it wasn't a lie. Myrtle, despite the hours and hours of riding, the days of rain, the nights among the rocks with only a few scraggly plants to graze, had shown absolutely no signs of any ill temper. No matter what I asked of her, she did. "Easy to manage."

My sincerity seemed to flummox all three trolls. They all crowded around the fire and began to argue in low voices. I watched, debating whether or not I could make a run for it. I decided if a fight broke out again, I would take my chance.

But a fight didn't break out like I had hoped. After a few more whispers, the trolls turned back to me.

"Since you stole our supper," Tom said gleefully. My stomach bottomed out at his tone, even as my mouth opened to protest that they were the ones who actually did the stealing, "We're gonna eat you instead."

Oh. Oh.

Bill didn't look pleased. "Not much to him though."

Bert turned on him at once, ladle raised, "Then you don't have to eat now do you?"

"Can I pop him?" Tom asked eagerly, moving towards me, hand outstretched. This time neither of the other trolls intervened.

I held my hands up, as if I had any hope of warding him off, stumbling backwards. Behind me, I heard a rustling, too loud to be the wind. All four of us froze, turning to look and suddenly Kili was between us, sword arching towards Tom's outstretched hand. Tom squealed in pain as it made contact and I stumbled again, this time from Kili pushing me behind him.

"Get back," Kili called out, shoulders square, sword raised, and voice defiant.

"I knew he was lying!" Tom shouted to the other two, holding his hand close to his chest. His expression was almost a pout.

"You what?" Bert demanded, face scrunched again.

"I said," Kili said, low and fierce, "Get back."

The forest erupted again, and suddenly there were dwarves everywhere, pouring out of the undergrowth and from behind trees, shouting with weapons raised. Bert snarled above us, ladle striking out at us like a club. Before I could do anything more than acknowledge the spike of fear running through me, Kili had grabbed my shoulder and rolled us out of the way. I was only able to catch a glimpse of Bifur landing a well-aimed hit at the back of Bert's knees before Kili and I crumpled to the ground.

"Stay low, Master Baggins," Kili told me hurriedly, already on his feet. He didn't wait for a reply before lunging into the fray.

I'd never seen the dwarves in combat before that night, though I knew, thanks to the many weapons they toted, they were familiar with it. But there had never been a reason to, until now. They moved almost like they were one single entity. Reading each other and the trolls they were able to coordinate their attacks and keep the trolls from attacking just one of the dwarves for long.

I managed to stay mostly out of the way, ducking and stumbling away from dwarves and trolls alike to give them room, with only one instance of Bill getting far too close, but Dwalin grabbed my shoulder to pull me back even as he landed a strong hit with one of his axes to the meat of Bill's thigh. I lost my balance as Dwalin released me, both from the sudden dizziness from the move and from the force of it. I fell to my knees again just as Tom did the same only a few feet away.

Our eyes met. I froze. Tom grinned and was already lunging for me. I managed to get to my feet, but Tom had closed the distance and as I turned to run I felt his fingers trying to close around my legs. I was able to free myself, but at a cost. I found myself sprawled on my front face in the dirt. I gasped out, trying to push myself up but then something heavy and large, larger than me, leveraged on my back pushing me wheezing back to the ground.

The pressure was painful, I could barely breathe and I could only turn my head enough keep my face from being completely pressed into the dirt. I tried, instinctually and desperately, to escape, fear overwhelming me like a tidal wave. There was a buzzing in my ears so loud I could barely hear Tom calling out across the clearing, could barely hear when the dwarves dropped their weapons.

My vision had narrowed, black around the edges, and I still couldn't breathe even after the painful pressure was gone, couldn't hear, couldn't focus. My terror had sunk into every corner of my mind. I didn't come back to myself until I was flat on my back this time, vision returning slowly as I took in the night sky above me. The stars were pale and cold. My hands were bound. I was itching like crazy.

I was awake, I told myself. Then, agonizingly I accepted: This wasn't a dream. It'd never been a dream.

I focused on steadying my breathing and finally, once I felt it was at least in the proximity of normal, I turned my head. Absently, I noted that Bifur, Bofur, Dori, Nori, Ori, and Dwalin had all been tied together on a large stripped tree branch. It wasn't until the trolls started to argue – again – that I realized they were going to cook them.

The terror was back again, pooled in my belly, thick and heavy.

I watched the trolls argue- Tom insisting dwarf-jelly would last longer while Bill snarled that he hated the consistency- for a few more moments before deciding to take the chance, as small as it was. Though the majority of my hands were useless my fingers were not. Carefully, I navigated my hands together underneath my jacket, letting out a quick exhale of relief as my fingers wrapped tightly around warm metal.

The sharp blade bit into my fingers as I extracted the knife but after a few tense minutes I had the hilt in hand.

Yes.

Bert was making the case for roasting and when I turned my head again, I could see that he'd settled the dwarves over the fire and I realized that the branch was a makeshift spit. Fumbling a bit thanks to a new wave of urgency, I turned the knife in my hand and cut sharply upward through the cloth. There was a satisfying rip and then a rush of cool night air against my body.

I exhaled sharply in pleasure. I did it. Well, sort of.

I glanced over to check that the trolls hadn't heard. They hadn't and were now arguing over seasoning and looked only seconds away from brawling. I took a deep breath and with some effort sat up. Lifting my hands through the tear in my sack to my mouth, I quickly pushed the knife between my teeth, biting down hard on the hilt. Pressing my bindings against the edge of the blade I began to cut. It took what felt like forever, the rope was dense and tightly tied and my angle was awkward, but eventually my hands were free. The cut rope fell heavily into my lap. I loosened my bite on the knife, letting it drop into my left hand and brought it up to my throat, making sure to cut away from myself, and sawed through the drawstring. A few minutes later, it fell away too.

Success.

Extracting myself from the tattered remains of my sack I let out a deep sigh of relief. I lifted my free hand to assess the damage. It was difficult to tell in the low firelight but I could see dark blood covering my hands. The cuts were beginning to sting. Flexing my fingers, I turned my attention to the pile of dwarves next to me and was surprised to see them all already staring at me, expressions varying between disbelief and excitement.

I stood up, surprised again by how little sound I made, and managed the few stumbling steps to the closest dwarf, Fili.

I bent down next to him and carefully cut through the sack and tie-string at his neck, which still took almost as long as mine did, even with my better angle. Fili sat up immediately once his sack fell away, holding his bound hands out to me. I grunted in annoyance as I began to saw away at them.

"Hey!" Bill shouted suddenly, causing me to fumble the knife dangerously. "How'd you get outta there?"

As one Fili and I turned to look at the trolls. They were staring back, argument forgotten. The clearing had gone very quiet with only the crackling of the fire and the rustle of the leaves to be heard.

I looked over at Fili, whose wide eyes met mine, before returning my attention to the trolls. They were all standing again, hulking and large even across the clearing. Without thinking, I raised a hand and pointed to myself as if to say 'me?'

"You must think yourself so clever," Bert said in a dangerous growl, and in a few quick strides was in front of us, leaning over menacingly. "Sneaking little liar."

Bert was bending over now, hand already outstretched. I attempted to scramble back at the same time that Fili made an abortive lunge to get in front of me.

Behind Bert, the fire sputtered out. The air felt heavy and the trees seemed to shake as a voice, deep and dark and thunderous called out, "Leave him! Do not damage him!"

I let out a small noise of surprise. I knew this voice. I knew this feeling. Gandalf.

Bert turned away, and I let out a sigh of relief. Tom and Bill were turning too. When I managed to lean around Bert, there Gandalf was, standing on the outcrop above the clearing. The pinkish orange light of dawn was at his feet, casting him as a dark silhouette.

Gandalf raised his staff and then brought it down on the outcrop and with a mighty crack, splitting it in two. Sunlight flooded the camp and the trolls were howling, squirming as if in pain. The dwarves were cheering.

Huh, I thought to myself once the trolls had stopped moving. They were a still as stone, now. They were actual stone. So, Gandalf really could do magic.

Better late than never, I supposed.