Hello everyone and welcome to my story! If you're joining me for the first time, I'm thrilled to have you here. If you've been with me on this long, arduous journey from the beginning, welcome back! Life has gotten in the way of me finishing this story since I began years ago, but I am committed to finishing it. There are so many things that I've wanted to adjust, so I am currently going through a revision as of April 2024. If you're just now reading - keep on going. If you've read my story before, things may have changed a bit. As always, I welcome any and all feedback. Enjoy!


She was dead. She knew she was, or at least, should have been. She felt nothing, saw nothing, and heard nothing - she must have been in a void. Why was she able to think; was she conscious? What had happened?

If she was indeed deceased, was she a ghost? Could a ghost die? Was she stuck between life and death? Was she an embodiment or just a thought itself?

After a while of void-induced pondering, she heard a distant chirping. At first it alarmed her, for not even her own thoughts seemed to mirror sound. It was quiet, but present and unwavering.

Had a bird died? If so, how was it making noise? Could she make noise? She tried, but nothing accompanied the chirping. The high pitched tones gradually grew much louder and clearer, their sharp resonance eliciting a wince from her small frame.

"What - did I just…wince?!" she thought. "Wait a minute, I just heard my own thoughts. Is that - is this my voice?"

She felt a light breeze skim across her cheek, brushing a strand of hair against her neck.

"Perhaps I'm just a floating head."

Something smelled of oak and flowers, and she became aware of a subtle warmth radiating over her body.

"My body! I'm certainly not just a floating head, then. I wonder if that's the sun or if this whole thing is a trick of my mind."

The bird kept up its chirping, now seemingly having found a partner to harmonize with. She focused on the sun's warmth and the beautiful melody before suddenly becoming aware of a soft coolness between her fingers.

"My fingers!"

She desperately searched the ground beneath her, pulling up a handful of the soft stuff before realizing it was grass. She could smell it, freshly plucked from the earth with a grainy substance still clutching to the end of the blades.

"I've always loved grass," she thought with a smile.

She definitely could think, and she most definitely could feel. Lying on the ground in her timeless, unknown state, she became aware of the other sounds around her. She couldn't be sure where exactly, but she knew she was in the wilderness. She heard birds flapping about amidst the chirping that had awoken her, deer walking nimbly between the trees and breaking tiny sticks on the ground, squirrels scurrying between rocks and climbing up bark.

As if on queue, her eyes blinked open to a bright blue sky sprinkled with clouds just as a fluffy red bird floated silently overhead. Watching the clouds take shape, she let her mind become lost in the tranquil peace before slowly sitting up, only to become slightly dizzy at the action. After a few deep breaths, she felt the spinning subside and decided to lie back down.

"Where am I?" she asked aloud.

Her eyes grew wide, not recognizing her voice at first. It sounded so calm and airy, yet foreign in some way. Her throat burned wildly and she wondered if her neck had been crooked in some odd position for too long. Perhaps she had slept on a rock.

She was indeed amidst a forest, but in a small clearing of grass. The sun was still shining overhead, and it seemed to be late morning. The air smelled so clean and lively, as if life hung on the very edge of it. Every crisp breath she took in was met with an equally calming exhale. She let a smile find its way onto her face as she watched the various animals on the edge of the clearing move about and carry on with the start of the day.

She had come to the conclusion that she was not dead. Perhaps she had been sleeping, or perhaps she had been knocked out. She noticed a stiffness in her arms as she went to sit up again, wondering if this was due to immobility for god knows however long or to some sort of injury. She couldn't recall being attacked. A twig snapped violently behind her, and she whipped her head around.

"Hello?" she called, only to be met with the buzzing of bees on nearby flowers.

She jumped as another twig snapped, and leapt to her feet only to realize her legs weren't holding her weight, and fell forward. Catching herself, she turned to sit faced where the sound had originated. She looked down at her legs, realizing she had heavily insulated boots on, and wondered why such attire would be needed in evidently perfect spring weather. They were black and almost knee high, full of fluff that packed the heat in.

"Miss! Miss, are you alright?"

A short, ever-so-pudgy man came running out of the tree line towards her, curls and pack bouncing behind him. She froze in fear, shaking her head with wide eyes at the man. He was barefoot, she noticed, and had enormous hairy feet.

"P...Please don't hurt me," she croaked. She attempted to scoot away towards the treeline.

Though he didn't look particularly dangerous, she had no idea who he was or who in their right mind would go walking without shoes in a forest. He had neatly pressed trousers that cinched at his knees, a light green tunic with gold threading around the collar, and a dainty looking brown coat with polished silver buttons. Perhaps he had lost his shoes? Surely no one would dress that nicely and not put on shoes.

"I...What? I wouldn't dream of hurting you; I only wanted to help. You took a terrible fall and I'm afraid my floundering may have frightened you. You see, my bag," he gestured to his leather pack now hanging on one shoulder, "had gotten caught on a branch as I noticed someone here in the clearing. It took me a moment to free it."

He took a tentative step forward, holding his hands up as if to surrender. She looked back with a threatening scowl.

"I might need to surrender," he mused to himself before continuing. "I was surprised to see someone here; this is where I come to read every once in a while. When I have nothing to do at home and fancy taking a spontaneous walking holiday, that is." He beamed, pulling his brows together in a slow reflection. "Although, it's been a long time - quite a long time - since I've ventured out of Hobbiton."

"Hob...Hobbiton?" she questioned, not taking her eyes off the strange, barefoot man.

"Yes, Hobbiton. You know, in the Shire." he answered, half in a statement, half in question.

The scowl melted off her face, leaving an impression of bewilderment between her unblinking eyes.

"You're not from around here, are you?" His eyes flickered to her strange boots.

"I'm not sure," she answered, shifting her shoulders. The man didn't seem too bad, though she refused to let her guard down. "Where are your shoes?"

He looked at her, puzzled for a moment and unsure as to what she was referring. He tapped his big toes, padding them into the grass before letting out a soft chuckle.

"I'm a hobbit, Miss. We don't wear shoes."

How could this woman not know that? Of course, she was dressed for what looked like winter, donning some rather peculiar boots herself. He thought it plausible she either had never seen a hobbit before or took heavy podiatry precautions.

"A hobbit? You mean you're a...a small person? Like short?" She retorted in hushed tones, as if someone would hear her inquiry and come running out of the trees to scold her.

"Well, short is a relative term, Miss. I'm about the average size for a hobbit, though some are shorter and some are taller. I do believe my great, great, great, great uncle - or was it great, great, great uncle - was incredibly tall. I recall hearing tales of him riding a full sized horse instead of a pony!" He finished with a serious nod and brows raised, as if his bit of lineage was going to impress the woman.

Her face remained stagnant, scrunched up in confusion.

"But yes, I suppose you could consider me short. Though I take no offense whatsoever." He smiled, having taken a few steps towards the girl without her backing away from him.

"I do believe I've gone insane." she said, looking down into her lap with lost eyes. "First I'm in a void, then I'm a floating head, and now I'm talking to a barefoot man - a hobbit. A real hobbit. Next thing you know, I'll be chatting with an elf! What mother would think of this - she'd have a hay day!"

"Is your mother around here?"

She scanned the perimeter of the clearing, a panicked look in her eyes. "No. I don't know. I just…said that but I don't know why. I can't remember her," she swallowed hard, "or anyone."

Though she did not appear insane, she certainly sounded the part. A black high-neck sweater concealed what looked like faint bruising on her neck, and though Bilbo desperately wanted to know the circumstances surrounding her appearance, he kept his mouth shut. Crouching down as if to approach a stray dog, he reached out a hand towards the girl.

"I'm Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins, that is," he said with a smile, before shaking his fingers lightly in emphasis. "What is your name?"

She looked at his hand warily, considering her options. He most likely held more answers about what she was doing here, where she had come from, and where she needed to go. After a pause, she nodded her head slowly and reached out to meet his palm.

"I'm sorry, but I don't…know my name." she whispered. "I don't know where I am, where I've come from, or how I even ended up here. You've mentioned we're in the Shire and I guess close to Hobbiton, but I have no idea where those places are. I feel - no I am - utterly lost."

Bilbo let go of her hand, resting his arm on his knee. A quick glance told him those were in fact bruises on her neck.

"This is not good, not good at 'toll."

"That is most unfortunate, Miss. I'm sure it will come back to you eventually. I'm not sure where you've come from but you are in the Shire and Hobbiton is a village inside of it. Both sit inside an area called Eriador, which is one of the many parts that make up Middle-Earth. To be specific, we are currently in the Old Forest, a few miles from the Brandywine Bridge. I'm afraid I have no clue as to how you ended up here, but I can certainly offer you a place to go."

She looked around the forest in search of an escape route. She was not going anywhere with anyone, certainly not a man, no matter how nice he had been. She felt an unfamiliar pang of hesitation towards the subject of men, though she didn't exactly remember why. The Shire and Hobbiton were completely foreign words to her, but she knew the name Middle-Earth - somehow, for one reason or another.

Though her mother and father had prevented her from reading the books and seeing the films based off of J.R.R. Tolkien's works, she had heard of the land before from classmates. She knew that hobbits, elves, men, and a few other races resided here. Her parents believed that the stories were full of darkness and atrocities that would do her no good in developing as a contributing, level-headed member of society. They claimed it was stories like those that had helped corrupt the world and generations to come. After she had started attending public school, she saw the corruption they were speaking of. She had a hard time making friends, not just because of her upbringing, but because none of the other children were as mindful about the world and their place in it as she was.

As she had grown up, she learned very fast that her family was different - extremely different. They preferred to live off the land without electricity, cars, microwaves, and other various types of modernization. Her mother had a change of heart once she had become old enough to attend school. They still frequented an 'uncivilized' way of life to the best of their ability, but took trips to the countryside or mountains to maintain their moral compasses and sense of purpose. She loved her life, no matter how many people chastised her or rejected her entirely for it. She took what her parents said as seriously as she could, trying to live her life and guide her soul by their teachings.

She loved her parents, though sometimes she truly did not understand the reasoning behind their actions or rules, their ban on J.R.R. Tolkien being one of them. She was allowed to read things such as The Odyssey, King Lear, or even the Poetic Edda, but never The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings. She never understood why, but she always tried to the best of her ability to steer clear of anything relating to the franchise. Her parents must have had a reason, so she had a reason to obey.

But how in the world did she end up here? Was it a real place all along, full of the darkness and horror they had mentioned and that is why they did not want her reading the tales? Or was she somehow in heaven, or a state in between in which Middle-Earth was the land where souls resided? She would've asked her parents, and in fact right now was dying to, but knew she'd never get the chance. They had died, though she couldn't remember how at the moment. If this was an afterlife, perhaps they were here?

"Wait. I remembered! My...they're..." she stammered. "My parents!" she shrieked out, clasping her hands over her mouth and staring at the hobbit in awe.

Bilbo jumped. "Yes, your parents? Are they nearby? Did you get separated?" he asked, looking around as if she had possibly seen them and was voicing her sighting.

"No..."

She lowered her hands, eyes glued to them, shaking every so slightly. She wondered briefly if it was due to the sudden memory or to lack of food.

"I'm afraid they died years ago."

Bilbo looked at her puzzled for a moment before setting a remorseful hand on her shoulder, and she winced away from him.

She relaxed a bit as she saw his concern; he wasn't going to hurt her. Her parents would have much rather wanted her in company and alive - or whatever this was - than dead and alone.

After a moment, she nodded to the hobbit with a slight smile. "You mentioned you had somewhere I could go. Where exactly did you mean?"

He smiled at her, standing swiftly and offering her a hand. "My home, Miss. It is just me, and I have plenty of room to spare. Not to mention I do make a wonderful Took's pie if I do say so myself. I'll wager you're quite hungry. I know I am!"

She made no movement to get up but took his hand, bracing herself with the other. "Last time I tried to stand, my legs gave out beneath me. I'm not so sure I can."

"Well, if you fall I'm right here to catch you. No need to worry." He held out his other hand to her.

She moved to a crouch, slowly rising while bracing herself with the help of Bilbo's hands. After standing for a moment without collapsing, she reveled in the feeling of stretching out her limbs. Her knees had begun to ache, and she was reminded time and time again of the bruising feeling she had on her arms and back.

"Thank you," she murmured, quickly dropping his hands. She suddenly realized she was taller than he by about a hand and a half. She had never been taller than anyone before, except for children.

"Oh, no. Am I a hobbit?" she thought, dreading the possibility that her own feet were just as big and hairy. He seemed to notice as well, his brow rising with his chin in surprise at her height.

"It's just down the hill a bit, over the Brandywine Bridge, and through the winding hills. My home sits atop one of them - it holds quite the view if I do say so myself," he said, puffing his chest out a bit in pride. "I don't expect it will take us more than an hour if we make haste, though if you aren't feeling sure on your feet we can take a much slower pace."

"Right now I believe I'm fine, but if that changes I will let you know."

She smiled at him briefly before wiping her pants of any residual dirt or grass that had decided to come along after her departure from the ground.

"Excellent, this way Miss," he said, and gestured for her to walk back towards the way he had come. "Just down this hill and to the left."

Once they had found the road, they began walking in silence, save for the occasional, 'watch out,' 'what a lovely bird,' or 'excuse me one moment' that came from Bilbo. She just nodded or took heed of the road as best she could.

He hadn't asked any personal questions, though she was sure that was due to her inability to remember anything at the moment. She was just as glad, for he was still a stranger, as pleasant as he was, and she wasn't up for small talk. It may have been rude of her, but she knew she would have plenty of time to ask about his life once they had gotten to his home. For now, she was content on enjoying the sights and sounds of Middle-Earth.

The forest was truly magical. Everything was so much more green, vibrant, and pure than anything she had seen in nature back home. The sounds were richer; everything she touched seemed to radiate with life. Every sight took her breath away, and though she did not fancy the idea of staying in the forest by herself, she yearned to run out into its welcoming embrace. She knew she had become accustomed to living with nature with her parents, but she had an urgent feeling inside that told her it had become a safe haven - a home - for her in more recent times.

They crossed the Brandywine Bridge and she smiled outwardly at the sound of running water. She loved that sound, she knew, but she failed to place a memory of it. Perhaps she had hit her head and lost her memory; that happened to people all the time. She was just suffering from short-term memory loss, surely.

She remembered her parents and abstract things like the first time she wrote with a ball-point pen or the smell of a gardenia, but her name was still running around amuck in her head somewhere. She sighed through her nose, wanting desperately to remember so much more but understanding that she probably would in time. Patience was a virtue and she would surely wait. She had no other choice.

"Is everything alright?" Bilbo asked.

They had been walking for nearly an hour now and were just about to enter Hobbiton when she sighed again next to him.

"Yes," she paused, "I just wish I could remember my name. I know I will - I hope I will. It's just terribly frustrating."

She let out another huff before running a hand over the back of her head, fingers tracing over the long braid that sat there. Suddenly, as if she remembered something, she took the braid of hair and looked quizzically at it, as if she had never seen it before.

"I'm sure it will. You remembered your parents, didn't you? That's something," he gave her a cheerful smile. "Is there something wrong with your hair?"

She dropped her hair like a hot coal. "No!" she gave the hobbit a toothy grin. "It's just, well, it's going to sound completely insane coming out of my mouth, but I didn't know what color my hair was until I looked at it just now. I'm afraid I can't even remember my own reflection or what I look like. It's the strangest sensation, knowing you don't know something you should, and then learning it all over again."

"At least you remember how to speak. We'd be in a real sort of trouble if you didn't."

Her eyes grew wide and her mouth turned down into a sour smirk. Bilbo began laughing, putting his hands up in surrender at her unimpressed side glance.

"I'm not laughing at you in ill will, I assure you. And I believe I understand what you mean, but you make the strangest faces," he managed between chuckles before settling down again with a smile.

She smiled back at him, nodding her head and lightly rolling her eyes. "Yes, yes, my face is very funny. But, what does it look like?" she asked, stopping in the path and crossing her arms.

The hobbit blushed slightly before taking a few steps back.

"Well, as you have figured out, you have long auburn hair. And I must say it is in a beautiful shade; fiery yet not blindingly so, much more subtle. I don't know if you have curly hair like mine," he said while looking up at a lock of hair that had strayed on his forehead, "but the braid you're wearing suits you well. I also see plenty of freckles on your face, particularly your nose and cheeks." His face grew red. "And you have one of the most remarkable pair of eyes I've seen in quite a while."

"My father had red hair as well," she added, "my mother's was jet black. What color are my eyes? I recall both my parents having brown."

"Do you remember them, then?"

"Sort of. It's like having watery memories, distorted and warbly. I can picture them but I can't see their faces."

"Huh. You mean the way people are obscured in dreams but you still recognize who they are?"

"Yes, like that."

He looked at her intently before quickly breaking eye contact. "Well some other color must run in your family somewhere because your eyes are certainly not brown."

"Yes, well what color is 'certainly not brown'?" she asked, laughing lightly as she walked back into step.

He followed suit and they were going down the path again.

"They're green? No, gray. I can't seem to place the color exactly. They look deeply green at first, but they're more gray in the middle."

His eyes squinted up at her and his finger swirled around as if to paint a picture in the air of how the gray filtered out from green.

"Are all hobbits this attentive to detail?"

Bilbo hummed, turning to hide a blush. Silence fell over them once again, her thick winter pants swishing as she walked.

After a few moments, the path began to twist and turn, breaking off into various other directions. The hills soon surrounded them and began showing signs of a more populated area. She noticed other hobbits in the distance, busy about their chores. Most of them looked like Bilbo, though quite a few of them were much more heavyset than he.

"They all look so cheerful." she said with a smile. All of them, however, reflected his sense of style and lack of shoes. "I guess he wasn't joking when he said hobbits didn't wear shoes."

Bilbo saw her gawking at his neighbors, and tapped her lightly on the shoulder.

"I wouldn't stare for too long. You'll probably draw enough attention yourself as it is."

She looked down at him apologetically, focusing again on the path. It wound around gates and gardens, each one resembling one another. She realized that the steps leading into the hills were in fact front porches and that the round frames of wood lain in the grass were in fact front doors. These were homes. Unusual, but brilliant all the same.

Two children ran out in the path in front of Bilbo, smiling up at him before looking back at her with wide-eyed stares. The boy was much smaller than the girl with deep brown hair and blue eyes, she with a white blonde and the same eyes that must have run in the family.

She smiled at them, waving a few fingers, and they returned the favor before running off and jumping over a small farm plot fence. An older woman ran out of the house opposite, a broom in hand over her head, intent on following the two. She mumbled a greeting to Bilbo before running off quite hastily, muttering about children and their unnecessary need to adventure.

After some time, Bilbo stopped and looked up at her, following him like a duckling. He put a hand on her back, and pointed up a hill to a home with a green door.

A smile spread on his face that reached his eyes. "That, my new friend, is home," he said.

She looked for a moment before smiling back to him, nodding. "I can't wait to see inside."

She really couldn't. Passing by each house had only sprung her curiosity. She could only imagine how different their customs were, especially considering they went without shoes, but was even more eager to see how architecture and culture differed as well.

They marched up the hill, reaching the small gate that led to a series of steps. Bilbo held it open for her, and she slipped inside, waiting for the hobbit to walk up the steps and unlock his door. He pulled his pack off and rummaged inside, pulling various books and packages of food out.

"Oh, drat. Where did I put that confounding key?" he said, more so to himself than to anyone else.

She watched in silence with an amused look on her face, taking in the sight of a garden, then a small bench that sat in pristine fashion.

He felt around on his person, only to brighten up when realizing the key had been in his pocket all along. Swiftly he piled everything haphazardly back into his pack and swung it over his shoulder. Putting the key in the hole, he slowly turned it and the handle followed suit. He pushed gently with his hand, before gesturing to the girl to step inside.

"Welcome," he bellowed out, "to Bag End."