Thanks for the reviews guys! You spoil me...They make me so happy! This next chapter is some world-building, which can be slow, but it makes the story more realistic. Here's a reminder of what the coin looks like in case you're curious: /product/treasure-of-erebor-gold-coin-the-hobbit-the-battle-of-the-five-armies/

I'm going to be traveling a bit for the next week, so chapter 5 (when she meets Mr. Burglar himself) may come out later than normal!

...

"We all need someone who just will never give up on us. Someone who sees beyond our weaknesses, beyond our faults. Who knows that though we walk in darkness, we can still find our way into the light." -Unknown.

~Chapter 4~

A Quest of My Own!

I lay there the next morning, staring up at the wooden rafters above me listlessly. Surely….if this were a dream I would have woken up by now. The feeling of despair has been swimming around like a fish inside, making my chest ache fiercely all morning.

Also, if this were a dream, I'd be able to jump up into the air and fly away. And I already tried that yesterday at the fabric shop. Twice. It only cemented the seamstresses' belief that I was possessed.

Sunlight glares harshly through the window, lighting up the wooden everything that make up my room. No plastic, no synthetic materials- all wood. It's probably 11:00 am by now.

When I had first woke up with the sunrise, I had seen my dorm room in my mind, believing myself to be in my own bed. My chest had tightened and tears sprang to my eyes when I opened my eyes and I realized I was not in my dorm. It's the second morning in a row that I've woken up in an unfamiliar place. So I had curled up into a ball and cried very hard. More so than yesterday actually. Why? Because yesterday was yesterday, but today's a new day. YET I'M STILL HERE.

After crying, I had prayed, believe it or not.

Trapped in a fictional storybook, I realize that God is actually not the craziest idea out there. In fact, there are more eyewitnesses and personal accounts of God than there are of people claiming to visit other dimensions, or time travel, or whatever the heck this is.

Nothing like an 'inter-dimensional fantasy mishap' to strike the fear of God into your heart, eh?

"God? If you're up there….it's me. Peyton Silva. I know we don't ever really talk but…I'm kind of going crazy? So I guess prayer is the next step. Right? Ha. Erm. Sorry. I just...I need to get out of here. So, if you can, then please help me. Please? Help me get home to my family. Help me to wake up from whatever this is…"

I unsurprisingly fell back asleep, exhausted from tossing and turning most of the night from strange and stressful dreams.

Which brings me to the present moment. I'm now awake again, it's 11:00am (just a guess) and...yes, I do feel a little better...but my prayer didn't work. I'm still in Middle Earth in the Shire.

Well, so much for that.

I pull the covers over my head, feeling sorry for myself as I hide from the bright sun and strangely decorated room. An ache has slowly been increasing inside my head and I bet it's from all this yucky crying. I'm probably SUPER dehydrated right now.

I guess I'm just going to have to lay in bed and feel sorry for myself until the Universe, God, or whoever is in charge of this mess feels bad for me and decides to send me back home.

Or until I die.

It will be my 'passive-aggressive tantrum'. A peaceful protest, if you will, of this horrible situation I find myself in. I won't leave from this bed until someone upstairs with the power to fix this mess gives into my demands. If a small voice in my head reminds me that this is a very immature and childish reaction to my situation, well, I ignore it. I have a sinking feeling it won't work anyways for the simple fact that the Innkeeper won't let me stay long enough to starve to death.

...and because my stomach is growling at me like an angry tiger.

Honestly, if I really analyze my situation, the part that scares me the most are thoughts of my family. They will be worried sick when they find out I'm missing. I can picture my five older brothers all dropping work to organize an exhaustive and stressful search party for me, while my little sister cries along with my mom, and my dad does his best to try and hold everyone together.

Come on! I need to think of a solution! If I came to a fantasy world, then there MUST be a way to go back, right? After all, J.R. Tolkien must have done it. Maybe there are clues to the events that happened yesterday? I try to see if there's something that I might have missed, going over details of how and where I woke up, only to give a huge horrible groan as I remember a very important part of yesterday's proceedings.

Thorin.

I cover my face in abject misery. I can't believe I met Thorin Oakenshield! THE Thorin Oakenshield! The ACTUAL living and breathing (and young?!) King Under the Mountain had given ME, Peyton Silva, a pony ride out of the goodness of his heart. What must he think of me?!

I groan again in embarrssment and place the feather pillow (very comfortable by the way) over my head in the hopes it will suffocate me as our conversation yesterday comes back to my memory like a mini sledgehammer. I'd been so waspish in my disparaging comments and treatment of him.

I try to assuage my guilt as I remind myself that I couldn't POSSIBLY have known he was telling the truth. How could I have known that I was in Middle Earth? It wasn't my fault!

But still, the poor guy...

All I had done was mock and ridicule him like he was an Amish weirdo. And even after that awkward pony ride, he still felt bad about leaving a mad human wandering alone on the outskirts of Michel Delving! Something akin to awe fills me as I admit that...he's a really good guy. He was so kind to help me! I know that I wouldn't have helped someone like that. I would have kicked my horse into gear and left the crazy woman in the dust.

And he obviously has good reasons to be wary of strangers. But despite his dislike for both humans and elves, he still aided me when I was in distress. I wish I could have thanked him better - given him one of my strawberry tic-tacs or something. Maybe even ask for an autograph on my arm? Nah, that'd be too weird for him.

I giggle into my now moist pillow at the craziness of the whole situation.

All I can say is that it's a good thing I will never see him again. That would be too embarrassing! I sigh and pull the pillow away so I can breathe properly again. Not sure when he goes on his ques-

Lightning strikes my brain in the form of inspiration causing me to sit up in the creaky wooden bed.

That's it! The QUEST! The quest for Erebor! GANDALF! Gandalf the Grey, the most powerful wizard in all the world, will be at Bilbo's house for the quest! And HE can help me!

Frantically throwing the bed covers off of me, I quickly leap out of bed as all thoughts of peacefully protesting myself to death disappear. Hope and purpose give me energy once more. I briefly lose sight of all that as my bare feet touch the chilly wooden floor and I give a hiss of pain. From how cold everything is, I estimate that it's currently very VERY early spring. I will never take indoor heating for granted ever again, or at least a fluffy carpet. I think I'm beginning to understand bear rugs…

But I don't have time to think about that right now! I inwardly berate myself, ordering myself to focus as I grab my clothes off the cold floor. I've GOT to find a way home and Gandalf is the answer! He just has to be! I'm on my own 'quest' now: The Quest to Find Gandalf at Bilbo's House!

Crap, but if that's true…then won't that be tonight? I stand there, shivering, trying to figure out what part of the timeline I'm even in. Thorin is super young, and he was old (and ugly) in the cartoon when he reclaimed Erebor. But…how reliable is a cartoon anyway? He said he was heading towards Bree…so what if he is actually on his way to Bilbo's house and didn't tell me because it's hush-hush?

My heart briefly warms again as I think about how kind it was for him to offer to accompany a complete stranger to Bree when he's already busy with a quest. First things first though…I have to get to Bilbo Baggin's house and FAST!

Where even IS Bilbo Baggin's house?

A slither of panic runs through me as I try and fail to remember those kinds of details. I don't even remember the name of the town Bilbo lives in! I had always thought the name of where Bilbo lived WAS 'the Shire', actually. Whenever Frodo and Sam talked about going home in the movie they never mentioned the name of the village, did they? They always referred to going home as 'the Shire'. But wait…wasn't Bilbo's hobbit hole called 'Bag End'?

It's a start, at least.

I shimmy my dirty clothes back on with a little dance on the cold floor. Some small splotches of dried mud cling to my jeans, not to mention the stink of pony sweat, but it'll have to do. I wish I could have taken Gertrude up on the offer to clean clothing but it's too late for that now. I'm in a rush.

Glancing around me to make sure I didn't forget anything, I do a mental count: Cellphone, tic-tacs, and….

I pause, slowly pulling out the gold coin still in my jeans pocket and hold it in my hand. It glints bright yellow as it reflects the sun from the window.

I turn it over with my fingers and narrow my eyes as I once more study the strange animal. It almost looks like a boar now that I think about it. The more I stare at it, the more certain I am because of the weird nose that looks like it has tusks. The Boar's Head Inn might have helped me recognize it. I flip it over and stare at the other side. I still have no idea what the T is. It reminds me of the T building from Teen Titans, but I know that's not it. I sigh and put it deep into my pocket so it doesn't get lost.

The door leads into the inn's long planked hallway which leads to the stairs. Try as I might to be quiet, my footsteps echo down into the inn's foyer with a Eeek! Eeek! Eeeek! Clomp!

Sebastian is working again today. Ugh! I don't want to talk to him. I look around trying to spot Gertrude or ANYONE else to help me. But unfortunately, he spies me first, "Good morning! Sleep well?" He says with what must be his signature smirk.

I sigh and make my way over to him.

"Good morning." I don't quite manage a smile at him, but at least I'm not openly glaring. "Do you by chance know where Bag End is located?"

"Bag End?" He pauses and taps a feather quill against the wood desk as he thinks, "It sounds familiar...That wouldn't be the old home of the Dane of Hobbiton, would it?"

"Uhhh, maybe?" I frown, "Would their last name be Baggins?"

"Baggins is a fairly common name in these parts, miss."

"What about Took?" I ask, grasping at straws. If this doesn't work then I'm doomed. I can't go around knocking on every hobbit hole in the country asking if Bilbo Baggins is there.

I relax at his next words: "Ahhhh! Now there's a unique set of individuals." He nods knowingly. "Baggins and Took eh? You best be checking Hobbiton or Waymoot for your Bag End, then."

The Hobbit from Hobbiton. How original.

"Wonderful," Relief fills me and I actually grace him with a smile, "How do I get there?"

"You'll take the Great East Road and pass through Waymoot. Continue on to ByWater, but turn left at the fork instead of going to ByWater. Can't miss it."

A sense of dread fills me as his words swirl into a chaotic jumble in my mind. I stare at him, hoping that if I wait long enough, they might suddenly coalesce into something that makes sense.

He stares back, "Are…are you traveling without a map?"

His shocked tone of voice immediately notifies me that traveling without a map in Middle Earth is like traveling without shoes. It simply isn't done. I look down at his large furry bare feet. Unless you're a hobbit, that is.

"Uhh, I lost mine...unfortunately." I scramble, thinking quickly. "Do you know where I can find another one?"

"There's a bookstore down this street here behind the statue." He beckons me to a round window and I see the statue of King What's-His-Bucket. Right behind him is a street people are walking in and out of. "Just take a right at the blacksmith. It's across the street from the house with roses."

How did anyone survive before they invented Google maps? I'm going to get lost, I just know it.

Thanking him, I hesitantly step towards the door before he quickly stops me, "Wait, Miss, aren't you hungry? You missed breakfast, and second breakfast, and now you're about to miss elevensies as well!"

I pause. I don't usually eat breakfast…but if I'm going to go galavanting about Middle Earth searching for a wizard, I might as well get some calories in me. "Uhh, yeah! I mean…yes, I am. What's for breakfast?"

"Elevensies," he corrects, "Scones, honey, and milk."

Sounds like breakfast to me.

"Sounds good." I walk further into the pub section of the Inn, searching for an empty table since the one I used last night is full. It's still smoky. I find it interesting that hobbits smoke their pipes at all hours of the day and not just in the evening past times. The fiddlers aren't here though.

It's then that I notice that the stares are worse today than yesterday. I stop in place. The atmosphere is quieter as well with hushed whispers as people seem to watch me suspiciously. I sit down at a wooden table and feel myself flush at the attention. Seems that word has spread since yesterday when I arrived and caused a scene.

"Here," Gertrude drops off a plate in front of me with a cup of milk.

"Thanks, Gertrude." The two blueberry scones with jam and honey look absolutely delish, and can't help but feel grateful that food in this world seems to be similar to my world. Hobbits also seem to value good food. I don't know what I'd do if they served me pig's feet or something weird.

Gertrude doesn't leave the table. I look up at her questioningly and she tilts her head at me, curious, "Where'd ye say you're from again, miss?"

I clear my throat, "Uh. Nevada."

"I've never heard of it. Is it quite far?"

"…yeah." I take a bite of my scone to try and avoid conversation.

She nods, "Some of the members of the town said that when ya first came into town ye were acting deranged; asking people if this is Middle Earth. Some are even saying that ya fainted in the dress shop!"

News travels just as fast without cellphones in this town. Hobbits must love to gossip.

I'm at a loss for what to say, honestly. My throat feels dry as I remember the first man I accosted, asking for a hobbit costume, and the woman with her child, and finally the seamstress's shop. I try to swallow my piece of scone and it scratches my throat on the way down.

"Well…you see…I, uh," Everyone in the room is hanging onto every word, which makes me extremely nervous, "I...woke up that morning in a strange place…in the middle of the woods, and…I was very worried..." Avoiding eye contact, I shovel another bite of blueberry scone into my mouth.

"Well, that's a funny story. Even though waking in the woods is very alarming, why would ya be worried if ye were in Middle Earth or not?" Gertrude asks in confusion.

"I...I um...you're right. It is really silly."

I'm not sure what else I could possibly say. But thankfully the hobbit waitress chuckles and before I can answer she gives me a pat on the back, "Silly human." and leaves to attend to other guests.

I let out a relieved sigh. I'm lucky she is so nice and is too busy to truly interrogate me. The other hobbits don't look at me too friendly though. They obviously don't believe me, and don't seem to take kindly to strangers accosting their neighbors and friends on the street.

The lukewarm milks is quickly gulped down so as to get out of here. I can't help but offhandedly marvel at the taste. Must have been collected this morning since they have no refrigerators. It's the freshest and creamiest milk I've ever tasted.

Standing up, I force a cheerful tone as I notice everyone watching me. Might as well address the room then, "Welp! Nice to meet everyone. I'll just be going now!"

My rigid legs walk straight to the front door, anxious to get out of the stifling atmosphere. I glance back briefly and they're still watching me and murmuring to one another.

I give a half-hearted 'Forrest Gump' wave then step into the chilly air and sunlight. After being in a dim tavern with no electricity, the bright fireball in the sky makes me squint my eyes against the harsh light. All around me, the square is bustling with activity. Michel Delving is in full swing with hairy barefooted short people talking and meandering about to and fro.

For a moment, I simply stand there in disbelief and watch the hobbits interact. It feels so quaint and picturesque. I would have loved it here if I had come on a vacation or something. Sadly, my circumstances don't allow me to find as much pleasure in the scene although I wish I could. There's also no 'Concerning Hobbits' theme music, which is a big let down, not gonna lie.

The only time I've ever traveled to another country was when I went to China to teach English for five months. It was a MAJOR culture shock. Completely different language, architecture, food, religion, and mentality. It was as if I had stepped on an alien planet. My mental bubble had popped, and I realized that the world was so much grander and bigger than I had ever imagined.

Only now it's not an alien planet, I think to myself as I walk down the uneven cobbled street. It's an alien universe. Traveling to another country is strange, but traveling to another time period with mythical creatures is even more alarming.

I walk in a daze of wide-eyed wonder past the handwoven baskets of freshly picked vegetables and fruits that line different vendors on the streets. Wooden stalls are surrounded by baskets filled with shiny-scaled fish of all shapes and sizes. Large and small barrels of different kinds of ale and mead are piled high in one stall. Small bags of grains, lentils, and beans are lined up nice and neat. Some of the stalls showcase beautiful, hand-carved, hand-painted toys for children.

The smell thankfully isn't bad, as hobbits seem to be actually very sanitary. More so than humans would be in this sort of time period, I'm sure.

Behind the marketplace stalls there seem to be more permanent businesses and shops set up in actual wooden buildings with big round doors. The buildings aren't as big as in my world, maybe two stories but they are not human-sized since hobbits aren't as tall as humans. I had always thought hobbits lived underground? Maybe that's only in the country?

I feel a bubbling satisfaction that for once in my life, the size of everything around me makes me feel…tall! Just a head taller, but it feels surreal being able to look over the sea of curly hobbit heads quite easily as I make my way down the street.

One particular round door that I pass by nearly knocks me off my feet by the smell of warm freshly baked bread. My eyes flutter in bliss, and I immediately float backwards to see what's going on inside.

Inside is a high-ceiling room with three small stone ovens set on the far wall. A long, wide wooden counter dominates the center of it. The room is hot and smells very strongly of spices and yeast, pouring out steam into the slightly chilly spring air. There are hobbit maidens, ribbons in their curly golden hair with their pointy ears peeking out, kneading dough and conversing animatedly with one another. Others are chopping and mixing things on a table beside them, and a male hobbit is perusing a tall shelf of ingredients. The shelf rises to the ceiling high above and a rolling ladder allows him to reach little catwalks for one of three levels of shelves. A basket on a pulley at the end allowed the hobbits to send down their selections so they could climb the ladder with both hands. A hobbit opens one of the stone oven doors and I catch a glimpse of golden round loaves baking within.

The kitchen is a bright and warm space and the hobbits call out to each other in a good humor.

I can't help but grin at the scene. It's such a…simple way of life. A good one, if their happy and animated faces are anything to go by. I just wish I had a camera-

MY PHONE! I gasp softly, remembering.

I quickly get my cellphone out and snap a couple pictures of the happy occupants before they notice me in the doorway and pause their work.

I give an embarrassed smile and another awkward Forrest Gump wave as I quickly duck out of there, continuing on past many shops with round hobbit doors. They seem to sell all sorts of things like clocks, clothes, furniture, hats, and shoes.

I have to stop and croon at a particular round glass window- the BEAUTIFUL and delicate porcelain teapots, bowls, saucers, cups, and plates on display are breathtaking! Each of them are handcrafted and detailed with intricate designs and images that I've never seen from any culture on Earth. If only I had money! I would buy each and every thing I see as a souvenir from Middle Earth. It would sell for a fortune back home. I itch to use the gold coin in my pocket, even though a tea set isn't going to save me from starvation. I should only use it in an emergency.

Suddenly, movement in the reflection of the display glass catches my attention and I see the shocked faces of hobbits whispering and staring in it behind me.

I turn around and gulp, realizing that I haven't been as observant as usual. I was too distracted by the splendor and exotic sights around me. Looking back the way I came, I see a sea of faces staring at me, their expressions ranging from curiosity to wariness as they mutter to one another. A rush of anxiety surges through my gut. Hobbits are friendly, aren't they? At least, Bilbo Baggins had always made me think so. Apparently, as I'd walked along, people had stopped and stared at my jeans and hot pink hoodie that glows like a freaking beacon. I wonder if this is the first time they've ever seen someone wearing hot pink, considering how difficult the dye would be to replicate. That, and I'm wearing jeans instead of a dress.

For the rest of my walk down the street, I blush furiously like a tomato and walk stiffly, aware of the wave of people staring at me from behind.

I continue meandering along until I hear the rhythmic TINK! TINK! TINK! of a hammer striking metal. Soon, I see the hobbit, hard at work, pounding away with his hammer. I move towards the blacksmith's shop in awe. I've only ever seen something like this in movies! It feels like magic as I watch the strong-armed hobbit pounding a glowing piece of metal into the shape of a hook. As he plunges the hot metal into a bucket of water, causing it to hiss and steam, he turns towards where I stand. His stern face is framed by a braided red beard, giving him an air of both authority and craftsmanship. Wait a second….that's not a hobbit, it's a dwarf!

My thoughts turn to another dark-haired dwarf and I wonder if this dwarf knows Thorin? I begin to walk over excitedly to ask him, but I immediately stop, my excitement dampened by the embarrassing memory of my conversation with the innkeeper about Thorin's sword.

Have I lost my mind? Of COURSE this dwarf knows Thorin! Or at least, he knows of Thorin. Thorin isn't some 'random Joe' you meet on the street- he's their KING. I wonder why he didn't travel with an escort if he's so important? Besides, what am I supposed to say? 'Hi! I know your King! He's awesome!' and he would look at me and say '...what does awesome mean?'

I immediately turn right, bypassing the dwarf blacksmith, and go down the street that was indicated. I would rather not take the chance of saying something embarrassing in front of one of Thorin's people.

What was the next step that the innkeeper told me? A house with flowers? I keep walking until I see it; a white house with giant lush roses of every color spilling out over the wall. The sweet fragrant smell reaches me from here. And right across from it is a building with an overhanging sign. The calligraphy is hard to read, but I recognize 'Book' as one of the words. Huh. I actually didn't get lost!

I walk in, and the smell of leather and parchment hits me. Wooden shelves laden with stacks of leather-bound books fill the space, creating a cozy yet scholarly atmosphere. There are no posters on the walls with owls encouraging kids to read more. No modern light fixtures. Just windows allowing you to see the dust motes swirling in the air.

I can't help but walk over to the nearest books, admiring their interesting covers and intriguing titles. Stories that can't be found in any corner of my world. I open one, titled 'The Tales of Lolly and Piper'.

I flip through it and, based on the beautiful hand-drawn pictures, I realize it's a children's book about two hobbit girls who get into all sorts of trouble together. The charming illustrations subtly teach basic hobbit etiquette along the way. I love the slant of the ink as I read the beautiful calligraphy.

I continue on, briefly perusing titles and skimming through pages, but I don't find anything that describes traveling to another world or how I might reverse such thing. The books seem to cover a wide range of topics, from local history and botany to cooking and folklore, but nothing that addresses my specific issue.

"Excuse me, err…good sir hobbit?" I cringe at my attempt at medieval language as I come up to the Hobbit behind the counter. He watches me nervously, "Do you happen to have, uh, any maps of the Shire?"

"Maps? Oh, yes. Of course, of course." He stutters and stumbles, more awkward than I am as he avoids eye contact and leads me over to one of the back shelves. This shelf, rather than harboring books, is stacked with scrolls.

They remind me of rolling pins to roll bread dough with and I gently touch the various styles of the wood handles. I really have a problem with touching things and exploring with my hands. My mom's lessons on keeping my hands to myself clearly didn't stick. Some are pointy, some are intricately carved with runes or pictures, and some are plain and smooth with no embellishment. The hobbit teenager is busy opening and unrolling various scrolls looking through various maps of Middle Earth until he pulls one out that satisfies him.

"I believe this one will be of use to you…" he hands me the scroll.

"Thank you so much!" I gush with excitement and give him a big smile.

The teenage hobbit turns pink from head to toe and mumbles a "You're welcome" before hastily beating a retreat behind the protection of the counter. I smile to myself. He's adorable.

I place the map carefully on a small wooden desk conveniently situated next to a collection of scrolls. Unrolling it gently, I smooth out its creases, eager to take in the details of this new world. Just like the books, the map is hand drawn. No such thing as a copy machine here. I breath over the beautiful brush strokes that made such a masterpiece.

When I see that Hobbiton is literally two towns over, my eyes widen in surprise. I then frown, straightening up and pausing in contemplation, wondering at my luck. Could it really be so close? This unexpected revelation stirs a mixture of excitement and apprehension within me. I could have woken up anywhere in the Shire. I could have woken up on the OTHER end of Middle Earth in Mordor, honestly. And yet... conveniently...I'm just a couple towns over?

A feeling of destiny tingles my brain. I also could have also been found by any hobbit or dwarf. But THE Thorin Oakenshield isn't just any dwarf. Memories of playing with my five older brothers come to my mind.

Behind our childhood home, there is a canal and tree-fort that was the stage of our adventures. Growing up, my brothers and I played many different games and stories—pirates, dragons and knights, GI Joe—but whenever we acted out Middle Earth stories, I always played as Thorin Oakenshield. Odd, I know. My brothers hadn't wanted me to join them, so they tried to scare me away by giving me the character of an old dwarf king. It was unconventional, since I was literally the youngest at the time and a girl, but I refused to let them kick me out of their game. Besides, I really got into it! I wore a crown and hogged all the treasure. Plus, I was a bossy little punk, so my brothers eventually realized that Thorin suited me perfectly. And, of course, my mom made them include me. I wore the title with pride, turning their attempt to dissuade me into a cherished memory.

It's so odd that HE was the one who found me.

Maybe luck has nothing to do with this. While difficult journeys, both 'the Hobbit' and 'the Lord of the Rings' books have conveniently successful endings despite all the insurmountable odds stacked against them. Maybe someone upstairs is looking out for me after all?

I shake my head. They sure have a funny way of showing it. Dropping me into a fictional storybook? Well, not so fictional anymore. But, you know, there's still the 10% chance I could be dreaming this whole thing in a coma.

A horse fly buzzes around my head, its persistent drone breaking my train of thought. Before I can react, it lands on my arm and bites me, causing a sharp sting. I yipe like a puppy, swatting at it...but I miss and it flies away. I rub the pain away angrily. The sudden interruption snaps me back to the present and I get the message.

I'm not asleep. And on the…now 1%...chance that I AM in a coma, I have to remember that pain is a real thing here and I need to avoid it at all costs.

I've already experienced hunger pains, cow poop, fainting, cold wet pants, and squishy uncomfortable shoes… so if I really am in Middle Earth and not crazy, then I need to keep my wits about me. It's one of the most dangerous stories to fall into. I don't want to arrive home missing a hand or foot.

I get my phone out and make sure the little bookkeeper isn't looking before quickly taking a picture of the map.

I snap a picture of him while his back is turned, capturing not just him but the entire medieval bookstore behind him. The quaint, cozy atmosphere, the shelves lined with ancient tomes, and the warm, dim lighting all come together in the shot. This will be perfect evidence to show my family when they ask where I've been. They're not going to believe it any more than I initially did, but I can still try. The photo, with its rich details and almost otherworldly ambiance, might help convince them that my story isn't just a figment of imagination.

I spend the next five minutes studying the physical map and memorizing the way. It's not hard. Just go the same direction Thorin had ridden, all the way to Waymoot. Then choose the road to Hobbiton, not ByWater. Only problem is I can't tell how many miles it is on the map or how long it will take me.

I bring the scroll up to the bookkeeper and clear my throat. He turns, wide-eyed and I smile at him, "Thanks for letting me look at the map! Out of curiosity, how much would a map like this cost anyways?"

"Three silver coins."

Darn it...I wish I could have a souvenir like this! For a fleeting moment, the thought crosses my mind: Could I put it on Thorin's tab as well?

I push aside the idea with a sigh. No, that's dishonest. I can't reward his kindness like that.

The idea of using the gold coin comes to mind again, tempting me with its potential value. But I can't. I can't get rid of it until I know more about it. And I've already taken a photo of the map so I'll be fine.

"Hmm, can you tell me how far it is to Hobbiton?" I roll out the scroll and point to the next town over.

"Hobbiton? That's about four hours by pony…twelve if you walk."

That's a lot of walking. If I don't have enough money to buy a map, I certainly don't have enough to buy a pony.

"Ok. Well, thanks again! You have a really cool book store!"

"Uhhh, thanks." He smiles, confused at my words but responding to the positive tone, "I think?"

I head outside. The delightful scent of the roses right across from me immediately fills my senses and I take a few deep breaths, bracing myself for the daunting task ahead.

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Ok! Time to find Bilbo's house!

4 hours later...

Stupid road! Stupid quest! I should have just stayed in bed! I huff and puff as I trudge down the road, kicking at rocks in my ire.

I've been walking for hours. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and my feet hurt. Plus, the sun isn't warm enough to make this pleasant. I shiver and huddle in my hoodie.

I hear a wagon behind me and, like all the other wagons, I assume it will simply pass me by. I've been walking along the same dirt road since leaving Michel Delving and I've checked my phone only once. It says I've been walking for four hours.

I bemoan the fact that I didn't take Thorin up on his offer to go to Bree. But then I have to remind myself that if I had traveled with him, I would have eventually found out I was in Middle Earth and then HE would have had to fill in for Doctor Pudbrook. And that would have...just been awful. For both of us.

I sigh. Walking in the Shire isn't all that bad. Could be worse, right? At least my shoes dried out last night, and it's not freezing, just a little nippy. Plus the scenery is amazing-

I randomly glance back at the sound of the rumbling wagon, and my heart leaps out of my chest and gallops away. I shriek in terror, and in an incredible moment of reflex, I dive to the side of the road with seconds to spare. The pony and wagon thunder past, crossing the exact spot where I had been standing just moments before. My heart pounds in my chest as I lie in the dirt, trying to catch my breath.

"Whoooahh!" the driver calls out frantically, pulling on his reigns way too late.

I would have been trampled on by a pony. Then run over with a wagon. My quest for Gandalf would have been at an official end.

"Are you out of your MIND?!" I yell at the driver, who is jumping down from the wagon and running over to me with one hand holding his hat to his head. My heart races a hundred miles a minute, "You could have KILLED me!"

"Begging your most humble pardon, Miss! I-I didn't see you there!" the hobbit gasps, his eyes wide as he also realizes what almost occurred. I'm sprawled on the side of the road, looking as if I've just tried to sell myself to the dirt.

"How could you NOT see me?!" I yell angrily, gesturing to the VERY bright clothing that I'm wearing. He'd have to have to be blind to not see me in my hot pink hoodie! Everyone else can't seem to miss it!

The hobbit's face pales as he takes in my oddly bright clothing with wide eyes, "I-I-I'm so sorry miss!…I dozed off for just a spell...I-I...W-we've taken this road so many times I just...I just thought I could trust my horse to lead the way!"

I blink in disbelief. He was sleeping? Figures.

I turn my accusing glare to his pony, which stands there looking tired as well. The horse is old, I can tell, and might be losing its eyesight. I sigh, and my anger drains out of me as the fear of becoming roadkill slowly dissipates. I now feel a little bad for yelling at the hobbit man, who is shaking like a leaf. I was already in a frustrated mood due to my 'walking holiday,' so I might have snapped a little too loudly at him.

Still, he would have trampled me! The last thing I expected when coming to Middle Earth (not that I expected to come to Middle Earth) was to have to worry about bad drivers in addition to all the other dangerous things out here.

"Yeah, well, don't let it happen again," I mumble, brushing the dirt and leaves off my clothes. With that, I grumpily turn back to the road to begin my long trek once more.

"Oh! Please Miss, uh, forgive me for asking, but... what are you doing out on the highway all by yourself?" The hobbit calls out worriedly behind me.

"I'm trudging." I reply grouchily as I begin to trudge once more. But I can't help the teeny happy feeling I get as I quote my favorite movie. Not that he would get the reference.

"T-trudging, Miss?" he responds right on cue.

I glance back to him, my past gloom slipping away as I recall the words, "You know, trudging? To trudge: the slow, weary, depressing yet determined walk of a woman who has nothing left in life except the impulse to simply...soldier on."

"But, uh, what are you trudging for?" He asks cautiously.

My bad mood comes back as I remember why, exactly, I am on this stupid road in the first place, "I'm trying to get to Hobbiton to find Bilbo Baggins, to meet a wizard, so I can get back home!" I growl and then go back to trudging along the trail, not expecting him to follow me. I don't really care if he understands or not. The fact that this is even something I have to do in the first place, is beyond frustrating. I shouldn't even be here!

"Hobbiton?! But...it's about three hours from here by pony! You'll never make it before dark walking! It is currently around 4:00!"

Dang it, I should have gotten out of bed earlier today.

"Yeah, well, I don't have much choice." I grind out with a huff, "The universe decided to poop on both me and science by sending me to a mystical land of hobbits and elves and now I have to find a way BACK to my world. Making me walk in the dark? HEH! Just another candle on the cake to them, I'm sure!" I'm being belligerent, and talking nonsense, but hiking for four hours after eating nothing but two blueberry scones and some milk can make even the best person cranky. That, and I'm still a little peeved that this hobbit almost ran me over. Just something else to add to my list of grievances. I soldier on.

"P-poop on you? Your...world? I don't...I...wait! Miss!? The least I can do is give you a ride! It isn't proper for a lady to be by herself traveling!" The hobbit chases after me, his horse remaining back where it is.

I stop and turn to him, not daring to hope. A...ride?

"You...you mean you'll really give me a ride?" I ask hopefully, hardly daring to believe my luck. All the other hobbits that passed by me were too wary to even speak to me, let alone give me a ride. Thanks to my strange clothing, I'm sure.

"I nearly ran you over, and for that, I am truly sorry." The hobbit says, earnestly. He looks genuinely contrite, his face a mask of guilt and worry. "I can only offer you the very back of my wagon, since I have no room up front, but if you're amiable to it...please allow me to make amends and restore my good name?"

My feet cry with joy, and I echo their sentiment, "Yes! Thank you! I really appreciate it!" I smile at him, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

"My pleasure, Miss. It isn't much, but the hay is fresh."

I go to the back of his wagon, full of sweet alfalfa hay, and I hop up. I call up to where he's climbing into the front seat, "Your good name is hereby restored Mr...uh...I'm sorry, I didn't even ask your name?"

"I'm Timothy, Miss! Timothy Dunsdo." He gives me a shy smile. "And yours?"

"Peyton! Peyton Silva."

"Well met, Miss Silva!" He turns to his pony, "Come on Daisy! Heee-yup!" And we're off.

I sigh in relief as I lean against the sweet-smelling hay, feeling its comforting softness support my tired body. Looking back at the dusty road I trudged for the past four hours, all the frustration and anger begin to ease away. The endless, exhausting walk now feels like a distant memory.

The rhythmic clatter of the wagon wheels and the sway of the bumpy ride lulls me into a state of relaxation. I had walked nonstop for four hours and I have eight more to go. I would probably would arrive at Waymoot at 1:00am if he hadn't picked me up. Another good thing is that even though the wagon is very rocky, every bump in the road is cushioned by the hay. Now I'll get there in another three hours!

"So how did you end up, uh, trudging on the side of the road, if I may ask?"

"Well Timothy, it's a very long story. And it all started yesterday morning..."

End of Chapter

Whoo! This was one of the more difficult chapters to write. I had to really immerse myself into their world, you know? Sorry if Peyton is a bit silly, lol. I'm trying to balance the realism of the story with humor. I want her to be a normal person and behave in normal ways on the outside while having funny crazy thoughts inside like most humans.