Chapter 3: Home Invasion

Sara waited for a few minutes, trying to give Bilbo and Gandalf a chance to speak before she walked quietly to the kitchen. But for the second time that day, she came to an abrupt halt just outside the arched doorway. There was indeed someone seated at the little table in the kitchen... but it was not Gandalf.

For one thing, the person at the table was too short to be the wizard and he was dressed all wrong. This person's appearance suggested something of a fighter if the scars on his arms or the axes strapped to his hip were anything to go by. His broad back was to her but she could see the top of his head was shaved smooth and marked with tattoos as were his wrists and knuckles. As he turned his head to take in his surroundings she could see the hair on the sides of his head melded seamlessly into his impressive facial hair. If she had seen him on earth she would have expected him to be decked out in black leather and straddling a Harley motorbike.

She backed slowly away from the kitchen's arched doorway, trying to make no sound, but nearly bumped into Bilbo who had a large cooked chicken and a basket of rolls in his arms. Dodging around her he entered the kitchen and placed the food on the table.

"I'm sorry it's not hot. I'm afraid it was not expecting guests quite yet," said Bilbo. "Is there anything else I can get for you? Would you like a drink?"

"Some ale if ya have any," said the bald man, reaching for the chicken and tearing off both legs.

Bilbo bobbed his head. "Certainly, one moment please." He came back through the doorway almost bumping into her again.

"Who's that?" she asked in a whisper, watching the man in the kitchen. Bilbo shrugged slightly, looking helpless.

"I'm not sure," he confessed. "I answered the door and he just came in saying he was ready for supper. Excuse me a moment." Ever the gracious host he continued past her toward the pantry. Sara inched forward again and peered around the corner watching the man as he ate.

"I know yer there lass. Quit skulking in the doorway and come round where I can see ya,” said his gruff voice. Cheeks burning, Sara edged around the table and came to stand in front of the sink. The man eyed her cautiously, taking her in without so much as blinking. "Who might ya be? Gandalf said nothing about there being a woman livin here.” Sara watched him, her fingers fidgeting with the zipper on her heavy cargo pants. Zip...zip...zip.

"I don't live here."

He frowned.

"Then what are ya doing here?"

She shrugged, unsure how or if she should answer.

"Do you know Gandalf?" she asked at length, trying to break the awkward silence. He took a large bite of chicken and nodded. "Is he coming tonight?" He nodded again, not looking away from her.

"Why?" he asked, around a mouth full of food.

"I need to speak to him. He should know how to help me." He reached for a biscuit, buttered it, and shoved the whole thing into his mouth watching her while he chewed.

"Yer in some kind of trouble?" he asked, sucking the chicken fat off his thumb. She nodded. "What kind of trouble?"

"I'm not entirely sure," she admitted. She was also not entirely sure she wanted to say.

“He'll be here tonight," he said, reaching for another biscuit. "Though a wizard is just as apt to get one into trouble as out." He glanced down at her bare feet. "Yer no halfling that's for sure. What are ya doing in Hobbiton?"

"I got lost," she admitted. He snorted.

"Ya must have wandered quite far. Yer short for a human. What's yer name lass?"

"Sara Miller," she said, picking up the mixing bowl of cookie dough and inspecting it.

"What have ya got there?" he asked, interested. She tilted the bowl towards him.

"Cookie dough."

"Well don't let me stop ya from whatever ya we're about." He returned to eating, effectively ignoring her. Hesitantly she pulled a baking sheet out and began to shape the cookies. She looked in the oven unsure how to place the cookies inside. Giving it up until Bilbo returned she turned her attention back to the man behind her. “What's your name?” she asked, breaking the silence. He eyed her for a moment before standing.

“Dwalin,” he said, bending slightly at the waist. “At your service."

"Thank you,” she said, not quite sure what the correct response was. He raised an eyebrow but sat down all the same and resumed his meal. "Are you a hobbit then?" she asked, still uncomfortable with the silence. He coughed, choking on a bite of chicken, and gave her a look of surprise and indignation.

"No. I am a dwarf."

“Oh,” she said, tugging on the gold chain around her neck. "Sorry." Thankfully Bilbo came bustling into the kitchen at that moment carrying a tankard of ale and set it down at Dwalin's elbow.

"I do hope the food is to your liking," said the hobbit. The dwarf just nodded. Bilbo opened his mouth to ask a question but Sara tugged on his sleeve pulling him to the side.

"How do you bake in one of these ovens," she whispered. "I have never used a wood-burning one."

"Do they not have them where you are from?" asked Bilbo quietly.

"No. Not many people have been these anymore." Dwalin watched them silently as he ate, the chicken and plate of biscuits half gone. Quickly Bilbo arranged the coals inside the oven again and slid the baking sheet in.

"Thanks," said Sara. There was a loud knocking on the front door once again. They stood there unmoving for a moment.

"That'll be the door," said Dwalin around a bite of chicken.

“Surely that must be Gandalf now," said Bilbo, leaving to answer the door. Sara once again dusted herself off determined to make as good an impression as possible. The doorknob rasped as Bilbo opened the door.

“Balin, at your service,” said a voice, catching Dwalin's attention. He rose from the table and went to greet the newcomer. There were a few words spoken in a language unfamiliar to her and then a loud sickening thwack. Moments later Dwalin and another dwarf come into the kitchen followed by a rather confused and slightly flabbergasted Bilbo. This new dwarf looked to be older than Dwalin if his snow-white beard was anything to go by.

“Ms. Miller, this here is my brother Balin," said Dwalin.

"At your service Ms. Miller," said Balin, eyeing her cautiously as he bowed. Without ceremony the two sat at the table, Dwalin already eating again. Turning to Bilbo, Balin asked, "Do you have any more of that chicken laddie? It's been a long day of travel and ale would not be unwelcome either."

"Of… of course,” stammered Bilbo, promptly turning to fetch more food. Sara began to cut out more cookies while listening to the two dwarves speak in a foreign language, their voices low. She could not help but suspect they were talking about her and Balin motined at her several times. Who were they? Bilbo didn't seem to know them, so why were they here? Bilbo returned from the direction of the pantry with another chicken for Balin, more biscuits, a crock of jam, and another ale.

“That's the ticket laddie," said Balin. "Thank you." Bilbo retreated to the corner and sat on a stool watching the two guests, looking quite uncomfortable. Sara couldn't blame him. Truthfully if someone had shown up on her doorstep out of the blue and asked to be fed, Sara was not sure she would have let them in, even if they claimed to be a friend of a friend. But then again it was thanks to Bilbo's unfailing hospitality that she was not turned out and lost on some road in Hobbiton.

After ten ponderous minutes, Sara checked on the cookies and finding them to be cooked, switched them out for a sheet of newly cut ones. She scooped the hot cookies onto a plate and refilled the pan with more unbaked circles. Not wanting to leave Bilbo's kitchen in disarray she promptly washed the dishes she had used and set the unbaked circles in stacks to the side, all the while watching Bilbo out of the corner of her eye. He looked disoriented and miserable.

Remembering that hobbits took comfort from food Sara finished tidying after herself and grabbed a fresh cookie and went to offer it to Bilbo. He took it with a weak smile but his face seemed to brighten up upon taking a bite. That was better. With a few minutes to spare until the next batch of cookies were done Sara turned and walked toward the sitting room intent on retrieving the paint can she had abandoned.

"These are wonderful, Ms. Miller,” said Bilbo following her down the hall, leaving the dwarves to their food. "What are they?" She grimaced

“Gingerbread cookies. They were my grandma's favorite. Please don't call me Ms. Miller, Sara is just fine.” They entered the sitting room and she grabbed the paint off of the shelf.

“But it's not proper."

“I promise you won't offend me," she assured. "Ms. Miller just makes me feel so old. I'm only 24. You don't want to make me feel like an old lady do you?"

“I would not,” he said, rubbing one foot on top of the other and looking distinctly unhappy.

"My friends just call me Sara."

“Very well Ms. Sara, but then you must call me Bilbo.”

“I am fine calling you Mr. Baggins if that's what you prefer, I just like people to call me Sara is all. It's up to you." They returned to the entryway, Bilbo frowning in thought.

"No. You must call me Bilbo if I am to call you Ms. Sara."

"Thank you, Mr. Bilbo," she said, grinning over her shoulder. She popped the lid off the paint can and just had her hand poised over the handle of the front door when there was yet another loud knocking from outside.

"That had better be Gandalf," said Bilbo sourly, moving forward to answer the door.

The door opened to reveal yet two more dwarves standing side by side on the porch. They appeared much younger than the two in the kitchen. The one on the left was blond with braids and clasps in his long hair. Even his long mustache was braided, beads swinging from its ends as he surveyed Bilbo with blue eyes. The other dwarf was a brunette with brown eyes; his hair long and loose past his shoulders in a slight wave. He seemed to lack the beard that so far had marked the other dwarves, but was slightly taller than his companion. But she was sheepishly pleased to note that they were both still a few inches shorter than herself.

“Fili,” said the blond with a solemn look.

“And Kili,” echoed the brunette with equal dourness Together they executed a perfect bow. They looked up at Bilbo still bent over and their gazes slid past him to Sara. Upon spying her, their eyes widened first in shock and then curiosity.

“At your service,” they purred, twin sparks of mischief shining in their eyes.

"You must be Mr. Boggins," said Kili as straightening they pushed their way past a bewildered Bilbo and into the entryway. They removed their traveling cloaks and weapons, dumping them into poor Bilbo's unsuspecting arms. Fili seemed to pull knives from every conceivable and some less conceivable place on his person. Sara lost count after seven.

“Careful with these, I just had them sharpened,” he said, handing knife upon knife to Bilbo who was struggling not to drop anything. Kili wandered past Bilbo and began to scrape the mud from his boots on a rather nice-looking hope chest.

“Hey!” cried the hobbit, giving Kili a reproachful look. “Would you please not do that! That's my mother's glory box.”

Sara set the can of paint in the corner behind the door next to her drying boots and turned to help her friend, but Bilbo was already off up the hall with the dwarves' belongings in his arms. Exasperated, she turned to face Fili and Kili only to feel something squish between her bare toes. She glanced at the floor and winced. She had swept and mopped the floor earlier having felt bad about her wet boots but now it was tracked up with mud, most of it coming from Fili and Kili's boots.

“Hey Fred and George,” she called angrily, just as they were about to step into the hallway. They turned to her confused and pointed to themselves in question. “Yes, you two," she said. The dwarves in the kitchen fell suspiciously quiet and Sara guessed they were listening. She pointed at Fili and Kili's muddy feet.

"Boots off." They stood still, watching her warily. "Now! Or does your mother let you track mud into her kitchen?” Dwalin and Balin appeared in the hallway.

"I think you are mistaken," began Fili. "We are not called…"

"I don't care what your names are. At the moment all I care about is that there is mud between my toes and all over the floor I mopped earlier. Take your boots off or go back outside where you belong."

“The lass is right lads," said Dwalin with an amused smirk. "Dis would tan your hides if she ever caught ya doing such in her kitchen.”

"So would Thorin," added Balin. The younger dwarves turned and grumbling began to untie their boots.

“Well it wouldn't hurt you to take yours off either,” said Sara, staring pointedly at Dwalin and Balin's booted feet. Fili and Kili snickered as they placed their boots under the coat rack. Balin looked a bit taken aback at first but recovered quickly, smiling.

“That it wouldn't lass," he replied. Dwalin made a noise in the back of his throat and Sara wasn't sure if it was a snort or chuckle.

“Thank you,” said Sara, a little uncertain now as she padded barefoot back to the kitchen, trailed by Fili and Kili.

“Something smells good,” said Fili. Dwalin and Balin came back into the kitchen sans boots, but upon spotting the broom in the corner Dwalin pushed it into Fili's hands, ushering him back towards the front door. Groaning, the two younger dwarves disappeared. Sara checked the cookies and had just pulled them out of the oven when Fili and Kili returned.

"What are those?" asked Kili as he watched her move the cookies onto a plate to cool. Fili grabbed up two of them before she could stop him and tossed one to Kili who caught it in one hand. Sara rolled her eyes and continued. At least the floor was clean again. She glanced over to Fili and was surprised to see him popping the last of his cookie into his mouth already, a pleased look on his face. Kili on the other hand was turning his over in his hands looking a bit disappointed.

"What's the matter brother? Don't like it?” asked Fili.

“No, not really. Too spicy."

“Give it here then,,” said Fili, taking the cookie. “Shame to let it go to waste.”

“Hey lad toss us one,” grunted Dwalin, and with a flourish, Fili did so. It was at this moment of flying pastries that Bilbo re-entered the kitchen having changed his clothes for fresh ones. Dwalin snatched the cookies out of the air just above Bilbo's head and handed one to Balin. Bilbo looked at his shoulder and brushed the newly settled flour off with a sigh. Balin took a bite of the cookie but then handed the rest of it to Dwalin who popped into his mouth contentedly.

“Just exactly where are you from Ms. Miller? If you don't mind my asking," asked Balin, eyeing her. Her hand drifted to the zipper on her pants again and she wished she had less obtrusive attire and her normally dark hair.

"That's a long story,” she hedged. “And one I feel I should tell Gandalf first.” Balin frowned slightly but seemed content enough to let it go for now. It was quiet for a moment or two in the kitchen and Dwalin continued to eat.

"Well, I feel sorry for you Kili. Still, more for me to eat," said Fili, returning his attention to the cookies and winking at his brother. Fili reached toward the pan and had his hand swatted with a spatula for his trouble.

“Ouch, now that wasn't very nice Ms. Miller," he said, rubbing his hand in mock agony.

“Sara, my name is Sara, and leave the cookies alone.” She looked back to the empty baking sheet and frowned. There should have been three cookies left.

“Okay Ms. Sara then,” said Kili, juggling the missing cookies.

"Hey!" she protested. He tossed one to Fili who ate it in one gulp and one to Dwalin who caught it deftly. She tried to smack Kili's hand with the spatula but he jumped behind Bilbo, laughing as she turned back to find Fili with yet another cookie in his mouth.

“You may as well give it up lass," said Balin. “They have been pilfering sweets with that particular stunt since long before you were born.” Sara scowled at the younger pair of brothers.

"Right lads,” said Dwalin, standing and clapping a hand on Balin's shoulder. “There's work to be done before your uncle and the others get here.” He gave pointed looks to Fili and Kili.

“Indeed," said Balin. "We must make room at the table for the company.”

"Others?” spluttered Bilbo. “Company? Just how many will be sitting at my table tonight?” No one bothered to answer him as Dwalin was already in motion.

“Fili, Kili come. We must move some of this furniture if all are to fit around the table."

"Now wait just one minute," said Bilbo, jumping to his feet.

"Does Mr. Baggins have a larger dinning room?" asked Balin, leading Dwalin down the hall. "Ah, here it is."

"But but…" protested Bilbo. Kili stuffed the last cookie into the hobbit's open mouth, effectively silencing him.

"Don't worry, we will move it all back after dinner Mr. Boggins." Bilbo looked unhappy but ate the cookie all the same; following the elder dwarves through the doorway determined to oversee any and all moving of his household goods.

“Master Kili!” called Sara. Kili wrinkled his nose and turned to face her.

“Mistress Miller?” he asked, watching her wrinkled her nose in return. She held out a damp rag to him.

“Please go wipe off the glory box you used for a doormat,” she said, handing him the rag. Grumbling he padded out to the entryway but returned not long after cheerful enough. He handed her the rag and was about to say something, but was called back by the others.

Sara switched yet another sheet of cookies in and out and started a fire in the second and third ovens at Bilbo's request as the others bumped and knocked about in the dining room down the hall. Peaking around the corner she could see Balin directing Fili and Kili to move pieces of furniture to and fro. She dodged out of the way as Dwalin carried two of the kegs from the pantry into the kitchen and stacked them in the corner. All the while Bilbo could be seen worrying over the state of his house and belongings.

“Oh do be careful, that's an old family heirloom," said Bilbo, juggling an armful of empty mugs toward the dining room. "No, no, no, that chair is far too old. Not for sitting on. Mind the walls. Don't knock the pictures”

Sara rushed to help him before several precarious mugs could topple to the floor. The dining room was packed to the brim with several large tables pushed together and an odd assortment of chairs. Bilbo was in a positive tizzy as they re-entered the kitchen.

"Oh, Ms. Sara. Whatever shall I do? Balin informed me that there are to be ten more guests, bringing the total table count to sixteen including ourselves.” He was rubbing one foot over the other again and Sara had a feeling that his feet would look rather bedraggled by the end of the night.

"Well, luckily I know a hobbit who keeps a well-stocked pantry." He muttered something about expenses, unexpected guests, and prize-winning jam under his breath. “Of course you could always tell them all to leave. I mean this is your house so you would be within your rights to do so.” He looked up at her in horror.

“And be branded forever a hobbit without hospitality?" He ran another hand through this hair. "No you are right; I shall simply have to grin and bear it, but there is so much to do."

"Tell me what to do and I'll do it."

"You are too kind," he said, smiling wearily up at her.

"I figure it's the least I can do, after all, I was the first uninvited guest."

With this, they set about preparing mountains of food, Bilbo instructing and coaching Sara as they went. The dwarves finished the table preparations and began to bring food from the pantry. It was a good thing Bilbo was a hobbit and a skilled cook; for in what seemed to Sara no time at all there were six large hams, twelve chickens, two pork loins, and three large geese cooking merrily in the ovens. Trays of rolls and biscuits sat waiting for their turn in the oven and several enormous bowls of mashed potatoes which Fili and Kili had been forced into peeling by Dwalin sat steaming on the table. Sara had one last sheet of cookies to bake but they were set aside till the ovens were no longer filled. The smells of a delicious feast wafted throughout the house and at last, all seemed to be nearing completion.

There was a slight lull in the preparations when Sara remembered the can of green paint and the scratches on the front door. She slipped into the entryway and had just picked up the paint and brush when there was a tremendous banging at the door and what sounded like several voices bickering back and forth outside. Bilbo came hurrying around the corner looking put out and before Sara could warn him he flung the door wide and promptly disappeared under at least five dwarves whose voices were still raised in irritation. Behind the five now trying to right themselves were three others and a tall old man dressed in gray traveling robes and a tall pointed hat.

“Gandalf,” said Bilbo, in exasperation as he found his feet again looking crumpled.

"Ah Bilbo Baggins, my dear fellow. It's not like you to leave guests waiting on the doorstep and then open the door like a popgun.”

Gandalf reached down to dust the hobbit off and then set aside his staff, cloak, and hat. As the eight new dwarves pressed inside Sara found herself being shunted through the still-open door and out onto the steps into the fading light of the evening. The door closed with a click in front of her face. She huffed in irritation but set about painting over the scratches on Bilbo's door.

Rinsing the brush in a pail of water she took a moment to observe the surrounding countryside. She had to admit that it was a lovely place to live even if it didn't have modern conveniences, or perhaps because of it. Mature trees swayed in the gentle breeze as birds disappeared and insects began to sing. She worried at her bottom lip thinking of home. How was she going to get back? People would be beginning to worry about her. She needed to speak to Gandalf.

Coming back inside she was pleased to spot seven new pairs of boots by the door but there should have been one more not including Gandalf. There was still a booted dwarf in the house and she was determined to find him.

She rounded the corner into the hall and was met with a jumble of dwarves all carrying bowls of food, plates, mugs full of ale, and what looked like the rest of the food from Bilbo's pantry as they swarmed through the hall. Gandalf and Bilbo were in the sitting room talking, Bilbo looking like he was about ready to blow a gasket as Gandalf smiled down at him.

“Who is your unusual house guest Bilbo?” asked Gandalf, turning to look at Sara who had stepped into the room setting the paint can on the shelf again. Huffing slightly Bilbo replied.

“Gandalf, this is Sara Miller. She needs your help and has quite a tale to tell you.” The wizard surveyed her over his lip pipe.

“Yes... I'm sure she has," said the wizard, puffing away. Bilbo caught sight of a hatted dwarf using his crocheted doilies as rags and went to try and rescue them, excusing himself hastily.

“Tell me, child, from where have you wandered to find yourself here in this particular hobbit hole on this singularly eventful evening? Most curious.”

“I'm not from Middle-earth," said Sara bluntly, figuring it best to get right to the point. “I am from an earth, just not this one. I'm from Kentucky in the United States of America.” He surveyed her.

“Indeed, and just how did you make the trek across worlds Ms. Miller?”

The story was quickly relayed. As Sara continued to explain the wizard's eyebrows grew closer and closer together. When she spoke of the door to the pantry he insisted on seeing the door in question. After shooing a rather rotund dwarf out of the pantry and closing the door behind them, he began to examine the round portal by the light of his staff which he had retrieved from the entryway. He muttered under his breath, studied the door frame, and opened and closed the door several times.

"I tried that," she said absently. He ignored her and continued but after a few more minutes he turned back to her.

“I can find nothing of consequence. Are you sure you left nothing out of your tale?”

Sara shook her head, plunging her hands into her pocket only to pull out her phone to check the time. Eight-thirty, her friends would definitely be missing her by now.

“What is that?” asked Gandalf, pointing at her right hand.

“Oh, this is a phone you can...”

“Not your device,” said the wizard impatiently. “The mark on your hand."

“Oh it's a birthmark," she said, holding out her hand resignedly for him to see. It happened often. Gandalf took her hand, peering down at it in the gloom of the pantry. His bushy grey eyebrows shot up into his hairline only to crash together again moments later. Quickly he muttered something, tapping his staff on the door behind her and the seal around the door glowed a light blue.

"That should prevent others from eavesdropping, Nori is far too sneaky for his own good."

“What is it?” asked Sara, sensing a change in the wizard's demeanor.

“It would seem that your presence here Ms. Sara Miller, is indeed not an accident or a coincidence.” He released her hand. “You are meant to be here at this particular time and place; which is something I had not anticipated. I had counted the need for Bilbo, but it seems that you are of importance to this quest as well.”

“What do you mean? What quest? Look, I just want to get home," she said, taking a step back.

"You did not stumble here by accident," repeated the wizard. "You were sent."

"Then send me back," said Sara, a note of hysteria creeping into her voice.

"I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both," said the wizard, straightening.

"But I can't stay here; I belong in Kentucky. I have school on Monday and finals in a few weeks. You have to send me back. I don't belong here. I have my own important quest."

"It is beyond my power to undo what the Valar have done," said Gandalf calmly.

"The who?"

"The Valar. More specifically in this case Aule and Yavanna. Though no one could doubt you do not hail from Middle Earth, no one who has seen that mark on your hand and understood its meaning could argue that you do not belong here."

"But I don't belong here."

"That is not true or you would not bare this mark," he said, taking her hand again. "Hmm, but as to your intended purpose with the dwarves quest I dare not hazard a guess.”

"It's just a birthmark. You have to send me home!"

“That symbol on your hand there is the mark of Aule and Yavanna, the hammer for Aule and the vine, flower, and fruit for Yavanna."

"But what are the Valar?"

"The old gods or creators of this Middle-earth. It would seem, and there is no doubt in my mind, that they have brought you here from your world to ours. By their timing and placement it is clear that you are needed by this particular company of dwarves on their quest." A dwarvish quest? And Bilbo was involved? Could it be that Bilbo was on the cusp of setting out on his adventure to find the ring after all?

“But,” exploded Sara, beginning to feel cornered. “Surely you can send me back. I mean you're Gandalf the Grey, a wizard of Middle Earth. If this is the adventure I think it is... I mean to say, I can't go on a quest and face down a dragon. I've never even read The Hobbit, all I know about it is from the Lord of the Rings trilogy!” She was shouting now in her fright.

“You seem to know much more than anyone from another world should know,” he said, surveying her cautiously. “Dwarves are not so loose-lipped; even the two princes would not wag their tongues so much, and little Bilbo has no idea of the events as of yet. So tell me, Ms. Miller, how you have come to know so much you ought not to. What do you mean by the titles The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings?”

“That's what I've been trying to tell you,” she said. “I know about this world because I have read the books and seen the movies; or at least some of them. I have always thought this world was simply a fantasy. That's all it ever was, a story in a book. None of this is supposed to be real. It's all just a rather dark fairy tale.”

Gandalf watched her for a while digesting her words, stroking his beard thoughtfully. Meanwhile, the sounds of clinking dishes and raucous laughter could be heard along with Bilbo's voice occasionally raised in protest of this or that.

“Ms. Miller, what are The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings? What do these tomes contain?”

Sara thought for a moment. “I'm not sure I should tell you. In other books I've read it's never a good thing for someone to know too much about their future," she hedged. He nodded in agreement.

“I'll not ask for details," he said, waving a hand. "But what can you tell me?” It was a while before Sara answered.

“The Lord of the Rings is a book set in your future, about the time that Bilbo will be 111. There will be a fellowship of people who will go on a quest to destroy evil. They will face hardships, betrayals, and even wars but in the end, the fellowship will win, though only by a small margin."

“And The Hobbit?” asked Gandalf.

“See that's the thing, I've never actually read The Hobbit, only the Lord of the Rings. I do know that it is an account of the adventure that Bilbo goes on. If he never goes on this quest and finds a certain object then the events of the Lord of the Rings can't happen. Unfortunately, I don't know any of the details about how he does this, only that he must. I know it involves dragons and dwarves but that's about it. It's only briefly discussed in The Lord of The Rings, but the book does not go into detail, at least none that I can recall. I reread it many years ago as a teenager and the movies are not as in-depth. But it must be the same quest or yiu wouldn't be here for Bilbo." It was quiet again, Gandalf studying her as she fidgeted with the zipper. Up Finally, he spoke.

“Ms. Miller…".

“Call me Sara please.”

“Very well Ms. Sara. I cannot return you to your home.” He raised his hand again as she opened her mouth to argue. “I do not know how. I don't even understand how it is you got here, only that it was the Valar's wish."

"But you wouldn't send me back even if you could, would you?" she asked bitterly. The corner of his mouth crept upward not unkindly.

"No, I would not. I am a servant of the Valar would not even attempt it. They have placed you here, and here you will have to remain until they see fit to pluck you up again. You best resign yourself to being here in Middle-earth, for the time being at least.” She wanted to scream but clamped her mouth shut trying not to grind her teeth.

"But what is it I am supposed to do?" she hissed out.

"You are meant to accompany these dwarves on their quest."

"But they are going to face a dragon and who knows what else. I don't want to go and they probably don't want me along."

"Hmm. On that count at least you are right. It will likely be difficult to convince them to accept you, but convince them I shall. Of course it doesn't hurt that you bear the mark of Mahal himself."

"But I thought you said it was Almu or something…"

"Yes Aule. Mahal is simply the name the dwarves know him by but he is one and the same. He is the Valar who created the Dwarves you see, so they hold him in special reverence."

"And Yavanna?"

"She is his wife. It may go a long way to helping the company to except you."

Great. Just great! Stuck in middle Earth, no known way to get home. The dwarves would probably hate her for being there. She tugged angrily at the chain around her neck. She had her own life back on Earth, her own problems. But now she was stuck and none of it mattered. Her throat constricted and her eyes stung, but she swallowed hard, trying not to cry. Gandalf laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. She didn't look up.

“Don't fret young Sara. Bleak though it may seem to you now, in time you may come to enjoy your time here. You could hardly have chosen a better lot of dwarves to fall in with if you searched the whole world over. Dwarves though suspicious and secretive are fiercely loyal and though it may be hard-earned their trust is never broken. They make the staunchest of friends, and you already have a friend in Bilbo, and in me for that matter; so cheer up. All is not lost.” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Will I ever get back home?"

"Whos to say, but I do believe you will not be returned until you have done what the Valar sent you to do."

"Which is what exactly?"

"Not the foggiest, it is only clear that you are meant for this quest."

"What if I don't want to go?" He sighed.

"Of course I cannot force you to come, the choice must be yours, you are free to do as you please."

"Sure," she snorted, shrugging off Gandalf's hand. "Sure I'm free. Free to wander aimlessly all over Middle Earth trying doors in hopes of finding one that leads back home."

"Just so," said Gandalf patiently. "Regardless it is your choice. What will you choose?"

"Do I get any time to think about it?"

"Till tomorrow morning, same as Bilbo."

"You know he is going to come," said Sara.

"I had counted on it. But let us for the sake of pragmatism continue under the assumption that you are going to accompany the quest. I shall still need to convince Thorin. It should prove very amusing."

"For who?" she asked skeptically as the wizard moved towards the door. "Me or you?"

"For me of course, but speaking of lost, wherever could Thorin be? It is unlike him to be late.” Gandalf froze with his hand on the doorknob and turned to her again. “When it comes to Thorin, let me do the talking. It was always going to be hard enough to convince him to take a hobbit, but a woman.... well let's just say he will not be overly fond of the idea. Also while it could hardly have escaped our friends noticed that you are very much out of place in Middle Earth, and indeed I intend to tell them of your otherworldly origins; I think it would be wise to keep your knowledge of the future such as it is and all mentions of books about this world between ourselves for the time being.”

She nodded slowly, not entirely sure she liked the sound of this Thorin person or trying to keep secrets from the dwarves right from the get-go, but she supposed he was right to be cautious. Gandalf released the spell on the door and together they pushed out of the empty but cramped room and into the din of a dinner now in full swing.