Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter I: A Perfectly Good Explanation

There is a perfectly good explanation, I swear. There is a reason I'm writing this—all of this—to you. And I'm trying to decide where to begin. I Skip. Yeah, that's a good place to start. I'm not from this world; I'm from another place and time. I've just, you know, been Skipping back and forth between the two ever since I was six-years-old.

Now this is important! I know you think you've heard all of this before, but you need to remember. Embedded in these words is my promise to you: a promise you must never forget for this will shape the fortunes of all.

Understand? I hope so.

The first time I Skipped was when I was six. That was the day I slapped Marie because she called me a liar. We'd been racing back and forth across the schoolyard with two teachers watching and judging who would be the winner and who would be the loser. Marie was naturally faster than me, and she won every single time. I got sick and tired of losing, so during the fifth race, I pushed Marie and sprinted past her. She went to the teachers, crying and saying I cheated. So I slapped her. (Yes, I was a terrible six-year-old. Don't judge me.)

The teachers sent me to the main office where the principal tried to convince me that pushing and slapping people was wrong. I told him I didn't think it was cheating; I was using my abilities to beat Marie. I couldn't help it that she fell over with just that little push.

The principal didn't see it that way. He called my mom and dad, and they both came to school to pick me up. They weren't happy. The car ride home was spent with the two of them scolding me—What was I thinking? How could I do that? Did I apologize to the poor girl? I better apologize the next day! How could I do such a thing? Did they not raise me right?

I sat in the car and listened to their lecture the entire ride home. Then, the moment the car came to a full stop in the garage, I threw open the door, stormed up to my room, and fell on to the bed, crying.

Right then, I hated my life. I hated everything: the principal, the teachers, Marie, my parents, I hated them all. I just wanted to get away. To run away. To leave it all behind and never come back.

So I Skipped. (Yeah, that seemed pretty random to me too.)

One moment, I was sobbing in my bed. The next, I was lying on a cold stone floor.

I sat up and looked around. I was no longer in my bedroom. I was not in any place I recognized. It was a hallway, a beautifully carved, stone hallway, lit only by candles that lined the walls. Engraved arches swooped overhead, lacing together to form the ceiling. The stone floor echoed with the sound of footsteps and raised voices. Tucked away in a corner, I watched the scene before me.

People crowded the hall. Wait, not people, I realized; they were too short to be people. They were short and stout with long, braided beards, intricate armor across their chests, and sharp weapons strapped at their sides. The little men—they were actually dwarves, but I didn't know they were called dwarves back then—sprinted down the long, arching hallway, shouting things in a strange language.

One fat dwarf with a black beard stopped and grabbed me by the wrist. He shouted something in a gravelly voice, but I couldn't understand it. Upon closer inspection, I realized that "he" was actually a "she", and I was looking at a short, stout, bearded woman—not something you normally see in Ohio. She tugged on my arm, but I refused to budge. My parents had always told me never to go anywhere with strangers. Giving up on me, the dwarf shook her head and left.

I was so frightened I forgot to cry.

What was going on? Why was everyone running? What were they afraid of? Why was I even here? My house? My bedroom? Where had they gone? Where was Mom? Where was Dad? I didn't know.

My heart was racing. I curled into a ball, sitting on the floor beside a thick stone pillar. No one noticed me. They were all too wrapped up in their own problems to notice a little human girl. I can't say I blame them.

The crowds began to thin out. Most of the dwarves were gone. A few more dwarves came sprinting down the hallway—these ones dressed in full battle armor—with their swords and axes raised. Some of them were nursing bloody wounds and severe burns.

It was then that the fear, the panic, the unknown, all got to me. I buried my face in my hands and started to bawl. Snot was streaming down my face. I could taste salty tears on my lips. A deep hacking sound rose in my throat and I coughed.

"Gos! Gos! Sebar!" a deep voice boomed from above.

I lifted my head and stared up at a dwarf in front of me. He was a little taller than the other dwarves and had long, scraggly black hair and beard. He wore the same battle armor as the others, but there was a superior air about him that the others hadn't possessed. His sword was grasped in his right hand, and his left hand was curled into a fist. Long, red burns covering his fingers and wrist.

He said something again in the same foreign language as the other dwarves.

"What'd you say?" I sniffled. The tears would not stop running down my face. My eyes were puffy and my face grimy. I was covered in snot and my blonde curls were a mess. I must have looked ugly. (Don't you dare agree!)

For the first time, the dwarf saw me properly. His eyes widened as he took in my blue jeans and pink t-shirt.

"Who are you?" he asked, this time in my own language.

I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. "I'm Ana."

He hesitated and then gave his own name. "Thorin."

The tears stopped, and I giggled a little. "That's a funny name."

Then, there was great, deep howl from somewhere down the hall. With a squeak of terror, I shrunk further back into the shadows. Thorin, however, scooped me up with his injured, left arm and started sprinting down the hallway.

I screamed and flung my arms around his neck. "Put me down! Put me down!"

"Only if you wish to be devoured by Smaug!"

"Smaug?"

And then the dragon appeared at the end of the hall. Its massive body barely managed to fit through the twenty-foot hall. Sharp, blood-stained teeth, bright red scales, hungry yellow eyes—it was a dragon. A real, fire-breathing dragon. And its gaze was fixed on Thorin and me.

I started clawing at Thorin's armored back. "Dragon! Dragon! Dragon!"

My shrieks ripped through my throat. I wept, clinging to Thorin. He sprinted down the hall as fast as his short legs could carry him, but I squirmed so much that Thorin dropped me. I landed with a heavy crack on the stone floor.

"Ana!" Thorin shouted, reeling around in an attempt to reach me.

Smaug opened his jaws and let loose a jet of fire. Scalding, burning, red, heat tore through the hallway. Flames ate at the walls as they drew closer to me.

Skip.

I screamed and thrashed on my bed. The covers wrapped around me, and with a thud, I crashed to the floor on top of one of my Barbie Dolls. (They're these type of plastic, perfect females that— Oh, never mind. You just need to know that they hurt to land on.) I sat upright and looked about the room wildly. There was no dragon in sight. No Thorin either.

"Ana?"

The door flew open. Mom stood just outside my room, pale and panicked. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that I was unharmed.

"You're all right," she said.

But I was not all right. Tears welled in my eyes and I sobbed miserably. Little six-year-old me could not process what had just happened.

I cried continuously that night. I tried to explain to my mom what had happened. It wasn't just a dream. It'd been real. I'd really gone to that place. I'd really seen those little men. I'd really seen a dragon. Thorin had been real. My mother and father would not believe me. A nightmare, they'd said, and nothing more. And, for a while, I believed them.

But the Skipping did not stop there. A few months later—in the middle of my friend Wesley's seventh birthday party—I Skipped back to Middle Earth and found myself in the bed of an inn. My trip lasted about half a day before I appeared back at Wesley's house. His parents had been searching everywhere for me. They'd even called the cops. I remember a week later overhearing my mom arguing with his dad in the carpool line. His parents didn't want me to come around again after the birthday incident; they thought I was a troublesome child who liked to hide for attention.

I Skipped at least twenty times over the next five years, ending up in a different place and a different time with each Skip. I Skipped to a nest of giant spiders (resulting in my intense arachnophobia), I Skipped to Tuckborough (those Tooks sure know how to treat a guest), I Skipped to the Northern Waste (and was chased by white wolves), I Skipped to the White Mountains (where I stayed for five days and nearly starved), and I Skipped to the Coldfells (and was nearly eaten by goblins).

While I got some very interesting stories out of these Skips, none of them were monumental in the grand scheme of things. So, I'll move along to when I was twelve and got hit by a truck.

Well, that's an overstatement. I didn't actually get hit by the truck. I forget if you've ever seen a truck, but trucks are these huge, motor vehicles... Never mind. All you need to know is that if I got hit by a truck, it was very likely that I would die. Anyways, I was crossing the street—going to meet some friends for shopping—and I wasn't looking where I was going. The horn honked. I turned. I saw the truck. The driver screamed. I screamed. And then I Skipped.

Some part of me wishes the truck had hit me. Anything would have been better than what I saw that day.

I Skipped to fields of dying, blood-stained grass. I was standing in the middle of a plain amongst thousands of bodies, the blood and remains of horses and men and great beasts I couldn't even name. The smell of death washed over me. I covered my mouth with my hand and backed away from the split-open head of a soldier. In the distance, I could see the foul ruins of the White City. A thick smoke cloud rose into the gray sky as fire burned around the rubble. Thousands of orcs resided in Minas Tirith; their celebration could be heard across the plains.

I wept, though at the time I didn't know then what such destruction meant. I only knew that dark things had come to pass, and the red fires over the mountain tops spoke of doom to the world in which I stood.

And then, a foul voice said, "Gimbuz-izg gajal ni!"

I twisted around. My heart racing.

I had seen goblins before but not orcs. It was my first time seeing the gray faces with bloodshot eyes and sweaty, rancid flesh. Just the sight of them, surrounded by the bodies of Gondor's soldiers, was enough to make my stomach heave.

Four orcs stood together, leering at me. They murmured something amongst themselves in their foul tongue. Their yellow teeth clacked together and their pale eyes flickered towards me and away. There was a terrible hunger about them. I could feel their need for death swarming about me like a disease.

One orc drew his bloodstained blade and said, "Kul-izg throquurz."

He swung the sword, aiming for my throat.

I shrieked and flung my hands above my head. (Very heroic, I know.)

The Skip took control and I found myself sitting on the sidewalk next to the parked truck. My parents, my friends, the truck driver, and the police were all trying to figure out where I'd gone, and I'd come up with some lie about going shopping for the last twenty minutes. My parents had just been relieved that no harm had come to me. What they didn't know was that the image of the burning city, the foul orcs, and the field of corpses was forever embedded in my mind.

Though I did not know it then, I had witnessed the destruction of Middle Earth. Gondor had fallen. The White City was no more. Elves, men, dwarves—they had all passed from the land and the Age of the Orc had begun. This was Middle Earth's future.

I Skipped multiple times over the next four years. I Skipped to the Ettenmoors (where trolls tried to eat me for dinner), I Skipped to Bree (where the villagers warned me that women wearing pants were bad omens), I Skipped to the swamps of Nindalf (and came close to drowning several times), I Skipped to the Druadan Forest (the Wild Men of the Woods are fantastic cooks—don't let anyone tell you otherwise), and I Skipped to Snowbourne (and was arrested by a not-very-happy Third Marshal of the Riddermark).

I was seventeen, a senior in high school, when I saw elves for the first time. I was sitting at my bedroom desk, working on a particularly difficult math problem for Calculus and—Skip.

I opened my eyes to see a stranger's face incredibly close to mine. I screamed. (A natural reaction when waking up face to face with an elf.)

The stranger stepped away. I thought he was a man until I saw his pointy ears, and then I remembered that elves existed in this world. There was a second elf standing beside him. The two had similar faces (I figured they were brothers) with dark eyes, oval faces, and sharp features. At first, I thought they were a figment of my imagination, two good-looking near-identical elves, but then they exchanged some quick conversation and I realized that they were very much real.

"Man le?" asked Elrohir. (They told me their names later, but, to save confusion, I'll tell you now.)

I shuffled backwards and looked about wildly. I was in a forest, surrounded by tall, golden trees. Moss covered the tree roots, while fallen leaves littered the ground. The two elves stared at me in wonder.

"Who are you?" I asked.

Elrohir switched to the Common Tongue. "The intruder should answer first."

"I'm Ana." I slowly got to my feet and tried to brush the brown leaves off my jeans. "I'm not from this place."

"Clearly," said Elladan with a hint of amusement. "No mortal inhabits this wood."

The two brothers exchanged something in Sindarin again. Elrohir kept glancing around the forest until finally, he turned to me and said, "You are alone."

I nodded. I'd never Skipped with anyone else before.

The brothers started talking in Sindarin again, making me feel a little left out. Elladan's expression had shifted from amusement to curiosity, while Elrohir still seemed suspicious of me. They spoke a little longer, and then, Elrohir asked in the Common Tongue, "How have you entered here?"

"I don't know. It's not like I meant to come here," I said. "I just sort of get dumped where I get dumped."

Elladan blinked. He tilted his head to the side and stared at me. "Of what do you speak?"

Elrohir said something in Sindarin, and Elladan snapped something back. I was beginning to get impatient, listening to them talk about me in a language I couldn't understand.

"No," said Elladan, switching once again to the Common Tongue. "I think she is telling the truth."

I sighed. "Look this happens from time to time. I'm in my house doing whatever and then—bam—I'm in this other place. One time I was chased by a dragon and another time I was chased by trolls. Then—bam—I'm home. It's not a big deal. Be on your merry way. I'm just passing through."

Elrohir stared. "She makes no sense."

"Maybe it is the language," said Elladan. "I thought I spoke the Common Tongue well, but perhaps I am mistaken."

"I don't know what more to tell you!" I took a step forward, as if explaining more vehemently would make them understand. However, I had Skipped without shoes, so when my bare foot landed on a tree root, it hurt like hell. "Ow!" The brothers were looking at me doubtfully, and I realized I was doing a very poor job of explaining myself. Putting my foot tentatively back down on the ground, I said, "I come from a different world. I don't know why. It just happens. I Skip!"

"You Skip?" said Elladan thoughtfully. "Senturiel?"

"Say what?" I looked, open-mouthed, from one elf to the other.

The brothers spoke in Sindarin again, though they seemed to be agreeing on something now rather than arguing. Then, Elrohir switched to the Common Tongue to say, "Do not be deceived, Elladan. She could be a spy."

"I'm not." I squinted at them. They might have been laughing at me but I couldn't tell. They had incredible poker faces.

"She talks in an odd way," observed Elladan. "The likes of which I have not heard in Middle Earth."

"You are not so all-knowing that you have heard every tongue," said Elrohir.

"You're the ones who talk weird!" I snapped. "And don't worry. I'll be going back any minute now…"

I waited.

"These things come and go as they please," I said, crossly.

Elladan laughed. "I like her. She is amusing."

Elrohir's mouth twitched into a smile. "You find the oddest things to be amusing."

"Ana?" Elladan took a step towards me. "You say you are not from this world, then from where do you hail?"

"Ohio. It's a state in the USA."

"I have never heard of such a place," said Elladan.

"That is because she utters falsehoods," said Elrohir. "She could still be a spy."

I glowered up at Elrohir.

"Ui!" Elladan smothered a laugh before he turned to me with a smile. (He was such a pretty boy and he knew it.) "You are in Lothlórien, Ana. The forest of our people and the heart of elvendom in Middle Earth. No one has passed the borders of this forest unseen before you."

"That's because I didn't pass the borders," I said. "I was dropped here. When I Skipped worlds."

Elladan turned to his brother and said again, "Senturiel."

"La." Elrohir snapped something back in elvish, but Elladan ignored him.

Instead, he grinned at me and said, "I am Elladan, son of Elrond and Celebrian, and this is my brother, Elrohir. Welcome to Lórien, Ana of Ohio. We should treat guests better, should we not, Elrohir?" Elladan shot a smile at his brother before turning back to me. "Would you like to meet the Lady Galadriel, Ana?"

I blinked. "Is it…dangerous?"

Elladan shook his head. "Not if you are with us."

"Okay."

But I never met Lady Galadriel. At least, not during that Skip. The moment Elrohir and Elladan started in the direction of Caras Galadhon, the central city of Lórien, I Skipped.

When I opened my eyes, I was in my bedroom again. My math homework sat on the desk in front of me. I looked around, but there was no sign of Elrohir or Elladan, only my unmade bed and my messy room. I turned back to my homework, took a deep breath, and returned to solving the math problem like nothing had happened.

To be honest, I think all the Skipping messed up my personality. I would watch movies and the main characters were always surprised and horrified when unexpected things happen. But, to me, the unexpected was normal. Heck, even my friends would jump during horror movies. But, to me, the unexpected was normal: I would just continue eating popcorn and think that the ghosts had nothing on orcs.

By the time I turned twenty-one, I began to recognize that I was desensitized to the world around me. One moment I'd be in class taking notes, and the next I'd be fleeing from mountain trolls. I'd even reached the point where I could laugh about my misfortunes which, I'll tell you, is not healthy. But sometimes you have to laugh because the only other option is to break.

All personal reflections aside, I Skipped from world to world for the next few years, fleeing goblins, partying with hobbits, and avoiding the Third Marshall of the Riddermark. My friends and family in Ohio decided my disappearances were due to my wanderlust, accepted them without too many questions, and only occasionally complained about my thoughtlessness. Despite the Skipping, I had managed to create for myself an almost-normal life with three years of college under my belt, a part-time minimum-wage job, and a decent city apartment. Nothing particularly out of the ordinary (for me) happened until my twenty-first birthday. My two best friends from college—Bonnie and Nick, you remember them?—came over to celebrate, and well, it went something like this:

I jumped onto the couch of my apartment living room and settled into the seat between Nick and Bonnie.

"All right!" I cried. "Movie time! Where's the remote?"

"I don't know," said Nick (brown hair, brown eyes, tall like a string bean). "I thought you had it."

"No." I started checking behind the couch cushions "You had it—don't you dare be hiding it from me."

"You're sitting on it, dimwit," said Bonnie (red hair, freckles, likes to get into fights) as she pulled the remote out from underneath me.

"Right." I took the remote from her and pressed play. The screen turned black and then the Royal Albert Hall appeared with the Lot 666 Chandelier dangling over the audience.

"I hate this movie," said Bonnie. "I don't understand why the guys like the main girl."

"Shush," I said. "I'm the birthday girl. I get to decide."

"There are a million funner things to do on your twenty-first birthday," said Nick.

"Yeah," said Bonnie. "Why aren't we in a bar getting drunk off our asses?"

"You people are no fun," I said, pouting. "The choice between watching the 25th Anniversary Phantom of the Opera, featuring the fantastic Ramin Karimloo and Hadley Fraser, and going to a bar and getting wasted—"

"I'd choose getting wasted any day of the week," said Bonnie.

"Hear, hear!" Nick high-fived Bonnie behind my head.

"You people suck." I folded my arms over my chest. "See if I ever invite you to my birthday party again."

"I think we should tie her up and take the remote," said Nick.

Bonnie grinned wickedly. "I'm totally up for that."

"Hey!" I threw my hands in front of my face. "What do you think you're doing?"

The two attacked. Nick started tickling my sides, and I let out a shriek of laughter. Bonnie lunged for the remote, but I held a firm grip on it with my left hand while trying to fend Nick off with my right. The three of us fell to the floor in a heap.

"No!" I cried, swatting Nick away. "No! It's my birthday, we're watching my movie, not going to a bar!"

"But the majority says bar!" said Bonnie.

"I'm the birthday girl!"

I whacked Nick and Bonnie on top of their heads, each in turn. Laughing, they pushed me over and sat on top of me.

"Hand over the remote," said Bonnie.

"I'll tickle-attack you again," added Nick.

"Never!" I cried, clutching the remote close to my chest. "I'll never give in to you evildoers!"

"Come on," said Bonnie. "You're no fun."

I scowled. "I have work tomorrow."

"Boo-hoo, they'll understand if you're hungover."

"They're already mad at me for missing a shift last week."

"Well, that's what you get for being so flighty," said Nick as Bonnie reached for the remote.

"No!" I cried.

Skip.

I opened my eyes to gold. Mountains and mountains of gold. Gold coins, gold cups, gold jewelry, gold armor, gold dishes, gold tools, gold walls, gold ceilings. I stood on a stone pathway (the only place where you could see the floor in the hall) amongst piles of gold. Pieces of silver and bronze were there as well along with brightly colored gemstones, some as big as my fist. I gasped as I took in the sight. Why couldn't I Skip to places like this all the time? I had been to inns, forests, cities, villages, towns, lakes, mountains—but none of it could compare to the vast splendor that lay before me.

I wanted it.

I then realized that I was still holding the remote. I was wearing leggings and a sweater, which meant no pockets and that if I had to run for my life, I'd be carrying it with me. After weighing my options, I decided to part with the remote. Carefully, so as to not wake anything, I placed it on the ground, planning to come back for it later, and then I started exploring. I wandered along the pathway, just taking in the sight. Could anyone ever want for more with all this gold?

I glanced around nervously. There was no one else around. Was the gold unguarded? That was hard to believe. If I were that rich, I would never leave my gold by itself. I'd probably build myself a throne of gold and just sit there, staring at my hoard and admiring its beauty. I wanted it. I wanted all of it.

And there wasn't a soul around to stop me.

I glanced at the pile of gold closest to me. There was a goblet-like thing just sitting there. Pure gold with intricate engravings on the side and green gems embedded in its the base. It was a pretty little thing. It would be a shame to leave it just lying there.

I reached out a hesitant hand and carefully lifted the goblet from its resting place.

Big mistake.

There came a rumbling sound—almost a yawn—from deep within the mountains of gold. I leapt back, dropping the goblet immediately. It landed on the stone floor with a heavy clang. The sound rung through the hall.

Then, slowly at first, the mountains of gold began to move.

An avalanche of coins, plates, and gemstones came pouring down onto the pathway as the mountain grew taller and taller. I shrieked and sprinted down the path, away from the rain of gold covering the floor.

I gawked, unable to comprehend what was happening before my eyes. The riches fell away from the mountain, revealing a red beast beneath the layers of gold. No. Not just any beast. A dragon. Smaug. And he was a lot bigger than I remembered.

I stared. And stared. And stared.

The yellow eyes blinked, and the head of the beast turned to me. I could see all of its sulfur-colored teeth, sticking out jaggedly from its massive jaws.

I stared.

Then I screamed.

Then I ran. Like all hell was after me.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGHHH!"

Yeah. It sounded a little something like that.

I sprinted down the pathway, through the mountains of gold, towards the stone doorway that I hoped was the exit. As I sprinted towards it, the deep growl of Smaug sounded behind me.

I just made it through the doorway when Smaug unleashed a blast of flame.

"Dragon!" I screamed, sprinting down the corridor. "Why is it always a dragon?"

Another roar. And another burst of flames whipped after me.

I screamed. "Skip me back! Skip me back! Skip me back!"

Back I went.

The flames were gone. The dragon was gone. The beautiful gold was gone. I was sitting alone in my apartment. The movie was still playing. The couch was a mess. The remote was in Middle Earth. And Nick and Bonnie were nowhere to be seen.

At first, I thought Nick and Bonnie had gone home, puzzled by my sudden disappearance. I called both of them, but neither answered. I went to their apartments, but there was no answer at Nick's and Bonnie's roommate hadn't seen her in two days. Slowly, after five days of desperately looking for my friends, it dawned on me that I must have brought them to Middle Earth with me.

I could tell you about the days spent in misery—where I couldn't stop wondering what had happened to my friends, where I couldn't sleep because I was plagued by nightmares—but those details aren't important. All you need to know is that such a thing had never happened before; I'd never Skipped anyone with me to Middle Earth. And then I'd lost them. They could've been burnt to crisps by Smaug or ended up somewhere else entirely. Hopefully not with orcs or goblins or trolls or any other evil thing. All I knew was that they were no longer in my world—which meant they were in Middle Earth.

So, being the good and kind friend that I am, I decided to look for them. Of course, I had no control over my Skips. They came and went as they pleased. But after some long, serious thinking, I realized that the Skips always came whenever I was absolutely terrified and about to die.

Yes, I know what you're thinking. And, yes, I really did it.

I jumped off a six-story building.

Thank God it worked or I would be splattered across the sidewalk right now.

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter II: Crazy Dwarves With Swords

The room was small, lit by a roaring fireplace, and made entirely of stone as if it had been carved from the inside of a mountain. I shifted in a wooden chair and tried to make myself comfortable. I was aware that he was watching me and that he didn't believe me, but I knew I had to convince him so I kept talking. "…Then I woke up in this room and I saw you and I decided—hey, since I know you, maybe you'll help me find my friends."

Thorin stared at me.

He hadn't changed much since the last time I saw him… Aside from the fact that he was no longer being chased by a dragon. His beard was shorter now and streaked with gray. He also wore pants and a white tunic instead of armor, but other than that he looked the same.

When I'd first Skipped to the room, he'd been standing behind a wooden table that was covered with a pile of recently-polished weapons—swords and axes and knives. But as I'd told my story, Thorin had moved to stand in front of the table, closer to me. Now, he took a step forward and stared at me for a good long time before he said, "You are Ana?"

"Yep." I nodded, willing him to believe me.

There was a pause, and then almost softly, Thorin said, "That girl died. One-hundred-and-seventy-years ago. In Smaug's fire."

"No, I Skipped before he could kill me—though it's an easy mistake to make." I paused. "One-hundred-and-seventy years ago? Man, you look good."

Thorin stared.

I scratched the back of my head and grinned sheepishly. "So then, can you help me?"

"Help you in what manner?"

"Help me find my friends."

"No." There it was. Refusal. Flat out refusal.

I frowned. "Why not?"

Thorin took a step away from me and then turned so that he was facing the fireplace. "I cannot cast aside my people to help your quest across Middle Earth to find two humans who might not even be here."

"But! But! But!" I leapt up from my seat. "You've known me since I was little. We met in Erebor when Smaug attacked."

Thorin stared into the flickering flames, as if thinking each word over carefully. "She died. I watched that little girl die."

"Skipped," I corrected. "You watched the little girl—me—Skip away just in time. Though it is an easy mistake to make. Even so, we should be even closer since you witnessed my death!"

Thorin's eyes snapped to mine. For a second, I thought he was angry, but then the emotions disappeared, and his voice was flat when he said, "No."

"Come on, please?"

"No."

I crossed my arms. "It's my birthday."

Thorin gave me a scathing look. "No, it is not."

"Okay, okay." I silently cursed myself for including that detail in my story. "My birthday was a few days ago—but still, a good person would help me."

"It would be better for both of us if you did not linger here." Thorin seemed to be having some sort of internal struggle, though I had no way of knowing what it was. Finally, he said, "Skip back to your home, Ana. You do not yet know who dwells in these halls."

I folded my arms across my chest and tried to look intimidating. "You don't scare me."

Thorin stared at me before crossing the room to the table of weapons. I watched him, unsure of what he was thinking. There was something unreadable in his blue eyes. Then, he pulled a nicely polished sword from the table and turned to me.

"You Skip when your life in in danger," he said. "Return to your home, Ana."

I took one look at the sharp edge of the sword and then bolted for the door. Thorin chased after me. The door was closer to him, but I had a head start. I managed to reach the door when he grabbed me from behind and spun me around. The Skip wouldn't give Thorin a chance to skewer me with the sword, but I'd rather not give him the chance to try. However, Thorin pinned my arms behind my back with one hand. No matter how hard I struggled, I couldn't break his grasp. I gave up, my back pressed against the wooden door and the metal handle digging into my ribs.

"Skip now if you can," he said, his voice low and rough.

"I told you," I snapped. "It comes and goes. I have no control—"

The door opened.

I screamed. The wood that was propping us up disappeared, causing Thorin and I to come crashing down to the ground. He dropped his sword, and it clattered against the stone floor. I was trapped under Thorin's weight, but I managed to lifted my head to see that we lay in a hallway at the feet of another dwarf.

I stared up at the stout newcomer with a long, gray beard tucked into his red belt. He stared down at Thorin and me, his eyes wide in confusion.

"Uh." The dwarf was at a loss for words.

"Help!" I cried, trying to push Thorin off me. "He's trying to kill me!"

Thorin stood up, his gaze flickering between the dwarf and me. I tried to escape, but before I could even stand, he grasped me by the collar of my shirt and held on tightly.

"Do not concern yourself, Balin," said Thorin quickly. "She is my problem."

"Problem?" My voice was unusually high-pitched.

"Ah." Balin glanced over me. "Are you certain?"

"She is smaller than I am, and she cannot use a weapon," said Thorin. He gave me a shove so that I was turned away from Balin and forced to face the door. "I have no fear of her."

"I came to you for help," I cried, "and this is how you treat me?"

"She is no dwarf," said Balin. "Is there a need to be so rough against an unarmed female?"

I tried to look over my shoulder at Balin, but Thorin kept me firmly facing the door.

Finally giving up on trying to escape, I glared over my shoulder at Thorin. "I'm human. And I'm not explaining the whole Skipping thing again."

Thorin ignored both of us and asked, gruffly, "What news brings you to my door, Balin?"

"Er—" Balin was reluctant to speak in my presence. I would have been more than happy to leave if Thorin didn't have an iron grip on the back of my sweater.

"Never mind her," said Thorin. "I will deal with her later. Say what you have come to say."

Balin hesitated a moment longer before saying, "Gandalf the Gray wishes to meet with you."

"Meet?" asked Thorin.

"Gandalf?" I asked.

"A wizard," explained Balin. "He—" He stopped then, and I managed to catch a glimpse over my shoulder of Balin looking at Thorin with a silent question.

However, Thorin made no move to explain my existence, and instead, ignoring me entirely, Thorin asked, "Why does Gandalf wish to meet?"

"I do not know." Balin glanced at me. "His message was brief, but he says it concerns Erebor."

Thorin stiffened. His grip on my shirt loosened ever so slightly. "Erebor? Why does a wizard concern himself with the Lonely Mountain?"

"What's that?" I asked.

"It is our homeland which Smaug—" Balin stopped himself again with a glance in my direction.

"We will meet with Gandalf the Gray, and see what deal he wishes to strike with us." Thorin made sure I was turned towards the door again, so I couldn't see what was going on. Apparently forgetting that I could hear everything, Thorin continued to talk. "Where and when does he desire the meeting place to be?"

"He wishes to meet at the Inn of the Prancing Pony in Bree," said Balin carefully.

"When?" asked Thorin.

Balin said nothing, and when I peered over my shoulder, I saw that he was looking at me.

"When?" repeated Thorin.

"In a full moon's time." Balin's voice was almost a whisper.

"A full moon? That is not long from now."

"It is the Lonely Mountain," said Balin. There was some deep meaning behind his tone that I didn't understand.

"Is the Lonely Mountain the place where Smaug killed me?" I asked.

There was a pause. Balin's brow furrowed in confusion. In a slow voice, he asked, "You say Smaug killed you in the Lonely Mountain?"

Thorin gave me a rough shake by the back of the shirt and said loudly, "Balin, focus. If we wish to meet with Gandalf, we will need to depart as soon as possible. Tomorrow morning would be best."

Balin nodded. He picked up Thorin's fallen sword and handed it to him. Thorin took the sword, careful to keep a firm grip on my shirt so that I could not flee at the sight of the sharp and lethal weapon.

"We will discuss this matter further another time," said Thorin. "First, I have to deal with this."

Making sure my back was turned to Balin, Thorin opened the door and shoved me back into the room. It slammed shut behind us. He guided me over to the wooden seat, and I practically fell into it. I immediately tried to get up, but Thorin placed a hand on my shoulder and kept me pinned down. It was terrifying, how strong he was compared to me. I'd encountered trolls and wolves before, yes, but none of them had held me down with just one hand. Hopefully, the Skip would take me away soon. I needed to find Bonnie and Nick; I didn't have time for crazy dwarves.

"The matter remains," said Thorin, "of what I should do with you."

"Help me?" I suggested.

"No."

"Not kill me?"

"Perhaps."

I sighed and leaned back in the chair. Thorin removed his hand from my shoulder, though he did not set down the sword, I noticed.

"So, you're going to try to take back the Lonely Mountain?" I asked. "From Smaug?"

Thorin stared at me. "Perhaps."

"Just warning you, Smaug's no walk in the park."

He paused, as if trying to register what I had just said. Then, after a moment, he asked, almost innocently, "You speak in tongues I do not understand. What is a 'park'?"

"Never mind," I said. "It's an expression."

His eyes seemed to lighten at that comment, but I might have been imagining things. It was hard to tell, because his expression remained cold as he asked, "What should I do with you? I cannot leave you here."

"Just out of curiosity," I said, "where is here exactly?"

He ignored me and began pacing back and forth in front of the wooden chair. "I cannot take you with me to Bree."

"Where is Bree?"

Thorin stopped pacing and stared at the fireplace.

"I don't know these places," I said loudly. "Tell me something, at least."

"We are in the Blue Mountains," said Thorin, finally turning to look at me. "Bree is a small town southeast of here."

I tried to smile up at him. "See, that wasn't so hard."

Thorin went back to his pacing. He looked so frustrated that I almost felt bad for being such an inconvenience.

"Don't worry," I said. "I usually disappear after a while. The longest I've ever stayed in Middle Earth was only a day. Except for this one time—"

"Only a day with you is enough for me."

"Thanks," I muttered. "Your sarcasm is appreciated."

"That was not sarcasm."

"I know. I'm pretending it is." I smiled up at Thorin

Thorin stared at me for a moment. Then he let out a long sigh and leaned back against the wooden table. The metal weapons rattled slightly as the table shifted. "I could always try to kill you. You said you Skip whenever your life is threatened."

"Let's not test that theory again," I said slowly. "Jumping off a building once was more than enough for me."

Thorin's mouth tugged into a frown. "Did you—?"

Skip.

I was lying face down on the sidewalk, my cheek pressed against the rough concrete. For a moment, I didn't want to move. But then, I rolled over onto my back and stared up at the inky night sky and the tops of the ten-story downtown office buildings. I rubbed my cheek and sighed. After all that, I was back in Ohio.

A man in a suit stepped around me, shooting a look of disgust in my direction. I smiled and waved, and to my relief, he quickly walked away.

Groaning, I sat up. I was on the sidewalk beneath my apartment building, which I had jumped from earlier. At least the Skip hadn't brought me back halfway down the building. That would have been bad.

I didn't head back home but rather went straight to the nearest coffee shop. Thankfully, the Starbucks nearest to my apartment was still open. I went inside and ordered a latte—no sugar and an extra shot of espresso.

"You look like you need one," said the man working there (according to his nametag, his name was Ted).

"Yeah, well, try falling from a six-story building and ending up inside a blue mountain with a crazy dwarf and see how you feel," I said.

Ted laughed awkwardly as he started making my latte. "Yeah. Um. That'll do it."

I grinned. "You've never met a crazy dwarf, have you?"

"No." He couldn't figure out if I was joking or not.

"Lucky you. They're a pain in the backside, that's what they are."

"Okay."

"Don't forget the extra expresso. I need it," I added.

"I did." Ted put the lid on the cup of steaming coffee and handed it to me. "Here you go. Good night." He sounded very relieved. I can't imagine why.

I smiled as I took the cup from him. "Thanks. Good night to you too, Ted. Don't go jumping off any buildings!" And with that, I Skipped.

Instead of a coffee shop, I was standing in the middle of a forest next to a crooked oak tree. It was the dead of night and the only light was coming from a crackling fire not more than a dozen feet in front of me. Never before had I Skipped within an hour of the last. Usually there were a few days or even weeks between my Skips. I stood, coffee still in hand, rooted to the spot, trying to figure out exactly what was going on.

Years of Skipping had taught me many things, one of which being: when I first arrived in a new place, I shouldn't move until I knew what the frig is going on around me. I learned this valuable lesson after I Skipped onto a wooden platform suspended in a tree. Not knowing where I was, I stepped forward, only to plummet down towards the ground a hundred feet below. I think that was my shortest visit to Middle Earth.

Anyways, there I was, standing at the edge of a small clearing, hidden by the shadow of an oak tree. Straight ahead of me, there were three gigantic trolls. The trolls were hulking beasts with gray, hairy skin and fat, crumpled faces. All three of them were hunched over a steaming black pot that sat over a roaring fire.

One of the trolls was holding a dead sheep in his right hand. "Mutton today, mutton yesterday, and damn me if it isn't mutton tomorrow," grumbled one of the trolls.

"Some manflesh would be nice," said another. "William, why you bring us out here where there ain't a livin' thing?"

William choked. "Shut yer mouth, Tom! You and Bert don't know nuthun'. People ain't goin' to stop here just to be eaten by you. Besides, we had one just a few nights ago. You ate him whole."

Tom licked his lips hungrily. "He was a juicy one. Nice and fat. Just the way I like 'em."

I took a sip of my Starbucks coffee. All right then. It was trolls this time. Just my luck. I'd encountered trolls before, and I found that hiding in some bushes until I Skipped was the best method of dealing with them.

I was looking for a good bush to hide in when, by pure chance, I noticed the hobbit. He flickered in the edge of my vision as he ran from the shelter of one tree to another. I blinked. A hobbit was trying to sneak up on these three hulking trolls.

I'd been to Hobbiton before during one of my many Skips. From what I'd seen, most hobbits of the Shire were not big fans of exploring the outside world. So why this one hobbit was approaching three trolls in the dead of night was beyond my understanding. At least the trolls hadn't noticed him yet. Trolls are stupid, and they aren't very observant. Case in point: they still had not noticed me standing at the tree line, drinking coffee. But that doesn't mean that trolls aren't dangerous. If the hobbit had any sense, he would run in the opposite direction as fast as his little legs could carry him.

Apparently, this hobbit had no sense.

He crept closer and closer to one of the trolls, William. When he was mere inches away, the hobbit extended a hand and pulled a leather pouch out of the troll's pocket. Immediately, whatever was in the pouch started to screech. The poor hobbit didn't stand a chance. At the piercing sound, William turned and snatched him off the ground.

"Bert!" cried William, examining the hobbit and holding him up for the other two trolls to see. "Bert, look what I've caught!"

"What is it?" asked Bert.

"I don' know," said William. He poked the hobbit carefully. "What are you?"

The hobbit squeaked. "Bilbo Baggins, I'm a bur—a hobbit!"

I frowned as I went through a list of the hobbits I had met before. The name "Baggins" didn't ring any bells.

"Never heard of a burrahobbit before," said Bert. (Like I said, trolls are stupid.)

"Can we eat it?" asked Tom.

"I don' see why not," said William.

"Perhaps there are more like him around," said Bert.

William thought about this and then, holding Bilbo down to eye-level, asked, "Are there more of you?"

"Yes, lots." Bilbo paused, just realizing what he had said. "No. Not at all. None. Only me. Just me."

"Well," said William, "that settles that."

He lifted Bilbo into the air over his mouth and prepared to drop Bilbo into the gap between his yellow teeth, when Bert asked, "What does he mean by 'lots and none'?"

The hobbit, still dangling in the air, cried, "None! None! None at all!"

"Wha'?" Bert blinked.

"Can we just eat him and be done with him?" asked Tom.

"Okay," said William.

Even as William lifted Bilbo up to eat him again, it didn't occur to me (idiot that I was back then) that the hobbit might die. I could only watch, wondering how the hobbit was going to get out of this situation, as the troll dangled Bilbo over his gaping mouth.

Then (thank God, because I obviously wasn't going to do anything) reinforcements arrived.

The whole scene played before me like a movie. A dwarf, one with a bow strapped over his shoulder and sword sheathed at his side, appeared in the space between two trees. The dwarf didn't have a beard and was rather good-looking—he must have been one of those near-extinct pretty-boy dwarves. He looked angry, however, and he glowered at the trolls.

"Put him down!" shouted the dwarf.

"Kíli!" cried Bilbo.

The trolls glanced at Bilbo and then at each other.

"A dwarf," said William.

"Grab a sack!" cried Bert.

Tom started to move across the clearing, but Kíli drew his bow and fired. The arrow embedded itself in Tom's arm. As Tom howled in pain, an enraged William hurled Bilbo at Kíli. The second he caught the flying Bilbo, Kíli cried, "Now!" and a whole group of dwarves came charging into the clearing, weapons raised and ready for battle.

The trolls howled and started swinging their fists and stomping. Kíli fired arrows, while the dwarves swung their axes and swords. Balin sliced open one of the troll's knees—wait.

I paused mid-sip of my coffee and squinted at the dwarf. The red belt, the long white beard—it was definitely Balin, the same Balin who had abandoned me to torment at the hands of Thorin. Speaking of Thorin, he was there too. That crazy dwarf swung his sword in an arc, slicing open Tom's leathery arm before Tom could grab Kíli. The troop of dwarves was doing well, I was happy to see. They had managed to keep the trolls away from them, working as a team to protect one another in the process. It looked as though the dwarves might actually escape.

And then, the trolls got a hold of poor Bilbo. My chest tightened as I watched with horror, as William and Bert grabbed one leg and one arm each, stretching the hobbit as far as they could without breaking him.

"Drop your weapons!" cried Bert. "Or we'll rip 'im to pieces!"

Thorin froze. His fellow dwarves followed his lead. As Thorin glared at Bilbo and the trolls, I could see the options running through his head, but after a moment, he tossed his sword to the ground. Another pause, and then, the other dwarves copied him. The dull thuds of weapons hitting the dirt filled the clearing.

My stomach twisted as the trolls bound the dwarves and Bilbo in what looked like burlap sacks. Even if Thorin and Balin hadn't been exactly nice to me in the Blue Mountains, they certainly didn't deserve to be eaten by trolls. I hoped they found a way out of this situation.

I watched the trolls proceed to tie some of the dwarves on a roasting stick over the fire. The dwarves fought against their restraints (I think Thorin was trying to chew through the ropes), and those over the fire howled as the rising heat touched their skin. The trolls stood beside the roaster greedily, waiting for the dwarves to cook.

"Can they roast any faster?" asked Tom. "I'm hungry."

"Wait," barked Bert. "I haven't added the sage."

"Hurry up," said William. "The sun is goin' to come out soon."

"Wait!" cried Bilbo, leaping to his feet despite the bag and ropes that bound him. "I would not do that if I were you! You are making a huge mistake!"

The trolls turned to stare at Bilbo, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Bilbo would save the dwarves. I didn't know what I would've done in his shoes. Whenever dangerous situations occurred during my Skips, I usually hid until I was Skipped back to Ohio.

"W-with the seasoning," said Bilbo quickly. "Have you smelled these dwarves? Sage is not going to cover it."

"Hey!" cried Kíli. "We do not smell that bad!"

The other dwarves barked their agreement. Thorin sighed and kicked Kíli in the shoulder to get him to quiet down. At least Thorin had common sense.

"Shut up," said Bert. He leaned forward and peered at Bilbo. "Then what do you do with dwarves?"

"Um…um…" Bilbo struggled for a second. "Um…You have to…um…skin them…"

"What?" cried one of the dwarves.

I should have done something then at least, stepped out from the trees and distracted the trolls with my stunning wit and humor, and I wish I could say that I did. But, unfortunately, at this time, I still considered Middle Earth to be this other place, entirely separate from me, that I had no effect on, a world that I could only watch as if through a screen. So, I continued to stand in the shadow of the tree, willing Bilbo to save the dwarves, but not moving an inch myself to help anyone.

"That's a lie," said Tom. "I've eaten one whole before. Tasted just as good."

"Let me see." William scooped up one of the dwarves and dangled the poor guy over his mouth.

"Not that one!" cried Bilbo. "He has worms! I would not risk it. In fact, they all have worms. Nasty infected things."

Relief washed over me, and some of the tension left my shoulders. It was okay. Everything was going to be okay.

However, my relief was short-lived, because Kíli thought it was a good idea to shout, "We don't have worms!"

Thorin rolled his eyes and kicked Kíli in the head again. Kíli paused, the plan slowly dawning on him, and then screamed, "Yes! Yes, I do! Lots of worms!"

Soon all the dwarves joined in. "Worms! All over me! Inside and out! I'm infested! Infested to the bone! Nasty! Gross! Don't eat me!"

I finished off my coffee and, not taking my eyes away from the scene in front of me, tossed the cup into the forest. Perhaps some elf would come across the discarded cup and puzzle over the Starbucks logo.

William was cowering in the corner, afraid to even touch the worm-infected dwarves now. Tom looked kind of repulsed; he prodded one of the dwarves nervously. Bert, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes. Leaning forward, he inspected Bilbo at close range.

"You're lying," he said.

Bilbo cringed. "No—no, I'm not."

Right then, one of the dwarves saw me. I found out later that his name was Glóin. His eyes kind of bugged out of his head, and he struggled against the bindings of his sack. "Help!"

I blinked. Only then did it occur to me that I was actually a part of this scene. I was, in fact, not watching a movie but present for all of this. These dwarves were really being roasted right in front of my eyes. Glóin was looking at me with wide, frightened eyes. He was afraid. They all were. Bilbo was desperately trying to save the dwarves lives because these trolls really were going to eat them. And I had just been standing by, watching.

"Help us!" cried Glóin once more.

The trolls, dwarves, and hobbit all turned to stare at me. The shadow of the oak tree was no longer shelter. I hesitated for a moment, debating whether to just run away and hide. This wasn't my world, this wasn't my problem—I couldn't cast aside my time to help Thorin on his quest to escape three trolls.

But then, I saw Thorin and Balin. They were both bound, their hair, beards, and faces smeared with dirt. I knew them. Even if Thorin had refused to help me save Bonnie and Nick, that didn't mean I had to be like him. Thorin and Balin were real, not some characters in a movie that I was watching.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward into the firelight. I don't know what I intended to do; I didn't have a plan, and it wasn't like I knew how to fight. But I figured that I shouldn't just run and hide, that I should actually try to do something. Besides, if the trolls tried to eat me, I'd just Skip away. That's how it had always worked.

"Hi." I managed a smile for the trolls. "I was just passing through and thought I'd see what all the trouble was."

"Who are you?" asked William, while Thorin groaned audibly and said, "Ana."

I smiled at Thorin. "Long time no see. Did you miss me?"

"Who is she?" asked one of the dwarves.

"That's wha' I'm asking," said William.

"She looks good," said Tom.

"Why thank you," I said.

"Can I eat her?"

I sighed. "Never mind."

"Run, Ana," said Thorin. "You will not help us by confronting the trolls."

I scowled. "Well, okay then. I know where my help isn't wanted." I took a step back towards the tree line. I really should have just continued hiding like I'd intended.

And then, Tom lunged at me.

It was by luck that I saw him moving out of the corner of my eye. I tried to jump out of his reach, but I tripped over a tree root and ended up sprawled on my back. Thankfully that not-so-elegant fall stopped Tom from grabbing me.

Well, logically, I knew that I would Skip away before I could be harmed. That's how it always happened. But at the back of my mind, a part of me remembered that I had just Skipped twice in the same hour. That had never happened before. Which meant there was a first time for everything.

I started to crawl towards the trees, but William had abandoned the stew and was coming to help Tom catch me. Thankfully, one of the dwarves rolled over in his sack, using his body to trip William. I staggered to my feet and made for the trees.

As I raced by, I caught sight of Thorin grimacing as he struggled against the ropes of his sack. He might have said something to me, but I didn't hear as I found cover behind one of the oak trees. I should have known this was a bad idea. I should've run away and hid as soon as Glóin spotted me.

Tom reached around the tree, his dirt-stained, gray fingers searching for me. It seemed like a good time for a Skip to take me away from this place. But…nothing. I was still standing behind the oak tree and the troll's hand was still drawing closer. With a shriek, I sprinted back into the clearing, slammed into Bilbo, and knocked us both to the ground.

We hit the dirt hard. I tried to stand up, to run to the trees, but my arms and legs were shivering in pain. The trolls were coming. I could hear their heavy footsteps behind me. The Skip wasn't coming, and they were going to eat me. God, this was my punishment for trying to help people.

"D-don't," stammered Bilbo. He lay on the ground next to me, still bound in his sack. But unlike me, he wasn't cowering and praying for the Skip to take him. Instead, he was staring up at the trolls and speaking, his voice gaining strength with each word. "The dawn is coming. You have run out of time."

"Shut yer mouth." Baring his yellow teeth, William reached for Bilbo.

And then, a deep voice called out, "Dawn take you all, and be stone to you!"

Golden light shone through branches of the trees. William, Bert, and Tom released shrill screams. They tried to flee from the light, their muscles rippling under their leathery skin, but it was too late. Their muscles stopped moving and their bodies stilled. A moment later they were nothing more than statues.

At first, I didn't know what was happening, and it wasn't until I registered what the voice had said did I realize that the sun had risen. It was day. I sat on the ground, surrounded by three stone trolls.

"Gandalf!" cried Bilbo.

"Excellent."

I turned in the direction of the voice. At first, I saw only some tufts of long grass and two broken pieces of a boulder on top of a hill. But then, from between the two boulders, there appeared an old, gray wizard.

This was Gandalf. This was the man Thorin and Balin had gone to meet in Bree to discuss matters concerning the Lonely Mountain. The man looked like a wizard. He had the hat for it and the knotted wooden staff. However, he looked sort of hunched over and elderly—not very formidable. But I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt since he had just saved me from three trolls.

"I was gone for only a few minutes and look what trouble you have gotten yourselves into." Gandalf paused and stared at me. "And who is this stranger?"

"My problem," said Thorin still bound in his sack. "I will deal with her."

I sighed. "I just saved you from being eaten by three trolls. Do you have to call me a 'problem'?"

"Gandalf saved us," said Glóin. "You ran away, screaming."

After considering this accusation, I said, "Well, I was trying to save you. It's the thought that counts." I managed a weak smile.

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter III: The Company of Majestic Thorin

I told my story to Gandalf and the others as best I could—from the time I was six-years-old to the disappearance of Bonnie and Nick during my twenty-first birthday party. I don't think they believed me, and to be fair, it is a difficult story to believe. It didn't help that Thorin stood next to me the whole time, glowering at the dwarves for some reason.

"So, if you see a string-bean of a guy or a red-haired girl with a bad temper, let me know." I looked around to the wizard, the hobbit, and the dwarves hopefully, but none of them reacted to the descriptions of my friends. They continued to look doubtful, and some of the dwarves eyed my jeans with suspicion. "I'm telling the truth," I said, pointing to my clothes. "Does this really look Middle Earth style?"

I usually tried to wear wools and linens, clothing that could pass as belonging in Middle Earth if one didn't look too closely; however, today I'd made the poor choice of wearing dark jeans and a blue polyester shirt. The dwarves stared at the synthetic fabric in horror. It probably didn't help my case that women wearing pants were not common in Middle Earth.

"This must be some form of sorcery," said Balin, peering at my jeans.

"Perhaps it is of elvish make," added Dwalin. He glanced at Gandalf, as if hoping the wizard had the answer.

"It's not," I said. "I'm really not from this world."

"She's not," said Thorin, voicing his support (surprising, since I was pretty sure he hated me). "I knew her a long time ago, though I did not know she had survived Smaug's fire."

"See!" I cried, pointing at Thorin. "He agrees! That proves it!"

"That does not yet prove she is trustworthy," said Thorin. "She could be an elven spy."

Gandalf let out an exasperated sigh. The tension between the two leaders of the Company caused the dwarves and Bilbo to shift uncomfortably.

Throwing my hands up in the air, I cried, "You know what? It doesn't even matter. I'm just passing through."

"I think she is telling the truth," said Bilbo suddenly.

I smiled at the little hobbit; I was starting to like him.

Gandalf frowned. "I am curious about the burning city you saw."

"Minas Tirith?" I asked. "What about it?"

"Why was it burning?"

I paused. The morning sun sat low on the horizon. Pale orange light shone through the tree branches onto the backs of the stone trolls. Gandalf watched me, his thick, gray brows furrowed together.

No one had ever asked me about the future before. Should I tell him? Should I tell him the horrors that led to the destruction of Minas Tirith? Should I tell him that Sauron would win? Every time travel movie I'd ever seen told me that telling the truth was a bad idea. The future should remain unknown. But when I recalled the hoard of orcs rushing over the ruins of the White City, my stomach turned with dread. What could I possibly say?

"I can't say anything."

Gandalf looked thrown for a second. I don't think people refused to answer him very often. However, whatever anger had flashed through his eyes faded, and leaning on his wooden staff slightly, he asked, "Why can you not speak of this?"

I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "Well, I can't because, well…I can't—oh my God! Look at that dwarf's beard!"

Everyone watched, dumbfounded, as I bounded over to an enormously fat dwarf's side and examined his beard, which had been sculpted into one thick, ginger braid that draped across his chest.

"My beard?" asked the dwarf (whose name, I later found out, was Bombur).

"It's fantastic!" I cried.

"Wait," said Gandalf, raising his voice only slightly. "You cannot escape the question."

The dwarves all looked from me to Gandalf as if they were unsure what to do, but then Bombur stroked his braid and said proudly, "It is rather splendid."

Bombur's words seemed to be the trigger, and the dwarves' reverence for Gandalf gave way to the importance of talking about beards. They all turned to me and puffed out their chests to help show off their facial hair. I was genuinely impressed by the art of beard-sculpting, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Bilbo stood at the edge of the group, listening with curiosity, while Gandalf, Thorin, and Balin hung back. Gandalf seemed to be wavering between frustration and interest, while Thorin was amused for some reason. I guess watching me be swarmed by boasting dwarves was an amusing sight.

"You have not seen many beards, little girl, if you are impressed by Bombur's," said Óin, who had a great gray beard that had been braided in the front so that it formed a sort of hairy bow.

I gasped. "Wow—that's one incredible beard. How do you braid it like that?" I ran my fingers through my tangled mess of dark blonde hair and said, "I can never do anything with this."

"It requires a great deal of practice," said Óin.

"My mother taught me," added Ori.

"She did a great job," I said.

I like to think all the beard talk stopped Gandalf from asking me about Minas Tirith, but knowing Gandalf, he probably decided that it would be easier to get the information out of me when we weren't surrounded by dwarves.

"Kíli!" cried Glóin (a ginger dwarf with too much hair to manage). "You do not even have a beard!"

"Can he even grow one?" asked Óin.

Kíli, the youngest dwarf in the company, lacked a beard—though he did have the short height and long hair to prove his dwarvishness. He crossed his arms and said, "I will grow a beard soon enough, and it shall be more magnificent than any of yours."

"He only wishes," said Glóin with a bark of laughter.

I laughed along with the rest of the dwarves, well aware that somewhere behind me, Gandalf, Thorin, and Balin were discussing my story. I smiled and nodded as the dwarves chattered, but all I could hear was the not-so-secret meeting.

"She is not an elven spy," said Gandalf. "But I fear she may be controlled by darker forces."

"Is she dangerous?" asked Balin. He trailed off, like he wanted to ask about these darker forces—and I wanted him to—but it seemed he didn't dare pry into a wizard's affairs.

"How can she be dangerous?" scoffed Thorin, who clearly didn't want to learn more about these darker forces. "She is a small thing for a human, and she does not even carry a weapon with her."

There was a pause, and though I couldn't see them properly, I figured they were all contemplating what to do with me and these "darker forces", whatever they were. I was probably not a problem any of them had imagined encountering on their journey to the Lonely Mountain.

Then, Balin said, "It is unnatural. Humans should not come and go as she."

"She is no spy of orcs or goblins," said Thorin. "She is from another place—one far away from ours."

"She told you this very same story when I met her in the Blue Mountains," said Balin.

"I did not believe her at first," said Thorin. "That she was the little girl who I had lost in Smaug's fires. But she appeared to me in the Blue Mountains a century later and had aged only a fraction of what a human would have. She is the same Ana."

"If you are certain," said Gandalf. There was something strange in the wizard's voice, but I didn't dare turn around to look at him. I pretended to laugh at some joke Óin had made. Chances were these "darker forces" referred witchcraft; that's usually what people assumed I was when they didn't understand the Skipping.

"But she might yet be an elven spy." At this point, I was beginning to think that Thorin got some twisted amusement from referring to me as an elven spy rather than actually believing it. "On our last meeting," said Thorin, "she admitted to knowing two elves. Elrohir and Elladan, she called them."

"Elrohir and Elladan?" repeated Gandalf. His exasperation with Thorin disappeared at the mention of the brothers and was replaced with curiosity. "Are you certain those are the names she spoke?"

"Elrohir and Elladan?" I stopped pretending to listen to the other dwarves and walked into the middle of the incredibly secret meeting. "We're BFFs."

"BFFs? What is that?" asked Kíli.

"She speaks in strange tongues," muttered Dwalin.

"Best Friends Forever." I turned to Gandalf. "You know those guys?"

"Yes."

"She admits it," said Thorin. "She is friends with elves."

"And so am I, Thorin Oakenshield," snapped Gandalf. "A friendship with elves does not make one their spy."

I nodded. "See, Gandalf knows."

"She does not seem all bad," said Bofur. "It cannot do us any harm to let her travel with us until we reach the next town."

"Travel with us?" repeated Thorin. I was pretty sure I saw a look of horror flash across his usually haughty face.

"She does seem rather lost," said Bombur. "A woman should not wander these lands alone."

Other dwarves in the Company were soon voicing their agreement—apparently, they liked short girls who appreciated the art of beard braiding. Gandalf, Thorin, and Balin had another quick meeting concerning my suspiciousness, presumably; this time the meeting was well out of earshot. Then, the three of them returned and grudgingly allowed me to travel with the Company for a short period of time. "It will be easier to keep an eye on you that way," Balin had said. "Best to keep enemies close."

I decided not to push my luck, and I quietly accepted my role as the stray the Company of Thorin Oakenshield had picked up on the road.

Gandalf then suggested that the trolls likely had a cave nearby where they hid from sunlight. The dwarves perked up at this news, since it was well known trolls kept gold in their caves.

The Company wandered through the woods, searching for any trace of the tolls' hideaway. I walked through the forest as well, but I had no idea what to look for and only pretended to search. As the dwarves scattered, Gandalf took the opportunity to approach me. I looked about, hoping there was a dwarf nearby who I could discuss beard-sculpting with. Unfortunately, I was quite alone.

"I cannot tell you anything more," I said before the wizard could even get a word out. "Rules are rules, and I'm supposed to keep some of the things I've seen to myself."

"I did not intend to ask about Minas Tirith," said Gandalf. "Though, to walk through time and worlds is a gift that has not been seen in Middle Earth for an age, and it would be a shame to let such a gift fall to waste."

The mention of a "gift" made me recoil. I opened my mouth to tell Gandalf just what I thought of this "gift", but my words were cut off by the cry of Glóin, "We found it!"

Gandalf sent me one last pointed look, full of meaning that I didn't understand, and then started through the forest to rejoin the Company. I stumbled after him.

Glóin and Óin had found some troll tracks at the base of a hill, and they'd made their way up to find a large boulder blocking the mouth of a cave. A small rockface had been formed in the side of the hill, as if someone had taken a slice out of the earth. At first, I was impressed with the dwarves tracking skills, because the thick branches of the forest trees kept the rockface well-hidden from view. But then, I noticed the broken branches that lay scattered about, and I realized that even an amateur tracker would've been able to follow the trolls to their cave.

It seemed the trolls hadn't bothered to be discrete about their lair, because they had another defense mechanism: a giant boulder blocked the entrance. The dwarves tried pushing the boulder out of the way, but it would not budge. Then, Gandalf brought out his staff. He muttered a few incantations under his breath, but even then, the stone would not move.

"There seems to be a keyhole," said Balin upon further examination of the rock.

"I did not think trolls were smart enough to use keys," muttered Dwalin.

"Perhaps this will work," said Bilbo. The hobbit held up a roughly wrought iron key that certainly looked as though it would fit in the door.

"Why did you not mention it before?" cried Glóin.

"I did not realize the cave required a key," said Bilbo as he handed the key over to Balin. "I found it at the foot of one of our stone trolls."

The key turned in the lock, and with the strength of the thirteen dwarves, the boulder rolled back to reveal the dark depths of the cave. We were greeted by the foul smell of decay, and I pinched my nose to avoid breathing it in. Sword drawn, Thorin led the way into the cave with Balin and Gandalf close behind and then the rest of the Company. Taking one last gasp of fresh air, I followed.

The cave wasn't large, just enough room for three trolls to sleep in during the day. The dark walls curved upwards, forming a ceiling decorated with small stalactites. Despite the foul smell, I thought it was a halfway decent troll cave…that was, until I noticed the bones. A half a dozen or so skeletons, their skulls broken and their bones scattered, decorated the cave floor. Pushed up against the dank walls were heavy chests and piles of molding clothes. Weapons, too, lay scattered about the cave, and Gandalf and Thorin moved to inspect two swords that lay side by side. Balin and Dwalin found some axes that would likely help them on their journey, while the other dwarves started digging through the chests.

"Gold!" cried Fíli as he and Kíli peered inside one.

"Let's get it out of this horrid stench," said Dori.

The dwarves carried the chests filled with valuables outside the cave walls. Bilbo watched them curiously, seemingly unaffected by the lure of treasure, and it was only when Balin called out to him that Bilbo hurried to help the dwarves.

I watched the chests with wonder, but the treasure that had caught my eye were the two swords that Gandalf and Thorin held. The blades were long and slender. The one Thorin held had a curve about the edge, while Gandalf's was straight and sharp. I'd never been a fan of weapons, but even I had to admit that the two swords were fair prizes.

The other weapons the dwarves carried seemed to be made of iron and were decent enough, but the only weapons that had been built with notable skill were Dwalin's twin battle axes, Balin's flat-bladed mace, and Thorin's own steel blade. The other dwarves had weapons that seemed thrown together at the last minute—Nori's knives were mismatched, Bifur's spear looked as though it was made for a smaller dwarf, and Bofur had a mining pick instead of an actual weapon. From what I'd seen, Fíli and Kíli's swords were designed with hard lines, much in the style of the dwarves, whereas the two swords Gandalf and Thorin had found had long, smooth lines that didn't remind me of anything dwarven.

"These blades were not made by any troll, nor any smith among men in these parts and days…" Gandalf glanced down at Thorin and said, "These swords are of elvish make."

Thorin scowled.

"You could not ask for a finer blade," snapped Gandalf.

Thorin said nothing, but he did strap the sword to his side. His gaze then lifted to mine. I quickly scurried away and found the hobbit, who had picked up a small knife and was inspecting it. Well, the blade was a knife to me, but on a hobbit, it made for a sword.

"Maybe I should find myself a weapon, too," I said. "It'll probably come in handy with all this Skipping."

Bilbo looked up from his blade. "I know not how to wield one, but to have one is better than to not, I think." He gestured to the pile of weapons on the floor, inviting me to take one of the knives.

After my encounter with some goblins some years ago, I'd debated buying myself a hunting knife or even a gun to protect myself, but I'd never been a fighter, and knowing me, I was more likely to shoot myself than my actual target. I'd decided to rely on the Skipping to save me rather than my own skill.

"I'll pass," I said.

Bilbo frowned but didn't push the matter. Thorin and Gandalf had started to exit the cave, and Bilbo and I followed. The rest of the Company was outside, sorting the gold and jewels into chests and finding a good spot to bury their treasure should they ever come back this way.

A few yards away, I overheard Thorin saying to Gandalf, "Where did you go to, if I may ask?"

"To look ahead," said the wizard.

"And what brought you back?"

"Looking behind."

Thorin's eyes narrowed. "Try to keep your secrets then, Gandalf." He glanced over at the dwarves, who still had two chests left to bury and were debating the best spot to hide them. Thorin raised his voice and said, "We must journey on before night fall."

At his command, the dwarves ceased arguing over the chests, reluctantly put the remaining jewels back in the cave, and retrieved their ponies from the forest where they'd scattered. Thankfully, the bags were still strapped to the ponies' saddles, and the dwarves mounted their ponies, preparing for the long journey. Only Gandalf, who was placed at the front of party, rode a full-sized horse. He looked back over the group of dwarves—and hobbit—with a rather amused look in his eyes. He must have felt like a giant amongst them.

Poor Bilbo struggled to get onto his pony, and Dori had to help the hobbit up. Once Bilbo was situated (though looking extremely uncomfortable), Dori settled himself on his own long-tailed pony.

As the dwarves prepared themselves for the road, I remained on the ground, for the first time getting a good look at the Company. It surprised me that even though I'd only been with them for a few hours, I was already able to tell most of them apart.

Two dwarves sat on ponies beside Dori, one had sculpted his hair to look like a sort of star while the other had short bangs with braids framing his face. The three dwarves had similarly round faces, so I figured they were related in some way. It took me a moment to remember that their names were Nori and Ori.

A little ahead of them were Balin and Dwalin. The two brothers didn't look much alike—Dwalin was a great, hulking dwarf, almost as tall as Thorin but built with more muscle, while Balin was short and white-haired—but as they rode, they spoke happily about the treasures they found in the troll-cave. From what I'd gathered from the fight with the trolls, the Company didn't have many warriors, but Balin and Dwalin were among the few who were handy with weapons.

Óin and Glóin, who sat near the front of the Company, were also warriors. They were both short and barrel-chested, though Glóin had fiery red hair while Óin had grayed. From what little I could gather of their conversation, Óin chattered on about some foretelling and the coming of Durin's Day.

Near the back of the Company, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur sat on chestnut ponies. Bombur's weight made his pony shift uneasily, but the beast bore the dwarf well, all things considered. Bifur and Bofur spoke in Khuzdul as they waited for the Company to start moving. It took me a moment to realize that Bifur had a small axe sticking out of his head. I looked about frantically at that discovery, wondering if I should ask someone to help remove it, but neither Bifur nor Bofur minded the axe so I supposed it was meant to be there.

With a shout in Khuzdul from Thorin, the Company urged their ponies forward. Thorin rode at the head of the Company along with Gandalf. Thorin somehow managed looked exceedingly proud and important despite there being a massive height difference between him and Gandalf. I decided not to mention this fact.

"Here," said Fíli. "Would you like a ride?"

I turned to see the blond dwarf on the back of a light gray pony. He offered a hand to me, and with surprising strength, he hoisted me up onto the saddle behind him. The animal let out a little whinny of protest but soon clattered on after the rest.

The dwarves chatted in loud voices—some of them discussing the comforts of home while others were still shaken from their encounter with the trolls. A breeze made its way through the forest, rustling leaves, and I shrunk against Fíli's back to block out the wind. The road we traveled was little more than dirt and rocks curving through the mossy forest floor, and I wondered how the dwarves didn't get lost underneath the expanse of trees. But Gandalf rode at the front of the Company, and I remembered that wizards should never be underestimated.

"Where are you from, then," asked Fíli, interrupting my thoughts, "if not Middle Earth?"

"A magical and mythical place called Ohio," I said. No one else got the joke.

"Is it nice there?" asked Kíli. His brown pony trotted up beside Fíli and me.

"It's all right," I said. "Not nearly as beautiful as Middle Earth. Ohio is much more, you know, modern, I guess. It's just different."

"Humans always think they are 'modern'," said Fíli.

Kíli nodded in agreement. "Whenever they come to the Blue Mountains to trade with us, they scoff and say that we keep our cities too secret. The world is opening up, they tell us."

"They do not understand dwarrows," said Fili.

"Well, yes," I admitted. "Humans say that in my world as well. Though I think they're talking about something a little different…" I didn't want to talk too much about my world, and in a desperate attempt to change the subject, I caught sight of Thorin sitting proudly on his pony and said, "So that Thorin—he's something, huh?'

Apparently undisturbed by my sudden mention of Thorin, Kíli nodded enthusiastically and cried, "Yeah! Our uncle is a noble dwarf."

"Uncle?"

"He is the brother of our mother," explained Fíli.

"Oh." I hesitated. "Then maybe I should keep my comments on Thorin's majesty to myself. I doubt his nephews want to hear about that..."

"Majesty?" Fíli glanced over his shoulder at me. "What have you to say of our uncle's majesty?"

I grinned. "He's just, you know, so majestic. Just look at the way he rides."

Fíli and Kíli slowly turned to stare at Thorin. He rode beside Gandalf, listening to Gandalf's counsel (they were probably discussing very serious matters). Thorin sat upright on his pony, back straight and head high. He brushed his long brown hair out of his face at the exact same time that the pony tossed its long brown mane.

Kíli turned around and grinned at me, smile stretching across his beardless face. "Uncle is indeed majestic."

I nodded gravely. "So is his pony."

"Do not pretend, Kíli," said Fíli. "You have said that you wanted to be like our uncle since the day you could first speak."

"He's a majestic wannabe," I said.

"What does that mean?" asked Kíli.

"It just means that you want to be as majestic as Thorin," I said.

Fíli laughed. "That is my brother." He mimicked Kíli's slightly higher voice and asked, "Have I achieved majesty yet, brother?"

I tried to make my voice deep and Thorin-like (I failed miserably at this task) and replied, "Shut up, Kíli. You're crowding my majesty."

"Uncle, you must watch this!" cried Fíli. He pretended to stare off into the distance with brooding expression on his face. Then, he turned back to me and asked, "Do I live up to your standards now, Uncle?"

We both doubled over with laughter, and the gray pony snorted irritably. Kíli scowled at the two of us.

"Your act does not do me justice," said Kíli.

"Doesn't it?" I asked.

"Yes," said Kíli. He switched his voice to a high-pitched version. "Uncle Thorin, I am awed by your majesty. Take me on as an apprentice so that I may study your ways."

"No," I said, still using the deep-Thorin-voice. "You do not have any majestic potential."

"You do not even have a beard, Kíli," said Fíli.

We were roaring with laughter when Bilbo's pony trotted up beside us. Bilbo looked from Fíli to Kíli to me before asking, "What amuses you so?"

"Bilbo!" I said, still using my majestic Thorin voice. "How splendid it is to meet someone with so much majestic potential—not as much majestic potential as me, but still, you have some—which is more than I can say for my nephew, Kíli."

"Fíli!" cried Kíli. "Surely this hobbit does not possess more majesty than I?"

Fíli sighed. "Kíli, are you going to ask that every time we make a new acquaintance?"

"I cannot help it," said Kíli. "My confidence wanes whenever I spend too long in Uncle's presence."

Bilbo stared at the three of us and then gave a weak chuckle, which of course only made the rest of us laugh harder.

I adjusted my seat on the pony, pulling myself up to my full height, and said, as majestically as I could, "This lighting is not very good. I need darker, more moody lighting for the full power of my majesty to be unleashed."

Kíli laughed. "Oh, Uncle, permit me to hold a torch for you so that your majesty may be fully seen!"

"Yes, Kíli," I said. "That would be good. But do not get too close—you might infect my majesty."

Fíli elbowed me in the stomach. "He is coming."

Kíli and I reeled around to see that Thorin had pulled his pony to a halt on the side of the road and was glaring at us. I wasn't certain if he had heard us or not—surely, he was too far away—but as we approached, Thorin said, "You find my majesty amusing, do you?"

Kíli looked embarrassed, while I smiled and asked, "Are you enjoying the road trip?"

Thorin's scowl was unmoving. "I should not have agreed to you coming along."

"But you did," I said. "And we're having fun."

After one final majestically murderous glare, Thorin turned his pony around and urged it forward so he could catch up with Gandalf.

"He's a real stick in the mud," I said, shaking my head.

"A what?" asked Bilbo.

"A, you know, someone who isn't much fun."

"Ana is inventing new phrases again," said Fíli with a grin.

"I'm not inventing phrases," I said. "They're common where I'm from."

Fíli shrugged as if to say that he was above arguing with me, which of course only annoyed me more. However, before I could respond, Kíli said, almost thoughtfully, "Uncle Thorin can be a lot of fun. You just have to give him enough ale."

Fíli roared with laughter. "That does not happen very often."

"He's too serious for his own good," I said. "But tell me, what does Uncle Thorin do when he's drunk?"

Fíli and Kíli exchanged excited glances, then Kíli leaned forward and said, "He likes to—"

Unfortunately, I didn't get to hear what Thorin liked to do when he was drunk, because at that very moment, eight giant rabbits pulling a sled flew through the trees. A little old man in brown furs clung to the wooden sled, yelling something indecipherable at the top of his lungs. I shrieked and cowered behind Fíli. The rabbits came to a screeching halt, and the sleigh skid along the forest floor, coming to a stop only when it slammed into the side of a tree. The dwarves surrounded the sled, their weapons drawn. Bilbo hung to the back to the group, though I noticed he clutched the small blade in his right hand.

"Hold on," said Gandalf, raising his left hand into the air to stop the dwarves. "This is Radaghast the Brown."

"Who?" I asked.

Gandalf shot me an irritable look but explained, "He is a wizard of my order." He turned to Radaghast and asked, "What are you doing here, old friend?"

"Gandalf," croaked Radaghast as he stumbled from the sled. The rabbits remained seated on the forest floor. One of them scratched its ear with its foot. "I was searching for you. The birds told me that I might find you here."

In all my visits to Middle Earth, I'd never heard of talking birds. I was getting some Disney princess vibes from this wizard—never mind that he had a thick gray beard, wrinkled face, and smelled of herbs.

"Why do you search for me?" asked Gandalf, who apparently didn't find the sudden mention of talking birds unusual in the slightest.

Radaghast opened his mouth to say something. Then he paused. He looked left, then right, then back to the left. He frowned and then said, "This kind of business is best spoken in private."

Gandalf glanced around the company of dwarves, his eyes coming to rest on me half-hidden behind Fíli. He nodded. "Indeed."

As Gandalf and Radaghast moved away from the Company, the rest of us dismounted from the ponies. The dwarves separated into groups, chattering amongst themselves. To my surprise, Thorin did not follow Gandalf and Radaghast but remained with the dwarves.

"You're not going with the wizards?" I asked him.

Thorin snorted (majestically, I might add). "Anyone with half a mind would not meddle in the affairs of wizards. Their business is their own and is often dangerous."

"It is true," said Bofur, joining our conversation. "While it makes for a good tale to hear afterwards, to actually be involved with wizards will often lead to death or much crueler fates."

"Ah." I looked at Gandalf, looked at Thorin, and then pointedly asked, "How's your adventure going so far, Thorin?"

Thorin glared at me. "We have already been put into sacks and almost eaten by trolls, if you must ask."

"And you've only just started your adventure?"

Thorin grimaced. "We departed the Shire some days ago, after hiring our little burglar."

"Burglar?"

Thorin jerked his head roughly in the direction of Bilbo.

I blinked and squinted at the little hobbit who looked as though he'd be much more comfortable sitting in an armchair than camping out in the woods. "Him? A burglar?" He was going to get himself killed out here.

"We asked that as well," said Bofur. "But Gandalf insists he is a burglar."

"Gandalf's mad." Though even as I said it, I remembered how Bilbo had managed to outwit the trolls.

"I will not doubt the wizard," said Thorin. "I trust his judgment."

I shrugged. "You're the majestic king, Thorin."

Thorin opened his mouth to reply when a grating growl resonated from the woods around us. My heartbeat picked up and I spun in a circle madly, searching for the source of the noise. Even if it'd been over a decade, I still remembered being chased through the Northern Wastes by white wolves. I'd had nightmares about it for weeks after I'd returned to Ohio.

"What was that?" cried Kíli.

"A wolf!" Bilbo clutched his little sword.

"Not a wolf," said Bofur. "There are no wolves in these parts."

Another deep growl, this time coming from behind. I spun around just in time to see a warg—twice the size of a wolf—leap down a hill towards Nori. Thorin stepped forward and sliced his sword through the warg's thick throat. The foul beast collapsed at Thorin's feet, while the rest of us looked on, speechless.

Another roar sounded in response to the warg's death.

Kíli strung his bow and released an arrow, which buried its head into the left eye of a second warg. The beast howled in agony, and Fíli stabbed it in the stomach.

"We are under attack!" cried Kíli.

"Really?" My voice was shrill. "I hadn't noticed!"

"Thorin!" Gandalf rushed through the trees closely followed by Radaghast. "Who did you tell about your quest beyond your own kin?"

"No one," said Thorin.

"Who did you tell?"

"No one, I swear."

If Thorin wasn't going to tell Gandalf that he'd told me about the quest, then I certainly wasn't going to. But it didn't matter, because Gandalf then rounded on me, his eyes flashing. "You! With whom have you been in contact?"

"Me?" I squeaked. "No one. I just kind of come and go. Nothing more."

"This cannot concern us now," said Thorin. "We have more pressing matters."

Gandalf shot me one last suspicious glare before he turned to scan the trees. "We cannot outrun wargs."

Radaghast appeared at Gandalf's shoulder and said, "We can use a diversion. I will draw them off."

"They will catch you," said Gandalf. "These are Gundabad wargs."

"These are Rhosgobel Rabbits." A slow smile spread across Radaghast's withered face. "I'd like to see them try."

I stared down at the oversized brown rabbits doubtfully. How fast could they be? However, a wicked smile crept onto Gandalf's face as well, and he nodded. "Be careful, my friend." He turned to the dwarves. "We must go secretly. The ponies can only hinder us. Quickly! Unload as much as you can off the ponies and let them free."

The dwarves hesitated, reluctant to leave their beasts of burden.

"Hurry!" roared Thorin.

At Thorin's command, the dwarves sprang into action. They loaded as much food and clothes as they could on their backs and then turned the ponies free. I tried to help distribute the supplies, but mostly I just got in the way. Thorin shot me irritated glares before Balin finally moved me to the side and told me to stay put. Meanwhile, Radaghast hopped onto his sleigh; a single word from him and the rabbits were off running. The brown wizard disappeared through the trees followed by the sound of wargs roaring and howling.

"Come quickly," said Gandalf. "We cannot waste time."

After the last of the ponies galloped away, leaving the Company on foot, Gandalf led us through the forest to an open plain. Wild grass covered the hillside with large rock formations emerging out of the ground. A blue sky stretched overhead with not a cloud in sight to block the golden midday sun. In the distance, on the slopes of the plains, I could see Radaghast on his rabbit-pulled sleigh with hordes of wargs and orcs on his tail.

Gandalf had seen Radaghast as well. "Quickly!" he cried as he sprinted across the grassy plain to take shelter behind the nearest boulder. The dwarves hurried after him as fast as their stout legs could carry them. I followed at the end behind Ori and Dori.

"Keep up," said Dori.

"I'm running as fast as I can," I snapped. I opened my mouth to complain about my short legs (that's what I did to get out of gym class in high school) but then I realized that I was surrounded by proud dwarves who would never use height as an excuse for anything. Even worse, I was taller than most of the Company.

Gandalf peered around the edge of the rock and, deeming it safe, sprinted into the dip between two hills. The dwarves raced after him. Thorin waited until everyone had passed before following himself. He was now at the end of the group, behind me, of course, because I was the slow one.

"Run faster," hissed Thorin.

"I'm sorry." I gasped for breath. "I'm not as fast as all you warrior dwarves." I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Thorin had drawn his sword. The elven blade glowed dimly in the presence of orcs.

"Whoa!" I said. "Put that thing away! Are you trying to make me Skip again?" I was having flashbacks to my visit to the Blue Mountains.

"Quiet," said Thorin as we hid behind the next huge rock formation. "It is in case the wargs detect us."

"Are you sure that's not for me?" I asked suspiciously.

"If you keep talking, it will be."

I did shut up after that, but unfortunately, it didn't matter. There was a deep growl from the rocks above us. Looking up, I saw a massive warg, baring sharp yellowed teeth, standing atop the boulder, with an armed orc-rider sitting on its back. The orc narrowed his white eyes, searching the surrounding plains for any sign of us. The dwarves, Gandalf, Bilbo, and I pressed our backs the base of the rock, hoping neither the orc nor the beast would think to look down.

I still couldn't be properly afraid for myself. Logically, I knew if they saw me, the warg and orc would try to kill me, but I found myself more worried about the Company. After all, I would probably just Skip away if attacked.

Thorin leaned forward slightly and nodded at Kíli. I looked back and forth between the two of them, trying to figure out what was going on. I trusted Thorin to do what was best for the Company; Kíli, on the other hand, seemed to lean towards the hot-headed side.

Kíli fingered the end of an arrow and then leapt out from the shelter, drawing his bow. He released the arrow and it embedded itself into the shoulder of the warg. The beast howled and toppled from the rock. Another arrow landed in the forehead of the orc. There was a flash, and before I knew what was happening, Thorin had slashed open the warg's throat with Orcrist. The beast let out a high-pitched scream—signaling to all the other wargs and orcs in the area our location.

I stared, wide-eyed, as the warg struggled on the ground for a moment and then released a low whine as it died. Oh God, it died. Right in front of me, gasping for breath as the life drained out of it, blood dripping from the wound in its neck. The beast smelled foul, like unwashed dog mixed with decay. I clasped my hands over my nose and tried not to breathe in.

"Now is not the time to be weak-stomached," growled Thorin. "Move."

He gave me a shove to follow the rest of the Company who had abandoned the shelter of the rock. I stumbled forward, almost tripping. I couldn't throw up. Not here. Not now. Not when the Company was running for their lives.

"They are coming!" shouted Gandalf from the front of the line.

The Company sprinted up a steep bank. I coughed and wheezed as I followed, trying desperately to keep up. Gandalf was headed for a large stone at the top of the hill. He seemed set on his course, refusing to turn left or right despite the rapidly approaching horde of wargs and orcs.

"We are surrounded!" shouted Kíli.

"You think?" I cried.

Thorin might have rolled his eyes as he sprinted past me. Kíli stood atop the hill, firing arrows at the oncoming wargs. I gasped for breath—running cross-country was never going to be my strong suit.

"Come on," said Fíli, hauling me along as my legs threatened to give out beneath me.

"I'm going to throw up," I said.

Fíli's eyes widened at something behind me. "Look out!"

I spun around just in time to see the face of a warg—drool, tongue, fangs, claws. The beast was practically on top of me, ready to tear my head off. I screamed and threw my arms over my face.

"Are you okay?"

I opened my eyes. It was late afternoon. I was sitting on the street outside Starbucks with one of the store employees standing over me—thankfully not the same employee from earlier. Her eyes were wide with concern and fear as she took in my dirty, disheveled appearance. The people sitting outside the coffee shop were staring at me in confusion. Some little old lady in a blue dress had dropped her cup of coffee. It had splattered all over the ground and on the hem of her dress, but she did not notice, too transfixed on the appearing and disappearing girl in front of her.

I blinked. "Um, hi."

The employee took a tentative step away from me. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," I said, getting to my feet and dusting off my jeans. "I just, you know, do that from time to time. For fun. Keeps me on my toes, you know." I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed. "I'll just, um, being going now."

I walked away from the coffee shop as fast as I could.

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter IV: The Cool Points Scale

"You're firing me?" I stared across the wide desk at the restaurant general manager, Rachel. She did not release my gaze; she was determined in her decision. There was a pang of regret in my chest and I wished I could call her unfair, but of course, she had every right to fire me. Sighing, I untucked my black waitress shirt.

"I know, I know," I said. "I skipped another day of work with no explanation."

"Sorry," said Rachel. "But we cannot have this kind of irresponsibility—"

"I got it." It wasn't like this was something new to me. The amount of times I have been unable to show up for work because I had Skipped to Middle Earth was countless. The number of times employers have fired me for not showing up was countless, too. It was a fact of life I had learned to live with.

"I'm sorry, Ana," said Rachel. "Honestly, I am."

"I got it." From somewhere deep inside of me, I pulled out a smile. "I'll go find work somewhere else. It's not a big deal."

"Ana…"

"See you around." I left her office without another word. As I made my way through the kitchen, a couple of the restaurant employees awkwardly waved good-bye to me. No one came forward to say anything. Whatever. Let them be. I'd only been working there for a couple months and I hadn't been old enough to go out drinking with them after work. None of them knew me well enough to care.

The restaurant door closed behind me as I stepped out onto the street. It had been two days since my return to Ohio, and already life had gone from bad to worse. Bonnie and Nick were officially on the missing persons list. I'd spent the last two days talking to the police about what had happened and trying not to look at Nick and Bonnie's distraught parents. On top of that, I was failing half of my college classes because I had too many absences, and now I was fired from my waitressing job. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as I stood on the curb of the parking lot. The chilly autumn air bit at my exposed face and neck.

I pictured Bonnie, with her red hair and freckles, and Nick, lanky with a mop of brown hair. They were the only two people who had accepted my disappearances with minimal questions. And look what they had gotten for it. Where were they now? Wandering about Middle Earth? Perhaps they had encountered an orc. Perhaps they had a run-in with a troll. My stomach twisted at the idea of a blade through Bonnie's heart or an arrow through Nick's throat. I shook my head to clear the images and plastered a smile on my face. Well, there was no work shift keeping me back now—what was a new way to risk my life?

I walked along the sidewalk, heading for the busy main road. My hands were shoved into the pockets of my leather jacket and I hummed off-key as I went. Just as I was debating stepping out in front of a car, my cell phone rang.

"Hello?" I asked, holding the phone up to my ear.

A perky voice cracked through the phone line. "Ana, hi!"

"Hi, Mom. What's up?"

"Thanksgiving is coming up soon."

"Yeah?" There was a sinking feeling in my stomach. I knew where this conversation was going.

"Well, your dad and I were wondering if you were coming home for Thanksgiving."

"Er—maybe." I glanced at a heavy truck that roared by on the main road. With my luck, if I said yes to Thanksgiving, I would Skip to Middle Earth and not come back until Christmas.

"We need a definite answer soon, honey," said Mom. "We need to know how much food to make."

"I'll try," I promised. "If I don't get back to you before Thanksgiving, then the answer is no."

I could practically hear Mom frowning through the phone. She did not like that answer, and who could blame her? Though she should be used to such answers from me by now. I had learned a long time ago that commitments were not something I could give.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." I grinned. "But you and Dad don't need me—you like your romantic Thanksgivings together. It's part of the empty-nester lifestyle."

"Ana…"

"Love you, too! Got to go!"

I hung up and slipped the phone back into my pocket. That went well. Sometimes I wondered if it would be easier just to tell them the truth, but then I remembered when I'd been six years old and my parents convinced me it was my overactive imagination. No one would believe me. It was better to keep lying to the police and hope I could find my friends myself.

With a sigh, I stepped out into the road.

The blast of a car horn.

The roar of a crowd.

Soldiers, dressed in metal armor with the imprint of a tree on their chests, looked up at someone in front of them. I was near the back of the cheering crowd, around me, the soldiers pumped their fists as they yelled. I ducked down and tried to escape the stamping, shouting men. At the very back of the crowd, a group of women in long, colorful dresses stood, clapping daintily. I settled in a spot next to them, though they kept shooting me and my pants disgusted looks.

A celebration was taking place in the courtyard just inside the main gates of the White City. I had been here on a previous Skipping adventure, and I recognized the statue of a soldier riding to battle. The courtyard was filled with some civilians but mostly soldiers, all cheering and gazing up at a tall, proud man on a horse who stood in the shadow of the statue.

With a little distance between me and the soldiers, I could hear what they were shouting—"Boromir! Boromir! Boromir!"

"Who's Boromir?" I asked the woman closest to me.

She gave me a poisonous glare, stiffly said, "Pardon", and then edged away. Apparently, she was afraid that my pants-wearing was a contagious disease.

"Okay…Nice talking to you." I watched as she started whispering to another haughty noble woman.

"It is not often we see a woman wearing the clothes of men."

A tall man with dark brown hair came to stand beside me. He would have been forgettable if not for his kind, gray eyes. His armor was of a different make to the other soldiers. His chest bore the same outline of a white tree as the others, but this armor was a deep red-brown and made of leather rather than metal.

"And you are?" I asked. I couldn't help but wonder why he bothered to talk to me—a short, young woman with a questionable taste in clothing.

"Faramir, son of Denethor."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Ana Stonbit."

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as if I'd done something suspicious. The women who'd avoided me earlier were now watching with open curiosity, and I wondered if I was supposed to recognize this man. Ah well, the damage had been done,

"So, who is Boromir?" I nodded to the man on a horse.

"His is the High Warden if the White Tower and our Captain-General," said Faramir. "He is also the son of the steward. I am surprised you do not know."

"I don't live here," I said. "I'm just passing through."

"You do speak in a peculiar manner," said Faramir thoughtfully, "and your clothes are not of any make I can name."

"So," I said, before he could ask me where I came from. "Why are they all cheering for him?"

The crease between Faramir's brow warned me that he knew I had avoided giving answers. However, he simply said, "Boromir has returned to the White City after reconquering Osgiliath from the hands of the Enemy."

"Good for him."

The soldiers had stopped cheering and had brought out the ale. They passed mugs of frothing liquid around, drinking and laughing and sharing stories amongst themselves. The noble women gave the men some space so they wouldn't be trampled by the excited soldiers. I scanned the crowd but I didn't see Nick or Bonnie anywhere. If they weren't here, it seemed like a waste of a Skip; I'd stepped in front of a car for nothing.

I wondered if there was anything else I could do while I was here. I should see how the Company was doing. After all, last I saw, they were being chased by orcs and wargs through the Trollshaws.

I glanced up at Faramir. There was something calm and comforting about his presence. He seemed like the type of guy that my parents would describe as having "a good head on his shoulders", and because of that, I found myself asking, "I'm not anywhere near the Trollshaws, am I?"

"The Trollshaws? I have not heard of such a place."

"Right. I'm in Gondor. A long way away from the dwarves."

Faramir frowned. "I have not heard that phrase before. Is it common in your home?"

"It's not a phrase," I said slowly. "I meant literal dwarves. As in I'm far away from these dwarves I know."

The way Faramir was staring at me, you would've thought I was insane. Then, softly, as if to himself, he said, "You do not hear talk of dwarves in Gondor except in old legends."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, nodding. "It is a strange thing. Look, it's great for Boromir that he conquered a city, but I have more important things to do. I'm looking for two of my friends who I lost on the way here—there was some, um, turbulence, and they didn't end up in the same spot as me. But I think I ended up in the wrong place or maybe time period—maybe you could help me?"

Faramir blinked. "Turbulence? Time period?"

"Or maybe not."

"Brother!"

Faramir and I turned at the same time to see a broad man with dark brown hair and an easy grin. It took me a moment to realize he was the man on the horse, the one the soldiers and civilians had been cheering for. Boromir wrapped his arms around Faramir's shoulders in a tight embrace.

Even if Boromir hadn't called out, I would've known they were brothers. While Boromir was broad where Faramir lean, they had the same gray eyes and sharp noses. Boromir's smile seemed to come easier, however. His gestures were bigger, and he moved with a loud confidence that was almost jarring in comparison to Faramir's quiet manner.

"I do not know why you let them call only my name when you were on the front lines with me," said Boromir as he released his brother and stepped back. "You should have joined me up there."

Faramir gave the slightest shake of his head, apparently not one for the spotlight. "You are the hero today, brother."

"Yes." Boromir looked as though he might say more, but then he caught sight of me. He grinned at Faramir and said, "And who is this lovely lady wearing the pants of a man?" Unlike the noble ladies, Boromir didn't seem offended in the slightest by my clothes.

"I'm Ana Stonbit."

"I am Boromir, son of Denethor, Captain of Gondor, Warden of the White Tower and Steward-Prince of Gondor."

"Yeah…I don't understand any of that."

"She is a traveler from a far-off land," explained Faramir. He shot his brother a meaningful glare.

Boromir's amused smile faded a bit, and he looked over my curiously.

I had the feeling Boromir had mistaken me for something else and was sincerely glad Faramir had corrected him.

"I'm jealous," I said. "I've always been an only child. My friends said it's a good thing since my parents would never be able to handle two of me."

Boromir listened to me with curiosity, and then he asked, "Where did you journey from, Lady Ana?"

"Just Ana." (The idea of being called a lady was flattering, but at the time, I felt it was too big of a lie.) "From a land far, far away called Ohio."

"Ohio?" repeated Faramir.

"I have never heard of such a place," said Boromir. "Is it in the east?"

"Something like that. I'm just passing through, really. See, I'm looking for some friends of mine and some dwarves. But I don't think they're here…"

"Dwarves?" asked Boromir. "I do not think dwarves have been seen in these parts for a hundred years." He glanced at me and, observing my height, added, "Though I suppose you prove me wrong."

"I'm human," I said. "I just happen to be short." I addressed Faramir, asking, "Is your brother always like this?"

Faramir sighed, and that was answer enough.

At that time, Boromir called for his squire (I think it was his squire) to bring him some ale. I watched as the boy brought him two mugs of the frothing drink. Boromir handed one to Faramir and then took a long draught of his own.

Boromir noticed my curious stare and asked, "Do they not have ale in Ohio?"

"They do," I said. "I've never had it before."

"Would you like a taste?"

I think Boromir was half joking when he made the offer, but well, I took him as serious. I hadn't gone out drinking on my twenty-first birthday, and my friends had Skipped to Middle Earth. Maybe if I hadn't been such a stick-in-the-mud, my friends would still be in Ohio. Not the most rational thinking on my part, but that's what went through my mind as I lifted my chin and said, "Bring me some ale. I want to try it."

Boromir seemed rather taken aback for a moment. Then he laughed and called for some more. "I should expect nothing less from a dwarfish woman who wears pants!"

I accepted my mug of ale from the squire and eyed it suspiciously for a second. Then, I chugged down the whole mug (I was rather impressed with myself). The liquid burned my throat and, barely managing to swallow the last of the drink, I coughed.

Laughing, Boromir called for a refill of my mug. Faramir, on the other hand, looked exasperated. He tried to get us to slow down, but Boromir and I charged full-steam ahead into a drinking game.

"I have never seen a woman drink her fill before," said Boromir.

"Probably because you don't spend enough time with female friends," I said, taking a huge gulp of ale. "Besides, you forget—I'm a dwarf. It is in our nature!" I laughed. "Thorin would skin me alive if he ever found out that I claimed to be a dwarf."

"Thorin?"

"Thorin," I said, lifting my mug into the air. "King Under the Mountain! He's known for his majesty." I chugged down the rest of the drink. "More!"

"Drink hearty," said Boromir.

Faramir sighed. "I see it now. This will end in disaster."

"Don't be a party pooper," I said.

"What did you say?" Faramir looked offended.

"It is another of her odd expressions no doubt," said Boromir. "Though I rather like this one. A party pooper."

"It means you're ruining the fun," I said.

"That is Faramir!" cried Boromir, thumping his brother on the back. "You know him so well and yet you have only just met."

"It's called skill," I said, drinking some more. "I'm winning, by the way."

"We cannot have that," said Boromir, and he finished off his mug and called for a second.

It was easy, I found, to get along with the brothers. Boromir was the brash soldier where Faramir was the intellectual leader. They balanced each other perfectly. Boromir happily recounted to me how he'd driven the orcs from Ithilien, the lands of eastern Gondor, while Faramir made wry comments about the intelligence of the orcs. Then, Faramir told me tales of their childhood, and the arguments they used to have over who would play the role of knight and who would be the dragon in their imaginings. They were fun, they were best friends, and though they didn't know it, their company was what I needed right then in my life.

"He is coming," said Faramir suddenly. He bowed his head ever so slightly, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on his mug of ale.

I turned around, searching the crowds to see who the dreaded one was. It wasn't hard to figure out. Approaching us was a tall, imposing man with gray hair and the same large nose and sharp jaw as Faramir and Boromir, though his skin was marred with wrinkles. He was not dressed in armor but rather in lordly, black velvets.

Boromir half turned away as he muttered, "One moment of peace, can he not give us that?"

"Oh," I said, "so he's the real party pooper."

"Boromir, my son!" Denethor flung his arms around Boromir's neck, so enthusiastic that Boromir spilled some of his ale. (It no longer counted as a full mug in the game. Just saying.) "They say you vanquished the enemy almost single-handedly. Led the men into battle with that horn blasting with the strength of Gondor."

"Father," said Boromir, patting Denethor awkwardly on the back. There was a mixture of warmth and exasperation in his gray eyes. "Come to congratulate us, have you?" He looked pointedly at Faramir.

Denethor released Boromir and stepped back. His hands still resting on Boromir's shoulders, he said, "But for Faramir, Osgiliath would still be standing." He glanced at his second son. "Were you not entrusted to protect it?"

"I would have done, but our numbers were too few."

"Oh, too few." Denethor dropped his hands to his sides. "You let the enemy walk in and take it on a whim. Always you cast a poor reflection on me."

"That is not my intent."

"You give him no credit," said Boromir, unable to listen in silence. He handed his mug to me and I took it with my free hand, helping myself to the ale. Using his now free hand, Boromir grasped Faramir by the arm as if hoping to give his brother energy by physical touch alone. "Faramir was incredible—did you hear that, Father? His leadership is beyond my capabilities."

"Faramir knows where his faults lie," said Denethor. "He does not need your compliments to know his worth."

Faramir smiled meekly. "Of course, Father."

I was more than a little drunk at this point, so I probably said some things that I never would have dreamed of saying to the Steward of Gondor sober. Sloshing my two ales around, I cried, "Oh my God! Stop! I can't listen to another word!"

Denethor turned to stare at me, his gray eyes narrowed with distaste. "And who might you be, little boy?"

"Boy?" I snorted. (Alcohol does not do kindly to me). "Boy? Do you not see my breasts? I'm obviously female. I mean—sure, I'm wearing pants, but a woman in pants is not that strange."

Denethor look appalled beyond words. Not that I blame him for that. As the Steward of Gondor, he probably wasn't spoken to like that much in his life. I'd like to think it did him some good.

"She has had a bit too much to drink, and it has gone to her head," said Faramir, quickly moving to take away at least one of my ales.

I pulled both mugs out of reach, using my elbow to push Faramir's hand away. "No. Bad. You must listen. Ana has wise words of advice for you."

Faramir looked mortified at the idea of accepting advice from me, while Boromir was trying to suppress his laughter.

"Your dad is being mean," I said. "But you should know you're just as awesome as Boromir. I like you both and you are both cool—even if your father is rude." I paused to take another drink. "You have the approval of a dwarf. Or the approval of a dwarf-approved little person. I don't really know what I am any more. But you're cool."

Boromir had given up trying to hold it in and laughed freely. Denethor was a mixture of confused and offended, and Faramir was still trying to take the mugs of ale away from me. Apparently, my wise words weren't appreciated.

"Who is she?" asked Denethor. "Where did you find this whore, Faramir?"

"I thought the same at first glance," said Boromir. "But she is not, Father. She comes from a far-off land."

"She has drunk more than her share," said Faramir. "Do not mind her, Father."

"Don't mind me!" I cried. "Faramir! You're losing cool points by the second!"

Faramir slapped a hand over my mouth in an attempt to silence me, but unfortunately, drunk me didn't want to stop talking. I ducked under Faramir's arm and finished the remainder of both ales.

"No more," said Faramir. "You are going to drink yourself to sleep."

"Meh. I'm just going to Skip back home."

The brothers frowned at this word. However, drunk me didn't notice anything odd and continued talking.

"I'm winning, by the way," I told Boromir. "Though, you're winning over your family on the cool points scale."

"The cool points scale?" asked Boromir. "Can you measure the weather in your land?"

Faramir glanced at their father. Denethor had been momentarily distracted by some soldiers congratulating him, but now he turned back to hear what I was saying to his sons. Things probably would have gone much better if Denethor had stayed distracted.

"No, no, it's not weather related," I explained. "Though we can measure temperature in my land. Anyway, don't distract me. It's likeability related. Let me see… So, Faramir has plus five cool points because he talked to me first. Though I suspect he did it because I looked suspicious. You have plus five cool points because you're having a drinking contest with me. Lots of fun. Faramir has plus five cool points because he's Faramir. But then he has minus two cool points because he's stopping me from drinking. Oh, and Denethor has minus fifty cool points because he's kind of mean to Faramir. Though he is steward of Gondor. That's pretty cool. He gets a plus three for that. So, in the end, Boromir has a plus ten, Faramir has a plus eight and Denethor is at minus forty-seven."

"And where might you be on the 'cool points scale'?" asked Boromir who, unlike his brother, hadn't noticed his father listening in.

"I'm at positive fifty-thousand," I said proudly.

"This is absurd," said Denethor.

"He's just jealous because he's in the negatives," I said in undertone to Boromir.

Unfortunately, I said it just loud enough for Denethor to hear. He glowered at me and said, "There is no jealousy to be had of a foolish little girl."

"Nah," I said. "You missed it, but we've already established that I'm a dwarf."

"You are not a dwarf." Denethor's voice was low and deadly, but I didn't notice because I was too drunk and too busy having fun with Boromir and Faramir.

"She is friends with dwarves," said Boromir, trying to ease his father's temper. "And she is very small." He held a hand over my head to show that I didn't even reach his chest.

"Do not be foolish," snapped Denethor.

I rolled my eyes and muttered under my breath, "Party pooper."

Denethor's face was red with anger, his hands curling into fists.

Boromir was laughing again. Apparently, he found the phrase "party pooper" immensely amusing. He tried to swallow his laughs when he saw his father's face, but failed miserably.

"I will not have any more of this," said Denethor. He turned and pointed at me. "This woman is an intruder. She has insulted me and my family. Seize her and throw her into the deepest dungeon of Minas Tirith."

At first, I thought he was joking. I was just having fun drinking with his sons…and maybe questioning his parenting skills and making jokes at his expensive. Okay, so maybe I could see where I had gone wrong.

At the loud, commanding words of their steward, the soldiers had stopped their partying and turned to stare at me. After a moment's hesitation, a few of them drew their swords.

My stomach lurched, and I started backing away. "That's a bit of an overreaction!"

"Father!" cried Faramir.

The soldiers were drawing closer.

"Stop—" began Boromir, but I never heard what he had to say in my defense because I Skipped.

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter V: The True Meaning Of Thanksgiving

For the sake of my health, I decided it would be better not to put myself in any life-threatening situations for a while. I did, of course, realize that it meant leaving Bonnie and Nick in Middle Earth for longer than I wanted to, but I also realized that the Skipping would not take me to see them until it was ready. It seemed pointless and dangerous to throw myself in front of cars and off buildings in the hope of maybe, possibly finding them. I still had missed classes to makeup in a desperate attempt to pass this semester.

And besides, Thanksgiving was fast approaching.

You'll be happy to know that I did end up making it to my parents' house for Thanksgiving that year. I showed up on the front steps of our two-story, red-brick house the day before and rang the doorbell.

It was my mother (from whom I got my blonde hair and blue eyes) who answered the door, dressed in her usual tacky turkey sweater. It took her a moment to realize that I—her only and most beloved child—had actually made it to a family holiday gathering. She beamed at me and flung her arms around my neck. "You're here!"

"I know! I'm surprised too!" I said, hugging her back. "I didn't fall in a pothole this year or anything!" (That was my excuse for not coming last year when I showed up for Christmas with my arm in a cast. The arm had actually been broken when I was running away from goblins in the Misty Mountains.)

"Oh shush, you." Mom took me by the hand and pulled me inside the house. "I haven't seen you in an age!"

"I saw you this summer," I said.

"At the beginning of the summer."

"I was working."

"Right," said Mom. "I think you spent all of July looking for a new job."

"Can we at least wait until after the pumpkin pie tomorrow for you to start talking about how I fail at life?" I regretted the comment as soon as I said it, but well, I knew what was wrong with my life a lot better than my mother did.

Mom bit her lip before saying, "You're right, of course. I really am happy to see you."

"I know." I smiled. "I'm happy to see you too."

She led me to the kitchen where her Thanksgiving cooking was sprawled about the marble counter tops. Dad (from whom that I got my small height and wavy hair) sat at the kitchen table. He looked up from his book as I approached, and a warm smiled spread across his face.

"Ana."

"Long time no see." I kissed him lightly on the cheek before moving to the fridge to get myself a cup of water.

"I see you made it safely," said Dad.

"I called you three days ago to say that I was likely coming home for Thanksgiving."

"Yes, but usually when you say you're coming home, you don't." He placed the book on the wooden table top.

"Yeah," I said, taking a sip of the cool water. "Well, things come up."

Mom and Dad exchanged glances before Mom busied herself with chopping potatoes. "Never mind that," she said brusquely. "You're home now. You managed to get a few days off work?'

"Er—yeah."

Mom stopped chopping and placed the knife down neatly next to the cutting board. She turned to face me. "Ana, what are you not telling me?"

"Nothing." I slid into the seat across the table from Dad. "Are you making the mashed potatoes?"

"Ana, what aren't you telling me?"

I sighed. (Damn a mother's intuition—it'll be the death of us all.) "I got fired from the restaurant."

"Again?" she cried. (I was really glad she had put the knife down.)

"What happened this time?" asked Dad. He didn't sound angry at least, only tired.

"I missed a day or two of work without warning…"

"Again?" Mom was beginning to sound like a broken record.

Dad sighed. "Ana…"

I shrugged. "Time just sort of skips away from me."

"You're going to have to find a new job." Mom turned back to her chopping—though this time she wielded the knife with more force. The continual sound of potatoes being hacked into bite-sized pieces filled the kitchen, punctuating the conversation.

"I know, Mom. I've been through this before."

"Most places in the area have already fired you—where will you work now?" My mother looked so exhausted as she leaned over the chopping board. She had reached the age where there were wrinkles under and around her eyes. I felt the dull ache of guilt in my gut, but I did not know what I could do to rectify the situation.

"I'll figure something out."

"We cannot afford this," said Mom. She didn't sound angry anymore, just tired. "How will you pay for your apartment? We already pay your college tuition, and I know you don't want to be dependent. But it's just so hard. We try to call you, and your phone is always off…"

Dad was frowning, watching me throughout the conversation.

I rested my arms on the table top and fought back a sigh. "Sorry, Mom. I hope you don't get too many gray hairs because of me."

"I already have gray hairs!"

"Yeah, but you dye them."

Mom's eyes narrowed at me. The knife was clutched in her right hand, and I realized that maybe the joke hadn't been such a good idea after all. Trying to lighten the mood could be the death of me. One day I was going to make a joke in an attempt to ease the situation and—bam—sword through the jugular. I cringed. That was a situation I could imagine happening all too easily.

Mom turned back to chopping the potatoes, shaking her head and muttering under her breath. However, she said nothing more on the topic so—for the time being—I was safe. God knows how long that would last.

"So, Ana, do you have a man in your life yet?" My aunt Fiona sat across the table from me, after having yet another sip from her wine glass. Even though she and Mom had the same golden-blonde hair, dainty noses, and bright, blue eyes, their personalities were very, very different.

"The only man in my life is Nick," I said, between bites of mashed potatoes. The moment I said his name brought on a wave of guilt as I remembered that he was still lost in Middle Earth. I tried to bury my feelings with more mashed potatoes.

"That skinny boy you hang out with?" asked Aunt Fiona. "Goodness. How do you survive? I don't think I could last nearly as long without a hunk of a man to pass my nights with." Fiona elbowed her current boyfriend, Jason, in the ribs.

"Really?" said Mom. "At the dinner table?" She turned to me and added, "You don't need a, um, hunk of a man in your life, Ana. You just be your own woman."

Dad wisely decided to stay out of it.

Fiona laughed and took another long sip of her wine. "Galin's not speaking."

Mom sighed. "I can't win here, can I?"

"Cheer up, Lexie," said Fiona, patting Mom on the shoulder. "Since Ana still hasn't gotten a man, we can assume she takes after you. I remember you being a late-bloomer as well."

"I think she takes after her dad," said Mom.

"I think I take after the delivery man," I said, helping myself to more mashed potatoes. My love life was a favorite topic of my aunt, and I had learned the best was to deal was to just change the topic.

"Oh, she's a rotten one," said Fiona. "Pass me the cranberries, will you?"

"Only if you pass me the gravy." I picked up the bowl of red-pink berries and handed them to Fiona, taking the gravy boat for myself. "He was one good-looking delivery man. I remember. He was my first love."

"The delivery man?" asked Mom.

"Don't pretend to be innocent," I said. "You used to ogle at him too."

"I'm going to pretend I cannot hear this," said Dad.

"How come I never saw this milk man?" asked Fiona. "Lexie, why didn't you let me see the delivery man?"

"You sound like a child whose toy has just been taken away," said Mom. "This was years ago. Back when Ana was six—Ana? You were six and you had a crush on the delivery man?"

I shrugged. "He was a sexy delivery man."

"Aw!" cried Fiona. She gestured wildly, wine spilling over the edge of her glass and falling onto the red tablecloth. "I'm mad at you two. Keeping this secret from me."

"It was a mother-daughter bonding experience," I said.

"Not when you were six!" Mom looked to Dad for support, but he was busy helping himself to more turkey. He offered some to Jason, who politely refused with a shake of his head.

"It's excellent," said Jason quickly. "My compliments to the chef—I'm just stuffed."

"Eat hearty," I said. "The dwarves would be ashamed of you."

"Dwarves?" asked Fiona.

Dead silence filled the room.

I took a huge bite of mashed potatoes. Sometimes it gets hard to keep my two lives separate. Comments about dwarves should be saved for Middle Earth, not at the Thanksgiving dinner table with my family. I tried to answer Fiona, but the mouthful of mashed potatoes prevented me.

Mom patted me on the back. "Chew and swallow—then answer."

I coughed and managed to get down the mashed potatoes. "Man, that was a near-death experience."

"Please," said Fiona. "You've been in many far worse near death experiences in your life than that."

"Really?" asked Jason curiously. "Like what?"

"Well, twice she almost got hit by a car," said Fiona. "The second time was a truck actually. The truck swerved to avoid her, thank God. We weren't there, but her friends were calling up and panicking after it happened. They couldn't find poor Ana."

Mom nodded while Dad took another sip of wine.

"The first time was when she was ten," Fiona continued. "I wasn't there, but from what Lexie told me, they were out for dinner one night. One moment they were eating bread and the next, Ana's gone. Lexie and Galin searched everywhere for Ana—"

"We found her playing in the street," said Mom. "We called out her name—she looked up—and there's a car coming."

"I didn't get hit by the car," I said.

"It was a close call."

Jason managed a smile. "You certainly don't have a lot of luck with cars."

"That's not even the worst of her near-death experiences," said Fiona. "She fell into the Grand Canyon one day."

"I didn't actually." I was lying through my teeth at this point. "They thought I was lost, but actually I just sort of slipped and landed a few feet down on a pathway. While I have a certain number of near-death experiences, I am incredibly lucky." That might be the biggest lie of them all.

"I wouldn't call it luck," said Mom, shaking her head.

"What would you call it then?" I asked. "I managed to survive them all."

"Yes," said Dad. "That is why they're called near-death experiences." He placed his empty wine glass on the table. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm ready for dessert."

"And what do we have for dessert today?" asked Fiona.

"Pound cake," said Mom. "With a cherry sauce on top."

"My favorite," said Fiona. "You must have known I was coming."

"I always know you're coming." Mom stood up, tucking her chair in. "It doesn't matter if I invite you or not, you show up anyway."

Fiona laughed. "My loving big sister!"

"On the other hand…" Mom picked up some of the plates and headed for the kitchen. She paused long enough to say, "I invite Ana and she says she's coming, but she never turns up."

I groaned. Not this again.

"She misses the pound cake? Not my problem." Fiona shrugged. "It just means more for me."

"I love pound cake," I said. "Though Dad's rum pots are really good."

Dad grinned at me. "We only make those when your mother isn't home though."

I rolled my eyes and, for Jason's benefit, said, "Mom doesn't believe dessert and alcohol should go together." I got up as well and picked up the remaining plates. I followed Mom to the kitchen where she was washing the dirty dishes and putting them in the dishwasher.

Mom glanced over at me. "You know I was only joking about the never coming home thing." When I didn't respond, she asked, "Can you get the silverware for me?"

With a heavy sigh, I headed back out to the dining room. Fiona had already taken care of the silverware so I picked up the half-empty serving dishes—lots of leftovers to eat.

"Has your mom began the Talk yet?" asked Dad.

"Not quite yet. Are you going to come save me?"

"I'll let you two sort it out."

"Thanks, Dad. It's nice to know you've got my back."

I headed back to the kitchen, passing Fiona on the way out of the dining room. She smiled at me as she walked by. I took a step further down the hallway and then paused. Mom was waiting for me. Then the usual mother-daughter argument would come up. She'd start pleading with me to talk more about my struggles. I'd get upset because I couldn't tell her I Skipped. She'd cry. I'd storm off. Repeat as needed. Never ending. Poor Jason. He hadn't known what he was getting into when my aunt invited him for dinner. I took a deep breath and took a step forward.

Skip.

One moment I was standing in the middle of the hallway, holding a china bowl filled with turkey stuffing in one hand and a china bowl filled with cranberry sauce in the other. The next moment—nothing. I was no longer in that world.

"What sorcery is this?"

I blinked. One, twice, three times. I was still holding the turkey stuffing and the cranberry sauce. The dishes weighed heavily in my hands. I blinked again. I was standing in some sort of meeting chamber. A group of people of all shapes and sizes sat in a semi-circle in front of me. I blinked again. Directly ahead of me, there was a large group of elves, tall and slender with fair faces. Elladan and Elrohir were amongst them. To the right of the elves, a few dwarves were gathered. One dwarf I recognized—he had untamable red hair (though now it had streaks of silver) and a rugged face: Glóin. Next to him was a dwarf who shared his likeness, most likely a relative. I didn't recognize the other dwarves, though I did know the man to their right. It was Boromir. He stared at me incredulously, his jaw hanging open. There was another man next to Boromir; he had dark hair and proud features—highly attractive if I might say so. I later learned that his name was Aragorn. To Aragorn's right was Gandalf, still dressed in gray robes and blue hat. To Gandalf's right was a small hobbit, who I quickly recognized as Bilbo Baggins, though he had now had a head of white hair. Next to Bilbo, there sat an empty chair.

Everyone—elves, dwarves, men, wizards, and hobbit—gawked at me. A long silence stretched through the council room. Eyes were wide open. Mouths were quiet. No one understood how I had got there or even why I was there in the first place. I didn't even know where I was. I could only stare back at them blankly.

"Who are you?" asked a deep voice from behind me.

I turned around and saw a tall elf with long brown hair and an ageless face. Elrond the half-elven sat upon an elegantly carved chair at the head of the council. In front of him was a circular stone table on which there was placed a single golden ring. Another, much younger hobbit, with incredibly blue eyes, stood next to the stone table. He stared up at me with his mouth slightly open as if he wanted to say something but couldn't find the right words.

I glanced at Elrond. I glanced at the council. I glanced at the hobbit. I glanced at the ring. I glanced at the bowls of food in my hand.

"Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!"

I held out the bowl of stuffing to Elrond. "Would you like some? I have cranberry sauce as well. Though the turkey stuffing has always been my favorite."

Elrond stared at me as though I had grown an extra head.

"Ana?" asked a familiar voice. I turned around and saw Boromir. He was half-risen from his chair, still staring at me as though he dare not believe that I was real.

"Hey," I said. "I totally won that drinking competition, by the way."

"You came forth from the Ring," said Boromir.

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did," insisted Boromir. "The Halfling placed the Ring on the table and you appeared in the middle of our council."

I glanced back at the golden ring behind me. It seemed like a small, unimportant thing, but I had the suspicion that it was so much more than that—after all, that small, unimportant thing was already causing me problems. I turned back to Boromir. "Man, I thought you had some sense. Why on Earth or Middle Earth would I come out of a little tiny ring? I wouldn't even fit in there."

"Witchcraft," murmured one of the dwarves.

"Oh don't be so ridiculous," I said, waving the bowl of stuffing in the direction of the dwarf. "I Skipped here. I just happen to have, um, very bad timing." Even I thought that ending was lame.

"Ana?" croaked Bilbo. "Ana, is that really you? You have not aged a day."

I turned to Bilbo and managed a huge grin for him. "Actually, in my world, it has only been a little over a month since I last saw you. How long has it been for you?"

"Almost eighty years," said Bilbo.

I looked over his white hair and time-worn face. "You look good for a hobbit over one-hundred-years-old. I'm impressed."

"Do you know this woman who appears without warning?" asked Elrond.

"Of course."

It was not Bilbo who spoke. It was Elladan, seated comfortably amongst his kin. His long, dark hair fell amongst his shoulder, and he wore a rich robe of dark blue. He had not aged a day since last I saw him. He was still incredibly attractive in a fair, pretty boy sort of way—if you're into that look.

"Do you know her as well, my son?" asked Elrond, a hint of incredulousness creeping into his usually calm and grand voice. "Was this sorceress invited to my council without my knowing?"

"I did not invite her," said Elladan quickly. He hesitated and glanced at his brother.

"Neither did I, Father." It was Elrohir who spoke next. "We met her once in Lórien. Though she was much younger then. Lady Galadriel did not detect her entry into the forest. Her presence appeared suddenly, so much so that the lady Galadriel was bewildered. We were sent to retrieve Ana but she disappeared as swiftly as she had appeared."

"It must be some sort of witchcraft," said a dwarf.

"Senturiel," said Elladan.

"I have no idea what that means," I said. "But it's not witchcraft. I'm not a witch. Or a sorceress. I just sort of…Skip."

"She does indeed come and go at unpredictable times," said Gandalf. "I met her once on the road to Erebor with Thorin and Company."

"Thorin!" I cried. "That old grump, how's he doing?" I turned to Glóin, expecting him to have something to say, but a dark shadow crossed Glóin's face and he did not answer. A sickening feeling started to settle in my stomach.

"He—" Bilbo began to say.

"Never mind." It took a couple deep breaths for me to conjure another smile and say, "So nobody wants turkey stuffing?"

"What is this stuffing that you speak of?" Boromir eyed the dishes in my hands suspiciously.

"It's a mix of seasonings and bread and turkey and sausage," I said. "It goes best with some gravy drizzled on top of it, but…you know…I didn't really realize I was going to come here, so I just sort of had to make do. I have cranberry sauce too though."

"It looks poisonous," said Elrohir, examining the dish of dark red sauce with narrowed eyes.

"It's good," I said. "My people make it for a holiday called Thanksgiving. It commemorates our coming to the New World and how the native people helped us survive the first winter. Of course, we then proceeded to kill them off and take their land by force—but we tend to ignore that part of our history for the sake of the holiday."

"And in such a fashion are many folk's celebrations," said Aragorn grimly.

"I will try some of the stuffing," said Bilbo. "I was not permitted second breakfast today, and this council has dragged on far too long as it is."

"Of course!" I probably let more relief show in my voice than I intended. However, I sat down in the empty seat next to Bilbo (I didn't realize it was Frodo's seat at the time) and handed the old hobbit my bowl of stuffing. He used the serving spoon to gobble down the dish, and in no time at all, the bowl was empty and he had moved on to the cranberry sauce.

While Bilbo was eating, several of the council members had a quick discussion in elvish. Elrohir and Elladan kept using that word "Senturiel", and eventually, the council seemed to accept my presence.

After everyone returned to their seats and another chair was brought for Frodo, Elrond let out a long sigh and said, "Now that the Senturiel has had her seat—"

"The what?" I asked.

"—we need to reach a decision."

"About what?" I asked.

"The Ring," whispered Bilbo

I glanced at the little golden circle placed on the stone table. It was a tiny thing, nothing special about it. I mean, sure it was pretty—really pretty—but it was just a ring. "What about it?"

"It is the Ring of Power created by Sauron," explained Bilbo. "Sauron sits in Mordor and plots to destroy us all. His power is kept at bay at the moment because he does not have the One Ring." Bilbo gestured to the little ring sitting on the stone table. "We find ourselves in possession of the One Ring and now we must decide what to do with it."

"Oh," I said. "That's good. Can we use it against him?"

"It will destroy anyone who tries," said Gandalf. He was watching me with cold eyes. I suppose he still thought I worked for those "darker forces".

"Okay, okay," I said. "I missed that part of the conversation. So we can't use the Ring—"

"We can try," said Boromir suddenly. He leaned forward in his seat and his hands moved in big gestures as he spoke. "Take the Ring to Gondor. Our people have long held the forces of Mordor at bay and kept the lands of Middle Earth safe from the might of Sauron. We should bring the Ring to Gondor for my father—"

"To your father?" I asked incredulously. "I'm sorry, but if there's any weapon of power—I don't care if it's a teaspoon of power—I would not let it within ten feet of your father."

"My father is a proud and noble man of Gondor." At first, Boromir was indignant, but then he smirked. "You are upset because he tried to have you arrested when you last saw him."

"Well, yeah, but even then—"

"It does not matter if we brought the Ring to Gondor or to Rohan," said Aragorn. "No man, dwarf, elf, or hobbit can wield the One Ring. It answers to Sauron and Sauron alone."

"Tom Bombadil was unaffected by the Ring's power," said Elrond thoughtfully. "What if we gave the Ring to him for safe keeping?"

"Who's Tom Bombadil?" I asked.

Elrond fought back another sigh.

"Frodo met Tom Bombadil while he was escaping from the Shire with the Ring," said Bilbo quickly. "Tom Bombadil tried on the Ring of Power and it did not render him invisible to the eye or have any influence over him. The explanation we were given was that Tom Bombadil was first among all things and he will be last among all things. The world has no hold over him."

"Oh." I shrank a little in my seat. I could feel the eyes of everyone at the council on me. "Well that's handy. He'd be a good guy to leave the Ring with."

"We cannot leave the Ring with Bombadil," said Gandalf.

"Never mind."

Gandalf ignored me. "Bombadil will not leave his lands and he would not accept such an evil thing into his home unless all the peoples of Middle Earth begged him otherwise. But even then, Bombadil would soon forget about it or throw it away. Anyway, Sauron's darkness would spread across Middle Earth, until only Bombadil remained. We would only prolong evil."

"An unwise choice, then," said Elrond. "In that case, we have but one choice. To destroy the Ring in the fires of Orodruin from whence it came."

"And, um, what is Orodruin?" I asked.

There was a collective and barely suppressed groan amongst the dignified people assembled. Bilbo, however, turned to me and explained, with the utmost patience, "It is the Mountain of Fire in the heart of Mordor where Sauron forged the One Ring. It is the only place that the Ring can be destroyed."

"Oh. Well, that seems like a good idea."

Boromir sighed. "One does not simply walk into Mordor."

"Can we fly?" I asked. "Gandalf is a wizard."

"I cannot fly," said Gandalf with significantly less patience than Bilbo.

"But the eagles can fly," said Glóin thoughtfully. "The eagles rescued us before when we were attacked by wargs."

"The eagles will not carry us into Mordor," said Gandalf. "They would not fly far beyond the borders of Mordor before being struck down by the Enemy. No, we must enter by stealth."

"Yes," said Elrond. "A long, perilous journey it will be into the heart of enemy's lands." He paused, his mouth tight as he mulled things over. Finally, he said, "Nine companions, I think, will suit the journey best. Nine companions to go against the nine ringwraiths."

"Nine what?" (Do I have to tell you who asked this question?)

"Ringwraiths or nazgûl, as they are also called," said Aragorn. "After Sauron gifted nine human kings with rings of their own, the kings became bewitched under Sauron's power and have become servants of the One Ring. They have no visible form, but they wear black cloaks when dealing with corporeal beings. They are servants of Sauron who will stop at nothing to regain the Ring."

"Okay," I said. "So more dangerous stuff. This journey is starting to sound like fun."

Silence accompanied my words and everyone present stared at me incredulously (except Boromir who was trying to hold in his laughter).

"Sarcasm," I said. Not that any of them understood that word.

"Right," said Gandalf. "That was a—delightful distraction. Your sense of humor never ceases to amaze me." Considering he was using sarcasm to mock my sarcasm, I didn't think he had much right to judge me.

"The question still remains," said Elrond, turning the conversation back on topic. "Who will take the Ring to Mordor?"

A heavy silence filled the room. No one would look directly at Elrond. Eyes fluttered this way and that, looking around to see if anyone else was willing to take this monumental task. I knew I wasn't even in the running, but I still felt the pressure. I folded my arms across my chest, curling myself inward, hoping no one would notice me. All I could picture was the fiery volcano and the hooded ringwraiths surrounding me. Only a maniac would willingly accept this task.

And then, a soft voice, coming from the younger hobbit, said, "I will take it. I will take the Ring to Mordor." He paused and then added, in an even smaller tone, "Though I do not know the way."

The silence following his words seemed to last for hours even though it was only a matter of seconds. All gazes, that had desperately been avoiding the burden of this task, now settled on Frodo. I could see them seizing him up, wondering how, out of all of them, such a little hobbit could be the one to volunteer.

At last, Elrond nodded and said, "From all that I have heard, Frodo Baggins. This task was meant for you. If you do not find a way, no one will. It is a heavy burden and I do not force it upon you, but if you accept the task, then may the blessings of all peoples go with you."

Frodo looked kind of sick, but he did not deny Elrond's words.

"You cannot be sending Mr. Frodo to Mordor alone!" From a concealed corner of the council room, a chubby, brown-haired hobbit leapt up. The elves twisted in their seats to watch as the little hobbit sprinted across the room to stand by Frodo's side.

"You're not sending Mr. Frodo anywhere without me." The hobbit, who I later learned was named Sam, said firmly.

I looked from his hiding spot and then back to the hobbit in question. Under my breath, I muttered, "Interrupting a secret council meeting—the nerve!"

Gandalf shot me a scathing look. I can't imagine why.

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter VI: The Almighty Sword Breaker

I spent a long time in the House of Elrond. If I remember correctly, it ended up being about two months, longer than I'd ever remained in Middle Earth during a Skip before. Elrond spent those two months deciding who should go with Frodo and Sam on this dangerous quest. Gandalf was an obvious choice—apparently this was supposed to be his "great task" or something like that. Beyond that, Elrond took some time figuring out who should go. It was also winter, and no one wanted to leave Rivendell only to meet snow and bad weather. So, the still-unformed Fellowship remained in Rivendell for the next two months, and because I did not Skip away, I remained with them.

During my time in Rivendell, I had many meetings, some with elves (so many elves), some with dwarves, and some with hobbits. Some of these meetings were good and led to lasting friendships, while other meetings were…interesting and led to lasting wariness. I also acquired a new nickname, but we'll get to that later.

I found that elves weren't really my people, if that makes sense. While the elves were merry folk who liked to sing and drink, there was something in the way they looked at me that made me feel small. It reminded me of when I'd first met Elrohir and Elladan and they'd examined me like a bug under a microscope. The way many of the elves looked at me made me feel like something lesser, as if I would never be anything more than another mortal to them.

Of course, there were elves I got along with. Elrohir and Elladan were friendly, and whatever ill-feelings there might have been in our first meeting, they had all but vanished. Unlike many elves who rarely left Rivendell, Elrohir and Elladan, I learned, often hunted orcs in the north with the Dúnedain, and therefore, they had more experiences with mortals. They did not look at me with the same mocking eyes as others of their kind. The other elves I got along with were ones who had experiences beyond Rivendell's borders. I stayed up some nights with them, and we swapped stories of our adventures in Middle Earth.

I could sit here and recount all my experiences in Rivendell to you, but then this story would last an eternity—and we just don't have time for that. So, I'll tell you the parts that are important to the rest of my story.

I met Arwen the Evenstar on my second night staying in Rivendell. I was sitting outside on a white porch that overlooked the valley. Thin moonlight illuminated the rivers and waterfalls, making them seem as though they flowed with silver instead of water. Boromir and I sat in elegant wooden chairs, chatting about the happenings of Minas Tirith. It turned out that Boromir had left Minas Tirith not long after my visit. He and his brother had been plagued by dark dreams that contained the instructions to seek Isildur's Bane in Rivendell. Despite Boromir's desire to stay in Gondor and Faramir's willingness to go to Rivendell, Denethor had insisted that Boromir was the only one he trusted with this errand.

Knowing that it pained Boromir to hear me speak ill of his father, I kept my mouth shut. I was saved from having to come up with a polite response by the appearance of a couple on the porch.

They were the most beautiful couple I had ever seen—the kind of couple that put movie stars to shame. I unabashedly gawked at them as they carried out their murmured conversation. The man had wavy, dark hair that fell into his eyes, and a proud bearing that commanded respect. The woman wore her black hair loose and wore a long, violet dress. She was tall and slender with the all the ridiculous grand, ageless beauty of elves, and at the same time, she has this sort of eternal youthfulness and cheer to her. God, just remembering her makes me feel like a waddling turtle. From the moment I first laid eyes on Arwen the Evenstar, I resolved to spend all the remaining days of my life aspiring to be a woman like that… Don't you dare laugh at me.

She took the man's hands in her own and smiled at him. His gaze was soft as he gazed upon her. With the lush, green valley and the silver waterfalls behind them, they looked like a prince and princess in a fairytale.

"You are about to lose your eyes," said Boromir.

"Shut up," I said. "Who's that?"

"You do not recognize him?" asked Boromir. "He was at the Council of Elrond. That is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, a Ranger from the north, and the heir to the throne of Gondor." Boromir snorted at the thought.

I did a double take. Aragorn had been good-looking when I had first seen him in Elrond's council, but now—standing beside the most beautiful elf I had ever seen—he appeared almost as otherworldly handsome as she. The hard life of the road seemed to have left him. He seemed strong and free and, dare I say it, he seemed to have a hint of majesty about him.

"Who's he with?" I asked.

"She is Elrond's daughter, called Arwen the Evenstar."

"She could be a super model!"

Boromir furrowed his brows at first, but then he smiled. "You say the oddest things, Ana."

"I'm saying that she's really, really gorgeous," I translated myself for him. "Does someone like that actually exist? I bet she's really nice too. Just to make her even more perfect."

"She is an elf," said Boromir. "They have an irritating tendency to be that way."

As if she heard us (which was possible since she was only on the other side of the porch), Arwen turned around and smiled. "Thank you for your kind words, Ana Stonbit."

I blinked. I might have fallen a little in love with her right then.

"Are you drunk again?" asked Boromir. His question was serious.

"I don't think so." I paused to contemplate the possibility. "No, I'm definitely not."

Arwen led Aragorn over to sit in some white chairs next to Boromir and me. Aragorn seemed a little wary of me, but he obeyed Arwen without protest.

"So," I said, leaning forward in my seat. "What's the hot goss on you two?"

Arwen glanced at Aragorn, her mouth turned up in a half-smile. Then, Aragorn looked to me and said, "I am afraid that we do not understand your meaning."

"She is curious as to the relationship between the two of you," said Boromir.

"You understand her strange manner of speaking?" asked Arwen.

"After prolonged periods of exposure to her speech, you come to understand her." Boromir was grumbling, but amusement danced in his gray eyes. "Compared to her slurred, drunken speech, this is a simple translation."

Arwen laughed, a light, lovely sound. "I would be very interested in seeing Ana drunk."

"No, you wouldn't," I said. "It results in me saying some very stupid things to very important people and getting arrested. Also, you haven't answered my question—what's going on between you and Aragorn?"

"We are long time beloveds." Arwen spoke simply and without drama, as if my drunken escapades were more exciting than her romance with Aragorn.

"Oh good," I said. "Because you two make a great couple—don't you think, Boromir?"

"What did you say?" asked Boromir.

"Exactly," I said. "Boromir agrees with me, so it must be true."

Arwen smiled. "If Boromir says so, then I suppose I will have to accept such a title."

The four of us talked long into the night. After much nagging, I managed to get Aragorn and Arwen to tell me the story of how they met, and that turned into Boromir sharing a story about his first love when he was nine years old. Apparently, Faramir had fallen for her as well, and the two brothers refused to talk to each other for weeks until Denethor sat them in a room together. I told them about my first boyfriend David. We had lasted one whole week after going on a middle school movie date. Boromir and I mourned out miserable love lives. Aragorn volunteered to introduce me to one of his Dúnedain friends, but Arwen warned him not to meddle, Boromir and I would find love in our time.

It was near dawn before we realized it was probably time to go to bed. That's the funny thing about Rivendell. You can never really tell what time it is—the sun is really the only indicator. Those two months passed by in the blink of an eye. We feasted, talked, and partied almost every night, and not necessarily in that order. Not all the elves were as serious and straight-laced as Elrond. Most elves were party animals, like Elladan and Elrohir. The amount of drinking competitions those twins dragged me into…it was beyond count.

Sometime near the beginning of December, I was seated next to the four hobbits—Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin—during one of the dinner parties. (I think I was placed at their table because of my vertically challenged nature, but I can't be sure.) I learned very quickly that hobbits can eat a ridiculous amount of food: by the time I finished up my first helpings, they were already on their third. After they had eaten their full, the four hobbits reclined in their seats and began talking.

"I cannot believe that Sam was rewarded for spying on a secret council," complained Pippin.

"It is hardly a reward," said Frodo. "Rather than a reward, it is the most terrible punishment Elrond could think of."

"Even then," said Pippin. "I would be ashamed to be left behind now. Not after we have come so far with you."

Frodo smiled warmly at the younger hobbit. "Thank you, Pippin—but I fear the road from here has become too dangerous."

"Everybody always thinks they'll be great," I said.

The hobbits all turned to me, their faces knotted with confusion.

"Whenever people imagine themselves on adventures," I said, "they think they'll be swashbucklers who will be brave in terrible situations and say witty things. But reality is nothing like that. Most people will scream and wet themselves at the first sign of serious danger. I'm in the latter category…though I don't think I've wet myself yet. It may happen in the future—I don't know—I'll let you know if it ever happens. But Frodo is right. The road ahead won't be anything like what you're imagining it to be."

The hobbits stared at me.

"So," said Merry slowly, "we are all going to, um, wet ourselves? I do not understand."

"What is a swashbuckler?" asked Sam.

"I think it is a piece of clothing," said Pippin. "Maybe a hat."

I sighed. "I give these speeches of great depth and meaning, and no one understands what I'm talking about."

"Oh," said Frodo. "I am terribly sorry, I thought you were making a joke. Could you perhaps repeat yourself so that we may understand?"

"Never mind."

At this point, Boromir had finished his meal and decided to come join me at the hobbits' table. He brought with him two pints of ale—one for him and one for me.

"A continuation of our competition," said Boromir.

"Bottoms up," I said. We tapped the mugs together before taking long sips of our drinks.

As I set the mug down on the table, Elladan materialized beside me. "A drinking competition?" A wicked grin spread across his face as he called for his own drink to be brought.

"It is still strange to see you in a dress, Ana," said Boromir.

I glanced down at the light blue dress that I wore. I had only one pair of pants with me with I Skipped so I was forced to wear elegant elven dresses, which were ridiculous on me even after the Rivendell tailors had adjusted them. I sighed. "Pants are so much more comfortable than dresses. Though it is very pretty." I added the last part with a quick nod at Arwen, who was passing by. She smiled and continued on to Aragorn's table.

"Have you found the ale again?" asked Elrohir, joining his brother at the table.

"She is learning to—what was the phrase?—drink like a man." Elladan laughed.

"That is no good," said Elrohir. "If she drinks like a man, she will be dead to the world within mere moments. No, Elladan. We must teach her to drink like an elf."

"Do you have a problem with the way men drink?" asked Boromir. He finished off his mug of ale and reached for another.

"You do not drink poorly for a mortal," said Elrohir. "But to drink like an elf… Well, I shall say that it takes a very potent alcohol to touch an elf."

"You know," I said as I began my second mug as well. I set the mug down and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "The true drinkers are the women who wear pants. You never know what we're hiding in those breeches, hm?"

"You are inventing stories once more," said Elrohir with a broad grin.

"No, I'm not."

"I have seen Ana drink before," said Elladan, who had introduced me to elvish wine a couple nights prior. "She cannot rival even the drinking ability of a Halfling."

"Excuse us!" cried Merry. "We can drink very well when we see fit."

"Oh?" said Boromir. "Would you like to prove us wrong? We are representing our peoples here—who can last the night?"

"Two pints!" said Pippin. His voice signaled Elrond's serving staff and they came over with more alcohol. "We accept your challenge, Boromir of Gondor."

The drinking game went on for quite some time. Elrohir won. Elladan was a close second, though for days after, he continued to insist that it was a tie. I don't know who came third or anything after that since I was the first one to fall unconscious. As you can imagine, they never let me hear the end of it. Not the elves. Not the man. Not even the hobbits. It just wasn't fair.

The drinking games became a common occurrence. We would hold one at least once a week during our time in Rivendell. Most of us needed couple days to recover from the massive hangovers we would have thanks to the special wine. Well, except the elves, who returned to their usual playful selves the next morning. The rest of us cursed them while clutching our aching heads and hiding in the safety of our beds. After a week or so, Gimli (the son of Glóin) and then Legolas (the blond pretty boy elf) joined the group. Legolas became the reigning champion almost instantaneously, which should have been expected if you know anything about Mirkwood elves. But over those two months in Rivendell, I went from the girl who refused to go out drinking on her twenty-first birthday to the girl who never stepped down from a drinking game.

While I had made friends with Gimli during our drinking games, I took to avoiding his father, Glóin. For weeks, if I ever saw the old dwarf coming near, I would make a dash to the restroom, leaving a hurt and confused Glóin behind. I didn't mean to hurt him. I simply didn't want to know the future of the Company. I avoided Bilbo and Gandalf as well, though that was a much easier task. Bilbo spent most of his time talking with Frodo or working on his books. Gandalf, on the other hand, had no more interest in talking to me than I did him. Though I did occasionally catch him watching me at meal times. When I looked up and found his clear, blue eyes on me, I found the word "Senturiel" echoing through my head.

A braver person would've have asked what the Senturiel was, would've cornered Gandalf or the twins and demanded that they explain. But I was not a brave person. I was terrified of the weight that word would place on me. So I preferred to remain in ignorance, pretending I'd never heard it.

Glóin was harder to ignore, and one day, I gave in to his sad looks and agreed to have a chat with him on the balcony. As soon as we had settled into the chairs carved of white wood, I said, "I do not want to know the fate of the Company."

Beneath his white beard, Glóin gave me a thin smile. "I guessed as much. Do not worry, Ana, I am no storyteller like Bilbo. I will let you discover the Company's fate on your own."

"Thank you."

After we had cleared that up, Glóin and I had many conversations in Rivendell. Sometimes about our families, sometimes about distant past, and sometimes about elves. Glóin felt similarly to me, that while there were some elves who were friendly, there were many others who looked at us with disdain. Though, while he was willing to like some of the Rivendell elves, he had a stubborn dislike for those of Mirkwood. He did not explain why, and I did not ask.

A month into my stay in Rivendell, Elrond finally announced the nine members of the Fellowship. Frodo would, of course, be the Ring-Bearer, and Sam would go with him. Gandalf was named the leader of the Fellowship. Aragorn, for he was Isildur's Heir and his path inevitably concerned the Ring, joined the numbers. Representing the race of elves was Legolas of Mirkwood and representing the race of dwarves was Gimli, son of Glóin; neither one of them was pleased that the other was going. Boromir agreed to lend his strength and travel with the Fellowship at least as far as Gondor. Finally, Merry and Pippin were chosen for reasons which I never really understood—perhaps because they were hobbits and the people of Middle Earth were putting a lot of faith in hobbits. Aragorn tried explaining it to me once, saying something about the importance of friendship, but I couldn't help but think another elvish warrior would've been helpful.

As the time when they would depart loomed closer, the atmosphere among the chosen companions began to shift. There were less nights of merriment and drinking competitions. Frodo spent even more of his time closed away with Bilbo, while Gimli remained close to his father. Boromir took long walks by himself through Rivendell. Aragorn was almost inseparable from Arwen. An air of inevitable tragedy seemed to hang over them, as if they knew after he left Rivendell, things would never be the same between them again. In the moments he wasn't with Arwen, Aragorn and Gandalf poured over maps of Middle Earth, charting the company's course.

For my part, while my days in Rivendell were enjoyable, there were times where I was filled with a nameless sense of dread. I still had not found Bonnie and Nick, and I was beginning to worry that they would be lost to Middle Earth forever. The pale faces of their parents as I talked to the police were etched in my mind. And, of course, what about my own parents? I had just disappeared from the house—taking the good china with me—and had been gone for a whole month by then. Hopefully, they were used to my random disappearances at that point, and they would assume I had gone on another one of my spontaneous road trips to discover the meaning of life.

At times, I debated if I should try jumping off one of Rivendell's balconies in hopes that I would Skip home. However, every time I got close to the edge of a balcony, a wave of fear washed over me, and I was convinced that the Skipping would not work that one time just to spite me.

Besides, I knew that when I Skipped home, I would end up back in my parent's house with the heavy news that I failed the fall semester of my senior year because I hadn't shown up to any of my classes or exams. My mother would ask where I'd been, and my father would tell me what he always said—I could tell them everything, they would support me no matter what. But, of course, I would do as I always did and come up with a half-hearted lie about being lost on the road of life. The whole process was exhausting, and I was happy to remain in Rivendell, chatting with friends and letting time slip by.

And so the second month of my stay in Rivendell slipped by until the day came when I asked Boromir to teach me how to use a sword.

That was a mistake.

On a recommendation from one of the more friendly elves, we found a public courtyard to practice in. Unfortunately, and probably purposefully on the part of the elf, it was a very public courtyard which had numerous white balconies that overlooked it. I had changed into the pants and shirt I'd brought to Middle Earth with me, and the elf had also lent us a short sword for me to learn with. Boromir taught me how to hold it and how to strike. And then we practiced.

Oh my God! I failed miserably. One, two, three—Ana is on her back. Let's try again. One, two—Ana has fallen on her butt. Again. One, two, three, four—Ana just face planted. Again. One—Ana's on her back again.

"It takes practice," said Boromir.

I rubbed my aching lower back and got back to my feet. "We've been at this for an hour, and I haven't made an ounce of improvement."

"Well, yes," admitted Boromir. "I do not think I have ever taught anyone with quite so little starting skill as you. But even you can learn with much patience and practice…I think."

"It's nice to know you have so much confidence in me."

"I do not know why you are so insistent that you learn—not many women wield a sword."

"Yes." It was not my first time being told how women in Middle Earth were supposed to act. "But not many women find themselves dropped into troll nests every other day."

"I have not noticed any trolls in Rivendell."

"Yeah, yeah. Rivendell is a safe place, except for maybe the amount of drink available."

"You do like to drink," said Boromir.

"I wasn't always this way. I used to think drinking was for people who had no lives." I grinned. "And then you challenged me to a drinking game."

Boromir let out a booming laugh. He was proud to have corrupted me.

Several elves had gathered up on the balconies. I saw the elf who had recommended the courtyard among them, and he smiled when he noticed my gaze.

I lifted my sword and turned back to Boromir. "Again?"

"Come."

It took a whole two seconds for me to end up back on the ground.

"This is humiliating," I wailed.

"I agree. I was only watching, and I felt embarrassed," said a familiar voice. I looked over my shoulder and saw Legolas approaching. My eyes skimmed over his ridiculously good-looking face to the quiver of arrows on his back.

"Ah-ha!" I leapt to my feet. "Teach me to shoot!"

"Have you given up on the sword already?" asked Boromir. "Mastery comes with practice."

"We all know I'm never going to be good at swordsmanship," I said. "But maybe I'll have good aim! I was pitcher for my little league baseball team when I was eight. Though I guess that's a different kind of aim—but still, aim is aim."

"I do not comprehend," said Legolas.

'That doesn't matter," I waved away his words. "Please, Legolas, teach me to shoot."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you will be terrible at it."

"You don't know that!"

Legolas stared at me.

I sighed. "Okay, yeah, you're right. I shouldn't have asked."

"She means no harm, Legolas," said Boromir. "She only wishes to learn how to use a bow."

"She will end up snapping my bow in two," said Legolas.

Boromir tried to defend me. "You have no way of knowing that."

"Actually," I said, "he's probably right. If I had a bow, I wouldn't trust me with it either. I'd be likely to shoot the person standing next to the target rather than the target itself…"

Legolas nodded in agreement, holding the curve of his wooden bow, while Boromir grinned at me and said, "At least, you hold no illusions about yourself."

"My parents raised me to never overestimate myself," I explained. "I am slightly above average at best and that is going to have to be good enough for me."

"What has the elf done now?" A fourth member joined our group in the courtyard. The short and stout Gimli, with his axe resting on his shoulder, came to stand next to us. His eyes narrowed as he looked up at Legolas.

"Nothing you would not have done," said Legolas.

"Hm. We shall see about that," said Gimli as he turned to me. "How can I be of service?"

"I'm trying to find a weapon that I'm semi-good at," I said. "The sword lessons with Boromir were a disaster, and Legolas thinks I will break his bow—which I probably will."

"Look no further!" cried Gimli. "I will teach you to wield an axe."

Legolas sighed. "This will end in misfortune."

"I do not think she can break an axe though," said Boromir.

"I would not put it past her." Legolas didn't even look apologetic.

"Here," said Gimli, handing me the axe. "Hold it. Feel the metal between your fingers. It is heavy? Yes. That is how a weapon is supposed to feel like—not some light, flimsy bow that can break with a careless touch." Gimli glared at Legolas.

I gripped the handle of the axe. It was heavy. I probably couldn't lift the thing above my head. Already, I was beginning to predict a bad ending for this training session, but well, Gimli was willing to teach me so I should probably give it a try. Still, tentatively, I asked, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"No," said Boromir.

"It most definitely is not," said Legolas.

"Of course," said Gimli. "In fact, I am so sure—we will use the elf for target practice."

Legolas's eyes grew very wide. "I do not like this idea very much."

"Relax, Mister Elf," said Gimli, slapping Legolas on the shoulder. "Or are you frightened of the little human."

Legolas frowned. Then, he turned to me and said, "All right, Ana. I will be the target. I would not be called an elf if I could not dodge any attack by you."

Boromir shook his head. "I had no part in this scheme."

"Well, if you're sure." I tightened my grip on the axe handle. "Are you ready?"

"Gimli," said Boromir, "you have not even shown her how to hold the axe correctly."

"She will be fine," said Gimli. "She has natural instinct for axes, I tell you."

Legolas nodded at me. "Come."

I don't know how Gimli managed to convince any of us this was a good idea, or at least even a passable one. It wasn't. I charged at Legolas, attempting to swing the heavy axe at him… I barely managed to lift the axe off the ground. Instead, I tripped over the head of the axe and face-planted on the ground. The blade went flying. Boromir and Gimli managed to dodge it at the last second, but the end of Gimli's beard was chopped off.

"Well," said Legolas who had not needed to move an inch. "That went well."

"My beard! My beard!" cried Gimli in horror. "You cut off my beard!"

"I didn't mean to!" I said, quickly getting to my feet and examining the small amount of curly red hair that had been severed from the rest of the beard. "It's not that bad, I promise. Your beard looks just as long and luscious as it did before."

"You…" Gimli was getting redder about the face with each passing second. "Y-you…you beard defiler!"

For a moment, Boromir looked shocked. Then a wide grin spread across his face, and he burst out laughing. "Ana the Beard Defiler—it has a nice ring to it."

"I think he looks better this way," said Legolas, examining Gimli's newly trimmed beard with a critical eye.

"How would you like it if I took my axe and cut off all your blond hair?" snapped Gimli.

Legolas smiled. "I do not think you can reach that high."

"You—"

Thankfully, Gimli's response was cut short, and we were saved from a dwarf-elf brawl by the arrival of Elladan and Elrohir. The two elves strolled into the courtyard, Elladan wearing dark red silks where Elrohir's were pastel blue. Broad grins were plastered on their identical faces.

"What is all the fuss about?" asked Elladan. "We heard from some elves that a Lonely Mountain dwarf and a Mirkwood elf were about to fight."

"It's not my fault!" I cried.

Elrohir laughed. "Ana, that means it is most certainly your fault."

"I just wanted to learn how to fight," I said miserably.

"And Gimli let her borrow his axe." Boromir was still choking back laughter. "It ended with his beard a little shorter."

"Ah," said Elrohir who was now biting back a laugh. "That is a shame."

"I have never understood why dwarves are so fond of their beards," said Legolas.

Gimli glowered up at him, while Elrohir said, "I was once told that beards were to dwarves what hair was to elves. That beards represent a dwarf's pride, and a dwarf who was on a quest of vengeance cut his beard and did not allow it to grow again while the vengeance remained unfulfilled."

"Who told you such things?" asked Gimli. He seemed impressed.

"Elrohir enjoys learning new things," said Elladan. He placed a hand on my shoulder. "If you wanted to learn how to fight, Ana, you should have come straight to me. I have a weapon more suited for you."

"You do?"

"The Sword Breaker."

A faint smile crossed Elrohir's face, while Elladan untied a sheathed knife from his belt. He handed it to me. I took it, though I eyed his smiling face suspiciously. A happy Elladan was never a good Elladan.

Slowly, I unsheathed the knife. It was not actually a knife. One side was shaped like a regular dagger, but the other side was toothed with slots in the blade. I inspected the knife carefully, wondering if this was some sort of joke.

"This?"

Elladan nodded proudly. "The Sword Breaker."

"It's not even pointy."

"Stabbing is not the point of the Sword Breaker," said Elrohir.

"It is a defensive weapon." Elladan took the blade from me and demonstrated. "If you hold the toothed side up, you can catch another person's sword between the slots. Then you twist it to the side—see here. Then you will tear his sword from his hands."

I squinted. "A weird looking comb would be a perfect weapon for me."

Elladan laughed as he handed the Sword Breaker back to me. "Keep it, Senturiel. It is yours now."

I had one last look at the Sword Breaker before I sheathed it again. "I don't even know if I can use this properly."

"At least you have a weapon to call your own now," said Boromir.

"And not an axe too heavy for you to even lift," added Legolas with a pointed look at Gimli. "May I volunteer the dwarf to be your target this time?"

I examined the knife one more time. I didn't know if I'd be able to use it, but it was lighter than the axe and short sward and not as breakable as Legolas's bow. Perhaps it would be the right weapon for me.

My shifted to the faces of the two brothers. They were exchanging some silent, smug glances, as if they knew some secret the rest of us didn't. My eyes narrowed. Elladan had used that word again, the one I'd deliberately been avoiding. But perhaps now was the time to ask. I felt much more comfortable asking the twins than Gandalf, and it was something that concerned me as much as I wished it did not.

"Why do you call me—"

Skip.

"—Senturiel?"

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter VII: One Dwarf Short

My parents’ kitchen hadn’t changed during the two months I had been away. Of course, all the Thanksgiving dishes were back in their respective cupboards, but the kitchen had the same black marble counter tops and the same wooden table and the same beige tiles as when I’d Skipped to Rivendell. I glanced around, pleased to note that there was no one in sight; I was still holding the Sword Breaker. Quickly, I stuffed the sheathed blade into the back of my pants and covered the handle with my shirt. The Sword Breaker was a little over a foot long in length. I stood with my back straight, trying to look natural even when the handle was pressed against my back.

“Ana?” Mom stood in the hallway, clutching the door frame and staring at me. For a moment, it looked as though she might faint. Then, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around my shoulders in a suffocating embrace. “Where have you been?”

“Sorry,” I said. “Something came up.”

“You just disappeared!” cried Mom. “And you took the good china with you!”

“Uh…it was an emergency.” The last bit came out more as a question.

Mom released me and stepped back. For a second, I could see her struggling with her frustration. I waited, expecting the scolding to come, but her frustration soon disappeared and was replaced by happiness and a hint of worry. She looked over her shoulder, shouting, “Galin, Galin, look who’s back!”

There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs and then my dad appeared in the hallway just behind my mother. A relieved grin crossed his face when he saw me. “You’re back.”

I managed a weak smile for him. “I got a little lost.”

“A little lost?” cried Mom, gripping my hands tightly. “You were gone for two months—you missed Christmas!”

“Oh.” My stomach twisted in disappointment. As you well know, Christmas is one of my favorite holidays. In the last fifteen years of Skipping, I had missed three Christmases, and each time it was devastating.

“Why am I so surprised?” Mom released me and threw her hands up into the air. Her voice was crisp with annoyance even as her gaze was warm. “You do this sort of thing all the time. One moment, you’re at home, nice and safe—the next thing I know, something came up and you’re gone. I don’t see or hear from you again until you decide to waltz through the door on some random day.”

“Yeah…” I had absolutely no idea what to tell my mother. I could say that it wouldn’t happen again, but we all knew that to be a lie. Instead, I turned to Dad and asked, “So did you save me any Christmas presents?”

“They are in the hall closet,” said Dad. “We figured you would show up eventually. You always do.”

“Thanks.” I hesitated, realizing that if I didn’t escape soon, the onslaught of questions would begin. And, as good as I am at lying, I didn’t feel like dealing with my mom’s game of twenty questions right then. I smiled weakly at my parents and said, “I’ll open them tomorrow. I’m kind of tired.”

“You know where your room is,” said Dad.

I stepped past Mom, who still had a crease between her brows, and gave Dad a quick hug. My dad is just a few inches taller than me, which is to say—still short, but just tall enough that he’s the perfect height for my hugging. Trying to ignore my mom’s protests, I scurried up the staircase and then headed down the hall to the farthest door.

Two whole months. I had been gone for two whole months. The empty hole instead my stomach broadened, and it took all of my strength not to collapse on the hallway floor. Two whole months meant that Bonnie and Nick had been gone for even longer, almost four months now. My parents hadn’t brought it up, but the fall semester of college had ended and the spring semester had begun. I had not taken exams. I was not enrolled in new classes. My parents had probably withdrawn me for the year. College wasn’t even a possibility right now.

Deep breaths. That’s all I needed. Deep breaths, and then I could continue on with my life.

I’d known all this of course. I’d known it when I’d been spending my nights in Rivendell partying with elves, dwarves, men, and hobbits. But Rivendell was a difficult place to leave. When sitting beside the fires and listening to the easy flow of conversation in Rivendell, the rest of the world seemed so burdensome. I’d been unable to leave, I’d pushed my problems to the back of my mind, and now I was paying the price.

With the grim thought, I opened my bedroom door.

The room had not changed since I was twelve-years-old and thought boy bands were the best thing since chocolate. Posters of good-looking young men in tacky outfits covered the peach-colored walls. The bedspread was a hot pink—the kind of hot pink that burned my eyes—and there was a box of Barbie dolls in the far corner.

I closed the door behind me and—Skip—found myself standing outside a circular green door.

Well, that was weird.

I was standing on someone’s front doorstep. It was a hobbit hole, judging from the size of the door. The sun was setting on the horizon, and the sky was dyed a deep purple; however, the rolling green hills of the Shire looked beautiful and welcoming, even in the rising darkness. I had always associated the Shire with this place that was untouched by dark things. Minas Tirith could burn at the hands of the orcs, and the Lonely Mountain could be possessed by a dragon, but the Shire? No evil could come to the Shire. At least, that was my impression.

The Skip had brought me to the hobbit hole at the top of the hill. From the front gate, a winding pathway descended down the slopes and into the town itself. There were a few scattered figures walking the road late at night, but most of the hobbits were in the brightly lit town just a little way off, enjoying the comforts of the tavern or at home eating dinner.

I turned away from the sights of Hobbiton and faced the door in front of me. There was a rune glowing on the green paint of door. I only just noticed it then, because as I found out later, the rune was only visible in the full moonlight. I traced the symbol with my fingertips, feeling the smooth and finding no indent from the mark. I wondered for what reason the rune was there before I raised a fist and knocked on the green door three times. I stepped back and waited.

A moment later, the door opened to reveal a hobbit—at first, a sliver of his face and then all of him. A young Bilbo Baggins stood before me, dressed in pajamas and a maroon bathrobe. He looked just as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

“Good evening,” said Bilbo (at least, he hadn’t forgotten his manners). “How can I be of service?”

“Hi.” I waved awkwardly.

Bilbo eyed my pants suspiciously. Whatever time I had Skipped to, it was before Bilbo had encountered the trolls, I realized. He didn’t know me in this time.

“I’m Ana Stonbit,” I said as I wracked my brain for some excuse to invite myself inside. “I’m just passing through Hobbiton, but night seems to have settled before I reached, um, Bree. Someone down at the tavern told me that if I wanted a place to spend the night I should look here. The Baggins of Bag End always keeps a splendid abode, he said… It does seem a terribly nice place, but I would hate to intrude…”

Bilbo opened his mouth and then closed it again. He considered this for a second, likely believing that if he refused me, his reputation in Hobbiton would be at stake. Finally, he puffed out his chest, looking terribly self-important and said, “I am Bilbo Baggins of Bag End. Well, what you have heard is the truth—I do run a very comfortable household. Your informant did well in sending you here.”

I smiled. “Thank you. If I ever see him again, I shall tell him so.”

Bilbo stepped back, and I entered the little hobbit hole. It was, indeed, a nice place. Well-kept and tidy. Every inch of the hole spoke “home”. Neatly placed mahogany chairs, a dusted mantel piece with charming knickknacks, and a carefully carved wooden chest by the door alongside a polished hat stand. The cream-colored walls were curved upwards to form a ceiling that would cause any normal-sized human to hunch forward. Thankfully, I was shorter than the average human, and I could fit fairly easily in a hobbithole.

“Beautiful, beautiful,” I said, nodding with genuine awe. “Anyone would be lucky to stay in a place like this.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Bilbo’s smile widened. “I was just making supper if you would like some.”

“May I? That’s awfully kind of you.”

Bilbo was practically bustling with pride as he led me to his kitchen. He made an incredibly polite host, even pulling the chair out for me. Then he handed me a plate of steaming fish and potatoes, which I accepted gladly, before he took the seat opposite me. Cheerfully, we began to enjoy the meal. However, we only managed to get two bites in before the doorbell rang.

Bilbo paused mid-bite and stared at me. “Are there more of you coming?”

I shook my head. “Maybe someone heard your home was a great place to stay too?”

“This is not an inn,” grumbled Bilbo.

Nevertheless, he got to his feet and headed for the door. I could hear voices in the other room (one belonging to Bilbo and the other voice deep and rumbling), but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. A minute later, a bald dwarf with a messy brown beard stepped into the kitchen, his boots leaving a light trail of dirt on the wooden floor, while a frantic Bilbo came rushing in right behind him.

“Excuse me!” cried Bilbo, ever polite. “But who said there would be food?”

“Dwalin?” I stared across the table at the dwarf.

The dwarf, who was definitely Dwalin, glared at me. “Who are you?”

“Um. I’m, um, I’m Ana Stonbit.” It appeared Dwalin didn’t know me in this timeline either, and he was now glowering at me with suspicion in his dark eyes. Nervously, I held out some roasted rosemary potatoes on a fork for him. “The food is great here! You should try some.”

Dwalin hesitated and then used his fingers to pull the potatoes off the fork. He tossed the potatoes into the air, caught them his mouth, and then chewed roughly. With a nod of approval, he sat down across from me and began helping himself to poor Bilbo’s supper.

“Is anyone else here yet?” asked Dwalin.

“Who? Others?” asked Bilbo. He was so distraught that he didn’t even stop Dwalin from eating his food. With wide eyes, Bilbo turned to me. “Do you know these people?”

“I’m as surprised as you are,” I said quickly. “I’m just passing through.”

Dwalin finished the plate and looked around the kitchen for more food. “Is this it? He said there would be more.”

“More?” asked Bilbo. “Who said there would be more?”

“The pantry?” I suggested.

Catching sight of the open pantry door behind me, Dwalin rose from his seat and marched across the room. Bilbo looked as though he might try to stop Dwalin, but just as Dwalin entered the pantry, the doorbell rang again. Bilbo gawked down the hallway and, with a helpless look in my direction, stormed back to the entranceway to see what new guest had arrived.

I watched Bilbo disappear and then got to my feet. Dwalin was still investigating the walk-in pantry.

I leaned against the door frame and, in an attempt to cover for my earlier comment, said, “You’re that dwarf-warrior, huh?”

Dwalin spun around. There was a chunk of cheese in his mouth. “Mm?”

“Yeah. I’ve heard stories about you in, um, Bree. The great dwarf-warrior with tattoos on his head. All very familiar, but I recognized you by your beard. That’s an impressive patch of fur, that is.”

Dwalin swallowed the cheese. He stared at me for a second and then said, “It is.”

“I’ve seen many dwarves in my time,” I continued. “And I have to say, yours is one of the most impressive beards I have ever seen. One time, I saw a dwarf who didn’t even have a beard.”

Dwalin snorted at the idea of a beardless dwarf. “A dwarf without a beard is a hairless rat.”

“Exactly!” I cried. “It’s the beard that makes the dwarf!”

He didn’t respond, busy finding food, but he seemed to look at me a little more favorably after the beard conversation.

“Who invited you?” came a voice from the kitchen.

I glanced over my shoulder. “Ah, Bilbo’s back.”

I stepped out of the pantry and saw that another dwarf had entered the kitchen followed by the red-faced hobbit. This new arrival, unfortunately for me, had met me before in his time and very much remembered me. The white-haired Balin took one look at me and cried, “What is she doing here?”

“You know these people?” asked Bilbo, turning his accusing eyes on me.

“Only Balin,” I said. “Though I didn’t expect to meet him here. Last time we met, he let Thorin attack me.”

“You were an intruder in the Blue Mountains,” said Balin, as if that excused everything.

“Grouchy old man,” I muttered. I turned to Dwalin and said, “Your beard is much more impressive than his.”

Dwalin grunted his approval before moving to greet his brother. I watched in fascination as Dwalin and Balin smashed their foreheads together in greeting. Then, they both took seats at Bilbo’s dinner table and started sharing stories of their doings since they last saw each other. They spoke so quickly and used phrases that I didn’t understand, so I could only attempt to decipher from their hand movements.

“Why are there so many dwarves in my kitchen?” Bilbo, it seemed, did not find the dwarven head-butting nearly as amusing as I did. He did his best to cut across the brothers’ rapid conversation and said, “I prefer to know guests before they come to dinner. I do not know who invited you, but it was not me. I think you may have the wrong establishment, and I am forced to ask you to leave. I invited Ana in as my personal guest, but Dwalin and Balin, good sirs, I am afraid you must go.”

The doorbell rang again.

“You might want to get that,” said Dwalin.

Bilbo sucked in his breath and let it all out in one angry puff. “Dwarves!” He stormed back down the hallway.

“She should not be here.” Balin pointed at me but spoke only to Dwalin. “Thorin did not invite her.”

“Thorin is coming?” I asked eagerly.

“He will be late,” said Dwalin.

“But he’s coming.” I grinned. “I haven’t seen that majestic dwarf in months. How’s he doing? Has he managed to remove that stick from his behind yet?”

“He had a stick in his behind?” asked Dwalin. “That must have been painful.”

I grinned, but before I could explain what the expression meant, Bilbo returned with two more dwarves: Fíli and Kíli.

“Hey!” I said, waving and completely forgetting I wasn’t supposed to know them, Then I muttered under my breath to Dwalin, “It’s the hairless rat.”

Dwalin looked at Kíli and, despite his brother’s disapproval of me, let out a roar of laughter.

“That is not the welcome I wished to receive,” said Kíli. “Are you teasing me already, Mister Dwalin?”

“It is not like that was a record time.” Fíli stepped past his brother and made straight for the pantry. “Is there anything to eat?”

Balin put his hand out to stop Fíli at the doorway of the pantry. “Get the plates, uzbad-dashat. We will handle the food.”

“The food?” cried Bilbo. “Why are you handling my food?”

“I think you might have to accept this.” I started opening cupboards until I found the one holding stacks of bowls and dinner plates. “Over here!” I stepped aside to let Fíli collect the plates and take them to the dining room (which was much bigger than the kitchen and, according to Bilbo, was used only for fancy dinner parties).

“I did not agree to this…” Bilbo looked grayer by the second. I have to say here that I love teasing Bilbo. Probably partly, as you would say, because teasing Bilbo meant no one was teasing me, but also because Bilbo is one of those people who gets flustered and red in the face when he’s teased. It’s great fun.

Kíli grabbed the mugs, and after we had set the table for sixteen, the three of us—Fíli, Kíli, and I—went to find the alcohol. It was in the back room (because of course Bag End had a separate room entirely for alcohol) where we found not only ale but also red wine and spirits. As we emerged from the back, carrying barrels of alcohol, the doorbell rang again. We watched, grinning madly, as a frustrated Bilbo opened the front door to find the fabulously bearded faces of Óin, Glóin, Dori, Nori, and Ori.

“Are we late?” asked Dori as he stepped inside.

“Late for what?” asked Bilbo.

“Hello! Give us a hand!” hollered Balin as he carried three huge blocks of cheese, carefully balanced in a tower, towards the table. “Dwalin is roasting lamb!”

“Oh, lamb!”

Nori made straight for the kitchen from which Balin had just emerged. Dori saw Fíli carrying a barrel of ale and decided that was where his time was best spent. Ori noticed that Fíli and Kíli’s place setting skills weren’t up to standard and started refolding the napkins. Meanwhile, Óin and Glóin decided to “help” Dwalin roast the lamb (which mainly involved stealing pieces when Dwalin wasn’t looking). Soon, dishes of lamb, potatoes, vegetables, bread, and gravy were being carried to the dining room of Bilbo’s hobbit hole. The hobbit himself stood in the middle of the foyer, his mouth somewhere around floor level as he watched the chaos before him.

Then, much to Bilbo’s horror, the doorbell rang again. I peered over Bilbo’s shoulder as he wrenched open the door with such force that the three dwarves outside came spilling through the doorstep onto the floor at Bilbo’s feet. Poor Bifur and Bofur hit the wooden floor with the fat Bombur landing on top. Gandalf, his gray-blue hat tilted slightly, leaned down and smiled at Bilbo through the doorway.

Bilbo sighed. “I might have known.”

Gandalf offered me a suspicious glance, so I quickly linked arms with Bilbo to justify my presence in the hobbit hole. I was a guest, the only who had actually been invited. Though, when I thought about it, I supposed in this timeline Gandalf hadn’t met me yet either. The glare was likely because he didn’t like the look of me.

Soon, we—the twelve dwarves, Bilbo, Gandalf, and I—seated ourselves around the dining table, enjoying a marvelous feast (thank you, Bilbo). I ended up squished between Bofur and Óin, and two seats over from me, a space had been left empty at the head of the table. I figured only Thorin was majestic enough to sit there.

“We appear to be one dwarf short,” said Gandalf, who had also noted the empty head of the table. “Where is Thorin?”

“He has gone north to talk to some of our kin,” said Dwalin. “He will be here.”

I grinned. “He probably got lost on the way—though he’ll never admit it.”

Gandalf ignored my comment. He sat in a wooden chair beside the empty head of the table with Bilbo on his left. At least, Bilbo had the ever-polite Ori on the other side of him; I don’t think Bilbo could have handled it if he had spent the entire meal next to Bombur gobbling down pieces of roasted lamb or Kíli shouting things down the table to Fíli.

When I looked at it that way, I probably got a pretty good deal when it came to the seating arrangements. Bofur, I soon discovered, was ridiculously lovely, always asking if I was comfortable or if I had gotten my fair share of food. On the other side of me was Óin. Óin could hardly be considered “ridiculously lovely”, seeing as he shouted dwarven curses and threw food in the faces of people during arguments, but once I complimented his beard, Óin warmed up to me. And, more importantly, he stopped trying to cover my face with potato mash.

“Your mother is as hairless as a newborn baby!” roared Óin as he threw a bread roll at his younger brother, Glóin.

“You are more dense than an ox,” snapped Glóin. “My mother is also your mother!”

“My mother was as hairy as a bush rabbit,” said Óin proudly.

“She never shuts up,” said Dori. “She is a squealing pig,”

“Can we eat her then?” asked Bombur.

The table roared with laughter, and in response to the joke, everyone threw fistfuls of food at Bombur. He caught all the bits of bread in his mouth, which caused the other dwarves to stomp their feet and roar their approval. Bombur stood up to bow but ended up tripping over and breaking his own chair. I watched Bilbo’s face pale as he realized the damage that had been caused to his dining room.

“More ale!” shouted the dwarves, not noticing Bilbo’s discomfort.

Fíli marched across the table top to get refills, kicking empty plates out of the way as he did so.

“Dolzekh menu, uzbad-dashat!” The dwarves called out whenever Fíli filled their mugs with more drink, and I figured “uzbad-dashat” must be Fíli’s title, whatever it meant.

“Get me some too!” I called out as I held up my empty mug. Fíli took the mug and balanced it on top of the others in a wobbling tower. I grinned at him and then around at the other dwarves before shouting, “You dwarves drink like Gondor men.”

“Gondor men?” asked Gandalf. “And how do you know the drinking habits of Gondor men?”

If I hadn’t been having so much fun and hadn’t had a little too much alcohol, I might have wondered if I was revealing too much. But as things were, I cheerfully said, “I once had a drinking contest with three elves, a dwarf, two hobbits, and a man—guess who won?”

Of course, the company cried in unison, “The dwarf!”

“Wrong.” I slammed down a fist on the wooden table top. “The frigging elves always win ‘cause they cheat.”

The dwarves stomped their feet and booed.

“You know what,” I said, getting to my feet. Fíli handed me a refilled mug, which I accepted gladly. I waited until Fíli had handed out the rest of the ales before lifting my mug into the air and saying, “The word elf practically means cheat. I might as well just say, ‘Man, you saw me winning in that card game? Yeah? Well, I was elfing the whole time.’”

Gandalf looked as though he wanted to serve me for dinner instead of roast lamb. Unfortunately, there was no stopping me. I’d just spent two months being stared down at by elves, and I thought some jokes at their expense was fully justified.

“You are an elf!” roared Óin, pushing me back into my seat.

“You have no right to talk,” said Glóin, throwing some cooked carrots at his brother. “I know you elf when we gamble with dice of fortune.”

“I do not elf!” Óin threw some more potato mash back at his brother, only he missed at hit Kíli in the ear instead.

Guffawing, Kíli threw a chunk of cheese at Óin. “Elf! You elf!”

“Shut up, you hairless rat!” shouted Dwalin, slamming down his mug of ale.

A howl of laughter rose amongst the dwarves, and they fell over themselves at thought of Kíli being a hairless rat.

“I am still young.” Kíli pointed madly at the rest of the dwarves. “One day I will grow a beard, and it will be bigger and fuller than all your beards combined!”

“I need more ale!” shouted Nori, followed by Bombur’s cry of “Me too!” I also held out my empty mug. “Count me in!”

Fíli, who had accepted the position of Official Mug Refiller, handed out more ale. The merriment continued into a no-rules food fight (Dwalin won) and then a belching contest (Ori won that). The yelling and shouting and laughing raged on full force. It seemed that nothing—not even Bilbo’s desperate attempts—could stop the dwarven party.

Nothing but three strong, sturdy knocks on the door.

Silence fell about the table like a blanket, and the mood turned instantly somber as we all turned to stare in the direction of the front hall.

“So, he has come,” said Gandalf.

“I’ll get it!” I cried. And before anyone could stop me or Bilbo could rise from his chair, I sprinted to the foyer. I threw open the front door and found myself face to face with his majesticness, Thorin Oakenshield.

Needless to say, he wasn’t too happy to see me.

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter VIII: Majesty Always Ruins The Party

"Please tell me you are not the burglar Gandalf has brought me to meet," said the most majestic voice of all.

I grinned at Thorin.

His eyes narrowed and he took a step back from the door. "I will take my leave, and we shall never mention this incident again."

"I'm just kidding." I pulled Thorin into the hobbithole and closed the door firmly behind him before he had a chance to flee. "I'm most definitely not the burglar. You and I both know stealth is not my strong suit."

Thorin glanced back at the door, as if he was still contemplating escape, but then he turned to me and said, "At least you can recognize your faults."

"Thorin Oakenshield, you are late." The sound of Gandalf's deep voice so close behind made me jump. I glanced back at the wizard, who was stooped under the low ceiling of the hobbithole. Then, before Gandalf could remember that he didn't like me, I stepped back so that I was half-hidden behind Thorin.

"I thought you said this place would be easy to find, Gandalf," said Thorin as he removed his travelling cloak and set it on the wall hooks beside the rest of the dwarves' things. "I would never have arrived if it were not for the mark on the door."

"See," I muttered, "I told them you were directionally challenged."

Thorin raised his eyebrows. For a second, I thought he was going to make a joke, but then Bilbo entered the foyer, followed closely by the dwarves. The dwarves beamed at the sight of Thorin, their eyes glowing with respect as they bowed their heads in greeting to him (Thorin was not the type of dwarf one head-butted to say "hello").

"Mark? What mark?" Bilbo looked from Thorin to Gandalf with wide eyes. "There is no mark on that door. I had it repainted just last week."

Neither Gandalf nor Thorin bothered to answer Bilbo, and it seemed the other dwarves were too distracted by the arrival of Thorin to notice Bilbo had even spoken.

After surveying Bilbo critically, Thorin turned to Gandalf and asked, "Is this the burglar of which you spoke?"

"Yes," said Gandalf. "I have selected Mister Baggins as the fourteenth member of the Company."

"I almost would have preferred Ana," grumbled Thorin.

"Really?" I asked eagerly.

"On further consideration, I would rather the hobbit." After a smug glance in my direction, Thorin then assessed the hobbit, his sharp eyes taking in Bilbo's ruffled chestnut hair, patched bathrobe, striped pajamas, and hairy feet. "Have you ever used a weapon before, Mister Baggins?"

"A weapon?" squeaked Bilbo, his face going white at the thought. "Mercy me, never!"

Thorin smirked. "I thought so. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."

The other dwarves chuckled, and even Bilbo seemed to agree with this assessment. He nodded with Thorin's words and glanced nervously up at Gandalf. The wizard's brows were furrowed slightly, but he remained silent.

Thorin paused and then added, thoughtfully, "I would still rather Mister Baggins than Ana."

"Come on," I said. "Is that really necessary? That's just like seeing how many times you can insult me in under a minute."

"That is not such a difficult task," cried Kíli, eager for the chance to instigate the teasing of someone other than himself. "Your father had rocks for brains and your mother was a hairless rat."

"You're a hairless rat," I said without missing a beat. "Try a little harder next time, you wannabe-dwarf."

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the exasperated expression on Thorin's face. He had not come to Hobbiton to hear me exchange insults with his fellow dwarves. Too bad for him, he was going to listen whether he liked it or not.

"I accept your challenge, Ana Stonbit of Ohio," said Bombur from the back of the group of dwarves. "You are short and clumsy, and you belch like a mouse."

"I don't want to belch like a dwarf anyways, so I take it as a compliment," I said. "Better luck next time."

"Your father has the appearance of a hog and your mother has the smell of one," said Óin, joining in the challenge.

"You're one to talk." I waved my right hand in front of my nose and pulled a face. "Have you heard of a thing called a bath?"

"When you were a child your mother sought someone to take care of you, but the assassin asked for too much," said Nori.

"Meh," I said. "Insult me all you want, but I just have to look at any one of you in comparison to Thorin—and then, you all just look like elves in disguise."

"Why is it that all your insults are compliments to Thorin?" asked Fíli.

"It is hard to believe that these are the dwarves who will accompany me to the Lonely Mountain." Thorin sighed strode past me and took his seat at the head of the dining room table. "I should rejoice that Ana will not join us on our adventure."

"I did not invite her," said Gandalf with a sharp look in my direction.

"She is my guest." Bilbo drew himself up to his full height (which was still shorter than any of the dwarves). "I invited her into this house before any of you intruded. This is my home, and I am your host as well as hers—you have no right to throw her out."

"Bilbo, you are the best frigging host ever!" I cried. He gave me an awkward smile. Then, I turned to Gandalf and Thorin and added, "If this is about the quest to Erebor to defeat Smaug, I know all about it."

With a shadowed face, Gandalf turned to Thorin. "How much did you tell her?"

"There was no need to tell her," said Thorin, not looking at me. "She was present on that day many years past. That dark day when Smaug arrived in the Lonely Mountain."

I felt the other dwarves turn to me, their eyes wide with awe.

"Exactly," I said, trying to ignore the stares. "What Thorin said. Anyways, let's not worry about details." I took a seat back in my chair, two spaces away from Thorin. "We have a quest for gold to discuss."

"Gold?"

Glóin and Óin immediately settled in their seats, all their attention focused on Thorin. One by one the other dwarves joined us at the table. Dori and Bombur were discussing what kind of gold and jewels awaited them in the Lonely Mountain, while Bifur listened in, grunting every once in a while. Kíli shot Thorin a hopeful grin (perhaps wanting some sort of acknowledgment), but Thorin was occupied talking to Balin and didn't notice. A disappointed Kíli sunk back to his seat, and Fíli patted his brother on the shoulder, half-sympathetic and half-amused.

"More ale," said Bombur, holding out his mug. Fíli moved to take it, but Thorin shook his head.

"No," he said. "The celebration must come to an end. We have serious matters to discuss."

"Oh sure, Thorin," I muttered. "Ruin all the fun."

Thorin ignored me, and I expected no less from him. Instead, he addressed the Company, saying, "We have gathered here today to discuss an adventure. Not one moon ago, Gandalf met me at the Inn of the Prancing Pony and proposed that I gather together a group of my kin. At first, I was hesitant, but the signs have revealed themselves. The time has come. A lifetime of wandering foreign lands, of dwelling in the hills of Dunland, of battling orcs across the span of the Misty Mountains, of seeking refuge in the Blue Mountains…Finally, the time has come. I see it now, a promise fulfilled. I see it and, I know, you do as well, my kin. The promise of return, the promise of our homeland. The time has come for us to rise and take back the Lonely Mountain."

The eyes of the dwarves were filled with light at Thorin's words. However, there was a grimness in Thorin's face as he spoke.

"I sent out messages across the lands," he continued, "to our people in the north, the south, the east, and the west. Only thirteen have answered the call. Only thirteen will fight to see that promise fulfilled. We thirteen have gathered here. While we might be small in numbers, we are strong in heart. The time has come for us to take back the Lonely Mountain from the might of Smaug."

"Smaug?" asked Bilbo.

"Shush," I whispered. "You're interrupting Thorin's speech."

The look Thorin gave me was murderous. We both knew who the true interrupter was. Then, Thorin looked upon Bilbo with blue eyes filled with distrust and said, "Smaug is the dragon who, one-hundred-and-seventy years ago, with fire and storm, took our home from us. Long have we been denied return to the Lonely Mountain as dragons will bury themselves in their treasure hoards and guard it until their dying days."

"Dragons live for countless ages," supplied Bofur helpfully.

"Dragons?" Bilbo's voice was unnaturally high-pitched.

"Only one." As an afterthought, I added, "But he's very scary. He's almost killed me—twice."

"Twice," repeated Bilbo.

"He failed both times though."

"Obviously," said Thorin. "Otherwise you would not be here right now." He paused, surveyed me carefully, and said, "I find Smaug not as terrifying as I did before."

"Why do I put up with this?" I asked, looking at the group of dwarves helplessly.

"I believe it was his majesty," said Fíli.

"Oh yeah, that was it."

Gandalf massaged his wrinkled forehead and released a long, heavy sigh. "We have departed from the matter at hand."

"Yes," said Thorin, the previous solemnity returning to his face. "We are here to discuss the journey to the Lonely Mountain…our return home." He paused to allow those words to sink in. "As we have established, the dragon Smaug is a creature of fire and destruction, but that is only the end of our journey. First, we must cross the perilous road over the Misty Mountains and through Mirkwood. There will be much danger, and I cannot guarantee the safety of anyone here." Thorin looked pointedly at Bilbo. "Gandalf has recommended us a burglar, so that our party will not be numbered unlucky thirteen."

"An expert burglar!" cried Ori.

"Yes, yes," said Bilbo, nodding. "An expert burglar would be best."

We all stared at Bilbo.

"Are you?" asked Dori.

Bilbo frowned. "Am I what?"

"An expert?"

Bilbo looked over his shoulder, checking to make sure there was not some shadowy figure standing behind him. Then, Bilbo turned back to the dwarves and said, "Me? A burglar? You must be joking."

"That is what I told them," said Nori.

"He does not look like much of a burglar," agreed Ori.

"He would not survive a day in the wild," said Dwalin. "The wild is meant for rougher folk."

Bilbo nodded in earnest agreement. "Definitely not for me."

Gandalf's face started to shift, and with him, the room seemed to fall into darkness. Everything from the temperature, the shadows, the voices, everything became more intense. My attention was consumed by the powerful figure of Gandalf that seemed to have grown in size. All eyes were fixed on the wizard. No one dared move or breathe. Only when he was certain that everyone was focused on him, did Gandalf declare, "If I say Mister Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is."

The room lightened.

The intensity seemed to drain away, and all of a sudden, the room was as it had been before. Bombur was leaning forward in his seat, while Dori let out a deep breath and Nori slumped against the back of his chair. Fíli and Kíli were staring at Gandalf, mouths opened with awe.

Thorin sighed. I could tell he was not happy with the arrangement. But Gandalf's cooperation must have been important to him, because he turned to Balin and said, "Give Mister Baggins the contract."

Balin hesitated for half a second and then started rummaging through his leather rucksack. I peered over the table top, watching with fascination as Balin pulled out a folded piece of parchment and handed it to Bilbo. With trembling hands, Bilbo unfolded the paper, which was ridiculously long and almost fell to the floor, and read the contract. "…Payment not to exceed one-fourteenth of the total profit…if there is any…the journey should take a few months...the Company will not be responsible for any funeral expenses…death…laceration… incineration?"

"Oh, that sounds like fun," I said.

"You are not coming." Thorin didn't miss a beat.

"I don't think either one of us will have a choice in that matter," I muttered.

Thorin's eyes narrowed, but he did not press the matter. Perhaps after two or three run-ins with me, he now understood the uncontrollability of the Skips.

"So, how are you getting into the Lonely Mountain?" I asked. "Surely you aren't charging in through the front door."

"We must reach the Lonely Mountain first," said Thorin, grimly.

I nodded. "Yes, yes, the perilous journey, I remember, but that's not an answer to my question."

"There is only one way in," said Balin. "The Lonely Mountain was made to be a fortress."

"A fortress that now belongs to Smaug." I turned to Thorin with a frown. "Shouldn't you have a plan for this? Why are you going to Erebor so unprepared?"

"Why are my bowels being removed?" asked Bilbo, still reading the contract.

"Goblins have odd hobbies," explained Bofur.

"There is a prophecy that says Thorin will be the one to take back the Lonely Mountain," said Balin, practically glowing with pride. "Now is the time of which the prophecy speaks."

"A prophecy?" I asked. "You're relying on the words of some voodoo dwarf person to know when to attack a dragon?"

Thorin mouth quirked ever so slightly into what I thought might be a smile (but this is Thorin we're talking about so I might have imagined it).

"There is another way in," said Gandalf.

From somewhere within the folds of his gray robes, he pulled out a small time-worn map. The dwarves and I watched, transfixed, as he spread the map across the table. I leaned forward and saw that it was a map to the Lonely Mountain. There was a red design—perhaps some sort of writing—painted on one side of the mountain. I squinted, but I could not make out what the design meant.

"Where did you get this?" asked Thorin. His voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Your father gave it to me to pass to you," said Gandalf. Thorin's gaze shifted slightly at these words. However, if Gandalf noticed this, he did not acknowledge it and only said, "I tried to reason with King Thráin, but reason was not to be had. The only words I could get from him concerned the Lonely Mountain and the secret entrance."

"A secret entrance," repeated Thorin.

"There is another way in!" cried Kíli.

I rolled my eyes. "Thank you, Captain Obvious for that stunning revelation."

"I am a captain now?" asked Kíli, glancing at his brother for some sort of confirmation. "When did this occur?"

"Never mind," I muttered.

"Why is mental deterioration on the list?" asked Bilbo, glancing up from the contract.

"Adventures sometimes contain less than pleasant sights," said Balin. "It only applies if you are of a weak heart and mind to begin with."

"I rather like my mind the way it is." Bilbo was looking a little pale.

"You just need to sign at the bottom of the page," said Balin.

"No one reads the fine print," I added cheerfully.

"Right," said Bilbo. "Right." He glanced down at the fine print one more time—and then he promptly passed out.

"I am afraid we shall be a burglar short," said Bofur, glancing down at Bilbo's unconscious body.

"Contracts are terrifying things," I said. "I tried reading all the way through one once on a dare from my friend Nick…" I stopped. Even saying his name caused guilt to grip my chest. How long had it been? How much longer could my friends last? If they were still even alive…

"I would still prefer an unconscious hobbit come along on this venture than you, Ana." Thorin's voice dragged me out of my thoughts. It took me a second to realize what he was talking about, and then I shot him the obligatory dirty look.

While Óin and Glóin carried poor Bilbo to his rocking chair, the rest of us cleaned the dishes and tidied up Bilbo's home. The dwarves started singing and passing the plates around while they worked, which amused me to no end. I tried to clap along in time, but I possess no sense of rhythm and Balin had to ask me to stop. Of course, though the whole cleaning process, Thorin and Gandalf did not touch so much as a dishtowel. (They were far too important for such business.)

When the cleaning was over, the dwarves retreated to Bilbo's sitting room for stories and smoking. Bilbo woke up right about then, and Gandalf had a word or two with the hobbit—probably convincing Bilbo to join the quest, as the dwarves hadn't been very persuasive. I remained in the sitting room with the dwarves.

Dwalin had sprawled out in an overstuffed, maroon armchair. Glóin and Óin stood in the doorway, making circles with the smoke from their pipes. Thorin and Balin stood on opposite sides of the lit fireplace, occasionally exchanging comments in low voices. Bifur and Bofur had brought in wooden chairs from the dining room and had placed in the in the corner beside Dwalin's armchair. I sat cross-legged on the floor with Fíli and Kíli. Bombur sat with us, but only because the other dwarves were worried he would break another one of Bilbo's chairs.

As the night wore on, they told stories of the dwarven halls and fountains of gold that once existed in the Lonely Mountain, their voices deepened with longing as they spoke of its beauty. However, eventually, the conversation turned to Bilbo the Burglar.

"He seems a little weak in the stomach," said Dori.

"I think he's cute." I was determined to defend the adorable little host who had stood his ground against Gandalf's desire to cast me out.

"Your opinions do not concern us," said Thorin. "You are not a member of our Company."

"I beg to differ," I said. "My opinions do matter—I happen to have very good taste in dwarven beards."

Dwalin grunted in approval.

"You do not even have a beard," said Glóin told me. "You belong in the same category as Kíli."

Fíli roared with laughter, while Kíli looked positively outraged and said, "Do not find similarities between me and that, uh, that…" He failed to find a word to describe me properly.

"Kíli is a son of the line of Durin," said Thorin. "Not some homeless girl who cannot keep her feet on the ground and does not have a bit of common sense in her head."

"I object to being called 'homeless' by a dwarf who has spent one-hundred-and-seventy years wandering foreign lands because he could not defend his own home," I snapped. However, I regretted my response when I saw the flash of pain on Thorin's face.

He quickly masked the hurt, and his blue eyes turned icy. "We will not wander anymore."

"Once you defeat Smaug," I murmured, my mind flickering back to the red dragon amongst his treasure hoard. I had a hard time imagining the group of fourteen—none of them taller than me—taking on Smaug and winning.

"Smaug." Dori shuddered, seeming to agree with my unspoken thoughts.

"I am not afraid of him," cried Ori. "I will shove a sword right up his jaxy!"

"Calm down," said Nori, resting a hand on Ori's forearm.

"That reminds me," said Dwalin, turning to Thorin. "I heard you had a stick up your rear end. Did you manage to remove it?"

"A stick?" There was a puzzled expression on Thorin's face, distorted by the flickering light of the fireplace. Then, slowly, he turned to me. "What lies have you been telling my company?"

"Me?" I asked innocently. "Why do you always accuse me first?"

Dwalin frowned. "So did you manage to remove the stick, Thorin?"

"I think it's still up there," I muttered.

The glare Thorin gave me was thunderous, and I suddenly noticed the sword strapped to his waist. I scooted backwards so that I was half-hidden behind Fíli. The young dwarf was drinking some more ale and enjoying my torment immensely. I prodded him in the back and said, "You could help me."

Fíli grinned at me. "But that would ruin the night's entertainment."

I stole his ale as vengeance, and Fíli glared at me before he went to get another drink.

The chatter went on for some time. Then a drunken Glóin started to sing some song about hairy dwarf women…and thus, the musical section of the night began. After Glóin's wonderful solo, he and Óin started a duet dedicated to disemboweling elves and other crude ways to torment them. (That seemed to be Thorin's favorite song—he scowled a little less while that one was performed.) There was another song about dwarf women and ale—courtesy of Bofur and Bombur Ori tried to sing about his grandmother's cardigans, but Nori cut across his brother and started chanting about a troll and a goblin meeting at a crossroad, and after hours of arguing who should go first, the troll decided just to eat the goblin and continued on his way. Fíli and Bofur had another song about dwarf women. Then Kíli let out an ear-breaking solo about how one day he would grow a fine beard. Thorin whacked Kíli over the head and told him to "quiet before you embarrass even Durin himself!"

"Why don't you sing a song then," I said, mockingly. "Since you have the right to condemn others voices."

Thorin stared at me for a good long minute. his mouth twitched ever so slightly into a smirk; however, he quickly smothered his amusement. Stone-faced, he said, "If you request."

"Wait—you actually are going to sing?" I blinked. I'd expected him to be too kingly to sing.

"Singing, along with storytelling, has long been a part of the dwarven tradition—no one could call himself a dwarf if he cannot sing." Thorin looked pointedly at Kíli, who seemed a little ashamed of his own out-of-tune display.

"I think we have questioned Kíli's lack of dwarvishness enough for one day," said Bofur.

"He might need therapy after this," I said cheerfully.

"Need what?" asked Dori.

I shifted on the floor so that my legs were spread out in front of me rather than crossed. "What's the point of making humorous remarks if no one understands them?"

"Your remarks are supposed to be humorous?" asked Nori.

Bofur let out a weak laugh. "I find your remarks very amusing."

I grinned at him. "Thank you, Bofur, at least someone understands my sense of humor."

"He does not understand a word you say." Fíli still hadn't forgiven me for stealing his ale. "He is only laughing to be nice."

I prodded Fíli in the arm. "Well, that's more than you can say."

Thorin cleared his throat loudly.

"Everyone, shush!" I cried, leaning forward and watching him eagerly. "I want to hear Thorin's majestic dwarf voice."

Thorin ignored me. He settled into his spot beside the fireplace, resting an arm against the mantelpiece and staring into the depth of the crackling flames. Normally, I would have made a comment about how posed he looked, but I'll be honest and say I was transfixed. I had fallen under his majestic spell or whatever you call it. He didn't look posed but solemn and lonely. He started humming the deep, rhythmic tune, and the other dwarves caught on and carried on the melody. Only then did Thorin opened his mouth to sing:

"Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away ere break of day
To seek the pale enchanted gold.

The pines were roaring on the height,
The winds were moaning in the night,
The fire was red, it flaming spread;
The trees like torches blazed with light.
The bells were ringing in the dale
And men looked up with faces pale;
The dragon's ire more fierce than fire
Laid low their towers and houses frail.

Far over the misty mountains grim
To dungeons deep and caverns dim
We must away, ere break of day,
To win our harps and gold from him."

Thorin finished the song and a long silence filled the sitting room. Bilbo and Gandalf stood in the doorway, heads bowed and eyes closed as the haunted words filled the room. The dwarves were dwelling on their own sorrows and the vast journey that lay ahead of them. Even though most of them had never entered the halls of the Lonely Mountain, the stories of their home had always rested in the backs of their minds. Even I remained in still silence, unable to remove myself from the images of the mountains of gold and the arching walls that resided in the Lonely Mountain. I glanced across the sitting room and saw that a dark look had crossed Thorin's face as he stared into the depths of the fireplace. My heart twisted as the silence stretched on.

"Thorin," I said when I could bear it no longer.

"Hm?" Thorin turned away from the fireplace to look at me, though I could see the memory of Smaug's flames in his eyes.

I managed a grin. "Can you sing me to sleep every night from here on out?"

"No."

"Come on!" I cried. "Do you not hear your own voice? Who would not want to fall asleep listening to that? It's frigging ridiculous how perfect your voice is!"

"My answer is still no."

"Please…"

Thorin ignored me. He turned to the Company and said, "We rise early tomorrow. I suggest we retire. At the break of dawn, we head for the Lonely Mountain."

He gave a few more instructions about their departure tomorrow. Then, with one last, sharp glance at Gandalf, Thorin left the sitting room. He took a right in the hall, heading for the guest bedroom, which, of course, he had reserved for himself. Unfortunately for him, I decided to follow.

"Come on, Thorin," I pleaded as we walked down the hallway. "Just one little song—just until I fall asleep. You can sing your Misty Mountain song again. I could listen to that on a ten hour repeat YouTube video."

Thorin sat down on his bed. "No. And what is YouTube?"

"A mystical place where you can watch anything you want to—why not?"

"No."

"You should quit this whole regain-your-throne-and-become-king thing and become a singing legend of Middle Earth. I'll totally be your manager, by the way, thanks for asking."

"No."
"Thorin!"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"God damn it, you're no fun!"

Thorin sighed. He had reached the door of the guest bedroom. Placing one hand on the handle, he turned to look back at me. "What do you want, Ana?"

When I met his eyes, I stopped begging and felt the smile slide away from my lips. I remembered the haunting sorrow in his tone when he sang about the Lonely Mountain. It was reflected now in his gaze. His eyes contained not only his own pain, his own burden, but the burden of his people. They were the eyes of a dwarf who had spent one-hundred-and-seventy years wandering foreign lands because he couldn't defend his own home.

I found that I couldn't look at Thorin any longer. I couldn't bear to be reminded of how small and useless I really was.

My gaze dropped to the floor, and I took a small step backwards.

"Don't look at me like that," I whispered, my voice rough. "Don't."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Thorin release the handle and turn to face me fully.

Skip.

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter IX: Warning Do Not Hire

I swear the world did not want me to sleep. By the time I Skipped back home from the party at Bilbo's house, it was nearly midday in Ohio. I had just collapsed onto my bed, still fully clothed from the day before, and had just managed to close my eyes when my mom flung open the bedroom door and cried, "Ana, how long are you planning to sleep today?"

ARRRRRRRRG! (That is the sound of my internal suffering.)

I ruffled my already messy blonde hair and buried my face in my pillow. "What?"

"Breakfast has gotten cold. Rise and shine, sleepy head. There are things to do today." Her voice was cruelly cheerful on the ears of someone who had not gotten a wink of sleep.

I groaned and rolled out of bed. This was nothing out of the ordinary for me, to be honest. I'd long ago lost count of how many times in the last sixteen years of my life I had been forced to go without sleep because my Skipping would take me away in the evening after dinner and return me in the morning just before school. All that'd really come out of my Skipping were poor grades because of undone homework and an addiction to coffee from a young age.

Eyes still half closed, I stumbled across my bedroom to the dresser, grabbed some leggings and a sweater, and headed straight for the shower. Once, when I was sixteen, I Skipped to a town in Rohan right in the middle of showering. As you can imagine, that led to some awkward situations. I ran into some guy called Éomer who also happened to be the Third Marshal of the Riddermark, and we had quite the showdown. It ended with me being thrown in prison for public display of nudity. I spent six days in a prison cell, complaining to the guards about the food quality, before I Skipped back home. Ever since then, I'd been wary of taking showers. Of course, unless I wanted to be alone and friendless forever, not bathing wasn't an option. So, I compromised. I wore a two-piece swimsuit whenever I showered.

After I was cleaned and dressed properly, I headed downstairs and saw cold pancakes waiting for me on the table. I ate one pancake plain and room temperature before putting the rest in the microwave.

"You need to find a job," said Mom, who stood at the end of the marble kitchen counter, flipping through the mail.

I watched the timer count down on the microwave clock. "I know."

"The college semester has started already. I called and told them you were taking some time off."

"Do you think microwaved pancakes taste as good?" I asked. "I think they're more squishy."

"Ana," said Mom with a barely suppressed sigh, "You always do this."

"Do what?" I asked innocently.

The microwave beeped that it was done, and I extracted the plate of pancakes. On my way across the kitchen to get the maple syrup, I switched on the coffee machine—God knows how much I was going to need the coffee that afternoon.

"We can sell your apartment," said Mom.

"No." With a bottle of maple syrup in hand, I faced my mother properly for the first time since entering the kitchen. "I'll get a job. I want to go back. I still want to go to college. I think taking a semester off is a good idea, but I want to go back in the fall and finish my degree. For sure." I stared at my mother, trying to look confident and persuasive, but I knew she wasn't convinced. This was the woman who'd raised me. She knew my habits better than anyone. She knew I couldn't stay in one place longer than a couple weeks, that no matter what promises I made, within a few days I'd miss an appointment and then show up later, claiming to have gone on a spontaneous road trip. But she also knew how desperately I wanted to be normal. I wanted to graduate college with a degree I didn't really care about, I wanted to get a boring desk job working for a boss I hated, I wanted to fall in love with a plain, uninteresting guy, I wanted to grow old and die in a nursing home not remembering anyone's names. I didn't want my life, and I would have traded it for anything.

"I promise," I said again. "I'll get a job."

My mother released a long sigh. She stared at me for a moment, weighing my words. Then, when the coffee machine beeped, she stepped towards the fridge and asked, "Two milk as usual?"

I smiled at her. "Yeah."

Later that day, after breakfast was consumed and a few phone calls made, I had a job interview at the restaurant where the neighbor's son used to work. I didn't want to work there, I would rather find work in the city and move back into my apartment, but my mother insisted that I remain near home, at least for the rest of the semester.

I drove to the shopping center where the restaurant (which sold Americanized Greek food) was located and pulled into a parking space. I sat in the car for a moment, just letting the engine run and listening to the radio without hearing a word that was sung.

I didn't want to be there. I didn't want that job. I'd rather be at home, sleeping. Or even back in Middle Earth, searching for Bonnie and Nick. I had been looking and looking—Where were they? In the company of hobbits or elves? Or had they been caught by goblins or orcs? Or had they been left to die in the godforsaken wilderness? Or perhaps they had been caught in the fires of Smaug? I didn't know what had happened to my friends, but I had to find them. And soon.

But, of course, I possessed two lives: one in Middle Earth, where I was the crazy girl who showed up randomly and disappeared just as randomly, and one in Ohio, where I was the crazy girl who couldn't hold a job and disappeared for days at a time. Neither life was desirable, but I wanted to maintain the fragile balance between the two for as long as I could. Which meant I couldn't go jumping off buildings every day in an attempt to find my missing friends.

I turned off the car engine. It was time to go get myself a job.

"So, you were fired from your last job?"

"Yes."

The manager (she had primly introduced herself as Julia) sat in front of me. Her wrinkled face was pinched and her pink-painted lips were pursed as she watched me disapprovingly. She had already decided not to hire me—I could see it in her eyes.

"Might I ask why?" she asked.

"There was a personal emergency, and I didn't turn up for my sift," I said dully. It was the usual answer. I'd done these interviews a dozen times before.

"What kind of emergency?"

That didn't seem to be any of her business. Still, I said, "Two of my friends went missing. The police are still looking for them." I decided not to add that she could check the missing persons lists for "Bonnie Mitchell" and "Nick Hamersley". They were there. Thanks to me.

"I'm sorry," said Julia even though she didn't sound sorry in the slightest. "Did you explain that to your manager?"

I nodded. "She said I missed work one too many times for her to keep me on as an employee. Other than that, I was an excellent waitress. Very friendly and polite. I got great reviews from customers." On the days I could actually show up.

"So, skipping work is a common occurrence for you?" Julia's lips became even more pursed, the lower lip sticking out beneath the other.

"I was, um, having a rough time dealing with my friends' disappearances."

"You also have dropped out of college," said Julia.

"Taking a break," I corrected her. "I'll be back again in the fall."

"That's good," said Julia with a bland smile. She checked my resume again before asking, "Why should we hire you when you admittedly cannot come to work on a regular basis?"

"Because I am turning over a new leaf. Also, I had a hardworking employee and good with people. Seriously. I get great reviews from customers, and I have a lot of restaurant experience."

The manager stared at me. "Right. Thank you. Well, Ana, we'll get back to you concerning the job."

I smiled awkwardly as I picked up my winter coat from the back of the chair. "Thanks for considering me." (Not that she actually considered me for more than a second.) "I look forward to hearing from you."

"Of course."

As I rose from my chair, something slid out from beneath my sweater and clattered on the linoleum floor. I froze. Slowly, my gaze dropped to see a sheathed knife, about sixteen inches in length, lying on the floor in plain view of the manager. The Sword Breaker. Well, damn, I might as well just have a sign that says "Warning: Do Not Hire" hanging around my neck. I glanced at Julia nervously, hoping she'd somehow failed to notice the medieval dagger lying on the ground.

"Er—what is that?" (Well, so much for that hope.)

"That would, um, be the, um, Sword Breaker…" I scooped the blade up and stuffed it back underneath my sweater. "You never know what can happen to you out on the streets, you know. You, uh, can never be too careful."

Julia stared at me. An expression of pure horror crossed her face, though I have to say she swiftly managed to hide it. She forced a smile for me and said, "At least, you're prepared." She paused and then, in an undertone, asked, "Are you part of a gang?"

I blinked. "What? No."

"Well, you skip work all the time and you carry a knife around with you. Don't worry, I'll keep your secret."

"No. I-I-I—what?" My jaw was somewhere around floor level as I stared at the prim and proper manager before me.

"I used to date a gang leader back when I was in high school," said Julia thoughtfully. "Well, he wasn't really a gang leader, but he went to prison for robbing a convenience store a few years after we broke up."

I'm pretty sure my eyes were bugging out of their sockets. "Um. Okay. Well, I'm just going to leave. Call me about the job—please?"

I bolted out of the manager's office as quickly as I could…and found myself standing in the snow.

An icy wind blasted against my face. I stumbled backwards slightly and tried to shield my eyes. As I adjusted to the change in scenery, I realized that I was on a mountain ledge, standing knee-deep in crisp snow. The sides of the mountain dropped off into a rocky abyss, so deep that the bottom was hidden by a thick shroud of mist. Heavy snow fell from the gray sky overhead, while winds whipped about the mountain and the clouds rolled over one another like bulldozers. Every inch of me was hammered by the cold. I folded my arms across my chest, but it did little to help, and within minutes, my teeth began to chatter.

"Why here?" I screamed. "Why did you have to Skip me here?"

My voice died on the wind.

Dear God, I hope neither Bonnie or Nick ended up here.

I was not dressed for the weather. A waist-length winter coat, gray sweater, black leggings, and leather boots were enough to run from a car to a restaurant in Ohio's winter, but not enough to keep me warm on a mountain top. I breathed out and a curling fog emerged from my trembling lips. What was I doing here? Why would I Skip here of all places?

It was near impossible to even move through the thick snow. I tried, but my steps were long and slow, and I was exhausted within minutes.

Where was here? The Misty Mountains? The Lonely Mountain? The Blue Mountains? I ran through the list of mountains I knew in my head. It didn't help much. Even if I was in one of those places, I didn't know them well enough to recognize them through the wing and snow.

What was I supposed to do? Was I meant to wade through the snow until I almost died of the cold and then Skip back to Ohio only to be raced to a hospital for frostbite?

"Hello?" I screamed. "Is there anybody out there?"

The wind howled, but other than that, the mountain did not respond.

"I hate you!"

Nothing.

"I hope you burn in the fiery pits of hell!"

Nothing.

"You're a mountain so that threat doesn't mean anything to you!"

Nothing.

"But I hope you erode into dust!"

By this point, my voice was twisted and thick by unshed tears. I gulped and gasped, trying to keep control of the fear that was threatening to consume me. Still, the mountain said nothing in response.

"Screw you too, mountain!"

"Ana?"

My name. It was barely audible over the howling winds. Still, it was my name.

I spun around, almost toppling over with the movement, my eyes desperately searching the white landscape. Through the heavy snowfall and screaming winds, I could see nine figures, forcing their way up the mountain. At first, I couldn't recognize them, but as they grew closer, I saw that the two people at the front were Boromir and Aragorn. Behind them were the four hobbits with Gandalf and Gimli bringing up the rear. Legolas (that stupid elf) was walking on top of the snow, completely unbothered by the cruel weather.

"God damned elves," I grumbled.

Legolas smiled. "Are you lost, Ana?"

"Why are you here?" asked Boromir. "In such conditions?" He glanced at my leggings and short coat. "And dressed as such?"

"I Skipped here." I tried to wade through the snow and almost ended up face planting. "It's cold."

"Yes." As he reached my spot on the cliff edge, Boromor extended a hand to help me. I grabbed hold of it and dragged my feet out of the deep snow until I stood in a more comfortable position. Through the thick snowfall, I thought I could make out a smile on Boromir's face as he said, "We are climbing a mountain at the end of winter. It tends to be cold."

"Who decided that?" I wailed.

"Hello, Ana," said Merry as the hobbits caught up with us. "Are you out for a little evening stroll? Or is it morning now? I cannot tell in this weather."

"It's evening in my world," I said. "Though I don't think we run on the same times."

"We cannot tarry for long," said Gandalf. "The winds are too rough. We must continue onward until we find shelter."

"There will not be much shelter up here," said Aragorn grimly.

The Fellowship took my sudden appearance into stride. I don't even think I surprised them anymore. They just assumed that I would join them—since, really, what else could I do?—and continued their journey. After handing me an extra blanket from his pack, Aragorn plowed onwards through the snow. Legolas and the hobbits followed close behind him. Gimli greeted me gruffly as he passed, his beard covered in snowflakes, while Gandalf frowned at me, not at all pleased by my sudden and inopportune appearance. I tried to follow after Gandalf, but my legs were stiff, so I just stood there, shivering even as I wrapped myself in Aragorn's blanket, with Boromir beside me.

"Are you unable to move?" he asked.

I nodded.

"I am surprised," said Boromir. "The hobbits can make it through the snow."

"Whoop-dee-doo," I said over the howling wind. "They're better dressed for this than I am."

"Why did you not dress in warmer clothing before coming for a stroll through the Misty Mountains?"

"Well, I didn't expect to be on a freezing cold mountain when I woke up this morning now, did I?" I wrapped my arms tighter around my shoulders and glowered up at Boromir. "Unlike you, I don't get a say in these matters. I come and I go at the whim of the Skip—I'm luckily if I'm actually wearing clothes, let alone dressed for the weather."

Boromir laughed, though perhaps he noticed the hollowness to my tone because he quickly became serious and said, "We are trying to cross the Misty Mountains, if we can. The path over Caradhras is the shortest route to our destination."

"I'd come along," I said, "but my legs won't move."

Boromir regarded me thoughtfully. "I could carry you, I suppose."

I blinked and stared up at him. "You can?"

With only one arm, Boromir scooped me up and slung me onto his back. Afraid that I might fall off, I fastened my arms around his neck and clung on for dear life. When we were in proper piggyback position, Boromir followed the Fellowship along the roughly-made mountain path.

"Onward, noble steed," I said through chattering teeth.

"I am being generous carrying your added weight," said Boromir. "Do not call me steed or I shall reconsider."

"Are you calling me fat?"

"A little on the hefty side," teased Boromir.

We caught up with the rest of the Fellowship in almost no time at all. Boromir moved swiftly through the slow (though I supposed his long legs helped). From what I could tell, the Fellowship had a pretty good system going. Legolas would scout out the path ahead; then the tall Boromir and Aragorn would force a path through the snow. The hobbits and Gimli would follow close behind so that the snow wouldn't be so deep, and Gandalf brought up the rear, making sure that no one got left behind. I might have hindered their progress a little since Boromir was carrying me on his back, but he never said a word of complaint.

"I don't like him," I muttered, watching jealously as Legolas walked about lightly on top of the snow. "Can we push him off the mountain ledge? We could say that he slipped ,and no one would know who was responsible."

Boromir chuckled. "The elf has his uses. He is skilled with a bow."

"Meh. Aragorn can use a bow too. We don't need the elf."

"Your dwarf bias is showing," said Boromir.

I grinned. "My jokes don't even compare to the grudges elves hold. For instance, Thorin—when I first met him—kept saying I was an elf spy. It was like a broken record 'She's an elven spy, there's no way she's an orc spy, but she might be an elf spy.'" I laughed. "He has serious problems with elves."

"So it seems," said Boromir. I could hear the smile in his voice.

"I think he needs some serious counseling. Therapy for a good long while. Maybe I could be his therapist." I grinned at the thought.

"I think that would only cause him to have more issues," said Boromir. I was impressed he had managed to decipher the strange words I used; it meant that Boromir had spent far too much time with me during our two months in Rivendell.

"Probably." I shrugged. "Actually, I would get him to sing all his problems to me. Have you heard his singing voice? Well, no. Of course, you wouldn't have. Wrong time. But I could listen to his voice all the time, I'm obsessed."

"I cannot say I have ever been obsessed with a man's voice," said Boromir. "The bards in my father's halls do not possess the strong voices of old."

"Well, that's Gondor's loss," I said. "Besides, Thorin isn't a man—he's a dwarf."

"You continue to praise dwarves in front of me," said Boromir. "Are you trying to turn me away from my own people?"

Gimli, trudging along in the snow behind us, asked, "Are you corrupting poor Boromir, Ana?"

"He corrupted me first," I said, glancing over my shoulder at the dwarf. "Why do you think I started drinking?"

Gimli shook his head. "Boromir, you have created a monster beyond our reckoning."

"I did not know what I had created until it was far too late," said Boromir.

I scowled. "I'm not that bad."

Boromir glanced over his shoulder at Gimli. The two exchanged meaningful nods and then continued walking.

"No secret conversations!" I cried. "That's not fair."

"I do not know what you are talking about," said Boromir with feigned innocence.

I prodded Boromir in the side and he let out a bark of laughter. "I will drop you, Ana."

"Silence." Gandalf's deep voice stopped us mid-conversation. The wizard didn't speak loudly, but there was such authority in his tone that we had no choice but do what he commanded. Gandalf scowled at me—as if the conversation was entirely my fault—as he said, "There are unfriendly eyes everywhere in these mountains. If they did not know we were here already, then your constant talking will have certainly alerted them."

Boromir and Gimli exchanged guilty glances.

Now in silence, the Fellowship continued the trek along the cliff's edge. The winds howled, hurling snow and ice into our blistering, red faces. Even though the Fellowship tried not to show it, the weather obviously took a heavy toll. The hobbits looked ready to freeze to death at any moment, while Aragorn and Boromir moved at a slower pace than before. Eventually, Boromir had to set me down, and I stumbled along behind him with the hobbits. Gimli seemed determined to go on without wavering, though only out of stubbornness. However, every once and awhile he would have to stop walking to catch his breath. When he caught me watching him, he immediately straightened up and marched forward. After this happened a couple times, I took to pretending I couldn't see him, so he could get a proper rest. Even Legolas, who still walked above the crisp snow, seemed to have been worn down by the mountain. His pretty-boy face bore the shadows of exhaustion, and his bright eyes had dulled as the journey dragged on.

"We should not have come this way," said Aragorn at last.

Boromir nodded. "This will be the death of the Halflings."

"We cannot turn back," said Gandalf.

"Then let us light a fire," said Boromir. "Unfriendly eyes or not, we cannot die of the cold."

Gandalf hesitated, but in the end he relented. "If you can manage."

Boromir decided to make a campfire on a somewhat sheltered edge of the mountain (if you can call one wall against the onslaught of wind and snow "shelter"). On the hike up, Boromir had each member of the Fellowship carry a log for such circumstances as this. However, despite Boromir and Gimli's best efforts, the fire would not start. Not in the cruel winds of Caradhras could the skill of elves, dwarves, and men combined light a fire. Eventually, Gandalf stepped forward and mumbled a few words. Flames leapt to life from the end of his knotted staff, and the logs began to burn. The Fellowship and I gathered around the fire, trying to warm our icy fingers and toes.

"I do not know how much longer I can stand this," grunted Gimli.

"We must fight on," said Aragorn.

"There are other ways." Gimli inched closer to the fire. "We could go through the mines of Moria."

"No." Only Gandalf kept a distance from the fire. He looked over his shoulder at the rest of us, his gray hair and beard being whipped by the icy winds. "I would not go that way unless I had no other choice."

"We could head south and take the Gap of Rohan," said Boromir. "While there are rumors that the men there pay a tribute of horses to Mordor, I am certain that these are only rumors."

"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard and Saruman," said Gandalf.

"Isengard? Saruman?" I asked.

"Saruman the White is a wizard of my order," said Gandalf wearily. "He betrayed us and joined forces with Sauron. Isengard where he dwells."

"Oh," I said. "So Sauron and Saruman are bad. Why do their names sound so similar? Is there something about names beginning with 'S' that makes people evil?"

"I beg your pardon," said Sam.

"Sorry," I said. "But maybe there's some great evil brewing inside you too, Mr. S."

Everyone ignored me. I think they'd become accustomed to me going off on random tangents and had learned to just tune me out whenever I open my mouth… Smart of them.

"We cannot take the passage through the Mines of Moria," said Gandalf, "and I dare not take the Gap of Rohan. The journey over Caradhras is the only path I see."

"This weather is more perilous than anything Saruman can conjure," said Aragorn. "We can fight Saruman. We cannot battle a mountain."

Legolas paused. He turned to stare off into the distance, his eyes focused on something that the rest of us could not see.

Softly, he said, "There are fell voices in the air."

"Legolas." I groaned the elf's name. "Don't say such creepy things."

"All elves are like that," Gimli told me. "They think that since they are immortal, they can share eerie, cryptic comments and pass it off for wisdom."

"And how many elves do you know, Master Dwarf, that you have become an expert?" asked Legolas. He still hadn't taken his eyes from the clouds.

Gimli's eyes narrowed. "I know you, Master Elf, and you are one too many elves for me to know."

"Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves and the arrogance of elves," said Gandalf. "There are more terrible things about than your own personal disputes. Perhaps the fire was not such a good idea. We should put it out."

"No," said Aragorn. "We should not. The Halflings and Ana would not survive."

Gandalf frowned, but after a moment, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "You are right, Aragorn. The damage is done. It is no use to put out the fire now."

"I do not think hobbits were made for cold places," said Pippin through chattering teeth. "Why does this snow not go north, to the Shire? They would welcome it there."

Sam nodded, and a dreamy smile crossed his face. "I would build a snowhobbit."

Pippin grinned. "My snowhobbit would be huge—it would be a snowman. And then I would have a snowball fight with half the Shire involved."

"You would lose," said Merry. "Miserably."

"If Master Bilbo was still in the Shire, he would win beyond a doubt," said Sam. "I do not care if he is almost one-hundred-and-thirty. He would still manage to win the snowball fight."

The four hobbits laughed.

"He would enjoy that very much," said Frodo softly.

"I miss Bilbo," I said. "It feels like only yesterday I was partying at his house with thirteen dwarves and Gandalf." I paused. "Oh wait. It was only yesterday."

"Yesterday?" asked Sam. "The arrival of dwarves in Bag End was decades ago."

I silently cursed myself for not thinking before speaking. I managed a smile, pretending, and probably failing, to be mysterious. "Skipping is a curious thing, Master Samwise."

"I do not like it here," interrupted Legolas, saving me from any more questions from the hobbits. "These mountains are old and possess an unnatural awareness. They do not like our presence here."

"You're paranoid," I said.

And, of course—right when I said that—the mountain decided to come down on top of us.

I know, I know. I have great timing.

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter X: Is This The End?

Snow and rock came pouring down the mountainside onto the narrow path on which the Fellowship and I stood. I threw myself against the rough rock wall, praying that the avalanche wouldn't knock me from the ledge and send me plummeting to my death. (To be honest, I would probably Skip before I actually died, but there was always the horrifying possibility that one of these days, I would not be so fortunate.) The icy snow pounded against my face and body—hammering me in all directions until I could no longer feel the avalanche, only the suffocating weight of the debris. The snow surrounded me. I couldn't move. I was trapped. I was going to die here, on the mountainside of Caradhras, buried in ice and snow.

There was nothing peaceful about being buried in snow. Every fiber of my being was screaming in protest, every inch of me filled with a raw, electrifying terror. I desperately wanted to break free, but I didn't possess the strength to claw my way out.

And it was cold, so cold.

The snow clung to my skin and sunk through my clothes, so that it felt as though my very core had frozen.

Why hadn't I Skipped yet?

I wanted to scream. Why hadn't I Skipped? I could very well die on this mountainside. Skip me away, save me. Do not let me die. I wasn't ready to die.

Someone grabbed me by the back of my winter coat, and dragged me up out of the snow. The ice fell away and I gasped for air.

"I found Ana," called out Aragorn (the person who had grabbed me).

"I have Pippin," said Boromir.

"Merry? Where is Merry?" asked Gandalf.

Aragorn inspected my pale face framed by snow-coated hair. Then he pulled the wool blanket that I'd dropped out of the snow and wrapped it around my shoulders. Gently, he said, "Do not let the snow defeat you, Ana."

I nodded my head and resolved to tell Arwen her fiancé had done a good job next I saw her.

Beside me, a ginger head popped up from the snow and Gimli growled. "Here is one dwarf who will not be defeated by a mountain!"

The avalanche had passed. From what I could gather, Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, and Gandalf had managed to dig themselves out of the debris and then proceeded to uncover the rest of us. However, the hobbits and I were now shivering, and any protection we may have had against the cold had disappeared. Gimli may have possessed the strength to survive the wrath of Caradhras, but I didn't think the rest of us small people would.

Legolas stood on top of the snow once more, looking about curiously. "The voices… They ride on the wind, bringing ill intentions."

When I managed to get my breathing under control, I glared up at Legolas through the wild snowfall and cried, "Stop saying scary things!"

Legolas turned to face the rest of the Fellowship. He brushed some snow from his blond hair and said, grimly, "It is Saruman."

A deep rumble echoed through the mountains. I looked up just in time to see another avalanche come crashing down. The Fellowship and I gathered together, pressing our backs against the mountainside. We covered our heads with our arms as rocks and snow poured over us. This time, Gandalf raised his staff. I don't know what he did, but the debris seemed to miss us as it poured over the ledge into mist below.

"We cannot stay here!" shouted Aragorn after the avalanche had passed.

"We must go through the Mines of Moria," said Gimli. "Balin would give us a royal welcome."

"Not the Mines," said Gandalf. "I would not go through Moria unless we had no other choice."

"We should make for the Gap of Rohan," insisted Boromir.

"Wherever we go," said Sam, his voice thin. "Can we leave now? I do not fancy trying to survive another avalanche."

"Let us leave this accursed place," said Boromir.

"I second that!" I raised my hand in the air, only to see that it was frightfully pale.

Gandalf still did not agree right away. He surveyed the faces of the Fellowship carefully before coming to rest on me. At last, he said, "Very well. We make for the Gap of Rohan."

It was relief to finally turn around and begin the long trek back down Caradhras. The battle against the weather seemed lesser as we started to descend the mountain, like Caradhras was happy that we had given up. Once again, Aragorn and Boromir led the way, their strength and speed renewed with the prospect of leaving this wretched, frozen place. Gimli followed close behind them, still muttering about how he could continue forward—the mountain had not defeated him yet. The hobbits and I bundled together beneath the few blankets we hand, shivering as we fought against the cold.

"Your lips are blue," Pippin told me.

"So are yours." My lip cracked when I tried to smile.

"I think," said Sam, "if it ever snows in the Shire, I will not dare venture out my doorstep. I have had enough of snow to last me a lifetime."

"I'm sure the snow in the Shire would be less cold," I said. "And endless."

"The Shire is pleasant during the winter," said Frodo. "You should visit sometime, Ana."

"If my Skipping allows it, I will."

"Master Bilbo used to tell me stories," said Sam wistfully, "of a time when it snowed in the Shire, causing the Brandywine to freeze over. The wolves crossed the river, and the hobbits of the Shire had to fight the wolves back into the forest from whence they came."

"Ah!" I grinned. "So the Shire hobbits can fight."

"Only when need requires it," said Frodo with a wry smile.

"Beyond training in Rivendell, the only fighting I've done was when I was six," I said, "when I slapped a girl because she said I was cheating."

"She lied?" asked Sam, preparing to be outraged on my behalf.

"No, no, I was cheating. I just didn't like the fact that she pointed it out." I snorted and shook my head. "I was a brat."

"It is a comfort to know that some things time cannot change," said Legolas, prancing over the snow top as though he weighed nothing at all. I stuck my hand out in an attempt to trip him, but Legolas stepped over my arm gracefully. He smiled and said, "I wish you better fortune next time."

So Gimli tripped him instead.

Legolas landed with a heavy crunch, disappearing beneath the deep snow. A moment later, his blond head popped up again and he glowered at Gimli.

"Elves," said Gimli (my hero).

"Dwarves," said Legolas.

The hike down the Caradhras took about a day—far shorter a time than it took to climb up the mountain, according to Pippin. Eventually, we passed the snowline and, as we reached a warmer climate, the land became greener and plants grew between the slanted rocks. Winter's chill still bit at our faces as we wandered across the hill lands that rang alongside the Misty Mountains. However, the cold at this altitude couldn't compare to the ice of Caradhras, and we were all in much better spirits as we headed south.

I won't tell you all the details of our four-day journey. Mostly it is just walking and more walking. The most interesting parts were when we paused for breaks and story time began. As we rested, Boromir would tell us of the White City and the great deeds of valor performed by the men of Gondor. Legolas would tell us of the going-ons of Mirkwood and some edited-for-appropriateness stories of elven parties. Aragorn would tell us of the Númenor and the Dúnedain, stories so old that words in the common tongue no longer existed to describe some of the occurrences. There was something deep and heavy in the stories Aragorn told, and it was a relief when one of the hobbits would begin telling light-hearted tales of the Shire.

Even I would recount small stories of Ohio (edited so that I did not reveal too much of this tech-savvy, alternate world) and pieces of my Skips of Middle Earth (chosen carefully so that I didn't tell anything of the future). Whenever the stories drifted near Bonnie and Nick, I would quickly steer away, asking Boromir about his childhood in White City.

And then, there were the tales of the dwarves. Gimli would tell us of the great halls of the Lonely Mountain, reclaimed by Thorin and Company. I did not ask any questions about the details of Thorin's quest and whenever Gimli came close to recounting parts of Thorin's journey, I would cut across him. At first, Gimli did not seem to understand, but slowly he stopped talking about Thorin altogether and instead told us of the dwarven halls in Moria.

We told many stories as we continued south, past Hollin and into Dunland. In the early days, Boromir had taught me how to hold the Sword Breaker, and I'd practiced fighting with Merry and Pippin. However, by day two, that became impossible. I needed all my energy for walking. By day four, my legs were dead. Every muscle in my body ached and I felt as though I might collapse at any moment. I staggered behind the others, and though we took rests, they weren't enough time for me to regain my strength.

"I will not carry you on my back again," said Boromir.

It was during one of our rest periods, and I sat on a soft patch of grass with legs sprawled out in front of me. The Fellowship had picked a spot in the shadow of a forest so small and insignificant that not even Gandalf or Aragorn had known the name of it. Merry, Pippin, and Sam were sitting on the ground beside me, but they did not seem nearly as defeated by the long hike as I was. The other members of the Fellowship stood over us, not knowing what to do with me, the dead-weight.

"I'm not made of muscle like some people." I rubbed my hands against the aching muscles of my legs. "I feel pain. Pain, I tell you."

"There is a phrase you used once to describe a person like you, Ana," said Legolas thoughtfully. "What was it?"

"Short," recommended Boromir.

"Beard defiler," added Gimli.

"Neither here nor there," said Sam.

"Loud?" Even Aragorn pitched in.

"No, no," said Legolas. "I remember now. Overly dramatic."

"Great," I muttered. "Do you guys enjoy making fun of me?"

"Yes," said Merry. "It keeps us entertained on the long road south. I do not know how we wou—"

Merry never got to finish his sentence. A black arrow buried itself in his left temple. He sat for a moment, unmoving. He stared at me, though there was no thought or life behind those brown eyes. Then, his body gave out, and he crumpled upon himself. He lay on the ground beside me, unmoving, lifeless, a corpse.

I didn't even have the strength to scream.

"Orcs from Saruman!" roared Boromir.

"In the forest! Look to the trees!" shouted Aragorn.

I looked up to see a party of orcs emerge from the spindly branches of the nameless forest. Their faces were gray and disfigured, their malicious smiles revealing sharp teeth stained with dark blood. I could see white paint on their noses and foreheads, and I was certain the symbols were supposed to mean something but I couldn't decipher them.

Legolas drew his bow and fired arrow after arrow. However, the orcs answered Legolas's shot with their own. A volley arrows soared through the air from the shelter of the forest.

I threw my hands over my face as the arrows rained down about me. I prayed that the Skip would take me, take me somewhere far away, but my life must not have been in danger, because I remained. When I opened my eyes, I saw that three arrows had landed in Merry's lifeless body—one in his leg, one in his abdomen, and one in his shoulder. Blood welled where the arrowheads had pierced the skin, and I clasped a hand over my mouth to prevent myself from throwing up or screaming or…God, I don't even know what I would've done.

There was a howl of pain, and I turned to see Sam clutching at his leg, which was skewed through the thigh by an arrow. Frodo stared down at Sam, his eyes wide with horror, and Pippin was scooting backwards across the grass, his face white. I tried to cry out, but my gaze drifted back to Merry and all sound died on my throat.

Gandalf lifted his staff into the air and muttered some words in a foreign language. His spell sent the next volley of arrows flying away from us as if they had bounced off an invisible shield. But, in the gap between the first and second spell, an orc fired one clean shot that struck Gandalf in the shoulder.

"Gandalf!" Frodo started towards the wizard.

"Stay down," roared Aragorn.

"Wargs!" Boromir drew his sword. "They have wargs!"

I hadn't moved since the first arrow struck. I could only stare at Merry's fallen body where blood trickled from his temple and from the three fresh arrow wounds that penetrated his limp body. He was dead. He was really dead.

I had seen action movies where the characters died. Bonnie had dragged Nick and me to see 300, and I had seen more than enough dead bodies in that movie alone. But Merry was right in front of me. Right in front of my eyes. I had known him. We had been friends. He had laughed at my poor alcohol tolerance. He had told be about the Brandybucks, about what a fun family they were. He and Pippin had laughed after they'd tripped me up during our sword lessons not two days ago. He was Merry. My friend Merry. And he was dead. No action movie could prepare me for this.

Orcs riding wargs came forth from the trees. I remember their war cries, shrill screams in a language that wasn't meant for human ears. "Azakashuga!" and "Matum!" they called as they waved their jagged blades above their heads and barred their blackened teeth. The wargs howled, a grating sound that sent shivers down my spine. Aragorn swung his sword and managed to lob off the head of the closest warg. The orc rider swung his blade and it clipped Aragorn's shoulder. Legolas fired another arrow, and it struck the orc rider in the forehead. Both orc and warg went crashing down. Aragorn clutched his bleeding shoulder as he lifted his sword and continued to fight.

"There are too many of them!" shouted Boromir. He slew one orc but soon two more replaced it.

Their numbers seemed endless as the orcs emerged from the pale trees. The more battle-hardened members of the Fellowship fought with sword, axe, bow, knives, staff, but they could not hold off overwhelming numbers.

I hadn't moved from my spot on the ground. The hobbits stood around me. Frodo clutched his glowing blue sword, Sting. His face was pale, and he looked no more ready for battle than I did. Pippin stood beside Frodo, trying to stop his hands from trembling as tears fell from his eyes. Sam knelt behind them, clutching his bleeding thigh.

Numbly, barely aware of what I was doing, I pulled the Sword Breaker out of my jeans pocket and unsheathed it. The combed-blade did not seem anywhere near effective.

Legolas let out a high-pitched shout. My head jerked up only for me to see that an orc had run a blade through Legolas's chest. Blood covered the elf's jerkin. As Legolas collapsed to the ground, I let out a strangled cry. A warg trampling over the elf's legs before turning to me, its dark eyes glittered with hunger.

I squeaked. My few scattered lessons from Boromir could never prepare me for this.

"Stay strong," said Frodo. "We are with you."

"Yeah." There was not an ounce of courage in me. "Yeah."

The warg sprinted towards us. It opened its jaws—and never reached us. Boromir brought his sword crashing down on the warg's head. The beast let out a low whine and crumpled to the ground, blood spilling from its skull.

I couldn't even find the words to say thanks.

"Watch out," said Boromir. "Those things will kill you."

And then, an orc drove his sword through Boromir's chest.

I'm pretty sure I screamed. I must have screamed. I don't remember. All I can remember from that point onwards is that an orc charged at me, his blade ready to rip me to shreds. I lifted the Sword Breaker, trying to block the attack, but my arms gave out pathetically beneath the orc's blade. He was going to kill me. I was going to lie bleeding and dying on the ground. The end. All over. It was so final.

Skip.

It was the middle of the night in the parking lot of the strip mall. The sky was the color of ink, splattered with the faint silver dots of stars. The parking lot was nearly empty of cars, the only light coming from dull yellow lampposts and the neon signs of the stores that were too lazy to turn off their lights after closing.

I stood outside the locked restaurant doors, clutching the Sword Breaker as if to defend myself from an orc that no longer existed.

The air was chilly, and my panting breath came out in tendrils of white mist. For a moment, I could do nothing more than breathe. In and out. In and out. In and out. Trying to find something, anything, to hold onto to stop myself from drowning in the fear and misery inside me.

I bent over and clutched my knees. Breathe in. Breathe out.

It was no use. Everything was spinning around me. I was going to be sick.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

They died. Boromir, Merry, Legolas—who else was dead? Did they all die? The Ring? What will happen to the Ring? Middle Earth? Was it doomed too? When I was twelve, I saw the White City burning, what must have been the destruction of Middle Earth. Was this meant to happen? Was the Fellowship meant to fail? I wasn't strong enough. There was nothing I could do to prevent it. I could only watch. I could only watch the inevitable happen.

I closed my eyes and tried to swallow back tears.

Perhaps it was meant to happen. Perhaps I could only watch them die, only watch them fail. Perhaps I could never change it.

Bile rose in my throat, and I released a hacking cough. Every inch of me hurt. My back, where I had landed roughly on the ground. My arms, which hand been shocked by the force of the orc's blow against the Sword Breaker. And mostly my head, where the memories churned about relentlessly.

This couldn't be it. Things couldn't end in such a way. No. No. There had to be another way.

What could change? We couldn't make it over Caradhras. Could we take a different route through the Gap of Rohan? Was there a way to sneak past Isengard without the eyes of Saruman watching? Was there another road?

I opened my eyes.

Moria.

Gandalf had said he would never enter the Mines of Moria unless there was no other choice—but now there was no other choice, was there? The Fellowship could not go over Caradhras, and the Gap of Rohan led only to death. But Moria. Maybe they could make it through Moria.

I sheathed the Sword Breaker, shoved it into the back pocket of my jeans, and then pulled my sweater over the handle. The tears that had been on the verge of spilling had subsided. Now, I was fueled by hope. I knew a solution. I could save the Fellowship. I could save them, right?

My gaze scanned the dozen or so cars still in the parking lot. It looked as though my car had been moved. No doubt my parents had brought it home when they realized I'd gone missing…again. They would probably give me hell when I showed up on their doorstep after disappearing for five days. But they would scold me and love me anyway. God, I loved my parents.

I staggered through the parking lot, oblivious to the blistering cold and focused only on searching. All I could think of was Skipping. I had to return to Middle Earth and change the future. I could do it. I knew I could.

Perhaps if I believed hard enough, it would actually work.

The shopping center parking lot led into a highway. Even at night, trucks and cars raced along the dark road, their engines roaring and their headlights flooding my vision. I stood on the curb, watching them go by.

How many times had I been in this position? How many times had I stepped into danger in order to Skip? A grim smile crossed my face. One of these days, it was going to kill me.

I stepped off the curb.

Lights flashed. A horn honked. Music played. Elves sang. Music stopped. People spoke.

"Is that you, Ana?"

I was standing in the middle of a grand dining room. The arched ceilings resembled the branches of trees, and the pillars had been carved with serpentine vines. I blinked and looked around. The room, with its soft golden light, was familiar, and it held the same elegant curved tables and carefully crafted benches as those in Rivendell.

Slowly, it dawned on me that I was, in fact, standing in the middle of Rivendell's great hall. Elrond sat at the high table, dressed in long green robes with a thin silver crown placed upon his dark head. He had half-risen from his seat and stared at me in wide-eyed surprise. I'm sure I wore a similar expression of horror on my face, but I was not looking at Elrond. I was looking at Thorin. That's right, Thorin, the King of Elf-Haters, sat at the high table on Elrond's left, amongst the people of honor. Thorin seemed a lot less surprised than Elrond, and honestly, his expression was more that of amused irritation than shock. Seated at the tables on either side of me with plates of food in front of them were the other members of the Company. On the edges of the hall, there were some elves holding instruments. They must have stopped playing at my abrupt arrival. Every eye was fixed on me.

Desperately, I scanned the hall, but Gandalf was nowhere to be seen.

"Hi," I said at last, managing a weak wave for Elrond and Thorin. "Long time no see. Is Gandalf here?"

"Who enters the realm of Rivendell with permission?" asked Elrond, maintaining composure even as he spoke in outrage. "And to do so undetected… Does she wield some fashion of witchcraft?"

Thorin looked thoroughly exhausted with the whole thing. "No. She is called Ana Stonbit. She comes and goes in such a manner often. She does not mean to intrude but such behavior comes naturally to her."

Ignoring Thorin's rather rude remark, I turned to Elrond and said, "Don't worry, your elvenness. We meet in the future, and I bring you food. But where is Gandalf?"

Elrond hesitated before saying, "He will join us shortly."

He spoke casually, but he had no idea how much relief his answer had given me. Gandalf was there. In Rivendell. I had Skipped to the right place on the first try. I wouldn't have to jump off one of Rivendell's balconies to Skip back to Ohio. It was fine. Gandalf would come, and I would tell him not to take the Gap of Rohan. It would be fine. The Fellowship would be fine.

Elrond's gaze flickered from me to Thorin and back. Slowly, he seemed to resign himself to my presence, and he settled back in his seat. "How do you know that we will meet in the future, Ana Stonbit? Do you have the gift of foresight?"

"Me?" I laughed. "No. I just kind of show up in the future and in the past from time to time."

"In the most irritating fashion," said Thorin unhelpfully.

"Ana," said Bofur, who was seated at the table to my right, "How are you? We have not seen you since the wargs attacked."

"Oh, uh." I shifted uncomfortably from side to side. I couldn't very well tell them that I had just seen the Fellowship murdered on their journey to the Gap of Rohan and was having a very hard time right now. To begin with, that would reveal to future to more people than necessary, and secondly, that would put a real downer on everyone's moods. I bit my lip, and after a moment's consideration, I said, "I'm all right."

"You look peaky," said Ori.

"Peaky?" I tried to smile, but now that I'd started thinking about it again, I couldn't wipe the image of Merry's lifeless eyes out of my mind.

"Peaky?" repeated Glóin. "I was thinking she looked more like a drowned rat. Her eyes have traces of red."

"Do they?" I pressed the backs of my hands to my slightly swollen eyelids. Well, I had been crying in a parking lot just a few minutes ago. There probably wasn't a lot I could do about my puffy eyes.

"Do not be so cruel," said Bofur, hitting Óin on the arm. "She helped save us from the trolls."

"I did?" My hands fell away from my eyes, and I stared around at the table of dwarves in confusion. "I remember running away from the trolls, and telling them to eat you instead of me."

"Well, yes," said Bofur. "That did happen. But you also threw a hot drink—you called it coffee—in their faces. It was very heroic. We were telling the elves about it earlier today…"

I frowned. "I don't remember that…"

I did not realize it right then, but it occurred to me later on that the fact that I met the dwarves at Bag End and partied with them must have changed my actions in the future when they encountered the trolls. Since they already knew me, they did not have to ask who I was and I did not have to explain why I was there. My presence at Bag End had caused a change in the future even without my intending to. Not in any significant way, but slightly… Of course, there is a drawback to this changing future thing—I didn't remember changing my actions with the trolls, because I was not actually there to change them. There were going to be some major holes in my memory of things compared to other people's memories.

"Well then, Ana Stonbit." Elrond's voice filled the entire hall. "Join us for dinner and wait for Gandalf to arrive. A friend of myself in the future is welcome in Rivendell anytime."

"Thanks," I said. Though I couldn't exactly agree that Elrond and I were really friends in the future. More like casual acquaintances.

"Sit here." Fíli scooted over on the bench to make room for me between him and Ori.

I sat down and dished up what looked to be a salad onto my plate. I wasn't hungry—I couldn't eat a bite with the nerves and the panic dancing around in my stomach—but I figured I should at least pretend to enjoy the feast Elrond had provided.

"You eat such food?" asked Ori, staring suspiciously at the green leaves on my plate.

"It's called lettuce," I said. "It's not really about enjoying or not enjoying. Lettuce doesn't really taste like anything."

Kíli took a tentative bite of a leaf. He screwed up his face and, after an agonizing struggle, managed to swallow the single piece of lettuce. "I prefer meat."

"We have lettuce in my world," I said. "But we usually put dressing on it to make it taste better. I don't suppose the elves have any Thousand Island?'

"Why would they have a thousand islands?" asked Ori.

"It's a type of…" I trailed off as, once again, the fresh memories of orcs and blood came pouring in my mind. I glanced up at Elrond's table. No sign of Gandalf. However, my eyes met Thorin's, and I realized that he had been watching me. His mouth twisted into a grimace when our gazes met. I attempted a smile but failed miserably. Turning back to the rest of the Company, I said, "Never mind."

"You say that quite often," said Fíli. "I am not quite sure what you mean by 'never mind'. You never have a mind? So you do not think? That does not make any sense—unless you are talking about Kíli."

"Well, yes," I said. "Kíli never thinks, but that's not what the phrase 'never mind' means. It basically means that I want you to forget what I just said because I don't feel like explaining the joke to you."

"Oh," said Fíli. "So you make a lot of jokes that we do not understand."

"Or her jokes are not funny," said Glóin.

I opened my mouth to reply, but just then. the doors to Elrond's hall opened and an old man with a gray beard and a blue, pointed hat stepped inside. Gandalf. It was Gandalf. He smiled across the hall at Elrond and started to say something, but I cut across him.

"Do not take the Gap of Rohan!"

I was practically stumbling out of my seat in my attempt to get to Gandalf. Fíli reached out to steady me, but I pushed his hand away and hurried across the hall to stand in front of Gandalf. Forgetting all Middle Earth protocol, I grabbed the wizard by the forearms and repeated, "Do not take the Gap of Rohan."

Gandalf stared.

The whole hall was silent. Every eye—of every elf, dwarf, and hobbit—was fixed on me. But I didn't care. I barely noticed. The only things that ran through my mind were the faces of the Fellowship. All I could see was the wizard that stood in front of me. The one person right then that could save them.

"Why would I take the Gap of Rohan?" asked Gandalf.

"Do not take the Gap of Rohan," I said again. My voice was thin and pitchy. I had to make him understand. It was important. For the sake of the Fellowship, I had to make him understand. "I cannot explain why but you will know when the time comes. Do not take the Gap of Rohan."

Gandalf stared.

I refused to release him until he agreed.

After a moment and with much reluctance, he nodded. "I understand."

"Good." I let go of his arms. The faces of the Fellowship, of Boromir, Merry, Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Aragorn, Gimli, and even Legolas, swam in front of me. They would be all right. Gandalf would protect them. The Fellowship would survive. They would live. I closed my eyes and let out a sigh of relief. "Good."

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter XI: Back To The Mountains

Later that evening, the Company occupied a cozy room that had been reserved for Elrond's guests. The room had high ceilings, decorated with curling, carvings shaped like vines. There was one wall with open archways that led out onto a balcony with white railings and a view of the valley However, it was cool night, so flames flickered in the white hearth and the Company remained inside.

I'd been in that exact same sitting room before. Boromir, Elrohir, Elladan, and I held one of our many drinking competitions there. Of course, glancing around that the faces of the Company, I figured it was best not to mention my drinking adventures with Elrond's sons.

It was a weird experience being back in Rivendell. I recognized some of the elves—such as the one who had directed Boromir and me to a public courtyard for my sword-training—however, they didn't recognize me. My two-month stay in Rivendell with the Fellowship would not happen until the future. To these elves, this was our first meeting. I wondered if their memories of my stay in Rivendell would diverge from mine. Perhaps in their memories, I would become a drinking expert and, for once, not be the first one to pass out from too much wine.

That evening with the Company, the dwarves were scattered throughout the room, entertaining themselves in the early hours of the night. Glóin, Óin, Nori, Bifur, and Dwalin played a gambling game with dice (at one point, Glóin referred to Óin as an "elfer" and Nori had to shush Glóin before an actual elf could overhear). Ori was knitting a sweater for one of his brothers. Fíli and Kíli listened in awe as Balin told stories of the Battle of Dwarves and Orcs that had stretched across the Misty Mountains. Bombur enjoyed a late night snack, while Bofur and Dori sat on the other side of the fireplace discussing what they would do if they possessed all the gold in the Lonely Mountain. Gandalf and Bilbo were not in the room, preferring to engage the elves of Rivendell in conversation (unlike the stubborn dwarves). Thorin reclined in an armchair, smoking his pipe, while I sat on the floor at his feet. I had my back to the fireplace, letting the warmth wash over me.

"What do you remember of your encounter with the trolls?" I found myself asking.

Thorin blew a smoke ring from his pipe before answering. "Our burglar was caught thieving by one of the trolls. We came to rescue him, but the trolls threatened us with Bilbo's life." His blue eyes landed on me. "That is when you stepped out from beneath the oak tree and threw your 'coffee' at one of the trolls. You then served as an excellent distraction, running in circles and shrieking, while we battled the trolls until Gandalf's arrival."

"Oh."

"You remember it differently?" he asked.

"Uh, well, a little. I suppose it changed after I met you in Bag End. We wouldn't have been strangers to you then."

"You did not move a finger to aid us in your memory," said Thorin dryly.

I winced. "I did…after Glóin spotted me under the tree."

Thorin might have said something along the line of "figures" after that.

It was an odd feeling, knowing that my actions had changed without my knowledge, as if there was some other Ana running around. Suddenly, the memory formed of my neighbor apologizing that she'd missed me leaving because of a trick of the light after she witnesses me Skip the day before. A trick of the light. Distracted for a moment. Disappeared in the blink of an eye. It was as if everyone had collectively agreed to remember things differently. The Skipping worked in such indecipherable ways.

"So," I asked, desperate to talk about something else, "what brings you of all people to Rivendell? Don't you hate elves?"

"Gandalf deceived me," said Thorin gruffly. "We were fleeing the wargs, and he led us to a secret passage into Rivendell."

The image of the Company fleeing across the grasslands, running from rock formation to rock formation, flashed through my mind. It seemed the Company had escaped safely thanks to Gandalf. "Ah, so he saved your life and you're holding a grudge. That's so typical you."

Thorin scowled. "I simply do not like to be deceived by one of my companions."

"Perhaps he deceived you because you're so stubborn, Mister King of the Elf-Haters."

The look Thorin gave me was icy.

However, I offered him a glowing smile and said, "I know you secretly like me. Bofur told me at dinner you were worried I might have been eaten by the warg last time I Skipped."

"Why would I worry about someone who will vanish in the face of danger?" scoffed Thorin. "Bofur has a creative imagination."

"Bofur likes to imagine that you have emotions other than majesty."

Thorin snorted. "Majesty is an emotion?"

"Your only emotion."

"Ana," called out Dori, pausing his conversation with Bofur, "are you flattering Thorin needlessly again?"

"What?" I glanced over my shoulder at him. "Why do you say 'needlessly'? I'm not that bad."

"Not that bad, she says," muttered Dori. "Every time Thorin speaks, she claims majesty."

I laughed and gestured to the dwarf-king sitting in the armchair. "But look at him—how can you deny that majesty?"

"We do not deny it," said Dori. "Only we do not feel obliged to point out his majesty constantly."

Bofur nodded. "It is best not to wear such praises out with overuse."

Our conversation was brought to an abrupt end when the door to the sitting room opened. All the dwarves paused in their activities and turned to see who had arrived. When they saw that it was Gandalf and Bilbo, I swear every dwarf breathed a sigh of relief. None of them wanted to see elves any more than necessary.

Bilbo stopped to chat with the dwarves playing dice, and it seemed the conversation quickly turned into Bilbo trying to explain that the elves were not all bad and that he actually enjoyed talking to them. Gandalf, on the other hand, was all business. He made his way across the room to join Thorin and me at the fireplace. With a glance in my direction, Gandalf addressed Thorin and said, "Come. We must speak with Lord Elrond."

Thorin frowned. For a moment, I thought he was going to insist that Elrond should come to him. But then, Thorin rose from the armchair and headed for the door alongside Gandalf.

"Come, Balin," said Thorin as he passed by the old dwarf. "You ought to listen to what Lord Elrond has to say as well."

Balin bowed his head slightly and then rose to follow Thorin. Fíli and Kíli looked at their uncle hopefully, wanting to be invited along, but Thorin shook his head.

"Can I ago?" I asked from my seat on the floor.

I asked for the fun of it, expecting to be flat out refused. However, Thorin turned to Gandalf and said something in a low voice. Then, Gandalf looked back over his shoulder at me, a thoughtful expression on his time-worn face.

At last, Gandalf said, "If you do not have any objections, Thorin, I suppose it can only be to our benefit to have one who has seen the future accompany us."

There was something in Gandalf's words that unsettled me. One who has seen the future. That made me sound like someone important. Someone who had weight in this world… I hated it. It wasn't true. I was just someone passing through.

Still, as much as I wanted to reject Gandalf words, I didn't want to miss the chance to watch Thorin making insulting comments about elves while Elron tried to help him. So, I kept my mouth shut and hurried to follow.

Thorin, Balin, Bilbo, and I followed Gandalf through the halls and walkways of Rivendell. We spotted surprisingly few elves on our journey—which was probably for the best, because Thorin would complain in Khuzdul to Balin whenever we passed one. Gandalf, for the most part, ignored Thorin; though he did make the occasional side-comment about the stubbornness of dwarves. I silently added my own comment about the stubbornness of elves, just to keep things even.

Eventually, we entered vast room with a high, arched ceiling. There were murals painted on the walls—pictures of a war between men, elves, and orcs. The most beautiful mural showed the image of a man of Gondor in full battle armor holding up a shattered blade. Facing the painting was a statue of a maiden. Her head was bowed, and she held up a flat stone on which the fragments of the shattered sword were placed.

Elrond stood in front of the stature, gazing at the pieces. When he heard us enter the hall, he turned and smiled that ageless smile of his.

"Gandalf says you have need of my knowledge," said Elrond grandly. (I swear, everything this elf does is just grand. I bet he even sneezes grandly.)

Thorin shot an irritated glare at Gandalf. "Does he say that now?"

"Show him the map, Thorin," said Gandalf.

"Why should I?"

"He is not going to steal it," snapped Gandalf. "He only wants to read it."

"This map was made for dwarves," said Thorin. "What business does an elf have with dwarven artifacts?"

Gandalf pounded the bottom of his staff against the stone floor. "Put aside your stubbornness and give him the map. You are standing in front of one of the few people in Middle Earth with the skills left to read that map. Give it to him."

Silence followed Gandalf's words. I glanced at the present company. Balin and Thorin glowered distrustfully at Elrond, while Gandalf watched them with thinly veiled impatience. My gaze met Bilbo's, and I saw that my feelings were mirrored his worried expression. We both weren't certain if Thorin was going to give the map to the elf.

I hesitated and then, because I could stand the tension no longer, said, "Gandalf makes a good point. What's the point of having an ancient dwarven artifact that can help you reclaim your homeland if you can't read it?"

"That does not mean we should share the long-held secrets of our people with an elf," said Balin.

Thorin ignored both of us. "This map is the legacy of my people. It's secrets are mine to protect."

"You also make a good point," I said. "But Gandalf's was better."

"I regret permitting you to come." The look Thorin gave me was scathing. However, Gandalf's words must have had some weight, because he pulled the map out of his cloak and stiffly handed it to Elrond. Balin tried to stop him, but Thorin had already given it over.

Elrond carefully opened the map. "Erebor? What interest do you have in Erebor?"

Thorin started to reply, but Gandalf cut across him. "A purely academic interest, I assure you."

I covered my smile with the back of my hand. What part of Thorin looked academic?

"Moon runes," said Elrond suddenly.

"Say what?" I looked at Thorin and Balin to see if they were also confused. Thorin nodded once and Balin smiled. Only Bilbo shared my puzzled expression.

"They can only be read by the light of the same moon of the same season on which they were written," said Elrond. He started to walk out of the hall and the rest of us quickly followed, our footsteps falling heavily against the stone floor.

"That's highly inconvenient," I said. "Why would anyone write like that?"

"It is not for convenience," said Balin.

"Then what is it for?" I asked.

"Secrecy."

"Oh. Duh. I feel stupid now."

"You do not always feel that way?" asked Thorin. His voice was quiet, so that Elrond and Gandalf could not hear him. However, there was an amused glint in his eyes.

"Don't you feel bad for bullying me?" I muttered.

"You forget," said Thorin, "majesty is my only emotion."

I let out a bark of laughter. Elrond and Gandalf glanced back at us, but I kept my eyes wide and innocent.

We said nothing more as Elrond led us down a stone tunnel that burrowed deep into the walls of the valley. The tunnel was not made out of smooth, carved granite like most of Rivendell but was built more like a cave, rough and jagged. The path was long and winding, and I was beginning to wonder if the tunnel had no end.

"Where are you leading us?" asked Thorin.

"We are in luck," said Elrond. "Your…research is fated, Thorin Oakenshield. The season is right, and the same moon shines down on us tonight. I can read the moon runes on this map…" He glanced back at Thorin before adding, "If you would so permit me."

"I do so permit you," said Thorin. "Lead on."

I muttered under my breath to Bilbo. "As if Elrond needs Thorin's permission to do anything."

"I heard that," said Thorin.

I smiled as sweetly as I could at his back. "Did you now?"

When we finally reached the end of the tunnel, it opened up to one of the most beautiful views I had ever seen. We stood on a ledge low in the valley's walls that looked out over the trees and rivers, but the view was blurred by a waterfall that poured down over the front of the ledge like a thin veil. A large, white stone was embedded in the ground, shaped so that it formed a sort of table. In the pure moonlight, the stone emitted a brilliant white light.

Gandalf and Elrond seemed unimpressed. Elrond I expected, but I had the feeling that Gandalf had been here before as well. Bilbo looked around with opened-mouthed amazement, while Thorin and Balin both shifted from side to side awkwardly, refusing to admit that Rivendell had anything of beauty and value to offer.

Elrond placed the map on the stone table. The white light emitting from the rock struck the back of the paper. Slowly at first but then gaining intensity, silvery runes appeared on the old, worn paper.

"What does it say?" murmured Balin.

Elrond glanced at the old dwarf before turning back to the map and translating, "It says, 'Stand by the gray stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole.'"

"Durin?" I asked.

"He was the father of the eldest clan of dwarves, the Longbeards, and my first ancestor." Thorin paused before adding, "I am his heir."

"Then what is Durin's Day?" asked Bilbo.

I silently thanked him, relieved that I wouldn't be the only one asking questions.

"It is the dwarven new year," explained Gandalf, much kindlier than he had ever explained anything to me.

"The first day of the last moon of Autumn on the threshold of Winter," added Thorin, "when the sun and moon may be seen in the sky together."

"Durin's Day is barely four moons from now," said Balin. "We do not have much time."

Thorin stiffened. Slowly, his gaze shifted to the stern face of Elrond.

"So that is your purpose," said Elrond. "To enter the mountain."

"You mean to stop us?" asked Thorin. He had his stubborn face on. His jaw was set into position, and his eyes had a fighting gleam to them. He would not budge no matter how much Elrond might try to convince him otherwise.

Perhaps Elrond understood this because he simply said, "There are some who would not deem it wise."

To that, Thorin said nothing.

"Ana, wake up!"

Mere hours later, I opened my eyes only to find that it was still dark out. I groaned and rolled over in the soft, Rivendell bed. "Let me sleep a few more hours…or years."

"Ana," the voice hissed, "you must get out of bed!"

"I'm hibernating. Let me know when winter is over…"

"We are leaving now."

That woke me from my slumber. I sat upright and turned to stare at Bofur. He was fully dressed in his freshly-cleaned travelling clothes and ready to hit the road.

"We leave in five minutes," said Bofur. "I brought you some clothes suited for the road." He pointed to the end of my bed where a pile of folded, woolen clothes had been placed. "Also, we are leaving in secret, so be quiet about it."

"Why did no one wake me sooner?" I cried.

Bofur cast a wary glance at the door before saying, "I think Thorin wished to leave you behind with the elves. But rest assured, the others of the Company would not allow it."

"That jerk!" I jumped out of bed and grabbed the clothes Bofur had brought me. They weren't elvish in make, which meant they likely belonged to one of the dwarves. "I'll be ready in four minutes just to spite him."

Well, actually I was ready in six—but who's counting? Besides, the dwarves didn't actually leave without me. They were waiting, with impatient looks on their faces, for me to join them in the courtyard. I showed up in a wool tunic, a blue jerkin, and trousers that were a couple inches too short. Thankfully, my boots from Ohio were almost knee-height so that I could conceal with Sword Breaker in them, and they covered the hem of the too-small trousers.

Without so much as a word, Thorin led the way along the hidden valley path with the twelve dwarves, one hobbit, and one me trailing behind him. The Company moved in silence with their heads kept low and their gazes shifting about for any signs of elves. Bofur later told me that Gandalf had remained behind for a meeting with Elrond, but he planned to catch up with us later on.

From what I could tell, no elves spotted our departure. Then again, I wasn't the most observant person around, so what I could tell really counted for nothing. The Company tried to move quietly through the dark morning, and soon enough, we were on the mountain paths leading out of Rivendell. We had reached the edge of the valley when the sun rose on the horizon, marking the beginning of a new day.

A little ahead of me on the path, Bilbo looked wistfully over his shoulder at the splendor of Rivendell.

"You might come back," I said, thinking of the Council of Elrond.

"Maybe," said Bilbo. "It would be nice to have endless time there. I could imagine a life spent at the fireside, listening to the songs and music of the elves."

Personally, I'd get sick of all the snotty elves, but I only ginned at Bilbo and said, "Don't let Thorin hear you say that. His elf-induced regurgitation reflex has yet to be cured."

"What?" asked Bilbo.

I sighed. "Why do I bother making jokes anymore? If I were in Ohio, everyone would laugh."

Walking a little behind Bilbo and me, Fíli leaned over and muttered to Kíli, "I think Ana has an unrealistic vision of herself."

The road from Rivendell was long and hard—and mostly uphill. Some of the dwarves actually started to miss the comfort of the elven halls (not that they would tell Thorin that). Eventually the path led to the Misty Mountains, which the Company would have to cross in order to reach the Lonely Mountain. The ascent was agonizing. My body had been given almost no time to recover from my journey down Caradhras and to the Gap of Rohan with the Fellowship. My only relief was that there was no snow this time; the Company was smart enough not to attempt to cross in the winter.

As we journeyed on, the path became little more than a ledge, jutting out from the side of the mountain. It was dangerous to walk on, one slip would lead to almost certain death. The dwarves were more sure-footed than Bilbo and me. While they walked with confidence, we shuffled along the ledge, eyeing the bottomless ravine below. And, as if things weren't miserable enough, it started raining. And not just rain, but thunder and lightning as well. The rocky path became slippery, and lightning would strike the mountainside, causing rocks to fall. Death seemed all the more certain.

"Why are you afraid?" Glóin asked me. "If you fall, you will simply Skip back to your world."

"It's still scary," I said over the pouring rain. "What if this one time I don't Skip?"

"You are much less likely to die than me," muttered Bilbo. His face was stark white.

There was a crack of lightning. We all pushed ourselves against the mountain wall, taking what little shelter we should, as rocks tumbled past us and fell into the deep ravine. I almost wished I was back on snowy Caradhras. Almost.

"That was a close one," said Bofur.

"Look!" cried Kíli, pointing somewhere off into the distance. We followed his directions, and there, beside a mountain peak, we saw a giant.

Now, I know that sounds insane. You're probably thinking, "Ana, you've lost it. This story is getting too ridiculous." And I agree: this story is ridiculous. But I am telling you the truth. Amidst the rain and thunder and lightning, a giant stood by a mountain. He was made from the same rough rocks as the mountain, and if he hadn't been moving, I wouldn't even have noticed him. But now that I had seen him, I filled with an overwhelming horror.

"A giant." My voice was oddly high pitched. "A giant. Made of stone. A giant. Of stone. Look, there's a giant made of stone."

The giant broke off a piece of the mountain and hurled the rock towards us. For a second, I thought the rock was going to hit us, but it sailed over our heads. There was rumbling sound, and when I turned, I saw that the rock had struck what appeared to be another stone giant in the head. The second giant crashed into the side of another mountain, causing an avalanche of broken stone to fall into the darkness below.

Balin pointed madly at the giants. "A thunder battle!"

"Look out!" cried Nori.

The second giant leaned down and took a piece of the mountain to use as a weapon. Unfortunately, the piece he chose was where Bilbo, Kíli, Dwalin, Glóin, Bofur, and I stood.

A deep cracking sounded above us, and suddenly, I was no longer on solid ground. The mountain was moving, shifting beneath my feet. We stood on a rock that was no longer attached the mountain. All the giant had to do was throw us or drop us, and we would die. Squish. Flat. Gone. Just like that.

"Who the frig invited stone giants?" I screamed, grabbing hold of Glóin's arm and holding on for dear life.

"We can jump," said Dwalin. He gasped Bilbo by the shoulder and held the unsteady hobbit in place. "Quickly, before the giant moves us too far away!"

I could see the over dwarves standing on the mountainside. Fíli was shouting something. Óin motioned for us to jump. Thorin looked desperate, and Ori looked just plain scared.

Another crack.

The first giant had thrown something—probably a rock—at the giant holding us. The giant stumbled, his stone legs getting caught in the ravine. He tripped. His hands went flying. Our rock shifted in his grip. I screamed. The rock was hurtling towards the mountainside. We were going to become dead dwarf pancakes.

"Jump!" roared Dwalin.

We jumped. Dear God, we jumped for our lives.

I don't really remember the details of what happened. But Glóin grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and dragged me off the rock after him. My head slammed onto the ledge, and I scrambled for something to hold onto. Bofur—I think it was Bofur—landed on top of me. The boulder smashed against the mountainside. Debris shattered around us. Everything went dark. I was convinced I was dead.

And then it was gone. I could feel the rain again, hear the sound of dwarves breathing and the roar of thunder in the sky. We were alive. Alive. We had somehow managed to survive the stone giant.

I breathed in. "Bofur! Get off of me!"

"Urg," groaned Bofur. "Please, do not let us do that again."

He rolled to the side, and I felt lighter without his weight on my back. I sat up and rubbed my aching shoulder. "How did we survive that?"

"Kíli! Dwalin!" cries of our names could be heard over the cracking of the storm. "Glóin! Bofur! Bilbo!" I even heard someone shout my name. "Where's Ana?"

The other dwarves ran along the mountain ledge, coming to meet us after our near-death experience. Fíli embraced his brother in a tight hug, while Óin and Glóin thumped each other on the backs. Bombur and Bifur pulled their brother into a bear hug. Thorin visibly relaxed when he saw that we were all in one piece. He placed one hand on the mountain wall and managed a small smile for the Company.

I grinned at him, trying to hide the fact that my hands were shaking. "Thorin, why didn't you come for the ride? It was fun."

"Oh." He tried to return his face to its usual stony expression. "You survived."

"You don't have to pretend," I muttered.

"My aching back." Bilbo stood up and rubbed his shoulders. "I should have stayed back in Rivendell where the only pains were those of eating too much food."

"Go back then." Whatever soft, relieved emotion had been in Thorin's eyes had vanished and had been replaced with anger. He rounded on Bilbo, his blue eyes flashing. "Do you prefer it in Rivendell? Go back then. I am sure the elves desire the presence of a lost hobbit more than we do."

Bilbo did not respond to Thorin but kept his head bowed. For a second, I debated saying something to Thorin, but when I opened my mouth, the words died on my lips. Thorin would probably say the same thing to me. Besides, some small part of me understood what Thorin was saying: this was not a quest for hesitant people. The likelihood of making the trek to the Lonely Mountain without losing someone was unlikely, and the likelihood of reclaiming the Lonely Mountain without losing someone was even more unlikely. Hesitant people were a risk. If Bilbo spent the entire journey dreaming of Rivendell, he would put the Company in danger. Still, Thorin had a shitty way of explaining these things.

"There was a cave back there," said Balin, his voice cutting through the pounding rain. "It might be wise to take leave of the mountain path until the storm passes."

Thorin nodded. "Lead on, Balin."

Sure enough, back along the trail there was a small opening in the rock—big enough for a dwarf to pass through. The opening led to a much larger cave, which would provide shelter against the storm. The dwarves found that there was just enough room for them all to lie down and spend the night.

"Bofur," said Thorin, "you will take the first shift. I'll take the second."

Bofur nodded and settled on a misshapen rock at the mouth of the cave. Meanwhile, the other dwarves were figuring out sleeping arrangements.

"Kíli, get off of me!" cried Fíli.

Kíli had laid down on the ground, practically on top of his brother. He wriggled about a little and then said, "I cannot. There is not room enough."

"Tell Dori to budge over," said Fíli. "I cannot get a wink of sleep with your hair in my face."

"There is no room to move," said Dori. "Not with Óin is taking up all the floor space."

"Bombur uses more than his fair share of floor," grumbled Óin.

"I am sitting upright," said Bombur, who was indeed in a sitting position and leaning against the wall of the cave.

"This is not very comfortable," whined Nori.

With his face squished against his brother's back, Ori said. "Think of it as snug."

Eventually, they quietened down and one by one managed to drift off. I stepped over the dwarves, who were curled up like a jig-saw puzzle in the little space available, and made my way across the cave to where Thorin was sleeping—or, at least, trying to sleep. As the king and the next dwarf on watch-duty, he had been given the most space near the entrance of the cave, but that also meant that there was no blocking out the roar of the storm.

"This looks like a comfy spot," I said, settling down next to him.

"You are not sleeping here," said Thorin, his back turned to me.

"Tough. This is the only spot left."

"You can sleep on top of the hobbit," said Thorin. "I am sure he makes a good mattress."

"And I'm sure you make a better one." I paused. "Besides, you have long hair. I'm sur that could be used as a blanket."

"No."

I sighed and laid down on the ground, wrapping a wool blanket Bofur had leant me around my shoulders. "Mean. You shouldn't keep all that hair to yourself. Sharing is caring."

He ignored me.

"You know," I said. "You could sing me a lullaby with that beautiful voice of yours."

"I am trying to sleep before my turn to keep watch."

"Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?"

"No."

"Good, because I'm terrible at singing."

Thorin did not answer, and I eventually shut up and actually attempted to fall asleep.

The deep, rhythmic sounds of the dwarves snoring filled the cave. Outside, the rain pounded against the rock face and lightning forked across the dark sky. Every few minutes we would hear deep cracking noises echoing throughout the mountains to remind us that the giants were still fighting.

We lay there in silence for a good long while. I couldn't sleep, and neither, I think, could Thorin. That is the worst part, of course. When I'm unable to sleep, but lying down, willing sleep to come, there is nothing to stand between me and my memories. I tried to block them out, but they came anyway—Merry with an arrow embedded in the side of his head, those blank eyes staring at me. Legolas, crying out, as blood flowed from the wound on his chest. Boromir, being struck down, even as he smiled at me. There was more than just that incident, of course. The burning White City that I had seen eight years ago. Orcs wandering the battlefield, cackling and talking in their foul language. And then I saw Bonnie and Nick. Where had they gone? I started to imagine them in the clutches of orcs. An arrow embedded in Bonnie's temple, her blank eyes staring at me. I bit the insides of my cheeks and tried to drown out the memories with pain.

"Thorin," I whispered, "I cannot sleep."

No response.

"I know you're not sleeping."

"I was having a good dream."

"Was I in it?"

"No. That is why it was a good dream."

"Thorin." At first, my voice was sharp, but then there was crash of thunder and I buried my face in the wool blanket to smother the gasp of fear. "Thorin."

"It will never go away." Thorin's quiet, rough voice surprised me, and I peaked at his back over the top of the blanket. Still not looking at me, Thorin said, "You must learn to live with it. We all learn."

"I can't."

"You will. There are good memories with the bad. Hold on to th—"

"Where are you going?" Bofur's voice cut across our muffled conversation.

Thorin stopped talking. I felt his body tense beside me as he strained to hear what was going on at the mouth of the cave. From where I lay, I could see Bofur sitting on his misshapen rock, talking to a packed and ready-to-leave Bilbo.

"Home," said Bilbo. He glanced down warily at where Thorin and I lay on the cave floor, and I squinted, trying to look fast asleep. Bilbo must have been satisfied with my acting, because he turned back to Bofur and said, "Look, Thorin was right. I am not cut out for this type of thing. I want my home, I want my bed, I want my fire, and I want my meals seven times a day."

"You cannot leave," said Bofur. "You are one of us now."

"But I am not, now am I?" said Bilbo. "I am not made for this. You dwarves, you dwarves are used to this. Always on the road, never at home, never belonging an—" Bilbo stopped himself. "I am sorry."

"No," said Bofur softly. "No, you are right. We do not belong anywhere." Somehow (to this day, I am still amazed by this), Bofur managed to smile at the hobbit. "Bilbo, I wish you all the luck in the world."

Bilbo hesitated for a split second and then nodded. "Thank you. Well, I'll be off—"

"What is that?" asked Bofur suddenly, pointing at the blade strapped to Bilbo's side. Through the dim light, I could see Sting glowing blue at the hilt.

A deep, rumbling sound filled the cave.

"Get up!" roared Thorin. He pushed off the ground, springing to his feet and reaching for his sword. "Get up!"

The other dwarves had barely opened their eyes, still foggy with sleep, when the stone floor opened and swallowed them whole.

The floor did not swallow me, however. I was long gone at that point.

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter XII: How To Change The Future

A snowplow had been down the road, and I Skipped into a pile of dirty snow in the gutter. Which, let me tell you, is a less than pleasant experience. And, if things weren't bad enough, a car raced by and sprayed muddy ice water onto the bottoms of my pants.

"Thanks! Try being a little ruder next time!" I shouted. Of course, the driver couldn't hear me but shouting made me feel better.

I slid out of the snow pile, trying and failing to brush some of the filthy snow off the wool pants Bofur had given me. When I realized this was a losing cause, I started making my way across the parking lot back to the shopping center. I was muddy, wet, and dressed in Middle Earth clothing. God, I must have looked a mess.

"Look, Mommy!" cried some little boy, tugging on the sleeve of his mother's winter coat and pointing at me.

With a slightly strained smile, I waved at the mother. "The Renaissance Fair is in town. You should go check it out!"

She leaned over and hissed to her son. "Hush, it's rude to point." Then she straightened up, probably to apologize to me, but it was too late, I was already gone.

I stood over a tomb.

I know what you're thinking. What a great transition: snow-covered parking lot to a stone-cold tomb. Urg. Such is my life.

The Skip had dumped me inside a dwarven hall, I was sure of that. The walls and doors were made of gray stone, marked with the hard lines and zigzags of dwarven architecture. Other than a thin hole in the ceiling that allowed a thin ray of light to strike the tomb, the chamber was dark. And, of course, there was not another living being in sight.

Sighing, I sat down on the tomb and crossed my legs. Mayhap someone would show up eventually. My Skips seemed to be landing in very specific, purposeful locations recently. Before, I had Skipped to anyplace and anytime in Middle Earth. But now I had been spending a lot of time with the Company and the Fellowship. Chances were one of them would show up soon. Or I would just Skip back home eventually, the Skips didn't like leaving me to die. Anyways, I didn't fancy walking around strange mountain caves. My legs were exhausted from the long march up the Misty Mountains, and honestly, I didn't feel like taking one step.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I began to realize what horrors were in the room with me. Skeletons. At least forty of them. And judging by their height and build, they were the skeletons of dwarves. Their empty eye sockets watched my every move, and they seemed to be grinning at me, their deformed jaws laughing even with arrows sticking out of their skulls and chests.

The closest skeleton to me was holding a metal bucket and sitting on the side of a broken well. His skull was tilted to the side and he smiled at me maliciously.

"What you looking at?" I asked, trying to ignore the shiver that ran down my spine when I looked at him. "My gorgeous face? It looks better than yours."

No response.

"At least I'm alive."

Still no response.

"You know," I said, stretching my arms over my head. "It's kind of homey in here once you get used to the dead bodies. I can understand why you chose to die here. If there was a nicer place for a dwarf to die, I have yet to see it."

Silence.

"Jeez, I'm trying to make conversation here." I crossed my arms. "Conversation is a two way thing. We need effort from both sides."

"You have lost more of your mind than I thought."

I screamed and fell off my seat. A very reasonable reaction. "You're not supposed to speak, Mr. Skeleton!"

"She has lost her mind," said another voice. An elf voice.

Actually, when I thought about it, both the voices seemed familiar. I turned and saw that Boromir and Legolas stood in the doorway of the chamber, wide grins on both their faces.

"That wasn't nice," I said, getting to my feet and brushing some dirt off my pants. I paused and lifted my head to stare at the two of them. They both seemed to be whole and unharmed—Legolas was still a pretty boy and Boromir was still Boromir. A wide grin spread across my face. I wanted to run to them and hug them, but I was too stunned to move. I stood beside the tomb, managing to say three words: "You're alive."

"Yes," said Boromir slowly. "I do not recall dying."

"I suppose all this coming and going addles your mind," added Legolas.

"What are you two looking at?" Gimli shoved his way between Legolas and Boromir. He froze as he entered the room, his brown eyes growing wide.

"Hey, Gimli!" I beamed at him. "You're alive too. This is great!"

"Balin," said Gimli softly.

"Huh?" I pointed at myself. "No, I am Ana. Balin is a little grumpy dwarf with a white beard."

"Balin!" Gimli sprinted forward and clutched the edges of the tomb I had been sitting on only moments before. Tears spilled out of the corners of his eyes, and Gimli knelt before the tomb, moaning something in Khuzdul that, if I remember correctly, had something to do with Balin passing into the halls of his great stone fathers.

"What is it? What do you see?" Gandalf strode into the chamber with the four hobbits and Aragorn following close behind him. They were alive. All of them. I almost started crying right then and there.

Gandalf caught one look at me, let out a heavy sigh, and then strode forward to read the runes carved into the tomb. The irritation drained from his face, and he looked almost tired as he spoke, "Here lays Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria."

"Balin?" My voice squeaked on the name. "This is Balin's tomb." I stepped away from the rock, my eyes wide and my chest twisting with pain. His face flashed in my mind—curling white beard, red belt, round nose, warm smile. "You're telling me I sat on his tomb… Balin, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—I didn't know it was yours!"

"Hush," said Gandalf, placing a hand on my shoulder to silence me. "We have entered Moria in secret. We must to remain undetected if we are to pass through safely."

Slowly, using the back of my jacket sleeve, I covered my mouth and stared up at Gandalf. "Moria? We're in Moria?"

"Yes."

"You didn't take the Gap of Rohan?"

Gandalf watched me carefully and then said, "You told me not to take the Gap of Rohan."

He was probably testing me, and I probably should have been more careful with my answer, but at that moment, all I could think was that I'd done it. I'd really done it. The Fellowship was safe. I'd saved them. A wide grin spread across my face. "Really? Thank God, you would have died if you took the Gap of Rohan."

"We would have died?" Aragorn's dark eyes flashed with concern. "And how do you know that?"

It was only then that I realized my mistake. I didn't know a damned thing about time travel, but probably the less I said, the better. I needed to get a grip and stop screwing up like this. "Uh, um, you know what? It doesn't matter. You didn't take the Gap of Rohan. That's what matters."

The Fellowship stared at me.

"If you have knowledge of the fate of Middle Earth," said Gandalf, "you should share it with wiser minds so that we may reach a solution together."

I shook my head. "I can't. I really can't."

"We are alive," said Aragorn finally. "That is what matters, Gandalf."

Gandalf would probably have pushed me for more information if it hadn't been for Aragorn's words. Briefly, I thought Gandalf would push the matter, but the wizard only said, "Yes, we are alive. But now we face the darkness of Moria. Here, an even more terrible fate may await us."

"What is this place?" asked Boromir, looking around the chamber.

"Nowhere good." Pippin eyed the skeleton by the well.

"Be careful," said Boromir. "That one talks."

I glared at him and Legolas, while they snickered at their inside joke.

"There is a book," said Merry, pointing to one of the skeletons. A beaten and battered tome lay beneath the bony fingers, clutched against the exposed ribcage.

"Perhaps we can know what happened here," said Aragorn.

Gandalf carefully extracted the book from the skeleton's fingers. He flipped through the dusty pages, skimming the Khuzdul runes. Standing on tiptoe, I saw that some of the pages were torn and others were splattered with dried, browned blood. I swallowed back bile.

"How have you fared since we last saw you, Ana?" asked Aragorn while Gandalf skimmed the tattered book.

I hesitated. "When did you last see me?"

"When we were climbing Caradhras," said Merry. "Do you not remember?"

"When was the last time for you?" asked Frodo.

"Uh…" The last time I saw them, they were being killed by the horde of orcs after taking the Gap of Rohan. But obviously they didn't remember that. "Well, uh…"

"You were a pain to climb Caradhras with," said Boromir suddenly. "I had to carry you for parts and then when Saruman tried to bring the mountain down upon us, you Skipped away and avoided the difficult parts of the journey."

It seemed that, once again, events had changed for them but not for me. In their memories, I had not made the four-day journey with them down the mountain and towards the Gap of Rohan. Instead, I had Skipped away during the avalanches of ice and snow. I felt a little annoyed by that. After all, I worked my legs to the point of exhaustion for four days but now got none of the credit in the eyes of the Fellowships. Still, at least they were alive.

I swallowed and shot Boromir a small thankful smile. "Oh yeah, that was the last time I saw you guys."

"Here," said Gandalf, saving me from explaining any further. The wizard had paused at a page some two-thirds of the way through the tome. "I cannot make out many of the words, but this is what the parts I can decipher say: 'Years since…ready sorrow…yesterday being the tenth of November. Balin, Lord of Moria, fell in Dimrill Dale. He went alone to look in Mirrormere. An orc shot him from behind a stone. We slew the orc, but many more came…from east up the Silverlode… We rescued Balin's body... A sharp battle—we have barred the gates but doubt if…can hold them long. If there is…no escape it will be a horrible fate to suffer, but I shall hold.'"

"That is ominous," murmured Legolas.

"There is more," said Gandalf. "'We cannot get out. We cannot get out. They have taken the bridge and the Second Hall. Frár and Lóni and Náli fell there bravely while the rest… Mazarbul.'"

"We are in the Chamber of Mazarbul," said Aragorn.

"'Mazarbul' means 'records'," translated Gimli for us non-Khuzdul speakers.

"We are in the north end of the Twenty-First Hall." Gandalf turned back to the book and read, "'We still…but hope'—I cannot read this part—'Óin's party went five days ago, but today only four returned. The pool is up to the wall at west-gate. The Watcher in the Water took Óin—we cannot get out. The end comes soon. We hear drums, drums in the deep."

"Drums?" Merry looked at the doors nervously.

"Balin." My voice was uneven, and I clasped my hands together to stop them from shaking. "And Óin? Who else came here?"

"Ori too," said Gimli. "Along with Frár, Lóni, and Náli."

"All of them?" I said. I didn't know the last three, but of course, I knew the dwarves of the Company. Their faces swam before my eyes. "Ori too? How could this happen?"

"Ori wrote this recount," said Gandalf.

I blinked and turned to stare at the deformed skeleton from which Gandalf had taken the book. I couldn't see it. The lopsided skull didn't match with the kind dwarf who had learned knitting from his grandmother. "No. Th-th-that—"

I never finished speaking. My words were brought short by the clang of metal striking metal. It took me a second to figure out what had happened. The eternally curious Pippin had touched hand of the skeleton by the well, and it had lost its balance. The Fellowship watched in horror as the corpse toppled backwards, dragging with it and metal bucket that had been placed beside it. Down through the well the skeleton went, the bucket clanging against the metal walls and the sound ringing through the mines below.

We stood in silence, waiting, listening.

"That cannot have gone unnoticed," said Aragorn.

"Fool of a Took!" cried Gandalf, rounding on the small hobbit. "You have doomed us all!"

"I did not mean to." Pippin bowed his head in shame.

"Quiet." Aragorn stood still, his head cocked to the side, listening intensely. "Can you hear it?"

Legolas frowned. "Drums."

"Drums?" asked Sam. "Why are there drums?"

"The door!" Boromir raced to the doors, the only exit from the chamber. He managed to get two steps into the corridor beyond before he leapt back into the room and slammed the wooden doors behind him. He saw the Fellowship watching him in silent horror and, with a sigh, he said, "They have a cave troll."

"Then we cannot delay," hissed Gandalf as he drew his sword.

Boromir, Legolas, and Aragorn sprang into action, grabbing pieces of wood and broken spears in an attempt to board up the doors.

My brain was still in shock. "Who are here? Why? What's going on?"

"We are under attack," said Boromir. "Goblins!"

I took a step backwards, staring at the half-barricaded doors. Icy horror was growing in my chest, and my hands wouldn't stop shaking.

This was not how it was supposed to go. Moria was supposed to be safe. Caradhras would freeze the Fellowship to death. The Gap of Rohan would result in a deadly ambush. Moria was supposed to be the safe option—but now, not even that gave the Fellowship safe passage. Goblins…and a cave troll?

Gandalf raised Glamdring, which glowed blue in the dark as the shrieks and snarls of goblins outside the barricaded doors grew louder. The hobbits clutching their daggers, Frodo's also shimmering with a pale blue light. As we cowered behind Gandalf, it occurred to me that I had a weapon. I pulled the Sword Breaker from my right boot and prayed to whoever might be listening that I could use it properly this time, that Boromir's lessons on the road to the Gap of Rohan could be put to some use.

Boromir drew his sword, while Aragorn strung his bow. Beside the men, Legolas aimed an arrow at the doors, and for once, I was glad for the elf's presence.

Gimli hopped on top of Balin's tomb and raised his axe in the air. "Let them come! There is still one dwarf in Moria who can take heads!"

"I don't like goblins," I said, clutching the Sword Breaker close to my chest.

"You would think," said Boromir not taking his eyes from the door. "That if fate should send us a girl from another world, they would at least send us one who does not hide behind the Halflings whenever danger is near."

"Well, sorry. I'll try to take fencing lessons or kick-boxing classes when I'm back in Ohio."

I saw Boromir's half-hidden smile. "Try not to die, Ana."

And with that, the doors shattered. The barricade the Fellowship had tried to make went crashing down, sending splinters in all direction, and then a giant, gray-faced cave troll stepped into the chamber, swinging his club. Goblins raced in after him, screaming terrible things in their dark language.

As if drawn to the Ring, the troll targeted on Frodo within seconds. It sniffed and charged toward the hobbits and me. I shrieked and, forgetting the weapon in my hand, sprinted to the other side of the room. A goblin lunged at me. Scimitar drawn—and then, Legolas shot it in the head with an arrow.

"Thanks!" I cried before running away from another goblin.

I cannot say this was my most heroic battle. In fact, it's probably in the running for one of the most pathetic fights I've ever been in. The scene kind of went like this: Boromir sliced off a goblin's head. I ran past him, screaming. Gimli cleaved an orc in two with his axe. I ran past him, screaming. Sam whacked a goblin the face with a frying pan. I ran past him, screaming. Aragorn saved Pippin from the end of a goblin's blade. I ran past them, screaming. Legolas shot the cave troll in the nose. I ran past him, screaming. Gandalf sliced open a goblin's chest. I ran past him, screaming.

Okay, okay, so I'm not exactly portraying the battle realistically, but I'm not going to describe in details how scared and sniveling I was, trying to stay alive in the midst of swords and axes. I was desperate and frightened and eventually I found a hiding spot behind a stone pillar.

"Come to join me, Ana?"

"Frodo!" I cried, turning to see the hobbit's pale face. "You decided to hide behind this pillar too?"

Just then, the troll's club slammed into the pillar. Rock and debris came crashing down on our heads. I dove to the left. Frodo dove to the right. The troll went right too.

"Ow!" I sat up and rubbed my head. "Frodo?"

I couldn't see him amongst the dust and rubble of the fallen pillar. There was a grunt. I spun around just in time to see a goblin bringing his sword down towards my skull. With a shriek, I lifted the Sword Breaker above my head. The comb caught the blade between its teeth. Remembering what I could of Boromir's lessons, I twisted. The sword was wrenched out of the goblin's hands and thrown to the ground two feet away.

"Ah!" I stared at the fallen blade. "Hey…hey, I did it! I—"

The goblin head-butted me.

Well, so much for my victory. I think Legolas killed the goblin as I staggered away, blinking rapidly until the world came back to normal. Then, as soon as I could see again, I went back to running away from anything that moved.

"Frodo!" cried Merry.

I spun around just in time to see the troll run Frodo through with a spear. For a moment, everything seemed to freeze. Frodo's eyes went very wide. He let out a low moan before, back pressed against the stone wall, sinking to the ground. He laid there, motionless, the spear still embedded in his side.

A cold fear struck me, followed by the image of Merry with an arrow buried in his temple, his unseeing eyes open wide.

Not again.

They could not die again.

I saved them. I had I saved them. Moria was supposed to be safe.

"Ana, look out!" Gandalf drove his sword through the chest of a goblin that was about to slice off my head.

"Thanks," I gasped.

"Do not just stand there!" roared Gandalf. "Do something! Run around screaming for all that I care, but do not stand there like an incompetent fool!"

I blinked. "Wha—?"

"We are in the middle of a battle! Move!"

That seemed to snap me out of it. I gripped the handle of the Sword Breaker. Only trembling a little, I said, "Gandalf, if there is anyone good at fleeing, it's me." And then, I ran.

The rest of the battle is hazy to me. Afterwards, Boromir told me that Legolas brought down the cave troll with his arrows, while the others finished off the remaining goblins. What I do remember was the stillness after the last orc let out a cry of pain and died beneath Gimli's axe. Amongst the piles of corpses, the Fellowship stood, panting for breath and looking at one another to make certain we were all okay. Sam was nursing a wound on his right forearm, and Gimli had been bashed on the head. But everyone was alive…except Frodo. Merry and Pippin rushed to Frodo's side, crying out his name and weeping for their fallen friend.

But to all our surprise, the hobbit sat up, unharmed by the spear, and rubbed his chest.

"I am fine," he said.

"How is this possible?" asked Aragorn.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Frodo opened his shirt to reveal the white, glittering chain mail beneath.

"Mithril," murmured Gimli.

"What's that?" I asked. (Always the ignorant one.)

"It is a type of armor made by the dwarves," said Gandalf. "Bilbo received a shirt of Mithril from Thorin as a reward for helping to defeat Smaug." Gandalf smiled at Frodo. "I supposed he has passed it on now."

Frodo nodded and closed his shirt again. As he was redoing the buttons, I caught a glimpse of the golden ring. For a second, I could not tear my eyes away, and I felt an irrational wave of irritation towards Frodo when the Ring was hidden again. Quickly, I shook my head and turned away. I had my own problems without adding the One Ring to them.

Boromir too, I noticed, had seen the Ring, but unlike me, he had not taken his eyes from the silver chain around Frodo's neck. I punched him lightly in the shoulder and said, "Did you see? I unarmed a goblin with the Sword Breaker."

At first, Boromir stared at me with unseeing eyes. He blinked and then gave me a fond smile. "So it is possible for you to learn. Hopefully, next battle, you will be able to stand your ground."

"I wouldn't go that far…"

"More goblins will come," said Aragorn, nodding toward the ruined doors of the Chamber of Mazarbul. "We must leave now."

The moment of relief was gone, and the Fellowship jumped back into survival mode.

"We must head for the Bridge of Khazad-dûm," said Gandalf. "It is the only way out."

The Fellowship trusted Gandalf without question. There was no time to patch up Sam and Gimli's wounds as Gandalf led the way out of the stone chamber. The path Gandalf chose descended deeper into the mines. Legolas and Gimli followed behind the wizard, and then the hobbits and I scurried after them with Aragorn and Boromir bringing up the rear. Every once in a while, we would hear the shrill cry of a goblin or the deep pounding of war drums, and Gandalf would change directions.

I don't remember how long we ran for; time tended to slip away in the darkness of Moria. A heavy fear had settled around the Fellowship. Their faces were pale in the dim light emitting from Gandalf's staff. We were being chased by goblins and trolls. Our lives were on the line. We could die at any second.

And I was smiling.

"This is a life or death situation," said Sam when he noticed my cheerful expression. "Now is not the time for your humor, Ana."

"I'm not being humorous," I said. "I'm happy. Frodo is alive. He didn't die. No one died. Nope. Not this time."

"We do not have time to look for your lost mind," said Boromir. He gave me a little push forward. "Quickly."

I took two stumbling steps forward before passing under an archway. The narrow corridor opened up into the vast caverns of Moria.

Now that is a sight worth seeing. I have been many places during my Skipping adventures. I have been to the halls of the Lonely Mountain with its endless of treasure. I have seen the sea of grass in Rohan. I have seen the awe-inspiring White City of Gondor and the elegant House of Elrond. They were all stunning. But Moria... Moria is a whole different playing field. The ceilings stretched so high that I could not see where they ended, and the pillars were thick, each one decorated with its own unique, intricate carvings and Khuzdul runes. The stone was filled with the deep memories of the dwarven race. And yet, the hall was empty and lifeless. The only movement came from the Fellowship and me, sprinting across the stone ground, our footsteps echoing beneath the endless ceiling. The hall was beautiful and terrifying all at once. So vast and so empty. That was Moria.

My sight-seeing was brought to an abrupt halt by the arrival of goblins.

It started with a single shrill cry. Then, a response sounded on the other side of the hall. And then again in another corner. Soon, the ear-shattering cries were everywhere. Like ants, the goblins swarmed over the hall. They bared their teeth and waved their weapons so we could see the sharp blades. In rapid speed, they drew closer to us. They did not attack, savoring our fear. The Fellowship drew into a tight circle. Gandalf and Frodo's swords shone through the darkness, the only light in this cold place filled with deformed, shrieking goblins.

"There is no way out," said Legolas.

My earlier bubble of happiness had faded, and I was faced with grim reality. Yes, Frodo had survived the cave troll, but now we were faced with an even larger danger. They would all die—Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Legolas, Aragorn, Gandalf, Boromir—and I would have to watch them all die. Again. Oh God, I couldn't do it. I couldn't. Skip me away at least so I wouldn't have to watch. Please.

The goblins had formed a complete circle around us. There was no way out. We were trapped, facing the pointy ends of their weapons. Pippin and Merry huddled together, clutching their daggers, while Gimli bared his teeth and growled at the goblins. It didn't matter. It was the end. Again.

And then, a low crack echoed through the hall.

The goblins froze. A silence fell over them. Their pale eyes widened with horror.

A red light shone brilliantly in the distance, lighting the far end of the hall.

"What is it?" asked Boromir.

A single shriek. And then, the goblins fled.

I have never seen goblins run as fast as they did right then. One moment, they were threatening to kill us, excited for the taste of our blood. The next, the Fellowship stood alone in a vast, empty hall, staring at the growing fires in the distance.

"Well," I said, "that was convenient."

"They got a good look at my axe," said Gimli, laughing.

"Or your face," muttered Legolas.

Aragorn stepped closer to Gandalf. He shared none of our humor and spoke in a quick, tense voice. "What is it? What new evil draws closer?"

Gandalf frowned, perhaps searching his memory. "Fire and shadow. We cannot fight this new evil." With sudden urgency, Gandalf spun around. "Run! Fly! The Bridge of Khazad-dûm is nearest!"

"What is it?" asked Boromir.

Gandalf was already running. "A balrog is come."

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter XIII: One Does Not Smile In Moria

Durin's Bane. You remember Durin's Bane, right? Actually, you weren't there so you probably don't. Well, I remember Durin's Bane. I remember it all too well. Honestly, I would rather just pass over this part of the story. But when I started this, I resolved to tell you everything I remember that is relevant…and probably some things that aren't so relevant.

Durin's Bane is the name of a balrog. I think it was the last balrog. I vaguely recall an elf telling me about the War of Wrath in the First Age where almost all of the balrogs died. But I could be wrong, and there's actually more of these wretched balrogs lying in the dark places of the earth. Just a nice thought to help you sleep at night.

Anyways, in the Third Age, back before Khazad-dûm was even known as Moria, the dwarven king Durin VI and his mithril-miners dug too deep and awoke this balrog from its slumber in Dwarrowdelf. King Durin, his heir Náin, and countless other dwarves were killed by the balrog. Eventually, after a battle long fought, Durin's folk realized they would have to abandon the halls of their beloved Khazad-dûm.

Since their departure, no dwarves have ever reclaimed their ancient dwelling. Orcs and goblins have taken their place; I have heard speculation among dwarves that the dark lord worked out some sort of truce with the balrog. Who knows. But many dwarves have tried to reclaim their lost home. Balin, Óin, and Ori are but one example. King Thráin wanted to try during the War of Dwarves and Orcs as well, but he was dissuaded through much effort on the part of his advisors. Over the years, word of this nameless terror reached the elves, and they began referring to Khazad-dûm as Moria, which is translated to the common tongue as "black pit".

So, there you go, a nice history lesson. If you didn't before, you now know how the elven word "moria" came to refer to a dwarven kingdom. And you're probably rolling your eyes, telling me that I should just carry on with this already too long story. Fine. If you want to be like that.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, the Fellowship and I had met Durin's Bane, servant of Morgoth, demon of the First Age, Flame of Udûn, AKA the balrog.

Aragorn, Boromir, and Gimli wanted to stand their ground and fight, but Gandalf told us to run. So, run we did.

Aragorn led the way this time, sprinting back through the massive hall and taking a sharp left turn into a smaller passageway. Boromir followed close behind Aragorn, holding a flaming torch high above his head to light the way.

"Why must we run?" grunted Gimli. "We should stand and fight."

"This foe is beyond any of you," said Gandalf. "Run quickly!"

I tried to keep up with the others as best I could, but as I've said before and will probably say many times again, I am out of shape. You know, it's a sad day when hobbits with the short legs can run faster than you. My breath came in wheezing pants, and I found myself getting further and further behind the rest of the Fellowship. Finally, Legolas paused long enough to pull me onto his back.

"You are heavy," he said, sprinting after the Fellowship and catching up with startling speed.

"And you're a show off," I snapped before reluctantly muttering, "Thanks."

"It would be a terrible fate to die in this place so deep beneath the earth," said Legolas. "If you are to die, then die in the view of trees and sunlight. The dark is no place to be laid to rest."

"Meh." I tightened my grip on Legolas' shoulders so I wouldn't slip off. "It's not so bad down here, you know. If you can get past the goblins and really, really nasty balrog."

Aragorn turned right and came to an abrupt halt. I peered over Legolas's shoulder just in time to see Boromir run past Aragorn—only to reach a dead end where the stairs had been broken med-step. The drop led into an abyss to which the end could not be seen. Boromir wobbled on the edge of the stairs until Aragorn grabbed him by the back of the shirt and pulled him to safety.

"Back! Back!" roared Aragorn.

Legolas turned around and sprinted deeper into the corridor before leading the Fellowship down another corridor. This led into a vast hall that had one stone staircase descending from where the Fellowship stood down several floor. The ceiling of the hall was impossible high and the floor was nothing more than a black pit.

I felt like vomiting, and a shriek welled up in my throat. However, Legolas had me on his back so I couldn't exactly stop him from running fearlessly down the steps. I tried to keep my gaze fixed on Legolas' blond hair, ignoring the endless depths that stretched out beneath us.

We made it about halfway down the until we reached a gap in the crumbling staircase. The gap was only about four feet wide, but the fall was dreadful. Gimli accidentally knocked a piece of debris off the stairs and it fell down, down, down—never hitting anything, just falling—until it disappeared from sight. The bottom of this abyss had yet to be found.

Legolas—even with me on his back—easily jumped over the gap. He placed me on the ground before holding out his arms for the next person. Gandalf hopped the gap and Legolas steadied him to make sure he did not fall.

Another chunk of the staircase fell away, widening the gap by about a foot.

"Here!" Boromir grabbed Pippin and Merry, one with each arm, and leapt over the gap. He barely made it, but with the help of Legolas and Gandalf, all three were pulled to safety. I dragged Merry and Pippin to the back with me, and we watched with bated breath as the rest of the Fellowship faced the gap. Aragorn practically tossed Sam over the gap. Boromir and Legolas safely caught the hobbit.

"Gimli," said Legolas, holding out his arms.

Aragorn moved to help, but Gimli held up his hand. "Nobody tosses a dwarf."

Gimli jumped—he almost missed—but at the last second, Legolas caught hold of Gimli's beard and hauled him onto the staircase, away from the bottomless chasm below.

"You can join Ana in the ranks of the Beard-Defilers," muttered Gimli as he fixed his beard.

Legolas didn't answer as he faced a new problem. After Gimli had jumped, the stairs had crumbled some more. The gap was now around six or seven feet with Frodo and Aragorn still on the other side.

I buried my face in my hands. "They're going to make. They're going to make it. They're going to make it. They're going to make it."

"What are you doing?" asked Merry as he bounced up and down on the balls of his feet nervously.

"I'm trying to hypnotize myself into positive thinking. They're going to make it. They're going to make it. They're going to make it. They're going to make it.'

"Is this another strange ritual from your world?" Pippin never took his eyes off Frodo and Aragorn.

"No, this is my own weird ritual. They're going to make it. They're going to make it. They're going to make it."

Aragorn hurled Frodo across the gap with all his might. For a second, I thought Frodo was going to fall, but Legolas and Boromir reached out their arms and caught Frodo by the sleeves of his coat. With Gimli and Gandalf's help, they hauled Frodo onto the stone staircase. Safe. And. Sound.

I didn't have time to breathe a sigh of relief, because it was Aragorn's turn to jump next. My legs were shaking so much that I was afraid they would give out beneath me. Aragorn got a running start—leapt—he was in the air for a long time—landed. Legolas dragged Aragorn away from the edge as the entire Fellowship staggered with relief. And right about then is when the balrog caught up to us.

Damn it.

On the right side of the vast hall, there was a flash of red light. Flames crackled and danced about the ancient stone walls. I shielded my eyes against the blinding light. From amongst the fire, a shadow appeared. That was the first time I saw a balrog, and let me tell you, once was more than enough to last a lifetime. The balrog was the stuff of nightmares. Its face was a blackened skull with two thick horns curling out of his head, while the body was a massive black-burned skeleton given substance only by the scarlet flames that danced between its ribs. The balrog's feet and hands were claws, clinging to the stone walls of Moria. From across the abyss, it spotted us, standing huddled together on the broken stairs. Its eyes glowed red as it spread its black wings. A deep howled rose in its throat., and it released a high-pitched, piercing scream.

"Run!" cried Gandalf, hands plastered over his ears. "The bridge is near!"

I led the sprint down the stairs. I skipped steps, sometimes taking four of five at a time. At one point, I thought I was going to trip and fall over the edge of the staircase (apparently dwarves never thought of railings), but Aragorn caught my wrist and kept me stable. There wasn't even time to thank him as we continued running down the stairs.

The balrog took flight. It didn't stay in the air for long, since its wings were tattered and torn, so with its claws splayed, it landed on the far end of staircase. The already fractured stone crumbled under the balrog's great weight. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the balrog falling into the abyss. Then, it spread its wings and leapt out of the abyss, grabbing on to the walls with its clawed hands.

"Is it just me or did the balrog just have a clumsy moment?" I asked.

"I do not care right now!" snapped Aragorn, dragging me by the wrist after him.

At the time, I didn't say anything more, but now I want to point out just how embarrassing that clumsy moment was. I mean, I'm just saying, the balrog is like, "Oh, I'm going to kill you. I'm going to kill you. I'm going to kill you—oops, I tripped." That's not nearly as frightening.

Okay, where was I? Oh, yeah. In Moria. Filled with terror and running for my life.

We reached the end of the staircase and passed through a dark hallway. On the other side, the walls opened up to reveal the Bridge of Khazad-dûm. It was a simple bridge (didn't even have handrails), an arching structure of stone that spanned across a fifty foot wide abyss. The bridge was so thin that we could only cross one at a time. Boromir went first, then Frodo, Pippin, Gimli, Merry, Sam, and Legolas. Aragorn followed after, pulling a hesitant me by the wrist. Gandalf brought up the rear.

My heart was hammering in my chest, and I avoided looking down, knowing that if I did, the fear might just consume me and my whole body would give out. I focused on Boromir's back. If he could make it across, so could I. At least, I hoped so. It was probably a long way down to the bottom of the abyss.

I was barely halfway across the bridge when the balrog arrived. I shrieked as I felt the heat on my back. Aragorn sent a hard look over his shoulder and then sped up, dragging me after him. As soon as we reached solid ground, I retreated until my back hit a wall of stone, and I could only watch as the balrog stood on the other side of the abyss, cracking its flaming whip and letting out an ear-shattering roar.

My heart froze, and I clutched Aragorn's sleeve. "This is not good."

"No," he said. "It is not."

Gandalf had stopped halfway across the bridge.

The rest of the Fellowship stood the other side of the chasm. Their flight from the dark halls of Moria put on hold as they watched Gandalf face the balrog. Frodo turned pale and tried to run back across the bridge, but Aragorn hurried to stop him.

"Gandalf!" cried Frodo. "Gandalf!"

Gandalf paid us no attention. He faced the monstrous balrog, sword and staff raised. "You shall not pass."

It was amazing how strong and confident Gandalf could sound even when facing a balrog at least ten times his size.

I backed away, sliding along the wall until my shoulder bumped into Boromir's. Boromir barely spared me a glance as I muttered over and over again, "He's going to live. He's going to live. He's going to live. He's going to live. He's going to live."

"Not this again," groaned Merry. He spoke with confidence, but his hands shaking as he clutched Pippin's left arm for support.

"It worked last time!" My voice broke on the last word.

Merry's eyes met mine, and I could see the same panic and terror reflected in him that I felt. No amount of joking could relieve even a little of our fears.

Gandalf muttered something in an ancient tongue. The balrog brought its sword of flames crashing down on Gandalf's head, but Gandalf repelled the sword with magic. I don't know how wizard magic works, but a blue light filled the chasm and then disappeared. Gandalf remained untouched by the fire, and the balrog let out a terrible roar of frustration before stepping out onto the bridge. Its claws curled around the stone. The bridge trembled beneath the creature's weight.

"Gandalf!" screamed Frodo.

"No!" cried Sam.

The Fellowship's pleas were useless. Gandalf lifted his staff into the air. "You shall not pass!" And then he brought his staff crashing down on the bridge.

Silence.

Nothing happened.

"Is something supposed to happen?" I whispered.

And then, the bridge cracked in two. The balrog's half of the bridge crumbled beneath its feet, casting the balrog into the pit below, its claws stretching upwards, trying to find a handhold to save itself. The demon released a piercing cry that cut through me like metal on flesh. But my fear seemed unwarranted. Gandalf stood alone on the remains of the bridge, still holding his sword and staff. Slowly, with a wariness in his eyes, Gandalf turned to face the Fellowship.

But the balrog was not done yet.

Even as he fell, the balrog snapped its flaming whip. The string of fire wrapped around Gandalf's ankle. For a moment, surprise flashed across the wizard's face and then acceptance. The Fellowship could only watch as Gandalf was dragged down into the abyss along with the balrog.

We could not speak. We could only stare at the spot where Gandalf had last stood.

I kept waiting for Gandalf to pull himself back up from the ledge and reveal that he had caught himself at the last second. But it didn't happen. And slowly, painfully, it dawned on me. He was gone. He was really gone.

Frodo was still trying to save Gandalf. He wanted to run out to the bridge, but Aragorn kept a firm grasp on Frodo's arm. Goblins had appeared on the other side of the chasm. Aragorn dragged Frodo away from the bridge, towards the ascending staircase. Tears were falling from Gimli's eyes, and Legolas, stone-faced, patted the dwarf on the shoulder before they hurried up the stairs. Merry and Pippin were holding onto on another as they wept, trying to keep themselves moving forward. Sam walked on his own, but his head was bent and his eyes were red.

I was not crying.

I sprinted ahead of everyone else, up the stairs and through the exit. I passed through the doorway, carved with Khuzdul runes, and stepped out onto the white-stone mountain slopes. It was midday, and pale gold sunlight filled my vision.

"Freedom. Freedom and sunlight." I stretched my arms up over my hand, soaking up the sunlight and trying so desperately to ignore the jarring pain in my chest.

"Ana," said Boromir, stepping out onto the mountainside after me. "Ana, stop."

"Stop what?" I was smiling so hard that it hurt.

A single tear trickled down Boromir's face. His legs gave out beneath him, and he sat down on the side of the mountain. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a hoarse croak. "Stop."

"He won't stay dead," I said, dropping my hands to my sides. "I will save him. I can change it. You'll see. I can change it."

"What can you change?" asked Pippin.

"I will save him," I continued,. "I will Skip, and I will save him. I'll tell him not to fight the balrog and, and, and—and then he won't die."

I didn't even think about what effect my words would have on the Fellowship. I was too absorbed with the idea of saving Gandalf that I didn't notice the hope entering the hobbits' eyes.

"Ana," said Boromir again. "Stop."

Aragorn placed a hand on my shoulder. "Not even you can put an end to death."

"I have to try!" I cried, stepping out of his reach. "I have to try. I've done it before, and I have to try. We could have taken a different route or we could have run faster. There must be some way…"

"What could you change?" asked Aragorn. "You have already told us that through Moria was the only way. The balrog must have struck some bargain with Sauron. It knew of the path we would take. Gandalf fought the balrog to protect us. If he had not, we all would have perished. Gandalf has fallen. It was a choice he made so that the rest of us could live. Some things are meant to happen."

"And some things aren't mean to happen!" My voice broke on the last word. "Am I supposed to just let him stay dead? I can do something! I can do something!"

I stopped, my breath coming in heavy gasps, because I couldn't really think of anything to change. There must be something, maybe I could stop Pippin from knocking that skeleton into the well. The Fellowship could pass through Moria undetected. But the balrog had been waiting on the path to Khazad-dûm. It had been waiting.

My head started to spin, and I couldn't think straight. All could see was Gandalf falling into the abyss. "This is my fault. Maybe you should have taken the Gap of Rohan. But that ends even worse. Moria was supposed to be safe. Why wasn't it safe? Why?"

And then, suddenly, I couldn't take it anymore. Aragorn was right. Somewhere, deep in my heart, I knew he was right. Some things are meant to happen. But, God, it hurt so much. I sunk to the ground beside Boromir, letting the violent sobs take over my body.

It wasn't even really fair for me to cry. Of everyone present, I knew Gandalf the least, and to be honest, he didn't even like me. I wept more for me. For the fact that I hadn't managed to save everyone, that I could only change so much. What was the point of all this Skipping? To travel from world to world, meeting people, making new friends, learning their futures? Balin, Óin, and Ori were going to die. How would I face them when I next saw the Company? How would I manage to smile and keep my secrets when I knew their fates? And what if I met Gandalf in his past, before his death? What would I say? These were the painful, the questions that ran through me. I chased them, searching for answers, but there weren't any. Especially not for the one that kept coming back to me, over and over again. What was the point of all this Skipping?

Beside me, Boromir had stopped crying, and now he sat on the ground beside me, staring out with empty eyes at the forest that spanned eastward from the Misty Mountains. Merry and Pippin held on to one another as they cried, and Sam knelt with his face buried in his hands. Legolas and Gimli both stood a little apart from the others, Legolas murmuring something in elvish, while Gimli stared up at the east-gate of Moria. Frodo had wandered away on his own, his lonely back to the rest of the Fellowship.

I couldn't tell you know how long we stayed on the slopes of the Misty Mountains, fighting with our grief. It felt like an eternity, but likely, it wasn't more than a few minutes. By some miracle Aragorn had managed to hold himself together and he said, "We must leave quickly."

"Give us a moment for pity's sake!" said Boromir as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs," said Aragorn. "On your feet, Sam." He helped the hobbit to a standing position. "Where is Frodo?"

"Over there," murmured Sam.

After a moment, Boromir removed his arm from my shoulders, and he dragged himself to his feet. I watched, fighting to hold back my tears, as Boromir helped Merry and then Pippin up. Finally, he turned to me. "Can you stand, Ana?"

I wiped the tears off my face with the back of my hand. This wasn't me. "Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about me so much. I mean, I know I suck at running and fighting and doing pretty much anything useful—but I can stand."

"You are terrible at coping with grief," said Boromir. His gaze was pitying.

"Shut up," I said, getting to my feet. "I'll have you know, I cried just like everyone else during the Titanic. I can totally handle grief."

"I have no idea what the Titanic is," said Boromir.

"She has returned to making references unknown to the rest of us," said Legolas. "She must be fine."

I rolled my eyes. "The Titanic was this huge ship , and the people who made it bragged about it being indestructible. So a bunch of people wanted to sail on it. The ship was a huge thing. Then, of course, the boat hit an iceberg and sank. So much for indestructible."

"They should have been watching out for the iceberg," said Legolas. "That was not very clever of them."

"They made a mov—story of it." I didn't feel like explaining a movie to them right then. "With a romance. It was this rich upper class girl and a poor boy. But then the Titanic sank and they landed in the water. She was on top of a piece of driftwood and he was in the water. In the end, she lived but he died and it was so sad."

"Why did they not both get on the driftwood?" asked Legolas.

"Because…" I frowned. "I don't know. Because she kept falling off."

"She seems selfish," said Legolas.

"You people cannot understand a love story."

Legolas smiled, but his smile soon faded and a shadow passed over his face. I didn't have to ask what he was thinking about. He no longer looked like a stupid pretty-boy elf, but someone old and ageless who had seen more things than I cared to imagine. I didn't like this Legolas. I wanted the blond elf I made fun of to come back.

"I want some coffee," I said, searching for a topic, anything that would take my mind off Gandalf and the balrog. "A nice latte maybe. That'd be good. Have you ever had a latte before? Probably not. Lattes are amazing. You should try one sometime."

No one was listening to me. Their heads bent as they stared at the ground with red eyes. The Fellowship stood together, but despite Aragorn's desperate efforts to get everyone moving, no one had the heart for it. Grief had taken the Fellowship.

It had taken me too.

"I'm going to sit down with my coffee and watch a movie. What movie should I watch? Titanic, duh. I need popcorn to go with the Titanic though… Coffee and popcorn sound really gross together. Maybe not… Oh, I know, I'll eat the popcorn at the beginning of the movie and then drink the coffee at the end. How does that sound? Does anyone want to join me?"

"We head for Lórien," said Aragorn.

"I'll take that as a no."

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter XIV: Tree Climbing For Experts

Aragorn led the way down the rough mountain slopes and across the grasslands. We alternated between walking and running for a couple hours before Aragorn acknowledged that the Fellowship needed a rest for both bodies and hearts. We collapsed onto the ground, breathing deeply and trying to keep the memories of Gandalf at bay. The borders of Lórien still a little ways off, but we could see the outlines of the rich green trees that grew closely together.

"I've been to Lórien before," I said, pushing away the image of fire and shadow that flickered through my mind.

"Have you?" asked Boromir.

"I Skipped there once. When I was sixteen, I think. That's where I met Elladan and Elrohir for the first time."

"I do not trust Lórien," grumbled Gimli. "They say a powerful sorceress lives in those woods."

Aragorn, who refused to take a seat during the rest break, looked down at Gimli and said, "Words spoken only by those who cannot comprehend what wonders lay in the secret places of the earth."

Gimli scoffed but said no more on the matter.

"Elves live there?" asked Sam.

"Yes," said Legolas. "I have long desired to look upon Lothlórien. If only I could do so under happier circumstances."

"You just had to bring that up," I muttered as an atmosphere of gloom was cast once again over us.

The thin sun went behind a cloud as we remained seated on the grass. I watched as the dark feelings ate away at the Fellowship. There was no way I could understand exactly how everyone else was feeling. I wasn't as close to Gandalf as they were. But at the same time, there was no way they could understand the emotions that ran through me. I was afraid, because unlike the rest of the Fellowship, I would have to see Gandalf again. At some point during my Skippings, I would most likely return to the Company and Gandalf would be there. I would have to look at him and talk with him and journey with him… And I would have to do so knowing how Gandalf would die, knowing that one day he would face the balrog on the Bridge of Khazad-dûm and he would fall into fire and shadow...

"We must press on," said Aragorn.

I was yanked out of my thoughts, and I looked up at Aragorn's grim face. I no doubt that he was grieving just as much if not more than the rest of us. The only one who might rival Aragorn's friendship with Gandalf was Frodo. However, unlike Frodo, Aragorn refused to let grief wear him down. He had stepped into the role of leader, and he was doing his best to live up to Gandalf's legacy. He surveyed the downtrodden Fellowship and said, "We have almost reached the borders of the woods."

Slowly, with Aragorn's encouragement, the Fellowship resurfaced from their thoughts and memories. They pulled themselves back together in whatever way they could and then prepared to continue the journey.

We covered the remainder of the distance to Lórien pretty quickly—or at least, it was quick in my memories. About halfway there, my muscles refused to run anymore, and Boromir ended up carrying me the rest of the way. He gave not a word a protest, but I'm sure he cursed me out a thousand times in his head until we reached the border of Lórien and I walked on my own two feet again.

I remember entering the forest and feeling very, for lack of a better word, heavy. Even though I had been to Lórien before, the tall, golden trees and smiling brothers of my memories seemed as if they'd come from a completely different place. The branches of the trees seemed to close in around me, weaving together to form a sort of cage.

Yeah, see, I just don't think I'm a tree person. When I looked around, I saw that with each step deeper into Lórien, Legolas seemed to walk a little lighter, while Gimli grew more wary and kept looking around suspiciously as if he expected an elf to jump out of the trees and shoot him. Boromir shifted nervously, and while I couldn't tell from his solemn expression if he liked or disliked the forest, I knew he was uncomfortable. Aragorn, on the other hand, moved through the trees with a sort of familiarity. The hobbits seemed entirely in awe of the vast forest. Their eyes were wide as they looked around, taking in the smooth tree trunks and canopy of pale leaves.

"Time does not pass here," said Boromir softly.

"It's kind of creepy," I said.

Looking over his shoulder, Legolas gawked at me. "You dare to call Lothlórien creepy?"

"I agree with the Beard Defiler," said Gimli. "There is something that does not sit right here. It is probably the elves. They use witchcraft to move about in secret."

Aragorn sighed. "Dwarves must put more effort into keeping an open mind."

"So must elves," said Gimli. "My father still has not forgotten his unjust imprisonment at the hand of the Mirkwood elves."

"Could perhaps both dwarves and elves do with keeping more open minds?" suggested Sam.

Legolas completely ignored the hobbit and said, "Your father was not mistreated."

"As much as I enjoy watching elves and dwarves bicker," I said. "It might be better to speak a little more quietly…"

"You enjoy watching elves and dwarves bicker?" asked Merry.

"Oh yeah." I glanced about the trees nervously before continuing, "It's really amusing. Try standing in a room with Thorin and Elrond together. It's like majestic versus grand."

Aragorn laughed softly. "Elrond is very grand."

I had momentarily forgotten that Elrond had raised Aragorn. However, it seemed Aragorn didn't have any problem with me teasing his foster father, so I said, "He even manages to make his delicate tiara seem grand and intimidating. I was quite impressed."

Aragorn smiled. "Arwen has a similar diadem, and it possesses on a different air upon her brow."

"A matching set?" I asked eagerly. "I didn't know Elrond was that kind of dad."

"Perhaps Celebrían gifted them," suggested Legolas.

I was so distracted by the conversation that I almost walked into an arrowhead. I stepped backwards, blinking rapidly and gawking at the sharp point of the metal. I bumped into Boromir, and he reached out a hand to steady me, never taking his eyes from the group of elves that encircled us, their bows drawn.

"Uh, hi," I said, hands already raised in surrender. "We're just, um, passing through."

The elves shared something with one another in Sindarin. A couple of them laughed, and I had the sneaking suspicious that they were talking about Elrond and Arwen's matching tiaras. But their laughter was cut short when the commander of their group said something sharp in Sindarin. Their commander was, of course, tall and fair with a pretty-boy disposition (the curse of being an elf).

"We recognize amongst you an elf of our northern kin," said the commander. "Speak now, and tell us your purpose in entering Lothlórien."

"We are not at leisure to give away our business so freely," said Aragorn. "But I can tell you this. We departed from Rivendell and have passed through Moria. We are weary, and we seek shelter under the trees of Lórien."

The commander frowned. "And who might these travelers be?"

"I am Aragorn son of Arathorn. This is Legolas, a prince of Mirkwood, Gimli son of Glóin, and Boromir of Gondor. With us are four hobbits: Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Meriadoc Brandybuck, and Peregrin Took." Aragorn paused. "And this…this is Ana."

"Ana Stonbit," I said, as I felt I deserved to have a last name as well. "I'm not really part of the group. I just kind of show up and help out from time to time."

"'Help out'?" muttered Gimli in disbelief.

A couple of the elves eyed me curiously. I definitely wasn't attractive enough to tempt an elf, but I didn't think I was funny-looking enough to warrant such blatant staring.

"Aragorn?" said the commander. "I have heard of you. The lost king of Gondor and an elf-friend." He nodded once. "I am Haldir, the marchwarden who guards the northern borders of this forest. These are my brothers, Rúmil and Orophin." He gestured to the two elves beside him. Both of them were blond and possessed pretty-boy traits. "You are fortunate, Aragorn son of Arathorn. I have heard whispers of your quest."

"Then, can you help us?" asked Aragorn. "We fear we may be pursued by goblins from Moria."

Haldir nodded. "Come this way."

Leaving behind the rest of the elven guards, Haldir and his brothers led us deeper into the forest. I don't know how long we walked or how far—time really has no meaning in Lórien. Eventually, Haldir came to a stop beside a pale tree trunk that was thicker than a car. I tipped my head back and saw that the trunk extended high into the forest to the point where the branches grew so thick that I couldn't see what lay above them. My stomach churned as I realized this tree was even taller than my apartment building.

Rúmil scampered up the tree with incredible grace, closely followed by Orophin. Haldir turned to us and said, "Our home rests at the top."

"Up there?" wondered Sam aloud.

"If you expect me to climb that, you do not know dwarves very well," said Gimli.

"Or hobbits," said Sam.

I couldn't see the house anywhere amongst the tree branches. "Yeah. This is like tree climbing for experts. I can already see how this is going to end. I'm going to get about halfway up the tree, with a lot of help from Boromir, and then I'm going to slip and fall and go splat on the ground."

"You will not splat," said Boromir. "You will Skip to another place."

He was probably right, of course. But I couldn't help wondering if this would be the one time the Skip didn't work. Already I could feel the air rushing about me as I plummeted downward.

"Ana understands the hobbit predicament very well," said Merry. "Is there not a place on the ground we can stay?"

"Not unless you wish to be found by orcs," said Haldir. "Here, Frodo shall go first and I shall go behind him to help him climb the tree. Then Merry shall go with Aragorn to help him. Legolas will help Pippin. Boromir will help Sam." Haldir paused. "I am sure Ana and Master Gimli can find the strength to climb the tree on their own."

Gimli muttered something in Khuzdul that I'm sure was not very nice.

"How about this," said Aragorn. "Legolas shall help Gimli, Haldir shall help both Merry and Pippin, Boromir shall help Ana, and I shall help both Frodo and Sam."

"I will not be helped by an elf," grumbled Gimli.

"Very well then," said Aragorn, his voice tight as he reached the end of his patience. "I will help you up the tree, and Legolas shall help Frodo and Sam."

"Ah, dwarves," I said, "their stubbornness is so dear to my heart." I turned to Boromir. "You'd better not let me go splat."

"I make no promises," said Boromir with a wicked grin. "I still remember all those times you gave me insult when drinking."

"I don't like this arrangement!"

But it was too late. Frodo, Sam, and Legolas had already begun climbing the tree, and Merry, Pippin, and Haldir were about to begin. I was stuck with Boromir. I could only hope he was joking about letting me fall to my (possible) death.

The journey up the tree went pretty much how we expected. The hobbits were not bad at climbing; however, some of the gaps between branches were so large that Legolas and Haldir would have to lift the hobbits so that they could grab onto the next branch. Gimli grumbled the whole way up the tree, but he refused to accept help from Aragorn despite the fuss he'd made earlier. Boromir and I brought up the rear, and well, let's just say this was not one of my finer moments in life.

"There is a branch just above your head," said Boromir. "Just reach out and grab it."

"I'm going to fall!" I wailed.

"You are lying down on a branch. You will not fall."

"I am going to slip and fall!" Memories of the air rushing about me as the pavement came ever closer filled my mind, and I wrenched my eyes shut.

"I am right here beneath you. If you fall, I will catch you."

I closed my eyes and tried to think happy thoughts—like coffee and dwarves and solid ground.

"Why does she travel with you?" asked Haldir from somewhere further up the tree. "She seems more likely to cause your deaths than prevent it."

"We do not have a choice with her," said Legolas. "She comes and goes at unpredictable times."

I'm not actually sure when my acrophobia started, but I think it had something to do with the fact that I would throw myself off buildings on a regular basis. I knew what it felt like to plummet towards the ground, the concrete coming closer and closer, only to be snatched away mid-descent. I was convinced that one of these times the Skip wasn't going to work. My death would be explained away as suicide, and my parents would spend the rest of their lives wondering what they could have done to help me.

"The branch, grab the branch," said Boromir.

I opened one eye to see that he was pointing helplessly at the branch just above me. It wasn't an easy reach for me, though if I stood, I could probably grab hold of it. Still, the thought of standing on the smooth tree branch was enough to make my head spin.

I glanced down at Boromir and helplessly shook my head. "Maybe I should just stay here until the Skip takes me away."

Boromir released a long, exhausted sigh. "We will try a different way."

He climbed up the tree until he came to rest on the same branch as me. The branch trembled under his added weight. I yelped and tightened my grip on the branch.

"Get on," said Boromir as he turned and sat down so that I had easy access to his broad back. "I will carry you up."

"I don't want to."

"We cannot leave you here," said Boromir. "You will be spotted by the goblins of Moria."

"Goblins?" My voice trembled on the word.

"They will follow us into Lórien. If you remain on this branch, they will spot you and try to make you fall…" He trailed off, letting my imagination take over.

"Fine," I said before adding, "Sorry I'm such a bother."

"I have grown accustomed to it."

Trembling, I inched into a sitting position and then wrapped my arms around Boromir's neck. He picked me up, positioned me properly on his back, and began climbing the tree at a much, much quicker pace. Of course, every time he so much as wobbled, I shrieked something about "splattered corpses", but for the most part, the rest of the journey up the tree was uneventful.

Boromir and I were the last ones to reach the elven treehouses (that's really what they were, though the elves call them flets). The flets were basically connected wooden platforms built around the trunks of the trees. The flets didn't have walls or even rails, because according to Legolas, for the elves, those things were not necessary. Well, they may not have been necessary for elves, but for Gimli and me—oh man, was it scary.

When I first stood upright on the wooden platform, I hadn't been able to move a step. I could only watch as Haldir led the rest of the Fellowship across the connected flets. The backs of Aragorn and Legolas kept getting further and further away. Finally, Boromir placed a hand on my shoulder and carefully guided me forward. "Keep walking. I will not let you fall."

"Don't look down," I muttered to myself.

In front of me, Gimli stiffened.

"What is it?" I asked. "What did you see?"

"I looked down," whispered Gimli.

"Is it far?" I asked.

Gimli nodded. "Very far."

I glanced down and almost fainted.

"Who was it that said not to look down?" asked Boromir in exasperation.

I like to think this was a bonding experience for Gimli and me. Every time we came to one of the walkways connecting one treehouse to another, we both shuddered and had to give one another words of encouragement before crossing. Gimli always went first, testing the wooden boards and promising me that it was safe to walk on. Boromir followed us, giving us a little nudge whenever we came near to chickening out.

The Fellowship continued along the flets for some time until we reached a wide flet that spanned two trees, located deep within the boundaries of Lothlórien, where Haldir's brothers were waiting. Orophin and Rúmil conversed in Sindarin, but they stopped talking when we arrived and turned their wary gazes on us.

"What delayed you?" asked Rúmil.

Haldir glanced over his shoulder at me. "We had some problems when it came to climbing trees."

"The dwarf?" asked Rúmil.

"Surprisingly, no. The short one beside the dwarf."

I smiled at waved at the elves. "My name's Ana, in case you forgot."

The elves ignored me, and Haldir announced that we would spend the night in that treehouse. Eventually, the Fellowship settled down. Aragorn and Legolas had a long conversation with the elves, while the rest of us sat on the wooden floor, as far from the edges of the flet as we could manage. Frodo tried to listen to parts of the elves' conversation, and I think he got the gist of it, but the rest of us were clueless. Besides the sound of Sindarin and the occasional rustling of leaves, no one made a sound. Of course, along with the silence came the ever-creeping memories of an endless chasm.

"I don't think I'm an elf kind of girl," I said a little louder than necessary.

"Of course not," scoffed Boromir. "You are human."

"That's not what I meant," I said. "Some people are like, 'Oh my God! It's an elf! He's so hot! I want to be an elf too!'" I waved my hands about in some weird imitation of a rabid fan. "But me? I'm friends with a couple elves, sure. But honestly, elves are overrated. I like majesty. Elves don't have majesty. They're snobbish and graceful, but they're not majestic."

"You party enough to be an elf," said Pippin.

"She parties like a dwarf," said Gimli proudly. (We had really bonded during our journey across the flets.)

Boromir nodded. "We have already established that Ana is a dwarfish woman."

"I think," said Sam suddenly. "I am a hobbitish hobbit. While elves are wonderous, I do not think I get along with them in the way Master Frodo does. I am not a dwarf for certain, and I do not think I am a man."

"You are a hobbitish hobbit," I said, nodding.

"What am I?" wondered Pippin.

"You and Merry are manish hobbits."

Boromir laughed at the shocked expressions on Merry and Pippin's faces. "They are indeed. By the end of this adventure, you two will have grown another foot and learned how to ride horses."

"I think not!" cried Pippin indignantly. "I like being a hobbit."

"Boromir is a dwarfish man then," said Merry.

"Nah." I frowned at Boromir, thinking it over, and then decided, "Boromir is a manish man…and Gimli is a dwarfish dwarf."

"Aragorn is an elfish man," said Sam eagerly. "And Frodo is also an elfish hobbit."

We all looked at Aragorn and Frodo, who were both absorbed in listening to Haldir speak in Sindarin. Legolas was there as well, nodding along with whatever Haldir was saying.

"Legolas?" wondered Pippin.

"He is an orcish elf," said Gimli.

I shook my head. "He's pretty elfish. Though, you could think that being elfish is an insult if you want."

"Are you attempting to insult me?" asked Legolas, interrupting his conversation with Haldir and the others.

"A little," I admitted. "It depends what you consider an insult."

"We are trying to establish what peoples we most resemble," said Boromir. "Ana claims you are an elfish elf."

"I do not see the insult," said Legolas, frowning. "I am an elf."

"That is the insult," muttered Gimli.

Haldir stiffened, while Rúmil translated what was being said for Orophin.

"I should think," said Haldir. "That being a dwarf is the greatest insult of all."

"Hey!" I cried. "Dwarves are majestic."

"Dwarves? Majestic?" Rúmil paused in his translating to scoff at me. "Clearly, you have not spent much time around dwarves."

"Clearly, you have not met Thorin Oakenshield."

After Rúmil translated this, Orophin snorted and said something back in Sindarin, which caused both Rúmil and Haldir to laugh.

"What?" I asked, looking between the three of them.

Despite understanding Sindarin, Legolas and Aragorn seemed just as confused as I did. Merry asked Frodo what had been said, and Frodo explained that he only understood "to not know".

"Thorin Oakenshield was a King Under the Mountain who could not look past his own gold," said Legolas at last. Even though his words were harsh, there was no sting in his tone.

However, that set me on edge. Everything from Legolas's tone to his use of past tense caused my chest to tightened. I gasped out the words, "Don't say anything else."

Legolas blinked, while the rest of the Fellowship looked at me with puzzled expressions.

"I don't want to know," I said. "Don't tell me." There might have been pity in Gimli's face, but I closed my eyes so I couldn't see it. "I don't want to know."

When I opened my eyes a moment later, none of the Fellowship was looking at me. The hobbits had hurriedly occupied themselves with talking about the Shire, while Boromir explained Gondor fighting styles to Gimli. Aragorn resumed talking to the Lórien elves in Sindarin.

Only Legolas was still watching me, his expression a hard mask. "You travel to the time of Thorin and Company."

It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyway.

"You said you were look—"

Legolas never got to finish what he was going to say, because Orophin gestured for silence with a wave of his hand. The Fellowship ceased their conversations as Orophin, Rúmil, Haldir, and Aragorn gazed down at the forest floor. Legolas and I both moved towards the edge of the flet, but I stopped before I could see the ground, realizing that I'd rather not know how far it was to fall. Instead, I had Merry explain what he saw to me. Just as Boromir had predicted, a party of goblins had entered Lórien.

"They are hunting you," said Haldir.

"They will not go much further," said Rúmil, picking up his bow.

The three Lórien elves quickly left the flet. Through the branches of the trees, I saw that they were joined by ten other elves in armor. As the elves descended from the flets, Gimli and I both refused to look down, so Legolas had to narrate what was going on to us. With their arrows, the elves quickly eliminated the hunting party of goblins; however, the goblins were soon replaced by a second group from Moria, this one made up of orcs. The elves swiftly shot these intruders as well from the advantage of the trees.

"As much as elves annoy me sometimes," I said, "I have to admit they are very effective at orc hunting."

Gimli nodded in agreement.

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter XV: Hello Cute Neighbor

I Skipped some time during the night. We slept in the flets, planning to continue the journey the next morning. Haldir promised to take the Fellowship to Caras Galadhon, the heart of Lothlórien. When I'd met them five years ago, Elladan and Elrohir had talked about taking me to Caras Galadhon, but I'd Skipped before we'd arrived. While I was not a fan of Lothlórien and its eerie atmosphere, I did want to see the city of the mallorn tree. Of course, since when did the Skips care what I wanted?

That night, I had closed my eyes for a short rest, looking forward to seeing the famed city at last, but when I woke up, I was lying on cement, taking a nap in an empty parking space.

"She's awfully young to be homeless," someone said.

"Poor thing. Should we call the police? I don't think she's allowed to sleep there."

"Isn't that dangerous? She could get run over."

"Ew. I wouldn't want some homeless girl on the tires of my car!"

I sat up and brushed some dirt out of my hair. I glanced over at the passers-by and some middle school girls actually squeaked in fear. I rolled my eyes.

After waving at them, I got to my feet and made my way across the parking lot. How many times had I Skipped back and forth from this parking lot? It had all started with my job interview at the restaurant. Since then, I'd survived Caradhras and then watched the Fellowship die, I'd escape Rivendell with the Company and then almost been killed by thunder giants, and I'd ended up in Moria with the living Fellowship only to have Gandalf fall into the abyss with the balrog.

I leaned back against a brick wall and let out a long sigh. I'd Skipped from this parking lot three times. Three times over… How long must it have been? Almost two weeks? God. Almost two weeks' worth of Skipping back and forth, and I still hadn't found even a trace of Nick and Bonnie.

The strip mall was bustling with life. I watched a middle-aged couple walk into a clothing store, holding hands, and a mother take her baby from his car seat and place him in his stroller. I closed my eyes.

Nothing. For that sweet moment, there was nothing. I wasn't expected to do anything in Ohio; no one yelling at me for missing classes or work. I wasn't running for my life or being called crazy in Middle Earth. Nothing. For that one moment, I was completely at peace.

When I opened my eyes, I was standing in the Inn of the Prancing Pony.

Well, so much for that.

The inn was so crowded and full of life that no one noticed a short, blonde woman appearing out of thin air. I stood in the back corner of the inn's main hall, removed from the people, ale, and festive cheer. A man lifted a hobbit up onto a barstool. The hobbit laughed and ordered a round of drinks on him. A woman cackled loudly at some story her companion told, while a group of hobbits gossiped by the fireplace. A lone, majestic dwarf sat alone at a wooden table, helping himself to a plate of food and reading something on a worn piece of parchment. In case you haven't guessed, that lone, majestic dwarf was none other than Thorin Oakenshield.

I made my way through the crowds of the inn, careful not to knock over anyone's drinks and cause a bar fight. When I reached Thorin's table, tucked away in the corner of the hall, I rested my elbows on the back of the empty wooden chair opposite him. Grinning broadly, I said, "Fancy meeting you here."

His eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise and then immediately narrowed in annoyance. He picked up the worn piece of parchment from the table and folded it carefully before slipping it into his rucksack on the floor. "Why must you insist on following me?"

"I'm not following you," I said indignantly. "I told you, I Skip. I can't control where I end up, you know that." I squinted suspiciously at Thorin. "What time is it? When was the last time we met?"

"You appeared in the Blue Mountains," said Thorin, "and requested that I aid you in your search for your friends."

"Oh." I settled in the empty chair before he could try to send me away. "So we haven't gotten to the majestic discussion yet."

The corners of Thorin's mouth twitched ever so slightly.

"Don't worry," I said. "In the coming days or weeks or months—I'm not sure what time it is—I'm going to inflate your ego. By a lot."

"The warning is most appreciated," said Thorin.

My eyes narrowed. "Is that sarcasm I detect?"

Thorin didn't answer and only asked, "What brings you to Bree, Ana?"

I sighed. "I told you. I Skip. I have no control over where I end up. One moment I'll be fighting trolls, the next I'll be drinking with frigging elves in Rivendell or waking up on the sidewalk while a mother and child gawk at me. Like I said, no control."

Thorin he took a sip of his ale and said no more.

"What brings you to Bree?" I asked.

"When you visited in the Blue Mountains, you heard the purpose of this meeting."

I paused, trying remember what had been discussed in the Blue Mountains beside chopping off my head to make me Skip. Finally, I asked, "Erebor?"

A grim nod was my only response.

"So, you're meeting with Gandalf the about Erebor?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Isn't that exciting? You'll get to see the halls of Erebor once again—the stone carvings and mountain of gold—once you get past the dragon, of course." I hesitated. The memory of Legolas's words was still fresh in my mind, and at the Council of Elrond as well, Glóin had told me of the dwarves' success, but he had also hinted at Thorin's future. It wasn't a happy future. I lowered my gaze and said, "Erebor is beautiful."

"Yes," said Thorin. "No one knows that better than me."

I forced my mouth into a smile. "What was it like? Before. I've only ever seen Erebor when haunted by a dragon. But I want to know. What was Erebor like in all its splendor?"

Thorin watched me for a moment, a curious look in his blue eyes. Perhaps he was wondering whether I was worth telling this too. However, he must have decided in my favor, because Thorin leaned back in his chair, took a sip of ale, and said, "If you were to empty the Lonely Mountain of all its gold, of all its gemstones and jewels and metals, it would still be the most wondrous place in this world. The Dwarf Kingdom was carved out from the heart of the mountain. The walls are the colors of blackened emeralds, and when the golden sunlight shines through the windows of the mountain walls, the pillars and floors and ceilings transform into the purest green. Green and gold were the colors of the mountain…and white. White for the most precious gem of all—the Arkenstone."

There was a faraway look in Thorin's blue eyes, as though he was actually standing in the caverns of Erebor and witnessing the King's Hall filled with golden light. A faint smile played at his lips, but Thorin seemed not to notice.

"I have stood in a hall filled from floor to ceiling with gold, silver, and gems beyond price," said Thorin, "and yet my gaze was ensnared by the Arkenstone. It shines from within, emitting a white light that is pure and untouched by the evils of this world." Thorin took a deep breath. "You cannot imagine it."

"It sounds beautiful," I murmured.

"There are some things in this world," said Thorin, "that I cannot describe to you. I can tell you of the land that once belonged to the king of carven stone, the lord of silver fountains, but you will never understand its true wonders. You can wander the halls of the Lonely Mountain yourself, but that does not mean you will understand how beautiful the Lonely Mountain is to me and my kin." Thorin finally turned his sight away from the distant halls and met my gaze. "The Lonely Mountain is our home. And we have waited long, so long, for this chance. We have stood on the cliffs of the Misty Mountains and gazed across the expanse of Mirkwood to see the barest tip of the Lonely Mountain." Thorin's face twisted ever so slightly. "You, right now, cannot imagine the pain. To be able to look upon our home, but know that we cannot return. Our home. Our wondrous home has been lost for so long."

"But you're going to reclaim it," I said.

Thorin's mouth curled into a smile. His eyes moved beyond me—to look at someone standing behind me—and he became serious again. I twisted in my seat and saw the familiar wrinkled face of Gandalf the Gray.

I stiffened. My whole body was frozen, as if someone had grabbed hold of my heart and squeezed it tight, suffocating me from within. It was too soon. Far too soon. My last memory of Gandalf involved him falling off a bridge in the grasp of a balrog. Oh God, what should I do? Should I warn Gandalf? But this was in the time of the Company, too far in the past, right? What could I tell him? Not to enter the Mines of Moria? But that was the only want the Fellowship could survive. Would it ruin the future if I told Gandalf how he dies?

Gandalf was staring, waiting for me to speak. So, in the end, I managed a weak, "Hi. Long time no see."

Gandalf's eyes narrowed. "Have we met before? I do not recall."

"Ana Stonbit." I gulped and said, "I've met you, but I guess you haven't met me yet."

"Thorin Oakenshield." Rather than broach the subject of the meeting, Gandalf looked me over with suspicion before saying, "I have requested this meeting for a very specific and secretive purpose. Perhaps we may discuss such matters in a more private setting."

Thorin nodded. "As you see fit."

With another scrutinizing glance at me, Gandalf moved across the hall to request a private room from the innkeeper. The innkeeper was more than happy to oblige Gandalf's wishes, and a private chamber was swiftly prepared. Without asking, I followed Thorin and Gandalf up the stairs to the small chamber containing a roughly carved wooden table and four chairs. The room was lit by only candles and on the table rested a jug of wine and two empty cups. Thorin entered the room, and I was about to follow when Gandalf stopped me with his staff.

"These are private matters, Miss Stonbit," said Gandalf.

"Relax, I already know that you're going to convince Thorin to go on a quest to reclaim Erebor." I tried to push Gandalf's staff out of the way, but that thing was immovable.

Gandalf didn't even register my attempt to move the staff, and instead, he turned to stare at Thorin. "She knows of your purpose here?"

Thorin, who had already taken a seat and was helping himself to glass of wine, mere glanced at Gandalf and said, "She is well aware of the situation, and it can do us no harm for her to be present. Appearances can be deceiving. She knows many things."

"You will vouch for her?" asked Gandalf.

Thorin nodded once. "I will."

Beaming, I moved past Gandalf and settled down into the chair beside Thorin. I like to think my asking him to describe Erebor had given him a more positive attitude towards me.

"Do I get any wine?" I asked.

"There are only two glasses," said Thorin. "No."

I practically wilted with disappointment, but I didn't want to give Thorin any reason to throw me out, so I decided to go without the wine.

"You come," said Thorin almost as soon as Gandalf was seated, "concerning the dragon, Smaug."

"Yes," said Gandalf with a wary glance in my direction. "As you know, I was the last to see King Thráin alive. Before his disappearance, I urged your father to gather the seven clans—as he did so long ago after the death of Thrór—and march upon Erebor. However, King Thráin had grown restless. As you know, the memory of Erebor disturbed him greatly. He did not heed my advice and instead wandered into the Wilderland with only a few of his most loyal guards. There he was taken."

I glanced at Thorin, noting the fixed expression on his face. Thorin took a sip of wine and then said, "You would give me the same advice."

"Yes," said Gandalf. "Call together the Seven Houses of Durin. Call together the Longbeards, the Firebeards, the Broadbeams, the Blacklocks, the Stonefoots, the Ironfists, and the Stiffbeards. Call them to your aid and march upon Erebor—reclaim the homeland that was taken from you."

I watched Gandalf curiously and found that I didn't trust him. Even if I had traveled Caradhras, the Gap of Rohan, and Moria with this wizard, I did not trust the advice he was giving. Apparently, Thorin didn't trust him either, because Thorin said, "Why are you so keen for the death of Smaug?"

Gandalf leaned back in his chair. "There is some great evil brewing in Dol Guldur. I do not like the possibility that Smaug stirring from his nest to ally with this evil."

This seemed like a pretty legitimate reason to me. I glanced at Thorin, waiting for his response. I knew that Thorin would agree (and end up in Bilbo Baggins' hobbithole), but it was interesting to watch the unrest in his eyes as he considered Gandalf's proposal.

"The other Houses will not come," said Thorin at last. "They will not fight a dragon for the sake of regaining the Lonely Mountain. They still suffer the wounds of the War of Dwarves and Orcs, and they will not risk the lives from a kingdom they consider lost."

"Then call to those who will come," said Gandalf.

I cringed, knowing full well that only twelve dwarves and a hobbit would answer Thorin's call.

"I will aid you, Thorin Oakenshield," added Gandalf. "In what ways that I can."

That was the turning point. The promise of a wizard gave Thorin's quest hope. Thorin lifted his eyes to meet Gandalf's, and grimly, he said, "I accept."

Gandalf nodded. "Good. Very good."

The next hour was spent with Thorin and Gandalf running over the details of the quest. I was afraid to interrupt, frightened that I might reveal the future to one of them or that they would kick me out. At first, I listened attentively, but when they started going over details like provisions and transport, I found myself losing interest. Eventually, my gaze wandered to Gandalf. I could not keep away the memory of him, consumed in flames, falling to the might of the balrog. The pain—my own and that of the Fellowship—filled me again and I had to look away. I could not decide whether or not to tell Gandalf the outcome of his venture into Moria. But then, I pictured the Fellowship journeying through the Gap of Rohan and the tragedy that would occur. Merry's blank, lifeless eyes stared at me.

I leaned forward and buried my face in my hands. I had to focus on breathing properly. In and out. Calm. Easy. Once I had my breathing under control, I sat upright again and kept my face a mask. If Gandalf or Thorin had noticed my meltdown, neither one showed it.

It was a relief when Gandalf departed. He promised to see Thorin in Bag End and said nothing but a curt farewell to me. I didn't tell him that we were going to meet at Bag End as well.

The door closed behind Gandalf, and I collapsed into my wooden chair, the pressure to tell him his future had finally disappeared. I rolled my head to the side, trying to get any muscle pains out of my neck, and saw that Thorin was watching me.

"So it has begun," I said before he could ask me about my emotional state. "This is beginning."

"Yes," said Thorin, his voice strangely grim. "The quest for the Lonely Mountain has begun."

Slowly, Thorin got to his feet and moved to the corner of the room where his leather bag rested against the wall. He opened the bag and rummaged through its contents until he pulled out a piece of folded parchment. It took me a second to realize that it was the worn parchment he had been reading downstairs. I peered curiously at the paper, but Thorin had the writing turned away from me.

"What's that?" I asked.

Thorin stood over the flickering candles. He stared into the flames for a moment, turned so that I could only see half of his face.

He placed the edge of the paper into the flames of the candle. I watched as the flames leapt onto the parchment. The always curious part of me wanted to take the paper from Thorin and read what it said, but judging by his grim expression, I was almost certain he would force me to Skip. We watched the paper spark and burn, and only when the flames approached his fingers did Thorin release the paper and watch it disappear entirely.

"Why would you do that?" I asked.

I asked without expecting an answer, and sure enough, Thorin didn't give me one. He stared at the dark ashes that were the last remnants of the letter.

Skip.

Once again, I found myself sitting in the parking lot of the strip mall. Two women, their arms full of shopping bags, swore at the sudden sight of me. I waved at them, half-heartedly, my mind still in the Inn of the Prancing Pony, watching Thorin burn the carefully folded parchment.

I sighed. I would have to ask him about it someday.

Ignoring the people staring at me and my bizarre clothes, I pulled my cellphone out of my back pocket, switched it on, and called my mom. She came to get me in her little green Toyota. It took a whole five seconds for her to start lecturing me on my random disappearances. (The first five seconds were for her to hug me and say how much she missed me.)

"You were going to a job interview!" cried Mom. "Galin and I waited for you at dinner—nothing. We texted you, we called you—nothing. Where have you been? What are you wearing? Where did you get that outfit?"

"Did you report me as missing?" I asked, deciding it was best to ignore the clothes question entirely.

My mother glanced at me sidelong and then turned her attention back to the road. "No, we didn't think about that. You disappear too often, Ana. If we called the police every time you went missing, at some point they would just keep you permanently on the missing persons list."

"Good point," I said. "I just, um, got distracted on the road of life."

My mom rolled her eyes. "That is the worst excuse you've given."

"Yeah." I paused. "Mom, I want to return to my apartment."

"Your apartment? Why? You don't want to stay with us?" She swallowed and then said, a little more gently, "You've barely been home. We want to spend time with you, talk to you. Are we so unbearable that you have to leave all the time?"

"No," I said. "I just want to return to my apartment, but independent and all that."

"Ana…"

"I'll get a job. I'll pay for part of the rent. I just—I need to go back there."

"Ana."

"I have horrible college habits," I said. "I'm messy and slobbish and you…you don't want to live with me like that."

"You've always been messy and slobbish."

"Yeah, but it's gotten even worse since I went away to college. It's a serious problem. Like a disease. Let me get help for my problems on my own. Then I'll come back. When I have my slobbishness under control, I'll come home, okay?"

My mom shook her head. "Ana, we're here to help you. If you confide in us, we can help. It's best to deal with these things surrounded by people who love you and care for you. Not going off on your own and saying you got lost on the road of life."

I shook my head. There were no honest words to answer her, so I only said, "My slobbishness is embarrassing. I don't want you to see me in this state."

Mom let out a long sigh. "All right. But let your dad drive with you back to your apartment tomorrow. Just so we know you got there safely."

I bit my bottom lip. I'd rather just drive myself back to the apartment and be left alone with my thoughts, but if it would set my parents' minds at ease, then I supposed I could let Dad take me back. "All right."

"You'll stay the night with us, right?" she asked.

"That depends," I said. "What's for dinner?"

"Broccoli soup."

"Sorry, Mom. It's an emergency. I need to head out tonight. Right away. I can't even stay for dinner."

She laughed. "I'm joking. We're having chicken casserole."

"Well…" I gave her an impish smile. "I guess it's not that important. I can stay long enough for chicken casserole. We can't let it go to waste now, can we?"

"You're ridiculous."

I grinned. "But that's why you love me."

I turned the radio up and returned to staring out the window. Dad kept his hands on the steering wheel, and his eyes fixed on the road. Neither one of us spoke. My dad has always been a man of few words, though, so that was not unusual. What was unusual was my silence. Normally, I would be prattling on about ugly refrigerator magnets or the color of milk or something random like that. But not that day. My eyes were fixed on the farmlands outside the window, and my mind was back in Middle Earth.

Gandalf. He could not stay dead. He should not have died. The Fellowship died when they went through the Gap of Rohan, but I had changed that. Gandalf should not have died in Moria. If I told him about his future perhaps he could change something. I would have to explain that the Mines of Moria were still the only safe passage, but perhaps he could battle the balrog in a different place or perhaps there was a different route through the mines. Another way… There had to be another way…

I ran my hand through my messy hair, brushing it out of my eyes.

I could save Gandalf. I would save Gandalf.

"Are you okay?" My dad watched me through the corner of his blue eyes.

"Me?" I said. "Yeah."

"You're quiet."

"So, those refrigerator magnets Mom's got. They're pretty ugly, right?"

Dad shook his head. "I think I might've preferred you when you were quiet."

I laughed. "I talk like Mom, huh?"

"Worse."

"Ouch. That's pretty bad, then. Sorry. I don't mean to. You know me—I just start talking and I never stop. It's kind of ridiculous when you think about it. Oh hey! I love this song!" I turned up the radio. My dad made a face at the alternative rock music. I grinned. "Right, you only like the classic stuff. You should open your mind a little. You're as stubborn as a dwarf."

"A dwarf?" My dad glanced at me. "Where did that come from?"

"You know…" I silently cursed. I really had to learn to keep Middle Earth separate from Ohio. "Some TV show Bonnie was showing me. She likes those fantasy shows. Not really my thing. I'm rom coms all the way."

Dad hesitated for a second and then let out a long sigh. "You talk too much."

"You don't talk enough," I said. "We're even like that."

My dad nodded but didn't respond. I turned up the radio another notch and returned to staring out the window.

Where would I Skip to next? I didn't know. I never knew. I could end up in Mordor or the Wilderlands a year after Gandalf's death, and I wouldn't be able do anything to change it then. Hanging out with Thorin and Company would be best, I supposed; Gandalf was usually with them. And of course, I still had to find Bonnie and Nick. God, there was so much to do in Middle Earth. But there was so much to do in Ohio as well. I also had to find a job so I could pay my share of the rent on my apartment, and I had to figure out how I was going to finish getting my undergraduate degree.

After another hour of listening to the alternative rock radio station, we arrived outside my apartment. My dad found an empty spot to park and then helped me carry my suitcase up the five flights of stairs. After I was settled and we'd grabbed lunch at a nearby deli, we headed to the station so that Dad could catch a bus back home.

When the bus pulled up on the curb, my dad turned to me and said, "Remember, don't do anything stupid. Stay safe. Find work. Don't miss important dates."

"I know," I said. "I'll try."

Dad smiled. "You're a good girl, Ana. Your mom and I know that."

"You just wish I wasn't so irresponsible."

"No, we wish your life weren't so complicated."

I shook my head. "So do I, Dad. So do I."

He gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek before boarding the bus. I waved good-bye and waited until the bus was out of sight before I headed back to my apartment building.

You know, in the beginning, I'd always hated the fact that my apartment was up five flights of stairs. There was no elevator, and usually by the last flight of stairs, I would be huffing and puffing. But after my treks across Middle Earth, I found the five flights of stairs fairly easy to climb. Within no time and still breathing easily, I found myself on the fifth floor…and face to face with an adorable new tenant.

"Hello?" I said.

He smiled at me.

Okay. Let me make this clear. My ideal guy has short dark hair, blue eyes, defined features, not over six foot (the height difference would be obnoxious), and a cheerful personality. This adorable new tenant: Had short-cropped dark hair. Okay, so he had hazel eyes, but I could live with that. Good facial features. He smiled at me, so he must be cheerful. And he was under six foot. Oh my God! Shoot me with Cupid's arrow right then and there.

"Hi," he said. "I'm Jack."

"Ana." I smiled and tried to look cute. "Apartment 604. Are you new here? I've never seen you here before."

"Moved in a week ago. Apartment 605."

"I'm Ana—but I said that already. Wow. That's awkward. Yeah, I was visiting my parents for awhile. That's why I haven't been here." I gulped. I was talking too quickly and giving information he hadn't asked for. Okay. I needed to slow down. "Are you enjoying the apartment so far?"

Jack smiled politely. "The apartment is good. Comfy. Not too small. My last place was cramped, and I was living with a friend on top of that."

"Yeah, these are good apartments. My sophomore year in college, I had this tiny apartment—a hobbit couldn't live in there—" I paused. Oops. This was Ohio. I needed to stick with Ohio terminology… What was Ohio terminology? I couldn't remember anymore. "So, since that place sucked, I moved into a new place six months later, and here I've been ever since."

"Life story in ten seconds," said Jack with a laugh.

"Oh, I think my life story takes longer than ten seconds…a lot longer. Three days and three nights is a conservative estimate."

"That good?"

"Definitely."

"Do I get to hear it sometime?"

"Er—Maybe." I'd never told my story to anyone in Ohio, not my parents, not my best friends, not any of my boyfriends. Jack, as cute as he was, wasn't going to be the first person to hear my life story.

"All right," said Jack. "Well, let me know if you ever want to tell it to me some time. I've got to go."

"Right. Let me know if you need anything," I said. "I'm your friendly neighborhood weird girl." I blinked. I really should learn when to stop talking.

"I'll keep that in mind." Jack headed for the staircase.

When he disappeared from sight, I did a little victory dance. Cute guy as my neighbor? Success! This was all I'd wanted. Cute guy as a neighbor meant cute apartment romance, which was the first step in achieving my life goal of being normal.

When dance time was over, I unlocked my apartment and stepped inside. It hadn't changed since I left it over months ago. Clothes were thrown everywhere. The kitchen still had dishes on the drying rack. The remote was still missing. One of the wooden chairs had been knocked over. Great.

I dragged my suitcase to my bedroom and then, without even bothering to unpack, started digging through the dresser drawers. Black jeans. A long white shirt with a belt. Brown leather jacket. Brown boots. Okay, I figured that could pass as almost regular clothing in Middle Earth. My wardrobe consisted of entirely browns, grays, and blacks in outfits that would be passable in both Ohio and Middle Earth. After getting changed, I slipped the Sword Breaker into the side of my boot. It was slightly uncomfortable but I'd rather have it on me than not. Then, I headed for the roof of my apartment building.

My apartment building had six floors and a roof. Technically, tenants weren't allowed on the roof, but the owner would give a key to those of us she liked and we could hang out there whenever we want. After I babysat her pug for a weekend, Laurel had been more than happy to give me a key. Only I didn't usually go up to the roof to hang out. I usually went up there to Skip.

My building was right in between two office buildings. The gap between my building and those was so narrow that I couldn't fit. From another side of the roof, you could see the main street below, but if I jumped from there, I ran a high risk of being spotted from below. The opposite side of the roof looked out onto a less popular side street with only a Mexican restaurant and a fortune-teller's shop below. I figured it was hidden enough that it was safe for jumping.

I crossed the roof and stood on the concrete ledge. I looked down at the street. It was late in the day and there was a surprising amount of people down there—by which I mean there were three. Great. Thankfully, no one thought to look up.

I took a deep breath.

The ground seemed to be moving beneath me. Sometimes it seemed impossibly close and other times it seemed impossibly far away. I felt like I was going to throw up.

Another deep breath.

Dear God, please let me Skip. I didn't want to die splattered on a sidewalk. I wanted to die of old age in a nursing home after having lived a long and normal life.

The world swayed around me, and I felt like throwing up.

I needed to remember that I was doing this for Gandalf, and for Nick and Bonnie. I had to save them. I had to jump off the building, as many times as it took, until I could find them.

I lifted one foot and started to lean forward—

"Don't jump!"

At the sound of a voice, I twisted around to see a cute guy with dark hair, hazel eyes, defined features, not over six foot… Oh God.

Jack stood on the other side of the roof, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.

Too late.

I fell off the roof.

Skip.

Well, so much for the possible romance with the cute next-door neighbor.

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter XVI: The Witch of Dale

A house collapsed in front of me. Its walls had been charred black by the flames. As the support beams finally crumbled and the house caved in on itself, sparks were sent flying into the air. I yelped and turned away, shielding my eyes from the heat.

Well, that was a great way to start.

I had Skipped to a burning city. I heard shrill screams and desperate shouts from behind me. People ran through the streets. A little girl in a gray dress was crying for her mother. A white-haired woman clutched her right arm, which was marked with deep burns. Five men with mismatched armor and blunted swords raced past me. Flames danced across the thatched roofs. The air was thick with smoke, and winds would send showers of embers and debris onto the city streets.

Of all the destinations I'd Skipped to…this ranked somewhere in the bottom-middle. It was awful and terrible, and to this day I can still hear the screams. But honestly, after the burning of the White City and the death of the Fellowship, this catastrophe was only so-so on the horrifying scale.

At least, it was until a deep roar filled the city, causing even the ground beneath me to tremble.

Dread formed in the pit of my stomach, and slowly, I lifted my gaze to the sky.

A red dragon soared overhead. Its body cast a dark shadow over the town, and with each beat of its leathery wings, a gust of wind would pass through the town, stirring up embers.

Great. Smaug was here. Just great. Suddenly, this had dropped to near the bottom of the Skipping list. I'd take another round with the trolls or even the thunder giants over frigging Smaug.

Smaug opened his jaws wide, and a jet of flames engulfed a building on the south side of the city.

A man sprinted past. His elbow slammed into my shoulder, almost knocking me off balance. He glanced back at me, and I saw a red gash on the side of his head, his dark hair matted with blood.

"King Thrór!" he cried, his eyes wide and panicked. "Where is the King Under the Mountain? Where is his armies?"

When I didn't answer quick enough, the man moved on, shouting at the other people fleeing the dragon's flames. The others had no answer either.

Through the smoke, I could see the looming slopes of the Lonely Mountain and the massive front doors carved with the runes of Durin's folk. It didn't matter what the man shouted; the doors of the dwarf kingdom remained firmly shut.

I glanced up at the dragon in the sky. Smaug stretched his wings as he made a smooth circle around the city. Bit by bit, the pieces fell into place, and I realized I was standing in the lost city of Dale. Only…it wasn't lost just yet.

"Witchcraft! It is witchcraft!"

"What? Where?" I spun around, trying to catch sight of the witch; vaguely, I wondered if a witch could help me with my Skipping problem. But instead of a witch, I saw a thin old woman standing in the middle of the street, pointing at me.

Her white hair was singed from Smaug's fires, and there was a nasty burn on her left shoulder. Nevertheless, she aimed a long, bony finger at me and shouted, "She is a witch! She appeared out of the air! A witch—she must be in league with the dragon!"

"Who me?" I asked. "In league with Smaug? Oh, that's rich."

"She knows the dragon's name," said a bald man, taking up the woman's cry.

One by one, the people forgot about the flames that trapped them inside the city walls. Flight wasn't possible and desperation had started settling in. Rather than focus their anger and fear on the real threat in the sky, the people of Dale decided that I was the culprit. Which did not bode well for me, as I was a much, much easier target.

"She has brought the dragon upon us!"

"She will be the death of us all!"

"Catch her! Sell her to the dragon!"

I raised my hands in surrender. "Really, you are all taking this way out of proportion. There is a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this." I looked around at the burnt and broken faces of the people of Dale. Judging by the panic in their eyes, these people had no interest in reasonable explanations. I let out a small, nervous laugh. And then, I fled.

"Catch her!" the old woman shouted.

I sprinted through the streets of Dale as fast as my stout legs could carry me. It was difficult to navigate the maze of blazing buildings, as their walls broke and spilled burning debris into the roads. My flight was made even worse by the fact that I had never been to Dale before and I knew nothing of the layout. The people who chased after me, however, had lived in Dale for all their lives, and they easily cut off my escape route.

I managed to flee for a whole three minutes before I ended up trapped between the collapsed wall of a house and an angry mob.

About a dozen people, their faces pale under the dirt and their expression frantic, surrounded me, blocking off any escape.

The bald man grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. "You brought this dragon down upon us."

"Let me go! This isn't funny!" I wriggled and squirmed against his grasp. "I'm not laughing! Well, actually, I did—but I'm not laughing anymore! Please don't sacrifice me to the dragon! Let me go!"

By pure luck, Smaug decided right then was a good time to breathe fire onto the building across the street. The man holding me cried out as a blazing heat filled the air, and with a howl of pain, he released me.

I ducked under his arm and, figuring there was no other escape route, I charged into the burning building behind me.

"Catch her!" someone screamed.

"Your city's on fire!" I shouted over my shoulder. "Don't you have better things to do than chase me?"

The flames ate at the wood of the house, and none of the mob tried to follow me. Which was good. What was not good was that a part of the roof collapsed, almost hitting me on the arm. I shrieked and threw myself out of one of the open windows. My foot caught on the sill, and I landed with a thud on the dirt below.

My right arm and shoulder ached from the fall, but I didn't have time to feel the pain. The people of Dale were trying to sacrifice me to a dragon. I leapt to my feet and started running again, trying to find a way out of Dale.

I had been accused of being a witch before, of course. When I was fourteen, I was seen when I Skipped to a town in Dunland, but rather than try to murder me, the people had viewed me as some sort of prophet and had asked me to tell their fortunes. Then, when I was seventeen, I'd made the mistake of talking about the internet with a merchant in Osgiliath. Unlike the lovely people of Dunland, the merchant had tried to have me burned at the stake for witchcraft. Thankfully, the ruler of Osgiliath at the time had been a reasonable man and had decided the merchant was misguided.

There were other instances, the word thrown out as an insult. Usually, it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. A word I hated but had caused me no serious harm. However, I'd never been called a witch by a desperate city of people trying to save themselves from the siege of a fire-breathing dragon before. Somehow, I didn't think being called a witch would turn out as well for me this time as it had before.

I turned the corner of a narrow, side street, but instead of finding a clear path and easy escape, I ran face first into a soldier.

Well, this was not going to end well.

The man had severe eyes and short cropped beard. He scowled at me, and when I turned to scamper away, he grabbed me roughly by the back of my shirt. He lifted his gaze to the end of the street where several people had appeared. In a gruff voice, he asked, "Is this the witch?"

The old woman inspected my face carefully and then nodded. "Aye, she is the witch."

"Come on," I wailed, struggling against the soldier's grip. "I'm not a witch. I just got dumped here at a very bad time."

"She even speaks in the words of a witch," said a young woman. "In riddles and trickery."

"I'm a foreigner," I snapped. "A foreigner does not mean witch. It means different. Different!"

"Do not listen to her words—she is trying to put a spell on us."

"Oh my God!" I waved my hands empathically, trying desperately to make them see reason. "Smaug is attacking your town, and you're off witch hunting—this is crazy! Do something about Smaug! Fight him! Or at least try to escape this place!"

To me relief, I saw doubt flash through some eyes. However, a second later, the old woman spoke with a voice sharp as a blade. "She knows the dragon's name."

"She must be his ally," declared another voice from the mob.

"I'm not! I'm just passing through. Now, let me go!"

A sudden hush fell over the mob. They weren't paying any attention to me any longer, their gazes captivated by someone at the back of the crowd. I watched as the people stepped to the side, forming a pathway. From amongst them emerged a tall, dark-haired man with a curling beard fine clothing.

The soldier holding me bowed his head. "Lord Girion, we have caught the witch."

I squirmed in the soldier's grasp. "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not a witch!"

"Thank you, Dagar." Girion frowned, his dark gaze scanning over my face. "Any captured witch would deny being a witch."

"And any non-witch captured for being a witch would deny being a witch," I snapped. "Look, I don't want to stay here. I'll just head over to Erebor. I'm friends with Thorin."

"Thorin?"

"His grandfather is King Under the Mountain," I said. "If you do anything to accuse me of being a witch, Thorin will bring down his grandfather's wrath upon you, and no one is going to be happy."

Girion and his people regarded me suspiciously. Dagar shook me roughly by the shoulder and growled, "The King Under the Mountain will soon fall under Smaug's might. He has no power now."

I knew Dagar was right, of course. I'd been there when Smaug's fires had breached the walls of Erebor, but that didn't meant Dagar knew he was right. I scanned the faces of the mob. There were about sixteen of them now, standing in the street, their faces pale under the soot and ash. They weren't going to believe me. No matter how much I argued, I'd never convinced them I wasn't a witch. No while Smaug's fires raged around us.

Well then, it was time to make a gamble.

I drew myself to my full height, trying to look impressive and confident. "The dwarves of Erebor will survive Smaug!"

A hush fell over the people of Dale. Even Smaug, who still circled the city, seemed to have fallen silent with those words.

A good start.

I tried to push Dagar's hand away but his grip was immovable. Finally, I gave up on escaping and continued with Plan B: lying through my teeth. "I have the gift of foresight. The dwarves of Erebor will fight off the dragon and preserve their homeland. They will help you rebuild after this tragedy has passed. However, if you harm Thorin's dearest friend in any way, King Thrór will bring his wrath upon you instead of his aid."

I hoped my speech was convincing. Some of people looked confused, while others had whispered conversations. At least the old woman wasn't shouting "witch" anymore. That was a good sign, right?

"You are right," said Girion finally. "We must do what we can to save Dale and her people." He looked up at Dagar. "Take the witch to the highest point in Dale, and tell the dragon that we will kill his ally unless he leaves our city."

"Wait." I looked back and forth between Girion and Dagar, my eyes growing wide. "What?"

Girion glared at me. "We will not be deceived by the words of a witch."

"But I'm not a witch!" I cried.

"You just admitted to your crimes," said Girion.

"No, I was lying! I just want to live!"

Despite my protests and struggles, Dagar dragged me by the back of the shirt away from the crowd. The people of Dale cheered my approaching death until Smaug let out another blast of fire and the mob remembered that their city was burning. Serves them right. Dale had swiftly become one of my least favorite Skip destinations.

Dagar took me one of the few buildings that had so far been untouched by Smaug's fire. He kicked open the door and started dragging me up the wooden staircase. I writhed against Dagar's iron grasp, but he refused to let go.

On the top floor of the house, there was a window that opened out onto the roof. Dagar opened the shutters to reveal the mob standing in the street below, waiting to witness me being sacrificed to the dragon.

"I'm not a witch!" I screamed until my voice was hoarse. "I can't cast spells! I can't do anything! I'm pathetic! Don't kill me! Smaug hates me! Smaug has tried to kill me twice in the past! Twice! Actually, it happens in the future—but still! Smaug hates me! Don't sacrifice me! No!"

But Dagar and the people of the Dale were beyond hearing reason or possessing even an ounce of pity. Their city was on fire. Their homes in ruin. And it seemed that any chance of escape had disappeared as the dragon circled above, his gaze watching the surrounding mountainside.

I stared up as the massive, red body of Smaug as Dagar shoved me out onto the slanting, stone roof of the house. My steps were uneven and I had to grab onto Dagar's arm to stop myself from sliding down. Dagar jerked his arm out of my reach. With a gasp, I grabbed onto the pointed top of roof for balance. The stone grated against my palms.

"I hate you too." I checked my palms and sure enough, the stone had drawn blood. Bitterness curled in my chest. I lifted my gaze to Dagar's and said, hoping my voice carried to the street below, "Your beloved city is going to burn, and your people will never come back! And then, I'm going to help Thorin on a quest to reclaim all the gold in Erebor, and when he gets the gold back, I'll make sure your descendants don't get a cent, you jerks!"

Wind howled around me as Smaug soared overhead. I inhaled sharply, taking in a breath full of smoke, and then descended into a coughing fit.

"Dragon!" Dagar drew his sword and raised it into the air. "We have taken your ally captive!"

"He's not going to listen," I said. "He's a frigging dragon!"

Where he failed to bargain with the dragon, Dagar succeeded in capturing Smaug's attention. From his place in the sky, the dragon turned his massive head, and his yellow eyes focused on us. With a flap of his wings and another gust of wind, he descended and landed atop two buildings not far from where Dagar and I stood. Smaug's claws dug into the roofs. One was made of stone and held up under the dragon's weight, but the other had a thatched roof, licked by flames, and it crumbled into the street, sending sparks flying.

I could hear the people of Dale screaming in the streets below. Smaug paid them no mind. Instead, he cocked his head to the side and watched Dagar and me with large, golden eyes.

"You really had to call out a dragon, you crazy jerk." I inched away from Dagar, heading toward the edge of the roof. The house was only three stories high, but perhaps if I jumped down the Skip would take me away. However, the sight of the ground made m nauseous and instead I dug my fingers into an indent in the roof, using it as a handhold. "If he breathes fire on us, I want you to know this is all your fault."

"Silence, witch," snapped Dagar. Then, he addressed Smaug in a booming voice. "This is your ally, the witch. No harm will come to her as long as you listen to our demands. You must harm Dale no longer. You are free to move past Dale and attack the Lonely Mountain. We will not stop you. Harm the city of Dale and her people no longer."

"I'm embarrassed to be seen with you, right now." I turned to Smaug and shouted, "I have no connection to these people!"

"Silence!" Dagar slapped me.

The slap rung through my head as I fell back on the stone roof. I probably would've toppled off the edge if I hadn't been holding on. It took me a second to remember what was happening, and when I sat upright again, all I could feel was the stinging pain in my cheek. I glared up at Dagar. "Don't blame me for your stupidity."

Dagar ignored me, his attention focused on Smaug. That poor, desperate man—he had no idea what he was getting into. He actually thought what he was saying had any effect on Smaug.

The dragon yawned, scratched his nose with his claw, and then let out a massive roar.

"You're doomed now," I said.

Dagar glared at me. "This is your fault, witch!"

"My fault?" I cried. "Who was it who called me a witch and climbed up a building to threaten a dragon? I told you this was a bad idea, but does anyone ever listen to me?"

Smaug opened his mouth.

"Suggestion," I said. "Run."

Dagar stared at me for a half a second. Then, he turned and sprinted through the open window.

"Wait!" I cried. "Don't leave me here!"

I threw myself at the window. It was not most graceful landing as I hit the wooden floor and rolled to the top of the staircase just as Smaug let loose a jet of flame. The fire missed the window, but heat engulfed the house. I waited for the Skip to take me, but it seemed content to leave me in the middle of an inferno. And, for a second, I thought I would die as the stupid witch of Dale. But then, the raging heat receded, and I found that I was alive.

Of course, there was the little problem of the house catching fire.

"This is not funny," I shouted, taking the stairs five steps at a time. "Skip me away already!"

I turned a corner and slammed into Dagar's back. He stood frozen in place, staring in horror at the second-floor landing in front of us. Vibrant flames danced across the darkening wood. Even if the stone roof had protected us, it seemed that the fire had found its way into the lower floors. Some of the ceiling had collapsed to block our path to the first floor. There was no way out. The flames crackled, taunting us to come closer.

The Skip, it seemed, still didn't want to take me away. Frustration stuck in my throat as I rounded on Dagar and cried, "I just wanted to leave this city, but no, you have to frigging sacrifice me to a frigging dragon! I am not a frigging witch!"

Dagar frowned. "Why would the dragon try to kill his own ally?"

I resisted the urge to bang my head against the wall in exasperation. "How dense can you get? He would try to kill his own ally because I'm not his ally. Smaug hates me. He's tried to kill me twice—three times now."

Dagar shook his head and pushed me away from him, almost causing me to fall backwards. I glowered up at him, but he only said, "The unanswered questions must be put aside. First, we must escape this place."

I was fairly certain that Dagar couldn't care less if I escaped the burning house or not, but as long as he was using "we", I was willing to go along with it.

We stood on the second-floor landing, watching as the flames ate at the wooden floorboards, cutting across our path to the ground floor. There was an open window that we could probably jump down to the street if we could make it through the fire. We needed to do something. The longer we waited, the worse the flames became.

Dagar took a step back, almost bumping into me.

"Watch it!" I cried.

Dagar ignored me. His gaze focused on the burning floor. His muscles tensed and his whole body was taut with concentration. It to me a second, but I realized that he was going to attempt to jump over the fire. His legs bent, he lurched forward—

The ceiling collapsed.

Debris rained down onto the weakened floor. There was a loud cracking sound that filled my head. Then, something gave way beneath my feet, and with a shriek, I found myself plummeting downward.

I grabbed hold of Dagar's arm. Wood and sparks flew in all direction as we fell down onto the hard ground of the floor below.

My shoulder hit something hard before I rolled to the side and curled into the fetal position. Heat filled the air as flames danced around us. I hissed in pain as sparks struck my bare skin, but for the most part, I was unharmed. My right hand still grasped the sleeve of Dagar's tunic. He lay unmoving beside me.

Releasing his arm, I leapt to my feet and cried, "Get up! You're an ass, and I have no problems leaving you here, Dagar!"

Dagar groaned, and I saw that he had taken the worst of the fall. A burning floorboard had landed on his back, and while he had pushed it off, the damage had been done to his body. However, rather than be consumed by the pain, Dagar dragged himself to his feet. He drew his sword. "Do not leave me here to die, witch."

I took a step back. "I'm not a witch, and I was waiting for you to get up despite everything you've done to kill me."

Dagar was beyond reasoning. He leapt towards me, blade flashing in the light of the fire.

The inferno raged around us.

"Even if I perish, I will bring you to ruin with me," sneered Dagar. "You cannot escape, witch."

I gritted my teeth. The walls were burning and smoke engulfed me. Another chunk of ceiling fell, sending sparks in my direction. It wasn't the ideal choice, but I was out of options. I flipped Dagar off. "Watch me, jerk."

And then, I walked into the flames.

Skip.

The Skip decided to dump me behind a generator on roof of my apartment building. The beige-painted machine whirred and trembled, radiating heat—which I appreciated as February in Ohio was still chilly. However, the ledge was just a foot behind me, and if I lifted my neck even a little, I could see the beginning of the sheer drop into the narrow alley below. My head started to spin at the sight. Sometimes I thought the Skips just enjoyed messing with me.

Of course, I couldn't stay crouched on the roof forever, so I stood up, keeping an eye on the ledge, and inched my way out from behind the generator.

"I swear," someone was saying, "She fell. She was standing right here—about to jump. I called out her name…and she fell."

I stopped. On the other side of the roof, their backs turned to me, were two police officers (one short and thin, one tall and fat), the apartment manager (Laurel Burns—a sweet, plump woman with graying brown hair), and Jack (the adorable next-door neighbor). The four of them were standing near the ledge I had jumped from earlier, having a heated discussion.

"She jumped," cried Jack. "I'm telling you—she jumped!"

"I don't think Ana would do something like that," said Laurel, frowning. "She's always so cheerful."

"There's no body," said the tall officer.

"She disappeared," insisted Jack. He was cute even when he was arguing with the police. His hands were clenched, and his cheeks were slightly flushed with frustration.

The two policemen exchanged skeptical glances.

"Young man," said short officer, "we don't have time to deal with these kinds of calls."

"I'm not pranking you," said Jack. "She jumped off the roof."

"Ana would never jump off the roof," said Laurel. "She doesn't even like heights. Once, I was selling cheap tickets to a big Browns game, but the seats were in the nosebleed section, and Ana practically fainted at the thought."

"I did not," I said. "I just didn't want to see the Browns lose miserably…again."

Laurel's head whipped around, her eyes wide with fright, but she smiled when she caught sight of me. "Ana, what are you doing there?"

"I heard some noise and decided to come see what all the fuss was about." I crossed my arms. "Do you tell people the fainting-rather-than-go-to-the-Browns-game story all the time?"

"Only when the situation calls for it," said Laurel sheepishly.

"I'm not that terrified of heights," I said. Laurel shot me a pitying glance and I sighed. "Okay, I'm pretty afraid of heights. Especially tree climbing, it turns out."

"Tree climbing?" asked the tall officer.

"Ah…yeah." I really needed to learn how to shut up. "Long story. Really boring. You don't want to hear it."

The officer opened his mouth, as if he was about to say that he would like to hear it.

"I forgot the introduce myself. Ana Stonbit. Nice to meet you." I stuck my hand under the tall officer's nose, a not-so-subtle change of subject. After a moment, the officer took my hand and shook it. I greeted his partner too. Then, I stepped back and said, "I think Jack's a little confused. I did jump off the roof, but that's because I locked myself out of my apartment. I couldn't get a hold of Laurel, so I decided to try climbing down into my apartment window from the roof…" I pulled my apartment key out of my pocket. "See, it worked!"

Laurel paled at the thought of me climbing down from the roof, while the two officers seemed to be at a loss for words.

"That's not exactly safe," said the short officer at last.

"Didn't you just say you were terrified of heights?" asked Jack.

"It's okay," I said, waving away their words. "I've been in a lot more dangerous situations… Um, it's easier than it looks."

There was a pause where everyone evaluated the truth of my story. To be honest, as far as excuses go, it was pretty thin. However, it seemed the policemen didn't want to deal with this situation any longer than necessary.

Sure enough, the tall officer sighed and said, "Well, I guess there's no need for us anymore."

"Sorry to have wasted your time," I said with my best smile. "I guess I gave Jack a little scare. But he wasn't trying to prank call you."

Jack looked as though he wanted to protest more. However, his indignant expression soon faded as he realized the police officers and Laurel had already bought my fantastical story. That didn't stop Jack from shooting a glare in my direction, though.

"I'll show you out," said Laurel, ushering the two officers back down the stairs. "Would you like some coffee before you go? I just made a pot down in my office."

She closed the door as the three of them headed back into the building. I breathed a sigh of relief—until I remembered that there was still Jack to deal with.

"Hey," I said, plastering my winning smile back on my face. "That was awkward, huh?"

"You jumped and disappeared," said Jack. "I saw it. You didn't climb down into your apartment. You disappeared into thin air and then you appeared back here."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter XVII: The Magic Rock

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"How long are we going to carry on like this?" snapped Jack. "I know you disappeared. It was like magic. One moment you were there, and the next, you weren't. You didn't climb down into your apartment—your apartment doesn't even face that side of the building!"

"Yes, it does."

"No, it d— I'm not starting this again!"

Jack glowered at me, his hazel eyes flashing with irritation. I didn't want to make my cute new neighbor mad at me, but it wasn't like I could tell him the truth. People had seen me Skip before, but usually they wrote it off as a trick of the light. But there had been people like Jessica Harris who remembered the truth clearly. It seemed that Jack was one of those people as well. Memories surfaced of Jessica following me around at the end of senior year, demanding to know why I had vanished into thin air, while whispers had dogged us through the hallways. Not again. I couldn't do that again.

I darted for the stairwell.

"Hey!" Jack stepped between me and the exit.

I tried to go around him him, but Jack moved at the same time, shifting his position so I could escape.

"You can't leave," said Jack. "You haven't explained anything."

I tried to smile, though I think it came out more as a grimace. "I told you. I had to get my key out of my apartment."

"Bullshit."

"Did you just call bullshit on me?"

Jack scowled. "Yes, yes, I did. And what are you going to do about it?"

"Me? What am I going to do about it? I'm going to walk away." I pushed past him and strode across the roof to the stairwell. With more dramatic flair than necessary, I threw open the door, shot one last glare at Jack, and then slammed the door behind me.

I collapsed against the wall of the stairwell and took a deep breath. Man, why did I have to keep ruining my chances with the cute new neighbor? I wanted to flirt with him, not insult him and make him feel like he's crazy.

Still wallowing in self-pity, I headed to my apartment. Everything was exactly how I left it: clothes everywhere and a pot of cold, black coffee waiting for me. I pitched the old coffee down the sink before making myself a new pot. Fingers curled around a steaming mug, I sat down on the couch, surrounded by piles of semi-dirty laundry, and pondered my next move.

Gandalf was still dead, and Nick and Bonnie were still lost in Middle Earth.

I refused to let myself consider what could have happened to Nick and Bonnie in all this time. Nope, I had to keep those images away. Focus on Gandalf instead. I still wasn't sure how tp prevent his death. Aragorn had been right when he said there wasn't much I could do to stop Gandalf from fighting the balrog. The Fellowship had to pass through Moria, and Gandalf had to fight the balrog to save the rest of the Fellowship. But perhaps I could warn Pippin not to touch that stupid skeleton by the well. Maybe then the goblins wouldn't be alerted to our presence, and the balrog wouldn't come. Even if I wasn't one-hundred-percent certain that would work, warning one of the Fellowship seemed like the best plan of action.

I would have to Skip again. But when? Now? Jack was probably still on the roof, keeping a lookout for me. Under normal circumstances, I would give anything to have a cute guy looking for me… But not today. Today, I had a life to save.

I tossed a pair of pajama bottoms in the direction of the laundry basket. I should do some cleaning in the brief time that I was home.

How should I go about finding a member of the Fellowship? I could find a way to Skip besides the roof. Cars and trucks were always useful. Or maybe jumping off a bridge; I had never tried that one before. What else? Drowning. Guillotine. Gun (though I didn't really fancy trying that one). Or I could try jumping into a lion's den at the zoo. I'd be Skipping out of there real fast. I hoped.

I finished my coffee and headed for the kitchen, throwing a couple wrinkled t-shirts in the laundry basket on the way. I dropped the dirty mug in the sink. I planned to be a responsible adult and wash it, really, but instead I placed my hands on the counter and let out a long sigh.

The roof was the easiest and safest option, a tried and tested method. It'd been forty-five minutes since I'd left. Jack had to be pretty desperate (and pretty obsessed with me) to wait up there for forty-five minutes.

I tossed a pair of jeans into the laundry, took a quick shower to get all the ash and grime off me, and then after making sure I had the Sword Breaker in my boot, I headed back up to the roof. No sign of Jack. Good. I'd honestly be pretty worried about him if he'd waited an hour and a half for me to return.

The familiar concrete ledge waited for me. The closer I got, the slower I moved. My heart was racing by the time I put my right foot on the ledge. My whole body tensed as the left foot joined the right. I paused there for a second, trying to look up at the blue sky so that I wouldn't have to think about the long fall down. But, of course, my eyes betrayed me. I looked down. I could see the street below. There was a couple walking hand-in-hand along the sidewalk. Way down there.

Trying to ignore the agonizing fear that gripped my chest, I pictured Gandalf with his gray beard and blue hat. We hadn't been friends by any measure, but I knew Gandalf wasn't a bad person. He had wanted to protect Middle Earth from the might of Sauron. He had helped Thorin reclaim the Lonely Mountain. He had sacrificed himself for the Fellowship. He didn't deserve to die. Not when I might be able to prevent it. Maybe I couldn't, but I at least had to try. I had to.

This was for Gandalf. And Nick and Bonnie. Because I would find them some day.

I jumped.

Skip.

I landed in a tree. My arms and legs wrapped around the branch beneath me, and I clung on for dear life. The bark was smooth without many knots that could be used for handholds, but the branch was thick enough that I could easily stand up and walk across it—which I would've done if I hadn't opened my eyes and saw that the forest floor was a long, long, long way down.

Was the Skipping trying to kill me? Did it have some kind of twisted sense of humor?

I heard several shouts in a language I didn't understand. Once the dizziness had faded a little, I recognized it as Sindarin. I glanced up and saw several elves walking along the smooth branch, their bows drawn and aimed right at me.

"Don't just stand there and point your weapons at me," I cried. "Help!"

"Why should we aid an intruder?" asked one of the elves, now speaking in the common tongue.

"I'm not an intruder." I made the mistake of glancing down again. My head started spinning again, and it took effort to form words. "I didn't have a choice in coming here. I'm just passing through. Look, I'm friends with Thorin Oakenshield."

No response.

It took me a second to realize what I'd just said and who I'd just said it to. "Oh wait. He's a dwarf, that's not going to help me. Okay, I'm friends with Elladan and Elrohir."

The bows remained drawn.

"I'm friends with Aragorn," I said, growing desperate. "And Legolas and Frodo and Elrond—Oh, come on! You have to know him!"

Someone grabbed me by the back of my shirt and lifted me into the air. I shrieked. There was nothing stable beneath me, only a long fall down.

Oh God. They were going to drop me over the edge.

The elves said something to one another in Sindarin again. Then, one the elves lifted me onto his back. I wrenched my eyes shut. The bumpy piggyback ride seemed endless. Every second I was terrified to find myself falling endlessly.

At last, the elf placed me onto solid ground. I opened my eyes, one at a time, to find that I stood on the wooden platform of a flet. It was only then that I realized I had ended up in Lórien again. And while there was some comfort in knowing where I was in Middle Earth, the hundred foot drop below remained a nagging fear in my mind.

One of the elves gestured for me to follow. Fighting back the urge to vomit, I took the path through the flets one step at a time. The elves took a purposeful path through the trees. They seemed to be moving toward the center of the forest where the flets were built closer together and higher in the trees.

As we walked, it crossed my mind that they might be taking me to some elven prison hidden deep in Lórien as punishment for trespassing. I had spent more than enough time in the dark, dank cell of a Rohan prison (thank you for that, Third Marshal of the Riddermark), and I really had no desire to end up a connoisseur of Middle Earth jails.

"You know, you don't really have to do this," I said, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. "You could just gently put me down on the forest floor, and let me go find Gandalf."

"Gandalf?" One of the elves glanced at me suspiciously. "You know Gandalf the Gray?"

"Oh, sure," I muttered. "That's the name that gets your attention."

"How are you acquainted with Gandalf?"

"Oh, you know, we're tight. Gandalf and I are BFFs." The idea was laughable, but I was willing to say just about anything to save myself from yet another jail cell. "I'm part of the inner circle of Gandalf's council."

"No, you are not."

The deep voice was familiar, and though it was not usually a voice I welcomed, for the first time, I was glad to hear it. Slowly, I looked up and saw that Gandalf stood on a flet not twelve feet away from me.

He was right there.

Right in front of me.

He looked the exact same as before… Well, almost. No longer a scruffy old man in gray rags, Gandalf had gone through a wardrobe change. His beard was white, his clothes were white, some of the wrinkles had disappeared. He had cleaned up and he looked good.

"Gandalf?" At first, I couldn't even say his name properly. Then, realizing that I wasn't hallucinating and that, by some luck or the will of the Skips, I had actually landed in the correct time and place, I cried, "Gandalf! You're here. Great. What time is it? But why are you white? What time is it? Have you gone through Moria yet?"

I did not think you would ever be so happy to see me," said Gandalf, leaning on his new white staff. "To answer your questions… Yes, the Fellowship has passed through Moria. I died two days ago after I slew the balrog."

"Oh." I stared at him and his new wardrobe. "Well, you've been busy, coming back from the dead and all. It's not like I've just been, you know, running away from dragons and crazy Dale soldiers and police officers and cute guys in an attempt to save your life. And you just come back from the dead. No big deal or anything."

"I have returned to this world," said Gandalf, continuing as if I had not spoken, "until my great task is done. I am now Gandalf the White—Saruman as he should have been."

"And you came to Lothlórien? The Fellowship was here…" I said, looking over my shoulder and half-expecting one of the hobbits to pop out from behind a tree branch.

"They departed yesterday," said Gandalf. "Gwaihir, the Lord of the Eagles, bore me here after he found me on the peak of Celebdil."

"Ambulance Eagles to the rescue," I said, nodding.

Gandalf sighed. "You have not changed a bit."

"Why thank you."

"That was not a compliment."

"And death has not changed you at all." I didn't meant it as a compliment either. Then, I added, "It is nice to know that you don't stay dead. I wasn't joking when I said I was running around trying to save your life."

Gandalf raised his brushy eyebrows and regarded me appraisingly. I don't think his opinion of me improved in the slightest despite my best efforts to save him. I don't even think he believed me. Though, to be fair, he did just overhear me lying through my teeth about us being BFFs.

After a moment, Gandalf said, "Come this way. There is someone you must meet."

Confused, I did what he asked. The elves followed us as he led me along the flets. I quickly realized that we were continuing in the same direction that the elves had been taking me, and I wondered if Gandalf intended to throw me in prison as well. I wouldn't put it past him.

Gandalf and the elves moved with ease, while I inched along the wood, trying my damnedest not to look down.

In an attempt to distract myself, I asked, "Did you really come back to life?"

"Yes."

"So, are you a zombie?"

Gandalf frowned. "That word is not known to me."

"A zombie is a reanimated corpse. But it isn't the same person as the one who died, and the zombie walks around with its arms stretched out in front of it and searching for brains." I demonstrated the proper zombie walk for Gandalf.

He stared at me.

"I thought it was funny," I muttered.

One of the elves scoffed just to let me know what he thought of my sense of humor.

"Seriously, though," I said, deciding it was best to ignore the rude elf, "how did you return to life?"

"Wizards are not the same as mortal men or even immortal elves," said Gandalf.

I scowled. "That doesn't explain anything."

"That is all your mortal mind can comprehend."

The elves snickered again, and I figured they and Gandalf were having some secret joke at my expense. Rather than giving them the satisfaction of seeing me lose my patience, I folded my arms across my chest and focused on not looking at the ground below.

"I have never gotten the chance to ask you," said Gandalf suddenly. "Why were you at the Inn of the Prancing Pony with Thorin Oakenshield?"

I blinked, surprised that Gandalf would ever bother to bring that up. At this point, it had taken place almost eighty years ago. "I Skip, you know that. I have no control over it."

"Yes, but why did he allow you to join our meeting about the reclaiming of Erebor." Gandalf watched me carefully, taking in my every hesitation. "The reclaiming of Erebor was a daunting quest, and Thorin kept the quest secret from all but his kin."

"I don't know," I said honestly. "I'd already known about the quest for the Lonely Mountain before Skipping to the Inn of the Prancing Pony. I'm sure Thorin just wanted to keep me around for entertainment. He likes making jokes at my expense, you know."

Slowly, Gandalf nodded. "Your guess is most likely correct."

I might have responded, but we had reached the edge of one of the flets and I finally saw that we were headed not to some Lórien prison. The path of connecting flets led up a hill to a massive tree of silver-gray bark. The mellorn tree was a tall as a sky-scraper, its leaves, newly forming with the coming of spring, were green on top and silver below, creating a canopy overhead that looked like a ceiling of moonlight.

It was Caras Galadhon. After all that Skipping and Skipping away at inopportune moments, I had finally reached the city of Lothlórien.

Elves walked among the flets, ascending and descending with the use of white ladders. They stopped what they were doing as I passed by, their eyes following me curiously. Gandalf and my captors led me along the flets, nudging me forward when I stopped to glance at the ground. Eventually, we reached long white staircase ascended the trunk of the mellorn, spiraling upward. The staircase led to another platform, this one larger and more decorated than any of the other flets. Silver vines formed walls and the writing of elves—not Sindarin but an older language—had been etched into the floor and pillars.

A solitary figure stood at the far end of the platform, a female elf dressed entirely in white. Her long, golden hair fell past her waist, and her snow-white dress ended in a long train. She turned as we approached and… of course she was ego-destroyingly beautiful. It wasn't fair that elves were all lovely and pretty—Why couldn't there be just one ugly elf? Or at least one average elf?

"This is the Lady Galadriel," Gandalf told me, "the Lady of Lothlórien."

"Oh." I waved awkwardly. "Hi."

Gandalf sighed as he turned to Galadriel and said, "My apologies. Manners are not her strength."

Galadriel bowed her head only slightly in acknowledgment of Gandalf's words. Then, she look at me and said, "Welcome, Senturiel, to Caras Galadhon."

"Okay, okay." I raised one hand in the air, palm facing her. "Hold the phone."

A slight frown crossed Galadriel's flawless face. "'Hold the phone'? I do not understand this expression."

"As is the case with many of her expressions," said Gandalf gravely.

"Stop," I said, demonstrating the hand gesture again. "It means stop. Because someone needs to explain. What does 'Senturiel' mean? All these elves keep calling me 'Senturiel', but no one will explain what 'Senturiel' is?" My eyes narrowed. "Are you making fun of me?"

Galadriel smiled kindly, and I realized that it was beneath her to make fun of me.

"The Senturiel was a gift," she explained, "given to the men of Númenor by the Valar. It was a stone of unending power that allowed the user to see the past, the future, and worlds beyond. Atanalcar, the youngest son of Elros, was the first to use the Senturiel. He alone knew the depths of its secrets and its power. And though he used it to protect Númenor, he would not speak of the wonders that he witnessed through the Senturiel."

Her expression turned grave. "Eventually, he was consumed by it, driven mad by the knowledge it gave him. The Senturiel was used at a terrible cost, and in the end, Atanalcar did not recognize even his own kin. He faded into a shadow, fearing the power of the Senturiel. It is not known what became of him."

"But when Senturiel appeared again before Tar-Amandil, one of the Kings of Númenor, he decided its knowledge was too great to be born. He chose to sealed away the stone in a safe, secret place. The Dúnedain, descendants of the people of Númenor, long concealed the existence of the Senturiel. They dared not use it. They dared not touch it. They kept it hidden from the world, fearing that it would destroy any who bore its power. But nothing can remain hidden forever."

"The Senturiel was rediscovered in the Second Age. Sauron came to power and rumor of the Senturiel reached his ears. He sought out the Senturiel, hoping to use its knowledge to spread his dominion. Fortunately, he did not succeed. The Dúnedain did not want the powers of the Senturiel to be misused, so they arranged for the stone to be brought Lothlórien for safekeeping. But it never reached Lothlórien. On the road, the stone was stolen. Elves and men waited for news of the stone, for news of Sauron's growing might, but there was not a sound. Since that day, the Senturiel has never been seen in Middle Earth. Whoever stole the Senturiel has not used it for ill or any great deeds. The stone remains forgotten, faded out of history and time."

Galadriel smiled fondly at me. "But now you have appeared, Ana Stonbit, you who come and go and speak of worlds beyond our knowledge. In the minds of men and dwarves, the Senturiel has been forgotten. But in the minds of the elves, it is a memory ever vibrant. The similarities between your powers and those of the Senturiel are too close to be mere coincidence. There is meaning behind your appearance in these troubled times."

I stared at Galadriel. And stared. And stared. And stared.

Finally, I asked, "So, basically, you're saying I am the equivalent of a magic rock?"

Gandalf pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Ana, the Senturiel is a gift given to the Númenóreans by the Valar in the First Age. It is a sacred and powerful object."

"Yeah, but it's a rock."

"Given to the Númenóreans by the Valar."

"I don't even know who the Valar are, so that doesn't really mean anything to me." I held my hands out in front of me, examining my short fingers. "No girl is going to be flattered by being called a rock. A magical rock, yes, but still a rock."

"The Valar are the spirits who created the world," said Gandalf.

"Still a rock."

"Ana." Gandalf's patience was wearing thin. "You have an inability to appreciate history."

"I'm sorry," I said. "But no matter how much history you put behind a rock—it is still a rock. Now, if it was a rock of gold, I might be a little more flattered." I looked at Galadriel hopefully.

"There are no records of the stone's appearance," said Galadriel, "only that it is a stone."

"Great," I muttered.

I glanced up and saw that both Galadriel and Gandalf stared at me. I'm not sure how to describe the emotion I could see in their gazes. It was almost expectant. Yeah, that's the right word. They expected something from me. Maybe they expected me to fulfill Atanalcar's role as some sort of protector of Middle Earth. I hoped not. Atanalcar was driven insane by the Senturiel. Did they really expect me to want to be this Senturiel? I had no interest in losing my mind. No. I just wanted to find Nick and Bonnie and then go back to normal—attending college, trying to hold onto a job, falling in love, and pretending that I didn't Skip to Middle Earth at random times. Maybe it wasn't the most healthy life, but it was my life. Not this. Not whatever Gandalf and Galadriel wanted from me. I wasn't an inanimate magic rock. I was a human being, and I couldn't give them what they wanted.

I shoved my hands into my jeans pockets and leaned back on my heels. I planned on explaining things clearly and succinctly to Gandalf and Galadriel, but, of course, being me, I had to start rambling the moment I opened my mouth:

"You know, this whole Senturiel thing sounds like a huge responsibility. You want someone stable and intelligent, and well, I'm not really the responsibility type. You should talk to my parents if you want references. I can't hold a job for more than a couple months—if I'm lucky. I can't keep dates. I can't even keep track of my own life. I don't need this whole driven mad, faded out of reality thing to weigh down on my shoulders. I think we should all pretend this never happened, and I'll go about my business, while you guys go find a new Senturiel. Someone who can handle the responsibility."

"The responsibility is already yours," said Galadriel. "We know not how you came by the powers of the Senturiel, but its powers are yours. Already the burdens of the Senturiel weigh down upon your shoulders.'

"No, they don't." I wiggled my shoulders. "See, my shoulders are as light as a feather. Nothing weighting them down. Free as a bird. See?"

"Your ability to deny the obvious is exceptional," muttered Gandalf.

"It's true." I nodded vehemently. "I'm extremely good at pretending bad things don't exist. And now you want me to—what?—save Middle Earth from whatever doom is coming. It's not going to happen. I don't want this, and you really need to find someone else to place your hopes on. "

"Poor child," said Galadriel softly.

"What?" My voice was a higher pitch than I intended. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not going crazy. I'm not like Atanalcar. I just Skip from place to place. That's it. I'm not crazy!" I look back and forth between Galadriel and Gandalf, my head spinning and pounding as I tried to calm the frantic energy that seemed to have taken over my body. "I'm not crazy."

Skip.

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter XVIII: I Get A Date

"All right, I know you teleported this time. I saw you jump off the building, and then two hours later you appeared back on the roof."

It took my eyes a few blinks to become accustomed to the light of Ohio sun. Jack stood on the other side of the roof. His arms were crossed, and he had a stubborn set about his jaw and mouth. A cup of coffee and book rested on the ground at his feet, which meant he'd probably camped out after seeing me jump a second time. I sighed. Why did cute guys always have to end up being weird?

"I don't suppose I can say that I locked myself out of my apartment again?" I asked, hopefully.

"No."

I glanced longingly at the door to the stairwell, but Jack had once again positioned himself between me and the exist. He had thought this ambush through very thoroughly.

"You're not getting out of this," said Jack.

Fighting back another sigh, I asked, "Out of what? Telling you? I can just not tell you. I can stand here and refuse to tell you 'til the cows come home. We'll stand here and glare at each other until I disappear again, and you wait for me to come back again. But it could take weeks, even months, for me to come back. Then I'll appear here, we'll glare at each other for a long time, and then I'll disappear again. This can go on and on and on. I'll eat and I'll sleep. You, however, will never be able to move from this spot—even to go to the bathroom. Because the moment you leave that spot, I'll come back here and run away. So, you can glare at me, but this is a competition I'll win no problem."

"So, you admit it then," said Jack.

"Admit what?"

"That you can teleport."

I groaned. "Damn it, I don't teleport. I just—never mind. I don't want to tell you."

"Tell me."

The more he asked and tried to trick me into telling him, the less I wanted to admit anything. I shook my head and asked, "What do you think I am?"

Jack frowned. Apparently he had no solid answer yet. We stood there awkwardly while he thought of a response. Unfortunately, standing in silence gave Jack's cuteness time to work on me. My earlier frustration faded. Even when he pondered stupid question and would most likely come up with a stupid answer, he was still really cute.

Finally, Jack lifted his head. "You're a witch, aren't you?"

Of course. It was always a witch. There was no creativity anymore.

"Not the witch thing again," I whined. "Been there done that. It ends with burning buildings, and a crazy soldier pointing his sword at me. I am not a witch. Try again."

"Burning buildings and a crazy soldier?" asked Jack.

"Yeah. That's my life. Deal with it."

"Are you like some sort of medieval woman come to the future?"

I stared at him for a second and then burst out laughing. Well, I had asked for creativity. "Me? Medieval? Oh hell no, I'm as modern as they come. I live on Starbucks coffee."

Jack stopped to consider this. "So you're not a demon or an angel?"

"Angel?" I could just picture myself showing up in front of the Company or the Fellowship, trying to show off my new fancy wings and divine abilities. Even better was the image of me as a demon. I'd try to tempt someone into sin, but fail so miserably that they became a priest or monk or something pious. My ribs hurt from all the laughing. "This is fun. Guess again, come on."

Jack scowled. "I'm being serious here."

"I know. That's why it's so funny." I grinned. "I really should make everyone who asks try to guess. It'd make things much more entertaining at least."

"What are you?"

"Nuh-uh." I waggled my finger at him. "You have to guess it."

He ran a hand through his short hair. "I'm out of guesses."

"Too bad then," I said. "Because I'm not telling you. Come up with new guesses, and we'll try again some other time."

I took a step towards the door, but Jack moved in front of me with a cry of "Tomorrow!" When I stopped in my tracks, he grinned in triumphant and added, "You're not going to keep this a secret for long. We'll get coffee and I'll figure out what you are."

"Tomorrow?" I shook my head. "Don't make plans. I never keep dates."

"It isn't a date," said Jack.

When I said date I meant an arranged time of meeting… But hey, if Jack heard romantic date, who was I to complain?

"It's a date and you know it." I couldn't keep a smug smile off my face. "I guess I can try to meet you for coffee tomorrow. Though don't have high expectations that I'll show up. What time is good for you?"

"It's not a date," said Jack stubbornly, "but I'll stop by your apartment tomorrow morning around ten."

"All right then," I said, stepping past him and heading for the stairwell. "It's a date!"

I heard Jack yell "It's not date!" before I closed the door firmly behind me. A huge grin spread across my face and I skipped (the actual action of skipping, not jumping worlds) down the stairs to the sixth floor.

I, Ana Stonbit, had a date. A real date with a real guy. We were going to get coffee. He was going to fall in love with me. We were going to be a normal couple with normal couple problems.

Okay, before you point out that Jack doesn't seem nearly as excited about the date as I was, you have to understand that a date is a big deal for me. It's hard to maintain a relationship when you accidentally Skip to another world every other week.

My dating history contained a whole two guys. The first guy, David Horne, was when I was thirteen. We went on a date to a movie, and afterwards, he said I was cute so we became boyfriend and girlfriend. We lasted for a frigging week before he said we should break up because I never answered his text messages. Well, yeah, it's kind of hard to answer text messages while I'm running away from giant white oxen in Gondor! My second relationship was in high school. That one lasted a record two and a half months. Then Aiden cheated on me because "I was never there" for him. You'll never guess where I was instead.

In short, my dating history was a disaster thanks to the Skipping. So the fact that I actually had a date with this adorable next door neighbor (don't remind me that he refuses to call it a date) was an exciting thing. Even better, he at least had some idea that I was not normal, and perhaps if we did fall in love and start dating, he would be more tolerant of my absences than David or Aiden had ever been.

Now, all I had to do was not Skip to Middle Earth for the next twenty-four hours, and I was good. I could do that, right? Right?

Wrong.

I got to my apartment and fixed myself dinner (microwave macaroni and cheese like the proper adult I was). After a shower, I changed into my pajamas—an oversized t-shirt and boxers. Usually, I wore leggings and a cotton shirt, which was at least passable in Middle Earth, but that night, I decided to be optimistic that I wouldn't Skip. But, of course, just when I was getting into bed for a good night's sleep…

Skip.

That had to have been one of the worst wardrobe Skips of my life. I think it's tied for second place with the time I Skipped in a swimsuit—but that's still to come. The undisputable worst, of course, being the time I Skipped to Rohan in the nude.

Anyways, I wore nothing but my pajamas. Oversized t-shirt, no bra, and boxers. And I was in Middle Earth…where women wearing pants were considered scandalous.

You can already see the disaster coming, can't you?

I went from sitting on my bed to sitting on top of a dwarf's round, squishy stomach.

"Ow!"

"Bombur, get off me!"

"Where are we?"

"Ana, what are you doing here?" cried Bofur. "And what are you wearing?"

I looked down and saw that I was sitting on Bombur's stomach. In a huge heap beneath him was the rest of the Company. Bofur sprawled on top of Glóin and Dori with Bombur's leg digging into his back, while Balin and Bilbo were buried beneath Dwalin and his fur coat. The Company, I realized, had been trapped in a sort of crusted, claw-like cage with an open roof. We were inside a mountain, the rough walls sloping upward to form a low ceiling above our heads. Glowing orange torches revealed a lone pathway leading from the cage deeper into the caverns. The pathway was narrow with step sides the dropped off into a black abyss below.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"Inside the Misty Mountains," came Balin's voice from somewhere below me.

"We have been captured." Óin's voice was muffled. I think because Fíli's hair was in his mouth.

Bofur still looked scandalized. "Ana, why are you dressed like that?"

"I was getting ready for bed," I explained, tugging at the hem of my t-shirt.

"You sleep in that?" Bombur looked up at me perched on his stomach.

"Do you not get cold?" asked Ori.

"It's called pajamas. Which means I would be curled up in my nice warm bed while wearing them." I paused, and then the realization that I was in Middle Earth instead of my apartment started to sink in. "Oh shit! I can't be here—I have a date tomorrow! The one time I really didn't want to Skip… And now I'm going to miss my date with a cute guy."

"I am certain you can set up another date," said Bofur kindly.

I let out a long sigh. "In my experience, guys don't like it when I can't be there for them."

"If you grew a beard," said Glóin, "perhaps you could acquire more dates."

"Somehow, I don't think that would help me very much," I said. "Unfortunately, human tastes aren't the same as dwarvish tastes." I stroked my chin and sighed. "I would like to have a marvelous blonde beard though."

"We are all impressed you managed to get a date, Ana," said Thorin darkly from somewhere at the bottom of the pile. "Now, get off us."

"Thorin," I cried. He'd been so quiet that I hadn't even realized he was there. Then, it occurred to me what he'd just said. I crossed my arms over my chest. "Just for that comment, I'm staying right here."

A series of loud protests rose from the dwarves. I'm pretty sure I was cursed out in some very colorful Khuzdul.

I decided I couldn't punish the rest of the Company for Thorin's rudeness, so I hopped off Bombur's stomach and then helped the fat dwarf to his feet. Like a jigsaw puzzle, one by one, the dwarves and Bilbo disentangled themselves. Bofur, it seemed, still could not believe the clothes I wore. Thankfully, Ori leant me his cloak, worried that I would get cold.

It turned out that I had Skipped to right after the dwarves had fallen through the floor of the cave in the Misty Mountains. Nori pointed out to me the cracks in the low ceiling and explained that they had been dumped into the cage.

"Whose cage is this?" I asked, examining the iron bars.

Fíli inspected the rusted metal carefully, while Kíli podded it with his index finger.

"Most likely goblins," said Balin. "They would be remnants of the great goblins who dwelled in the Misty Mountains before the War of Dwarves and Orcs."

"War of Dwarves and Orcs?" wondered Bilbo.

I actually knew the answer to this one. "The war took place one-hundred-and-fifty years ago. In revenge for his father's murder, King Thráin led an army of dwarves into the Misty Mountains to conquer all the orc and goblin strongholds."

The dwarves all stared at me in horror. My gaze shifted to Thorin, whose expression was hard and grim. Oh. Right. King Thráin was his father.

Thankfully, Thorin saved of from any more awkwardness by saying, "Which means our captors will have no love of dwarves. We must keep our wits about us."

"What does that mean?" I asked. "What wits should I keep?"

Thorin glanced at me and then said, in a low voice, "Do not mention our quest. Do not mention my name or my majesty. Do not mention who you are. Do not mention Gandalf, Elrond, or any of the important people you know."

I winced. "So I should just say nothing?"

A ghost of a smile crossed Thorin's face. "That would be best."

"If anyone asks," added Dori, "we are dwarven merchants traveling from Bree to visit our kin in the Iron Hills."

"If you can avoid saying anything, however," said Balin, "that would reassure us all."

I fell into silence and watched as the dwarves tried to find a way out of the cage. The dwarves still had all their weapons, so Dwalin used his warhammer to strike the iron bars. However, despite their rust, the bars held in place. After about fifteen minutes of trying to break out, most of the dwarves had given up and sat on the floor of the cage with me. Only Dwalin, Fíli, and Kíli remained battling the iron bars with whatever weapons they could find.

"Tell us about this man with whom you have a date, Ana," said Dori.

"Well, I don't have a date anymore," I grumbled. "Unless the Skip very kindly brings me back soon. But his name's Jack and he moved in next door and he's cute."

"A romance with the neighbor," said Glóin wistfully.

"My brother still has not forgotten the dwarfmaid who was our neighbor in Dunland," explained Óin.

"Oh?" I looked between the brothers eagerly. "I haven't heard about this before."

"She has one of the loveliest beards I've ever seen," said Glóin. "And she has some of the best stone craftsmanship in the village."

"He married her," Óin added for my benefit.

It occurred to me that if Gimli was Glóin's son then of course Glóin would have married at some point. How weird to think that years from now, Glóin's son and Bilbo's heir would set out on an adventure together.

I wished I could know my own future, know if I was going to get a happy ending or if I was going to end up losing my mind like Atanalcar. Keeping the date with Jack, I thought, would be a good step in the "happy ending" direction.

"Do not look so sad, Ana," said Bofur.

I smiled across the cage at him. "I could still Skip back in the couple few hours and make it on time. And even if I miss the date, I can probably still wrangled him into setting up another one."

"Somehow," said Nori, "I do not think this Jack agreed to this date freely."

"But we wish you the very but luck with him," added Ori quickly. "I hope you two will be very happy together."

The rest of the dwarves started offering me congratulations and well-wishes. You would have thought Jack and I were getting married instead of just going on a first date. Nori and Bombur remained still skeptical that Jack would want to go on a date with me when I was lacking a beard. Ori offered to help me braid my hair in preparation for the date, and soon the rest of the dwarves began debating what hairstyle would look best on me.

The only person who said nothing was Thorin. He stood above the rest of us, his arms folded over his chest in his usual majestic pose. His gaze remained fixed on the stone pathway leading deeper into the caverns. Suddenly, he hissed, "Quiet."

A hush fell over the dwarves.

On the stone pathway, there had appeared a group of grotesque goblins. At least twenty of them—enough to outnumber the Company—made their way to the iron cage. They leered at us, grinning and showing their crooked teeth. They hissed something in their foul language as one of the goblins opened the metal door. Pouring into the cage like a swarm of insects, the goblins grabbed the dwarves, Bilbo, and me one by one, stripped us of our weapons, and forced us along the pathway. The dwarves started to shout insults, struggling as best they could. Ori very nearly took a goblin's eye out, and Óin kept trying to throttle them. Since I was fairly incapable of fighting and could very easily be killed by a goblin, I just made myself as small as possible in the hopes that they would ignore me.

It didn't help much. One of the goblins spat on me, and I shrieked in horror as the spit landed on my arm. I tried desperately to wipe some of the saliva off with my t-shirt, saying, "I'm going to contract some deadly disease."

"That is the least of our concerns right now," said Thorin, who was right behind me on the pathway.

One of the goblins prodded me in the side, his sharp fingernail jabbing deep into my skin. I yelped and clung onto Dwalin's back. Thinking I was a goblin, Dwalin shoved me away. Unfortunately, he shoved me into a goblin. The goblin snapped at me, baring its teeth and its knife.

"I don't like this," I cried, stumbling into Thorin.

"Yes." Thorin grabbed my wrist, pulling me out of the way as he shoved the goblin aside. "Because we enjoy being captured by goblins so much."

I opened my mouth to respond, but yet another goblins pushed me.

Thorin still hadn't let go of my wrist, and I ended up dragging him with me. We almost fell off the edge of the stone pathway, down into the depths of the abyss, but Thorin managed to keep us on solid ground. Then, as soon as it was clear we weren't go to fall to our death, he released me.

"Walk straight," he muttered. "Try not to d—"

Goblins yanked us apart before I could hear the rest of what he said. Knowing Thorin, though, he was probably telling me not to do anything stupid.

I pulled my hands close to my chest and tried to do as Thorin commanded. However, it was hard to walk straight and not do anything stupid when the goblins were shrieking and jostling.

The dwarves shouted protests when they saw the goblins carrying their confiscated weapons. The swords, axes, knives, and bows were passed along by the goblins. All the weapons except for mine. I didn't have a weapon with me. The Sword Breaker was at home, lying on my bedside table. That was the last time I ever went to bed unarmed.

"Don't eat me," I said, eyeing one particularly deformed goblin. "I don't taste very good. You can eat the dwarves though. A troll once told me they were delicious."

Somewhere to my left, Dwalin snorted. "You still sing the same tune. It did not work the first time, why would it work the second time?"

"We don't like the beards," said one of the goblins, who knew the common tongue. "Dwarves are all hairy. The strands get stuck between the teeth. We like humans though. Humans are very tender."

I gulped.

Dwalin accidentally elbowed me in the stomach, and I stumbled backwards into Kíli. Kíli said something not very nice to one of the goblins in Khuzdul. I think it had something to do with eating one's own innards, but I could be wrong.

"You could eat Kíli instead of me," I told the goblin who spoke the common tongue. "He doesn't have a beard."

"Hey!" cried Kíli. "I have more of a beard then you!"

"That's not saying much."

"I do not taste good," cried Kíli, looking around at the goblins frantically. "I taste like gravel! Like gravel!"

The goblin cackled and then said, "Or we could eat both of you."

My response was cut off by a sharp elbow to the ribs. Another hard push, and I slammed into the shoulder of another goblin, knocking him off balance and off the edge of the pathway. The goblin tumbled into the black abyss below, his knotted hands reached up towards me before he disappeared from sight, consumed by the darkness.

With a shill shriek, I leapt backwards. The goblins around me hissed and jeered angrily. But for the most part, they didn't seem to upset that I had just accidentally killed one of theirs.

I slunk to Dwalin's side, clinging to his back in the hopes that the dwarf would protect me. I should have known better, of course. Dwalin did no such thing. He got into a fist fight with one of the nearest goblins, stepping away and leaving me exposed. Someone hit the back of my knees, and I stumbled forward yet again. I would have fallen onto my knees and probably been trampled to death if Bifur hadn't grabbed my arm and held me upright.

You can, I suppose, think of the walk from the cage to our destination as a game of pinball where I was the ball and the dwarves and goblins were the bumpers. I bounced about, trying to avoid being kicked or punched or bitten or knocked off the edge of the pathway (why does no one in Middle Earth believe in handrails?). For a while, I managed to used Bifur as a shield against most of the pushing and fighting, but then Bifur got knocked to the ground and I was left on my own.

"The Great One remembers you," snarled one of the goblins next to me.

I looked up to see the goblin wasn't looking at me but leering at Balin. The goblin was taller than the old, white-haired dwarf, and yet Balin did not seem intimidated in the slightest, merely annoyed with how foul the goblins smelled.

"I do not remember this 'Great One'," said Balin. "I slew too many goblins in the Battle of the Coldfells to remember one arrogant fool."

The goblin snarled, moving as if to strike Balin, but at the last second, Balin stepped to the side and the goblin missed. For the first time, it occurred to me that Balin was badass.

When one of the goblin's snapped his teeth near my hand, trying to bite off a few fingers, I screamed and caught hold of Nori's arm. I clung on for dear life until someone grabbed me roughly by the back of the shirt and peeled me away from Nori. When I regained my bearings, I found myself facing an extremely annoyed Thorin.

"I told you to walk straight," said Thorin, dragging me by the wrist along with him.

"It's hard," I said right before a goblin almost took my eye out.

Thorin pulled me away from the goblin just in time to save my eye. "Keep your head down. They are more likely to kill the irritating captive than the quiet one."

I nodded. "Yes, your majesty."

Thorin sighed and pushed a goblin away from him. "Why do I tolerate you?"

"Because I have so much majestic potential?" I said with a small smile.

Despite being surrounded by goblins, despite being pushed down a stone pathway that dropped down into a black pit on either side, despite being taken somewhere we did not know, and despite the threat of being eaten by vengeful goblins, Thorin laughed.

"You? Majestic? Only in your dreams."

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter XIX: The Great Escape

The goblins, snickering and sneering, pushed us along the stone pathway. I'm not sure how long we walked for, going ever deeper into the caverns of the Misty Mountains. To me, it could have been hours. It could have been days. Though in reality, I suspect it was little more than twenty minutes.

I don't have fond memories of that walk. I remember the putrid smell. I remember being spat on several times. I remember the goblins' curses in their foul language. I remember walking behind Thorin, keeping a firm hold on the back of his coat so we didn't get separated.

My last trip to the Misty Mountains had involved Gandalf falling to his death. My gaze would skim over the faces of the Company as I tried and failed to reassure myself that we would all get through this in one peace.

In short, the walk was hell. I actually felt relief when the pathway led us under a narrow archway and then opened up to reveal the expanse of goblin town.

Goblin town was by no means beautiful like Erebor or Caras Galadhon, but in its own way, it inspired awe. The town had been built in a ravine: the ceiling so far above us that we couldn't see it and the bottom was so far below that darkness had swallowed it. The goblins' wooden houses had been built into the steep walls of the ravine, all connected by hundreds of rickety bridges. Flickering orange torches illuminated the town, and at the center, on a wide platform suspended over the abyss, roared a giant fire.

It was too this large, central platform that the goblins brought us. I remember being shoved onto the floor beside Dwalin, while our captors threw the Company's weapons into a pile at the feet of the goblin king.

To this day, the goblin king was one of the most hideous creatures I have ever seen. I know I have said that the goblins were ugly, but the rest of them are fashion models compared to their king. He was a huge, hulking being with a bulging stomach, countless warts, and squinty eyes. He sat on a throne of rocks and bones with a deformed crown of animal ribs on his fat head. At first, I thought he had a beard, but upon second glance, I realized it was just flab hanging down from his chin, swaying madly whenever he moved his head.

"Well, well, well," said the goblin king. "What do we have here?"

"Dwarves, your malevolence," said one of the short, thin goblins, speaking in the common tongue.

I glanced around. Bilbo and I were most certainly not dwarves. I cowered behind Dwalin, so perhaps they hadn't seen me yet, but Bilbo was obviously not a dwarf. But now that I looked, I couldn't find Bilbo among the Company.

My heart skipped a beat as images of Gandalf tumbling into Khazad-dûm flashed before my eyes. Had we lost Bilbo on the stone pathway? Had the goblins knocked him off? Why hadn't anyone noticed? My hand reached for the edge of Dwalin's coat, but there wasn't time to worry about Bilbo.

"Dwarves!" The goblin king laughed—a gravelly, wretched sound. "Dwarves! Dwarves!" He peered at the Company through piggish eyes. "And what might dwarves be doing, crossing my mountain?"

The Company didn't respond.

"Very well," said the king. He turned to his fellow goblins and let out a deep cackle. "If they will not talk, we will make them squawk. Bring out the Bone Breaker!"

A roar rose up amongst the crowd of goblins watching, and it echoed throughout the ravine. Apparently, they liked the Bone Breaker quite a bit.

"We will start with the woman," said the goblin king as he thrust a thick finger in Dwalin's direction.

"Dwalin's not a woman," I said, trying to keep my voice low. "Easy mistake to make though."

Dwalin glanced at me with pity. "He refers to you."

The goblins snickered and prodded me with their sharp fingernails.

"Wait!" I cried. My grip on Dwalin's shirt tightened in a vain attempt to stop the goblins from taking me away. "I don't know anything! I really don't! I'm just passing through!"

The goblin king snickered and leaned back in his skeletal throne. "I have never seen a female dwarf before. I did not expect them to be as ugly as you."

The goblin king with his flab and warts had just called me "ugly". My jaw dropped and I could only stare up at the king with mute horror. What did I do to deserve that kind of insult?

Dori patted me on the shoulder. "If you had a beard, you would be quite acceptable."

The goblins jeered and prodded me. Dwalin and Dori both grabbed hold of me, trying to stop the goblins from dragging me away. One of the goblins struck Dori in the nose, another elbowed Dwalin in the stomach, and the dwarves relinquished their holds on me.

As I stumbled forward to the front of the group, I felt the eyes of goblin town watching. I wrapped the cloak Ori had given me closer around, trying to hide the fact that wore only boxers and a t-shirt.

The king leered at me, showing all of his crooked, yellow teeth.

"I don't like this Bone Breaker," I said. "Could we just, you know, sit down and talk. Maybe have some coffee and cookies. I feel like this whole issue can be better resolved with talking rather than…torture…"

"Are you mocking me?" asked the goblin king. As he leaned forward, his throne groaned under his great weight. I could even hear the cracking of the old bones.

"Me?" I squeaked. "Mocking you? No! Uh, how could I mock such a splendid creature of such magnificence? I mean, just look at those warts. Those are some amazing warts. I have never seen such beautiful warts in all my life. And that flabby piece of skin—incredible. How did you get that? You should tell me and I'll try and get one myself."

The king smiled and scratch his flab. "I am naturally this magnificent."

"Really?" I cried eagerly. "So lucky! My genetics only made me short, but you—you get to be…to be a great handsome goblin king. Aren't I right?" I glanced around at the dwarves for support. They all stared at me, the word "no" plastered on their faces. I turned back to the goblin king and offered up my best smile. "They agree."

"Oh stop, stop," said the goblin king. "You flatter too much."

"I'm only speaking the truth."

The goblin king grinned at me, and I had to actively try not to cringe at how hideous he was.

"Since you have such refined taste," said the king. "I will show you a little treat." He turned to a small goblin with bug-eyes that might have been his secretary. "Bring out the jester."

Several of the goblins scurried away. I could feel the dwarves shifting uncomfortably behind me. Dori tried to grab my arm and pulled me back among their ranks, but the goblins hissed and prodded him so that he had to give up.

I glanced back at Thorin. "Jester?"

He didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the goblin king.

The goblins returned, carrying a human-sized iron cage on their shoulders. They placed it down on the ground beside the king's throne, and I got a good view of what was inside. A thin young man sat behind the bars. He had messy light brown hair and an awkward too-tall-for-his-weight frame. His red t-shirt had been smeared with grime, and he wore a deep scowl as he stared through the rusted bars at the goblins. Then, his brown eyes came to rest on me. The scowl disappeared, replaced by shock.

I could barely find the words. "Nick? Is that you?"

At first, he didn't dare to believe it either. Then a huge grin spread across his face, and he leaned forward, grabbing hold of the cage bars. "Hey, Ana." He voice was barely a croak. "I see you landed in this crazy place too."

My throat felt thick, and for a second, I was afraid that I would cry. After months of jumping of buildings, searching for my friends in every place in Middle Earth and always being disappointed, I had found Nick. In goblin town. He looked battered and exhausted, but at least he was alive.

"You know the jester?" asked Glóin.

"He's my friend, Nick. I, um, accidentally brought him here." I glanced at Thorin, and he nodded once. Apparently he remembered my ridiculously long explanation when I'd met him in the Blue Mountains. The funny thing is that Thorin had refused to help me find my friends, but here he was when I finally found Nick.

"You brought me here?" Nick frowned as he tried to make sense of my words.

"Yeah…" My gaze shifted over the massive goblin king who had watched this entire exchange with interest. "There are probably better times to explain than right now."

"You know my jester?" The goblin king said as soon as Nick and I fell into silence.

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. One wrong answer to the goblin king could end with my being tortured on the Bone Breaker. But, well, it wasn't like I could leave Nick in goblin town.

"He's my friend," I said. "I, um, take it his jesting skills are to your liking."

"Very much." The king's mouth stretched into a menacing smile, and then he turned to Nick and said, "Make us laugh, Jester."

Nick clutched the bars of the cage. He glanced at me, almost embarrassed, and then asked, "What do you call a man with two wooden legs and no left eye who gets into a fight with a cat?"

The goblin king had already started laughing. "I do not know! Tell me!"

"Claude."

The goblin king stared at Nick for a good, long second. Then he doubled over and let out a booming laugh. Immediately, the hundred other goblins present started cackling, as if this was the funniest thing they had ever heard. The goblin king pounded his fist on the throne, laughing so much that his flab jiggled violently.

I stared at Nick's solemn face. Then, I glanced back at the dwarves. They weren't laughing either.

The goblin king seemed to notice this, because he suddenly stopped guffawing. He glared at us and said, in a low tone, "Why aren't you laughing?"

Pause.

With exception of Thorin, who was too proud for such nonsense, we all practically fell over ourselves with fake laughter.

"Oh my God!" I cried. "That's hilarious!"

"Please, stop!" Fíli clutched his sides. "I cannot take it anymore."

"I wish we had such a jester at home," added Nori.

Unable to take it anymore, Ori leaned forward and whispered to me, "Your friend is not very funny."

This probably would have been okay if Ori hadn't timed his comment very, very poorly. For some reason, a pause had been taken in all the laughter and compliments, and Ori's voice came out louder than he'd intended.

The goblin king stopped laughing. He turned to Ori with a stony face. "You do not think my jester is amusing?"

Nick glanced from Ori to the goblin king and back. "Uh, um, what did the plate say to the other plate? Lunch is on me."

The Company and I laughed weakly.

The goblin king didn't even listen to Nick. He couldn't tear his eyes away from poor Ori. Then, slowly, the goblin king turned to one of his minions and said, "Bring up the Bone Breaker."

Immediately, ten goblins scampered away from the platform, manic grins on their squat, disfigured faces.

"What?" I cried. "Why? Is that really necessary?"

The dwarves pulled Ori back and closed ranks around him. I had no idea how they planned to rescue Ori from the clutches of the Bone Breaker—not when we were surrounded by sneering, blood-thirsty goblins and their insane king with a horrible sense of humor.

I inched closer to Nick's cage, and when I was close enough, I asked as quietly as I could, "Are you okay?"

"I'll survive," whispered Nick. "They've kept me alive so I could tell jokes to the king."

"How long have you been here?"

"I don't know. No more than a couple days, I think." Nick hesitated and then asked, softly, "What about you?"

"I ended up with a dragon. I went home before he could eat me." I added the last part when I saw the look of fright on Nicks face.

"You've been home?" asked Nick, faint hope in his voice.

I nodded.

"How's everything?"

"Good. Everything's good." I swallowed. How do you tell your best friend that he's been gone for six months? How do you tell him he's on the missing persons list? How do you tell him that it's all your fault? That you Skipped him to another world and left him there by accident.

I bit my lip and glanced over at the dwarves. They huddled around Ori, keeping a firm grip on him and glowering at the goblins. I searched for Thorin. When our gazes met, he glanced at Nick and inclined his head. I nodded and gave him a relieved little smile.

"So how do you know these guys?" asked Nick, leaning against the bars of the crude cage. His head bent under the low ceiling, and I could see scratched on his hands. Still, Nick kept his voice light.

"It's kind of a long story," I said.

"How long?"

"I first met Thor—one of them when I was six." I had to be careful about Thorin's name in this place.

Nick blinked. "That long?"

"Yep."

To my great misfortune, the goblin king chose that moment to turn away from the dwarves and see me talking to Nick. His little, pale eyes bugged out of his head and he lumbered down from his throne. "Do not talk to my jester—" He said something in his foul tongue that I didn't understand but figured it wasn't nice.

"Sorry, your malevolence," I said, throwing my hands up and backing away from Nick's cage. "I should never have gone against the wishes of your great, uh, wartiness."

"You cannot talk to what is mine," snarled the goblin king. Apparently, Ori's comment had royally pissed him off, and he wouldn't even listen to my flattering anymore. That could only mean bad things for me.

"I won't," I said, shaking my head. "I won't talk to my friend anymore. I—"

My pleas came to a halt as the sound of jeers and shouts rose up among the goblins.

The Bone Breaker had arrived.

Let me tell you, the Bone Breaker is a mechanism of pure evil. It had spikes and straps and boards and what looked like leather holds for your feet and head. I'm not entirely sure how it worked, but I'm pretty sure it went something along the lines of you were tied to a board and stretched out until all your bones broke. Hence the name.

"I still think coffee and cookies are the best solution," I said weakly.

"Put the woman in the Bone Breaker!" The king's words were met with wild applause from the other goblins.

"What?" I glanced over at Ori. Relief flickered on his face, but then his eyes snapped to mine and filled with panic.

"Not her!" cried Nick.

Before I even had time to try to escape, four goblins grabbed my arms and legs. I shrieked and writhed, but their skinny hands held tight. I couldn't even form a coherent thought as I was dragged, kicking and screaming, to the Bone Breaker.

I didn't want to die that way. I didn't want to go through pain like that. I would rather die falling off the roof of my apartment building than strapped into a torture device. And while you and I both know I don't die in the Bone Breaker, at the time, I really couldn't see a way out of the situation. The only thing going through my mind was I would rather die any way than in pain like that.

I was saved from such a fate by one majestic word.

"Wait."

Inches from the Bone Breaker, the goblins holding me stopped. I twisted about and managed to see that Thorin had stepped forward. The dwarves shifted about him, eyeing the goblins nervously. However, Thorin remained resolute. His blue eyes were icy as he glowered at the goblin king.

A wide grin spread across the king's grotesque face. "So you finally reveal yourself, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, and King Under the Mountain. But wait!" The goblin king's smile turned into a leer. "I forgot. You do not have a mountain. So that would make you…no one, really."

Despite the shadow of the Bone Breaker looming over me, I cried, "That was uncalled for!"

Nick held a finger to his lips, trying to get me to be quiet.

Neither Thorin nor the goblin king had heard me, however. Their attention was fixed entirely on each other. I squirmed, trying to break the goblins' hold on my arms and legs. I caught two of the goblins off guard, and they dropped my legs on the hard, wooden floor. I winced in pain, while the other two hissed. They kept firm grips on my forearms, their nails digging into the skin.

The goblin king sat back on his throne and smiled nastily. "I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head, Thorin Oakenshield."

Thorin frowned.

"Do you not know?" asked the goblin king. "You are being hunted. A pale orc atop a white warg is willing to pay for your head. Just your head. Nothing else attached."

"A pale orc?" I asked, always the ignorant one.

"Azog the Defiler died at the gates of Azanulbizar," said Thorin darkly.

"Oh?" The goblin king grinned, showing all his teeth. "You think his defiling days are over, do you?"

"Azog?" I asked. "Can someone fill me in on this?"

"Me too," said Nick from his cage.

Balin sighed and shot me a disapproving look "Azog the Defiler was a commander of the orc armies in the War of Dwarves and Orcs."

A muttering grew amongst the goblins, and some of them shot Balin filthy glares. Clearly, the war was not a happy memory for them.

"He was also the orc who beheaded Thorin's grandfather, King Thrór," continued Balin as if he hadn't noticed the murmurings of the goblins. "During the Battle of Azanulbizar, Azog's son Bolg was killed by Dáin II, a descendant of Durin and heir to the Iron Hills. In revenge, Azog swore to end the line of Durin, starting with Thorin."

"But no one ends our uncle," said Kíli proudly.

Balin's eyes widened at the idiocy of Kíli, and in an attempt to cover up this mistake, Balin quickly carried on with the story, "However, Thorin was not to be so easily defeated. Thorin fought Azog with only a sword and an oaken branch."

"That is where the name 'Oakenshield' comes from," added Kíli.

Fíli had the common sense to stop his younger brother from saying more with a good punch to the arm.

"Thorin severed Azog's left arm, and Azog slunk back into the mountain. He has not been seen or heard from since. We presumed him dead. It would be ill news indeed to hear otherwise."

The goblin king listened to Balin's story with narrowed eyes. I expected him to interrupt, but he wasn't half as stupid as I hoped he'd be. No doubt he'd heard everything we said and planned how to make use of that information.

"So it's a revenge thing." I glanced at the king and then asked, "Why is he called Azog the Defiler? Did he mess with some dwarf's beard and join the ranks of the Beard Defilers?"

"What?" Balin gave me a funny look. "No."

"Then how did he get that name?"

"If there is a story, then it has not reached the ears of the dwarrows," said Balin. "He has been called that since the days of the war."

"He probably accidentally cut off some dwarf's beard in battle," I mused, "and has been known as Azog the Beard Defiler. Eventually it just got shortened to Defiler."

"Perhaps he was called 'the Defiler' because he beheaded King Thrór," said Dwalin in a low voice.

The goblin king's gigantic brow furrowed as he heard us veer off topic.

I glanced at Thorin, who was very deliberately ignoring our conversation about Azog. "I like my story better."

"You can't just invent history because you like your version better," said Nick. "That's why—"

"Shut your mouth!" roared the goblin king. "You may only talk when I command you to talk."

To my horror, one of the goblin minions lashed Nick with a whip. A weak yelp came from me as I watched Nick cringe in pain, shrinking to the side of the cage furthest away from the goblins.

The king glowered at Nick before addressing his minions. "Strap the woman to the Bone Breaker. I want to hear her squeal!"

I squealed. "I don't like the Bone Breaker!"

The goblins lifted me onto the Bone Breaker. They pinned down my arms and legs as the leather ties were bound.

"Not the Bone Breaker! Don't! Thorin, help!"

And he did. Well, to be fair, Thorin didn't actually save me—his elven sword did. Just as the minions prepared the Bone Breaker, one unwitting goblin decided to inspect Thorin's sword, Orcrist, as a piece of plunder. But the moment he started to unsheathe the elven blade, he screamed and dropped the glowing weapon.

"The Goblin Cleaver!" His shrill cry cut through the chaos.

The goblins who had begun turning the wheel of the Bone Breaker suddenly leapt away as though they had been burned. They hissed and bared their teeth, while I struggled against the leather bindings of the Bone Breaker.

The goblin king released a howl. I looked up to see the king trying to climb the back of his throne in a desperate attempt to get away from the glowing blue sword.

"I know that sword!" he shrieked. "I know that sword! Biter, the Goblin Cleaver!" He lifted his small eyes to look upon the Company. "It is a plot to wipe out the last of the goblins! Lash them! Whip them! Kill them all!"

The goblins jumped on the Company, weapons drawn and fingernails clawing at anything they could reach. For a second, it looked like the end of the dwarves—and me. But then, a flash of bright light filled the ravine. The goblins fell to their knees, covering their eyes and cowering in agony. When the light faded, there, amongst the rubble and rabble of goblin town, stood Gandalf the Gray.

Gandalf had finally caught up from Rivendell, and damn did he have good timing.

The stunned silence was broken by the goblin king, who screamed and pointed at Glamdring, the glowing blade in Gandalf's right hand.

"It is Beater, the Foe Hammer! Kill them! Kill them all!"

"Take up arms," roared Gandalf. "Fight!"

Thorin jumped to his feet, pushing a goblin aside, and picked up Orcrist. He twisted, slicing open a goblin's throat with the brilliant blade.

The other dwarves soon followed Thorin's lead. Óin picked up his hunting staff and swung it around his body. Glóin wielded his battle axe like an expert, splitting goblins down the middle left and right. Fíli had his dual swords drawn. He moved so quickly I couldn't see the blades, only a flash and then a goblin lay dead on the floor. Kíli used his sword (for once the bow remain strapped to his back) to cut through the crowd. Bifur ran goblins through with his boar spear, Bofur crushed heads with his mattock, and Bombur whacked the goblins with his fists. Nori swung about his mace, while Dori sliced and diced with his sword, and Ori, precious little Ori, fired his slingshot in every direction he could. Dwalin wielded his dual battle axes with his brother, Balin, beheaded orcs right beside him.

Okay, okay, I admit that the dwarves fighting wasn't as, um, successful as I make it sound. The goblin king almost ate Nori until Dwalin punched the king with brass knuckles. Ori and his slingshot needed saving several times (thank you, Thorin, Fíli, Balin, Kíli, Thorin, Nori, Dori, and Thorin for that). At one point, a goblin arrow almost embedded itself in Fíli's head, but Kíli pulled his brother out of the way at the last second. The battle was a mess of teeth and blades and stumbling about with a lot of skill and a lot of luck thrown in there for good measure. While we didn't make it out unscathed (Nori had a head wound, Dwalin lost a lot of blood, and Glóin's right thigh was slashed open), we were fortunate enough that everyone stayed alive.

Throughout the whole fight, I remained strapped to the Bone Breaker, keeping as still as the grave and praying to whoever would listen that none of the goblins remembered my existence. Unfortunately, it was not meant to be. Three goblins decided it would be fun to torture me in the middle of the battle. They started to turn the wheel that activated the Bone Breaker.

I screamed. "No! You don't need to do that! I'm not doing anything! I'm just lying here quietly! I'm harmless! No!"

The goblins snickered and continued their work.

"Ana, no!" shouted Nick, rattling the bars of his cage.

My screams doubled as the Bone Breaker started to take effect. It wasn't much, a light pulling on my limbs, but I could already picture the pain growing and growing until my bones started to snap… It wasn't a fun thought.

And then—whack—one goblin head went flying, two goblin heads went flying, three goblin heads went flying.

"You are more trouble than you are worth."

Thorin sliced open the leather straps binding me to the Bone Breaker, and I sat up, rubbing my strained, aching wrists. I looked up at him and cried, "Oh my God—I'm so sorry, Thorin!"

He frowned in confusion. "For being a nuisance?"

"I never realized just how majestic you are before now!" I quickly wiped any trace of tears from the corners of my eyes with the sleeve of my t-shirt. "I mean, I knew you were majestic—but never this majestic."

Thorin snorted. "Go save your unamusing friend."

I hopped off the Bone Breaker, stumbling a little on the landing, and sprinted across the platform to the iron cage. When a goblin leapt at me, baring a bloodied knife, Thorin drove Orcrist into the goblin's chest. I ducked under the goblin's arm and covered the rest of the distance to the cage.

"Hey, Nick," I said, my voice a little shaky.

"You have some handy friends," said Nick. He grinned at me and crossed his hands over his chest so I wouldn't see that they were shaking.

"Where's the key?" I asked.

"Where do you think? The king has it."

I stared at the goblin king who was wielded a spiked mace as he battled Gandalf. I couldn't see a key anywhere around him.

"Where?"

Nick shuddered. "Around his neck."

"Underneath the flab beard?"

Nick nodded gravely.

"Nope," I said, turning around. "That's it. You're staying in goblin town until you grow old. I'm not getting that key."

"Ana."

"I know, I know. But you owe me one!" I sprinted across the battlefield, shrieking whenever a goblin got too close (which was often).

I almost knocked over Dwalin, and he spun around, ready to cleave my head off with his axes.

"It's me!" I cried, covering my face with my hands.

"What are you doing?" grunted Dwalin before he blocked a goblin's scimitar.

"I need to get the key off the goblin king's neck."

"Why?" Dwalin buried his axe in the goblin's skull.

I ignored the churning feeling in my stomach and said, "To free Nick."

As he removed the axe from the goblin's head, Dwalin glanced over at the cage. "You cannot get him out without the key?"

I shook my head.

Dwalin made his way across the platform to the cage, cutting down goblins as he went. When he reached the cage, he grasped two metal bars next to each other and let out a deep roar. I watched with open-mouthed awe as Dwalin, his arms bulging with muscle, bent the rusted, metal bars into a hole big enough for Nick to crawl out of. Dwalin turned to me and said, "Never underestimate a dwarf." Then he marched back into the fighting.

"Damn," said Nick. "That is some dwarf."

"So badass."

"The beard completes it."

"Absolutely."

Our appreciation of Dwalin was cut short by Thorin's shout of "Run! Across the bridge!"

The goblin king, it seemed, had been knocked off the platform, and most of the nearby goblins had died or fled. Nick and I stepped over the corpses of at least twenty goblins as we followed the Company off the platforms.

Gandalf led the way across a rickety wooden bridge towards the exit (wherever that was, I just trusted Gandalf to know where he was going). Goblins assailed us from all directions, hungry grins on their faces and their weapons frighteningly sharp. Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin did most of the work keeping the goblins away, and Kili's arrows saved more than one dwarf.

We reached a second bridge that spanned the ravine, and to my surprise, there were ropes handrails on either side. (Congratulations, goblins, on being the only race to employ the use of handrails in Middle Earth. I hate almost everything about goblins, but at least they have that going for them.)

It should be noted that I had been getting into shape with all this running about Middle Earth, but I was still slow and sluggish compared to the Company. Nick, on the other hand, had been on the cross-country team since middle school. The damn guy ran faster than the dwarves. So, there I was huffing and puffing at the back of the group, and Nick jogged ahead of me like it's the easiest thing in the world.

"I thought it was everyone from your world who was slow," said Kíli during a brief lull in the goblins' attacks. "Now I realize it is only you."

"Nick!" I cried. "That's cheating!"

"You'd better run faster," said Nick.

I glanced over my shoulder, thinking that he was joking. He wasn't. Three goblins with their knives and swords drawn, were only a few yards behind me.

I tripped.

My right foot hit an uneven wooden plank, and I pitched forward into a gap between the bridge and a platform. Down, down, down, I went. By pure frigging luck, I hit another wooden bridge placed right underneath. My arms and legs throbbing from where they'd smacked the wood, I staggered to my feet.

"Well," I muttered as I checked my limbs to make sure they all worked, "that was convenient."

Then, I saw a goblin on the other side of the bridge. I managed a small wave before sprinted in the opposite direction.

"We lost Ana!" shouted Fíli from somewhere above me.

"She will find her way back," Thorin said.

"Thorin!" I cupped my hands on either side of my mouth and screamed upwards. "Save me!"

"And she has returned," said Thorin.

With shocking ease, he jumped through a gap in his boardwalk and landed on the ground in front of me. I yelped and leapt backwards, but when I recognized the dwarf, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Then he swung his sword.

I screamed.

He drove the blade through the throat of a goblin behind me.

I knew he was going to do that. Totally.

"If I have to save your life one more time," said Thorin, "I will hand you over to be the goblin king's new jester."

I smiled weakly. "Thank you for saving my life. Again."

"Where is your Sword Breaker?"

"On my bedside table…" I quailed under Thorin's glare and quickly said, "I'll never go to bed without it again. I promise!"

Of course, there wasn't a lot of time for us to bicker over how many times Thorin had to save my life, and we started running again. Thorin led the way across the bridges, killing any goblins as we encountered. Eventually, our boardwalk turned into stairs and rose upwards until met with the rest of the Company. By some miracle, we managed to make it to the stone bridge leading out of goblintown. Gandalf started to cross the bridge—but he didn't make it more than halfway. The goblin king appeared on the other side of the bridge, his flab swinging wildly.

"You cannot escape," said the goblin king. It took him five steps to reach the center of the bridge. "What will you do now, Gandalf?"

"Kick him in the nuts," I said.

Nick whispered, "I don't think goblins have nuts."

"We do have nuts," said the goblin king indignantly. "I have a splendid pair of nuts."

"I do not wish to hear this," said Dori.

Gandalf poked the goblin king in the eye with his staff and then sliced the king's stomach open with one smooth swing Glamdring.

"Well, that works." I, for one, wasn't going to be picky.

The goblin king's eyes rolled into the back of his head. Slowly, his squat legs gave out beneath him, and he toppled off the bridge into the darkness below. The other goblins watched in horror as their leader disappeared into the abyss. They shrieked and squawked, for a moment, too stunned to move. Then, they turned their pale eyes on the Company.

"Run!" shouted Gandalf.

We sprinted across the bridge, the dwarves and Gandalf killing goblins as they went. We reached a dark stone tunnel, and Gandalf's staff provided light as we raced away from goblin town. I don't know how long we ran through the tunnel, nor did I know where we were headed. I only followed Gandalf's lead until we reached sunlight.

I remember that feeling. The feeling of stepping out from the eternal darkness of the mountain into the bright sunlight. I laughed and spread my arms out as we sprinted down the mountainside. I let the breeze run through my messy, blonde hair and felt a wave of relief wash over me. We had escaped goblin town. We had escaped goblin town, and Nick was with me, physically unharmed. It was all right. Everything was going to be all right.

The Company came to a stop between two tall oak trees. Gasping and panting for breath, we looked around at one another and smiled.

"Freedom," cried Nick. He let out a small, shaky laugh and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, pulling me into a tight hug. "I thought I'd never get out of there."

I figured then was not a good time to tell him that he smelled like goblin.

Nick let go and then stepped back to get a good look at me. "The last time I saw you was at your birthday party."

I gulped.

"Ana," said Nick slowly. I could see his hands tremble as he took a step back. "What's up?"

"So, um." Each word was painful to get out. "Back home, since you disappeared, it's been, um, six months."

"Six…six months…"

"I'm sorry," I said because I didn't know what else to say.

At first, he didn't believe it. I could see it in his eyes. But then, as he realized I was serious, the humor faded only to be placed by horror. There was a flash of anger—probably at me—but it disappeared as soon as it came. In the end, Nick stared at me with such a haunted expression that I almost cried. I didn't know what he'd been through those few days in goblin town. I don't know what he saw, but it was nothing he would ever forget.

Nick managed to push aside his anger, his frustration, his misery, and actually smiled at me. "That's crazy." He glanced around at the grassy slopes and then at the thirteen dwarves and Gandalf. "But, uh, where are we exactly? How did we even get here?"

"Yeah," I said slowly, knowing that the dwarves all listened curiously. "This is a place called Middle Earth. I, uh, Skip to different worlds, times, and places…"

Nick looked at me. I could see him sorting through options in his head. Thankfully, Nick was a patient person, and he said, calmly, "This is going to take a long time isn't it? How about we save that story for later. Tell me what's new in Ohio."

I said the first thing that came to my head: "I got a date."

"Really?" Nick managed to sound genuinely excited. "Good for you. Who with?"

"A cute neighbor named Jack."

"Cute is best," said Nick. "Do you know how Joanna is?"

"I haven't seen her," I said, making a face at the thought of Nick's dreadful girlfriend. "I had to drop out of school—what with all the Skipping and everything."

"Right." Nick paused. I could see him silently adjusting to this information. I could see his eyes glaze as the world slipped away from his grasp. In the end, he only asked, "Then, did you end up fired from another job?"

"Yep."

"Sucks."

"Yep."

We smiled at each, pushing our misfortunes to the backs of our minds. For the moment, it was good enough that we were together and that I would bring him back to Ohio as soon as I could.

I wrapped my arms around Nick's waist, pulling him into a tight hug. "I missed you so much that I'll hug you again even though you smell terrible!"

And that's how I got Nick back.

But, you know, that's not even close to the end of my story. Hate to tell you this, but we're going to be here for a long time… Don't leave. I know you're thinking of leaving. But don't. I promise you—it gets better. Sit down and have another ale or whatever and I'll get to the good parts soon. I promise.

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter XX: Professional Burglar In Action

"Have you seen Bonnie?" I asked.

"Bonnie's here too?" Nick hesitated. I could practically see his head spinning, but once again, he decided to wait until we returned to Ohio before bombarding me with questions. I cannot express how grateful I was to him for that. I don't think either of us could have handled the full truth right then. Finally, he said, "I haven't seen anyone except goblins."

I glanced away, trying to ignore the guilt that clawed at my insides. "Makes you miss your friends, huh?"

"Mainly my girlfriend."

"Bleh." I wrinkled my nose. "Who would miss Joanna? She's an itch plus the—"

"Don't say it," said Nick. "And she's not bad. I don't see why you and Bonnie dislike her so much."

"Urg. I'm not getting into this right now." I turned towards the group of dwarves and Gandalf.

The Company stood a little way down the rocky, mountain slope. Two pine trees towered on either side of the dwarves, casting them in shadow. Their faces held equally grim expressions, as if they'd just realized something unsettling.

As I made my way down the slope to join them, I asked, "What'd I miss?"

"Mister Baggins appears to be missing," said Balin.

Okay, I'll be honest with you: between the chaos of goblin town and the joy of finding Nick, I'd completely forgotten about the missing Bilbo. I glanced around at the Company and said, a little sheepishly, "Oh yeah. I noticed he was gone while we were being shoved along that pathway." I ignored the worst-case scenario and said, "He must have slipped away. He is a burglar after all."

"If he is a burglar then I'm a rat," said Kíli.

"You are a rat, Kíli. A hairless one," I said. Dwalin nodded in agreement.

"Why did you not speak when you realized he was missing?" asked Gandalf. There was a frantic urgency to his voice.

"I was a little concerned with the kidnapping and the Bone Breaker," I said.

"He must have snuck away when our backs were turned," muttered Dwalin. "He may not be a burglar, but that hobbit is as tricky as he is cowardly."

"Bilbo would not leave us!" cried Kíli. "He may not be a burglar, but he is not a bad hobbit."

"He planned on leaving us earlier," said Thorin darkly.

"He did?" With wide eyes, Ori looked around the group. Most of the dwarves had the same puzzled expressions on their faces.

"He did," admitted Bofur with some reluctance. "He said he wanted to head home and that, unlike us, he did not belong on the road."

"Well, that is true," said Dwalin. "The road is not meant for half-hearted folk." He said something in Khuzdul that was not at all flattering to Bilbo.

"Oh, look, there's a thrush over there. Nick? Do you see the thrush?" I pointed up at one of the pine trees. "I like thrushes." I liked them a lot better than I liked insulting Bilbo. The poor hobbit had only wanted to leave in the first place because of Thorin's harsh words.

"He has wanted to go home from the very beginning," said Dori.

"Uh, yes, Ana," said Nick. "That is a very nice thrush."

"He looks down on us," said Óin. "He thinks that he has a home, while we are nothing more than wanderers."

"It's such a pretty thrush." I glanced around helplessly at the group of dwarves. Their shoulders were tense, their eyes narrowed, and with each word, their anger grew. Dwalin looked like he seriously wanted to hit something…or someone.

"He only wants to go home," said Bofur. "It is not his fault."

"Oh look, the thrush is flying away. Look! Last chance to see the thrush! Going, going, g—"

"Ana," snapped Thorin, "no one wants to see the thrush."

I stopped, still pointing at the spot where the bird had been perched. I tried to be the reasonable one, and yet I was getting scolded by Thorin. It wasn't fair. I was wound up enough emotionally over finding Nick and having to tell him that he missed six months of his life in Ohio, and I really didn't need to deal with Thorin right then.

Slowly, I turned to glare at Thorin. "Well, since we're accusing Bilbo of every misdeed under the sun, why don't I accuse you, Thorin? Hm? You want to know why Bilbo tried to leave? Because you're a huge jerk who told him he didn't belong here. Way to make him feel like an outsider, Thorin. I mean, you of all people should know what if feels like to not belong somewhere."

For the first time, I saw genuine anger in Thorin's eyes when he looked at me. He didn't yell, but in a very low, very dangerous tone, he said, "That cowardly hobbit has thought of nothing but his home since the moment we left the Shire. He should just go home then. He is no burglar, and he has no desire to aid us on our quest. I have no need for a half-hearted companion—he has been nothing but a burden since he left his fire."

"You're a stupid, stubborn, pigheaded dwarf!" My hands actually curled up into fists. I wasn't normally a wrathful person. Loud, erratic, and obnoxious, yes, but rarely ever angry. Thorin, of course, knew just how trigger my anger. "Did you ever for one second consider how Bilbo felt? How much he's given up to leave his home and come help you on your quest? You're so frigging selfish."

"You think to lecture me? You approach everything half-heartedly and know nothing of responsibility. I bet the hobbit has run home long ago and left us to die, and no doubt you will do that same too. You have never stayed for anything in your life, and you will not stay now. You're nothing li—" Thorin broke off.

I glared at Thorin, waiting for him to say something more, but he was silent. He didn't look at me, instead staring at something over my head.

The rest of the dwarves didn't dare speak, their eyes flickering between Thorin and me. Nick looked ready to run away, and Gandalf seemed to be caught somewhere between frustration and worry.

I can't truly describe all the emotions raging through me right then. The words that Thorin spoke rung true to the things I disliked about myself. I knew that I was irresponsible—it was the nature of my life. I couldn't help it that I Skipped. I couldn't help it that the moment I became invested in something, I disappeared. I was not made for things like responsibility and stability.

"What do you want from me, Thorin?" I snapped.

He still wasn't looking at me when he opened his mouth to respond. "You—"

A small, familiar voice then said, "Um, before you two decide to argue more…I'm right here."

I spun around and saw a hobbit standing on the mountain slope, his brown eyes wide with surprise. His hands moved towards his pockets, and I saw him slip something golden into the right one.

"Bilbo," said Gandalf with a sigh of relief. "You made it out."

"Bilbo!" cried Kíli. "We had given you up."

"How did you ever make it past the goblins?" asked Fíli.

Without much hesitation, Bilbo launched into his story of a professional burglar in action.

He had managed to sneak away from the goblins by simply using his small stature to his advantage. However, when he tried to follow the captured Company, a goblin attacked him, and the two of them tumbled into a pit.

In the depths of the pit, Bilbo encountered a little, shriveled creature with huge eyes and not very many teeth. Gollum (or so Bilbo called this creature) killed the already injured goblin with a rock and dragged the dead thing back to his lair. To avoid being murdered as well, Bilbo came up with the idea of a game of riddles. If Bilbo won, Gollum would show him the exit, and if Gollum won, then he would eat Bilbo. In the end, it was Bilbo's victory. (He did not make any mention of the Ring, I noticed.) Gollum, however, planned to eat Bilbo win or lose. Anticipating this, Bilbo hid out of eyesight, and Gollum, thinking Bilbo already knew the way out, ran for the exit. And following this unknowing guide, Bilbo escaped from the depths of the Misty Mountains.

The dwarves roared with laughter.

"Very well done, Bilbo," they cried as if they had not just been badmouthing him minutes earlier. "Such a great story— We did not realize what a great burglar you actually are!"

Despite the celebration and the return of the hobbit, Thorin scowled. "There is something I do not understand. Why did you come back?"

The other dwarves shifted uncomfortably, knowing that many of them had doubted their companion.

Bilbo shuffled his feet as he searched for the right words. "I know that I do not belong on the road. I miss my home. I miss my armchair. I miss having six meals a day. But somewhere in the dark, I realized that while I have a home, you do not have one. Someone took it from you. I think you deserve a place to miss as well. And so, I will help you take it back." Bilbo considered this statement and revised. "If I can."

Thorin actually managed a small smile.

"There we go," I said. "Bilbo came back. You know, he probably ran away in the first place because Thorin's majesty was just too intimidating." I stopped. I had completely forgotten that I was supposed to be angry at Thorin.

Thorin didn't respond to my majestic comment, and I wondered if he was also having a hard time forgetting our fight.

In the end, it was Kíli who broke the awkward pause. "Or, Ana, Bilbo could not stand your mentions of majesty any longer. Or your terrible outfits."

"Yeah." Nick glanced over my t-shirt and boxers. "Not a good fashion choice."

"I told you," I said. "I was going to bed—at least I wasn't in the shower this time."

"The shower?" Nick's eyes widened in surprise. "You came here while showering? When did this happen? Wait, how much do we have to catch up on?"

"Oh, not much, just life story," I admitted.

"We should depart these slopes as soon as possible," said Gandalf, who had little appreciation for my witty conversation. "The goblins may try to avenge the death of their king."

"That jerk," I muttered. I rubbed my arms, still remembering the pull of the Bone Breaker.

It was unsettling to think that less than an hour ago, I'd been strapped into a torture device. If it hadn't been for… I glanced over at Thorin. He stood with Balin and Dwalin as they made sure that everyone with injuries had been seen to. Once everyone had been patched up, the Company would begin its descent.

A part of me was still angry at Thorin for calling me irresponsible, but I could hardly stay angry forever. Besides, he hadn't exactly been wrong.

"This is such a beautiful place," said Nick.

I tore my eyes away and stared up at Nick (he was well over a foot taller than me, and it caused me neck pains to look up at him for too long). "What?"

"In goblin town, everything was dark and ugly," said Nick. "But out here, under the sun, this place is really beautiful."

I knew what he meant. The Misty Mountains stretched on for miles, both north and south of us. The high peaks were cast in crisp light, and rich, green forest covered the lower slopes like a warm blanket. However, to me, what was even more awe-inspiring was what lay beneath the mountains. The entire dwarven kingdom of Moria stretched beneath these stones.

"I wouldn't want to stay here though." Nick shuddered. "Just the occasional vacation."

"Really?" I glanced over at the mountain slopes again. "I don't know."

"You want to stay here?"

What did I want? I didn't even know. "I—"

A rolling howl cut across the steep slope.

Nick and I spun around, searching for the source of the bone-chilling cry. On a mountain ledge, not far above where the Company stood, I spotted a group of about twenty orcs and wargs.

At the front of the pack stood a massive white warg. On its back sat a pale orc with scars crisscrossing across his face and bare chest. Where the orc's left hand should have been, a twisted, iron contraption had been inserted. He leaned forward on the warg's back, leered down at us, showing jagged, pointed teeth.

A shiver ran down my spine as his small, bone-white eyes came to rest on me.

The pale orc shouted something in the black speech, and with a chorus of howls, the wargs started down the mountainside.

"Run!" shouted Gandalf.

There was no need to tell us twice. The dwarves, Bilbo, and Gandalf started down the mountain slope. Nick started to run too, but I caught hold of his hand before he could get too far ahead.

"Don't let go," I said. "I don't want to Skip without you."

"Skip?" asked Nick, pulling me along as he ran down the steep rocks.

A warg pushed off with its hind legs and flew through the air towards us. Its mouth open, revealing sharp, yellow teeth—

Skip.

Nick ran into my wooden bedframe. His legs kicked up, knocking me off my feet, and we both slammed face-first into my mattress.

I lifted my face off the duvet. "Whew. At least, we got a soft landing."

"You got a soft landing," said Nick as he rubbed his shin. Then, he seemed to fully realize where we were. His dark eyes took in my bed, my dress, and my mess of clothes before he managed to ask, "Wh-what was that? Ana—What's going on? How did we get back? Where are the dwarves?

"The dwarves are still in Middle Earth," I said, glancing at my alarm clock. It was almost eight in the morning. "Oh thank God, I made it in time." I hopped off the bed and sprinted to the dresser. "Look, I'll tell you in a bit."

"What?" Nick gawked at me.

"Not now, Nick." I turned to him with a proud smile. "I have to ready for my date."

"Your…date?"

"Yes, with a cute neighbor named Jack. I was worried the Skip would make me miss it, but I guess it took pity on me today."

"'Skip?" Nick repeated the word with a blank expression. The gears in his head seemed to be turning at rapid speed as he tried to keep up with me. Then, the words started pouring out of him. "How can you just leave? How did we get back? What about the dwarves? Are we just going to abandon them? How can you just go on a date like nothing happened?"

I paused, holding my date clothes over the dresser drawer. Nick asked questions that I had struggled with for so long. It was almost funny now, to see someone else grappling with the jarring nature of the Skips. I almost laughed. Nick was new to the Skipping. He didn't understand. What happened in my two lives needed to be kept separate. Middle Earth was Middle Earth, and Ohio was Ohio. They weren't allowed to overlap, or everything would start coming apart at the seams.

"I'll tell you later." I glanced over at Nick, saw him in his grimy clothes sitting on my duvet, and added, "And get off the bed."

"Don't give me that," snapped Nick. "Don't pretend you're going to tell me later and not tell me."

"I—"

"You do that all the time. Bonnie and I will ask you where you've been and what you've been up to, and you give us all these bullshit and lies. I've just spent the past few days in a cage surrounded by goblins who fed me bones and made me tell jokes. And the things I saw… Ana, you owe me an explanation."

"And you'll get one!" I cried, my voice unnaturally high-pitched. "I promise you, you'll be get one. But first, you need to get off my bed because you smell like goblin. Second, I need to get a shower and prepare for my date. Actually, no. You get a shower first. Then, I'll get a shower. Then, we'll sit down with coffee, and I'll explain what I can before my date. Deal?"

Nick took a deep breath. It took him a minute, but he managed to calm down. He glanced down at his dirt and sweat stained t-shirt and thread-bare jeans. "Yeah… I could use a shower."

So that's what we did. Once we were both clean and I had picked out a cute date outfit, we sat on the sofa for a talk.

I told him the whole story. I told him about the Skipping when I was six. I told him how it'd been going on for fifteen years and how I'd accidentally brought Bonnie and him to Middle Earth. I told him that Thorin was majestic, Elrond was grand, and Legolas was pretty boy while Kíli was a hairless rat. And I told him that Boromir was my best friend and that dwarves are better than elves. And I told him I was apparently the equivalent of a magic rock called the Senturiel and I was going to go crazy and I just wanted everything to stop.

Nick listened attentively. Perhaps he knew that if he stopped my ramblings, I'd struggle to start talking again. It was only when I finished that Nick finally spoke.

"Your life is really fucked up."

I nodded. "Yep."

"And your parents don't know."

"Not a clue."

"Wow." Nick leaned back against the sofa. "I mean, wow. Your bullshitting abilities are beyond my comprehension."

I laughed. "The amount of bullshit I've had to come up with is ridiculous. Sometimes I can't believe the excuses I get away with using."

"And you've been running around with Thorin and the dwarves for a while."

"Thorin longer than the rest of the dwarves," I said.

"I could tell."

I winced. I hadn't even managed to talk to Thorin about our fight before I Skipped back to Ohio. I definitely didn't want to discuss that fight with Nick. Thorin's words had hit too close to home. So instead, I said, "And then I've got the Fellowship. You should meet Boromir some time. He and I are besties. Man, I wish he lived in Ohio. We'd hang out all the time and go bowling and get drunk a lot. I have yet to beat him in a drinking competition. Actually, you know who I have to beat in a drinking competition? An elf. I don't care what elf it is—I just need to beat an elf. Maybe Arwen. Arwen doesn't seem like she'd be that good of a drinker."

"Is Arwen that hot female elf you told me about?"

"Yeah."

Nick clapped his hands together. "Alright, let's go to Middle Earth and beat Arwen in a drinking competition."

I sighed. "Remind me never to bring you to Middle Earth again. She has a fiancé, you know."

"Aragorn," said Nick. "But he's off on a dangerous quest from which he might never return—"

"If you ever mention such a plot again, I will feed you to a warg."

"Don't remind me." The smile faded a little, and Nick stared at the half-empty coffee mug in his hands. "I've just spent three days in goblin town, and you're saying six months has passed on Earth and I'm on the missing persons list. You know what I want to do? I want to see my sexy girlfriend, lock myself in a bedroom with her and not come out until I can't remember that goblins exist."

"Nicholas Brandon Hamersley, you would rather spend time with your dreadful girlfriend than me?"

Nick rolled his eyes. "Who's the person about to go on a date?"

"Me." I grinned at him. However, the joy paled as I processed the rest of his words. Six months lost. I took a sip of my coffee and then asked, "What happened with you in goblin town? How did you avoid being eaten or being tortured?"

"Mad skill," said Nick.

"Tell the truth."

Nick bit his bottom lip, and I realized that this might not be something he wanted to relive. It felt a bit unfair, since I had just revealed my entire life story. However, as kindly as possibly, I said, "You don't have to tell me."

"No," said Nick. "No, I will." He took a deep breath. "After you Skipped me to your Middle Earth and somehow managed to lose me along the way, I ended up in the middle of goblin town, right in front of the goblin king's throne. The goblins thought it was magic, so they were scared of me at first. But soon they realized I was kind of pathetic—I didn't know how to use a sword or anything like that—so they decided to eat me. I tried to explain to them that I was a vegetarian, and it would be awfully ironic and cruel if I died by being eaten. Somehow, the goblin king thought this was hysterical so he made me tell him another joke and another and another and another. That was a kind of torture in itself. I used up every bad joke I knew. Even knock-knock jokes. You know how much I hate knock-knock-jokes. Eventually, the goblin king locked me up in a cage and had me tell jokes whenever he got bored."

"It's good to know your terrible sense of humor is good for something."

It probably wasn't the right thing for me to say, but Nick's eyes had glazed over and he probably hadn't heard a word coming out of my mouth.

"It was awful," said Nick softly. "They wouldn't let me out to go to the bathroom. They didn't let me bathe, and they thought it would be funny to feed the vegetarian meat and nothing but meat. They would toss me leftover bones from their meals. And they had court while I was there. Have you ever seen how goblins punish their criminals?"

"The Bone Breaker," I said. I couldn't inject enough loathing into those three words.

Nick hesitated for a second and then, with a strained smile, said, "I'm glad you didn't get your bones broken."

"Me too. I like my bones whole and functioning. It helps me run away from things that are trying to kill me."

Both Nick and I stopped at that; the image of things trying to kill us was all too real at the moment.

"So." Nick shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "When are you going back?"

"Back?"

"To Middle Earth."

I shrugged. "I don't know. Whenever I next Skip. It comes and it goes."

"What about Bonnie?"

I curled my legs up underneath me. "I don't know. I've spent the last six months looking for you two, and I'm amazed I even found you. I won't ever stop looking for her, of course, but who knows where she ended up."

"Do you think she's in the same time period that I was?" asked Nick.

"Possibly. It doesn't really matter if I know when she is though. I don't have any control over where and when I Skip to. All I can say is hopefully you're not holding on to me next time the Skip takes me."

"Yeah. I'd rather not go back any time soon." A shadow crossed Nick's eyes but he quickly masked it with a wicked smile. "Or you could be holding onto Jack during your date and Skip him to Middle Earth with you. You know, dangerous adventures are a perfect way to spark romance between two people."

"Then why aren't I in love with you?" I said. "Besides, Thorin and the dwarves would be too much for poor Jack."

"He sounds like an idiot," said Nick.

"He's cute," I said. "I don't mind a cute idiot as long as he's normal and willing to tolerate my Skipping." I glanced at the clock. It was fast approaching ten o'clock. "Oh shoot!"

"What?" asked Nick, jumping up from his seat. "What's up?"

"My date!" I cried. "Jack is going to show up at any moment—how do I look?"

Nick gave me the once over, taking in my black jeans, leather riding boots (the Sword Breaker was hidden in the right one), and button-up gray blouse. Even on my first date in a long time, I didn't dress up. I just couldn't ignore the possibility that I could Skip. So, trousers and boots and weapon were my only choice.

"Great," said Nick, giving me a thumbs up. "I would never be able to tell that you were just running away from goblins and almost eaten by a wolf."

"Warg," I corrected. "Okay, okay, when Jack knocks on the door, I want you to hide."

"Hide? Why?"

"Because I can't be seen with another guy in my apartment right before a date."

"Ana," said Nick, patting me on the shoulder. "No one would think you're capable of handling two guys at once, trust me."

"You just saw me running around with thirteen dwarves."

"Even then."

Two crisp knocks sounded from the hall.

Heart racing, I sprinted towards the door, only to trip over my coffee table (not my finest moment). Nick strode past me and opened the apartment door in one smooth movement. He stood face to face with Jack. Well, more like face to chest. Nick was over six-foot and Jack was more in the five-foot-seven range. But the two guys stared at each other for a moment.

"If you do anything to hurt my precious Ana," said Nick. "I will feed to the wolves." He paused. "Wargs."

I stood up from the floor. "Nick, get away from the door! Sorry, Jack, I told him to leave but he didn't want to. I was just, um, tutoring him for his history class…"

"Yeah," said Nick. He glowered at Jack. "You're interrupting our study session."

"Go away, Nick," I said, stepping through the doorway and grabbing Jack by the arm. "Let's go."

Nick suddenly grinned at us and waved enthusiastically. "Goodbye, sweetheart. Have fun on your date!"

I slammed the apartment door behind me before turning to Jack with a smile. "Ignore that idiot. He's lived amongst goblins for far too long. We were going to go get coffee, right?"

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter XXI: Failed Dating Life

I took a sip of my black coffee and watched as Jack settled in the chair opposite mine. We had claimed one of the round metal tables on the street outside a Starbucks. I'd wanted to sit outside, hoping that the sounds of traffic and pedestrians would cover up any awkwardness in our conversation. It was spring in Ohio, which meant that the sky was blue and the sun was shining but I still needed a leather jacket.

I sent a reproachful look at the mocha Frappuccino in Jack's hands and said, "I don't know how you can drink that. It's freezing outside."

"It's the taste that matters," said Jack.

"No." I shuddered. "I'm a hot drinks on cold days and cold drinks on hot days kind of a woman. Balance is best. Like a balanced breakfast. The most important meal of the day… I really need to stop rambling."

Jack laughed. "You really don't know how to stop talking."

"Not at all."

Jack reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of folded paper. I leaned forward and saw a list of names written in neat print. It was a list of mythical creatures that I could possibly be.

"Not this again," I groaned. "Really? You're trying so hard."

"I'm trying to figure out how you can teleport," said Jack. His hazel eyes were wide and earnest.

"It's cute," I said. "It's really cute. All right." I leaned back in my chair and sipped my coffee. "Give it to me. What do you think I am?"

"This is embarrassing," muttered Jack. "Okay, first on the list is vampire."

"Yes, yes, I want to suck your blood." If I ever tried to suck Thorin's blood, he'd probably murder me. Or better yet, Gandalf would probably zap me into the next life with magic.

"Okay," said Jack, crossing it off the list with a ballpoint pen. "Next is werewolf—which doesn't really make sense since you teleported."

"You got me," I said. "I jumped off the roof, turned into a wolf, sprinted back up the building to the roof, and turned back into the human. All because I wanted to fool you. I'm extra like that."

"No," said Jack. "I didn't think so." All right. How about a nymph?"

I laughed and clapped my hands together. "Can I be a nymph? That'd be fun. I'll be a sea nymph. Watch me ride the ocean waves—except I'd constantly have the taste of salt in my mouth. Yuck. Okay, I'm not a nymph."

"You're having too much fun with this," muttered Jack. "Next on the list is a fairy."

"Ew," I said. "Fairies are little things that fly around after little boys and demand people believe in them. Though I do have the blonde thing going for me."

"Not a fairy," said Jack. "Are you a dwarf?"

Right when he said that, I had taken a sip of coffee. I spat it out all over the table. (Not a good thing to do on a first date, but oh well…)

"Yes!" I cried. "I want to be a dwarf. Can I be was dwarf, please?"

"I'll take it you're not one then."

I practically wilted in disappointment. "But I want to be one."

Jack frowned. "You know dwarves?"

"Oh." My excitement vanished instantly, and it was only then that I realized I might have said too much. "Uh, well, I have an affinity for short people."

"How tall are you?" asked Jack.

I screwed up my face. Throughout high school, I'd hated having to answer that question. Guys walking up to me in the hall, waving their hands over my head, and asking if I would ever grow. "Four-foot-ten."

Jack opened his mouth, and I could see him struggling not to make a polite comment about my height. Finally, he chose to cross "dwarf" off the list and ask, "Are you an elf?"

"What?" I made a face. "Definitely not. Pick something else. How did you even go from dwarf—short—to elves?"

"Elves are short," said Jack. "Like Santa's little helpers."

I tried to imagine Legolas or Elrond working as one of Santa's elves, making toys year round and snacking on milk and cookies. "They'd be insulted to hear that. Nope. Hate to break it to you, but elves are tall and snobbish…though they are excellent drinkers."

"You know elves?"

"Nope. I'm just saying. Look it up on the internet."

"It doesn't say elves are good drinkers on the internet."

"You're not looking in the right places."

Jack slurped his drink through the straw and then said, "Suspicious, very suspicious. You know elves and dwarves."

"No, I don't," I said. "I know short people, and I know how to use the internet. It's quite simple really. You just want me to be some magical being so you can say to your friends, 'Hey, guess what, I went on a date with an elf.'"

"What? No." Jack frowned, creases appearing between his eyebrows. "I just want to know how you can teleport."

"I don't teleport."

"Yes, you do," said Jack. "Also, I never agreed that this was a date."

I pouted a little. "I don't get to go on dates often—let me have this one date to brag about!"

Jack sighed. "Fine. It's a date. But you still won't tell me how you can teleport."

I had to take a long sip of coffee so that my smile didn't scare Jack away. He had no idea how important it was to me that this was a date, how much I needed to prove to myself that I could still be normal.

"Do you do that all the time?" asked Jack.

"What?"

"Finagle guys into taking you on dates."

"Only half the time," I said. "Other times I teleport just to add some spice."

"You said you didn't teleport."

"I changed my mind. I teleport now. I'm like Superman or— Wait? Does Superman teleport?"

"I don't think he teleports," said Jack.

"Wait," I said. "Superman can't teleport., but I can teleport… Awesome, I can compete with Superman on the badass level."

Jack smiled and shook his head. "You are far from badass." He set his coffee cup back down on the table and said, "I'm finished."

"I'm not," I said quickly. I didn't want the date to be over so soon. I wanted to be normal for a little while longer. I held up my half-drunk cup of coffee and said, "I'm savoring it."

"Well, you can take that with you, can't you?" said Jack.

"Why? Is the date over already?"

"No." Jack hesitated. "I was going to see if you watched to catch a movie."

I blinked. Okay, let me just take in the moment. I, a girl who could not hold onto anything long than a minute before she disappeared, was being asked to go see a movie. By a cute guy. My life was complete. Complete, I tell you. First date was a success!

(You can guess where this is headed, can't you?)

So, we left the coffee shop and headed for the theater, which was a few blocks away. We didn't talk all that much as we walked. Or, if we did, I don't remember that much of it. My mind struggled to wrap itself around the idea that this date might actually be going well. From the moment Jack had seen me jump off the roof, I'd figured any real chance at a romance with him was gone. I'd even had to plead to get him to call this date. But now, he wanted to see a movie with me. Maybe romance wasn't ruled out at all? Maybe I still had a chance at this normal, regular, cute boyfriend…

"So what movie do you want to see?" asked Jack.

I had no idea. I didn't even know what in theaters. I spent too much time in another world to keep up with movies.

"You choose," I said, trying to smile flirtatiously.

Jack picked the biggest action movie he could. I swear I just about had a fit just looking at the movie poster, which featured men and guns and a blazing inferno surrounding them.

Let me set the record straight : I don't like action movies. Yes, I managed to sit through 300; Bonnie liked to make Nick and I watch action movies when it was her turn to pick on movie night. Nick is squeamish when it comes to blood and violence (I'm amazed he survived the goblins), and I just don't like that genre of movie. Action movies are either a) incredible inaccurate or b) too close to my actual life for comfort. Mostly action movies fell into the first category, and I have no appreciation for the inaccurate fight scenes. But then there was the second category…

If I was a sensible person, I would have told Jack that I didn't like action movies and asked him to pick something else. But I took one look at that adorable face and those blue eyes, and well, I was a goner.

"Sure," I said. "Let's see that."

Jack paid for the tickets and I bought the popcorn. Then, we headed to the theater to find seats at the back.

"Do you like action movies?" asked Jack. "Or should I have picked the comedy?"

"Oh, um, actions movies are good," I lied. "I mean it gets kind of annoying when they use the swords wrong, and everyone's just so good at fighting when they've spent their lives in the suburbs. The worst are the fantasy movies. Don't even get me started on the ridiculous dragons in those movies."

"Ridiculous?" Jack looked at me sidelong. "Have you seen a real dragon?"

I blinked. "Of course, I have—it's called the internet, a wondrous place of facts and lies. When you go look up elves, look up dragons as well."

Jack watched me suspiciously, and he probably would have asked me more if, right then, the theater lights hadn't dimmed.

Saved by the movie.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I reached for a bite of popcorn, but—Skip—I never got it.

My hand reached out and caught hold of a dry, dead bush. I screamed and stumbled backwards. I landed brittle grass, the brown blades scratching against my hands and face.

I sat up, rubbing my elbows, and looked to see where in Middle Earth I'd ended up now. The time seemed to be in the morning, the pale sun high in the sky. I had ended up in a grassland, surrounded by dying trees and dying plants. Everything had turned a sickly shade of brown, as if the place had been struck by some disease.

"Great. Just great." Well, this definitely wasn't the movie theater.

I lay back onto to the ground. Perhaps if I pretended to be dead, the Skip would take me back sooner.

There went my one chance at a successful date. Jack would think I ditched him in the movie theater. Unless I could get back before the movie ended. Maybe he wouldn't realize I was gone… (Yes, I realize this was a slim hope, but I was desperate and single.) Maybe I could explain to Jack that I had no control over my "teleporting." Maybe he would believe me. Maybe he would understand that I hadn't meant to leave. Maybe he'd forgive my hectic life and agree to a second date. Of course, at the rate things were going, I'd probably Skip during the second date too. And the third. And the fourth.

I let out a long sigh. To be honest, the Skipping still wasn't a part of my life that I wanted to share. It'd been hard enough to tell Nick; I didn't think I was ready recount my whole miserable list story to the cute next-door neighbor.

"Why can't you let me be normal?" I asked aloud.

The Skip, of course, had no reply for me.

Well, there wasn't much point in lying there and expecting the Skips to take pity on me. I got to my feet, brushed off my pants, and then surveyed the dying landscape.

Jagged rocks covered the flat grassland. Skeletal bushes, dry trees, cracked earth. In the distance, I could see a forest of dying trees and then shadow of a mountain range. This wasn't a place or time I recognized, and I didn't see any of the Company or the Fellowship. There was no one here I cared to hang out with. So, I set off in search of a cliff or something I could jump off.

I managed to get a whole five steps in the direction of the mountains before I tripped over a hobbit.

My foot hit a soft blanket and something solid beneath, and I went sprawling face-first into the dry grass.

"Hey!" I crie, picking myself off the ground. Already my date outfit had been covered in dirt and dry leaves. "Watch where you're going!"

The hobbit leapt up from beneath his blanket, drawing his dagger. I recognized the dagger immediately, and when I looked up, I saw that his blue eyes were widened with astonishment.

"Ana?"

"Frodo?"

I glanced down at Frodo's cotton blanket. There was a second blanket next to his, but whoever it belonged to wasn't around at the moment. Frodo's camp had been set up behind a cluster of brown bushes so that passers-by would not see him unless they practically stepped on him (like me).

"What are you doing here?" asked Frodo.

"You shave to ask that question at this point?" I asked. "I Skipped here." I looked around but the sickly landscape seemed empty of life. "Where is everyone else?"

"Everyone else?" Frodo frowned, and then slow understanding crossed his face. "You were not here for the breaking of the Fellowship."

"The breaking?" That didn't sound good. "When did this happen?"

"After we left Lothlórien," said Frodo. "Gandalf died and…" Frodo took a deep breath. "I realized that I must go to Mordor without the others. This task was appointed to me, and I cannot expose my friends to the evils of the Ring. I planned to complete the journey on my own, but Sam insisted on coming with me." He smiled at the empty second blanket. "He must be off preparing breakfast."

"Good old Sam," I said with a smile. However, my smile faded as the rest of the words registered. "But still, you left the Fellowship? Because Gandalf died? But, but, but he came back to life!"

A frown tugged at Frodo's mouth. "Ana, what do you mean?"

I froze. Should I tell Frodo what had happened? Was he supposed to know Gandalf had come back to life? Where was Frodo in the timeline right now? Perhaps Gandalf was already alive and kicking, and Frodo just didn't know it yet.

"Ah, I meant, I'm going to bring Gandalf back to life. You heard me. Before your quest is over, I'm going to bring Gandalf back to life."

Frodo managed a weak smile. "You are stubborn in your own way, Ana."

"I will bring Gandalf back. I promise you. It's going to happen."

Frodo didn't reply. I don't think he believed me. Well, I wouldn't have believed me either. Of course, I felt a bit guilty for taking credit for Gandalf's resurrection, but, you know, I was intending to bring him back to life before he came back on his own. I'm owed partial credit.

"So, how have you been?" I asked.

"Alive," said Frodo. "Our journey has not been an easy one, but we have managed so far. Sam and I—"

"Nasty hobbit, fat hobbit, we curses it, we curses it."

At the sound of an unfamiliar voice, I spun around. There, between two skeletal bushes, crouched the most pitiful, ugly creature I could ever imagine. He was little more than skin and bones that crawled along the ground on all-fours. His head was bald with a few strands of long, greasy hair that fell past his pointed chin. Each bump of his spine was clear beneath his taut, gray skin, and he wore only a filthy brown loincloth. When he lifted his head, I could see his huge, bulbous gray eyes. He stared at me and then at Frodo and then back to me. His eyes narrowed with distaste and distrust.

"Um, hi," I said, waving.

"What is it, precious?" asked the creature, beginning to circle me. "What is it? Can we eats it, precious? Does it tastes good, precious?"

"Do not eat her, Sméagol," said Frodo. "She is a friend."

The creature glanced at Frodo and then continued muttering. "Friends? Sméagol does not have any friends. Is that not right, precious? There is only Sméagol and the precious and the foods."

"Is he all right?" I asked Frodo. "He does know we can hear him, right?"

"He has been alone in the dark for a very long time," explained Frodo. Pity colored his gaze as he looked down at the creature. "His name is Sméagol, or Gollum."

"Gollum?" My heart leapt in my chest at the familiar name. Less than a day ago, I had stood on the slopes of the Misty Mountains, listening to Bilbo's story of riddles and trickery and the creature Gollum. I glanced down at this pitiful creature. "Why is he with you?"

"He is our guide," said Frodo. "He is leading us into Mordor."

I watched Gollum circle me. Wasn't this the same creature who had planned to murder Bilbo regardless of the outcome of the riddle game? I sure hoped Frodo didn't think Gollum was an upgrade from the Fellowship.

"Nasty girls, nasty girls," said Gollum. "She suspects poor, innocent Sméagol. What has Sméagol ever done to her? She does not likes Sméagol? Sméagol does not likes her."

"And I've lost nothing." I turned back to Frodo and asked, "Where's Sam?"

"He's—"

"Mister Frodo!" Sam came running through the bushes. He had grown thinner since last I saw him, but he had the same messy blond hair and chubby cheeks. He stopped when he saw me. "Ana?"

"Hey, Sam," I said. "Long time no see."

"What are you doing here?"

"Me?" I sighed dramatically. "Well, I was in the middle of a date—a great date, mind you. It was going so well. And then—poof—I disappeared. God, the guy's going to think I ditched him. My love life is doomed. I had a date with a cute normal guy and instead I get a date with, with, with..." I nodded my head towards Gollum.

"Stupid girls," muttered Gollum. "She thinks she's better than Sméagol. But Sméagol will shows her. Yes, Sméagol will shows her, precious. When she sleepsies, Sméagol with find a rock and, and…" Gollum glanced at us suspiciously.

"No, Sméagol," said Frodo. "No, hurting Ana."

Gollum frowned. "Sméagol cannot hurts the nasty girls."

"Great," I muttered. "My life is just a little ray of sunshine."

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but we were interrupted by a loud, trumpeting sound.

A still silence fell over us as we turned to see what it was. Frodo started walking towards the noise, and Sam followed, equally as curious.

My first reaction was to run away from loud noises in the middle of nowhere (loud noises usually meant bad things), but I followed the hobbits despite my better judgment.

We picked our way through the boulders and bushes. Eventually, the boney trees grew closer together, and the ground grew uneven. Eventually, we entered a thicket of dry, crackling bushes. Crouching down, Frodo led the way through the undergrowth until we reached the edge of a cliff. Using the elvish cloaks Frodo and Sam had received during their stay in Lothlórien to conceal us, we lay down on the bumpy ground and peered out. I tried to stay as far back from the ledge as possible, trying not to look at the long fall down.

In the valley below was an army. They were not like any people I had seen in Middle Earth before. They were human, judging by their heights and builds; however, they wore leather armor with dark reds and black cloth. Some of them had colored face paints, while others had dark tattoos on their arms and legs. There must have been well over a thousand of them, marching through the dying grassland. They brought war with them, judging by bows and arrows strapped to their backs and swords at their sides.

I gulped. "Where are they headed?"

"I do not know," said Sam.

"You know," I said. "I have advice for this kind of situation."

"What advice is that?" asked Frodo.

"Get as far away from here as you can as fast as you can."

"That is good advice," said Sam, starting to get to his feet.

"Wait!" Frodo grabbed Sam's wrist. "Look."

An elephant. Well, it wasn't really an elephant. The creature was about a hundred feet tall with four tusks protruding from its jaw. There was a wooden structure attached to its back that formed platforms where the men could walk about.

"It is an oliphaunt," whispered Sam, incredulously.

"A what?" I asked.

"An oliphaunt," said Frodo. "But I have only ever heard of them in stories."

"You should come to my world," I said. "We have creatures like that. Being very humane people, we keep them locked up in zoos to ogle at." I stared across the valley at the oliphaunt. Despite us being up on a cliff, the oliphaunt's head was still at our eye-level.

An arrow fired.

It flew through the air and embedded itself in the head of one of the men on the oliphaunt's back. The man let out a shrill scream before toppling over the edge of the platform and falling—all one hundred feet there was to fall— to the ground.

I stared at his broken, bloodied body. My head started to spin, and I had to look away.

A volley of arrows soon followed the first, and a battle broke out between the army and their unseen attackers. Frodo, Sam, and I watched in horror as men fell from the oliphaunt's back, and blood stained the brown grass below.

Then, suddenly realizing the danger we were in, Frodo got to his feet. "We have lingered here too long."

With one last look at the oliphaunt, Sam got to his feet. I started to follow him—and came face to face with the heads of several arrows.

I squeaked and threw my hands in front of my face. "Don't eat me. I don't taste good."

Sam sighed. "You have not changed in the slightest, Ana."

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter XXII: Things Get Serious For A Second

Okay, my drink is refilled and I'm ready to continue. Where was I with the story?

Oh right. Frodo and Sam. And a currently absent Gollum/Sméagol. And the land of dying trees. And those dreaded arrows.

We learned that the people attached to those arrows were men. Men of Gondor, to be precise. Not that I knew that information at the time. The only thing I knew right then was the pointy end of an arrow directed at my head.

"Don't kill me," I said. I tried to step away from the arrow, but two firm hands held me in place. "Don't eat me! I'm innocent!"

"We do not wish to eat you," said one of the men.

Finally, I looked beyond the dangerous weapons and saw a dark haired, bearded man. I don't know why, but beards made me feel more comfortable. I smiled at the man and said, "Oh good, too many things have tried to eat me recently. Now I only have to worry about you killing me."

"Tried to eat you?" asked another man.

I nodded. "Goblins, wargs, a dragon… I even think a dwarf or two has considered eating me on occasion."

The men exchanged bemused glances, while Sam struggled against his captor and Frodo's blue eyes assessed the situation.

From the skeletal trees behind our attackers emerged a hooded figure. He stared at the two hobbits and then turned to me. On me, he did a double take. "Ana?"

He knew me? I couldn't see the man's face underneath his hood. Quickly, I ran down the list of men I knew in this world: Boromir—nope. Aragorn—nope. Dagar—definitely not. Girion—probably dead at this point. Denethor—I'd already be arrested. Which left…

"Faramir!"

Faramir removed his hood to reveal a tired, travel-stained face. He stared at me incredulously. "What are you doing wandering about in the wilderness in these dark and troubled times?" He motioned for his men to lower their weapons.

I felt the hands of my captor leave my shoulders, and I shrugged in relief. "You know me. I'm just passing through."

"You are acquainted with him?" asked Frodo.

"Yeah," I said. "You aren't?"

Sam gawked at me. "Have you met everybody?"

I didn't bother answering Sam's question and instead smiled up at Faramir. "I'm so happy to see you. It's been forever. How have you been?"

"It is good to see you as well." Faramir returned my smile, but his expression quickly recovered its seriousness. In a voice that carried a hint of exhaustion, he asked "What brings you to these dangerous lands?"

"I told you. I'm just passing through."

"And these Halflings," said Faramir, gesturing to Frodo and Sam. "What brings them to these lands?"

I felt Frodo and Sam stiffen beside me. They obviously had no desire to discuss the quest they had been given with men of Gondor. I trusted Faramir, of course, but he was not the only person present. Besides, the Ring made people do strange things. I didn't believe that Faramir would be swayed by the Ring, but one could never be sure about these things. The safest route, I decided, was to do what I always did: Lie.

"They're hobbits," I said. "They're my fellow passing-throughers."

Faramir frowned. "I did not know there were others like you."

"A fair few," I said. "We come and go as it pleases. We had the sudden urge to come to this land and so we did. We'll be leaving soon."

"Wait!" said a man with a short blond beard. "I know that woman."

I pointed at myself. "Me?"

"What about her, Ralen?" asked Faramir.

"Your father issued a warrant for her not a year ago," said Ralen gruffly. "I remember her insolence at the celebration."

"Me?" I squeaked. "What did I ever do?"

"Ralen," said Faramir, exasperation creeping into his voice.

"You know the laws of the land," said Ralen. "You must bring her to justice."

Faramir gritted his teeth. I could see the internal struggle taking place, but finally, he turned to me and with a sigh, said, "It is true, Ana. We are going to have to arrest you for a short while, but I will correct the misunderstanding as soon as possible."

"Come on," I said. "Denethor can't have held a grudge against me for this long?"

"Well," said Faramir, "you did offer him insult. Multiple times."

"He deserved it," I said, crossing my arms. "He's a terrible father."

"We really must arrest them," said Ralen. "She cannot insult Lord Denethor standing before us."

"I apologize, Ana." Faramir surveyed Frodo and Sam before he added, "Unfortunately, your friends are intruders upon this land. We must take you all into custody."

"Hey, wait!" I cried as the men moved to bind my hands behind my back. "Faramir, you're supposed to get me out of these situations! Denethor's insane—I can't believe he's held a grudge this long!"

Sam groaned as his hands were tied with rope. "Ana, I think you have met a few too many people."

Faramir and his men bound and blindfolded us. Then, they proceeded to drag us across the lands of North Ithilien to some secret hideout of Gondor's army. I don't know the details of the location. The only thing I can tell you is that it was located underground near some waterfall. That's all I got.

Our blindfolds were removed only when we'd reached the inside of the hideout. I blinked until my eyes got used to the light again, and then I saw that Frodo, Sam, and I had been brought to a small cavern with arching stone walls on three sides and a veil of water from the waterfall on the fourth side. The men of Gondor wandered about, carrying supplies, sharing drinks, and talking in lowered voices. Some of them shot us suspicious looks, while one or two of them even smiled at me. Frodo, Sam, and I sat lined up on barrels, our wrists still bound. Faramir sat on a wooden chair in front of us.

"Interrogation?" I asked.

"Formality," he said. "My apologies once again, but I must ask where you are from."

"Ohio," I said.

"Not you, Ana." Faramir didn't seem annoyed so much as amused (which was a step up from what I was used to). "I am asking your fellow passing-throughers, as you like to call them."

Frodo and Sam exchanged glances before Frodo turned to Faramir and said, "Frodo Baggins is my name, and this is Samwise Gamgee."

"Your bodyguard?" asked Faramir, noticing Sam's ferocious glare.

"His gardener," said Sam.

Faramir's lips twitched into a half smile that was gone as soon as it came.

"We are hobbits of the Shire," said Frodo. "Our business is our own, but I will tell you what I can. We set out from Rivendell on an errand of the upmost importance. Nine companions. One, we lost in Moria. Two others were hobbits and my kin. There was also an elf and a dwarf. Two men as well: Aragorn son of Arathorn and Boromir of Gondor."

I glanced at Faramir, a smile playing on my lips. It seemed that Frodo didn't know Boromir and Faramir were brothers. Well, this could be an amusing conversation.

"Boromir of Gondor?" repeated Faramir. He did not share my smile. "Were you a friend of Boromir's?"

Frodo hesitated. "For my part. Boromir was a strong man who was an essential part of our companions."

"He was more than that," I said. Frodo shouldn't sell Boromir short to his brother. Grinning at Faramir, I explained, "Boromir and I had wicked fun on the road. I don't know if you've seen him recently—he might have already told you all this. He had to piggyback me up a tree because I was too scared. And he had to piggyback me up a snowy mountain because I was too cold. You know, now that I think about it, Boromir piggybacks me a lot. We also had way too many drinking contests in Rivendell. I wished you'd been there to be the voice of reason."

"Ana," said Sam, "do not speak so easily."

"Come on," I said. "It's Faramir!"

Frodo and Sam gave me puzzled glances. I looked at Faramir expectantly, but Faramir did not smile at my comments. His face remained solemn. When he spoke, it was not to me, but to the hobbits. "And how did you come to part from Boromir?"

"Why all this interest in Boromir?" asked Sam.

Faramir did not answer; his gaze was fixed on Frodo.

"Hey," I said slowly, "what's going on here? Faramir? I may be dense, but even I can tell something's not right. What aren't you telling me?"

"We parted ways near Argonath," said Frodo. "I realized that our errand was too dangerous for so great a number. I have not heard from him since."

"I thought as much," said Faramir. He turned to me. "I do not wish to be the one to tell you the news, Ana. It will grieve you."

"What's going on?" I asked. "What happened?"

A knot had formed in my chest, but I refused to acknowledge it. Instead. I looked at Frodo and Sam, hoping they would have some idea about what Faramir kept going on about, but they seemed just as clueless as I was.

"One night," said Faramir, "while I was on guard duty, I saw something floating in the waters on the Anduin. I waded into the river and saw that it was a boat. The boat was of fair make, not carved by any man. It was an eerie scene, but the true horror was what lay inside the boat." Faramir's eyes met mine. "On that night I found the body of my brother with wounds from orcs across his chest."

My whole body went numb. The knot in my chest had grown, the pain becoming unbearable.

Frodo asked the questions I could not. "Dead? How? When?"

Faramir's jaw tightened. "As one of his companions, I was hoping you'd tell me."

And then, before I could even speak, Faramir rose from his chair and strode away. An anger and sorrow seemed to cling to his shoulders, and I desperately wanted to call out after him. But the words wouldn't form in my throat.

Frodo, Sam, and I remained seated. The rope around my wrists was starting to burn. I barely noticed. The knot seemed to fill my chest, heavy and painful. I found it hard to breathe.

No. This wasn't right. This wasn't how things were supposed to go.

I couldn't let myself start feeling down; it'd be like admitting defeat.

I smiled at Frodo and Sam. "Boromir was probably just playing dead."

"Ana," said Sam, his voice strangled, "this is hardly the time."

"You know," I said. "Those brothers are probably playing a practical joke on me. One day after a few ales, Boromir might have said, 'Faramir, when Ana drops by next we should pretend that I'm dead and just see what she does. Then I'll jump out at her and pretend to be the ghost of Boromir and she'll get creeped out.' They probably thought it'd be hilarious. And then I'd be like, 'No. Boromir, you're a jerk.' and then we'd all go get drunk and have fun."

"Ana," Frodo's voice was gentle, like he was speaking to a child, "Boromir is dead."

My body jerked awkwardly, and the rope dug into my wrists. "No. He's not. He's playing a practical joke on me. Did you not hear a word I just said?"

Neither Frodo nor Sam spoke another word.

I stared at the empty chair where Faramir had been seated only minutes before. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the worn wood no matter how much I tried. Boromir wasn't dead. It was a practical, a practical—oh, who the hell was I kidding? Boromir had died. Died. Killed by orcs. Dead. No, he hadn't. I wouldn't let him die. This was Boromir. This was the man who had piggybacked me all over Middle Earth. Why would he die? I would never let him die. I could save his life. I had saved the Fellowship. I had (somewhat) saved Gandalf. I could save Boromir. I would never let Boromir die.

I got to my feet, my hands fastened behind my back. One of the Gondor soldiers, moved to stop me, but I glared at him. "Where's Faramir?"

The soldier hesitated. It was actually Ralen, of all people, who came to my rescue. I don't know what Faramir had told him, but Ralen looked at me with immense pity in his brown eyes and pointed to the back of the cavern.

I followed Ralen's directions and found Faramir standing alone over a table with a map of Middle Earth spread out before him. He stared at the map, but I don't think he saw a single thing. Faramir's face had hardened, and his eyes were narrowed as if he was trying not to cry.

"He won't stay dead," I said.

Startled, Faramir turned around. He saw that it was me and relaxed a little. "You are meant to be our prisoner."

"My hands I tied." I turned around so that he could see the rope. Then, I turned back and said, "I won't let Boromir stay dead."

Faramir fought back a sigh. "What new insanity do you speak of now, Ana?"

"It's not insanity. I've stopped people from dying before, I can do it again."

"You cannot stop death," said Faramir. "Do not be ridiculous."

"I'm not being ridiculous," I said. "Time and place have no impact on me. One moment I can be standing here with you, and the next moment I can be back in Rivendell with Boromir and the Fellowship. I Skip about. It's what I do. The next time I see Boromir, I'll tell him what will happen and I'll tell him not to die. I'll warn him. He can stay out of harm's way. He won't have to die. It'll be fine."

Faramir stared at me. "What is this sorcery of which you speak?"

"It's not sorcery or witchcraft or devilry," I said. "Believe me. No, this is something else. Something far more." I took a deep breath. Part of me wanted to tell Faramir about it, about the Senturiel, but that would be admitting that I was somehow related to this magic rock that drove people insane. No, I could never admit to that. I didn't want Faramir to start looking at me with pity in his eyes. "I know what I can do, Faramir. I can save Boromir. I will save Boromir."

"Ana."

"I promise you."

"Ana."

"Nope," I said. "Not listening. I promised you. Don't try and make me take back my promise. I will bring Boromir back. I will. So we're all good. Why do you look so upset, Faramir? You should be happy—Boromir will come back and the three of us can go drinking together. Won't that be fun?"

"Ana."

"Whew," I said, waving my hand about. "Things got serious there for a second. It was scary."

Faramir looked as though he wanted to say more, to stop whatever insanity went through my head, but I suppose he was too tired and too busy dealing with his own grief to deal with mine as well. He stared at the map in front of him and asked, "What are you doing here, Ana?"

"I told you, I'm just passing through."

"Are you not always?"

"I don't do anything else anymore," I said.

It was true. I used to have a life back in Ohio. Not much of one, but I had been able to hold onto jobs for at least a few months, and I had been able to attend most of my college classes. But over the past six months, the frequency of the Skips had increased, and now it felt as though I spent all my time in Middle Earth.

I scooted forward and stared down at the map on the table. The markings of red and blue probably meant something to soldiers, but they only looked like colorful drawings to me. I looked for the places I knew. Gondor, Rohan, Dunland, the Misty Mountains, Mirkwood…not all of them had labels.

"I should not reveal to you this map," said Faramir.

"Probably not," I admitted. "But I don't understand much of it. You don't have Erebor labeled."

"Erebor…" Faramir frowned.

"The Lonely Mountain."

"Oh." Faramir pointed to the inked drawing of the mountain. "Do you know this place?"

I nodded. "It was the first place I'd ever visited in Middle Earth. It was also the first place in which something tried to kill me."

Faramir smiled though it did not quite reach his eyes. "I expect the first thing to try to kill you to be impressive."

"It was a dragon."

"That would be impressive."

We stood side by side, staring at the map for a moment longer. Then, Faramir asked. "Why are your friends here, Ana?"

"That's not my story to tell."

"They are carrying something, are they not?" asked Faramir.

I blinked, startled by his intelligence, but then quickly tried to mask my surprise.

Too late. Faramir noticed my reaction instantly. He nodded. "I had a dreams about what they carry. Two, to be precise. And Boromir had one. It is the duty of the second born to make such journeys and I had volunteered to go, but my father insisted that Boromir take the road to Rivendell." Faramir smiled ruefully. "My father now regrets that decision."

"Your father is a jerk," I said. "Tell me something new."

"You did not answer me." Faramir didn't like discussing his father with me. Instead, he asked, "They are carrying Isildur's Bane, aren't they?"

"I can't answer. I don't even know what Isildur's Bane is."

"It is a trinket of Sauron's. When Sauron first came to power, an alliance was formed between men and elves. They marched on Mordor and fought Sauron's armies. Elendil, the High King of Gondor and Arnor, died at the hands of Sauron, his sword broken beneath him. But his eldest son, Isildur, took up the remains of his father's sword and, with it, cut off Sauron's hand. Upon Sauron's hand was a trinket, a weapon, and when he was separated from it, Sauron perished. Isildur took the weapon as his own, though it would one day destroy him. That weapon became known as Isildur's Bane."

"Oh," I said. "Yeah, the Ring. That's a funny name for it."

"Then it is true," said Faramir. "The Halflings carry Isildur's Bane."

I groaned. "Curse my mouth. I should just have it sewn shut."

"It is a serious affliction." Faramir smiled as he spoke. "Do not worry. I would not take this thing. If it lay by the highway, if Minas Tirith falling into ruin and I alone could save her using this weapon of the Dark Lord for her good and my glory—I would not take this thing. I do not wish for such triumphs."

I grinned. "Yeah, yeah, Faramir. We all know you're amazing and gallant. It might do you some good to be a little less amazing and gallant every once in a while."

"I might try that some time," said Faramir.

"Good." I wriggled against the ropes.

Realizing I was still bound, Faramir pulled a knife from his belt and cut away the ropes.

"Thanks."

"My father should remove the warrant for you," said Faramir.

"I know, right? That man has some serious anger issues. I mean, I was drunk and might have said some rude things, but it's been how long since I got drunk with you guys in Minas Tirith?"

"A year has passed," said Faramir.

"Damn." I rubbed my red and aching wrists. "So, what are you planning to do with the hobbits?"

"I will feed them and look after them," said Faramir. "I want to extract a little more information out of them before I release them. They are not under my father's warrant—only you have that honor."

"Great. I'm flattered." My eyes narrowed. "You'd better not take me back to Minas Tirith so your father can throw me in prison."

"I cannot take you anywhere," said Faramir. "You would disappear as soon as you wish."

"Not as I wish," I said. "I have no control over the Skipping. Except when I throw myself off a building."

"You have thrown yourself from a building?" asked Faramir with genuine concern.

"Multiple times. Not a fun experience. Especially since I'm terrified of heights."

"Did you throw yourself off a building this time?"

I snorted. "Nope. This time was against my will. I was one date—with a cute guy. And now it's ruined. He's going to think I ditched him, and I'm going to die alone."

"That is a serious problem," said Faramir. "I would not want you to die alone."

"Thanks—"

Skip.

"—a lot."

The movie theater was dark. A different movie played on the screen. A horror movie, to be precise. Blood had splattered everywhere, and some blonde girl let out a goat-like scream.

"What are you doing?"

I glanced down and found that I sat on top of some muscular man with a leather jacket and black beard. He glared at me. The tattoos on his arms rippled as he squeezed his cup of soda so hard that the drink overflowed at the top.

"Sorry!" I said, hopping off his lap. "Didn't mean to do that. I'll, um, I'll just be going now."

And I sprinted out of that movie theater like all hell was after me.

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter XXIII: The Enemy Doesn't Play Fair

When I got back to my apartment (somewhere around ten at night), the first thing I did was call Nick. I paced my kitchen, cellphone to the ear, waiting for him to answer. The kitchen needed a serious cleaning. Plates were stacked in the sink so that I could barely access the tap, and the counters hadn't been wiped down in a while. Grimacing, I started putting the dirty plates in the dishwasher.

"Hello?" The sleepy voice of Nick crackled through the phone.

Plate in hand, I said, "It was a disaster."

There was a pause. "The coffee was that bad, huh?"

"No, the date was that bad. Guess who Skipped in the middle of the movie theater?"

"Ow. Yeah, that's not a good thing. I would advise you to not that on the next date."

"There's not going to be a next date!"

"Okay, okay, calm down, Ana. Where are you right now?"

"Home." I dropped a fork and knife into the dishwasher. "It was awful. Not just the date but everything that happened after. And you won't believe the most embarrassing part."

"There's more?"

"There's always more."

"Okay," said Nick. "You stay there—don't go Skipping anywhere—and I'll come over. I have a solution for situations like this."

"Solution?" I frowned at the kitchen sink. "This kind of stuff can be solved?"

"Yep." Nick hung up.

As the line beeped dead, I gave up on cleaning and headed for the living room. I collapsed onto the couch and tossed to cellphone onto the cushion beside me.

Today was meant to be perfect. I had a date. With a cute normal guy. We went to the movies. Perfect. But nope, not for me. I wasn't allowed perfect and normal. Not only did my date fail miserably, but I found out that Boromir would die on this journey. No, not that. He wasn't going to die. I was going to save him. Right?

I lay on the couch for a good half hour before a knock woke me out of my stupid. Sluggishly, I dragged myself across the room to open the door. Nick grinned at me and lifted a plastic grocery store bag to eye level.

"Ice cream?" I asked.

"The solution to everything," said Nick. "Ben and Jerry's pints. Baked Alaska for you and Chocolate Fudge Brownie for me. I think that should last us a night, right?"

"Damn," I muttered, taking the plastic bag from him. "I knew there was a reason I'm friends with you."

"What?" Nick stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind him. "It wasn't my charm and devilishly good-looks?"

I went into my kitchen and got two huge (clean) spoons. "If you're lucky, it was because of your stunning sense of humor. Can you tell me the joke about Claude again?"

"Now that's hitting below the belt."

I hopped onto the couch and opened my container of delicious Baked Alaska. I patted the cushion beside me, and Nick sat down. He accepted the second spoon from me before shoveling a massive bite of Chocolate Fudge Brownie into his mouth.

Between bites, he said, "So, Ana, tell me about your life."

"It smphucks."

"Don't talk with your mouth full," said Nick. "It's unattractive."

I swallowed. "I don't care. I'm never going to date. I'm going to die a crazy old lady. I can't even be a crazy cat lady because I'll disappear for months at a time and I won't be able to feed my cats and they'll either run away or die." I took another huge bite of ice cream. "Isnmph that samph?"

"I have no idea what you just said." Nick leaned back against the overstuffed couch cushions and sighed. "If it makes you feel any better, I went to see Joanna."

I swallowed. "How is that supposed make me feel better? I don't like Joanna."

"She has a new boyfriend."

"Oh."

"Apparently, she didn't want to wait around on a boyfriend who had been missing for six months," said Nick. "Whatever. I should have expected as much. I probably wouldn't wait around for six months if she had gone missing."

"She's always been snobby to Bonnie and me. The sooner she is out of your life, the better. I would say Middle Earth was a good experience for you—it has freed you from her evil clutches."

"Way to be sympathetic."

"Whenever Bonnie and I hung out with her friends, Joanna'd start talking shit about us. Then, the moment you came back, we were all best friends again. Think of a giant vulture. She's perched up in her loft, watching you, waiting for you to fall, so she can fly down and pick the flesh off your bones with her sharp teeth." I mimed the motion with my hands.

"You look ridiculous," said Nick. 'Even more ridiculous than usual. And that's saying something."

"Meh, I'm used to it. I have accepted my condition. Or, as Faramir would call it, my affliction."

"Faramir?"

"He's a friend from Middle Earth. That's part of why my life sucks." I took another huge bite of ice cream.

"He makes your life suck? How? Should I beat him up?"

I snorted. "As if you could. He's Boromir's brother and a captain of Gondor. Besides, he's not the reason my life sucks."

"You think I can't beat up a captain of Gondor?" Nick showed me his nonexistent muscles. "You think he can handle these?"

"Unless you learned swordfighting as the goblin town jester, I think you're toast." I had another bite of ice cream. "I would have died a hundred times in Middle Earth if I wasn't able to Skip."

"Well, there you go." Nick elbowed me in the side. "There's something positive about all this Skipping."

I elbowed him back. "I wouldn't even be in Middle Earth if it weren't for the Skipping."

"Oh, right." Nick had another bite of ice cream. "So then, why does your life suck?"

"So, I ran into Faramir during my Skip. That's why I mentioned about him." I stabbed my ice cream with my spoon but didn't take a bite. Then, in a small voice, I said, "He told me that Boromir had died."

"Oh."

"But it's okay," I said quickly, "because I can bring him back."

Nick frowned. I could see him mulling things over in his head, trying to decide how to explain this to me. "Ana, you Skip from one world to the other. You're not a necromancer, you're just a…a Skipper."

"I've done it before," I said. "I saved the Fellowship when they died in the Gap of Rohan."

"Well, yeah," said Nick. "That was good. But should you really have such a say over life and death?"

"It's not a say," I said. "I'm not stopping him from dying, I'm simply changing what's going to happen."

"Isn't that the same thing?'

"No. Stopping him from dying would be like me making him an immortal vampire. Actually—can I do that? Do you know any immortal vampires? That might save me a lot of trouble."

"Your plans get weirder by the second."

"I'm just saying. Immortality makes my job easier."

Nick hesitated. "I'm sure no one expects you to stop people from dying."

"But what if I can save Boromir? What if that's possible, but I decide not to try because everyone tells me that I don't have to. So he's just dead. And I could've done something. What kind of friend would I be then?"

"But doesn't changing the timeline mean you might mess up everything?" asked Nick. "We did watch Back to the Future together. And what happens if you can't stop him from dying?"

"I'll save him. I know I can."

We both took huge bites of ice cream. Nick stared at my black television screen. I couldn't read his expression, but I had the feeling whatever thoughts ran through his head, weren't good for me. Maybe he was contemplating what an idiot I was. Well, that was probably better than him being trapped in his memories of goblin town.

I swallowed my mouthful of Baked Alaska and said, "You know what's missing? Bonnie."

Nick tore his eyes away from the blank screen and smiled. "Man, I miss that crazy girl. She'd be yelling at us—'Why don't I get any ice cream? What part of my life sucks? Well nothing right now, but something will suck down the road so I deserve ice cream in preparation.'"

"That sounds like Bonnie."

Nick sighed. "She's still in Middle Earth, huh?"

"Yeah. But I'll get her back. She's probably not hanging out with goblins like you were. Knowing Bonnie she's in Hobbiton somewhere driving all the little people crazy."

"They'll kick her out of the Shire."

"That'd be hilarious."

We both laughed at the idea. Then, another heavy silence settled about us and we filled it by eating our ice creams with far more focus than necessary.

"Well," said Nick when he'd finished off his pint, "we've established that both our lives suck. We have ice cream. You want to know what's left to do?"

"Coffee?" I asked.

Nick considered this. "That's not what I was thinking of, but let's add it to the list. I was thinking a romantic comedy marathon."

"Totally up for it," I said. "I'll make the coffee, you set up the movies."

We watched romantic comedies until five in the morning. I regret nothing. It's one of the emotional remedy things. Like when you sit on the red sofas in a psychiatrist's office and talk about all your problems—except Nick and I sat on my navy blue sofa. And there wasn't a psychiatrist. Just romantic comedies with hot leads and embarrassing situations. We fell asleep, curled up on opposite ends of the couch, and woke up some time the next afternoon.

Having Nick back in my life was great, but I found that I'd been foolish in thinking that things would go back to the way they were before. I'd assumed our friendship would continue to be light-hearted and fun, where we watched movies together and occasionally complained about our love lives. But I'd failed to account for the absence of Bonnie. Every time we got lunch together or watched a television show together, Nick and I were reminded that she was still somewhere in Middle Earth. I promised myself and Nick that I would find her. No matter how long it took.

In some ways, it was nice to have someone in Ohio who knew about Middle Earth; I could finally make jokes about elves and dwarves without having to backtrack and say something about the internet. However, I quickly realized that Nick didn't have the same love for Middle Earth that I did, and he grew quieter whenever I mentioned it. His experience there had been one of goblins and bones.

He jumped whenever he heard a sudden, loud noise, and he hated meat now, even more than before. He'd be unable to watch if I ever ate beef in front of him. One time when I met him for lunch, there were dark shadows under his eyes, and he told me he'd had trouble sleeping. He didn't tell me the exact reason, but I could guess.

Still, I had missed my friend and it was good to have him back.

A whole week passed without any Skipping incidents. (I know, I was impressed too.) I spent the week searching for a new job, catching up on television shows with Nick, and helping him sort out the six months he had missed. But, of course, a week was too good to last. Come Monday, I stood in line at Caribou Coffee, when—Skip—I went to Middle Earth.

Now that I look back on it, the poor people in line behind me must have felt so awkward. They blinked, and I was gone. Oh well, their minds probably warped the situation so that it made sense to them. That's what my English teacher in junior year had done. I sat by the window in her class, so when I suddenly disappeared mid-lecture, she decided I had jumped out of the window and escaped. Thankfully, the schoolboard didn't really believe her since her classroom was on the third floor.

Anyway, I'm getting off topic again. I Skipped from the coffee shop to a field of browning grass.

Great, I thought, I had ended up in the middle of nowhere again.

But when I looked a little closer, I realized that the fields looked oddly familiar. On one side ran great river, over which lay a stone city in ruins…Osgiliath. And then—when I turned around—I could see the great white city of Minas Tirith embedded in the mountainside.

Gondor. I'd ended up in Gondor. (On Pelennor Fields, to be exact, though I didn't know it at the time.)

Well, all right, I wouldn't complain about ending up in Gondor. If the timing was right, I might run into Boromir and I could warn him of his impending death. That thought cheered me considerably.

I was debating in which direction I should head—towards Osgiliath or Minas Tirith—when something underneath the wall of Minas Tirith caught my eye. I squinted, trying to see what made that rippling effect in the white stone. The outer wall was…moving? No, I realized, the gates were opening, letting a solitary white horse out onto the fields.

Was the horse coming for me?

Surely not. I mean, I knew Denethor had a warrant on my head, but I'd just shown up in Gondor, and I hadn't done anything threatening. I hadn't even taken a step yet. The white horse and its rider were probably just leaving Minas Tirith to go somewhere completely unrelated. Maybe a vacation to Dunland.

But…the white horse galloped right at me. Maybe I was standing in the direction of Dunland?

Only when I glanced over my shoulder in the direction of Osgiliath did I finally understood what was going on. Behind me, a group of horses—maybe fifty, maybe a hundred, it was hard to tell—raced across the fields, bearing soldiers back to the city of Minas Tirith. And, of course, these horses headed right for me.

I backed away, hands raised and my eyes fixed on the riders. Oh God. At this rate, I would end up run down by horses—which might be an even worse fate than falling from a six-story building.

"Skip me back," I muttered. "Skip me back. Skip me back."

Nothing. Not even a twitch. Damn it, what is the use of Skipping if it doesn't work when I want it to?

The horses drew even closer. There were so many of them that it'd be impossible to run. I wouldn't be able to escape in time. I could imagine my body battered and bloodied beneath the hooves.

And right when I had that terrifying thought, the nazgûl appeared. Not just any nazgûl, nazgûl with wings.

I just have that kind of luck.

Black riders on giant beasts with wings. The creatures were shaped like dragons, but (thankfully) their size couldn't match Smaug. Their necks and heads resembled those of a snake than of a dragon. I later learned that these creatures were called fell beasts, and they had been bred by Sauron back in the Elder Days to serve as steeds for the nazgûl.

The nazgûl rode the fell beasts now, perched on saddles and clutching reigns in their metal-gloved hands. At the nazgûl's command, the fell beasts swooped down and attacked the fleeing soldiers. They clawed the horses and hurled men across the field, leaving a wake of broken bodies behind them.

"Skip me back. Skip me back. Skip me back." I started run towards Minas Tirith, away from the soldiers and nazgûl. "I don't want to die—Skip me back, damn it!"

A bright, white light shone through the sky.

I blinked, trying to clear my eyes.

Overhead, the nazgûl and their fell beasts screamed and pulled away from the light as if it had burned them.

For a second, I thought the light had come from the sun, but then I saw that the white horse was only a few yards from me. It continued galloping at full speed towards the fleeing soldiers. The horse bore not one, but two riders: an old man dressed entirely in white who held a glowing staff above his head and a hobbit, dressed in black armor. Gandalf and Pippin.

I opened my mouth to call out to them when something grabbed me from behind and lifted me from the ground.

The ground disappeared, and the world was thrown off-kilter. I didn't dare struggle, afraid that I would fall and die, so instead I wrenched my eyes shut and shrieked, "Don't kill me! Please don't kill me!"

My stomach hit some contraption made of wood, and I felt muscles shifting underneath me… Wind rushed through my blonde hair, blowing it in all directions and ensuring that it would be frizzy for days to come.

Trembling, I opened my eyes and saw that I had been thrown across a horse's back. My stomach rested between the horse's neck and the rider in armor. My head danged over the side, giving me perfect view of horses sweat-soaked legs moving, beating against the ground as it ran.

"I'm pretty sure this is not safe," I cried.

"That is not the primary concern right now."

The calming voice was familiar, and I raised my head enough to see that the rider behind me was Faramir. His gaze focused straight ahead as his horse raced across the fields towards the White City.

"Hey!" I said, clinging to the saddle for dear life. "Long time no see."

Faramir ignored me, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

The horse sped up, and I would have slid off the saddle if Faramir hadn't been holding onto my shirt. Wriggling to say on the horse, I asked, "What brings you here?"

"I am a little busy at the moment," said Faramir.

He pulled his horse's reins and the creature veered to the right—just before a fell beast came swooping down, burying its claws into the flesh of the soldier to our left. The fell beast hurled the soldier across the fields, while the horse slammed into another rider, and both went crashing down, their bodies twisting, cracking, and breaking as they rolled along the dying grass.

Needless to say, I started panicking.

"Faramir!" I cried. "Faster! Go faster!"

"My horse can only go so fast."

"Not fast enough!"

"Why do you not ride the horse yourself?" Irritation colored his voice.

If I had any common sense, I would have realized this was a stressful situation and stopped yelling at him. Unfortunately, back then, I rarely had any common sense.

"That's just asking for death!" I cried. "I've never ridden a horse on my own in my life!"

"Then cease yelling at me to hurry! Do you not think I am moving at all speed already?"

The nazgûl came down again, and Faramir stooped low. The fell beast's claws narrowly missed his head. I watched, my hands curled around the straps of the saddle, as the talons caught hold of the rider behind us instead.

"Why do they fly?" I wailed. "They aren't allowed to have flying bat things while we only have horses—that's not fair! Faramir, they're cheating!"

"It is not meant to be fair," said Faramir. "It is war."

Unfortunately, he was right. The enemy never plays fair.

The white horse pulled up beside us, and I got a good view of Gandalf and Pippin. Gandalf was too focused on maintaining the light coming from his staff to notice me, but Pippin did.

It was probably a bizarre thing to see me sprawled out on a horse's back, my hair wind-whipped and my face deathly pale. I also probably looked like I was going to throw up at any second.

Pippin stared at me for a good long moment, silently mouthing my name. I smiled and waved. Despite the situation, Pippin managed a weak smile and wave back. (I knew I liked him for a reason.)

Overhead, the nazgûl tried to attack Gandalf, but the moment the fell beasts got too close, the wizard would direct the scalding light of his staff at them. The fell beasts jerked away, screeching. Their howls pierced the air. Like knives, they dug into the ears of any who heard them, instilling fears into the very hearts of the Gondorians. Pippin covered his ears with his hands. I would have loved to do that same, but my hands were occupied with holding onto the saddle. Gritting my teeth, I bore through the pain.

The ride back to Minas Tirith was filled with screeching, dying, blood, and broken bodies. I almost cried when we drew into the shadow of the thick iron gates, carved with the images of the kings of old. The gates had been thrown open, and we rode into the White City accompanied by whatever soldiers and horses had managed to survive.

After making sure all the remaining riders had made it into the city, Faramir pulled his horse to a halt in front of a stone fountain. Both he and the horse gasped for breath, while I focused on not vomiting.

Slowly, the nausea faded, and I relaxed. My arms and legs still hung over either side of the horse, and I probably looked more like a corpse than a woman just passing through.

"You have terrible timing," said Faramir.

"I know," I said miserably. "It always happens like this. The Skip has a shitty sense of humor."

Faramir leaned forward and, in a hushed voice, said, "You should be cautious. My father still has a warrant on your head."

"He does?"

I tried to sit up, but of course, that failed miserably and I ended up falling off the horse. I landed on the cobblestone street with a painful crunch. The horse shifted next to me, and its hoof came frightfully close to crushing my left hand. I leapt up, clutching my hand to my chest. A second later, the pain from the hard landing reached me, and I hobbled over to the fountain. "Not a smart move."

"That tumble looked painful," said Faramir, dismounting from his horse with ease. He looked over his shoulder. "Where is Mithrandir?"

"What's that?"

"Mithrandir." When he wasn't being chased by nazgûl, Faramir had amazing patience when it came to dealing with me. "Not what, but who. Mithrandir refers to the wizard."

"Oh, you mean Gandalf." I stood on tiptoe and looked around, trying to peer over the backs of the horses. Of course, they all stood at least a foot taller than me and I couldn't see a thing. "Just look for the obnoxiously clean white robe."

"There he is," said Faramir.

"Where?" I tried jumping up and down, but I still couldn't see anything over the horses' backs.

"You may not be a dwarf," said Faramir, "but you certainly have the height of one. Come, this way."

Leading his horse by the reins, Faramir maneuvered through the crowd to where Gandalf helped Pippin dismount. I followed Faramir, dodging this way and that, trying not to get stepped on by a horse or soldier.

"Mithrandir," greeted Faramir. He glanced at Pippin for the first time, and a frown crossed his face.

Gandalf opened his mouth to respond to Faramir, but when he caught sight of me, all the light drained from his eyes.

Faramir looked from Gandalf to me, and then asked, "You are acquainted with her?"

Gandalf let a long, tired sigh.

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter XXIV: The Theory Of Reincarnation

The four of us—Faramir, Gandalf, Pippin, and I—moved to a more private setting, which turned out to be one of the guard houses on the third level of the White City. Faramir led the way inside, and Pippin scurried in after. I made to follow, but Gandalf raised his staff to block my entrance.

Gandalf usually tried to interact to me as little as possible, so the fact that he was going out of the way to talk to me meant nothing good. I wracked my brains, trying to think about what Gandalf could possibly have to say to me, and then it hit me: the Senturiel. With the discovery of Nick in goblin town and the news of Boromir's death, I had plain forgotten about our meeting in Lórien.

I gulped. "Hey, Gandalf."

There were shadows under Gandalf's blue eyes. I didn't know how much time had passed or what he'd been through since Lórien, but whatever burden had weighed on his shoulders back then, it had since doubled in size.

"Look," I said, trying to be as reasonable as possible, "I know you want me to be the second coming of Atanalcar or whatever—"

"I do not wish you to be Atanalcar," said Gandalf.

"Oh good, because I can't be."

"Atanalcar lost his mind to the knowledge the Senturiel revealed to him," continued Gandalf, as if I hadn't spoken. "I do not wish that fate upon you. But you must understand that to ignore the knowledge given to you by the Senturiel is to neglect Middle Earth."

I glanced longingly at the door of the guard house. I longed to go inside and hang out with Faramir and Pippin. Fighting back a sigh, I turned to Gandalf and said, "I don't know what kind of great knowledge you think the Senturiel gives me, but it really isn't all you make it out to be. I just stumble through things and make it up as I go along. That's it. There's no great secrets to the Senturiel, really."

"There is no guide to help you understand the Senturiel," agreed Gandalf. "But you should not disregard your responsibility so easily."

"I don't avoid responsibility," I said through gritted teeth. "Responsibility avoids me. Skipping doesn't allow for responsibilities."

"Thorin told you once," said Gandalf, "that you engage Middle Earth half-heartedly."

I cringed at the mention of Thorin's and my argument on the mountainside. How many years had passed since then for Gandalf? How could still remember Thorin's words? In a dark voice, I muttered, "What does Thorin know?"

"Very much, it seems," said Gandalf. "For your half-hearted disposition is why I struggle to tolerate you. You have been given a gift and a burden in your abilities, and yet you deny that you are the Senturiel. You could use these abilities to help the people of Middle Earth and yet you are set in your ways and refuse to acknowledge that you have this power to save people."

"Refuse to acknowledge it?" I asked. My voice came out louder than I intended, and it took me a second to regain control. "I saved the Fellowship from the Gap of Rohan. I tried to save you from the balrog—before you were brought back to life—and I am trying to save Boromir from his fate. Don't you dare tell me that I don't try to help people."

"You only help those you know," said Gandalf, "You have only helped to satisfy your own wants, and you do not consider how your actions will affect them. Did you plan to stop me from fighting the balrog? Do you plan on stopping Boromir from saving Merry and Pippin? Did you know I only insisted on the Gap of Rohan because I did not think you were prepared to endure the mines of Moria? You have not been saving this world but disrupting it with your selfishness."

My jaw dropped. I was filled with the overwhelming desire to hit something. And then, all at once, the rage disappeared, replaced by a sort of hollowness. I could only stare at Gandalf's knotted staff, which barred me front entering the guard house. Was Gandalf right? Had I really done nothing to help the Fellowship? Was my presence in Middle Earth really nothing more than a disturbance?

Thankfully, I didn't have to answer Gandalf, because Pippin chose that moment to stick his head out the door and ask, "Will you two be joining us inside?"

"Oh yes." I pushed Gandalf's staff aside and hurried into the guard house. Now wasn't the time to be having an existential crisis. I was here, in Middle Earth, and I might as well make the most of it.

The chamber Faramir and Pippin waited in was a simple stone room with an unlit fireplace, wooden chairs, and a long oak table. Seated at the head of the table, Gandalf and Faramir talked about important matters of warfare for a good hour. Neither Pippin nor I truly understood what was going on. Though we tried to listen, our conversation quickly drifted away into more simple and ordinary topics.

"Reincarnation?" asked Pippin.

I nodded. "You know, where you die and are born again in a new body, but you don't remember your past life. And everyone always claims they used to be Cleopatra. I prefer to be original. I'm deciding between dwarf or sloth."

"Hm." Pippin twisted his mouth and pondered this. "If I were to be reincarnated, I would still want to be a hobbit."

"But that's boring" I pouted. "You're already a hobbit. Don't you want to try something new?"

"But a hobbit is best," said Pippin.

"Dwarf," I said stubbornly.

"I do not understand why you would want to be a dwarf. No offense intended to Gimli, of course." Pippin glanced over his shoulder, as if worried Gimli might appear at any second, wielding his battle axe. Once he was certain that he was safe from Gimli's dwarven rage, Pippin breathed a sigh of relief and said, "No matter how many times I pass through death, I will always want to be reincarnated as a hobbit."

I shrugged. "To each his own. Personally, I'm still torn between being reincarnated as a dwarf or being reincarnated as a sloth. I feel like sloths have more carefree lives."

Pippin shook his head. "I think that Gimli would be insulted if he knew you placed these sloth creatures and dwarves on the same level of esteem."

"Thorin would be insulted too." I leaned back in my chair and drummed my fingers on my knee, thinking hard. "That settles it. Sloths have no majestic potential. Therefore, I want to be reincarnated as a dwarf."

"If you wanted to try something new," said Pippin, "shouldn't you want to be reincarnated as something tall?"

"I don't want to hear that from a hobbit."

"What subject has you two so entertained?" asked Faramir.

I don't know if we interrupted his conversation with Gandalf or the discussios of war had come to an end. Either way, Gandalf stared at me with a frustrated expression on his weathered face.

"We're talking about the theory of reincarnation," I said. "The most simple explanation is that after you die, you come back as someone else and have no memory of your past life. Pippin would always want to be reincarnated as a hobbit—boring. And I decided to be reincarnated as a dwarf. Though a sloth wouldn't be bad either."

"A sloth?" asked Faramir.

"Adorable, sluggish creatures that hang from trees."

"Are you not afraid of heights?" asked Pippin.

I frowned. "I'm assuming that if I'm reincarnated as a sloth, my fear of heights would go away."

"What if it does not?" asked Faramir.

My eyes widened with horror. Perhaps I needed to do more research on my potential reincarnation animal.

"You had better be a dwarf," said Faramir.

"Already decided that. Dwarves are majestic." I paused. "What would you be reincarnated as, Faramir?"

"Me?" Faramir frowned thoughtfully. "Perhaps a horse. Or a white tree. Then the tree of Gondor would flourish and bear white blossoms again."

"Oh my God, Faramir!" I cried, dramatically clasping a hand to my chest. "Quit being so gallant." I pretended to swoon, but the effect was ruined when I burst into laughter. After a moment, Faramir chuckled.

"What would you be, Gandalf?" asked Pippin.

"I have already passed through death and returned as the White Wizard," said Gandalf. "Once was enough."

"Ah, show off," I said. "Just because you'll actually get to reincarnate. Let the rest of us dream, okay?"

"Only you wish to be reincarnated, Ana," said Faramir. "I am content as I am."

There was a knock on the chamber door, bringing the conversation to a close. The door opened to reveal a soldier dressed in a black uniform with the image of a white tree on his chest. He stood upright, his chin held high, trying to make himself seem important. Faramir nodded once, and the man seemed to relax a little.

"My lord Denethor desires a meeting with Captain Faramir," said the soldier. "He says the wizard and the hobbit should come as well."

"And what about me?" I asked. "I feel kind of left out."

Faramir sighed. He turned to the soldier and said, "We will see my father shortly."

It was only when the soldier had left, closing the door behind him, that Faramir reminded me, "You are a wanted criminal if my memory serves me. My father would not invite you to his halls."

"Ana is a wanted criminal?" asked Pippin, staring at me in what might have been awe.

"But I don't want to be left behind. Besides." I crossed my arms. "Your dad is going to try to bully you again."

"All the more reason not to bring you," said Faramir as he got to his feet and headed for the door.

"I do not know of this past strife between Ana and Denethor," said Gandalf, rising from his chair, "but I think we should bring Ana. She could prove to be most amusing."

I grinned at Gandalf. "You just want to see Denethor try to arrest me."

A wry smile crossed Gandalf's face. "Why would I ever want that?"

We rode horses up to the top level of Minas Tirith. Well, technically, Gandalf and Faramir rode the horses; Pippin and I just sat behind them and enjoyed the ride. I tried (and mostly succeeded) to ignore the tremors of fear that ran through me as I sat on the horse. My hands clutched the saddle, and I wrenched my eyes shut whenever the horse shifted beneath me (which was often). It appeared that I had equinophobia on top of my arachnophobia and acrophobia. Urg, such was my life.

I opened one eye a sliver and watched as Gandalf and Pippin led the way along the streets of the White City. The people of Gondor sent us curious glances as we trotted past. I managed a weak smile for them and some of them smiled back. Most of them were too entranced by their captain, the wizard, and the hobbit to notice me.

"Faramir," I asked, "am I a disturbance?"

"Hm?" Faramir sat in front of me, so I couldn't see his face, but he sounded surprised by my question. After a moment, he said, "You can be frustrating at times, but you are never an unwanted disturbance."

I blinked. "Well, you're honest."

"I hope you do not except everyone to appreciate you," said Faramir. "You must know that it is impossible to please every person you meet. Some will consider you a nuisance and a disturbance, but you should know that I always appreciate your visits."

"You should take your own advice," I said.

I didn't have to see his face to know that Faramir scowled at my comment.

We fell into silence, both of us lost to our own thoughts. My thoughts quickly turned to fear, and by the time we reached the Tower of Ecthelion, I had imagined myself falling off the horse and being trampled by his hooves at least twelve times. My face had turned white and my hands shook and I'd vowed to myself over and over again that I would never ride another horse as long as I lived.

The church-like white Tower of Ecthelion was located on the highest, seventh level of the White City. Beside the tower stood, the arching, stone Citadel. There was also a vast courtyard, which I later found out is called the Court of the Fountain, the center of which contained a small, peaceful pond and a dead white tree.

And now for a brief history lesson, courtesy of Ana Stonbit:

The white trees are descended from Nimloth, the Original Fancy White Tree that grew in the King's Court in Númenor. By the year T.A. 3019, there had been three different White Trees in Gondor. The first was planted in Minas Ithil (now Minas Morgul) by Isildur; this tree was destroyed by Sauron in the Second Age. However, Isildur managed to save a seedling of the White Tree, which he planted in the courtyard of Minas Anor (now Minas Tirith) in memory of his slain brother Anárion. This second tree died during the Great Plague. The third tree was planted in T.A. 1640 by King Tarondor, but the tree grew sick and died a little over a thousand years later during the reign of the Ruling Steward Belecthor II (Boromir and Faramir's great-great-great-great-grandfather). No new seeds of the White Tree could be found and would not be found "until the King returns" (that "King" would be Aragorn). So while Gondor waits for the Isildur's heir to return to the throne, the remains of the third dead tree were left in the Court of the Fountain.

There you go, the history of the White Tree of Gondor. Faramir would be so proud of me.

Faramir and Gandalf spared only a glance for the White Tree as they passed through the courtyard and marched up the stone steps to the hall where Denethor had taken up residence. Pippin and I, however, stared at the ruined tree in awe, admiring its frosty naked branches. At last, we tore out eyes away and followed the others to the tower.

The interior of the Tower of Ecthelion (also known as the Tower of Denethor—hmm, I wonder who to narcissist is) was grand. It was made of black and white marble with thick pillars supporting the curved, stone ceiling. An elevated black throne rested at the far end of the hall, given a place of honor. Guards clad in black and white stood stiffly beside the throne, prepared to protect their steward even if Sauron himself entered the hall. A man, dressed in expensive furs, was draped across the throne, his head bent in mourning and his gray hair falling over his face.

"Father," said Faramir as we approached the throne, "you wished to see me."

Denethor lifted his gaze, and for a moment, I pitied him. I had never seen a man look so downtrodden, so heartbroken, as Denethor did at that moment. Tears glistened in the corner of Denethor's eyes, and his face sagged with sorrow. My eyes flickered down, and I saw that his withered hands clutched the broken horn that Boromir always kept with him. As I stared at the broken horn, I felt a twist of understanding for Denethor. Whatever pain I might feel over the news of Boromir's death (which I would soon correct), Denethor must feel a thousand times worse.

Denethor stared at Faramir and then, in soft accusatory tones, said, "You are a disgrace to the memory of your brother."

With that, all my pity disappeared.

"His courageous deeds won back Osgiliath from Sauron," continued Denethor. "He swore never to let our beautiful city fall into the hands of the Enemy again. Yet you now have the nerve to abandon it."

"My lord, Osgiliath is overrun," said Faramir. His voice was calm despite the slight trembling of his hands.

"We should not abandon the outer defenses so lightly," said Denethor. "We should fight back. You let the Enemy think us weak. We should not have abandoned Osgiliath."

"If we were to attack Osgiliath now," said Faramir, "we would fail. We would fall upon them like water on rock. Then, they would know us to be weak."

"You may be water on rock," snapped Denethor. "But Boromir was not. Boromir would do his father's bidding. Boromir would reclaim Osgiliath. Though he would not have lost it in the first place."

Faramir said, with all the patience in the world, "Osgiliath is overrun. Not even Boromir—"

"Do not speak of your brother that way!" Denethor clutched the cloven horn.

"I do not mean Boromir any disrespect," said Faramir. "I am only stating the truth."

Denethor released a trembling breath. "Is there a captain here who will still do his lord's wishes? Or should I find someone else?"

Faramir did not respond for a second. I hoped—I really hoped—that he was about to tell Denethor just where to put that shit he was spewing out of his mouth. But Faramir only nodded and said, "Of course, Father. We will depart before the afternoon." He paused. "If I should return, think better of me, Father."

Denethor snorted. "That would depend on the manner of your return."

"Why would you say that, Denethor?" I cried.

Everyone turned to stare at me. I could recognize the same frustration and anger I felt in Gandalf and Pippin's eyes (though neither one of them said it aloud). Denethor glowered at me, his gray brows knitted together. Faramir, however, did not look at me but kept his eyes fixated on the marble floor. I'm sure internally he was telling me to shut up. But I would not shut up.

"I mean really. I love Boromir too, Denethor—but you have another son! Show him some love sometimes! Pat him on the back and give him a hug. He's such an amazing, gallant human being who does so much for Gondor and you just talk to him like he's nothing. It makes me sad just looking at you. Hug him, damn it!"

Denethor's eyes narrowed. "You."

I swear, I slapped my hand against my forehead and sighed. "Really? That's all you got out of this?"

"Arrest her," said Denethor.

At their steward's commend, the two guards positioned on either side of the throne started to move towards me. I let out a little squeak and took a step back, wondering if I could flee the Tower of Ecthelion before they caught me.

"Leave her be, Father," said Faramir, stepping between me and the approaching guards. "I will go to Osgiliath, but please leave her be. She is harmless and only suffers from a lack of control over her mouth."

Denethor glowered at me for a second longer, but then he turned to his son and said, "You must take back Osgiliath."

The guards took this as confirmation that they shouldn't arrest me, and they returned to their positions beside the throne. Pippin was audibly relieved that I hadn't been arrested, while Gandalf seemed genuinely disappointed. For once, I agreed with Gandalf. I was not happy with this turn of events.

"Hey, Faramir, wait. You can't do this. This is crazy. You know it's crazy. If Osgiliath is overrun…"

"We cannot let the enemy think us weak," said Faramir.

"Not you too—"

"Ana, stop." A small, soft smile crossed Faramir's face as he looked down at me. "Perhaps I shall be reincarnated into a White Tree, and you shall see Gondor in all its splendor."

"God damn it, Faramir, stop being so gallant!"

But he wasn't listening to me anymore; his head was filled with his father's cruel words and the death of his brother. With a bow to his father and then to Gandalf, he exited the hall. I stared at the black doors as they swung closed behind him.

"That boy's nature has always been so," said Denethor, shaking his head. "Weak."

"He's not weak," I snapped. I probably would have slapped Denethor, consequences be damned, if Gandalf had not caught me by the back of my shirt and held me in place.

"She is distraught. Forgive her, Lord Denethor," said Gandalf before Denethor could try to have me arrested again. Keeping a firm grip on my shirt, Gandalf addressed Denethor, "You wished to speak with myself and the hobbit as well."

Denethor stared at me for a moment longer before shifting his gaze to Gandalf. In a low voice, Denethor said, "Mithrandir, I know why you are have come."

"Do you now," murmured Gandalf.

Finally remembering that picking fights with the Steward of Gondor was probably not a good idea, I gave up my struggle against Gandalf's hold on my shirt. Silently, I stared up at the steward. Denethor no longer looked like the pitiful, grieving man who wept over his son's cloven horn. Instead, Denethor's face had become twisted with hate. He leaned forward on his throne and leered at Gandalf, his voice little more than a venomous hiss.

"You seek to supplant me. You bring a Ranger from the north, calling him the lost king of Gondor. Both you and I know that line was broken. You bring an imposter, hoping to control my lands—but I see through you, Mithrandir. First, you take Boromir from me, and now you seek to take Minas Tirith from me. Well, I will not yield. Gondor is mine and no other's."

"You're crazy." I turned to Gandalf. "He's crazy."

"Silence," muttered Gandalf. (Secretly, he agreed with me. Which is saying a lot. You know how much Gandalf hates to agree with me.) He addressed Denethor next. "I have no desire for the throne of Gondor except to return it to the rightful king. Your family has cared for the throne for generations, but now the true owner has come forth and you must surrender it."

"I will not bow to some Ranger from the north. The last of a ragged house long forgotten."

"It is not for you to deny the return of the king!" snapped Gandalf.

"Oh," I muttered to Pippin. "My money's on Gandalf to win."

"I do not think we should bet on this," whispered Pippin.

"You just don't want to bet against Gandalf."

In the middle of his spiteful battle with Gandalf, Denethor caught sight of me. His entire body quivered with rage. He lifted his right hand and pointed a boney finger at me. "You. You should be in prison, rotting away in the depths of Minas Tirith where your wretched face may never be seen again!"

"Me?" I squeaked. I glanced at Pippin and Gandalf, hoping for some support, but they gave me none. "That's a little harsh. I mean, sure, I insulted you—but rotting in prison? Can I just mildew a little and then go free?"

"Guards!" roared Denethor. "Guards! Seize her! Throw her behind bars so I might never hear her crude language again!"

The guards stepped forward again. This time, their swords were drawn, and there was no Faramir to save me. I backed away slightly.

"You know," I said. "This isn't really necessary. I won't do it again, promise. You should really arrest Gandalf instead. He's the troublemaker. I think your throne is a very nice throne. You look good on it. If you let me go, I'll run through the streets of Gondor, singing praises of what a good steward you are. Think of it as free PR."

The guards kept coming.

"Lord Denethor," said Gandalf wearily, "Ttis is not necessary."

"This unruly cretin has been wandering behind my walls unpunished for far too long," sneered Denethor.

Well, flattery and bargaining weren't getting me anywhere, so I might as well say my piece. I glowered up at Denethor and said, "You're just jealous because Boromir and Faramir like me better. Oh, and Aragorn would make a much better ruler than you."

I yanked my shirt out of Gandalf's grasp before turning and sprinting out of the hall. I think Gandalf and Pippin might have tried to stall the guards, even a little, but there wasn't much they could do without joining me in the cells of Minas Tirith.

I raced through the throne room and pushed open the doors. The doors didn't even have time to close behind me as the guards kicked them open and continued the chase. I sprinted across the courtyard, past the White Tree, my feet slamming against the stone pavement. I tried to sprint down the stairs to the next level of the city, but seeing that I was being pursued, more guards cut me off.

Left. Right. Behind. Guards were slowly closing in around me. The prison cell was starting to look like a very real possibility.

I ran in the only direction I could—towards the edge of the seventh level.

The courtyard had a long, pointed platform that jutted out towards Pelennor Fields, cutting the city in half. When I reached the end of this, I came to a screeching halt. There was a gap in the railing, looking out at the city of Minas Tirith—thousands of feet below. Down, down, down, down, down. I'm going to be sick just thinking about it.

"Oh hell no." I spun around and found myself face to face with dozens of guards, their swords drawn and pointed directly at me.

"You cannot escape," said Denethor, who had emerged from the Tower of Ecthelion to see my arrest. "Surrender now."

"Can I get away from the ledge before we have this stand off?" I asked. "I'm afraid of heights."

"Ha!" sneered Denethor. "As if we would be foolish enough to believe such lies."

"It's the truth." I tried not to glance over my shoulder at the gap in the railing. The ground was so far away. "Boromir had to piggyback me up a tree once because I was too afraid to climb it myself."

"Do not dare speak his name," snarled Denethor.

"Man," I said, "you don't get it. Boromir was my bro. Don't you try to get in the way of our friendship."

"She speaks strangely," said one of the soldiers.

I stared at the sharp swords reproachfully and tried to ignore the feeling of dread that was building in my stomach.

"What I mean is that Boromir and I were good friends. He would be mortified so see his father treat me so poorly." I took a step backwards. My heels reached the end of the stone. Nothing but air was behind me.

"Lies," said Denethor. "You cannot escape. Surrender now."

"But she can," said Gandalf.

"You," I said, pointing at the wizard. "You and your stupid magic rock!"

Gandalf look at me, his gray eyes flickered with something, perhaps triumph, but other than that he showed no emotion. Damn that wizard and his incredible poker face.

"Seize her!" cried Denethor.

I jumped. Off the edge of the cliff.

Down, down, down. The wind whistled through my hair.

Down, down, down. Denethor, Gandalf, the guards. They all fell away. Or I fell away.

Down, down, down. Skip.

"Ow," I groaned and rubbed the back of my head.

"Are you all right?"

I opened my eyes and saw a Caribou Coffee employee holding his hand out to me. I took it gratefully, and he helped me to my feet.

"You, um, had a nasty fall, I think," he said, stammering.

"I trip a lot," I said. "One moment, no one realizes I'm there and then—wham—I hit my head and suddenly I'm the center of attention, you know?" I grinned at him.

"Um, yeah…" The employee hesitated. "Can I get you anything? Ice? Something for the head?"

"Coffee," I said instantly. "The hotter the better."

Chapter Text

PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter XXV: We All Need Some Majestic Therapy

"Hi."

My first encounter with Jack since our failed date must have been one of the most awkward things I've ever done. And, as someone who has a habit of coming and going without warning, I've done a lot of awkward things in my life.

After a week of walking the other way whenever cute neighbor Jack came into my line of sight, I finally worked up the nerve to talk to him about my disappearance in the movie theater. I'd been leaving my apartment for a job interview when I saw Jack across the hall.

His back was to me as he locked his apartment door. He'd definitely heard me greet him, but he took his sweet time, pulling the key out of the lock and placing it in his jacket pocket. When he was done, Jack looked at me through flat hazel eyes. He didn't smile. "Hi."

"How have you been?" I asked.

"Fine."

"Look," I said, stepping forward. "It was a misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding?" asked Jack. "You ditched me in the movie theater. What's there to misunderstand about that? You teleported from the movie theater and left me sitting there like an idiot. What's to misunderstand?"

You're probably wondering why, at this point, I didn't just tell Jack that I Skipped to a different world. I don't blame you for wondering, I've thought it over and I don't think I've ever had a definitive answer. The conclusion I've come to was that I didn't trust other people and I was afraid. I didn't know how they would respond: would they think me crazy, or would they demand proof? The idea of bringing anyone, voluntary or not, to Middle Earth terrified me. Nick had been in goblin town for three days and who knew where Bonnie was. I couldn't risk that happening to anyone else—what if they ended up in front of Sauron or Smaug?

And how would I feel if they refused to believe me? Skipping was something deeply personal to me, something that had messed up my life so much that, at times, I didn't know up from down. If I ever told someone in Ohio that I Skipped, and they didn't believe me, I felt as though a part of me would crumble. I didn't want to open myself up to that. I couldn't open myself up to that. So, I said nothing.

"Yeah," I said, scuffing my boot on the wooden floor. "I knew you'd be angry. But you've got to understand, I don't have any control."

Jack let out a disbelieving snort. "Sure. I've got to go."

"But it's the truth!" I stepped forward, coming between him and the stairs. "I told you, I can't keep track of time or place. I've never been able to." One look at Jack's face told me he wasn't buying it. I sighed. "I really liked going on a date with you."

"Glad to hear it," said Jack. He stepped past me and headed down the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

"You were perfectly willing to believe that I was an elf!" I shouted after him.

Seven hours later, after failing miserably at the job interview, avoiding my mom's calls, and eating my feelings at Panera, I found myself walking through the downtown park. The sun had set long ago, and I had my cellphone held against my ear as I talked on the phone with Nick.

"I'll set you up with one of my friends," promised Nick.

"You don't have any friends."

"Yes, I do." Nick's voice cracked through the phone. "Eddie, Lamar, Keith…"

I scrunched up my nose. "Your friends are all weird."

"Well, you're weird, Ana, so it works."

To be honest, I couldn't argue with that, so I just said, "I'll find my own date. Maybe I'll download a dating app. That's a thing, right?"

Nick snorted. "Yeah, that's a thing. I don't think it's going to be your thing though. I feel like people need some exposure to you before they realize you're not undateable. If they show up to the coffee date, and you start rambling about sloths, they're going to run in the opposite direction."

"I like sloths," I muttered. "Besides, I think my chances are better if my dates are just thrown into the chaos. You know, sink or swim mentality. Either they can handle or me or they can't."

Nick laughed but then broke off when someone spoke to him on the other end of the phone. I waited, and after a moment, Nick said, "I've got to go. Classes tomorrow."

"Good luck with that," I said, trying to sound happy for him. After all, it was good he could get his life back on track after six months.

"Talk to you soon," said Nick. "Stay safe. You shouldn't be walking around the park alone after midnight."

"Bye, Nick. I'll be fine. If anything bad happens, I'll end up Skipping to Middle Earth." I paused to consider this. "Where more bad things will happen."

"Just head home."

"Bye."

After ending the call, I shoved my cellphone into the pocket of my jacket. Nick was a good friend. He'd spent the last hour on the phone with me, saying Jack was an asshole and promising to beat up my cute neighbor for me if I needed it. I'd told Nick that violence wasn't necessary. After all, I couldn't blame Jack for the stupid Skip. Yes, I'd complained about Jack, but not because I felt any particular anger or hurt towards Jack. In fact, other than a few awkward encounters in the hallway and the occasional pang of regret, I'd barely thought about Jack. Jack wasn't what haunted me at night.

Hands in the pockets of my jeans, I continued walking down the dirt path. It was somewhere in the small hours of the morning; the sky was pitch black and no stars were visible. Everything above me had been shrouded by thin clouds, and the only light came from the dim orange glow of lamps along the park path. I walked alone, not another person to be seen.

I hadn't been able to sleep the night before. I'd barely gotten more than six hours of sleep all week. Every time I put down my head to rest, my eyes wouldn't close. The same thoughts kept running over and over again in my mind. Despite my will, I found myself trying to picture how Boromir would die. The flash of an orc blade? The whistle of an arrow? A cry of pain. Blood everywhere. A body in a boat.

Don't think about it. Think about this world instead. My world.

I needed a job. Which obviously wasn't happening any time soon. But how was I going to afford my apartment? I could ask my parents for another loan. What would they say to that? I'd told them that I'd get a job—which meant I needed a job. Though no one would hire me.

My cellphone vibrated in my pocket. When I checked the caller ID, I saw Nick's name of the screen. After a brief consideration, I put the phone back in my pocket without answering. Nick probably wanted to make sure I was still alive; wandering around the park at night was not the best idea I'd ever had. Still, I wasn't ready to go back to my apartment and spend the rest of the night watching shitty YouTube videos instead of sleeping.

"What are you doing here?" asked a deep, gravelly voice.

I shrieked, spun around, and found myself face to face with…a cop.

Did I scare you for a second? Okay, okay. You obviously know I survive, but I was scared to death at the time.

"You surprised me," I said.

Of course, since the man wasn't a cold-blooded murderer but rather a round-faced cop, I had a different set of problems to deal with. In case you forgot, I've had some experience with prisons, and I would rather avoid them at all cost. And in my tired, sleep-deprived mind, "cop" meant "prison."

"You shouldn't be out so late," said the officer, frowning. "This park is closed after midnight."

"Really? I didn't know." (Lying has always been a special talent of mine.)

The officer stared down at me. I probably looked like an alien in the glow of the orange lamplight. Finally, he asked, "What's your name?"

"Ana."

"Where are you from?"

"Erebor."

"Why are you in the park at night?"

"I'm on a quest to reclaim my homeland."

The cop squinted at me. "Are you mocking me?"

I smiled. "I am a dwarf of Erebor. I am too majestic to mock." And then I turned around and ran.

The cop shouted something that I couldn't quite make out and then started to chase after me, letting out a stream of curses.

I sprinted through the park, at first sticking to the path but then diverging and sprinting through the grass. There was a red bridge that crossed a dark, murky pond, and when I ran on it, my footsteps echoed as they pounded against the wood. Halfway across the bridge, I came to a stop, my chest heaving up and down as I turned to watch the cop approach.

The officer came to a halt at the end of the bridge, huffing and puffing just as I was. Between breaths, he managed to say, "Stop. It's dangerous to be out so late. You should go home—and watch your mouth next time."

It happened then. I was no longer on a red bridge in a park. Instead, I stood on the edge of a white cliff, watching as gray waves crashed against the rocks below. At first, I thought I'd Skipped, but when I blinked, I saw that I was still in the park. Only, I was standing on top of the railing of the red bridge.

"Oh shit."

My foot slipped. The officer shouted something. I screamed.

Skip.

The back of my head slammed onto the stone ground.

I lay there, eyes closed, trying to remember how I'd ended up on the railing of the bridge. Something about white cliffs.

Great, I'd had so little sleep over the past week that I'd started hallucinating. And I'd probably traumatized that poor cop. I also probably shouldn't have run away from him. That was a moment of poor judgment on my part.

I opened my eyes. Wherever I'd Skipped to, it was dark. The only light came from a flickering torch on the other side of some iron bars.

I sat upright. Bars?

After all that running to try to escape a cop, I had ended up in a prison cell anyway. Oh, sweet irony.

"Your Skips have poor timing, Ana."

I looked over my shoulder. Blue eyes stared out at me from the far corner of the cell. I blinked, squinting through the darkness. I could see a familiar black beard and hard features. Thorin sat in the cell alongside me, chains around his ankles and wrists. (Still majestic.)

"Did they finally arrest you?" I asked.

"If you refer to the elves of Mirkwood, then yes."

"Oh." Suddenly, I was trying to fight back a grin. "Arrested by elves. That's a new low, even for you."

Thorin glared at me.

"I'm just saying," I said. "I had higher expectations of you."

The glare did not cease.

Even when weighed down by heavy chains, his gaze remained unwavering. There was something about those blue eyes that set me on edge. I wanted to make a joke, I really did, but I felt as though those eyes saw through every defense I tried to throw between me and reality. Those blue eyes knew me far too well for my own comfort.

And suddenly, I was crying. Fat tears dripped from my eyes and down my face.

At last, Thorin stopped glaring. He blinked. He frowned. He opened his mouth. He closed it again. He glared. He stopped glaring. He blinked again. Then, slowly, almost cautiously, he asked, "Why are you crying, Ana?"

"Why do you think I'm crying?" I wiped some tears off my cheek with the back of my right hand. I sniffled. The tears wouldn't stop.

After another round of opening and closing his mouth in confusion, Thorin helplessly said, "Because you are in awe of my majesty."

"No. Though that would be a good reason to cry." I wiped my nose with my sleeve. "My life sucks. My best friend in Middle Earth is going to die and I need to save him. To do that, I need to meet him before he dies and tell him what's going to happen, but there's no guarantee that I'll see him beforehand, and with my luck, I might end up watching him die. I don't want to see him die. And what if I can't save him? What then? I don't handle tragedy very well, in case you haven't noticed. And then, Bonnie is still missing. I managed to find Nick—in the depths of goblin town, who knows what kind of scars he's been left with—but I also have no idea where Bonnie is. She could be dead. She could be somewhere worse than goblin town. I could have brought her to her to her death, and no one in Ohio will know what happened to her because she's disappeared in this place. It's all my fault. Also, my dating life sucks. I can barely keep a normal friendship let alone date a guy. And Jack wouldn't believe my explanation. He was perfectly willing to believe I was an elf or a fairy—but no, he can't forgive that I Skipped on him in the movie theater. Part of me thinks I should just tell him about the Skipping and Middle Earth, but I can't do that. I'm terrified someone's going to put me in a straightjacket. I don't want to be in a straightjacket. And I can't even talk to my parents anymore. They always want to know about my life and my work. They keep telling me that I can tell them anything, but they don't know the half of it. I can't get a job because I disappear to Middle Earth too often and miss days of work. My parents don't know this, and they want me to find a job, but I can't. And I can't ask them for more money. Who's going to pay for my apartment? What am I going to do? And, just to make things better, I just told a cop that my home was Erebor. I was joking, but that's still frigging insane. I don't even know where I belong anymore. I'm from Ohio—right? So why do I spend so much time in Middle Earth? Maybe I just don't belong anywhere. Maybe I'm just meant to drift everywhere. Or maybe I just don't exist at all. I don't know. I don't want this. I want to go home. But instead, I'm sitting here in a cell with you. And you know what? You know what the worst part is? I just found out that Taco Bell sells coffee. Taco Bell, for Gods sake! It just sounds gross. Who would do that kind of thing? Who would!?"

Thorin stared at me.

I sniffled. My throat was burning, and I coughed—a deep, hacking sound. Tears dribbled down my cheeks. "Stupid Taco Bell, making me cry."

There came the sound of chains clanking together as Thorin shuffled across the cell. Then, I felt a heavy hand tapping my shoulder. I looked up and saw Thorin grimacing as he gave what I assumed was meant to be a comforting pat.

"Thanks," I said.

His hand dropped from my shoulder, and he sat back down. Thorin watched me for a moment and then said, "You look ugly when you cry."

"You're not supposed to say that."

"I only speak the truth," said Thorin.

"Why do I talk to you?"

"Because I am majestic."

I managed a weak smile. "That's right."

"At least," said Thorin, "you were not captured, interrogated, and thrown into a prison cell by the people you despise most in the world."

"Yeah, but I bet you were great when they interrogated you."

"I am certain that I irritated Thranduil to no end," said Thorin. "He repeatedly inquired as to why my dwarves were wandering about the woods, and I repeatedly replied that we were starving. Apparently, he did not believe that dwarves could starve, because he continued at ask why we were in the woods."

"Because you were starving," I said. "Wow. Thranduil seems like a dense elf."

"Are not all elves dense?"

"Well, Elrond was rather clever," I admitted. "But Thranduil is definitely not Elrond. Mirkwood elves might not be as intelligent as their Rivendell kin."

"Thranduil might find a rival in that son of his," said Thorin. "That blond elf who prances around with a bow and arrow."

"Legolas," I said, nodding. "Legolas is the prince of the dense elves. He prances around with that bow and arrow all the time, and he's like, 'Look at me, look at me, aren't I pretty? Aren't elves awesome? We just got chased across the country by wargs and almost destroyed by a balrog, but my hair is still blond and in perfect condition, aren't I cool?' And the rest of us are sitting there—dirty and tired—and we're like, 'Legolas, your hair is stupid and it makes you look like a cheap party trick.'"

Thorin laughed. (I actually managed to make Thorin laugh. Though, I think he just likes to laugh at elves.)

"You have ceased crying," said Thorin, suddenly.

I paused, patted my cheeks to make sure, and then grinned. "Yeah, I did. That was a load to get off my chest. I think the majestic therapy session helped."

"Majestic therapy?"

I nodded. "You know what would help even more?"

"I do not want to know."

"If you sang to me."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"You can start a new business as a musical therapist. Someone can come into your office after having a really, really, really bad week, and you can sing to them in your deep voice and all their problems will just drift away…"

"No."

"You enjoy crushing my hopes and dreams, don't you?"

A faint smile. "Yes."

Before I could respond, a faint clink sounded from behind me.

Thorin and I turned to look at the door of the prison cell. My heart missed a beat. Was a guard coming to check on Thorin? The elf would see me. What was I doing in a cell with the dwarf king? Well, there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for that…

The heavy, wooden door creaked open.

"Thorin!" cried Ori, sticking his head through the gap.

Thorin breathed a sigh of relief. "Keep your voice down, Ori. We do not wish to be overheard."

Ori's head disappeared, and then from the gap between the stone wall and the wooden door, Bilbo appeared. He slipped into the prison cell and revealed a little black key. A proud little smile crept onto Bilbo's face as he opened the iron shackles that bound Thorin.

I remained seated on the ground, watching the whole scene with open-mouthed surprise.

"Ana," said Kíli, appearing at the door of the cell behind Bilbo, "what are you doing here?"

"I Skipped." Frowning, I turned to Thorin. "You knew about the escape plan?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't tell me?"

Thorin shrugged and massaged his red wrists. "I did not know how long you would be here." He started towards the door, pausing long enough to ask, "Are you coming? Or would you rather remain in prison?"

I jumped to my feet. "Remain in an elven cell? Not on your life."

As I exited the cell, I saw all thirteen dwarves gathered in a narrow hallway. Apparently, Thorin had not been the only one captured by the Mirkwood elves. Bilbo led the way through a series of underground tunnels. (The hobbit had proven to be quite the successful burglar—though only I knew that it was partly in credit to the One Ring.) Bilbo had some destination in mind, but it seemed the dwarves didn't know where.

The Company tiptoed through the halls, attempting to be stealthy, but to be honest, neither the dwarves nor I were particularly quiet. Thankfully, the Mirkwood elves partied hard. Bilbo had wisely waited until they were all unconscious from their endless drinking before freeing the dwarves.

"Disappointing." I shook my head as I looked over the dwarves. "I expected better of you guys. Getting arrested by mere elves."

"It is not our fault," said Kíli. "We were hungry and starving in the forest, and we had been attacked by spiders."

"Spiders?" I asked, my voice going up an octave.

Kíli nodded. "Huge spiders with poison in their pincers."

A shudder ran down my spine. "First spiders and then elves—you poor dwarves have had a rough ride."

"You do not like spiders?" asked Glóin, a wide smile forming under his red beard.

I eyed Glóin suspiciously. "What are you thinking?"

"I have no thoughts in particular," said Glóin.

"He is quite empty headed," added Óin. He whacked his brother on the side of the head as proof. "Did you hear that hollow sound?"

I laughed.

"Could you possibly be louder?" asked Thorin irritably.

I stuck my tongue out at his back. I think he could somehow sense it, because he shot me a venomous glare over his shoulder. However, I lowered my volume after that. Who knew when the elves would wake from their drunken slumber.

"Why are your eyes pink?" asked Bofur in a quiet voice.

"Er…" I lifted a hand to touch my puffy eyes and then silently cursed the side effects of crying. "It's Thorin's fault."

All the dwarves turned to Thorin.

"You made Ana cry?" asked Nori, horrified.

"That was not very nice," said Ori.

Thorin shot me a scathing look, and then to the rest of the Company, he said, "We were having a majestic therapy session."

"A what?" Dori looked dumbfounded.

"Now silence," said Thorin, "unless you want to return to the cells and the mercy of the elves."

That certainly shut the dwarves up.

Bilbo led us down a ramp, made a sharp turn, and then stepped out onto what seemed to be a dock. The dwarves and I followed him, huddled together and peering out over the wooden platform. The dock was built over an underground river, the waters of which frothed and sloshed against the steep rock walls of the cavern. I could see a few boats tied to the dock and near the door, barrels and crates had been stacked high.

Thankfully, the one elvish guard remained fast asleep in a chair. To my delight, I could see drool trickling from his mouth onto his tunic. It was the first time I'd seen an elf look anything other than graceful.

"What are we doing here?" asked Thorin.

Bilbo gestured at the river. "This is the way out."

"Do you expect us to swim?" asked Fíli, a hint of fear in his voice.

"Oh no," said Balin. "Dwarves are not made for swimming."

"And neither are hobbits," said Bilbo firmly. "Have no fear, you will not be swimming out. You will each get inside a barrel, and I will seal you inside. Then, when the elves throw the supposedly empty barrels in the river, we will float downstream and be free of this place."

"How do you know what they do with the barrels?" I asked.

Bilbo smiled smugly. "I have spent a lot of time observing the Mirkwood elves and forming this escape plan."

"Observing the Mirkwood elves?" I gasped. "Oh, you poor hobbit, there are such better things to do with your time."

The dwarves muttered their agreement.

"Hurry," said Bilbo. He bounced on the balls of his feet, jittery with nervousness. "This is the only way out, and the elves will be arriving soon to throw out the barrels."

"We will be broken, bruised, and battered to pieces," said Dori.

"This is mad," muttered Balin.

Bilbo finally lost patience with the dwarves. "Very well, I still have the keys. You all can hop back into your cells, and I will lock you in. No one needs know that you tried to escape."

The dwarves exchanged glances.

"Point to Bilbo," I said gleefully. (Cue glare from Thorin.)

"It is not all bad," said Fíli suddenly. He walked towards the closest barrel and popped off the lid. "I can certainly fit in here. It appears spacious. Perhaps I shall keep the barrel and make it into my new home. What do you think, Kíli?"

Kíli popped the lid off another barrel. He grinned and hopped inside, settling down for a comfortable fit in the barrel. "Rather snug."

"Fíli and Kíli are small," said Dwalin. "Of course they would fit inside the barrels with ease."

"Yes," said Bombur. "What about us large dwarves?"

"Don't be a baby." I bounded after Fíli and Kíli and found a nice-sized barrel. I hopped inside, pulling my knees up to my chest. "It's roomy in here. Bilbo, lid me up!"

"I will not do it," said Balin, stubbornly.

Grumbling under his breath, Thorin picked out a barrel and sat inside it. I couldn't see him over the top of my own barrel, but I could image his grouchy, scowling face.

At last, Thorin said, "They are not as uncomfortable as you would imagine them to be."

That single sentence was all it took for the rest of the Company to follow suit. Soon, we had all crawled into barrels. Bilbo put the lids in place, wedging us in tightly. Then, he found his own barrel and managed to shut himself in. I sat in darkness, my knees pulled up to my chest and my head just brushing against the lid of the barrel. To be honest, it was far from comfortable, and I dreaded the journey down the river.

I don't know how long we sat there, silent and cramped, but I was beginning to get impatient. Going back to the prison cell was beginning to sound like a viable option. But just when I was prepared to pop the lid off the barrel, the sounds of elves filled the room.

"Where is old Galion, the butler? I have not seen him at the tables tonight. He ought to be here by now to show us how it is done."

"Ah-ha! Here he is. He has been sleeping the drink."

"Wake him up. I still have a few more drinks with my name on them."

There was a pause and then a grumbling noise. A sleepy voice filled the room, and I supposed it belong to Galion, the drooling elf. "You are all late. Enjoying the festivities a little too much, I would guess. You forgot your duties and left me to wait. Small wonder I fell asleep."

The other elves laughed and made jokes at Galion's expensive, but he only grunted at them to get to work. And with that, the barrel tossing began.

I don't know whose barrel they tossed first, but through a peephole in the side of the barrel, I watched as, one-by-one, the barrels were hurled into the river and swept away by the rushing river waters. My barrel was one of the last to be hurled into the river. All I felt was unsteady air and then—splash—a rickety ride on the river.

Water came in through the peephole. I panicked. My throat thickened and my breathing came in short gasps. I thought my barrel was going to fill with water, and I was going to sink to the bottom of the river, trapped inside. So I did what any other desperate person would do. I shoved the lid off my barrel, managing to get one breath of air before the barrel flipped over and dunked me head-first in the water. Coughing and spluttering, I clung onto the barrel for dear life as the river waters sped me down stream.

"Do you need some help, lassie?"

I looked up to see Balin, sitting in his lid had been removed, and the top half of his body was out of the barrel, bobbing up and down as if he was on a mini-cruise.

"Show-off," I muttered.

"Who is a show-off?" asked Fíli.

I turned around to see that he too sat upright in his barrel, completely at ease. In fact, looking around the river, I saw that Thorin, Dwalin, Bombur, Bifur, Bofur, Óin, Glóin, Dori, Nori, Ori, and Bilbo were all sitting upright in their barrels, enjoying the peaceful float downstream.

I groaned. "Was I the only one who fell out?"

"No," said Fíli. "Kíli took a topple as well. He refuses any aid."

Fíli pointed back upstream where I saw Kíli floating in the water, trying to push himself back up into the barrel, but every time he got close to sitting into the barrel, the thing capsized, dumping him back into the rushing river.

I groaned. "I'm on the same level as Kíli…"

"Look out," said Thorin. "There are rapids coming." He glanced at me. "With sharp rocks."

"Sharp rocks?" I squeaked. Clinging desperately to the twisting and rolling barrel, I tried to hoist myself up onto it or into it—I wasn't really sure which—but the barrel rolled over and dumped me into the water yet again.

I bobbed back up, treading water as I floated downstream. I looked around and realized that my barrel had floated far away from me. The white tips of the rapids and the tops of the jagged rocks drew nearer.

And if the rocks weren't bad enough, it seemed that the elves had realized that their prisoners had gone missing. Just over the sound of the rapids, I could hear the bellow of a horn.

"They have noticed our absence," said Balin grimly.

Under normal circumstances, I would have been terrified by the idea of being chased by angry Mirkwood elves; however, I had bigger problems right then—mainly, rapids.

I screamed, "Not the rocks!" and then properly received a mouthful of river water.

Gasping and gulping, I tried to remember my nine-year-old summer camp canoeing lessons where I had been taught to go down the rapids with my feet first. Holding onto my flotation device (AKA the barrel), I kept my feet up and tried to steer myself away from any rocks.

White, foaming water splashed into my face. I was hacking and coughing, and my eyes stung. The rapids dipped me underwater time and time again—I clawed at the barrel, desperately trying to stay above the surface.

By the time I came out of the rapids and managed to regain sense, we were under attack—not by elves but by orcs.

At first, I was confused. What were orcs doing there? Weren't we escaping from elves? I didn't realize until later that some members of Azog's hunting party had tracked the dwarves to the Mirkwood elves, and the hunting party was now trying to assail us from the banks of the river during our escape attempt. However, the orcs' plan to ambush us was ruined by the elves who were trying to recapture us. Apparently, the saying that "my enemy's enemy is my friend" is not true, because the two parties clashed on the river's banks while we floated by down the river.

One orc fired an arrow, and it struck the side of my barrel with frightening force. I screamed and slipped underwater again. Thankfully, Balin grabbed me by the scruff of my shirt, pulling my out of the water.

Now, I'll have you know that Bilbo tells a quite different tale of this river battle than I do. Bilbo has a habit of embellishing details for dramatic effect (okay, I admit that I do this from time to time too), but I know for a fact that Bilbo likes to tell this story where the dwarves pass around weapons while floating in barrels and being attacked. He also likes to tell the story where Bombur's barrel flies out of the water, takes out a dozen orcs and then Bombur turns the barrel into some kind of fighting machine. I can tell you right now that this did not happen. The great escape from Thranduil's realm was not nearly as dramatic as that.

Most of the dwarves fell out of their barrels in the rapids, so the orcs' arrows hit the water or the barrels and missed the targets. A couple orcs slipped on the wet, moss-covered banks and fell into the water, allowing Dwalin, Nori, and Fíli to take the orcs' weapons. Fíli managed to use the sword on one orc and then was forced to drop the weapon because it was too heavy for him to stay afloat while holding.

I will let you know now that our river battle consisted of choking on water, screaming, shouting, more choking on water, drowning, missed arrows, rapids, choking on water, orcs falling into the water, drowning, water in our eyes, going under water, and more choking on water.

As much as I hate to say this, if it had not been for the Mirkwood elves, we probably would have either been killed by orcs or drowned by our own inability to swim in rapids.

Thorin grabbed my arm and hauled me above the surface of the bubbling water. My own barrel had broken on one of the rocks, so I was forced to cling to Thorin's barrel.

On the banks, there were a dozen blond-haired elves (I recognized one of them as Legolas before water flooded my eyes). The elves fired arrows at the orcs, slaughtering the members of Azog's party. The river waters carried us downstream, and I watched as the elves and orcs got farther and farther away until they were out of sight entirely.

Most of the dwarves had fallen out of their barrels at this point, and as we sailed down river, the rapids became worse and the cries of the Company heightened.

"Look out for that rock!"

"Tree branch! Tree branch!"

"A fish bit me!"

"Rock!"

"My toe!"

Water sprayed in everyone's faces, and we screamed until our voices broke. (Except Thorin, you know he would never scream over some puny rapids).

You'll be happy to know that we did survive the rapids. I was separated from Thorin and his barrel at one point, but I managed to find a piece of driftwood. By the time the river calmed, each member of the Company was left gasping for air and clinging to his flotation device (driftwood, broken barrel, another dwarf, etc.). We looked bedraggled and exhausted but very much alive.

"I cannot believe we survived that."

The Company turned to see that Kíli alone sat upright in his barrel, bobbing up and down with a broad grin on his face.

Thorin was the only one who didn't see Kíli. Instead, Thorin looked downriver where the water sped up and then disappeared from slight entirely. Recognition struck Thorin and he bellowed, "Waterfall!"

Kíli promptly fell out of his barrel in shock.

The rest of the dwarves tried to swim for shore, kicking and struggling against the current, and eventually, they managed to reach the rocky bank.

I kicked and kicked, but I was too far away to make it to the bank in time. I clung to my bit of driftwood as I was pushed closer and closer to the waterfall's edge. I looked behind me as all the dwarves watched, wide-eyed, from the rocky shore.

"Not like this!" I wailed.

"Quiet," said Thorin, though his tone was not harsh. He looked me directly in the eyes as he called out over the water, "You will go over the edge and then Skip to safety."

"No, I won't!" I screamed. "I'm going to die!"

My driftwood reached the edge of the waterfall…

And then guess what: I Skipped.

Damn Thorin and his habit of being right.