Disclaimer: I don't own the Hobbit or the Lord of the Rings!

A/N: Hey, everyone!

Hop on board the Arkenstone for the next great adventure! Your pilots are Fili, Kili, Bilbo, and Merry! The flight might get off to a rocky start, but we should even out from there. Turbulence are expected, as are Orc attacks, creepy hitchhikers, and just the general nuisance of Dwarves in Space plus a few Men, a Wizard, an Elf, and a few Hobbits sprinkled in there. So please buckle up, raise your seat up straight, and prepare for a whacky journey.

Enjoy! Please review!

The Fellowship of the Ring: Into Space

A Hobbit's Tale

Old age had not been kind to Peregrin Took. The Hobbit, once a spritely tween on an adventure, was now ninety-five years old. His body could no longer handle him skipping around and leaping onto ships. His joints ached with movement. The arthritis in his right elbow acted up on cold days, leaving him sore for at least a week afterward. The scar in his chest had never faded.

There were many things the Ent Draught could fix, but Peregrin's horrors of the past was not one of them. He would wake from a nightmare in the middle of the night only to remember he was home safe in bed. If it wasn't the nightmares, then it was the general pain of the scar. There were some day he couldn't even get out of bed. On those days – in Gondar, at least – there was always someone by his bedside. Normally it was Legolas, Tauriel, Faramir, or even Aragorn. Once upon a time that had been Meriadoc Brandybuck, his cousin and best friend. But no longer. Not since the August of this last year.

At the ripe age of seventy, his eyesight had stared to go. By seventy-three he was completely blind. His son bought him a walking stick to use, though he rarely did. His eyesight may have gone, but it did nothing to awareness He still heard clear as day, even if the other person was clear across the universe. He depended more on this than his sight.

Once upon a time, Peregrin – known as "Pippin" or "Pip" by his friends – had been one of four Hobbits who went on the adventure. With Meriadoc having passed on and Sam and Frodo gone out to the Elves' System that left him alone. He kept in touch with Frodo. Sam had passed away a few years before, content in his life with the Elves. Galadriel even kept her contact with Pippin, speaking with him at the most inopportune times. These were mainly times when Pippin's mind had begun to wander. His son, Faramir II could find him sitting in a chair for hours on end just staring out a window. Pippin didn't really mind it. He enjoyed his conversations with Galadriel.

A hand tapped Pippin on the shoulder gently, drawing him from his thoughts. The elderly Hobbit had chosen to spend the September afternoon at his friend's graveside seated on a stone park bench. Someone had brought him second breakfast earlier, a kind boy with a strong sense of loyalty, but Pippin had hardly paid attention to it. Turning his head, Pippin listened intently. He smiled when he recognized the newcomer.

"Faramir," he greeted happily.

"I thought you would've heard me coming," Faramir commented. He moved to sit down beside Pippin, steadying the Hobbit when he made to move. "No, please, don't move because of me."

"I'm sorry, Faramir," Pippin said as he settled back down. His right hand groped for his walking stick. It had fallen sometime when he hadn't been paying attention. "I was thinking."

"About Merry?" Faramir asked, and Pippin's heart twinged with loss. A strong, apologetic hand patted his shoulder. Faramir didn't need to speak to console Pippin for his loss. Their bond went deeper than words could ever go. It always had, ever since they'd met.

"No, actually, I was thinking about Frodo," Pippin said. He turned his head in the direction of Merry's grave. Several times Aragorn had offered him a pair of shaded glasses and each time he'd refused. He was proud to wear his marks of old age. It meant he'd survived.

"How is Frodo doing?" Faramir asked. "I miss seeing him around here."

"He's holding on," Pippin sad sadly. "But he'll be going soon." Faramir patted his shoulder once more and Pippin smiled up at him. "I'm not worried," he said. "He has lots of friends nearby to help him. Galadriel, Gandalf, Elrond . . . They'll all help him."

"You have friends too," Faramir reminded him. "In fact, you've some visitors today." Pippin perked up at the mention of visitors. People rarely came to see him anymore. His children lived too far away to see unless they chatted over the Roots. Faramir II would update his father on how he'd been as acting Thain ever since Pippin's departure. It warmed Pippin's heart to know his son was doing well.

"Who's come?" Pippin asked. Even though he already knew the answer he loved hearing the words come from Faramir's mouth.

"The Dirty Baker's Dozen," Faramir said, and Pippin's leapt for joy. He was off the stone bench in a second, his hand reaching for the walking stick. It jumped into his fingers, most likely thanks to Faramir's quiet aid, and a strong hand took his own. "They're waiting in the front courtyard. My Lord Elessar has given them the area for use for as long as they need."

"How I miss seeing good old Strider," Pippin sighed. If Faramir had anything to say, he didn't voice it aloud. A moment of silence told Pippin the Man, in fact, had nothing to say to that.

Faramir led Pippin through the halls of the palace. Merry and Pippin had chosen to spend their last few years on Gondor. The decision had been made when Eomer had called for Merry to visit him. The two friends had made the journey in time to be at the King's side when he passed on. Merry had wept openly and quietly for days. Pippin had remained by his friend's side, offering as much comfort as he could.

"Here we are," Faramir said. His voice, once again, dragged Pippin from his thoughts. The Hobbit shook his head. He really needed to start paying more attention. All this spacing out was leading to gaps in memory and confusion, not to mention too many conversations with the Lady Galadriel. Then again, she always seemed happy to oblige to Pippin's desire for a conversation. Not once in the many years that Pippin had known her had she turned him aside.

"Pippin!" a young voice cried out. Pippin grinned wickedly. Already he could see the lanky dark hair and stubble of a beard.

"Pip!" another voice called. A mane of blond hair, so much like a lion's, with a beautiful mustache to match. "There you are. We've been waiting forever. Ow!"

"That is enough, you two," a voice growled. Black hair braided delicately and a beard kept short for mourning. A pity Thorin had never been able to grow it out. Those dratted medical mites just had to ruin everything.

"I'll leave you to it," Faramir said, releasing his hold of Pippin's hand. "I'm a call away if you need me." Pippin nodded. The Man patted him one more time on the shoulder before leaving. Turning back to the, surely large, group of Dwarves, Pippin let his awareness go. They were all present, every single one, including a certain Hobbit.

"How're you feeling, lad?" Bilbo asked from a short distance away.

"Still kicking," Pippin joked. He began to move forward, tapping his walking stick back and forth. A calloused hand landed on his arm, the knuckledusters brushed his bare skin as the thick fingers wrapped around his own. Dwalin led him slowly forward where Dori and Balin helped ease him into a chair.

"Thank you," Pippin said to the Dwarves. Dori stroked his hair gently before giving him the gentlest of head-butts. "It's great to see you all again." Someone snorted to his left followed by a smack then a yelp.

"Sorry," Kili mumbled, and Pippin's wicked grin returned.

"You can't blame him for laughing," he told Thorin. "I am blind, anyway. No harm in laughing."

"You do not know my nephews well enough," Thorin said, though he sounded relaxed. "Give them an inch and they will take a mile."

"Sounds like me," Pippin crowed. Several of the Dwarves around him laughed. He waited patiently, chuckling to himself, for the crew to quiet down. Once they had, Nori still guffawing, he chose to address the elephant in the room. "So . . . why're you all here." Nori's guffaw cut short at that. Someone shifted nervously around. Pippin couldn't tell who. He'd never been good at the boot sizes.

"The Government, er, new Government," Bilbo began. Pippin listened earnestly, trying his hardest to follow manners' protocol. "They want the entire story written down for the history books. And, well, seeing as . . ."

"I'm the only Hobbit left," Pippin finished. He was sure Bilbo nodded and then realized he was nodding to a blind man. There was nothing else that long silence could have been.

"Well, yes," Bilbo said. "And you have contact with Frodo. So we were wondering if you'd be willing to share yours and Frodo's stories."

"What about yours?" Pippin asked.

"Oh, I've already written it," Bilbo said.

"He did," Kili interrupted. "There and Back Again: A Hobbit's Tale by Bilbo Baggins." Another smack, another yelp. "Sorry."

"But you had a part in this story," Pippin argued. "In our story. You all did. I mean . . . Bree and Moria and the War of the Ring. You were all there."

"And that, laddie," Balin said to his right. "Is why we thought it would be better if we all told our stories together. You, Bilbo, and us the crew." Pippin was silent for several long minutes. He heard the shuffling of feet and sniffling of noses. Then realization dawned on him.

"You're leaving," he said.

"Aye," Thorin answered in his deep voice. Pippin turned his head in his direction, gripping the walking stick tightly. "But not for another few years. We plan to head for the Elves' System with Gimli, Legolas and Tauriel. And they will not go until . . ."

"Until Strider and I are gone," Pippin finished. He heard a sigh and just knew Thorin was nodding. "Alright, great, where do we start?"

"I suppose we start at the very beginning," Bilbo said.

"In a hole in the ground there lived a Hobbit," Kili said. Pippin heard him clap his hands together.

"Not that beginning!"

"Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole full of the ends of worms and oozy smells," Fili continued.

"I said not that far!"

"This was a Hobbit hole," Bofur said. Pippin was fairly certain the Dwarf was drunk . . . again. This should prove interesting.

"Would you listen to me?"

"Which means good food," Nori said.

"Why aren't you listening to me?"

"A warm hearth," Dwalin said.

"Knock it off!"

"And all the comforts of home," Thorin finished. Bilbo huffed and stomped his foot. Pippin, though, laughed. This was the most hilarious thing he'd ever heard, aside from the time he and Merry had pranked Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.

"Are you done?" Bilbo huffed.

"Maybe," Bofur said mischievously. Pippin wiped a tear from his eyes.

"Well," he said. "If your story starts in a hole in the ground then so does ours. Seventeen years before our great adventure you sent Frodo a birthday present: a shiny sword, a mithril coat, and a pretty little ring that he should never, ever wear in public . . .

A/N: What did you think?

Still here? Good. All complaints to the pilots may be made out in the boxes below. Please note that all are looked over and flames will be used to fuel the Arkenstone. Thank you for joining us on our flight through our Big Damn Adventure.