Hello, BugSlayer here, and welcome to what I hope to be a most amusing tale. I'm trying this idea out, though I am, in truth, rather nervous about it. But, If people seem to like it, I'll give it a try.

Let it be known that I do not own the Hobbit and therefore am not responsible for the rights and genius of this story!

The story will be a mix of the movie and the book, hopefully leaning more towards the movie, but you never know!

It's a little slow at the beginning, but bear through it! Please enjoy!

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell. Though there was, unmistakably, an implacable odor that hung in the air of the little home. And though Gandalf, even after all the years of visits, could never quite place it, he claimed that it was the smell of accumulated bread, baked and stolen greedily by the family of mice inhabiting it.

Nor was it a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat. Though the mice did try their hardest to make it so.

It was a hobbit hole. And that means, comfort.

All hobbit holes pride themselves on being the definition of comfort, but this hole was undoubtedly so. Perhaps it was the warm hearth that always seemed to be crackling merrily save for the dead of night when the house's lone inhabitant was snoring quietly in one of the back rooms.

Or perhaps the homey feel came from the severe lack of points. All hobbits on one level or another, disliked points to some degree, so much so that even their slightly pointed ears deemed it worth the effort to be the unpointiest pointy ears imaginable. Hobbits, or at least their ancestors, disliked points so much, they went through the excruciating work of fashioning themselves perfectly round little doors for their homes under the ground. And then, of course, painting them a variety of bright, earthly colors so as to seem like flowers peeping out of the rolling hills they nestled themselves into.

The perfectly round door of this particular hobbit was painted a beautiful shade of maroon with a round pewter doorknob perfectly in the center. Most doorknobs were in the center, for if you have a perfectly round door, the center is the only place that makes sense to put it!

If one were to walk up the few, slightly rounded wooden steps and turn the recently polished pewter doorknob. They would most likely stop for a moment and realize in surprise that the door was unlocked; the door was often unlocked, for this hobbit was generally found of visitors. One would then pause for a moment to wonder why they immediately opened the door, instead of knocking, even when they expected the door to be locked. But this thought is quickly brushed aside as the round maroon door would swing inwards, revealing a, more or less, oval shaped hallway, with wooden beams supporting the earth above it, and a slightly off white colored plaster stretching between the oaken beams.

The floor, recently cleaned save for the little spot kept for the shoes of any none hobbit visitors, was made of smooth wooden planks laid straight onto the earth beneath them so that they didn't make the hollow creaking sound often found with wooden floors. One would also find a good deal of furniture. Sturdy, homey pieces that one could easily sink into without having to worry about where their backside had been earlier that day.

And the most charming part of this little abode was the lack of stairs. All the parlors and bedrooms, closets and kitchens, where all on one floor that stretched in a seemingly endless manner farther into the hill. Of course, it didn't go back very far, for this was one of the smaller homes in the shire, seemingly nothing in comparison to the most envied Bag End at the top of the hill.

This home did not have a name at first, and so the current occupant, in possible spite, or perhaps just for lake of ideas, chose to name the home residing behind the round maroon door Purse Close. Of course, this did not sound half as good as the name which inspired it, but it made the little hobbit laugh whenever she thought of it, so she saw no reason to change it.

Unfortunately, our story takes place very little in this humble dwelling, but that is where it starts and that is where it ends. For this is the story of There and Back Again.

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You didn't really think the whole first chapter would go by without meeting the heroine of this charming little tale, did you? No. Unfortunately, you are not so lucky.

The owner of this quaint little hobbit hole is none other than Brandybuck. One of the few Brandybucks this side of the water, and very proud of it. But, although proud she may be, this Brandybuck preferred to go by the name of Emi, which was short for Emilie.

And, now that you know her name, you undoubtedly are wondering just who exactly belongs to it. And I will tell you, since I am so obliged to do so.

Emilie Brandybuck was a relatively respected hobbit, being more than careful to keep all of her mundane adventures hidden from the ever-watchful eyes of her neighbors. Most did not know her when she was a wee lass, running around with the other hobbit boys in nothing more than a pair of trousers and a dirtied cotton shirt. And as she grew older, they never saw her pouring over old tomes or fighting through underbrush to get at the sweetest berries where even the birds could not get to them. Of course, even these activities dwindled with age, as she soon found content in the simple things of life: her hearth, her bread, the flowers in spring and the leaves in autumn.

And she was old. Not too far into her years, but just old enough to be officially labeled an old spinstress. Just this past week in fact. Her good friend Hamfast had come knocking on her door as the first light of day began peeking over Bag End. The begruntled Emi, annoyed at her rude and much too early awakening had clambered from her bed, and just had enough wits about her to grab her bath robe and throw it on before she opened the door. She was then greeted by a startling loud 'Happy Birthday you old spinstress' and Hamfast walked by her wide-eyed daze for first breakfast.

No one in the Shire was ever quite sure why she never married or courted any of the young hobbit men. It was unceasingly odd considering that, for hobbit standards, Emi was something of a beauty, with her long curly dark brown hair and her healthy complexion. And all the hobbit lads agreed that it was a shame that a fine lady such as herself continued to live out her years alone. But on further investigation from their friends, each of the lads would eventually admit that there was something about the charming hobbit lass that unnerved them. Maybe it was the fact that you would hear very unhobbit like songs wafting through her house as she baked her bread. Perhaps it was the smile that always seemed to spring to her face so easily, yet so incompletely. Whatever the reason, her songs or her smile, all the hobbits in the shire seemed to agree that she was a dear friend, but never anything more than that.

And Emi seemed completely fine with this mutual distance, for the simple hobbit liked her space, though always there to lend an ear or a hearth for awhile.

That's the way it went. And Emilie Brandybuck very much liked it that way. She was content with her simple, private life. Until that one-day came for which she would forever curse and bless a meddlesome wizard for.

That day, like so many others, Emi was found sitting on a stump she had rolled years ago to her front yard for the very purpose of sitting upon it as she blew smoke rings into the clear blue sky. Much to the distaste of many lady hobbits.

Emi let out a small sigh of content as she listened to the birds chirp around her. That was, until her last smoke ring decided to turn itself into a butterfly and flit it's way right into her nose. The hobbit lady let out a small cough of surprise, her eyes flying open at the sudden intake of pipe smoke. No sooner had her eyes opened, than she noticed the tall grey clad figure standing in front of her, his odd pointed hat blocking the warm sun from her face.

The two continued to stare at each other for a good long while, Emi taking in the tall man's worn, traveled look and long grey beard, and the other simply… staring.

"Morning." Emi smiled hesitantly, breaking the silence most abruptly. The tall man raised one bushy eyebrow, but other than that did nothing. Emi let a small frown slip across her features. Perhaps the old man was hard of hearing? "Good Morning!" She said a little louder, forcing a smile once again.

"What do you mean? Good morning?" the tall man snapped abruptly, startling Emi most severely. "Do you mean to wish me a good morning? Or do you mean to say that this is a good morning whether I like it or not? Or perhaps you mean to say that you feel good this morning? Or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on?" Emi, quite taken aback, stuttered slightly, before furrowing her eyebrows at the old man.

"Sorry?" She asked, trying to regain her composure as her smile once again slid from her face. The man seemed to let out a slow annoyed sigh through his nose. "… Well… It is rather a good morning, and I do feel rather good this morning, and I can't really see a better morning to be good on… And I do suppose that I would wish you to have a good morning too…" she ceased rambling as she noticed the disapproving look that remained on the man's face. "Is… is there something I can help you with?" Emi asked, licking her lips nervously.

"That remains to be seen." The old man muttered, more to himself than to her. Emi shifted uncomfortably under the intense gaze, slipping the end of her pipe back between her teeth and turning away slightly, wishing the man would leave her alone, or at least step off to the side and stop blocking the view. She had just gotten her mind around to ignore the queer stranger when he spoke up again. "I am looking for someone to share in an adventure."

Emi looked up at the wizard for a long moment. Before allowing herself a small chuckle. "I must admit," she began "It's been awhile since I met someone of your age who still had a knack for humor! Here, my good man, have a seat and tell me another of your jokes. Do you have a pipe about you?" She asked, shifting over slightly to make room for the much larger person.

"I have no time to blow smoke rings this morning." The man snapped impatiently. "I am looking for someone to share in an adventure I am arranging, and I am having a very hard time doing so."

"And I am not surprised!" Emi replied quickly. "No offense, my good man. But if you came looking for adventurers you are in entirely the wrong place." The man raised an eyebrow at her again, and she found herself growing more and more uncomfortable as she talked. "No one around here would have any use for adventures, I should think. Nasty, disturbing, wet things…" She said, standing up and walking to the foot of her porch stairs. "Make you late for dinner!" The hobbit shook her long brown locks disapprovingly. "Don't know what anyone sees in them." Thinking the matter closed, Emi picked up her half full watering can and finished sprinkling the potted plants outside her house, which is what she had been doing before the smoke rings had called her attentions. Emi only grew more agitated however, as the man continued to stare at her as she finished this most mundane task. She risked a glance back at the old man before giving him another cheery "Good Morning!" And turning to go inside.

"To think," Emi heard the man say to her retreating back "that I should live to be 'Good Morninged' by Hoodle Took's granddaughter as if I were selling buttons at the door!" Emi froze at these words and turned back around to the old man, puzzled.

"… Do I know you?" She asked him, slightly accusatory in manner.

"Well, you know my name." the old man told her, taking a few steps over to her. "Though you do not seem to remember that I belong to it." Now it was Emi's turn to raise an eyebrow. Why must this old fool talk in riddles? The man shifted his intricate walking stick over to his other hand and gazed at the hobbit lass. "I am Gandalf." The man announced. "And Gandalf means… well, me!" He gestured to his person. Emi looked at him for a second, before looking down in thought.

"Gandalf… Gandalf… doesn't ring a-" then her eyes widened with recognition and she looked up at the old man who smirked in slight satisfaction. "Not the Gandalf? The wandering wizard who made such excellent fireworks?" She grinned broadly. "Old Took used to have them on midsummer's eve! Amazing!" the old man's smirk fell away and he let out a long sigh.

"Well, I'm pleased to know you remember something of me, even if it is my fireworks…" he grumbled the last part to himself, taking mental note to try and make himself more memorable.

"I beg your pardon," Emi began, feeling she should again attempt conversation upon learning the who the man was. "But I had no idea you were still in business!"

"And where else would I be?" Gandalf snapped slightly. Emi let a nervous cough and just gestured with her arms somewhat vaguely. He let out another sigh. "For the sake of my adventure and your poor grandfather Took, I will give you what you asked for."

"I beg your pardon, but I haven't asked for anything." Emi frowned. This man confused her greatly.

"Oh but you have!" Gandalf replied. "Twice now, in fact."

"I have?" Emi squeaked slightly.

"You asked for my pardon." Gandalf explained. "And I will give it to you. I'll go a step further in fact and go so far as to send you on this adventure. Yes. It will be very good for you, and most amusing for me!"

Emi frowned. "N-no… no thank you." She shook her head as she backed up to her door. "No adventures. Not here. Not today, thank you." The little creature backed up into the door and opened it quickly. "Perhaps try… over the hill. Or across the waters?" The wizard continued to stare at her in amusement. "… Good Morning!" And she slammed the door in between them. Emi breathed heavily in the safety of her own home. Recovering her wits enough to lock the door before creeping over to the window to see if the fellow had gone yet. There was no one. Then Emi let a gasp of surprise as a large I appeared right on the other side of the window. The poor lass stumbled backwards in alarm, tripping over a stool in the process. The hobbit cursed her large feet under her breath, picking a stray book off of her head and moving quickly to look out a different window.

Emi could not help but heave a sigh of relief to see the grey hat making it's way down the path from which it had come, the old man humming to himself pleasantly as he walked. Emi sat back in a chair, running a hand through her scalp in an attempt to relieve some stress. It didn't help much. Of course, she would probably have never been able to calm herself had she known what events would indeed come as a result from the undeniably odd encounter.

Well? What did you think?

I'll tell you now that Emi will be much different from Mr. Bilbo Baggins later on. However, any poor hobbit that has to deal with Gandalf at first is very out of their comfort zone, and there are only so many ways someone can respond to the Wandering Wizard when he gets like that.

Please please please please please review! I really don't like begging. I hate it in fact... you know what? I don't really care right now. I'm reallllly desperate for some feedback right now! I'm very unsure about this story idea and if you want to read it, tell me! And I will write it!

Thank you all for your time! And I hope you'll take a few seconds more to type me a little something in the white box below ;)

- The BugSlayer