Summary- She came like rolling mist, silent and graceful. Dark hair fell like the night sky across her moon light skin and her onyx eyes shone with uncaring danger. Her black dress clung to her curves like adoring, worshipful shadows as her blood painted lips pulled down at the sight of a flowery hobbit home. Wednesday Addams in Middle-Earth. Addams Family crossover.

Pairings- Possible Thorin/Wednesday. Though this fic may just stay Gen. I will decide before the next chapter.

Warnings- Wednesday Addams is an existing character who I have built upon and matured, her character in this fic is based on her eighteen year old self from the musicals and years after the 'Addams Family' and 'Addams Family Values' movies. She is more like Morticia as she aged (I was surprised, I had thought she would retain her harsh, sadistic ways.) She's still sociopathic in many ways but has mellowed out much. On that note, she still loves her blood and gore, so, just a warning.

Authors Note- This ficling is young and innocent, do be gentle.

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Chapter One- An Addams in The Shire

She was unnatural, only in a way that Bilbo could hardly take his eyes away from. If he hadn't seen her walk her way up to his home he would have thought she had been conjured up by the darkest of sorcery to lure in the sunshine of the Shire and replace it with the heady atmosphere of the grave. But there was something about her, the grace in which she moved, like mist silently rolling over the land, you could do nothing to stop her. He couldn't see her feet beneath the dark fabric of her dress, so he could not be sure she was simply floating across the dirt road.

Her head, which lead down to a slender neck adorned with a single black ribbon holding a locket of sorts, was held high. Not haughtily, but confident, as if she knew there was nothing in this world or any other that could harm her. He'd never seen such a dark shade of hair before, it was nothing like the golden tones of his kin. The dark tresses fell perfectly straight down her back and touching her hips. It shone like the feathers off a raven's wing and contrasted beautifully with her moon light skin, pale as she was, she almost glowed under the sun's beam.

There was no hue dark enough to describe her eyes, eyes that once caught his attention, he could not look away from. Even though she was not paying him the slightest bit of attention, he felt like prey beneath the sharp blades of ebony. There lay an endless abyss in her orbs, framed with long and fluttering lashes. Her black dress, as completely inappropriate as it was, belonged on her. Bilbo was so sure that her dress was alive, despite the long trip up Bagshot, it did not have a single spec of dust, clinging to her womanly curves, the like Bilbo had never seen on any hobbit lass, human or occasional elf.

It adhered itself to the outline of her breasts, following down to her sleek waist and flaring out with her voluptuous hips. It continued down her legs, hanging tightly to her shape like an adoring lover, kissing everywhere it touched, or like a worshiping shadow after a flame until it ended, flaring once more into delicate spider webs against the path. The same spider web material made up the ends of her sleeve where she sluggishly held a black lace parasol over herself, shielding her from the warm weather.

The woman's lips were the color of blood, not ruby or crimson but the dark shade of dried blood, that same one shone freshly across her small, plump- currently pursed in displeasure, he idly noticed- lips. They pulled down then, looking at the bright foray of flowers that swayed proudly in the wind outside the hobbit home. She extended her hand, long and graceful where he spotted a slender wrist and quick as lightning a single flower was ruthlessly plucked by the stem from the garden.

Those lips, beautifully macabre, pulled up in an almost loving smile as she caressed a bright purple flower that Bilbo for the life of him could not recognize but he was so sure she would not be the type to find such a colorful piece of nature pleasing. Shifting on his wooden bench he attempted to get a better look, his eyes squinting in an effort to understand her affection for the plant. Nothing of it fit with the image he had conjured of her within his mind. When his brown orbs darted back to her face, it was with a sharp intake of breath that he realized she was now watching him, those dark eyes alight with an unholy glow and a sharp smile on her lips.

The purple flower was raised and waved in greeting, flowing across the wind, almost cutting through it, parting only for her and uncertainly but unable to just ignore her, he waved back. And to his dawning horror- and excitement, damn his Took blood- the woman's pitch black eyes narrowed in dangerous mirth as her hand lifted to touch and conceal her lips, like a child wishes to hide a naughty little secret. Then she moved, floating her way towards him and despite both wanting to flee and rush to meet her- his Took and Baggins blood warring with each other- he did not move.

And suddenly she stood just outside his gate and though he would say she was not taller than most women of the race of men from Bree, her slender profile and the sheer royal atmosphere surrounding her made her seem as tall as any avenging goddess of the night- no matter how silly the thought was, Bilbo truly believed she could have been. A creation of Irmo, the master of desire, illusion and dreams, perhaps? A child of Nienna, the Lady of mercy and grief? Whatever she was, she was not so common as the race of men, she couldn't have been. Too beautiful, too dangerous.

"You are the only one that did not run from me." Her voice was soft and flowing, though he heard the constant edge to it, like black silk over steel and filled with dark humor.

When he found his voice- and courage, hidden deep down somewhere and summoned forth to wrap and entwine with her subtly dominating atmosphere- he stood abruptly, not sure why as he puffed out his chest, her implication of bravery doing good for his definition of honor on her part.

He dipped into a bow- that was respectful for one such as she, was it not?- and stammered out a sentence. "I-I should think not! They've all forgotten what manners are. Bilbo Baggins, a respectful and mannered hobbit, thank you very much and one at your service too." He introduced himself, politely offering himself over like a sacrificial lamb in the face of her alarming glee, caused by his words of course.

"Oh my, at my service? Such a delightful creature." Her words punctuated by a single chaste kiss dropped upon a purple petal of the flower previously twirling in between her fingertips, the nails of which were a dark purple- making Bilbo sure she was not of the normal variety and something magical indeed.

Bilbo flushed, embarrassed but said nothing more as her dark eyes roved over his short and lightly round figure, lingering especially on his large feet which she accepted easily with an interested quirk of the lips and her orbs found his once again, where she gave a graceful incline of the head, one of recognition, nothing more but Bilbo was quite sure it was something hard won. It must have been as his knees trembled under her hard scrutiny.

As if hearing his thoughts, her lips pulled up once more and her voice was full of mirth and hidden meanings, "I am quite new to the area, Master Baggins. Lost as I am, would you mind terribly telling me where it is exactly that I find myself?"

He gaped, mouth opening and closing before squeaking out a quick, "The Shire."

He could almost see the glinting of a blade in that answering smile, and whilst it made him shiver, much to her apparent delight, he could not abandon her nor could he deny the fierce curiosity that bloomed within him. But before he could invite her in, show her some maps and have her drink and eat to her pleasure, another question found it's way out from his lips, "What is it about that flower that you find so pleasing?"

A fine, dark eyebrow arched but she answered none the less, her lips ghosting the petals once more. "Autumn Crocus, usually they only bloom in the Autumn. The bulb contains a very useful drug called colchicine which makes an even better poison as there is no known antidote. The petals make excellent tea," She adds with an off note tone and licks her lips, eyes closing briefly and he can almost taste the bitter poison on his tongue.

Despite all this, he still invites her in. Whenever asked, Bilbo will maintain that it was for her sake, it was a terrible idea to have someone as young and lovely as her out in the open, lost as she was and unprotected. He was terrible at defending his stupid mistake, but never regretful of it.

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Wednesday watched as her hobbit spat out his tea with amusement, her hand gliding over her lips least she let out a sinister giggle and caused her friend to go into another one of his hissy fits, as adorable as those were. "Wednesday," He growled, annoyed but very much used to her ways by now. "Did you poison my tea again?"

She hummed thoughtfully, paying more attention to her growing collection of deadly flora. "It depends, were you foolish enough to drink it before checking if I had poisoned it?" She did not turn to look at him but she heard his spluttered outrage that died quickly in the face of what had been a stupid move, she'd been poisoning his beverages for a month or two now, in addition to her other friendly ways of assassination.

To be perfectly honest though, Bilbo and her both knew she was more than capable of bringing about his demise quietly and without questioning so he did consider her current attempts playful and found an odd sort of fondness in them. It was not often she would speak about her family but when she did she told him stories so impossible they could not be true but time spent with her had him believing and understanding her unique ways. Though that didn't make her any less terrifying, he could only be glad that he fell under her shadow of protection and not under predator eyes.

Wednesday carefully pruned the now in bloom bush, lopping off the bright pink flowers until there was nothing but a scraggly bush filled with thorns left. The flowers Bilbo knew she would make a treatment of and let her hair soak in, much to his initial shock. She had calmly told him that if anything were to eat her, it would go down with her. She then floated out of the room, humming and leaving him gaping at thin air once more- this happened often, unfortunately.

"I am doing you a favor," Wednesday spoke, slow and full of fond patience as if he were the twenty-one year old and not her. "Many of my little projects' antidotes are exceptionally difficult to make, you would be dead before one could be delivered. I am only ensuring you build up an acceptable tolerance, my little imp. It would be a terribly boring way to die, wouldn't you say, darling little wendigo?"

He could do nothing but nod, he very seriously doubted he would be poisoned by anyone but her but knew better than to disagree. It would only earn him a surprisingly impassioned speech on the wondrous death of his great-something-or-other, Bullroarer Took. Bilbo would rather be poisoned than being ripped to shreds by a large wolf with razor teeth but he was grateful, Bullroarer Took was what had Wednesday believe him to be above 'the pathetic little worms that grovel in the dirt of these disgustingly green hills. Why, he would have made an Addams proud with that viciousness and so will you one day.'

It was not often that Wednesday Addams would break from her patronizingly polite way of speaking but once you ignored her sense of loyalty to all those she considered family, Wednesday at her core was as frightening as the poisons she liked to coat her cold and pale skin with, like a macabre skin lotion of bee venom and the Belladonna she proudly grew along his fence. In honor of the late Mistress of the Baggins family, Wednesday said and he got the feeling his mother and her would have got along nicely.

"Oh darling," The dark haired woman cooed, "What dark thoughts swirl in that mind of yours?"

Yes, Wednesday Addams was a most frightening being and he would forever be desensitized to anything less than the standard of sheer fear she welled up in him at times.

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This was it, he was so done with this.

But even as he thinks it, his eyes light up in exasperated fondness, his cheeks flushed red from the rather pleasant exertion from having to awkwardly duck a series of long and sharp needles, each one he knew were coated with layers and layers of her favorite tastes. His entire home now held the faintest sharp tang of sweet poison in the air, courtesy of his long time guest and poison expert- perhaps killing expert? That still made him turn green with nausea. At first it had been sickening, the scent of melting copper hitting his senses with urgency but now it was somewhat comforting, his home was no longer empty and deadly plants, weaponry and odd experiments littering dark corners were testament to that.

Her aim was off, she was in a very good mood for whatever reason, her unchanging, perfect-as-always dress fanning out as she twirled as beautifully as a dark elf and threw another sharp and long needle at him. Bilbo had to wonder at the status of that dress, not once had he seen Wednesday wear anything else but It always remained in perfect condition, like It was tailored the day before. When asked, she would pat the dark fabric like it were a favored pet.

"It has been in the Addams family for many generations," She stroked the spiderweb-like fabric of her sleeve and he was so sure for a moment that the dress shivered, like a living breathing thing, a loyal puppy. Wednesday smiled down at It, "It is such a good boy." She fluttered long lashes at him, "Don't worry, It knows I like you. It won't bite if your gentle."

He didn't look at her dress for a solid week and a half until one day she finally guided his hands to her waist- him blushing so bright he would have made a fine torch- and forcing them to stroke the soft fabric and no, he was not insane, but that dress while lightly growling at first, started purring.

It, the dresses name was It and It quite liked Bilbo apparently. Wednesday knows this because It hadn't stretched out to strangle him with dark fabric the first time he accidentally stood on It's train. He had quickly retracted his hands after that, but every once in a while he'll find his cheek suddenly pressed against wooden floors, It wanting his attention and tripping him when Wednesday got close enough. Apparently It did not like to be ignored and Bilbo likened It to a spoiled cat rather than a puppy.

His musings almost get him killed when Wednesday, now bored of their game, impales his jacket, vest and trousers to the wall he was huddling against with her deadly needles. She swears they cannot kill unless sharply delivered to very specific areas by a professional and the poison he is able to tolerate. It gives him no relief, he is very much aware she is better than any professional and could hold out on the antidote should she feel in a coltish enough mood.

She glides toward him, her lips tilted up in a smile reserved for the nostalgia of her childhood days of murdering nannies, fire-breathing little brothers, usurping of a summer camp and body-less hands. It was the same smile she had bestowed upon young Thaddeus 'Thad' Took when he, with stars shining in his eyes and red pooling in his cheeks, offered up a blood covered and deader than dead rabbit along with a slightly wilted bunch of adeniums.

Some hobbit lasses and one lad feinted at the sight, the little Tooks' parents grimaced but bore with it as the eight year old sighed happily when the woman- his first love, an odd one at that too- accepted his gifts with silent favor and reciprocated with a tap on his button nose with a purple nail and a playfully murmured, "What a little lady killer."

With little fan fare, and the grace he witnessed in all things she did, Wednesday plucked out the needles with ease despite the fact they had embedded deeply in his wall. It was a nod to how adapted he was to her way of life that he felt more annoyed at her damaging his home instead of almost killing him or infusing his blood with her deadly concoctions.

"Oh, you little devil. You knew all along, didn't you? A surprise for me, was it?" She purred silkily, one finger running along the cold metal of her fragile looking weapon as she batted her lashes coquettishly. But her eyes, they were alive with dangerous excitement as she gave his forehead a chaste kiss, making him shiver at her icy touch and what he knew was poison now on his skin from her lips. She consumed so much of it even her saliva and blood had a toxic effect.

"A-a surprise?" He sputtered, dusting his clothes off and straightening his vest. It was a Sunday and while Sunday's once meant enjoying a long morning of pipe smoking outside, these days it meant Bilbo walking to the market to bring home a gift to Wednesday- something he considered an offering to some dark deity in hopes her unfortunate dislike would not fall on him and usually in the form of something so truly odd that only Wednesday could appreciate it.

She taps a finger to her red- almost black- and shining lips, a coy expression held on her pale face despite the devilish- yes, she has explained many of her pet names- smile on her lips. "Why," She drawls with that accent that does not belong to any in Arda, hers entirely, "My little gift, of course."

It is clear that the 'gift' is not something Bilbo has proclaimed for her as the small striped snake he had recently bought her from a far traveled trader of the big folk still sat in it's wooden cage just outside his door.

Seeing his expression, Wednesday elaborates, "The wizard that now sits in our dining room. Bilbo, you really shouldn't have." She clicks her tongue, but looks entirely pleased, turning her back to him and gliding away.

It is only then that he realizes what she had said and jerks in surprise and leaps after her into the dining room. There sitting on one of the only big-folk chairs he has, is a tall man, hunched over and dressed in a drab grey. A long beard touches his chest and wise eyes follow Wednesday around like she something to be weary of but is easily something to be amused by- which Bilbo can appreciate, this wizard, for he cannot deny the hat or staff, has his respect for not fainting at the sight of her like many hobbits still do after nearly a year and a half.

"My little minx," Wednesday starts, placing down a cup of delicate china down before the wizard- he almost winces when he's quick to understand that it's poisoned, "I'm sure you know Gandalf the Grey." She places a purple tipped hand on a hunched shoulder like a predator claiming her prey or territory, "I do adore him. You've outdone yourself Bilbo."

The hobbit really wants to tell his long time guest- and honorary family member- that the wizard is not his gift to her but doesn't wish to suffer her wrath should she decide to pout and sulk about the house for the next three days. When feeling childishly sad, Wednesday had the most oddest of effect to the world. Shadows would creep up from the ground, stretching and whirling around her as if trying to comfort her like a parent to their spoiled child. Thankfully, Bilbo has never seen Wednesday truly upset, grown used to her distant dislike of basically anything that doesn't involve destruction.

So instead, Bilbo looks to the wizard and plasters on a smile he has learnt from Wednesday and offers a, "How are you Gandalf, still making those incredible fireworks?" Bilbo does not like those shadows, even if they are somehow summoned by Wednesday. He doesn't ask- he's learned not to, for his sanity's sake. If Wednesday is a witch, she is one he calls friend.

Something that looks like offence flits across the wizards face before a smile comes to his lips. He is about to speak when Wednesday interrupts, a scolding expression risen to her features as she tuts at him as if he were a rude faunt without manners.

"So little an accomplishment to bring up, Bilbo. Our dear wizard has been in many wars, he is a warrior who has seen bloodshed, not a peddler of buttons." She grins at the wizard, her eyes roaming over him as if she could still see the blood if she just stares hard enough before giving up and looking Gandalf straight in the eyes, no fear nor too much respect. She looks at him as he were her equal, someone who can survive her showers of blades and little cups of poisons without holding back.

She gives a disarming smile, Bilbo has hardly ever seen one of Wednesday's more loving smiles- those ones that speak of pure softness that she does not posses- the ones reserved for dead rabbit offering faunts and insecure Baggins' when the mood strikes her. "Do forgive him, his manners seem to slip away in front of guests." She says this as she slides the poisoned cup closer to the wizard.

Bilbo, in a fit-like move slaps the cup from the wooden table just as Gandalf places his hand around the delicate rim. The cup crashes to the ground and the venomous liquid drips between his floorboards, seeping into the foundation beneath. The Istar looks only the slightest bit startled and gives him an amused stare as Wednesday sighs, "Like I said, he seems to lose all sense of manners in front of guests."

Bilbo stutters out the beginning of an apology- he doesn't bother explaining anymore- when the grey wizard merely waves him away with a gnarled hand. Grey eyes twinkle as a throaty laugh makes it's way out from his lips, "Bilbo Baggins, for as long as I've lived, do you not believe me to be able to notice poisoned tea sitting right before me?"

"O-oh, I-" He breaks off as the two laugh, one a high bell-like sound slicing cleanly through the air and the other warm like the comforting fires of home. Both ring of affection for his stuttering little self, and both are equally sinister. Right there Bilbo makes a decision; he must not keep the two of them in the same room for long periods of time least they decide to band together and cause chaos with their whims.

Wednesday's laugh is the first to taper off as she rounds upon the wizard like a cat upon a fat mouse, "Now that my little monster is here, tell us Gandalf of your little adventure," She purrs out the last word like the way she would when saying 'gore,' 'blood' and 'venom.' It had gotten to the point that Bilbo now was unhealthily apathetic to such talk.

Thus begins a little tale, spun prettily for the black clad woman whose dark eyes shine with unholy fervor the more the tale moves along, unfortunately Bilbo also finds himself being drawn in. It starts in a land far to the east, the likes of which no longer exist in this day- Gandalf tells the story of Dale, it's markets had no existing equal- full of trinkets and bounties collected from each corner of the continent- a peaceful and prosperous place. And the backdrop of this wondrous city of men? The greatest kingdom of the time: Erebor.

The stronghold of Thror, King under the mountain, mightiest of the dwarf lords, it was a true sight to behold. Thror ruled with utter surety, not once doubting his house would endure for his line lay secure in the lives of his son and grandson. Built deep within the mountain itself, the beauty of this fortress city was legend. It's wealth lay in the earth, in precious gems mined from rock and in great seams of gold, running like rivers through rock. The skill of the dwarrow was unequaled, fashioning objects of great beauty out of diamond, emerald, ruby and sapphire.

Ever they delved deeper, down into the dark. And that, was where found it. The heart of the mountain. The Arkenstone. Thror named it the Kings' jewel, it's beauty outshining all others within the mountain. He took it as his right to rule- all would pay homage to him. Even great Elven King Thranduil.

It was here that Wednesday smiled in that indulging manner as she sipped at her cooling tea, clicking her tongue at the dwarrow's stupidity, but also seemingly amused by it. "Dear me, surely such wealth coupled with such a pretentious attitude will attract dark happenings? My family for all it's material value was always happy to give it away least it invite unsanitary dealings." She had such fond memories of the times it did.

Gandalf was swift in his response, "Be sure that such a thing did happen, my lady. They invited trouble into their stronghold."

Bilbo blinked at such a title, but Wednesday merely inclined her head. Though the moment gave the hobbit something to think about, he had heard of the lady of light and if such a being truly existed then Wednesday Addams was her counterpart, the lady of night. It suited her, with her long, pin straight black hair and her dark eyes and pale skin- every part of her screamed of graceful shadows, including the one wrapped around her in a dress. So lost in his own thoughts, Bilbo did not hear the rest of the story but judging by the almost excited gleam in Wednesday's eyes, the dwarven kingdom did not meet a happy end.

"A dragon, darling," She provided when she saw his blank look, placing a slender, purple nailed hand upon his own in a quick pat, "Their king grew obsessed with his gold, a sickness of the mind that runs in the family apparently. Then one day a fire drake came along and forced the dwarrow out and killing many on it's way." She said almost dismissively before pausing to comment offhandedly, "Oh and it's still there till this day and the dwarrow will be taking back their mountain soon but first they will need a burglar."

"Ah," He let out a noise of understanding, taking a sip of the tea she offered him and was only mildly disturbed at how flavorsome her poisoned tea had become to his tongue. "Well I suppose you'll need an expert then..." He trailed off, his eyes darting between the wizard, Wednesday's rather lively look and back again before he jumped from his seat.

"No, no, no! Absolutely not, Wednesday will be going nowhere near such a dangerous creature!" He looked to the wizard with hard eyes, "I will not let what is practically a member of my family be taken by some meddlesome wizard on a dangerous mission with the an unknown amount of male dwarrow, the indecency of it all!"

Wednesday smiled at him, "Thirteen, darling. Weren't you paying any attention?" She leveled him with a mock glare that was belied by the twitching of her darkly painted lips.

"T-thirteen? Thirteen?! Thirteen dwarrow against a dragon?! Forget I ever called it a dangerous mission, it's a suicide mission," He shook his head fiercely and looked to be ready to haul the wizard from his seat and out into the dirt street outside his gate despite him being four times his height, all to defend the black clad woman calmly sipping her tea.

Wednesday had never looked more amused, much to Bilbo's dismay. "Shame on you, Bilbo Baggins for dismissing someones hopes to reclaim their home. Surely you know that the dwarrow have had no permanent settling since, using their skills to do petty jobs in order to bring in some income for food to give to the little ones and you and I both know how unwelcoming my race can be," Here Bilbo hung his head in shame- though he still didn't believe Wednesday to be a daughter of men- and he stayed that way until she finally added, "Also darling, they wanted you as their burglar, not me. I doubt our lovely wizard even knew I existed before today."

Gandalf cleared his throat, having finished his replaced tea- when did that happen exactly?- "Lady Addams is correct, on both counts. I believe you to be the right hobbit for the job. In fact, I believe you to be what makes this mission a success, Bilbo Baggins." He spoke with such grave sincerity, what creature, hobbit or not, wouldn't flush with something akin to horrified pride? Still, it was not a position he could accept. He could not give up his home, not when these days it was so full of life- or near death?- and the beginnings of something that was lost during a winter long ago, a sense of family.

"Isn't that just splendid, darling?" She clapped her hands happily, placing them to her marble cheek and as if sensing the direction of his thoughts she spoke again, "Of course, I do hope you'll come along. I would love some familiar company and do be sure, Bilbo, I will be going." Her eyes sharpened, but were quick to soften once more as she looked at him, "Come my wendigo, there is life outside this smial. A home is where the heart lies, surely with the two of us, home moves with us?" Never before had Wednesday said something so sentimental. She must have been desperate to go.

Hesitating, he was still loath to say yes, for though Wednesday was perhaps the most deadly of creatures he had ever seen, every part of her looked as fragile as the flowers she grew and bathed in and outside the Shire, anything could happen to her. And what of him? He was just a hobbit, quick on his feet and quiet, for sure but a warrior? Never. Before Wednesday he'd never even seen a proper weapon before despite Wednesday claiming 'anything can be made into a weapon, my darling. Why I could strangle you with your precious little doilies.'

Two cool hands were placed on his cheeks and the scent of flora and the sharp tang he now associated with anything venomous greeted his senses, though he doubted if any other hobbit would be able to distinguish such a scent. "Bilbo I am an Addams," The hobbit knew exactly what that meant, though it was more than likely lost on their wizard guest. He checked, it was. "These rolling hills and sunny dispositions are only grating on my very existence and though I am far from the girl of my youth- the same one that would have burned the place down- my sole comfort in this pathetically peppy place was the warrior spirit lying somewhere beneath that skin of yours. The hobbit, the only one, to not run away the moment I first arrived, the one who invited me in for tea and was brave enough to drink my concoctions and compliment me on my little experiments."

Sweet, chaste and deadly kisses were placed on his forehead and cheeks. Her long and dark hair falling prettily over her black clad shoulders as she bent over so he had no choice but to look directly into the abyss that was her eyes, a place no one could leave unless she wished it so. "You will do this, not because you are a Baggins with honor. No," She smiled, sharp and feral, her pearl-like teeth glinting like daggers in battle, "You will do this because you are, at heart, an Addams and unless we are the ones creating chaos, we are running towards chaos."

Really, such words shouldn't stir up such sense of adventure in him. He wasn't a faunt anymore, there weren't any elves to find in the woods, nor monster to defeat in the wardrobe, but here he was, with an itch in the soles of his feet, begging him to join the journey and the excited heart of the little kit he once was. Besides, Wednesday had been a little bloodthirsty these past days, having finally starting grow agitated with holding back on her natural anarchy.

So with a shrug and a small smile he simply said, "I bought you a gift. A lovely little snake, the one you pointed to in my book."

"Oh my darling, you shouldn't have, really." Though going by the victorious glint and the hardly remorseful flick of waist long hair over her shoulder, his homage was both expected and welcomed.

How was he to know the thing was bloody venomous? The picture was in a gardening book. At least Gandalf got a kick out of it.