Andrea Chen was not a fainter. She'd probably never fainted in her entire life. Which was why she was very confused for a multitude of reasons upon waking up in a forest.

Firstly, because Andrea hadn't actually seen a temperate forest since she was twelve. Secondly, because this was absolutely not the place she'd been when she'd fainted. All things considered, that probably should have been her first concern.

"Oh, damn." Andrea sat up so fast her head began to spin. She covered her eyes and waited for the spinning to cease, whilst silently panicking. About what, she wasn't exactly sure. This entire situation, probably. The fact that she was in an entirely different climate and country than the one she'd been in when she'd apparently fainted.

Was this a kidnapping? A sex-trafficking ring?

A sex-trafficking ring that dropped their people into a temperate forest. Seemed likely.

"You seem troubled, my dear."

Andrea leapt to her feet, kicking up fallen leaves and dirt. She didn't really notice, though, too caught up in staring at the old man standing a few meters away, just under an equally old oak tree.

"You!" It took Andrea a few moments to recognize him. The beard was longer, more unkempt, and the clothes were certainly different –grey cloaks and a pointed hat?– but the nose and those noticeably bushy eyebrows were very distinctive. "You're that old man from the bookstore!"

The thought that she'd been kidnapped by a weird old man was almost worse than the sex-trafficking theory.

"Indeed I am."

Andrea had two modes when it came to distress: getting riled up, or shutting down completely.

It was the latter than happened this time.

Silence fell between the two of them for several long seconds. Andrea was too busy inwardly screaming to speak. The buzz of panic between her ears almost drowned out the old man's next words.

"I believe that I forgot to introduce myself when last we met." He smiled a smile that might have, in any other context, been reassuring. He bowed his head and spread his hands, one of which held a long wooden staff that Andrea had somehow missed. "My name is Gandalf the Grey."

Stunned, Andrea stared at the old, apparently senile man. Mutely, she shook her head.

"I assure you I am, young lady. And you are Andrea Chen. And this is Middle Earth. The Shire, to be more precise. Some hours' walk out of Hobbiton."

Another shake of the head. Andrea was either going crazy, or this man was very invested in his own delusion. Going so far as to transport her some several thousand miles while she was unconscious.

Suddenly, Andrea remembered her phone. One hand slapped to her chest, and she almost wept to feel the familiar weight of the messenger-bag strap across her chest. Shoving a hand into her bag, Andrea gripped her phone tightly and drew it out. Pressing the power button, she checked the time, and–

And it was only six in the evening, on the same day, twenty-sixth of April. The glaring No Signal at the top of the screen meant that her phone hadn't adjusted its time zone. Which meant that she'd been transported however many thousands of miles within a couple hours.

Andrea looked up at the old man. He smiled kindly at her.

"I know this may be confusing, but I may be able to explain what's going on," he said.

Andrea's instincts, until now torn between fight or flight, finally chose a side.

She ran.

If there was one good thing to come of this, it was that she still had all her clothes and her bag. If she'd had to run through a forest barefoot, she probably wouldn't have gotten very far. As it was, her boots were not made for running through the forest, and she felt every single stick, root, and stone she stepped on.

Her bag bounced on her hip, and she pulled it up into her arms for want of relative silence. Leaves and fronds rustled as she ran past them, probably leaving a very obvious trail. But old men don't run very fast, she just needed to get far enough away that she could go at a more measured pace.

With this in mind, she ran a short while more, chest heaving and legs aching.

A lot more started aching when she broke through the treeline and tripped over a root.

Swearing, Andrea rolled off her bag. Her ribs ached from having been stabbed with what was probably her keys, somewhere in the depths of her bag.

Loose hair fell about her face as she sat back on her knees, breathing cool spring air that all but froze her wheezing lungs. God, what wouldn't she give for the humid air of a jungle instead of whatever the hell this was.

Lifting her head, Andrea met the surprised stare of another person standing on the other side of a fence. Inside the fence was a garden of flowers and vegetables, and past the garden was a very familiar sort of house with a round door, built directly into a hill.

Andrea got unsteadily to her feet, and the person's gaze tracked her. The person was very short, little more than half Andrea's height. Andrea had seen plenty of very short people in her lifetime –Southeast Asia was full of them, after all– but she'd never seen one so… proportional? This person looked like a full-sized human shrunk down.

Andrea's eyes fell to the person's bare feet, sticking out from under a pair of worn out pants. They were very hairy feet. The hairiest she'd ever seen.

"Are… are you a Hobbit?" Andrea felt the words coming out of her mouth, though she could hardly believe she'd spoken them.

The short man frowned, and Andrea almost thought he hadn't heard her until he said, "I am. And might I ask why a Man has come barreling out of the forest like a drunkard, miss?"

Damn, oh hell, oh shit.

Andrea tore herself out of her panic. "I'm lost. I think. I got scared." At least this short person –Hobbit?!– spoke English. Or was she speaking Westron? Was she really entertaining this delusion!?

She'd probably knocked her head when she fainted and was now in a hospital in a coma. Yes, that explained it. For the most part. Andrea had never had a dream this vivid, ever.

"Where am I?" She asked. Her voice sounded more sure than she felt.

"You're a few hours' walk outside Hobbiton, miss." The short man, the Hobbit, looked her over critically. "If you're very lost, I know a mister Baggins who has some good maps."

"Baggins?"

On the inside, Andrea was thinking very, very fast. Almost too fast to for her to comprehend. She was outside Hobbiton, in Middle Earth, sometime during the lifetime of Bilbo Baggins, the Hobbit who found the One Ring and went on to hand it over to Frodo Baggins who threw it into Mount Doom. It was like something out of a fanfiction.

And this all had to do with that old man in the woods who'd claimed to be Gandalf. The old man she'd met at the bookstore last week, with whom she'd had a very interesting conversation about the Hobbit movies versus the book.

"Yes, Baggins." The Hobbit gestured away to the left. "The road down to Hobbiton's just that way, over the hill. Follow it on, I'm sure you'll find the Baggins home easy enough. Just ask after Bag-End, that's where he lives."

This was definitely a coma dream.

"Thank you," Andrea said, bowing her head more out of instinct than propriety.

The Hobbit only grunted. "Get on, then," he said, turning his attention back to his garden.

In a daze, Andrea trekked the way the Hobbit had indicated. Sure enough, there was a dirt road over the hill. Deep ruts indicated the regular passing of wagons, and away down the road Andrea saw green hills and fields of corn, wheat, and barley.

"Ah, good, you found the road. I thought I might have to track you down in the forest somewhere."

Andrea spun about to face the grey-cloaked old man. Gandalf. He leaned on his staff and smiled kindly.

"Is this real?" Andrea asked.

"It is very real, my dear."

That's exactly what a coma-dream person would say, Andrea thought. Even though no dream could ever replicate the smell of forests she hadn't seen since she was a girl, give depth and weight to a world that she'd only seen on a screen.

Andrea looked back out to the fields, then to the woods. Her gaze landed on Gandalf. "Why am I here?" If this all really was real, which she still didn't believe.

"Do you recall our conversation at the bookstore?" Gandalf asked.

"Most of it, I think." Andrea fisted her hand in the fabric of her jacket. "We talked about The Hobbit movies. The end of The Battle of the Five Armies."

"Yes. And we spoke at one point about Thorin Oakenshield." Gandalf leaned forward slightly. His eyes glittered under the shadow cast by his wide-brimmed hat. "About his death."

Andrea nodded. "You were surprised I wasn't torn up about it. I said he died a good death." A beautiful death, even. If there was one thing that Andrea thought the movies had done well, it was the way Thorin died. "You disagreed." Andrea pursed her lips, some of her usual spirit rising to the surface now that she'd reached a subject she was passionate about. "Which isn't true, by the way. It was beautifully paced, and fitting to his character. Predictable, yeah, to people who read the book, but all the better for it."

Gandalf hummed, his smile fading. "Yes, you did say that." He pinned Andrea beneath an intense stare. "Do you believe Thorin Oakenshield deserves to die?"

"Of course not! From a writer's standpoint, though, it–" Andrea paused. "Deserves? Do you mean he's alive?"

"In fact, he is. I saw him not too long ago. He ought to be here tonight at Bilbo Baggins' house."

Andrea looked down the road that led to Hobbiton. "So this is at the start of the story, then?"

"Yes."

A few seconds passed as Andrea absorbed that. Then she frowned, turning an accusing glare on Gandalf. "But what does this all have to do with me? Why am I here? If this is even real."

"Because, Miss Chen, I want you to save the lives of Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews."

A/N: This is my first time publishing an OC fic, or indeed actually committing to an OC fic, in this particular fandom. Reviews are crucial, especially at this early stage, and I would appreciate a few words. Regardless of whether you review or not, thank you for reading :))