Chapter Text
This whole business started with a wardrobe.
To be precise, it was a lovely antique wardrobe filled with some of the very latest fashions from Paris. Worth, Cousin Edith’s letter glowingly declared and Margaret’s mother positively clapped her hands with delight. While Margaret Hale privately thought that she would have little use for such exquisite creations here in Milton, she was grateful that Aunt Shaw’s gift did bring some delight to her ailing mother.
And it wasn’t as if the wardrobe was just filled with impractical ballgowns. There were a few very nice day dresses and tea gowns that were suitable for daily use. In fact, Margaret was currently wearing one of those today, a deep blue dress that Mrs. Hale declared flattered her coloring.
Margaret carefully did not dwell upon the idea that she might get to wear the ballgowns whilst in attendance at any social event in which one Mr. John Thornton might be present.
She wished…
As she had told herself many times before – she was the veriest fool. She shouldn’t be going back to think upon the whole sorry business, over and over again. She had no right to think about the Master of Marlborough Mills anymore, even if her first instinct, upon seeing him these days, was to offer comfort and kindness and the friendship that she had been fool enough to deny him.
So perhaps she was a bit caught up in her wishing and her regrets whilst she was arranging her things in the wardrobe. Perhaps it was a bit of childish, silly fancy that made her actually hop inside, like a little girl playing hide and seek.
And then, once inside, she fell into Someplace Else.
The Someplace Else was a forest and Margaret did not have a clue how she got from her wardrobe to said forest and she was, indeed, rather close to sheer panic.
So perhaps she might be forgiven for her little scream at the presence of the Lion.
“Dear one,” the Lion said – a Lion that could talk – apparently, in a low, rumbly, yet kind sort of voice. “You might want to start walking in that direction.” He gestured westward with one massive paw.
“I’d just like to get home, if you please, sir,” Margaret answered, trying to recover as much of her wits as possible. She was in fact quite proud that her voice remained steady, despite being in the company of a Lion of all things. But then again, he seemed to be a very kind Lion. In fact, Margaret rather felt like she had actually fallen into a fairy tale.
“Yes, well, believe me when I say that your path lies over there. You will find what you seek and perhaps a little adventure too,” the Lion told her. “Go on – you don’t want to be late for tea.”
Heaven only knew how or why but Margaret did start walking in the general direction the Lion had pointed out to her. She walked and walked and found herself in a pleasant little land with rolling hills, green grass and trees. And she kept walking until she found herself at the round door of a dear little house, built into a hill.
A dear little house that was apparently inhabited by a most charming fellow who referred to himself as “Bilbo Baggins, a Hobbit of Bag End." He extended a very gracious invitation for high tea and Margaret, charmed by Mr. Baggins’ mischievous smile, found herself accepting. She wasn’t quite sure about this world she had suddenly stumbled into and really, she ought to be frightened out of her wits, but Mr. Baggins seemed to radiate a sense of safety and was so very English in his offer of tea, that she found herself immediately calmed.
And within an hour in his company, they were both chatting happily as if they were the oldest of friends. Somehow Mr. Baggins managed to pry most of Margaret’s story out of her, in between his own tales of his delightful family and neighbors of Bagginses, Tooks, Brandybucks, Bracegirdles and Proudfeet and the rest of the families in this land which Margaret would learn, was called the Shire.
And aside from the Hobbits, Bilbo spoke of Dwarves and Elves and Wizards and why, this was going to be a delightful adventure!
***
John Thornton sighed in exasperation.
He supposed that he should have already gotten used to the Odd Happenings (Nori would call it shenanigans) that happened on his frequent visits to Middle-earth. Which happened by way of the tiny filing room in his office that somehow served as a doorway to this Other World. Yes, it was ridiculous but he’d long accepted that these events were not the result of his fevered imagination brought about by long hours working at the mill.
The letter opener made of the metal that was too fine to be the silver he had seen in his own world, engraved with the strange runes, was proof of that. Said letter opener was currently sitting in his desk drawer, on a world where Hobbits, Dwarves, Elves and Absent-Minded Wizards did not exist.
Or to be precise, a world where Certain Dwarves only visited (read: Fili and Kili) if they wanted to bring John along for an adventure (read: trouble and shenanigans).
In fact, that was how it started. He had been working long hours into the night yet again – much to his mother’s worry. But then, work and more work was the only balm he could think of to forget warm blue eyes and dark chestnut curls that he longed to tangle his hands in and a voice that had once stopped a raging mob in its tracks. She had been so very brave, somehow so very strong, despite her deceptively fragile exterior, defending him against the strikers. John Thornton might have been content to simply admire a pretty face but leave it at no more than that.
But the first thing he had taken note of with Margaret Hale wasn’t her beauty – it was her spirit, when she had roundly upbraided him for his temper and treatment of one of his workers, richly though the man deserved it for his carelessness. And when she had shown courage and strength, defending him against what would have been a murderous mob – he’d fallen quite completely.
And of course, he had to go and act the fool much later. In retrospect, he could understand why she would reject him as she had. Someone very wise had pointed out that one cannot force love into being and while John would have been content with simply having Margaret offer her hand in friendship, wounded pride had made him burn that bridge quite completely when it had been first offered.
He was a bloody idiot.
Thorin Oakenshield had a few more choice words for it in Khuzdul, which he was, amazingly, willing to teach. John agreed with the assessment completely.
So perhaps meeting Dwarves and being pulled into the world of Middle-earth by way of his filing room was a welcome escape and a way where he could sort out his muddled feelings and ruefully consider and regret his mistakes. Also, as Dwalin had eloquently put it, “get your head out of your arse, along with the stick upside it – trust us, it will be good for you.”
All right, so maybe these days he was having far too much fun than a proper Victorian gentleman ought to, but John did have the excuse of a broken heart.
But now his friends were more than just in a spot of trouble.
"Please tell me that you lot did not annoy Radagast yet again," John told them all sternly or at least, he could direct his gaze to Fili and Kili, who, currently transformed as golden and black puppies, whimpered pitifully.
Thorin, who somehow managed to still look regal despite his current state as an absolutely adorable black and white kitten with very striking blue eyes, still managed to shoot John a properly Scornful Look. John unsuccessfully tried to hide a grin. It was just too funny.
"Bilbo is going to be very cross with all of us and well you know it, Your Majesty," he told the kitten.
There were more aggrieved whines from Fili and Kili. Thorin simply padded his way to John’s feet and gently butted his head against his ankle. John couldn’t help it - he reached down to gently scritch the Dwarf-turned-kitten’s fuzzy black head and got a pleased mew for his troubles. He and the Dwarf King got along surprisingly well, a fact that seemed to make every Dwarf (and one Hobbit) of his acquaintance raise their eyes heavenwards in a silent plea for strength. He never could understand that and was solemnly told by Bilbo Baggins himself that he never would.
Fili and Kili bounded over to get their own scritches, which John generously gave, playfully batting Kili over to scritch at his belly. Kili enjoyed that while his brother was trying to emulate a little more of his uncle-turned-kitten’s dignity.
Well, there was no help for it anyway. Bilbo, of course, would have to sort his beloved King and nephews out. John had been personally hoping to simply get away from his sister Fanny’s endless nagging about “speculation" and enjoy a relatively stress-free, if odd day, with his friends in Middle earth. He definitely got his wish this time and so he managed to herd one majestic black kitten and two rambunctious puppies in the general direction of Bag End.
It was time for tea anyway.
********