Author's Note: well, here we are: my first multi-chapter ficlet! This one will not be long, but provided it is well received, it will not be my last foray beyond the world of one-shots.

Crisp dew settled on the newly sprouted grass in the Shire. The sun could be seen peeking up beyond the horizon, just beginning to spread warmth across the rolling hills. The warbling of various feathered creatures carried softly through the still air, announcing the start of a new day. Early as it was, this day held promise for being lovely. As a rule, spring time in the Shire was always lovely. Bilbo couldn't agree more. He sat on his bench pulling happily on his pipe, watching the quiet world of the Shire unfold in front of him. After his great adventure, he developed the habit of rising early in the morning. Now, with no pressing business he was free to sit and enjoy the solitude that the early morning afforded him.

Queer, the folk of the Shire thought him when he left with a company of dwarves and one meddling wizard; even queerer that he returned. Bilbo thought nothing of them or how they considered him. He was content to settle back in to his comfortable life in Hobbiton, but Gandalf had spoken the truth when he told Bilbo that if he returned he would not be the same Hobbit as when he left. The well-traveled Halfling had his armchair and his books, he had breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, and all the other meals of the day that he had not been allotted on his journey, and he was back to his home. All of these things practically defined happiness for a hobbit, and so Bilbo called himself happy.

But oddly enough it occurred to him, as he saw a familiar grey hat cresting the hill to Bag End, that the cheerful feeling that rose in his bosom was not simple anticipation of seeing his friend. No, Bilbo felt a surge of hope that the approaching Istar would call him to another adventure. He realised that his wanderlust was not quite satisfied and that quietly dismantled the happy-Bilbo façade. The hobbit had little time to ponder this revelation, for presently Gandalf drew nearer.

"Gandalf!" Bilbo greeted as his friend came fully into sight.

"My dear Bilbo, it is wonderful to see you again!" Gandalf gave his salutations.

After a quick embrace, Bilbo asked, "What brings you to the Shire, so soon after having left?"

Indeed, Gandalf had accompanied Bilbo on his return journey from Erebor not many months ago. "It seems a small matter of importance has spurred me here today. But it is neither the appropriate time of day nor place to discuss such things. A proper hobbit such as yourself should have breakfast begun!" The grey wizard winked at his small friend; the latter part of his speech being made in jest, though he did hope for something to eat.

Bilbo jumped up in a hurry. "Of course! Where are my manners? Seems I left them in…" Erebor, he almost said, but the thought wrenched him and grief gripped his heart. "With, with the dwarves." The hobbit stumbled over his words as he thought of his former companions. If he were honest with himself, he had tried to push out the painful memories of losing Thorin Oakenshield, which meant not thinking of any dwarves whatsoever. There were many happy memories to speak of, with regards to their journey and the company, but the sadness was too great of yet to easily speak openly of that time and those folk.

This slip in speech did not go unnoticed by Gandalf, but he followed the short fellow into the cozy hobbit hole as if nothing of the sort had passed. The home was just as Gandalf remembered, warm and welcoming, if not a tad large for a bachelor-hobbit, such as Bilbo was. Not too large though, for a merry gathering. A smile played on the wizard's lips as he fondly recalled the first meeting of the company as a whole. Thorin had been so stubborn and Gandalf had needed to counsel him beyond Bilbo's knowledge before that fateful day of their first encounter. He wandered about the dwelling humming softly as he pondered this thing or that, all the while Bilbo muttered on half to Gandalf and half to himself.

It was not long before Bilbo had a commendable spread set out for breakfast. There were cheeses of many different varieties, apples, pears, and blueberries that survived winter storage, wholesome bread, scones, and fruit tarts. The hobbit disappeared for a moment and when he returned he brought a plate of cold meats and breakfast sausages with him. In the corner of the room, a tea kettle whistled and Bilbo steeped a large pot for them both. The two friends ate and drank their tea in lighthearted and amiable conversation.

"As much as I enjoy your company, Bilbo, something apart from a simple visit has drawn me to the Shire today." Gandalf said, as he had alluded to earlier.

"Is this business grave or merry?" asked Bilbo.

"Whether it is grave or merry is yet to be seen," replied Gandalf, his features suddenly turning hard. He reached into a bag that rested on the floor beside him. From it, he drew a letter addressed to one Bilbo Baggins, sent from the halls of Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, last of the great Dwarf kingdoms of Middle Earth.

Bilbo blanched and took the letter with shaking hands. He turned it over and ran his fingers over the wax seal that was stamped with the insignia of Durin. Durin and not, Bilbo quickly noted, Ironfoot. Intriguing as it was, Bilbo hesitated in opening the letter, for he could not fathom what would cause one of Thorin's highborn kinsmen to send word to him.

"Well, we won't know what is inside of it if you don't open it," Gandalf gently pried Bilbo from his reverie.

Bilbo's fingers lingered once again on the stamped wax before he let out a low sigh and broke the seal. He unfolded the paper slowly as if scared of what lay inside. Gandalf watched as his eyes quickly scanned the page, and then scanned it again, and again. The wizard held out his hand and Bilbo compliantly placed the parchment on the outstretched palm. Gandalf read silently to himself:

Bilbo, Burglar to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield,

Your presence is requested in the halls of Erebor. Make haste.

Balin, Son of Fundin

Bilbo recalled that Balin was of Durin's Folk and he was glad to receive word from the kindly old dwarf. But his heart sank when the letter did not bring tidings from the line of Thráin, though of that line none save Dís remained. Bilbo took the letter back from Gandalf and looked over it once more. "How did you come by this?" he asked, after examining the letter at length. "Not even you could have made the long trip to Erebor in the time since we parted."

"Right you are, my dear fellow. It came to me through a great host of messengers. Roäc, son of Carc bore from Erebor to Ravenhill, whereupon he sent Craw, son of Crúr to carry it as far as his wings would take him. He travelled far indeed, for he did not stop until he met up with Elrohir and Elladan –who had been travelling east to Lothlórien. Both parties spoke passable Westron and Elrohir recalled your name fondly. So, he and his brother bore the letter back to their father's house at Rivendell. There, it came to me, and here I am at last," Gandalf finished his tale.

"Why is it that Roäc would drive his kin to such great lengths for the dwarves?" Bilbo inquired. He recalled that the ravens of Ravenhill were on very good terms with the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain, but they were not known to be altruistic.

"The service of the ravens did not come cheap. Elrohir claimed that the clearest Westron Craw spoke was in gloat of the many sparkling treasures he and Roäc received." Gandalf gave pause to let Bilbo consider this, and then he went on. "We must leave soon, for Balin said to make haste."

"Right, well, I shall pack my bags at once and prepare for travel!" Bilbo cried in joy.

With a speed not known to most hobbits, Bilbo was packed and out the door; more than ready for another adventure.