Bilbo perched on his tiptoes to peek hesitantly through the window into the shop. Through the murky glass, he could make out the faint flicker of a lit candle and a large shadow that moved around, blocking the warm light. Aside from Gandalf, he had rarely seen the big folk before and found himself hovering nervously at the door.
Upon arriving in Bree, both looking and feeling like a pack of wet rats, the company had decided to stop for two nights to 'restock the supplies' and to 'further plan out the route'. Considering that the route had already been planned out-Bilbo may or may not have sneaked a peek at Balin's maps to make sure that they were indeed going the right way and Thorin 'Lost my way twice' Oakenshield wasn't leading them wrong-and what little supplies they had needed had already been replaced, Bilbo highly suspected that this was simply a means to allow the company to dry off.
Whilst the rest of the company elected to stay at the inn Gandalf had chosen, (What was it called again? The Dancing Pony?), their poor drowned hobbit was going to go out and buy a coat. Although Dwalin had offered him a spare cloak, which a dripping wet Bilbo had eagerly accepted-and what a pleasant surprise that had been from the fierce looking dwarf-he couldn't deny that he really did need to buy his own.
'And a nice, warm, hobbit-sized one too, which you won't be getting if you stay out here all day.' He told himself firmly, willing up his courage and opening the door.
Once inside, he caught only a quick glimpse of the many swathes of sturdy looking fabric leaning side by side against the wall, before a bulky woman, presumably the tailor, noticed him and stood in front, blocking his view.
"Well then young lad, do you need something?" She asked sharply. "Because otherwise you can get right out of my shop. I don't need any young boys in here making trouble."
"I, erm..." Bilbo stuttered, surprised by her strict tone. She had mistaken him for a child! "I'm a hobbit actually. Erm, from the Shire. Bilbo Baggins at your service. Not a lad. Just here for a bit actually, not going to be staying long." Aware that he was rambling, (and by the Green Lady, did he actually say 'At your Service'? The dwarves must be rubbing off on him), Bilbo cast his mind around to find something to say that was actually of relevance.
"Gandalf sent me?"
The final morning of their short stay in Bree came too quickly for Bilbo who would sorely miss sleeping in a warm, if slightly uncomfortable and smelly, (because it was Bree after all), bed. 'At least it'll be warmer now.' He thought happily, inspecting his new coat.
It was nice, the tailor, though rather embarrassed after the initial misunderstanding, had obviously worked hard to manufacture such a good quality one in the short time Bilbo had given her. Made with a robust, dark green fabric, the coat and the hood were also lined with some lovely fur for warmth. It had been expensive but Bilbo suspected it would be worth it, for even in summer it would surely be cold to cross the misty mountains and camping outside was always a chilly affair, despite the camp fire.
Bearing all this in mind, he could only feel offended when polite, young Ori yelped at the sight of it.
"Well now!" He cried, patting his coat down around him and assessing himself, "I thought it looked quite good!"
Ori, who had already turned extremely pale, now looked like he had seen a ghost. "Of course, Bil-Mr Baggins, sir. My, my grave apologies! I didn't realise you were- The coat is lovely, lovely, of course sir!"
Bilbo just stared at him, completely flummoxed.
"Sir?" He questioned cautiously, "Where's Sir come from?"
This only served to fluster poor Ori further and he quickly made his excuses amidst a flurry of stumbling apologies, before standing, giving Bilbo a very strange kind of nod, so low it was almost a bow and scurrying off to join his brothers.