The pub's lights were dim and the sun was tilted at just the right angle so as to let as little of its light as possible into the tinted windows. Ronald Tolkien was sitting on a stool drinking his mug of beer after an unofficial Inkling's meeting. The rest of the club had left – even Lewis, who usually stayed behind to have a drink with him. But Tolkien didn't mind so much. His children, wife, and responsibilities could wait a bit.

In the stool next to him, a younger chap with tousled, yellow blond hair was attempting to drink himself into oblivion. As there was no one else on the other side of him, Tolkien thought he would attempt what had gotten this young man into such a state.

"Damn bastard threw me an' the res' of the world inna Depression," was the answer in a surprisingly deep and oddly familiar voice. Tolkien was sure he had never seen nor heard this man before, but something about him just reminded him of home. Even though home was not far and he was in no way homesick. "Why're you 'ere? Yer o'viously not 'ere to get drunk. Don' wanna go 'ome er somethin'?"

"I just needed some time to myself," Tolkien answered honestly. He would spend the night writing, so he might as well enjoy the day for a while. "My name is Tolkien, by the way. Ronald Tolkien," he said, holding out his hand for his bar companion to shake.

The bloke gave him a drunken smile, took Tolkien's hand in his own in a surprisingly strong grip and said, "Pleasure to meet you," before going back to drink his whiskey. "Could ya keep on talkin'? Yer voice drowns out 'is."

What do I talk about, Tolkien wondered. What do I tell this odd man? But he found himself that he didn't want to refuse the strange request, so he started to talk.

He told this man about his mythology. It was something he intimately knew and so any questions the man could have asked, Tolkien knew the answer to. But the man quietly listened with a small, wistful, nostalgic smile. He almost looked like he had been blessed because of the words that spilled from Tolkien's mouth, yet Tolkien felt that he was blessed for the opportunity to speak to this ordinary, drunk man. Even if this man gave off very unordinary vibes.

Still, Tolkien explained what a hobbit was – an unremarkable creature that had spawned from a misplaced sentence on the blank paper of one of his student's essays. Yet, this particular hobbit he talked about – one Bilbo Baggins – was a very remarkable hobbit as he had gone out on an adventure. In this story, Tolkien had put in bits of his lore, such as the Necromancer (mentioned briefly), accidentally, but his children enjoyed it all the same. Probably because Elves were pretty awesome.

The man listened as Tolkien rambled on and on, occasionally drinking from his glass. And Tolkien talked his ear off. It wasn't until he noticed the clock on the wall did he realize he had been sitting on the stool for quite a while.

"Oh," was all Tolkien could say. "Well, it seems like I should head home, mate." The man lifted his head from where he had rested it upon his arms. "Need to get home to my family."

"Hmm," was the noncommittal response. "Yes, thank you, Mr. Tolkien. Yer, eh, story-"

"Mythology," Tolkien cut in.

"Hmm?"

"It's my mythology," he explained. "I wanted to create a mythology for England, as we have none. And I wonder if I'm doing it justice, but it's the best I can do. I'll see you around then."

The man seemed to perk up a bit at the patriotism seeping through Tolkien's voice. He watched him get up from the bar stool with bright, seemingly undrunk emerald eyes. "Thank you," he said as Tolkien made his way for the pub door.

This made Tolkien stop and he turned back to his unnamed bar companion. "For what?"

Once again, the man smiled, but much wider this time. Tolkien felt a shiver go down his spine – that smile conveyed many more years of happiness and longing than should be on such a young face. His answer was just as confusing as everything else about him. All he said was, "Thank you for creating a mythology in which I can call my own."

A/N: I had a massive 900 point English project due this year and I did it on JRR Tolkien. So now I have a bunch of needless information on him and decided to do something with it. The obvious choice was fanfiction. (BTW, got an A on the presentation, have yet to get back the written part., I'll probably get a C or something though.)

Anyway, a few historical notes: Tolkien's full name is John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, though his family called him Ronald (other of his names include John Ronald, Tolkien, Tollers, and of course JRR Tolkien). Lewis is CS Lewis, author of The Chronicles of Narnia, whom Tolkien was good friends with. The Inklings was a club Lewis made Tolkien join with him at Oxford where they were both professors of some sort - in the club at the school ,they would read aloud pieces of literature they wrote, in the pub (I forgot its name), they would just hang out. Tolkien had an epic love story, BTW. Seriously, if you have time, check out how his relationship with his wife started. Totally cute. This takes place during the early '30s, if you could not tell by Arthur's declaration of "Depression." Tolkien mainly wrote The Hobbit late into the night, which he started sometime in the early '30s, though he did not finish it until 1936 (the book was published September 1937). His mythology, for England however, he started when he was sent home from WWI after he accquired trench fever that lasted more than two weeks (thank God for that because this was his first major battle and it was the freaking Battle of the Somme). He never did compelte his mythology, though, but nonetheless The Silmarillion was published posthumously by his son Christopher in 1977. And yeah, hobbits were only created because one of Tolkien's students had left an essay paper purposefully blank and his mind was wandering and before he knew it "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit." was written on the paper. The idea stuck. He told the story of Bilbo Baggins half on paper, half orally to his children as bedtime stories to later write down. Originally, the stories were out of order, but the plot line soon began to connect. Then his children were no longer children and he almost had no reason to finish writing the book. But that's a story for another time.

I hope you enjoyed this. Sorry the A/N was long, but I thought you guys might've wanted to know. Until next time, then. Bye.