A/N: Oh gosh, I am so sorry for the very late update! *cringes* I don't really have many good excuses other than I got swallowed up by the Sherlock fandom again, and I've been pretty busy lately. This chapter is not as long as the first one, but it's because I want the part where he meets the Dwarves to be its own separate chapter. I have included a bit of dialogue from the movie, though my retelling is a bit more scrambled for my own purpose of retelling the story, and yes I have included a couple of the deleted/extended scenes because I adored them. I want to give a shout out to my brother who also has an account here as omniavincintamore. He has given me great advice and sat through me reading my story out loud to him to see if we both liked the flow. Love you my little twerkleberrypie :) And a big shout out to my girlfriend, who makes me smile each and every day.

All Shall Fade

Chapter One: Something Unexpected

There was not a thing in this wide world that beat a nice, warm spring day in the Shire. The morning sun shone brightly in the pale blue sky, a few fluffy clouds drifting by here and there. Birdsong, and the laughter of little Fauntlings, melded together in a cacophony of peaceful sounds– after all, here in the Shire, there was not a single thing to worry about; well, if you didn't count spying upon your neighbors of course. No, life was complacent and calm for the Children of the Kindly West, and every Hobbit who did not reside Over the River, was immensely proud of that fact.

Hobbits were creatures of comfort, right down to the very basis of the phrase. They did not meddle in the affairs of Middle-Earth, preferring to stay strictly within the borders of their Homeland. Only the adventurous few, most of them Took's, ever ventured further than the Four-Farthing's. No respectable Hobbit's ever even dreamed of leaving the Shire; especially if you were well-to-do, and comfortable with your life.

So it would be the height of lunacy if some one, say maybe a Wandering Wizard perhaps, came looking there of all places, for some one to share in an Adventure. Yet on this most beautiful and peaceful of morning's, that was exactly the situation Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, was faced with.

Not more than a few minutes ago, he had been enjoying a relaxing smoke in his front yard, soaking up the sun like a freshly planted sapling. And now he was being accosted by a deranged Wizard, trying to fill his head with utter rubbish! An adventure, Bilbo scoffed at the thought, and began to wonder if the old man at his gate had even heard of a Hobbit before. If he had well, he was more daft than the Hobbit first assessed– going up to him of all people and offering such a notion. In fact, Bilbo decided to tell the Wizard exactly what he thought of this, "Adventuring," business.

"We don't want any adventures here, thank you! You might try Over the Hill or Across the Water." Bilbo waved a flippant hand in the general direction of the aforementioned places. "Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things– make you late for dinner!" He felt quite proud of himself, telling the Wizard off, and informing him how unwanted his whole affair would be in these parts.

A flash of irritation sparked through the man's grey-blue eyes, but as quickly as it appeared, it vanished without a trace. Bilbo puffed at his pipe, sifting through his mail, and trying his damnedest to look too busy for company. He cast a few furtive glances between the Wizard and his letters and mumbled one last decisive, "Good morning," before deciding that being polite, was getting him no where.

And he would have been nice and safe inside his cozy Hobbit Hole, not thinking of Adventures and strange Wizards, if it was not for the man bringing up his Mother's and well– his own name for that matter. Bilbo stared at the stranger more intently now, taking in his appearance thoughtfully. Yes, there was some thing definitely familiar about the grey cloak, and the pointy hat... now where had he seen this Wizard before?

Gandalf... the man, though as cryptically as he put it, said his name was Gandalf. The name, the long grey everything, and the twinkling eyes– they all melded together into one cohesive memory at last. Fireworks, Bilbo recalled a tiny smile lifting the corners of his mouth. Yes, he remembered now... long mid-summer's spent trailing around the Farthing's into the early hours of the night, only to race home for supper carrying the badges of a few scraped knees and covered in dirt. Days filled with adventure where he climbed trees to look for Elves, where he dreamed of traveling all of Middle-Earth (well Mordor excluded for obvious reasons) so he could come home to the Shire with so many stories to tell they could fill up a life time.

Bilbo shook his head to rid himself of the memories, but couldn't shake away the smile that lingered on his lips. "Not Gandalf the Wandering Wizard who made such excellent fireworks? Old Took used to have them on Midsummer's Eve." The Hobbit couldn't help the way he knew his eyes sparkled with interest; memories of his childhood making him feel giddy and sentimental. He laughed, a tiny bright sound that almost startled himself, because he had not meant to do that.

The Hobbit quickly furrowed his brow, trying in earnest to stamp out the Took inside him and replace it once more with the respectable Baggins. "No idea you were still in business." Bilbo quipped dryly, hoping a more refined attitude towards the situation would deter the Wizard, and make him just go away!

Yet when it came to Gandalf the Grey, nothing could really stop him once his mind was set on some thing; a trait that Bilbo Baggins would later loathe, and admire in equal parts. No, instead of sending him off with his tail between his legs, the Hobbit's words only made Gandalf smile as he replied, "And where else should I be?" Bilbo merely continued to puff at his pipe in silence, his curious stormy blue eyes shifting around uncomfortably. "All the same, I'm pleased to find you remember some thing about me, even if it's only my fireworks.

"Well, that's decided. It will be very good for you... and most amusing for me. I shall inform the others." The Wizard seemed to puff up at that, the barest hint of a smile peaking through his long beard. Bilbo's thoughts were thrown into a tizzy, as he tried to keep up with what Gandalf said.

"Inform who? Wait, wha– no! No. No, wait." The Hobbit stamped one of his furry feet, and waved his hands around as if they were bird wings flapping in the air. "We do not want any adventures here, thank you— not today! Not–" Bilbo stopped himself from saying the word, "Ever," his throat closing unpleasantly.

Instead he breathed deeply, and mumbled one last feeble, "Good morning!" Before scurrying back into the relative safely of his Hobbit Hole, and slammed the door shut for good measure. The Hobbit leaned against his round door for a few moments, standing stock still in an attempt to hear if the Wizard had left. There was an odd scratching sound at the door for a few moments, and then it was gone– almost as if Bilbo had imagined it.

By the time Bilbo Baggins deemed it safe to leave his home, it was well into the afternoon. The sun had climbed higher, until it was in the exact center of the sky and if it wasn't for the pleasantly cool breeze, today would have been unnaturally warm for Shire weather. The Hobbit honestly did not want to leave the safety and comforts of his house, but necessity drove him out the door wearing his favorite blue jacket and a wary expression. He expected the Grey Wizard Gandalf to pop up from behind every nearby hedge or shrub, which was ridiculous since there was no way the Istari could crouch behind some thing so Hobbit sized, and shout, "Surprise!" It was all a little nerve wracking, and Bilbo didn't quite relax even when he finally reached the Marketplace.

Market days in the Shire were always the most pleasant of events, aside from parties. The center of Hobbiton was packed with brightly colored tents and flags, huge wooden tables, and hundreds of smiling Hobbit's. It was noisy and chaotic, but in that comforting way huge family gatherings in small homes were. Little Fauntling's got together and played games like 'ring-around' or 'tag' while the parents gossiped amongst each other– always keeping one eye out for their babes.

Bilbo smiled fondly when he walked passed one of the Shire's new Mother's, who sat in a wooden chair gently rocking her baby, only stopping to wave in his direction and say, "Mornin' Mister Baggins!" He only nodded in reply but she paid it no mind, even if a proper response would be to go over and chat for a while, because that is what Hobbit's did. Bilbo was thankful that most of Hobbiton respected him enough to leave him be. Though it wasn't because he disliked his friends and neighbors, on the contrary he rather cherished most of them, it was... well, it was hard to pretend every thing in his life was sunshine and daisies just because he had a nice home and a respectable name.

Each and every day he woke up to an empty home, and it left him feeling a little hollow inside when he couldn't hear his Mother singing in the kitchen while she made second breakfast, or be able to sit down by his Father and chat about their Garden. No, Bag End now had one sole occupant, and that was Bilbo Baggins– a Hobbit who once yearned to leave the Shire and go on dashing adventures to Rivendell or beyond, but now stayed behind in fear of losing what few things he had left to remind him of his parents. He knew the Hobbits pitied him, and that it was one of the biggest reasons why they left him alone, but he didn't really mind it as much as a respectable bachelor Hobbit should.

Bilbo shook his head, hating the creeping melancholy that ate away at him, making him even more different than his kin. The Hobbit plastered on his best care-free smile, before going to haggle over the freshest piece of trout that he could find.

There was a panicked hurriedness to his steps as Bilbo made his way home. After the little incident in the marketplace, where he thought that the Wizard had finally tracked him down to bother him again with his "Adventuring business," the Hobbit couldn't help but feel the need to proceed with caution. For an absurd moment he even wished that he had some way to make himself invisible, but scoffed at the idea as quickly as he thought of it– after all, unless he was secretly a Hobbit sized Wizard, the notion was utterly ridiculous.

The sun was just beginning to set behind the rolling green hills of the Shire, when Bilbo finally shut his door behind him, and puttered into the kitchen to start making supper; even if his dinner at the Green Dragon had been filling, all that walking renewed his voracious Hobbit appetite. He brought out his heavy cast iron skillet and placed it over the fire, melting two pats of butter in it before adding the trout. While the fish cooked, he started setting the table, and only paused long enough to flip the fish before it burned. In only fifteen minutes, supper was served hot and steaming on his plate. He stared blankly at his single plate of food, willing himself not to look at the empty chairs on either side of the table.

Bilbo blinked back the stinging tears in his eyes, and sat down gingerly in his chair. His Mother's chiding voice in his head reminded him to tuck his napkin into his shirtfront so his clothes wouldn't get dirty- and so he did just that. Then he smiled sadly as he recalled his Father teaching him the best way to season trout; and so he grabbed the nearby lemon wedge and squeezed the juice all over the fish, before sprinkling some sea salt over it. Bilbo Baggins then sent his silent prayers to Yavanna and was about to dig in solemnly into his supper; when an unexpected ring chimed from his front door.

~T.B.C.~

E/N: Again, I apologize profusely for the delay in this... you can blame Sherlock and my two new 3ds games for that. I hope you all stick around for chapter 3, which I will try to get up some time in June. See you later, taters!