As Bilbo's back made yet another concerning sound, he cursed his decision to not hire a moving team, not for the last time. It was a miracle that all of his belongings had fit inside his hatchback, not that he had much to begin with. The bigger items like his bed-frame and armchair had fit in the small rental trailer hitched to the back, which he swore nearly got him killed on the steep drive up to his new house, but Gandalf insisted he was exaggerating.

Gandalf - the very old, questionably sane reason he was here. Because after lamenting to his old friend over the phone about how very lonely he felt in Ann Arbor, Gandalf had offhandedly mentioned that he owned a small cottage just a block away from his house in Erewood, and that Bilbo was welcome to stay there should he visit.

The next thing he knew, Gandalf had called him up again saying that the cottage was now in Bilbo's name, and that the old man expected him to be moved in within the next three weeks. He had hung up before Bilbo could fully realize what had happened.

And now Bilbo was heaving a box full of his books (one of many) into his new house, which he hadn't even fully explored yet. But he had seen the garden, which he knew would look quite lovely with a little tending to, and that had settled his mind a little about the whole situation. Gandalf, in the meanwhile, had taken one of the dining chairs he was supposed to be carrying inside and made himself comfortable on the porch, taking out his pipe. As he packed it, he gazed through the trees at the picturesque town below. It had rained the previous night, the smell of wet earth and pipe-smoke filling the air. The smell was one Bilbo would come to associate with home.

"A fine day you picked to come," Gandalf decided, speaking more to the view than to Bilbo. He wiped the mouthpiece of the pipe on his grey knitted sweater before puffing on it again.

"Roads could have been better," grumbled a breathless Bilbo, taking a moment to stretch on the porch before tackling the next box of books. "Nearly lost traction twice on the way up here." It was not the first time he had said this, and he could tell by the bushy raised-eyebrow look Gandalf gave him that his friend was quite tired of hearing about it.

Bilbo sniffed indignantly and went back to the open trailer. He had half a mind to pull that chair right out from under Gandalf until he helped him unpack.

"You'll need a new car, nothing but all-wheel drive will get you through a winter here. A Subaru would do you well, I think," Gandalf mused. "And the sun has come out today, therefor it is a fine day."

"Winter is a long way off, I've got time." It was March 25th, and thus officially Spring, a fact for which Bilbo was just short of celebratory. The chuckle Gandalf gave was rather disconcerting.

"My dear fellow, you will see snow again soon. Here it lasts through April, with flurries in May if we're lucky."

Bilbo had to set down his box on the porch and put his hands on his knees for a moment to keep his composure. "With flurries in...if we're lucky?" he whispered in shock to himself. Gandalf was still puffing his pipe, but Bilbo swore he could hear him smirking.

With no help from Gandalf, save for bringing in the dining chair once he was done smoking, Bilbo had all of his belongings inside within the hour. He had almost forgotten how cross he was with his friend once he got a good look at the inside of the cottage. It had been well maintained despite being empty for so long, and it even though it was tiny, it was better than any place Bilbo had lived in since he was a child. And it had flower boxes. Flower boxes, on the windows! How very old-fashioned and charming, thought Bilbo. He stuck his thumbs in the pockets of his cardigan and rocked on his feet as he surveyed the living room, envisioning where he would put everything with a small smile on his face.

The open kitchen was to the left of the front door, the living room to the right, and a hallway ahead. To the left in the hallway was a small bedroom, which Bilbo would turn into a study, and on the right was the bathroom. At the end of the hall was the master bedroom, though it wasn't much bigger than the soon-to-be-study.

The only thing dividing the kitchen and the living room was a wide stone fireplace that was open on both sides. The whole place was yellowed plaster and mahogany columns and floors, with round windows and checkered green curtains.

"I told you it was your type of place," Gandalf said in a way that would be friendly if it hadn't been so smug. "I'm glad it's finally being put to good use."

"Don't go acting like you only brought me here to inhabit your cottage," Bilbo cut in, knowing his old friend much better than that.

"It's your cottage now," Gandalf pointed out, a twinkle in his eye confirming Bilbo's suspicions of an ulterior motive. "Of course you're here for a greater purpose, but that is to be revealed later. First you should settle in, and we must get you a proper car."

Bilbo sighed in resignation, recognizing he had no say in whatever grand scheme Gandalf had planned for him.

While Bilbo set to work assembling his bed, Gandalf put on the tea kettle and set out a plate of crackers. The tiny kitchen was only stocked with a few non-perishables, and already Bilbo was eager to go out to eat and explore Erewood, even though he'd eaten on the way there.

He situated his bed below the semicircle window in the master bedroom, but the view wasn't nearly as picturesque as the one outside the front of the house. Like almost everything in the town, Bilbo's cottage was on a slope, and all he could see out the back was the steady rise of dense trees that blocked out nearly all the sun. If he crouched and craned his neck to look up, he could see hints of other houses higher up the mountain, and hated to imagine what it would be like to drive home to one of those in the winter. The few houses he could see didn't look very welcoming, in any case - they were all massive stone-and-log structures, none of the delicate decoration Bilbo appreciated.

The houses he had seen on the way up here had looked drastically different, like the two areas had been constructed by completely different people in different times, and Bilbo's cottage had been plopped awkwardly in the middle. The homes further down the slope were just as large, but blended into the wooded landscape far better, all natural curving lines that almost looked like trees growing straight out of the ground had been used for the frame. The windows were tall and almost all of them had an open porch of some kind. Bilbo would have to do some research on why the building styles were so different - the thought of his new home having an interesting architectural history made his heart flutter.

By the time Gandalf had gotten tea ready, Bilbo had nearly finished alphabetizing his books on the built-in shelves in the study. He was quite glad for the break, dreading how sore his arms would be tomorrow. The crackers were stale and Gandalf didn't make the tea quite the way Bilbo liked it, but it would do. The old man didn't seem to be in the mood for conversation, opting to text instead, and every now and then he glanced up at Bilbo from under his bushy eyebrows in a way that made him uneasy.

It wasn't until he heard the camera shutter sound from Gandalf's iPhone that he became paranoid.

"Did...you just take a picture of me?" He asked, cocking his head and narrowing his eyes.

"Why would I do that?" Gandalf said this in a way that made it sound like wanting a picture of Bilbo was the most absurd idea he'd ever heard, and it was almost offensive. "I was Instagramming my tea. I've got quite a few followers, they eat this sort of thing up." He gestured to the gilded teacup on the weathered wood of the table, and Bilbo had to admit it was a rather pretty sight.