Bilbo told himself, pretty regularly in fact, that he needn't ever ask for anything more than what he had. An honest wage in a safe, wholesome town like Shire, Texas, was something a lot of men like him could only dream about. True, there were many who came out this way in search of their fortune and sometimes Bilbo would wonder what it might be like to follow a dream like that: just giving up everything and heading out further west to see what riches awaited him.

Sometimes, after a hard day's work, he would look out beyond the town, over the mesas where the sun set into an explosion of something he could only qualify as golden fire. A part of him felt a yearning and would wonder if the sunset was calling to him.

But the reminder of dangers he had no knowledge of or preparation for would immediately quell that wanderlust. He would hear through the paper or town gossip of someone that had run afoul of a gang, come too close to Native land, or in some way had succumbed to the unforgiving forces of nature this harsh land offered and that would be it. Bilbo would once again cling to the security of his position as shopkeeper. Dealing with the ornery moods of his customers and keeping rats out of the grain was all the adventure a modest man like himself needed. Surely.

Bilbo lived like this, in willful ignorance, for years. Even if this lifestyle felt like it could (and would) go on forever, offering nothing unexpected, it simply didn't.

He was well into 30's when the thin veil of security was ripped from him, though this change was introduced with more of a subtle whimper than a bang. Had he known beforehand the significance of the older man in the top hat, he would've bolted the general store door that afternoon and hid beneath the counter until maybe he moved along.

But, of course, Bilbo was completely unsuspecting as the man came in, removing his hat and smiling warmly beneath his handlebar moustache. Even though there was air about him that seemed vaguely familiar, Bilbo couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.

"Afternoon," Bilbo greeted, smiling tentatively. "What can I do for you, sir?"

The old man seemed tickled by the question for reasons that Bilbo was completely unable to guess.

"That depends," His accent was difficult to place. It also spoke to a memory Bilbo didn't yet have complete access to. The old man continued, "You don't remember me, do you, Mister Baggins?"

Bilbo didn't want to be rude, feeling as though he really should know who this man was and that if he said 'no' he might insult him greatly. He therefore hesitated from answering right away, surveying him up and down for some sort of clue.

"Wait…Gandalf? Professor Grey?"

The childhood memory hit him suddenly, that of a tall, thin man dressed in a nice suit and top hat as though he were a man of substance. He'd make his rounds into town every now and then, carting his 'Miracle Elixir' in the wagon behind him. Some folks called him a charlatan at first, one of those snake-oil salesman that sold over-priced piss water and called it all-purpose, magical medicine.

Bilbo's parents, however, -keepers of the general store at the time- took a special liking to Professor Grey and it was them who pointed out, "If he's a con-man, why would he keep comin' back? Anyway, that Elixir of his might not perform miracles, but it sure cleared up Mrs. Bracegirdle's cough, didn't it?"

Indeed, there seemed to be some sort of beneficial property associated with Professor Grey's mixture. As such, he was welcomed like a local in Shire whenever he turned up and seemed to make a good profit any time he did. Bilbo also would never forget the fireworks he'd bring with him. Because they were such a rarity and neither Bilbo nor any other child could figure out how in the world he made them, they all took to calling Gandalf 'The Wizard' and chasing after his wagon gleefully whenever he rolled into town.

That seemed so long ago, Bilbo wondered if he didn't dream it. Gandalf was, easily, the closest thing he had ever gotten to something unexpected and evidence to the fact now that he didn't imagine it at all.

Gandalf, meanwhile, simply answered his identification with a small chuckle.

"Well. Don't think I've seen you in at least twenty years…but I guess you remember me, somehow."

Bilbo really didn't know how or why, being that he never counted himself a very memorable person and that Gandalf allegedly traveled the world when he wasn't setting off fireworks for country bumpkins or selling them magical piss-water. Of all the people he met and things he saw, why in the world would he remember one grocer's son from a small West Texas town?

It made him suspicious more than it did flatter him.

"That I do," Gandalf conceded. "One doesn't forget a firey little boy like Bilbo Baggins, not in a million years."

He laughed at his own words and Bilbo took no heed of them. Salesman, charlatans or no, were always good at hollow flattery. No doubt Professor Grey was trying to sell something or make a pitch and Bilbo had already made up his mind that he was going to stand firm against it.

Instead, however, the Wizard made a quick visual sweep of the general store and then sighed as if disappointed.

"I have to say, I was hoping not to find you here…but it's no matter. A late start is better than never stepping out your door at all, eh?"

Bilbo narrowed his eyes. He had absolutely no idea what Gandalf was talking about and had half a mind to throw him out on account of senility. It was certainly a plausible reason.

"I'd like to have a drink with you this evening, if you'd be so kind to oblige me," Gandalf continued, unabated from Bilbo's lack of responsiveness. "At that quaint pub down the street, of course. Perhaps I'll treat us to some dinner as well. Oh, don't give me that look, Bilbo, I simply want to catch up. There's so much to discuss."

The Rusty Horseshoe is what Gandalf was referring to and it was more of a dingy saloon than it was a pub. Bilbo never frequented the establishment. Shire, Texas was as quiet and peaceful a town as one could find in this area and that might have been because all of the immorality was concentrated in said dirty saloon.

Even still, that wasn't much. Mostly it was just smelly and sad, the quiet disrupted only by the sounds of one of the two or three town drunks stumbling back outside. It wasn't Bilbo's preference of a place to spend time and his practical side was already answering with a firm 'no'.

But then again…he suspected his night would be just about the same as it always was if he didn't go. He'd close up shop, he'd go upstairs to his living area, make some dinner, read a book…and then it was lights out. He never minded the routine of it before or even the loneliness, really, preferring his solitude. And yet…passing up a potentially interesting conversation in favor of his same schedule made him inexplicably disappointed.

What could it hurt to change things up a bit?

Bilbo had to admit there was an element of curiosity here too, as he was eager to know where Gandalf's special interest in him originated from. He supposed he'd have to agree to the meeting if he wanted to find out.

"Well…alright, so long as you're payin'," he finally agreed. "Speaking of, why don't you do the same while you're in here?"

Even though Bilbo hadn't meant any of this to be teasing, Gandalf seemed amused nonetheless. He bought pipe tobacco and an apple and then bid Bilbo a temporary farewell as he left to reacquaint himself with the rest of the town.

Bilbo watched from the dusty window as Gandalf ventured into town, munching idly on his apple and being greeted as if he hadn't been gone a good 20 years.

A feeling he had no word or explanation for stirred in his gut: something close to anticipation and dread, a knowledge that there was no turning back now.

He should've never let that man inside.

Bilbo contemplated not going after all. His apprehension made it tempting to continue onward as he normally would have every evening, to pretend that the Wizard had never stopped by his store at all.

It was around sunset that he had just finished locking up. From where he stood outside the general store he could easily see the golden explosion settling just over the mesas. It lit up the sands of the sprawling desert, bringing to mind stories he had read of cities made of pure gold. He wondered if there really were such things somewhere out there and a voice he hadn't heard in years told him, 'You'll never know if you don't go looking'.

The wind chose to blow right then, rustling through his already messy blonde curls as if beckoning him forward.

He shook his head after a time, attempting to gain control of his mental facilities once more. It was impossible to say where these momentary inclinations came from and why, but they were getting very annoying. Bilbo shoved his hat over his head, flipped up his collar, and turned from the symbolic gust of wind to make his way down to the saloon. It was nothing more than a midlife crisis, he was sure. All it took was time and the reassurance that he was where he should be.

That's all it was. Really.

Bilbo was so busy reassuring himself that he almost didn't notice the unusual sight awaiting him in the saloon. Gandalf, perhaps unsurprisingly, was nowhere to be found, but in his place was another stranger.

This stranger was big, square-shouldered, and sitting at the corner table with a mean stare. Said stare was barely visible beneath the shadow of the brim of his hat and the bristles of his mutton-chops and mustache…but it was there, all the same, and now directed right at Bilbo. The smoke rising from his cigar and furling around his jagged face certainly didn't help Bilbo's immediate terror, either.

The Grocer simply froze for a while, mouth agape, and if he had any plans of running as far away from the saloon as he could, they were quelled immediately.

"Bilbo!"

Young Isiah Twofoot had called to him from his position as bartender. It was clear that he and his sister, Pearl, had been left on duty by their father for the evening for who-knew-what reason. Bilbo sympathized for them and their youthful inexperience. Shire hadn't seen a wanderer like the man in the corner in years, certainly not in the lifetimes of Isiah's or Pearl's, and he knew he simply couldn't leave them to fend for themselves.

"Evening," he greeted the siblings with as brave a smile as he could manage, taking a seat at the bar. If he was afraid, he could only imagine what the two teenagers were feeling.

He had hoped, perhaps, that the two would have the sense to offer him a drink, perhaps some mindless chatter- otherwise, pretend the big scary man in the corner wasn't there. But that, of course, would have been asking too much of a Twofoot's intellect.

"You know that man?" Isiah asked Bilbo, leaning forward and talking in what he must have thought was a subtle whisper. Bilbo was sure the man could hear every syllable.

"'Course I don't know him. Did you see me say 'hello'?"

Isiah didn't seem to know what to say that, instead chancing another timid look over at the man. Meanwhile, Pearl leaned forward and whispered just as conspicuously as her brother,

"Isiah wants me to go offer him another drink! He says I should do it on account of the customers likin' me so much.

Bilbo sent Isiah a disapproving look and the boy bowed his head in shame.

"You shouldn't do things like that to your sister," he scolded. "You're supposed to protect her, don't you know that? Look, give me the drink. I'll take care of it."

He really didn't know if it was him making this offer or some bout of ignorance and lack of self-preservation that had just…decided to take hold of him right then and there. 'Go talk to that man' he thought, 'and you won't be walking back, Bilbo Baggins…'

Still. He couldn't chance simple-minded Isiah or Pearl walking over there and attempting conversation. Their blood would be on his hands if he did.

The two siblings watched Bilbo with some kind of misplaced reverence as he took the glass of whiskey over to the man's table. He hoped it wasn't obvious that he nearly keeled over when the man noticed his approach and steeled him again with that terrifying gaze.

"Thought you'd like another, Mister," Bilbo explained with a smile, doing his best to pretend like the stranger was just some familiar customer in his store. 'Ain't nobody that doesn't like being treated kindly,' his mother used to say.

Even with all his genuine charm, nothing seemed to melt the stranger's resolve. He did not say 'thank you'. Instead, his gaze seemed to harden and Bilbo really did begin to wonder if these were going to be his last moments.

"…you the bartender now?" the man asked, his voice a very low growl. He punctuated his question with a particularly big puff of smoke from his cigar.

Bilbo didn't really know how to answer, feeling like any response he could come up with would seem surly and might rouse the man further. Provided he was…roused at all as it was? It was difficult to tell, since the man's default emotion seemed to be unapproachable anger.

Thankfully, the moment was interrupted by the sound of someone else entering, that of spurs jingling on the wooden floor. It was an older stranger this time around. Though he looked a bit hardened in his own way, his round, cheery, bearded face assured that he was no one to be afraid of.

"Evenin', brother!" he hollered with a wave, apparently to the man Bilbo was trying to serve.

The older stranger made his way across the saloon to the table in the corner and the unnerving man…smiled…which somehow made him even more frightening. The two men then proceeded to greet each other with a very warm familiarity and Bilbo supposed they must really have been brothers.

After a few jokes and a firm hug, the older stranger turned to Bilbo and said casually with a grin, "Same for me, thanks."

The older man's politeness and interruption to what very well might have been his death sentence made Bilbo forgiving of his confusion. He wouldn't have dared correct him anyway, seeing the pistols hid stealthily on both of their hips.

"You heard 'im," Bilbo said to the siblings as he returned. The two of them were bewildered, eager to know what in the world was going on, but did as they were requested instead of asking questions none of them had the answers to.

Apparently, Bilbo thought as he delivered the second glass of whiskey to the table, his evening was going to be spent playing waiter instead of having dinner with a Wizard.

Fair enough.

It was about the time that he was setting the second whiskey down -being completely ignored by the stranger brothers- that the sound of whooping and hollering could be heard outside. Perhaps needless to say, this wasn't a noise common to Shire, and all three of the locals present stiffened up with rising nervousness.

The two strangers, on the other hand, looked at each other knowingly and muttered in unison, "Fili and Kili."

Fili and Kili, as they seemed to be called, came busting into the saloon not long after being announced. These two men were significantly younger than the brothers- in their mid-to-late twenties, if Bilbo had to guess. They were both indisputably handsome, rugged, and…ungodly loud.

"Balin, Dwalin!" they both cried out to the strangers in what could only be described as a humorous, mirrored juxtaposition of prior events. Well, at least the strangers had names now, Bilbo noted, though not knowing which name belonged to whom did him very few favors.

There were more warm greetings, more drink orders made to the Grocer-turned-barkeep, and Isiah and Bilbo had to do their best to keep up. Pearl was otherwise occupied: once the two young men had caught sight of her, they both set to work seeing who could charm her more. She didn't seem very partial to either one in particular so much as she did the fact that they were both paying her attention.

This would have been manageable had eight or so more men (Bilbo was unable to get an exact count with how busy he was) not shown up to the gathering, had all the men not proceeded to order food. Re-delegated, Pearl was peeled way to the kitchen to cook, Isiah poured drinks and Bilbo continued to serve (his hat and coat long gone, now replaced with a fitting apron).

The saloon was the busiest, the loudest Bilbo had ever seen it and for the life of him he could not guess who these men where or what business they had meeting up in Shire. They looked like outlaws, were loud like outlaws, but seemed, for the most part, to do their best in the way of being polite despite all of that. If they were criminals, they were criminals with manners and Bilbo supposed he shouldn't have been that surprised. He had never met an outlaw anyway, perhaps they were all of them genteel?

Honestly though, Bilbo didn't really care. He was too exhausted to wonder where these men came from or what they were after, he just wanted them to finish their business and leave as soon as possible so that he could go collapse in his bed and try to forget this had ever happened.

And right when he felt like his legs were going to collapse underneath him from over-exertion, who should stroll in but the Wizard himself.

"Bilbo!" he greeted him in a tone that was far too cheery for the Grocer's current lack of patience. "I didn't realize- do you moonlight as a barkeep?"

Bilbo didn't even have a chance to correct him or sternly ask where in the world he had been this whole time. Gandalf was, for some reason, being greeted by the large gathering of burly, bearded, loud men as if he fit seamlessly into their company.

"I see you've all had refreshment," the Wizard addressed the gathering. "Good, good, excellent…and yet…we're missing our final addition, aren't we?"

"He got a late start," the first, intimidating stranger –Dwalin, Bilbo thinks- answered. "Mighta gotten caught in a dust storm. But he'll be here."

Bilbo was only listening idly as he gathered empty glasses and plates, his patience and charm depleted. Of course, not so much as an apology from his supposed host. Why, again, did he think accepting this invitation would be a good idea?

Still, the men continued to laugh and talk far too loud for Bilbo's headache, Gandalf joined them in their revelry, and figuring his work just about done for the sake of the siblings, Bilbo ripped off his apron.

"I think you and Pearl can do just fine from here. I'll just be-"

The words died in his throat as the once extremely noisy saloon fell dead silent. Isiah was looking forward at the door, mouth agape, at whatever had just entered that had made everything stop in its tracks.

Confused, Bilbo turned to see what in the world could've had such power. He had already decided before looking that it must have been the devil himself.

And…maybe it was. The man that stood before them was like no one Bilbo had seen before, like nothing he could have ever imagined. He was tall and solid, more so than Dwalin or any of the men that had entered. Long, raven-black hair cascaded down his shoulders from beneath the black, wide-brimmed hat he wore. When he looked up enough for the lamplight of the saloon to illuminate him, two piercing, ice-blue eyes shone from the darkness he seemed to radiate. His face was chiseled, his jaw pronounced and shadowed by stubble.

Bilbo would have thought him devastatingly handsome if not for the paralyzing fear his mere presence seemed to cause. Or was it fear at all? He couldn't really tell. He had never felt something quite like this before in reaction to anyone and he could only qualify it as best he knew how.

The man strode into the saloon with an unexpected grace, removing his black hat and cloak. He was only slightly less intimidating without them. Seeming to remember himself, he gave the company a grin of familiarity and said,

"Sorry for the tardiness, boys. I lost my way here, twice."

This seemed to be the right thing to say to diffuse the respectful tension, as they all broke out into a laugh. He was greeted with more of the firm hugs, slaps on the back and warm smiles. There was a part of Bilbo that felt envious of the companionship.

He didn't have time to really ruminate over this however, or slip back out to go home, as Gandalf came over with a renewed interest in his shopkeeper.

"Sheriff!" he called to the new-comer, taking Bilbo somewhat firmly by the shoulder and leading him over. "Sheriff, I'd very much like you to meet my dear friend, Bilbo Baggins."

Bilbo had no idea why he was being introduced to this man and it worried him that Gandalf would think him at all relevant to this gathering. He wanted nothing more than to escape, not to exchange pleasantries with men of ambiguous moral code.

The man- The Sheriff, apparently, looked at Bilbo with odd sense of…awe? He couldn't quite place the expression and he supposed it didn't really matter because it was gone as soon as it had come.

"Bilbo," Gandalf said as if talking to a child. "This is Sheriff Oakenshield- Thorin, as some of us know him, though I think he would prefer a more formal title from you."

The silence returned and the Sheriff stepped forward a little, his spurs jingling again every time a boot hit the saloon floor. He adjusted his belt and eyed Bilbo in a way that made him inclined to blush and look down.

"So…this is him?" The Sheriff asked no one in particular. He proceeded to scoff, evidently unimpressed. "Sure doesn't look like the stealin' type. What is it you do, boy?"

It took Bilbo a minute to realize that the Sheriff was directing the question to him. Not Isiah, not one of the young men behind him, but him. Now, he was angry. They couldn't have been more than 8 or 10 years apart from each other and yet this supposed Sheriff would deemed it necessary to refer to him as boy?

Gandalf seemed to sense his offense and squeezed his shoulder, perhaps in warning. Bilbo was too fed-up to care very much what came out of his mouth, regardless of how ruthless the Sheriff might have looked.

"I'm 35, first of all," he corrected. "And I own the General Store down the street, making me- wait, what did you mean by stealing?"

Perhaps in being overwhelmed he had missed the Sheriff's comment at first. It was hard to say at this point, but also irrelevant. He looked over at Gandalf for some kind of explanation. His Wizard, in turn, was smiling beneath his neatly groomed mustache with palpable nervousness. He patted Bilbo on the shoulder, replying,

"All in good time, fellows, all in good time. Come, Mister Baggins, join us. There's much to discuss."