There was a reason they took to calling him "Brushfire". Thorin would have been content never knowing at all, never hearing of such a man, but such was not to be his fate, nor that of his town.

The lesson was learned on a completely unsuspecting day. Tesoro Real was in the midst of their Founder's Day, a celebration of the town's anniversary. It was always very lavish and the town practically shut down all operation in favor of dancing, eating and drinking. There was a lot to celebrate, after all, what with all of their financial success and prosperity. It was believed that Tesoro Real would soon become the heart of trade on the Western frontier.

Sitting in the center of all this wealth was the Durin family. With ancestors that had settled the area and members in current positions of power, it was not difficult to see that they were primarily responsible for the town's success. Thrain served as Mayor while his eldest son, Thorin, operated as Sheriff.

The citizens of Tesoro Real rested easy knowing Thorin was in charge of their safety. He had never let them down, keeping the area peaceful and practically crimeless for the 15 years he had been in charge. With his Deputy, Dwalin Stark, at his side, there seemed to be no evil too great for Thorin to overcome.

No day did this seem truer than Founder's Day, and no one would have anticipated in a million years that it would mark Tesoro Real's downfall.

It began, therefore, with a brushfire.

Thorin's sister, Dis, noticed it from up on the far away hills overlooking the town. It was a wonder she did, considering the festivities were in full swing and everyone else had been far too invested to take any notice of what was going on elsewhere.

"What'd you suppose caused that?" she asked, her voice casual. There was no reason to get bent out of shape about a little fire, after all, they happened every now and then. Still, being that they were in the desert it was important to quell the flames quickly before they spread.

Thorin told her not to worry, he'd take care of it. He and Dwalin set off on their horses to do just that, still laughing together and enjoying the day. Their mirth continued even as they neared the hill, but came to abrupt stop when a separate fire broke out on the opposite hillside- this one much bigger than the last.

It was a bit disconcerting to say the least, but that wasn't enough to stand in the way of the Sheriff and his job. Dwalin galloped off to the original while Thorin headed towards the bigger one.

And that must have been the purpose of those flames starting up when and how they did: the moment the Sheriff and his Deputy were separated a gunshot rang out and Thorin felt a sudden, searing pain in his arm. A bullet had grazed him, no doubt about that.

His horse, meanwhile, was in no mood to contend with rising flames and gunfire. He reared back with a whinny and tried to pull the both of them back towards town.

Thorin didn't have time to make sense of the situation. He pulled his pistol from the holster with his good arm, thankfully at just the right moment. Dwalin was calling out to him from the opposite hill, completely unaware of the two men gaining on him from behind. The Sheriff had to fire only twice to send both of them toppling off their horses and it was enough for the Deputy to regain his awareness, too.

"The hell-…?" Dwalin attempted when the two of them met back up.

"Don't know," Thorin looked towards the spreading flames with a growing dread in his stomach. "Somethin' bad…we gotta get these folks out of here."

Thorin knew when to fight and when to protect the innocent. He supposed it was one of those necessities that came with being a keeper of the peace. Nothing Tesoro Real had faced to this point had necessitated anything more than a little intimidation, maybe some firm enforcement to keep in line. But this…this was something else entirely, something beyond Thorin's immediate capabilities to stop and, ultimately, the lives of his townsfolk were more important than a reputation.

Dwalin did as he was told without question, he and his horse galloping full speed back towards town. Thorin, meanwhile, waited. He had already pulled his rifle –pain in his arm be damned- planning to take down as many a son-of-a-bitch as he could, whoever it was that dared to threaten his town like this.

They came like ants over the rise and through the flames, whooping and hollering, shooting off their guns and waving their torches around: a gang, Thorin guessed, and a pretty big one. He was all too happy to start taking down the first line of them. It was satisfying to watch those first few men go rolling off their horses, but his gun alone was not nearly enough to stop them all.

When they had finally spotted him and began returning the gunfire, he turned and raced back. He wasn't big-headed enough to think he had the means to face all of them on his own. Besides that, there were far more important people in the center of town that needed to be made safe.

Dis, level-headed as ever, called out to her eldest son, Fili, to get him and Kili up on a horse. Fili was not much older than 15 at that point and Kili was only 9, and even though Thorin could clearly see the fear and confusion shining in his eldest nephew's eyes, Fili didn't hesitate to follow orders. Thorin knew then that making sure his family escaped unharmed was the only thing that mattered.

With that in mind, he began to look around frantically for his father.

"Thrain!" he shouted, again and again, oddly feeling like a scared child lost. Afterwards, however, he would realize that calling for his father at all was a huge mistake.

Thrain appeared, but only for a moment. Things might have been different if Thorin had known then it would be the last he'd ever see and hear of his father in this lifetime.

"You get Dis and the boys out of here, you hear me?" Thrain stared his son dead in the eye, as if to insure no defiance. "You don't worry about me, you don't worry about no one but them. I swear to god, I'll shoot you myself if you don't!"

It was the closest that either of them would ever get to saying 'I love you' and it was certainly enough of a kick in the backside for Thorin. He had always known better than to argue with his father.

The family was on their way out when Brushfire finally appeared. Thorin would never, ever forget the way he came charging into town like the devil on horseback, endlessly amused with the sight of Tesoro Real beginning to burn around him. He also would never forget the smirk that seemed permanently stretched out on his lizard-like face.

"We're gonna have us a barbecue tonight, boys!" Brushfire yelled, firing off his gun a few times in some asinine method of establishing dominance- or, perhaps, to mock Thorin further. He seemed perfectly aware of who Thorin was, anyway, as his sharp gaze had been focused on him from the moment he appeared.

A huge, brick of a man accompanied him, mirroring the same shit-eating grin. It was the Brick –Azog Foster, Thorin would know him as later- that took notice of Thrain, likely aware of who he was from Thorin's mindless calls earlier. He said something to Brushfire that was unintelligible and was answered with, "You know what they say. Out with the old…"

It was all the permission the Brick of a man needed. He pulled out his pistol and Thorin, Dis, Fili and Kili, watched as Mayor Thrain was shot in the head.

Having heard the story, Bilbo's problems (what little he had) suddenly seemed very inconsequential. He had watched both of his parents die, granted, but it had been a rather peaceful succumbing to illness for them both. No one had mocked him while executing them both on the spot, no one had taken everything from him in the process.

That last thought sent an odd shiver through his spine. Tesoro Real had been a peaceful town just like Shire, after all. What were the odds that something just as horrible might happen here?

Probably none, he assured himself quickly. Shire wasn't very prosperous, it wasn't sitting on a fortune. It would be of absolutely no use or interest to a gang leader like Brushfire.

For some reason though, that very practical thought disappointed rather than comforted him. He didn't really want to know why.

"And that's why we're all here," Balin added, once Thorin had finished his story. "We're gonna get our town back."

Bofur -the one Bilbo identified by his friendliness and the thickest mustache of the group- nodded. "Some folks turned against the Sheriff after that. Not us though, we know better. We're with him to the end."

The group of cowboys agreed with that by raising their glasses and cigars. Bilbo, meanwhile, couldn't help but steal a momentary glance over at the Sheriff who had begun looking out one of the dirty windows. He could only guess there must have been more to Thorin than met the eye. As it was, he couldn't figure out why a man so brusque and distant was so beloved.

Maybe he had been more personable before his life crumbled around him, he then reminded himself, and suddenly felt ashamed.

"I'm…so sorry," Bilbo attempted. Knowing that there was no comfort in the world he could offer that would begin to suffice, it felt like more of a mockery than a condolence. "I wish there was something I could do…"

"As it so happens," Gandalf said. "There is."

Despite the fact that the group of cowboys, minus Thorin, seemed to like Bilbo well enough, they were obviously just as confused as the shopkeeper as to what usefulness he'd be to this venture.

Gandalf continued,

"What this mission truly needs is a man of honest means and genuine kindness. Mister Baggins is just that sort of-"

"'Thought you were gettin' us a thief," Thorin interrupted as he turned from the window. Bilbo watched Gandalf visibly wince. "That's what you told me, Wizard."

Bilbo found himself becoming indignant in his confusion and exclaimed, "What's this talk of stealin'? I'm no thief! 'Never stolen a thing in my life and I'm not gonna start now!"

"That's obvious," Thorin scoffed and Bilbo clenched his fists tightly- though why he was offended that his abilities at burglary were be challenged, he didn't quite know.

Gandalf must have realized he was losing control of the situation, perhaps having not anticipated the antagonistic tension that would form between the shopkeeper and the sheriff. The cowboys appeared pretty disquieted by it as well, but simply kept their mouths shut for lack of anything else to do or say.

"Now, now," Gandalf interjected, loud enough to quell anything else that Thorin or Bilbo might try to say to each other. "One thing at a time, all will become clear. Balin, my dear fellow, would you kindly share the contract with Mister Baggins?"

Bilbo was soon being handed a collection of papers of extensive, very-legal looking literature. His father had always taught him to read and investigate before signing anything, so this he did, even if he had already made up his mind that he wasn't going to sign at all. It was a ridiculous notion, after all, thinking that a shopkeeper would be of any use to this particular effort. Regardless of his sympathy for the plight of these men, he didn't trust this arbitrary interest in him or the continued mentions of thievery that had yet to be explained. It was, all of it, just completely out of the question.

"You see, Bilbo," Gandalf said. "Sheriff Oakenshield's company is offering you…a job, of sorts…a potentially very profitable one, if all goes as it should."

It was around that time that Bilbo's perusal of the contract led him to an article on Funeral Arrangements.

"Funeral Arrangements?" He disregarded Gandalf for the time being as he tossed the contract forward onto the table. "I already have job. A pretty good one, as a matter of fact! I'm not interested in givin' up my family's store to go traipsing off to…god-knows-where, just to get myself shot or scalped or worse. No, gentlemen, no thank you. You're gonna have to find yourself a stupider man than me. I'm stayin' put. Good night."

Thoroughly annoyed and indignant with the whole ordeal, Bilbo stood from the table –not even bothering to push his chair back in- shoved his hat and jacket back on, and all but stomped back towards the saloon doors.

"You think you're safe in this town?"

It was the Sheriff, now glaring Bilbo down from where still stood at the window.

"I'm sure the shopkeeper in my town felt plenty safe too. Why shouldn't he? He was, for many years…until he wasn't. None of us could've been ready for Brushfire. Sometimes I think the riches were only half the reason he came for us. Men like that? They just like ruinin' nice things, like a little boy might stomp on his sister's new doll. Anyone who gets in the way gets crushed under the heel."

An odd shudder went down Bilbo's spine and, as ever, he failed completely to maintain eye contact with the Sheriff. He felt that piercing stare might have been sharp enough to stab him through.

"You're not safe, shopkeep." The Sheriff mercifully looked away. "None of us are. So stay in your little town, tell yourself nothin'll get you, and maybe when a man like Brushfire crosses your path you'll remember my warning and realize how stupid you really are."

There was a powerful, terrifying anger in the Sheriff's words and tone of voice. Bilbo suspected it wasn't really directed at him (how could it be, for how inconsequential he was) and that it probably should have scared him…but instead, he just felt further ashamed. If it weren't for his pride he would've apologized, would've explained that he felt for all of them, he did, but what in the world could he offer? He could barely shoot a gun and ride a horse as it was.

Instead, Bilbo said nothing. He exited quietly out of the saloon doors with every intention to go home and try –probably in vain- to forget all of this.

How the contract got underneath his door before he even arrived home, he'd never know. It laid there on the floor nonetheless, folded neatly into an envelope, addressed in big, loopy cursive to 'Mister Baggins'. Tucked inside was a small personal note that could have only been from the Wizard as it said in that same excessive script, 'Carpe Diem'.

Despite his exhaustion, Bilbo unfolded the contract and gave it another look-through while having a quick dinner. Even upon closer inspection it was still frustratingly unclear what they had in mind for their grocer. For all Bilbo knew, they just needed some unwitting fool to use as outlaw-bait. That was probably all it was…but then, why go to all the trouble? Surely they could just grab some drunkard or any poor bastard down on his luck and desperate for money.

Bilbo wasn't either of those things, but…the quoted compensation, should the effort be successful, was handsome. A small fortune of his own to keep in savings would never go amiss…even if he wasn't entirely sure what he'd use it for other than building repairs and maybe inheritance to a younger relative when he died.

That thought propelled him into further introspection, more along the lines of the midlife-crisis variety.

Was this all his life was meant to be? Was he just meant for selling goods and hiding himself away in a small town until he succumbed to old age? This couldn't have been living. Perhaps it was enough for his parents who had a family to speak of anyway. Perhaps that was all the fulfillment they needed.

But as Bilbo had begun to realize with every stolen glance towards the sunset, towards the vast land sprawling out every which way that he had yet to explore, he was aspiring for more than this. Safety would always be attractive, but the story of Tesoro Real's fate made him begin to re-evaluate whether he ever really had it at all.

What would it hurt, therefore, for him to take a leap of faith? Maybe dying for a brave and worthy cause was preferable to rotting away in a false-sense of security- no, it definitely was preferable.

Some sliver remaining of Bilbo's practicality assured him this was just exhaustion taking influence. He'd come to his senses tomorrow and realize he had no business undertaking this job, surely. All of this was just a manic episode, it said, even as he signed his name.

For the sake of his own sanity, Thorin had to tell himself this side-trip to Shire wasn't completely in vain. They had needed a meeting place, after all, and an opportunity to stock up on goods while still available before the long trip west. Still, if it hadn't been for Professor Grey's incessant prodding to hire a so-called "charming thief" in Shire, Thorin would have definitely chosen another town. Shire, Texas was little more than a watering hole, at best.

And what a waste of time that Mister Baggins was. Thorin cared little for the handsomeness of features when the owner had nothing else redeemable within. Charming, indeed. He was nothing more than a self-righteous, yellow-bellied shopkeeper and Thorin was certain he would have been more of a burden on the group than any help. All for the better that he refused.

Thorin, decided they had seen the last of that aggravating little man, ignored the expectant way Professor Grey was looking around while the group saddled up that morning. He'd had just about enough of the snake-oil salesman too and privately wished he wasn't so invaluable to the mission so they could be done with him. As such, he hardly believed his own ears when Professor Grey called out, "Mister Baggins, good morning! It looks as though you've decided to join us after all!"

The Sheriff turned to see, sure enough, the small man running frantically to their group, the contract flailing out behind him like a banner. He carried a satchel with him that seemed large enough to store essentials and was dressed proper, with a neat blazer and bowtie- which would've been fine if they were all going to a luncheon. This man clearly had no concept of what awaited him beyond Shire and would probably end up dying of heat exhaustion on the second day of their journey.

Thorin puffed out his chest and moved to retract the job offer completely, but Balin sent him a meaningful look. Balin, the oldest of their group and a veteran, had always been like a second father to him- ergo, Thorin had never dared to argue with his will. They'd already had the conversation the night before in which Balin reminded him that Professor Grey knew many things they didn't, that Thorin would be an idiot to not listen to him and follow his lead in regards to Mister Baggins.

"The wisdom might not be clear to you right now," Balin had said. "But that don't mean it ain't there. You'd best put away your pride and give the shopkeeper a chance to prove himself. For all you know, he might be just what this expedition needs."

Looking at Bilbo now, he had no idea how that could be true. Brushfire would need only say 'boo' and the fragile little man would keel over just from fright. Nevertheless, Thorin was handed the signed contract and found himself telling no one in particular to get their new addition a horse.

"Oh, I don't really ride…" he heard Mister Baggins whining. "The horse-hair gets to me, it's just-…haven't done it in a while, that's all…"

The group did their best to assure him it was fine, the horse wasn't going to bite him. The Sheriff, on the other hand, had no time to spare for idle comfort. Completely fed up, he trotted his steed over to where Mister Baggins stood complaining, gripped him by the back of the collar, and with a hand under his arm, hoisted the little man in front of him on the saddle.

"Mister Baggins is just gonna have to learn on the way," he said, his voice sharp and terse to make it clear that he was in no mood for argument. "He'll be riding with me until he's grown a damn spine."

There were a few scattered chuckles before the group moved out of town in a thunderous gallop. Despite his insult, it was very clear to the Thorin that the shopkeeper, in fact, had a spine, as it had gone completely rigid against his chest and remained that way for some time.