Disclaimer: I own nothing but the idea. All rights to Tolkien, Peter Jackson and whomever else owns a piece of the Hobbit pie.

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Hobbits had never been a private race. If your neighbour knew something about you, everyone knew. There were no secrets between any of the denizens of the Shire, nor was that likely to change. So when Gandalf the Grey finally arrived and asked after a Bilbo Baggins, he was surprised to see wariness and hesitation on the normally open faces. A few grumbles, soothing away the reluctance with his easy-going manner of endearing himself to people and he was given directions.

Still, as he strolled down the hill and over to where he now knew Bag End to be, he looked back. It had been curious and odd, the way these Hobbits fell quiet when speaking of the resident Baggins. And somewhere deep within, he felt a pinch of uneasiness. It was rare that Gandalf was not aware of something, especially when he felt that he ought to be. And in this case, he definitely felt that he ought to be aware of what was going on with Bilbo Baggins.

As he finally arrived, he got his first surprise. Every single hobbit hole in the Shire was surrounded by a wealth of greenery. Flowers in their front yard, neat rows of vegetables and fruit trees that were overflowing with heavy, sweet oranges, apples and peaches. But not this hobbit hole. Pausing in his steps, he leaned upon his staff to properly take in the sight that was Bag End. Rather than flowers, there was grass. Grass surrounded by a simple fence. There was a single tree to provide shade for the two ponies grazing in the enclosure, as well as a though of water in the corner. They seemed well cared for, coats gleaming in the early afternoon sunlight. In the far end of the yard, he thought he could even spy a stable where once one of the guest bedroom windows had been. And with a start he remembered that it had been his bedroom. The one Belladonna Took had arranged especially for his rare visits, with a properly sized bed and chair and wardrobe.

A huff escaped him and he continued down the road and up to the front door where the next surprise awaited him. No welcome matt lay here. No neatly cobbled path led up to the neat and round door. Instead, the entire front section had been paved. Next to the door stood a cabinet holding a pair of muddy boots and though there was a door on the thing, it was open at the moment, allowing him to see the rack holding a bow and quiver. Blinking, he tapped his staff against the door to push it open further.

"A sword?"

Indeed. A sword of questionable quality, but obviously used aplenty, hung next to the quiver, as well as a coil of rope, a lantern and various other little bits and bobs. His day was turning out more and more curious as it continued and he found himself looking at the round door that separated him from the smial he was more than familiar with. Or was once, he supposed. For if the outside was so much different from what he knew, what would the inside bring in terms of surprises, he wondered? Alas for the wizard, he was unlikely to find out today.

"Excuse me, but what are you doing?"

While he spoke quite softly, there was no mistaking the steely hint of threat behind the words. As he turned to look at the Hobbit, he realized that his posture reflected his voice. Certain of his abilities, straight backed and confident. As one golden brow rose up in question, he remembered himself and chuckled, shifting his grip around.

"Looking for you, I suppose. Bilbo Baggins?"

The nod he received was reserved. His eyes slid down from the curled hair to look at the unexpectedly simple outfit the Hobbit was wearing. No shoes, as was to be expected, but he wore a sturdy woolen pair of trousers and a linen tunic, both in colours that would be considered plain for a Hobbit, if any. Dark brown and a deep blue, they would be out of place on any Hobbit. Bilbo, however, made it work. He seemed at ease in the clothes, foot slowly tapping on the tiles as he observed the wizard. Eventually, he tightened his fingers around the basket of food he held and made a light bow. Not shallow enough to be rude, but evidently barely deep enough to be polite.

"Indeed, at your service. And you are Gandalf the Grey, I presume?"

The surprise on his face must have been amusing indeed, he supposed, as the Hobbit quirked his lips up slightly, amused. He pushed past the wizard then and unlocked his door. This, more than anything, had the wizard baffled.

"You lock your door?"

The question caused the Hobbit to stiffen as he was about to push the door open. After a moment of silence, he turned his head and offered the wizard a small smile.

"I lock my door."

And with that, he stepped in and closed the solid wood behind him. Only a small 'click' told Gandalf it had been locked afterwards. With a furrow in his brow, the man stepped back and pulled a pipe from his robes. As he lit it, he puffed away pensively. While this was not the Hobbit he was expecting to find, he might be the Hobbit he needed. The bow and sword indicated that he might even be better than he had dared to hope. Though there was also the risk that he might be colder than a Hobbit ought to be. This young man seemed reserved. Private. It explained much about his reception after asking about the Hobbit, though the hows and whys confused him nonetheless.

Eventually he turned and strolled down the path of Bagshot Row and towards the Green Dragon Inn. Perhaps he would find answers there. He didn't look back to see the narrowed green eyed gaze follow him from the kitchen window.

The Green Dragon was as lively as ever, and he relaxed, smiling and laughing as he watched Seradoc Brandybuck make a fool out of himself. The lad danced around Celanda Took, singing a self-written ditty that had the girl blushing to the roots of her hair before slapping him on the shoulder and moving on to the table that held several of her girl friends. Immediately a chatter fell over the table, heads bowing and peeking out towards Seradoc every now and then as the lad in question moved back to his own friends. He was received by many a firm handshake and back pat.

Puffing on his pipe, the wizard was finally accompanied by one of the many Hobbits that had been staring at him. "Rorimac Brandybuck. You look as if you are sitting on hot coals, my lad."

The Hobbit in question could do little more than grin sheepishly before he leaned forward ever so slightly, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"Is it true, Gandalf? Did you speak with Bilbo Baggins, then?"

The wizard reared back slightly and blew out another ring of smoke. When the ring began chasing little moths around the ceiling of the Inn, the Hobbit released a soft sound of complaint.

"Gandalf, please! Everyone's been dying to hear what's going on!"

"Have they indeed? And what business is it of everyone, should I speak with Bilbo Baggins?"

The sudden silence that surrounded them had the wizard looking up and around. Everywhere Hobbits sat, listening far more obviously than he had become used to. Unabashedly, some even leant in closer as if to help them hear.

"Why, I never. Why don't you tell me something first, hm? What do you know about Bilbo Baggins?"

That question unleashed a torrent of sound he was ill prepared to handle.

"He's a wanderer-"

"-like one of the Dunedain! And with that-"

"-always off, doing Yavanna knows what-"

"-those swords of his! And a bow-"

"-never even invited for a single party-"

"-doesn't host anything, nor does he ever-"

"Silence!"

A great hush fell over the Inn as a number of Hobbits felt the tips of their ears colour a soft pink of embarrassment. Sitting back down, Gandalf took another deep drag of his pipe before turning to Rorimac and raising his brow expectantly. The lad just peered around, evidently pleased to be the one to break this news to Gandalf. He licked his lips, then looked at the wizard again, lowering his voice to a secretive whisper even though the entire Inn could hear him.

"He's an adventurer!"