The Mayor's office wasn't exactly a grand thing. It was more of a front room in a wide, squat Hobbit-hole with slightly fancier windows and a very polished door knocker. Thomas stood inside now, eyeing the half-eaten pie on the Mayor's desk and wondering if this was a late breakfast or an early lunch.
Mayor Will Whitfoot—a portly hobbit with a cheerful demeanor and fingers dusted in what appeared to be berry crumbs—looked up at him with a polite but cautious smile.
"So," Will said, resting both hands atop his stomach, "you want to buy land?"
"Yes," Thomas said, nodding. "A few hills just beyond Bag End. The ones no one's really claimed, near the old oak grove. I've been… expanding."
"I've noticed," Will said with a chuckle, though his eyes didn't leave Thomas's slightly glimmering coat. "Bag End's never looked so lively. Even the ivy looks tidier somehow."
Thomas smiled, folding his arms behind his back. "It's part of a project. Gardening, mostly. But I'd rather not continue without securing the ground first. I'd prefer to buy properly, with silver pennies."
Will leaned back, chewing on that idea—and possibly the last bite of pie.
"Buying land's unusual, mind," he said slowly. "We rent and lend more than sell. But... well, a price could be arranged. A tidy patch of those hills... let's say two hundred and sixty silver pennies, maybe two seventy if you want the whole ridge."
"That's fair," Thomas said. "Two eighty, if I can also add something for the village. A few community works."
Will raised his brows. "Oh? Such as?"
"I could seed some new trees along the main roads," Thomas offered. "Real shade-givers, strong, long-lived. Maybe add an orchard next to the school hill. Something the children can raid in summer."
Will nodded, impressed. "And for the Harvest Festival?"
"Something flashy," Thomas said thoughtfully. "I heard Gandalf doesn't come every year?"
"Sadly, no," Will said. "Last time he came, old Brockenfoot swore his eyebrows never grew back."
"I could do something gentler. Lanterns that float. Maybe some fireworks that bloom into flower petals instead of thunder."
Will laughed at that. "You'd be a hit. You're already halfway there—folks have been whispering about how your clothes don't stain, your boots never muddy, and how Bag End's windows sparkle even on rainy days."
Thomas tilted his head. "Let's call that part of the charm. So… deal?"
Will wiped his hands and extended one. "Deal. I'll draft the papers. You'll have your land before supper."
He paused, narrowing his eyes slightly as if remembering something. "Just make sure to get it properly recorded with the Thain. You'll need his signature on the registry and to go over what you're planning. Might be some taxes to sort as well—like that pipeweed you've been trading. Fine stuff, mind. Really fills the lungs it does."
"I'll speak with him," Thomas said.
"Oh! And while we're on it," Will added, rummaging through a drawer, "I can issue you a formal license for selling within the Shire and beyond. Not strictly needed here, we're not ones for fussing over parchment, but if any Big Folk or offland officials come poking their noses in—well, always nice to wave something official under their eyes to make 'em bugger off."
He held up a thick slip of paper with a small red stamp. "A 'Gardener & Trade Purveyor's License.' Covers plantwork, produce, small goods, and—" he winked, "fireless fireworks."
Thomas chuckled and took it, folding it neatly into his coat.
As they shook hands, Thomas's thoughts flickered inward.
The fire inside him—it had settled. More or less. That first night, the power had surged like a dam breaking, but now it coiled comfortably in his gut, sleeping beneath the skin.
He'd learned, over the past two days, how to hold it back. To keep it within the muscle, the breath, the bone. Temper it. Direct it. It was Qi, yes, but… more than that. It was the impression of fire. The idea of it. A will, elemental and quiet now, waiting to be stirred. Still, it was becoming easier. He could ignite a candle now without vaporising it—which meant he could go back to lighting his pipe by hand.
Still couldn't save the bench, though.
And he had questions. How did magma flow if it lived in blood? Why didn't his boots melt when he walked over dry leaves? What did it mean to bleed fire?
He'd need time. And focus.
He had meant to turn his attention to water next—something gentler, to balance things. But not yet. Fire first. Understand it. Learn the rules. Then he could turn to water with clearer eyes.
Will was still humming as he stamped the deed. "You're making quite the name for yourself, Master Thomas."
Thomas smiled. "So long as I'm not making too much trouble."
Will handed him the scroll. "Just the right amount, I'd say."
-----
A couple of hours had passed since I'd returned to the garden, and I was still experimenting with the so-called Lore of Fire. Impressive stuff, really — it was my first taste of real magic. Not just alchemy, or Qi-infused gardening, but actual, honest-to-Eru magic. Something I could conjure. Evoke. Shape.
And it was dangerous. Incredibly so.
A small ball of magma to the face would drop a man — or hobbit — in seconds. Unconscious, if not outright dead. And that was just the small stuff. According to what I understood, I could eventually hurl firestorms or call down meteors. Not that I planned to, but still.
My thoughts were interrupted by a sharp cough behind me.
I turned.
Bilbo was standing a few feet away, eyes locked on the gently floating orb of flame I'd summoned. His expression was somewhere between awe and concern.
"Erm… the Thain's here for your, ah… meeting," he said slowly, voice trailing off as his gaze stayed fixed on the fire.
I raised a hand and dismissed the flame, letting the power settle back into my body — not back into the garden like usual, just sealed behind skin and thought.
"Thank you, Bilbo. I'll talk to you about that afterward, if that's all right."
His eyes finally moved to me, blinking as if waking up from a dream. "Uh—yes. Yes, of course."
The meeting with the Thain was enlightening, if a bit dull.
He took my official signature and recorded it in a massive old book, then signed off on my land registry himself. Most of the discussion afterward was about business matters. Apparently, once I started earning enough — and judging by how things were going, that wouldn't take long — I'd be subject to taxes. Not steep, of course. This was the Shire. The laws were lax, and so was the Thain. It didn't hurt that I was staying with Bilbo, a cousin of his.
If I expanded my goods beyond gardening — magical items, enhanced crafts, more alchemical curios — the same rules would apply. Fair enough.
"Thank you for the meeting, Thain," I said as I walked him out. "I'll be sure to come to you again if anything else needs discussing."
He waved me off with an easy smile. "Oh, don't call me Thain, lad. Everyone calls me Peregrin. And yes, do come by. It is my job, after all. Not that I do much with it."
With that, he wandered off down the lane, humming.
I closed the door behind him and turned to Bilbo, who looked at me with a raised brow and the faintest smirk.
"I'll go put the kettle on," he said.
Bilbo returned a few minutes later with a tray and two steaming mugs of Sunfire Tea — his new favorite. I'd brewed a full stock of the stuff, enough to last him weeks. At least.
We took our sips, and the warmth hit instantly — not just heat, but energy. Our spines straightened. Our minds cleared. I could feel my pulse slow and settle.
Bilbo exhaled and gave me a sideways look.
"So… magic?" he said at last, drawing out the word. "I had my suspicions, you know. The things you've done to the garden, your clothes… the night you burned your own trousers off—" he gave me a very pointed glance, "—but magic?"
I snorted. "Yes, Bilbo. Magic. I do magic. Look around. Did you not suspect anything when I asked to 'enhance' your home?"
"I mean, yes, a bit," he said, setting his cup down. "But that wasn't quite so… visible. Subtle changes. Plants blooming faster, the windows gleaming. You didn't conjure a floating ball of fire in the sitting room!"
"Well, I could've," I said with a shrug.
Bilbo stared.
I raised a hand — not out of necessity, more as a gesture to prepare him — and conjured a small flame. It hovered between us, golden-red, pulsing gently in the air.
Bilbo leaned in, fascinated, and reached toward it.
I didn't stop him, but I did roll my eyes.
"Just so you know," I said, "not all fire magic is safe to touch. This one won't burn you because I'm holding it in check. But most of it? Rather dangerous."
Bilbo paused, then withdrew his hand and scratched at the back of his head, looking sheepish.
"Yes. Right. That… makes sense."
He looked up again, eyes still wide.
"But you can really do magic? Real, proper magic?"
"Yes," I said simply. "It's magic, Bilbo. I can do it."
He stared at the flame again, then at me.
"Well, now. That's something," he murmured, picking his cup back up. "Mind telling me about it?"
"Of course, Bilbo," I said with a grin, leaning back in my chair. "Where do you want me to start? Qi? Alchemy? Or the bit where I caught a sunbeam in a bottle last week?"
Bilbo's eyes lit up. "Start at the beginning. I always say, that's the best place."
And so I did.
I spoke of energy that ran like rivers through the body, of fire that obeyed will, and of seeds that whispered back when planted with care. Bilbo listened, eyes wide, his tea long forgotten. Every so often he'd ask a question, always thoughtful, always curious. He never interrupted, not truly — only joined the flow.
Time slipped by, unnoticed.
By the time we looked up, dawn had crept across the hills, spilling pale gold through the windows of Bag End.
Bilbo blinked at the light, then looked at me with a bemused smile."Well," he said, stretching slightly, "you've quite ruined my sense of a quiet life, Thomas."
I chuckled, lifting my now-cold mug. "I'll make breakfast, then."