Gandalf walked the winding lanes of Hobbiton with the measured step of one who always arrived precisely when he meant to.
The Shire looked the same as it always had… at first glance. But the longer he walked, the more he noticed the differences. Vines heavy with silver-veined leaves curled along picket fences, their edges catching the sun like threads of moonlight. Small clusters of golden berries radiated a faint warmth as he passed. Mushrooms glowed softly under hedges. There was magic here which would've been incredibly concerning if he couldn't feel the earth underneath him teeming with life, healthy and ever-growing.
He reached the Hill and found the source in full bloom. Bag End's garden was a riot of colour. Roses breathed perfume in gentle pulses, a patch of herbs shimmered with faint heat, and the soil smelled richer than any natural loam had a right to.
The smial itself… hummed. Quietly, steadily. Gandalf could feel the slow heartbeat of enchantment woven into its very walls, as if Bag End had been armoured in magic.
And there, sitting on a small bench in front of the familiar round green door, was a Hobbit with a long-stemmed pipe, puffing contentedly.
"Good morning," Bilbo said politely, nodding to the tall stranger.
Gandalf smiled faintly. "Good morning? My dear fellow, do you mean to wish me one, declare that it is one, or perhaps you're simply feeling good this morning? Or is it that you think a morning is a good time to be good at all?"
Bilbo blinked, caught off guard. "…Well, I suppose all of those might work."
The Hobbit peered at him, puzzled. "Now that I think of it… I don't believe we've ever met. Bilbo Baggins, at your service."
"Gandalf. Gandalf the Grey."
Bilbo's brow furrowed. "Not the Gandalf… who used to make such excellent fireworks? Old Took's friend?"
"One and the same."
"Not the man who—" Bilbo hesitated, searching his memory, "—used to tell such tales about dragons, trolls, and goblins?"
"The very same."
"Well, I had no idea you were still in business," Bilbo said, trying for politeness but already edging toward his door.
Their talk went on in the usual Hobbit fashion — polite on the surface, evasive underneath — ending with Bilbo's flustered retreat inside. Gandalf turned toward the round door. He leaned forward, touching his staff to the wood—only to feel the mark dissolve before it could take hold.
The wards here were stubborn and far stronger than anything Bilbo Baggins would have even been possible of setting himself.
Gandalf's eyes narrowed slightly. "Hmm."
He stepped onto the dirt path and drew the burglar's mark there instead. This time it took… though the garden disapproved.
Vines and leafy tendrils stirred, brushing at his boots and tugging faintly at his robe. One particularly bold stalk swatted at the end of his staff.
"Calm yourselves," Gandalf said mildly, giving them a patient look. "I'm not here to uproot anyone."
The plants stilled, reluctantly. Gandalf straightened, surveyed his work, and allowed himself the faintest smile before turning to leave the Hill.
He felt blessed knowing that another of his kind had blessed Middle-earth for the better. Perhaps this newcomer was even meant for the Quest? That would be perfect timing. Did that mean the matter was important enough for direct intervention?
Gandalf gazed up into the sky, his brows knit in quiet thought. Was this journey to come destined to reveal more than even he had guessed? Would the threads of fate tighten around Bilbo Baggins, and perhaps others, in ways unlooked for?
The wizard turned and began walking down the lane, already planning his next steps. Behind him, Bag End was quiet again.
Inside, Bilbo awkwardly shuffled away from the door, muttering to himself about "wizards showing up out of nowhere." He brewed himself a cup of elixir tea—Thomas's blend—and sat at the kitchen table. The steam curled up before his face as he ruminated on the encounter, caught somewhere between irritation and curiosity.
He was broken from his thoughts by the familiar tread of bare feet on the wooden floor. Thomas stepped into the kitchen, his usual gardening clothes neat as ever: a white buttoned shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbow, brown trousers cuffed at the shin, and not a speck of dirt anywhere on him. He was always like that—squeaky clean after tending the soil, as if the earth itself refused to cling to him.
Bilbo eyed him, then muttered under his breath, "Magic, no doubt."
Thomas's eyes flicked from Bilbo's teacup to his face, brow quirking at the look of consternation plastered there.
"What's got you looking so concerned, Bilbo? Did the Burrows family come by again to set you up with their daughter?"
Bilbo rolled his eyes and snorted. "If only it were that simple. No, it was a wizard this time. Gandalf—though I hardly remembered him at first. He was on about 'adventures' and all sorts of nonsense."
Thomas leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms with a faint smirk. "Ah. So it begins, then."
Bilbo gave him a flat look. "What do you mean 'so it begins'? You sound like you know something."
Thomas only chuckled softly, pushing off the frame and moving toward the stove. "Well, my friend, as you know, I am a 'wizard.' Or—well—a magic user."
As he spoke, he moved about the kitchen with practiced ease, gathering ingredients and utensils. Soon the sound of batter hitting a hot pan filled the air.
"With my magic, I sometimes get… impressions. Feelings of things yet to come. And before you ask—no, it doesn't mean I can actually see the future."
That stayed Bilbo's question on his lips. He sat back, frowning, and listened.
"A while back," Thomas continued, flipping the batter neatly, "I got the sense that eventually someone called Gandalf would come here. He's a wizard too—quite a famous one, even I know of him. He's… well, he's pretty cool."
The corners of Bilbo's mouth twitched despite himself. Cool wasn't a word he'd ever expect to hear used about a wizard.
By the time Thomas was done speaking, he had slipped two golden-brown pancakes onto a plate, another two onto his own, and dusted them with sugar and honey. He set one plate in front of Bilbo, the other before himself.
"And he will come back soon enough," Thomas said, his tone lighter now, "offering you an adventure."
Bilbo froze. His fork stopped halfway to the plate. "An adventure?" he blurted, then words tumbled out in a rush. "But—but I'm a Hobbit! Why would a wizard want me on an adventure? It makes no sense. He should know Hobbits never leave the Shire! What's wrong with him, bothering me with such—such nonsense—"
Thomas hid a smile. Beneath Bilbo's flustered protests, he could feel it: a spark of excitement in his friend's voice, small but real.
"Bilbo," he cut in gently, "it'll be fine. We may have to prepare for some visitors, though. It won't just be us."
Bilbo blinked at him. "Us? Oh…" His face shifted as the thought clicked into place. "That makes more sense. He's here for you, isn't he?"
Thomas shook his head, setting his fork down with quiet finality. "Sorry to say, Bilbo, but he's here for you. He may suspect my presence—or not—but you are the one he came for. I'll be coming along, of course. Can't have you running off on some dangerous adventure without me, can I?"
Bilbo stared at him, wide-eyed. For the first time since Gandalf had left, the weight of it all began to settle on him.
Thomas smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Plus, it isn't as if this will be your first adventure. This one will just be… more interesting."
Bilbo nearly choked on his tea. "What do you mean first? I've never had an adventure in my life!" he sputtered, affronted.
"Oh, haven't you?" Thomas raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You've gone poking around places most Hobbits wouldn't dream of. You've kept company with me all this time, for one. And let's not forget the time we visited those towns and cities…"
Bilbo's face paled, and he shot a quick glance toward the window as though the mere mention might invite shadows back into his home. "That—that doesn't count," he muttered.
Thomas only laughed softly and returned to his pancakes. "Call it what you like, my friend. But trust me compared to what's coming, that was only a prelude."
As they prepared for the arrival of their company, the first of the expected guests came at last to Hobbiton. He approached cautiously, boots crunching against the dirt as he eyed the strange growths surrounding the village. The very earth seemed alive here—fauna glowing faintly, trees bearing colors and shapes he had never seen, and vines that shifted as though aware of him.
Dwalin's brow furrowed. It felt… uncanny. Yet he pressed on, circling each house in turn, searching for the mark Gandalf had told him to watch for. At last, he found it: a queer round-doored house smothered in vibrant greenery, the plants so alive they seemed to breathe. The rune glimmered faintly on the ground before the doorstep. This had to be the place. Gandalf wouldn't trick them after all that work.
He swallowed his doubts and tugged the bell.
Inside, Bilbo looked up from his book. "They should be arriving about now, then, Thomas?"
Thomas sighed, patient. "Yes, Bilbo. They should."
Bilbo nodded, returning his gaze to the fire. Moments later: ring-ring. He sprang up at once, fussing over his waistcoat. Thomas was already at the door, ignoring Bilbo's hand reaching after him.
The man opened it to find a dwarf—broad, bald-headed, beard bristling, cloak still damp from the road. Dwalin blinked at the tall figure before him, clearly surprised, then gave a short bow.
"Dwalin, at your service."
Thomas inclined his head, bowing in turn. "Thomas. At yours."
Bilbo, startled, hurried to mimic the gesture. "Bilbo Baggins, at yours."
Dwalin nodded, stepping past the threshold. "Which way, then?"
Thomas gestured down the hall. "We've not set the full table yet, but there's a meal prepared if you'd like. Once the rest arrive, they'll have their share."
The dwarf muttered his thanks, handing off his cloak to Thomas, who hung it neatly before following him to the parlour. A plate of cod, bread, and honey waited. Dwalin wasted no time, tearing into it with dwarfish efficiency.
He eyed Thomas across the table, speaking through a mouthful of fish. "Strange to see a Man in these parts. Thought your kind kept to the cities, not holes in the ground."
Thomas smirked lightly, sipping from a flask of juice. "Accident, truth be told. The Hobbits took me in, and one in particular kept me here. Been with Bilbo ever since. As for the plants you passed on the way in—that's my handiwork."
Dwalin paused, a flicker of intrigue in his eyes. He'd never seen such living things outside of song. Before he could ask, the bell rang again. Both men rose and followed the sound.
An older dwarf now stood speaking with Bilbo, his beard as white as snow, his eyes lined with years. At the sight of his brother, he broke into a grin.
"Oh-ho! Evening, brother!"
"By my beard, Balin—you've gotten wider and shorter since last I saw you!" Dwalin barked.
"Wider, aye. Not shorter. Sharp enough for the both of us!"
They clasped shoulders and promptly head-butted, laughing as only dwarves did. Bilbo gave a startled huff, while Thomas chuckled outright.
Balin turned, raising his brows at the sight of the Man. "A Man, in a Hobbit's smial? Well, there's a sight."
Thomas dipped his head. "It was as strange to me when I first stayed here. But here I remain."
Balin glanced between him and Bilbo. "So—you're the burglar, then? Makes more sense. No slight to Hobbits, mind you, but I've never thought them thieves."
He gave Bilbo an apologetic nod. Bilbo looked utterly scandalized. Thomas's laugh only deepened the confusion.
"No, not me," Thomas said easily. "Gandalf hasn't chosen me for the job. Truth be told, he doesn't even know who I really am. Though…" He flicked his hand, and a ribbon of flame curled from his finger, dancing in the air before sinking back into his skin.
The two dwarves froze. A wizard.
Balin bowed low at once, and after an awkward pause, Dwalin followed. "It is an honour to stand before a master of the Art."
Thomas waved them upright. "No bowing, no titles. But yes—I intend to join you, if your lord would have me."
Balin straightened, eyes bright. "I've no doubt Thorin Oakenshield will be glad of another wizard, especially one who wields flame. If you're willing, I'll see you get the contract."
He produced the scroll and moved to the dining room table, spreading it out while explaining the terms. Dwalin shared his plate with him, grumbling as Balin ate between sentences. Thomas read carefully it carefully.
Another ring broke the quiet. Bilbo hurried to the door. Thomas followed, contract still in hand, with Dwalin and Balin at his back.
Two younger dwarves greeted Bilbo cheerily, piling weapons and gear into his arms. Fili was polite enough, but Kili tried to scrape his boots on a fine chest by the door. His leg froze mid-swing. Confused, he grunted, struggling to move it.
Balin and Dwalin noticed the source at once Thomas's finger, levelled casually at the boy. Balin sighed and turned, giving Thomas a small, respectful bow. "My apologies, Thomas. Allow me."
Thomas nodded, releasing his hold and with a flick disintegrating the mud from both brothers' boots before it could touch the floor.
Balin strode over, whispering sternly to the pair. Bilbo set their gear aside, then sidled up to Thomas. "What did he tell them?"
Thomas smiled faintly. "That I'm a wizard, and they'd best keep their manners in mind. Probably."
Bilbo blinked, glancing nervously at the dwarves. "Well… thank you, then, for stopping him from scuffing Mother's glory box. That would've been… unpleasant."
Thomas only chuckled softly, hands folded behind his back as the evening pressed on.
Soon enough, the bell rang again. Bilbo hurried to the door, Thomas at his side, while the dwarves in the parlor remained where they were, swapping stories of road hardships and near-scuffles with trolls.
Bilbo gripped the knob, muttering, "Now then, let's see who—"
The round door swung inward with a thud, nearly bowling him over as a tumble of dwarves crashed onto the mat in a heap of boots and beards. Groaning, they clambered over each other, muttering apologies and insults alike.
And behind them stood a tall figure, bent slightly under the curve of the round doorframe, staff in hand, grey robes brushing the floor. He ducked his head and stepped inside, and the flickering firelight fell across his face.
Gandalf.
Bilbo froze mid-step. But it wasn't him Gandalf was staring at. His sharp eyes widened as they landed on Thomas. For a heartbeat, the noise of the dwarves seemed to fade. Two wizards, face to face.
The dwarves finally stumbled down the hall toward the dining room, cheered on by Dwalin's booming voice and Balin's laughter. Bilbo remained rooted where he was, glancing back and forth between the pair.
Thomas broke the silence first, his tone mild. "Well… would you like to come in then?"
The words jolted Gandalf from his stupor. His lips quirked faintly. "Why—I do think I would."
He straightened to his full height once inside, his staff tapping softly against the floorboards as he glanced down the hall. Shouts of "Ale!" and "Where's the meat?" echoed from the parlour, a rowdy chorus of dwarvish voices. Before long, Balin's voice rose above the din, barking at the others to quiet down and mind their manners.
But Gandalf's gaze returned swiftly to Thomas, questions sharp and unspoken in his eyes.
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If your like how he stopped kili's boot here's the explo: So like I said in past chaps everything has Qi or Magic flowing through it even the air so what Mc did was move his fuck load of qi/magic into the air snaking it around Kili's boot and bassically holding it. If you could see it it'd bassically be a string? or rope or line around Kili's boot holding it. Not a very expensive thing for him to do.
Also I skipped a couple of things that were in the movie cause I couldn't be bothered like the full convo Bilbo had with Gandalf at the start