I continue to make a name for myself in Hobbiton.
Everyday hobbits approach me with the simplest of problems — broken tools, minor illnesses, a missing chicken, a troublesome patch of weeds. With a wave of my wand or a smart solution pulled from my rapidly expanding knowledge, I fix everything they throw at me.
I never ask for gold.
Instead, I demand books.
The mayor of Hobbiton is especially grateful for my assistance — and quite eager to maintain the peace in such a quiet land. So he gives me copies of every text he can find and borrow. Records of Shire history, written accounts from wandering traders, even logbooks of items that passed through over the decades.
And among them — something valuable.
A reference to the Palantíri.
That word alone nearly makes my heart stop.
Palantíri — the Seeing Stones.Artifacts crafted by Fëanor himself.
Windows into anywhere.Communication tools across vast distances.Weapons of influence.Objects of power.
I need one.
I dig into the records I already know from my past life:
Orthanc — Saruman's. Off-limits.
Minas Tirith — Denethor's. Also off-limits.
Minas Morgul — corrupted by Sauron.
Elostirion's — gone to the Undying Lands.
Three more — lost in disaster and war.
One lost at sea near Amon Sûl.One lost near Annúminas.One lost in the Anduin near Osgiliath.
Lost… but not destroyed.
And unlike most wizards here — I know how to locate them.
Location rituals.Divination.Tracking spells tied to their original enchantments.
I am uniquely positioned to retrieve one.
Imagine what I could achieve with a Palantír…
I continue assisting the Shire, day by day, gathering more information — and more trust. My reputation spreads far beyond Hobbiton. They speak my name with awe and excitement:
"The Red Wizard of the Shire.""The Helpful One.""The Tall Stranger of Power."
Children watch my spells with shimmering eyes.Farmers clap me on the back with gratitude.Merchants ask me for advice.Even the reclusive Baggins clan keeps an eye on me.
Exactly as planned.
The more my name spreads…the more likely Gandalf will hear it.
And Gandalf always has an interestin strange wizards who appearright before important events.
I close another book, parchment pages rustling beneath my fingers.
"The world is changing," I whisper.
And the Shire has no ideahow much it will soon rely on me.