A Shot in the Dark (Thilbo - Bagginshield)

Chapter 42

One could find many uses with ginger.

It could serve as both food and medicine and even as a spice if used correctly. He liked to use it best sliced up and boiled as a tea. He even used it to help his animals if they were ill because magic was good and all, but nothing beat the simple and pure power of the earth. The only drawback to ginger was that he found it hard to grow. It grew best in warm climates and his forest lacked that at times. He had to keep it in direct sunlight at all times if he wanted it to grow, and stock up on it during the spring and summer if he wanted it to last through autumn and winter.

"Sebastian, one day we will find a home in a warmer place. Then we can grow all sorts of plants and will never have to worry about the winter killing them," he told his friend as he patted the dirt around the seedling he had just planted.

Sebastian just looked at him with his warm and understanding eyes. Animals were good at that. They understood things so much better than mortals ever did. That was why, when given a choice over whom to watch over, he had immediately chosen the earth and her children. Olórin, Curunír, Morinehtar, and Rómestámo could fight over the mortals and their petty squabbles to their heart's content. He was happy with his mushrooms and rabbits.

Speaking of Olórin…

He glanced up as his fellow wizard finally appeared before him. The birds had told him hours ago about the tall and gray wizard who had entered the forest in a huff. He had wondered how long it would take Olórin to find him. He had never been very good at navigating through forests because he always had to stop and solve the riddles that the trees liked to whisper.

He never solved all of them.

But now, hours later, Olórin—or Gandalf as he went by here because he foolishly thought that having a secret identity would make him seem mysterious—finally stood before him. He had blood splattered across his robes. According to his nose, it wasn't from an animal or an Orc or even a mortal. In fact, it smelt distinctly like Curunír's blood.

Huh. Interesting.

"What do you want?" he asked because things like manners were only used by Elves and Curunír. "If it's about that stupid ring again then I don't care. I told you already that you should have pushed that mortal into the volcano when he refused to destroy the ring. Saved you a lot of grief it would."

Olórin closed his eyes and took in a deep breath through his nose. "I am not here because of the One Ring—"

"Did you finally snap and kill Curunír? Do you need help burying his body?" he wondered idly, turning his attention back to his soil. "Not that I could blame you. Sebastian and I have never liked him. Smells rotten, he does. And he likes to steal my mushrooms when he thinks I'm not looking, the bastard."

Olórin made a choking sound that made Sebastian huff in amusement. "I didn't come here for any of that either."

He nodded and began to dig another hole for the next seed. "Then what did you come here for?"

"I… I came to ask for a favor," Olórin said quietly, and there was a hitch to his voice that he had not heard in centuries. "Radagast, my old friend… I need your help."

~*~

The Dwarves turned out to be rather efficient in packing up camps in record time. Before he knew it, the camp was broken down until nothing was left, and they were leaving Mordor behind. Bilbo found himself stuffed between a fussing Óin who would not release his elbow, and a silent Dwalin who was doing his best impression of Thorin's brooding face.