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Marigold's Red Book  by MarigoldG

Four Drabbles: A Change In The Weather

Here is a little drabble set wot I wrote featuring our four favourite hobbits : )

A Change In The Weather by Marigold

Beta by Llinos

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Frodo had always heard voices in the wind. The cheerful song calling for a walk on a fine day, the determined boom warning one to stay indoors by a crackling fire with a favourite book. The seductive pleading each autumn that spoke of adventure and beseeched him to follow. All friendly voices in their various ways and familiar.

The voice on the wind now is cruel and unyielding and altogether evil. “The Ring! The Ring!” It shrieks. It promises torment and worse than death, for himself and his companions. “You cannot hide!” Frodo faces into the wind, and strides forward.

*****


Summer had always been Sam’s favourite time. He loved being surrounded by uncounted bright blossoms, living evidence of his hard work, and watching others enjoying the fruits of his labours. He loved the caress of the hot Sun, and it was so pleasant cooling his toes in the Water with his mates.

There is no water now, not for him and all of Bywater Pool would not slake his desperate thirst. There is no Sun, just deadly searing heat. He is surrounded by Fire, here at the end of all things, at the end of his greatest labour of all.


*****


The thing that had always fascinated Merry most about snow in the Shire was that it was so silent. One might be doing accounts, or reading and look up, only to find that as if by magic a blanket of white had appeared and one hadn’t even noticed.

But not this snow; this snow is shrieking and fierce, whirling about them like a wild animal seeking to rend with its claws. This snow has always been here, on evil Caradhras, on the very top of the world and always will be. This snow would smother them all if it could.


*****


Pippin loved rain. He loved the way the spring showers made everything clean and new again, he loved dancing in puddles under warm summer rain, he loved the way that it gusted through the trees in autumn encouraging the leaves to fall, and most of all he loved to sit bundled in blankets on the cosy third porch at the Smials, watching the resolute winter rainstorms, a mug of tea warming his hands.

But now when he is wet, and cold, there is no warm smial waiting, or dry blankets or hot tea. Now the rain is tormentor, not companion.

*****




        

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