It was an early December dawn, and the sun rose shrouded in cloud. A
gentle snow fell from the skies above the Ered Wethrin. Most of it fell
mercilessly upon the icy peaks, but some drifted into the secluded valley
of Imladris. A warm glow was upon the land even before the sun had risen,
due to the flickering reflections on the snow drifts.
Frodo awoke with a start. The soft bed and down linens slowly brought him from dark dreams, and he remembered where he was. He lay still for a moment, waiting for his beating heart to slow. He was still having nightmares. The Nazgûl were searching for him, then they had found Merry, Pippin, Sam-No! He did not wish to dwell on such thoughts; he and his companions could never be harmed here.
But for how long? His hand slowly moved to the chain around his neck. He could not dwell in peace and safety forever.
His grim thoughts were interrupted by the faint sound of laughter. Frodo would have thought it the laughter of a small hobbit-child had he been in the Shire. Glad to have something else to focus on, he climbed out of the bed and looked outside. It was snowing! After quickly donning his coat, he went outside through ha small door to a balcony that looked over the eastern side of the valley.
He saw two small elven children laughing and giggling in the snow. He had seen many elves in Rivendell, but they all seemed to have aged so. He had never seen any children.
They leapt about in the swirling flakes. Their laughter was like a young, rippling brook washing over stones that hadn't felt the cool touch of water in an age.
Their antics continued, and the male elfling of the pair tossed a snowball at the other. Frodo chuckled to himself, reminded of such playful maneuvers as a child. It rarely snowed in the Shire, and he and his cousins at Brandy Hall had always been up to a decent snow battle.
The elflings' barrages continued, until they were called into the house by an elder, perhaps to a breakfast they had neglected to take in their excitement at seeing the snow.
"Here now, Mr. Frodo," said a familiar voice behind him, "You'll catch cold going about in weather like this with naught but a spring jacket."
"Good morning, Sam," said Frodo, turning to face his comrade. "I suppose you're right." He took the brown cloak that Sam offered and tied it about his shoulders. "You should follow your own advice Sam! Going out in the cold in just a cloak?" He brushed the snowflakes from Sam's hair playfully.
Sam muttered something under his breath, but nonetheless peered over the edge of the railing next to his master.
All was silent in the snowy dawn; the blanket of snow seemed to hush all sound and movement except for the gentle swaying of the trees and the steady descent of the snow. Still, Sam could not help himself from worrying over Frodo.
"Come on now, Mr. Frodo," he said. "Let's go back inside where it's warm." He started walking towards the house when Frodo's hushed but excited voice stopped him.
"Look, Sam!" he said, "Look at the gardens!"
Sam turned around, and indeed saw a beautiful sight. Though the Gardens were covered in snow, a few splashes of color could still be seen; stubborn pansies and even roses poked through the frost. Bushes laden with bright red berries lined the Garden's edges and rushed up to clusters of evergreen trees, boughs heavily laden. Tumbling strings of ivy completed the scene; marking the path that led to the more secluded part of the garden. All the while, the snow was sparkling in the morning light.
Sam was speechless. Frodo smiled. "We'll have to ask one of the gardeners how they maintain the flowers. Then everyone back in the Shire will wonder: 'How does Sam Gamgee's garden stay so beautiful even in the cold?'"
Sam chuckled. "My Gaffer'd have a thing or two to say about that. 'What do you think yer doin' messin' about with elf-magic? It's bad business, Samwise,' he'd say."
Now it was Frodo's turn to laugh. "Let's go inside. I'm famished! Then, after a good breakfast, we can go to the Hall of Fire and see if any of the elves are willing to impart their secrets."
Sam was glad to see Frodo do cheerful again; acting as if nothing at all had happened that night on Weathertop. He followed him inside, debating with himself on how to properly ask the elves about their gardening technique, but not without one last look towards the valley at peace.
Frodo awoke with a start. The soft bed and down linens slowly brought him from dark dreams, and he remembered where he was. He lay still for a moment, waiting for his beating heart to slow. He was still having nightmares. The Nazgûl were searching for him, then they had found Merry, Pippin, Sam-No! He did not wish to dwell on such thoughts; he and his companions could never be harmed here.
But for how long? His hand slowly moved to the chain around his neck. He could not dwell in peace and safety forever.
His grim thoughts were interrupted by the faint sound of laughter. Frodo would have thought it the laughter of a small hobbit-child had he been in the Shire. Glad to have something else to focus on, he climbed out of the bed and looked outside. It was snowing! After quickly donning his coat, he went outside through ha small door to a balcony that looked over the eastern side of the valley.
He saw two small elven children laughing and giggling in the snow. He had seen many elves in Rivendell, but they all seemed to have aged so. He had never seen any children.
They leapt about in the swirling flakes. Their laughter was like a young, rippling brook washing over stones that hadn't felt the cool touch of water in an age.
Their antics continued, and the male elfling of the pair tossed a snowball at the other. Frodo chuckled to himself, reminded of such playful maneuvers as a child. It rarely snowed in the Shire, and he and his cousins at Brandy Hall had always been up to a decent snow battle.
The elflings' barrages continued, until they were called into the house by an elder, perhaps to a breakfast they had neglected to take in their excitement at seeing the snow.
"Here now, Mr. Frodo," said a familiar voice behind him, "You'll catch cold going about in weather like this with naught but a spring jacket."
"Good morning, Sam," said Frodo, turning to face his comrade. "I suppose you're right." He took the brown cloak that Sam offered and tied it about his shoulders. "You should follow your own advice Sam! Going out in the cold in just a cloak?" He brushed the snowflakes from Sam's hair playfully.
Sam muttered something under his breath, but nonetheless peered over the edge of the railing next to his master.
All was silent in the snowy dawn; the blanket of snow seemed to hush all sound and movement except for the gentle swaying of the trees and the steady descent of the snow. Still, Sam could not help himself from worrying over Frodo.
"Come on now, Mr. Frodo," he said. "Let's go back inside where it's warm." He started walking towards the house when Frodo's hushed but excited voice stopped him.
"Look, Sam!" he said, "Look at the gardens!"
Sam turned around, and indeed saw a beautiful sight. Though the Gardens were covered in snow, a few splashes of color could still be seen; stubborn pansies and even roses poked through the frost. Bushes laden with bright red berries lined the Garden's edges and rushed up to clusters of evergreen trees, boughs heavily laden. Tumbling strings of ivy completed the scene; marking the path that led to the more secluded part of the garden. All the while, the snow was sparkling in the morning light.
Sam was speechless. Frodo smiled. "We'll have to ask one of the gardeners how they maintain the flowers. Then everyone back in the Shire will wonder: 'How does Sam Gamgee's garden stay so beautiful even in the cold?'"
Sam chuckled. "My Gaffer'd have a thing or two to say about that. 'What do you think yer doin' messin' about with elf-magic? It's bad business, Samwise,' he'd say."
Now it was Frodo's turn to laugh. "Let's go inside. I'm famished! Then, after a good breakfast, we can go to the Hall of Fire and see if any of the elves are willing to impart their secrets."
Sam was glad to see Frodo do cheerful again; acting as if nothing at all had happened that night on Weathertop. He followed him inside, debating with himself on how to properly ask the elves about their gardening technique, but not without one last look towards the valley at peace.