BITTER-SWEET
Frodo lifted the bowl from the hearth, removing the muslin cloth to tip an elastic globe of dough onto the floured kitchen table. It landed with a satisfying plop, and he cut it into smaller pieces, rolling them into balls to set aside as he worked on the first. The rhythm was soothing. Pull, tuck, turn … pull, tuck, turn.
Nowadays, Frodo liked to make his own bread for it reminded him of Sam's mother. The memory was still bitter-sweet, for she had died only last summer, but he could think of few better ways to honour Bell Gamgee's memory.
END
ELVEN RAIN
"I thought Rivendell was to be all sunshine and blue sky!" Sam grumbled, shaking rain from his hair and eliciting a yelp from Frodo, who struggled to peel off his own sodden jacket.
"Even elven flowers need rain, Master Gamgee."
Lord Elrond stood in the doorway, flanked by Merry and Pippin, their arms loaded with towels and blankets and clearly biting back grins. Once Elrond departed Merry dissolved into laughter. "I think he'll forgive you, Sam. But lets get you out of these wet clothes. I suspect he'll be less forgiving if Frodo comes down with a chill."
END
HEAVENLY SOLACE
High up the valley, nestled Elrond's solitude, where needled hawthorn screen permitted sole access to a tarn, fed from mountain snow melt.
High summer days rendered it bluebell bright, teasing him to dance upon mirror-flat floor.
Far out over its surface, granite slab balanced on hidden fulcrum, and on clear nights he would sit, poised upon its' very apex. Above him, midnight velvet heavens, thickly spread with Varda's glittering children, were so clearly reflected in still water below, that he seemed to float within their midst.
Here the Starkindler drew him to her breast, feeding serenity to his troubled soul.
END
MEMORIES
Frodo glanced up from his book, to find Bilbo staring into the fire. Although his uncle was less vague than he had been in the East, he did not write much these days, spending many of their evenings together just looking into the flames.
Did he see dragon fire? Was he watching as Laketown burned? Did he mourn lost friends? Or was he remembering happier evenings in his beloved Bag End? For the longest time, flames had brought unpleasant memories for Frodo. Memories of Orodruin exploding around him. Memories of loss.
Perhaps their adventures were not so dissimilar after all.
END
POISED
He always embraced golden autumn mornings. Stepping onto the ancient terrace he discovered that mist had crept stealthily into the valley by night, climbing the slopes to leave the sprawling house floating on a pale rolling sea.
Elrond navigated sloping lawns to slip into those waves and walk the submerged woods. Here silent birds huddled among hidden branches and water condensed to patter on the deep leaf mold. Hearts' longing transformed the distant crash of falls into the roar of waves from childhood's remembered neap tempests.
He waited, poised in an eddy between stormy past and hope of future peace.
END