Written for Tolkien_Weekly's Natural Disasters challenge series.

The Finest Rockets Ever Seen
Fire

With a sharp hiss and a loud boom, the fireworks shot into the night sky and exploded, sending showers of colorful sparks raining down on the delighted audience. Gandalf laughed and set his staff to another fuse, the hidden ring on his finger humming with power.

For kindling hearts to hope and valor and action, Narya had been entrusted to him. Entertaining hobbits was probably not what Círdan had had in mind at the time, but as Gandalf watched the Old Took laugh while holding his little bright-eyed grandson Bilbo, he could not think of a better use for it.

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From Northern Waste to Southern Hill
Drought

He sighed, looking out over the flat, empty lands stretching East from the swift currents of Anduin. They had once been lush and fertile, but harsh droughts following the destruction wrought by Sauron's forces had rendered them, as they were now known, the Brown Lands.

Legend said the Entwives had once dwelt here. Had they all been destroyed with their fields and orchards, Gandalf wondered, or had some fled?

He turned his feet east and north, thinking that he could keep an eye open as he traveled. If any Entwives survived, he would see that word got back to Fangorn.

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An Old Man in a Battered Hat
Flood

It had been a harsh winter in the north, and when spring came the snowmelt flowed into the rivers that carried it south, bringing freezing floods with them. Gandalf followed the cold currents of swollen Anduin from Mirkwood down through Wilderland and Gondor, all the way to where it spilled into the Sea under the cries of gulls.

Fishermen from Dol Amroth saw him on the shore, resting against a rock and pushing his pale blue, wide-brimmed hat back so the breeze touched his face – and then the breeze caught the hat, sending it scuttling and bouncing over the stones.

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A Back that Bent Beneath its Load
Famine

Gandalf heaved a weary sigh as he sat back and sipped sweet miruvor, listening to the music of Imladris' many waterfalls. Someone was singing tra-la-la-lally in the garden. "My blue cousins have their work cut out for them in the East," he told Elrond. "War, famine, disease, corruption. Worship of Sauron runs rampant still, in grotesque temples with ugly practices."

"Did you see either Alatar or Palando?"

"Nay. I believe they thought to search for Elves, Avari, and are probably farther east yet than even I have ventured."

"Think you they will be successful?" Elrond asked thoughtfully. Gandalf only shrugged.

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Fire and Shadow Both Defied
Earthquake

The earth quaked as the power of the White Council clashed with that of Dol Guldur. The Ringwraiths' screams filled the air as flames leapt toward the sky, nearly drowned by the howling of the wind.

Then all at once it ceased. Some great shadow lifted and vanished from the tower, and the Nazgûl scattered. The forest seemed to heave a sigh of relief, and the sun shone brightly again. Gandalf leaned against his staff, frowning as Narya's heat faded.

"That was too easy," he said to Saruman, who waved him off.

"He is weak."

"Yes, but not that weak..."

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When Evening in the Shire was Grey
Hurricane

Stormy nights always reminded him of his voyage across Belegaer. Ossë was always fond of storms; his great hurricanes often wreaked havoc on the shores of Middle-earth, and he had been in a particularly playful mood when Gandalf, still unused to his mortal frame, had been floating alone atop the waves. It had been the first time he had experienced illness of any sort, and a part of him was still annoyed with Ossë for it.

But there was no stormy rocking in Bag End. Only comfortable chairs, the smell of cooking mushrooms and pipe weed, and laughter among friends.

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Falling Like a Rain of Flowers
Plague

On the shores of the sea, Gandalf turned and looked back, seeing in his mind all the lands he had wandered and all the evil he had seen and countered – monsters, wicked Men, plagues and darkness almost impenetrable.

But there was beauty too, and he had friends yet remaining among Hobbits, Dwarves, and Men. He was sorry to leave these shores, but there was an aching weariness in his bones, and he yearned for home.

As they approached Valinor's white shores, Gandalf set his staff to his last rocket, laughing with Bilbo while the Elves, smiling indulgently, shook their heads.