Frost On The Roses – October 1418

An early frost had shorn every blossom from the untended garden and it brought tears to Rosie’s eyes.  It touched her because it would have broken Sam’s heart to see it so.  He had given no warning of his plans, only a last lengthy glance, as if fixing her image in his mind.  Burned by their sudden intensity, she had missed the sadness in his usually quiet eyes, and for a while she had thought he might finally speak for her.  But slowly she had recalled the truth of that gaze, and then the word had come:  he was gone.

Looking East – November 1418

“What are you doing?” Freddy asked, voice low and tight behind her.

“Nothing.”

“Night is falling, please come in.”

“I want to see the stars,” Estella said, thinking silently, ‘Our star.’

“Please, Estella, it isn’t safe,” he cautioned again.

“I just need another moment more.” ‘With him.’

“He’s not coming back,” he said softly, one hand upon her shoulder.

“Why do you say that?”

She looked up at him and saw there horror and regret.

“The Black Men…”

“I don’t believe it.  I won’t, not…. Not ever.”

‘He will come back.  He must,’ she thought, turning again to the east.

Wolves On The Moor – December 1418

Diamond waited for the perfect shot, hoping the wind would not shift, changing predator to prey.  Her arrow, once loosed, struck swift and deadly, and blood trickled red upon winter-pale fur.  A short yelp a few feet behind startled her, reminding her that wolves never hunted alone, and thankfully, neither did she.  Her twin rose from the brush with a fierce grin, his hand already on his knife to collect the warm pelt.  There had never been so many unwelcome intruders on the Moor, on two legs or four, not within living memory.  Something ominous stirred outside the Shire.

Snow In The Wind – January 1419

Snow had come upon the westward wind, and Men had come in with it.  They tramped through the fields, carelessly crossing hedges and rows, staring hungrily at her as they passed, until she called the dogs.  They went too often to the Hill, to Bag End, to mean well.  Rosie was not fooled by Lotho’s words; she had seen his eyes and they were avid and cold.  All he had acquired he had spoiled:  the beautiful work of Sam’s gentle hands lay barren and ruined, and she could no longer bear to wander by in hope as she once had.

Penelope’s Labors – February 1419

Agile fingers moved with delicate precision over the fabric, needle setting a careful stitch only after intent consideration.  Ebony silk and silver threads lay smooth under her hand, treasured so long for this very purpose, yet now time was so short.  All things hung by a slender thread, finer than a hair, and Arwen gazed a moment towards the dawn before returning to her task, bending her dark head to twist a prayer into every stitch.  From the smallest creature to the uncrowned king who held her heart, she set the bright silver of hope against the sable night.

Light Renewed – March 1419

The dark had hung like a black patch of night that refused the dawn, sitting upon the southeastern horizon, deepening for days, until at last it cleared, blown to tatters by the wind, and hope rose slowly in their hearts again.  Some evil will had been thwarted, some deed had been done, and hands firmed upon bow and staff as new resolve glimmered in certain eyes.  Terror and pride warred in Estella’s soul, watching her brother ride out, quiver full and head held high for the first time since September.  The ruffians would sleep ill tonight, and every night thereafter.

Spring And Inexplicable Hope – April 1419

Every evening, setting dishes out to dry, Rosie resolved not to look again.  And every morning her heart rose, whispering a secret hopeful song inside her, telling her the darkness would soon end and her Sam was coming home.  There was no reasoning behind the inexplicable certainty she had that some great and shining change had occurred in the world, and there was nothing to link that with his return.  And yet, every day, midmorning found her on the small road that wound towards Hobbiton, on any errand she could imagine, looking for sign or sound that he was back.

Bitter Blossoms – May 1419

Esmeralda held back angry tears, but her eyes shone darkly in the afternoon’s light.  Her nephew moaned under the healer’s hands where he lay, in the grass between the fallen apple trees whose blossoms filled the air with their heady scent.  She stood in bitter silence until the ruffians left with their axes and their bloody hands, unwilling to let them from her sight, lest they damage more than the fair grove her son had so well loved, and which had been the latest victim of an envious and greedy soul.  For trees felled and eyes plucked, Lotho would pay.

Divided By Joy – June 1419

It is a beautiful country we travel through, though the signs of war are still present and many years will pass before all is restored.  Yet those years, and the decades that will follow, will race by, and the task before me now is to wring every moment from them, every drop of joy that I have chosen, despite the pain it will cause the steadfast heart that rides beside me.  I never wished to be a price grudgingly paid to fate, and my soul yearns to salve his anguish at my choice.  ‘Forgive me, Ada.  My path is set.’

Reflections Of An Afternoon – July 1419

The child stirred within her, small vibrations like a tiny dance, and Pearl smiled quietly, sitting in the cool of her kitchen while her lads dashed restlessly through the smial.  She wondered sadly if they would ever be safe again outside.  Her hand settled on her growing belly and her smile returned.  She had thought to wish for a girl this time, but it was a green-eyed boy, Tookish in every turn, that she hoped for now, a heart full of kindly mischief to bring the light back into her father’s worried face.  Why had her brother ever left?

A New Scent On The Wind – August 1419

It had been quiet for days now.  Patrols returned unbloodied, never having sighted an enemy, and Diamond was certain something new had driven off or gathered the threat that wandered onto the Moor from the northeast.  She had ridden out beyond the bounds and had been ready to turn back, when a whiff of smoke had led her on.  Just beyond the Brandywine, a gray-clad Man bent over a small fire.  The rich pelt of a huge wolf lay near at hand, and the stranger bowed to her, one hand upon his heart, where shone a many-rayed star. 

Tearless Grief – September 1419

That she who had cried so long for naught could not find one tear to shed beside her daughter’s grave seemed strange to those who did not know her.  Yet some could see that the wall of numb grief that had coalesced around her heart was all that kept Eglantine from shattering altogether.  She had hoped in the darkest hours that her child might forget the violence that had torn her soul and body.  Her prayers had been in vain.  Deep cool water had washed away Pervinca’s pain, along with her life, her song forever lost to her mother’s heart.

Kindness For My Love – October 1419

Estella shut the still blue eyes with a gentle hand.  He had called for his mother at the last, searched for her in the gloom that filled his sight, and she could only hold his hand past his final breath.  Another lad, not yet thirty winters old.  He ought to have been dancing, not fighting, not dying in her arms.  The ruffians had spoken of war and hopes of Merry’s return dimmed in her heart.  Estella sent up a forlorn prayer that far away, some kind soul might close her love’s blue eyes and hold his hand into the dark.