Stories of Arda - Lord of the Rings Fan-Fiction Archive

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

*****

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.

*****

Frodo's soul is of the air. Before the Quest he breezed about the Shire, a gentle wind, eager to ramble where and when he would, as fancy took him.

Then the Ring awakened, but could find no hold, so gentle was the Bearer’s spirit and yet strong and fierce as the northerly gale.

He seems almost weightless now, since his desperate burden is no more and, were Frodo not anchored by his love for the others and their love for him, he might soar away. Someday he will, for air cannot be held in place by anything – not even love.

What is Sam but the earth itself? A lover and custodian of growing things, solid and nurturing, always dependable. Plain in some ways perhaps, but with a surpassing beauty when one takes the time to really see. Like the earth, he is the giver of sustenance, the protector, the steadfast support of those he takes as his responsibility.

He is what he is and desires to be no more. Though the Ring sang to him of power and wealth, wise Sam understood his place in the world and did not desire to rise above it. His feet are firmly planted.

Merry is fire. He burns hot with loyalty and protection for those he loves and blazes with bright searing flame against injustice and evil. He burns warm in his care and concern for all others, especially for the brother of his heart. The light of wisdom and love of knowledge burns in his eyes and he devours books and teaching as a fire devours dry wood, while the flicker of mischief is in his grin.

The Quest threatened to extinguish his ardent flame, but succeeded only in causing Merry to shine all the brighter and to burn all the fiercer.

Pippin bubbles as water does. He travels merrily through life chattering and singing, like a shimmering brook, bringing pleasure and heartsease to all around him. His purity and innocence are a refreshing draught from a clear mountain spring. Though the War sucked dry those qualities in so many others, it could not quench him, for he is above all things unquenchable. His cheerfulness flows forth, a tangible thing engulfing and cleansing those that had thought themselves beyond such joy.

Yet Pippin has the relentless fortitude of a mighty river, capable of rising up and drowning those that would do harm.

Written as a gift for Llinos and intended as a companion piece to her wonderful story More Than Just Years which can be found here on Stories of Arda...

Pippin’s tears had finally ceased and he watched with resigned sadness as Frodo boarded the white elven ship. He understood why Frodo had to go but that did not make it any easier to bear, not for himself and certainly not for poor Merry and Sam. Pippin’s heart was breaking and he tried to imagine their dear Frodo in the Blessed Realm, happy and healed and that helped a little. So did the knowledge that their parting would not be forever; someday they would meet again, on the white shores of a far green country. But likely that wouldn’t be for years and years and Pippin knew that not a day of those years would go by without his missing this most gentle of cousins.

And adding to his sadness was another painful parting. Pippin listened in misery as Gandalf bade farewell to Merry and to Sam. Then it was his turn. He managed to summon a brave smile and looked up at the kindly wizard. Gandalf smiled back and knelt, taking Pippin’s hands in his own gnarled ones.

Pippin felt his smile begin to tremble. “It is. I shall miss you Gandalf.” His voice shook.

“And I shall miss you too my lad, more than I can say. I am proud of you, Peregrin, and I know that you shall make me even prouder as the years pass.”

“My time here is finished, my great task complete. It is time for me to go Pippin,” said Gandalf gently.

Pippin nodded, his cheeks again wet with tears. “I understand, though I still wish that you could stay, that Frodo could stay. But I understand. I will never forget you Gandalf.”

Pippin felt his hands, still surrounded by Gandalf’s, grow warm. A soft blue glow shimmered around their joined hands and suddenly Pippin held something where nothing had been before. Gandalf released him and gently opened Pippin’s clasped hands. The hobbit gasped.

There in his palm lay a perfectly formed ear of wheat, like and yet unlike the one that Gandalf had magicked for Pippin when he had been barely a faunt, to help him summon enough courage to join the other children in a ride on the haywain. This one too was perfect, down to the last kernel, but whereas the original charm had been silver this one was of the finest mithril and the kernels were of solid, gleaming gold. “Oh…” he breathed, touched beyond words.

Pippin had been heartbroken when he had lost his charm. For years he had carried it, convinced that it was indeed a magickal talisman that would make him brave. When he had dropped it while lighting the beacon of Minas Tirith he had thought that his courage had been lost with the charm but Gandalf had explained that Pippin’s courage was his own; the charm had merely served to help Pippin believe in himself.

The wizard smiled down at Pippin fondly. “This one holds no more enchantment than the first I am afraid, save the magic that binds one good friend to another.”

“That is a wonderful magic Gandalf. And, though I don’t need anything to remember you, I will treasure this always. Thank you.”

“We hobbits will never forget you Gandalf,” Pippin whispered. “I will never forget you.”

“Nor I you, Peregrin Took. You have grown up well, into a fine hobbit worthy of the title of Thain. Who would have thought it!"

Pippin managed a little laugh. “Since you must go and cannot do it, I will do my best to look after my people and the Shire in your stead.”

“And you will be a Thain without equal.” There was no teasing now in the wizard’s tone. “Look after your Merry, and Sam too. Frodo’s leaving will be hard on them.”

Pippin sniffed and stood up straight and tall. “I will Gandalf. Till we meet again then. Beyond the grey rain curtain.”

With a last stroke of Pippin’s curls, Gandalf turned and joined Frodo and dear old Bilbo on the deck of the ship.

Pippin stood with his arm tightly about Merry, holding one of Sam’s calloused hands in his own, and the three of them watched as the elven ship sailed slowly into the setting sun; standing bereft long after it had gone beyond their sight.

As they finally turned to leave the Havens behind Pippin looked once more at his farewell gift from Gandalf. Though it was deep night the treasured keepsake shone brightly, reflecting the stars. A wind whispered through the trees and Pippin could have sworn that he heard Gandalf’s voice, one last time.

Before Luck Runs Out

by Marigold

Thanks to Llinos for the beta!

Madoc Brandybuck watched sadly as the distraught family went into their apartments. Dindimas was a fine young hobbit and Madoc hoped that he would recover. Four months ago they had nearly lost Marroc's little Lilac and last year it had been old Otto Sandheaver who had nearly died, falling into the Brandywine during a pleasant afternoon of fishing. And they were not the first. So far no one had drowned but it was only a matter of time.

As Master he was responsible for his people. There was only one thing to be done, fearsome as it was. He knew that some would refuse, but folk in Buckland prided themselves on being thought a bit odd by those in the Shire proper. He would take advantage of that pride to convince as many as he could.

He turned to Sadoc. "Call a Moot, brother. We Bucklanders must learn to swim."

Marigold's Red Book by MarigoldG