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b2mem2017-03-25 10:28 am
elwenlj.livejournal.com) wrote in b2mem2017-03-25 10:28 am
Entry tags:
Rainy Teatime by Elwen of the Hidden Valley
B2MeM Prompt and Path: Purple path - Inclement Weather.
Format: ficlet
Genre: Gen
Rating: Gen
Warnings: n/a
Characters:Frodo, Elrond, Bilbo
Pairings: n/a
Creator’s Notes (optional): none.
Summary: Seems it rains even in the West.
Everything belongs to JRR Tolkien, except the rain.
Rainy Teatime
Frodo sighed as Bilbo began to snore in his armchair by the fire. He loved Bilbo dearly, but his ancient uncle was quite content to spend his days in writing and dozing when inclement weather blew in. Frodo, would rather spend his days exploring this new land that he could see wavering behind the rivulets of rain on the window of their cosy little cottage.
He watched as a couple of tall elves flitted across the path before New Bag End, no doubt on their way to somewhere interesting. From their speed, Frodo relished the insight that even elves did not always enjoy being out in the rain. It seemed wet clothes were uncomfortable, whatever your height.
Before his arrival Frodo had always imagined the West to be a place of perpetual sunshine and clear blue skies. It had taken but a couple of weeks to shatter that image. When he mentioned his disappointment to Elrond he had smiled. “We must have rain to feed the trees. Without it we would be living in a desert,” tilting his head in the way that some elves did before adding, “And surely you would agree that all nature is beautiful, even the rain.”
Bilbo shifted, muttering something incomprehensible in his sleep and Frodo sighed again. Rain was not so beautiful when it trapped one indoors indefinitely. Upon a whim he opened the door, throwing a heavy cloak about his shoulders before stepping into the little, ivy covered porch.
Somewhere elves were singing, their voices blending almost seamlessly with the melody of the rain and lifting Frodo from his ennui. He drew in a deep breath. The air was chilly but the breeze must have been coming off the sea because it held the sweet, sharp tang of seaweed and salt, mingled with the musty undertones of damp earth and the high, clear sweetness of mint from the little herb garden beneath their kitchen window.
Rain blew in shimmering curtains and Frodo listened to it gurgling in the gutter alongside the path. It dripped from the eaves to splash in ever widening puddles and pattered on the leaves of the ivy that twined about the porch. Despite the overcast sky, one stray sunbeam was captured and fractured by a thousand drops of water so that Frodo was reminded of Gimli's descriptions of the glittering caves of Helms Deep.
He held out a hand to feel the tiny pinprick tattoo of a hundred drops on his palm. Turning it this way and that he watched as the steam curled upward and then slowed as his flesh was cooled by the deluge. Tucking his hand back into the warmth of his cloak he looked up, surprised to see Lord Elrond, statue like just a few feet away, watching him. Like Frodo, he wore a long, heavy cloak, oiled against the worst of the deluge.
“Good afternoon, Frodo. The weather is a little inclement for travelling abroad so I thought you would appreciate some company, but perhaps you were intending to take a walk after all. I would be happy to accompany you if that is your wish.”
Frodo grinned, stepping aside to wave his friend through the door. “I decided to see what you found so appealing about rain.”
“And what did you discover?” Rain dripped unheeded from the tip of Elrond's nose.
“That I enjoy it better from the other side of a pane of glass. I think I'd rather have a cup of tea if you would care to join me.”
Elrond chuckled as he ducked inside, pausing to offer Frodo a cloth wrapped bundle from beneath his sheltering cloak. “I believe it is tea time.”
Both smiled as Bilbo's drowsy voice called, “Frodo, is that someone at the door?”
“Yes, uncle. It is Elrond and he has brought a cake.”
Bilbo's voice was drowsy no longer. “How uncommonly decent of him. I'll go and put on the kettle. The lady Celebrian always bakes such lovely cakes.”
It seemed there was something to be said for rainy afternoons in the West after all.
END
Format: ficlet
Genre: Gen
Rating: Gen
Warnings: n/a
Characters:Frodo, Elrond, Bilbo
Pairings: n/a
Creator’s Notes (optional): none.
Summary: Seems it rains even in the West.
Everything belongs to JRR Tolkien, except the rain.
Rainy Teatime
Frodo sighed as Bilbo began to snore in his armchair by the fire. He loved Bilbo dearly, but his ancient uncle was quite content to spend his days in writing and dozing when inclement weather blew in. Frodo, would rather spend his days exploring this new land that he could see wavering behind the rivulets of rain on the window of their cosy little cottage.
He watched as a couple of tall elves flitted across the path before New Bag End, no doubt on their way to somewhere interesting. From their speed, Frodo relished the insight that even elves did not always enjoy being out in the rain. It seemed wet clothes were uncomfortable, whatever your height.
Before his arrival Frodo had always imagined the West to be a place of perpetual sunshine and clear blue skies. It had taken but a couple of weeks to shatter that image. When he mentioned his disappointment to Elrond he had smiled. “We must have rain to feed the trees. Without it we would be living in a desert,” tilting his head in the way that some elves did before adding, “And surely you would agree that all nature is beautiful, even the rain.”
Bilbo shifted, muttering something incomprehensible in his sleep and Frodo sighed again. Rain was not so beautiful when it trapped one indoors indefinitely. Upon a whim he opened the door, throwing a heavy cloak about his shoulders before stepping into the little, ivy covered porch.
Somewhere elves were singing, their voices blending almost seamlessly with the melody of the rain and lifting Frodo from his ennui. He drew in a deep breath. The air was chilly but the breeze must have been coming off the sea because it held the sweet, sharp tang of seaweed and salt, mingled with the musty undertones of damp earth and the high, clear sweetness of mint from the little herb garden beneath their kitchen window.
Rain blew in shimmering curtains and Frodo listened to it gurgling in the gutter alongside the path. It dripped from the eaves to splash in ever widening puddles and pattered on the leaves of the ivy that twined about the porch. Despite the overcast sky, one stray sunbeam was captured and fractured by a thousand drops of water so that Frodo was reminded of Gimli's descriptions of the glittering caves of Helms Deep.
He held out a hand to feel the tiny pinprick tattoo of a hundred drops on his palm. Turning it this way and that he watched as the steam curled upward and then slowed as his flesh was cooled by the deluge. Tucking his hand back into the warmth of his cloak he looked up, surprised to see Lord Elrond, statue like just a few feet away, watching him. Like Frodo, he wore a long, heavy cloak, oiled against the worst of the deluge.
“Good afternoon, Frodo. The weather is a little inclement for travelling abroad so I thought you would appreciate some company, but perhaps you were intending to take a walk after all. I would be happy to accompany you if that is your wish.”
Frodo grinned, stepping aside to wave his friend through the door. “I decided to see what you found so appealing about rain.”
“And what did you discover?” Rain dripped unheeded from the tip of Elrond's nose.
“That I enjoy it better from the other side of a pane of glass. I think I'd rather have a cup of tea if you would care to join me.”
Elrond chuckled as he ducked inside, pausing to offer Frodo a cloth wrapped bundle from beneath his sheltering cloak. “I believe it is tea time.”
Both smiled as Bilbo's drowsy voice called, “Frodo, is that someone at the door?”
“Yes, uncle. It is Elrond and he has brought a cake.”
Bilbo's voice was drowsy no longer. “How uncommonly decent of him. I'll go and put on the kettle. The lady Celebrian always bakes such lovely cakes.”
It seemed there was something to be said for rainy afternoons in the West after all.
END
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- Erulisse (one L)
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- Erulisse (one L)
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*hugs*
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I think PG Wodehouse's 'Bertie Wooster' expressed it , "Like the world was back from the dry cleaners."
Elves of course would be more elevated from puddles and splashes than the poor Hobbits. So they could entertain lofty ideas.
Rain clouds hanging mistily around the mountain tops. Rainfall filling the little mountain streams and waterfalls quenching the earth and trees.
How thoughtful of Elrond to bring cake, though. I do so enjoy being in your fiction world. Another lovely read. X
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