BagEnd, the decent Hobbit dwelling
It was a depressingly stormy night. Bolts of lightning zigzagged their way down with a blinding flash. The black clouds hung low, forming a wispy ring around a hill, which was barely visible in the heavy rainstorm. Sheets of rain splashed violently on the round green door of BagEnd.
Behind the circular windows Frodo Gamgee stood, his blue eyes staring thoughtfully out onto the grounds outside, a mug of hot chocolate steaming in one hand. He was quite alone; Sam, Rosie and most of his brothers and sisters had gone to Gondor. (He was to stay home as a penalty of feeding the wild deer a large amount of Sam’s precious taters) Pippin had gone to visit his girlfriend Lavender, (as mentioned in “Pippin and Hyacinth” before) Elanor was at the Tooks’. Frodo was riotic and playful and rarely still, but the miserable weather and the all-too-still loneness seemed to have calmed his active self down.
He watched as the billowing wind brought down the white roses his father had worked so much on breeding. He watched as the stalks of the crop danced under the push of the shrieking wind, the birch tree wavering slightly …….
Frodo frowned. Was that his imagination or what? The crops were tilting to two sides, as though someone was trying to squeeze through them. It was impossible…even the maddest of all madmen wouldn’t go walking out there in such a terrible storm. Smiling and shaking his head, Frodo turned away and took a long sip from his mug. Perhaps he had read his Uncle Frodo’s book one time too much.
It was long before he heard the soft knocking on the door. The person seemed to be decently nice; the knocking was soft, shy and undisturbingly polite. Opening the door with warm expectancy of meeting a nice hobbit, Frodo peeked his head over the door. What met his eyes froze his blood; he stood as though transfixed, wild fear coursing through him like poison.
Ringwraith. Long had he been told of this creature. He had read of it, had listened when Sam told its evilness to him. It was too familiar. On the doorsteps a figure towered over the wind and storm, it’s black cloak flapping loudly. It raised its head, the drooping hood concealing its nothingness…
Frodo had enough. Dropping the chocolate mug to the floor with an enormous clang , he jumped back as though electrocuted. Frodo let out a trembling war cry; he waited for it to attack. To his surprise, it stepped back instead. Its next action frightened him even more…it took off its hood.
Frodo backed off and knocked a few books down the shelf, this time feeling embarrassingly shocked. In front of his eyes the hood revealed a pretty lass’ face. She had gorgeous light brown eyes, naively long eyelashes, and thin tapered nose; sleek dark hair that went down to her waist, thoroughly wet from the rain.
“Excuse me, may I shelter for a bit in here?” she asked, her voice ringing timidly like a bell.
“Oh yeah, yeah…of course,” replied Frodo, unable to recover himself.” I’ll get you a cup of tea.”
“Thanks,” she said gratefully. “Mister, do you know where BagEnd is?” she inquired almost rushly.
“BagEnd? It’s here!” cried Frodo, louder than he intended. The girl seemed to be shocked for a moment but quickly recovered herself.
“What’s your name?” said Frodo kindly. “You foreign?” he added. This girl looked certainly elvish.
” I…I am Naranor,” she begin evasively, “I came from far away.”
Frodo was trying to ask her about her homeland when a calling rang amid the rainstorm.
“Larelin! Larelin! Are you here?” The voice was strong and kingly.
“It’s uncle Aragorn!” cried Frodo, he turned excitedly to Naranor.
To his horror, Naranor had her sword unsheathed and she looked nothing but evil.
“So he has come,” she said almost sarcastically.