She dreams of Golden Hope

Book Three: In the Silence I forget

"The Sunrise—Sire—compelleth Me— Because He's Sunrise—and I see— Therefore—Then—I love Thee"— Why do I love You, Sir?, Emily Dickinson

The sunshine filtered through the thick, stain glass of the kitchen's window and caused the dark wooden shade of the oaken table to be tinged with a lighter hue. It was a warm, early summer morning and accordingly to the station of the year, the kitchen of Bag End was already pleasantly warm. Yet she did not feel so. She had always enjoyed summer, as she had been able to see the flowers in full bloom and would daily enjoy the warm sun shining on her face, as she sat in the garden she had inherited of her late aunt. The birds would chirp their glory song, fully disfruiting of the pleasant weather, the butterflies with their eclectic, colorful wings would flutter around her and each time she would be amazed at the design on their wings, because she had thought that it could have gotten anymore creative or artistic, but she was to be surprised when a butterfly would come by with lemon-yellow wings adorned with blue swirls on the edge of their flying ornament. Spring was certainly a jovial time, as it marked the end of the constantly hard season of winter, autumn was handsome as her surroundings shifted from lush green, to warm shades of brown and red and winter did have its charm, when the snow blanketed the shire and everything around was the purest white. But summer in the shire... that had always been something she loved... loved with an intensity and with a joviality that even rivaled the one she'd held as a fauntling. She loved lying on her back in the meadow of her late aunt's garden with the sun shining upon her face and her eyes closed in blissful contentment, her red hair open like a fiery halo around her head. She loved the smell of recently bloomed sweet peas and daisies and gardenias, that came from Hamfast's garden, as they wafted through the warm air, which's heat only seemed to increase the intensity of the scents. She loved the smell of lemons and other fresh fruits, that traveled the distance from the market to her hobbit hole. She loved how the warm spring air took its seat upon her skin. She loved summer in the Shire... it was her safe heaven, her sanctuary. She loved it there.

She had loved it there. Because this season she took no pleasure of the summer she had previously so adored. The heat no longer kissed her skin, like the lightest and most pleasant companion, but rather seemed stifling. Smothering to such an extent that one day when she had finally dared to venture out into the garden to tend it, as she had cruelly neglected it this spring. She had been unable to stay out for even half of an hour, even when previously she would often remain the entirety of a day in her late aunt's garden, surrounded by the blooming flora. She had been unable to stay outside for even half an hour, when she had started to feel breathless and her breathing had quickened furiously, because she had felt as if her breathing passages had been cut off and the bodice and collar of her dress had, to her, resembled strangling ropes. She had quickly reentered her room and had locked the door and leaned against the door, trying to catch her breath, loosening the tight bodice of her clothes. Her legs had given out beneath her and she had ended up sat on the wooden floor, still breathing heavily and with her eyes burning. She had not gone back, much to Bilbo and Hamfast's disappointment.

She no longer joined her cousin, while he smoked his pipe after first breakfast and sat on the wooden bench beside the front door of Bag End. When spring season had arrived, her cousin had bid her to join him, had bid her to recover their tradition. But she had refused him on several occasions and eventually he had stopped asking, though she would feel his sad gaze on her back, as he exited their hobbit hole. She would steadfastly ignore him, ignore the warmth of his gaze on her back, which left her feeling so cold inwardly. She had refused him with sad eyes and a dreary expression and she had seen Bilbo's worry and his fear for her increasing quickly, as her favorite time of year arrived and she no longer smiled to herself, as she looked out the window of Bag End while she cooked or sat in their living room with her knees drawn and looking over one of his old maps. She could feel his worry radiating off him when he perceived how she tried to avoid looking out at the picturesque landscape of summer, how her eyes increasingly lost their light and her appearance became washed out and ashen, while the world outside her become more vibrant, warmer, more beautiful. Silence was the one thing that now seemed to prevail in Bag End and then one morning she had walked into the kitchen and she had seen Bilbo preparing the tea kettle, while he had been humming the tune she'd always sing in the early mornings. Recognizing the slightly melancholy melody of the nursery rhyme her mother had sang to her during her early years of life, she had turned on her heel and returned to her room, feeling the kitchen and the image of Bilbo's hunched shoulders while he sang her song.