Characters: will be revealed later
Book/Source: Silmarillion, I suppose - early 3rd age, Rivendell
Disclaimer: This is a work of transformative fiction based on JRR Tolkien’s creation, done purely for enjoyment. No infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Many thanks to heartofoshun for looking these over! Any remaining mistakes are my own.
Thick mists rolled down from the mountains, cutting off the warmth of the sunshine. Shivering, he closed the shutters, lighting two lamps instead. Now that the summer was over, nobody wanted to work in the drying loft, cold and dark as it was. He volunteered for the solitude it offered.
Humming to himself, he clipped down bunches of dried herbs and spread them on clean sheets on the floor. Next came picking off the leaves and storing them in jars for the use of the kitchens and the Healing Halls. It might be a boring task, but he was content.
The next sunny day might find him hiking down the river, buckets and bags slung over his shoulders. The time was right for picking rose hips. A much sought-after staple for both kitchens and Healing Halls, the maws were dried, powdered, or cooked into a pulp for teas, physics, and sweetmeats. Even the seeds yielded oil for cosmetic and healing use.
The collecting was another unpopular task, and again one he enjoyed despite the thorny shrubs. This time less for the solitude, but for the hidden beauties of late autumn, like cobwebs wet with dew, glittering in the sun.