♡ The Lord of the Rings: Cold (Next Generation Remix)
♡ [ Elanor Gardner, Rosie/Sam/Frodo | PG | 257 words ]
Elanor always knew that her family wasn’t like others.
Warnings: Vampire hobbits.
Original story: Cold by hyel, 257 words.
Remix author: sophinisba
Cold (Next Generation Remix)
Elanor always knew that her family wasn’t like others. There was the shape of it, for one thing, with three parents who shared a bed and shared so many children. But they taught her that was nothing to be ashamed of. Neither was the fact that her fathers had gone off and had adventures in faraway places. That, she understood, was something to be proud of.
But there was something else queer about the hobbits of Bag End, another reason why the neighbor children were frightened to play at Elanor’s home, and the adults - even near relatives like May and Marigold - looked on her with pity.
It wasn’t because Frodo and Sam never got any older. Mr. Bilbo hadn’t either, and that was strange but not sinful, in the villagers’ judgment.
But for a mother, she heard them whisper, it’s not natural.
When she was a child nothing could be more natural to Elanor than being held in her mother’s arms. Except that it made her shiver, and being held by Marigold or Estella was never like that.
She started to flinch away from her mother’s touch, started trying to find out why it felt that way.
By the time her youngest brother was born Elanor understood more, and she would shiver just to look at them together, to know that little Tommy was drinking life from a cold breast, just as she had done when she was a baby. Just as Sam and Frodo had been drinking the life from Rosie’s veins for all these years.
Elanor always knew that her family wasn’t like others.
Warnings: Vampire hobbits.
Original story: Cold by hyel, 257 words.
Remix author: sophinisba
Cold (Next Generation Remix)
Elanor always knew that her family wasn’t like others. There was the shape of it, for one thing, with three parents who shared a bed and shared so many children. But they taught her that was nothing to be ashamed of. Neither was the fact that her fathers had gone off and had adventures in faraway places. That, she understood, was something to be proud of.
But there was something else queer about the hobbits of Bag End, another reason why the neighbor children were frightened to play at Elanor’s home, and the adults - even near relatives like May and Marigold - looked on her with pity.
It wasn’t because Frodo and Sam never got any older. Mr. Bilbo hadn’t either, and that was strange but not sinful, in the villagers’ judgment.
But for a mother, she heard them whisper, it’s not natural.
When she was a child nothing could be more natural to Elanor than being held in her mother’s arms. Except that it made her shiver, and being held by Marigold or Estella was never like that.
She started to flinch away from her mother’s touch, started trying to find out why it felt that way.
By the time her youngest brother was born Elanor understood more, and she would shiver just to look at them together, to know that little Tommy was drinking life from a cold breast, just as she had done when she was a baby. Just as Sam and Frodo had been drinking the life from Rosie’s veins for all these years.