Spring Water
Peeling the apples is something very kin to torture. Their skins are the brightest, most enticing red that Frodo has ever seen. Their scent is so strong that a faint ghost of the taste hangs in Frodo's mouth, begging to be completed. It's hard to keep from biting into them, just once. But Frodo is helping the Lady Goldberry put lunch together, and eating that lunch as they make it wouldn't be very useful at all, so he doesn't.
It helps to ignore the apples if he watches Goldberry instead, so he does. Goldbery is a delight to watch. Her movements are quick and purposeful, full of a freedom that makes Frodo think that everyone is wrong when they show Luthien floating. Real dancing is like this, strong and easy, with feet that truly touch the ground.
She's a lot like Sam really, he finds himself thinking, and he isn't sure entirely what he means by it. He thinks perhaps it's simply that they're both good, good all the way to the very center of their marrow. Bone sweet, Bilbo used to call it, and the term's a good one. They both glow in a way, Goldberry like a sunbeam caught in a tangling fall of water, and Sam like a leaf in the morning, the sun setting it to a green fire.
He can't help smiling. Yes, that's it. Both are lovely, but not the far away glimmer kind of lovely that elves are. They've lovely like rain in spring, needed and wonderful, but not strange or far away.
He breaks off his thoughts as Goldberry turns to smile at him, her lips twitching at finding him watching. He smiles back, trying to shove his blush back down where it came from. Drat his fair skin! It makes it so very clear when he's embarrassed.
"You're not used to taking a fancy to a lady, are you?" Goldberry asks, sliding into the chair across from Frodo and snagging one of the apple peels to munch.
"No," he answers, "I don't usually…notice. But-" He cut himself off quickly, flushing. But Goldberry turned her head to one side, asking, and couldn't refuse to tell her. He couldn't refuse her anything. "But some women do move me."
"Oh?" Goldberry says, her eyes dancing like stars in dark water.
"Like you do. You're very beautiful." Frodo says, and ducks his head, reaching for an apple to peel to hide the heat in his cheeks.
Goldberry's laugh is rather like a stream in spring melt, swift and a little wild, but achingly kind.