Frodo never remembered just when he fell asleep; all he knew was that when he awoke it was to a moonlit night and a crackling fire . . . and to find his head was softly cushioned in Mornenêl's lap. She wasn't immediately aware of his wakening; she was busy in conversation in Quenya with Bilbo who was seated on the other side of her. Frodo stared up at her profile for a long moment, drinking her in, when he felt someone else watching him. He turned his head slightly to note that Legolas was staring at him with an unreadable expression, seated on the other side of the fire.
Guiltily he sat up, flushing.
"Ah, now the youngster wakes up! Thought I'd have to carry you home, Frodo my boy," Bilbo said, obviously well into his cups by the red glow of his cheeks and the slur in his speech. Mornenêl chuckled good naturedly and ruffled his hair; she hardly seemed embarrassed at the position he had just been in. No doubt to her he was just a child, not even worth worrying about.
"Is it time to leave?" he asked Bilbo, but he couldn't seem to take his eyes off Mornenêl. He wanted to say something to her, something that would leave a lasting impression, somehow prove he wasn't just a little childling with a silly crush.
"Soon," Bilbo said, nodding and waving a hand over to the baskets which were both empty now. The elves were all seated or lying back against tree trunks and rocks, quietly talking or humming. Mornenêl's mother sat next to Legolas; it almost seemed she was avoiding her daughter somehow.
Frodo carefully noted Mornenêl's own closed expression—she was hurt, he could just feel it inside. Perhaps he could say something to her mother, something that would make her change her mind . . . "I should say goodbye to your mother, if she is really leaving . . ." he trailed off, not wanting to give any further hints where his thoughts were leading him. He stood and walked over before she could protest.
He bowed to the elven Lady. Would that he could recall her name! "I understand you set sail for the Undying Lands soon," he spoke in Quenya. "I also understand your daughter weds soon. You will not see the ceremony?" There, that hopefully wouldn't sound accusing, only curious, and with his poor accent perhaps it would be forgivable.
The elf smiled wistfully, and now Frodo could see the age difference; it was all in the eyes. If anything this one's grief was twice that which Mornenêl bore. "No, I cannot. She deserves joy and hope. I have none left to give her. It is right she make a fresh life, and I will not darken the moment of its inception. You are kind to worry, Peredhil Frodo. I see you and Mornenêl have already found friendship. I hope it continues, though you must know the passage of your life is but a fleeting thing to us."
That took some of the wind out of what he had been about to say. She was wise; the dancing and the merrymaking was but a mask for her, he saw now. "You don't think your presence is already a joy to her?"
She smiled, and the faintest of wrinkles showed around her eyes. "You've never had a loved one fall to illness, have you? We are strong of body, but our hearts can sicken as surely as mortal flesh. It can be torture to watch. That is why I must go. I have burdened her long enough."
No, he hadn't ever seen someone fall to illness; he could only imagine what it would be like. He had no more words for her, so he bowed again and prepared to make his farewell, but she stopped him with a soft hand to his shoulder. "I appreciate your concern. I will speak to Legolas; I will make sure you are always a welcome guest in our home. Please do come visit. I think you brighten her soul. May Elbereth watch over you all your days, Frodo Baggins."
"And upon you also," he immediately responded, and embraced her. When he turned he found Bilbo waiting for him with an empty basket.
"We'd best be getting on—they're somewhat private about their farewells, which will take place in the morning. I understand if you want to say farewell in private to Mornenêl there—don't gape, dear Frodo; you'd have to be blind to see you weren't taken with her. It's all right; they're used to awe from the likes of us. I think it amuses them. I'll be waiting at the edge of the wood." With that, he began walking, with only a slight lean in his step to show that the wine was still well along with him.
Mornenêl had stood but cunningly found a hollow to stand in so that she was very nearly eye level with him when he approached her.
"You won't be coming to the Shire again soon, will you," he began, trying to ignore a persistent ache somewhere in the region of his chest. Why was it so hard to breathe when she looked at him?
She shook her head, her deep sapphire eyes shining, though with joy or sadness, he wasn't certain. "You could come to Mirkwood, when you're older."
Yes, she certainly had noticed his lack of age, but it was an invitation nonetheless. "I'd like that. In eight more years, I'll be of age. Bilbo and I could travel together."
She smiled—ah now that was joy! "I'll be expecting you in eight years, then. It is but a moment in time. Be of good cheer. I very much liked speaking with you. I name you Elf Friend."
Friends, well, it was something. He bowed his head graciously, then shyly leaned in, wondering if he was allowed an embrace.
The press of her lips on his cheek—just an inch or two from his lips—made his heart stop. Then she wrapped her arms around him and he thought he could die and be satisfied.
When she withdrew, he shivered, suddenly noticing the cold. He opened his mouth to say something, but there was nothing to say. With a deep breath that he hoped would rid him of all the emotions churning inside, he turned away and began walking. It was better to keep this image with him, forever. He mustn't turn around and see her sorrow. Just concentrate on the feel of her pressed against him.
He reached Bilbo and heaved a great sigh.
"Let's go home."
---
next: "Interlude"
Guiltily he sat up, flushing.
"Ah, now the youngster wakes up! Thought I'd have to carry you home, Frodo my boy," Bilbo said, obviously well into his cups by the red glow of his cheeks and the slur in his speech. Mornenêl chuckled good naturedly and ruffled his hair; she hardly seemed embarrassed at the position he had just been in. No doubt to her he was just a child, not even worth worrying about.
"Is it time to leave?" he asked Bilbo, but he couldn't seem to take his eyes off Mornenêl. He wanted to say something to her, something that would leave a lasting impression, somehow prove he wasn't just a little childling with a silly crush.
"Soon," Bilbo said, nodding and waving a hand over to the baskets which were both empty now. The elves were all seated or lying back against tree trunks and rocks, quietly talking or humming. Mornenêl's mother sat next to Legolas; it almost seemed she was avoiding her daughter somehow.
Frodo carefully noted Mornenêl's own closed expression—she was hurt, he could just feel it inside. Perhaps he could say something to her mother, something that would make her change her mind . . . "I should say goodbye to your mother, if she is really leaving . . ." he trailed off, not wanting to give any further hints where his thoughts were leading him. He stood and walked over before she could protest.
He bowed to the elven Lady. Would that he could recall her name! "I understand you set sail for the Undying Lands soon," he spoke in Quenya. "I also understand your daughter weds soon. You will not see the ceremony?" There, that hopefully wouldn't sound accusing, only curious, and with his poor accent perhaps it would be forgivable.
The elf smiled wistfully, and now Frodo could see the age difference; it was all in the eyes. If anything this one's grief was twice that which Mornenêl bore. "No, I cannot. She deserves joy and hope. I have none left to give her. It is right she make a fresh life, and I will not darken the moment of its inception. You are kind to worry, Peredhil Frodo. I see you and Mornenêl have already found friendship. I hope it continues, though you must know the passage of your life is but a fleeting thing to us."
That took some of the wind out of what he had been about to say. She was wise; the dancing and the merrymaking was but a mask for her, he saw now. "You don't think your presence is already a joy to her?"
She smiled, and the faintest of wrinkles showed around her eyes. "You've never had a loved one fall to illness, have you? We are strong of body, but our hearts can sicken as surely as mortal flesh. It can be torture to watch. That is why I must go. I have burdened her long enough."
No, he hadn't ever seen someone fall to illness; he could only imagine what it would be like. He had no more words for her, so he bowed again and prepared to make his farewell, but she stopped him with a soft hand to his shoulder. "I appreciate your concern. I will speak to Legolas; I will make sure you are always a welcome guest in our home. Please do come visit. I think you brighten her soul. May Elbereth watch over you all your days, Frodo Baggins."
"And upon you also," he immediately responded, and embraced her. When he turned he found Bilbo waiting for him with an empty basket.
"We'd best be getting on—they're somewhat private about their farewells, which will take place in the morning. I understand if you want to say farewell in private to Mornenêl there—don't gape, dear Frodo; you'd have to be blind to see you weren't taken with her. It's all right; they're used to awe from the likes of us. I think it amuses them. I'll be waiting at the edge of the wood." With that, he began walking, with only a slight lean in his step to show that the wine was still well along with him.
Mornenêl had stood but cunningly found a hollow to stand in so that she was very nearly eye level with him when he approached her.
"You won't be coming to the Shire again soon, will you," he began, trying to ignore a persistent ache somewhere in the region of his chest. Why was it so hard to breathe when she looked at him?
She shook her head, her deep sapphire eyes shining, though with joy or sadness, he wasn't certain. "You could come to Mirkwood, when you're older."
Yes, she certainly had noticed his lack of age, but it was an invitation nonetheless. "I'd like that. In eight more years, I'll be of age. Bilbo and I could travel together."
She smiled—ah now that was joy! "I'll be expecting you in eight years, then. It is but a moment in time. Be of good cheer. I very much liked speaking with you. I name you Elf Friend."
Friends, well, it was something. He bowed his head graciously, then shyly leaned in, wondering if he was allowed an embrace.
The press of her lips on his cheek—just an inch or two from his lips—made his heart stop. Then she wrapped her arms around him and he thought he could die and be satisfied.
When she withdrew, he shivered, suddenly noticing the cold. He opened his mouth to say something, but there was nothing to say. With a deep breath that he hoped would rid him of all the emotions churning inside, he turned away and began walking. It was better to keep this image with him, forever. He mustn't turn around and see her sorrow. Just concentrate on the feel of her pressed against him.
He reached Bilbo and heaved a great sigh.
"Let's go home."
---
next: "Interlude"