---
Frodo was breathing hard from running. It wasn't easy convincing Sam he needed a few moments to himself, and of course Bilbo wanted to see more of him, and Gandalf had maps to show him--suddenly his days had grown very busy! Thank goodness for Elrond; he had decided Frodo still needed to rest some from his injury, and ordered everyone to leave him alone--and of course instantly Frodo had left his room where he was supposed to be sleeping and come up here to the fountain to wait for Mornenêl.
The afternoon passed. He waited, growing more and more worried--had he come too early? Had she changed her mind? Was she in trouble of some kind? He went over the words they had spoken over and over in his mind, trying to see if he had offended her somehow, or perhaps put too much meaning into her actions. Well who had he been fooling, anyway. She probably did consider him as something of a child--a friend, perhaps, even a friend she could love . . . would that be enough for him?
He nodded to himself. Anything would be enough for him. Just to watch her from afar, just to look into her eyes, it was enough. It had to be. There was no future for the two of them together.
Finally he heard someone coming, and stood ready to greet Mornenêl, but just in time he heard another voice, masculine, and ducked behind the fountain, stirring up a cloud of leaves. The steps grew nearer and they were talking in Quenya. He held his breath; something about the soft whisper of one of their feet sounded like Mornenêl, but he couldn't be certain.
"You did not need to accompany me on my walk today," Mornenêl said in a quiet voice, confirming Frodo's suspicion that it was her presence he had sensed.
"You spend too much time by yourself. This is a great place; you will not find the resources of knowledge anywhere else in Middle Earth. You should go back under Nenrómen's tutelage and learn the great songs of the First Age. They laugh at you when you ask questions about the songs. I don't like anyone laughing at my wife." His voice was smooth and gentle, but Frodo felt a sense of disdain behind it. Frodo was crouched over, digging his fingers into the soft earth until they began to cramp, fighting the urge to peek up over the rim of the fountain. The whisper of the fallen leaves gave away their movements; they were passing just on the other side. He readied his words in case they should spot him.
"Thank you for your concern, Turil, but I do not want to. It would not matter how much I learned; the ladies here simply do not like me. I am alone whether I am with them or by myself, and I find I much prefer my own company." She paused, and Frodo wondered if she could see some sign of him--perhaps the leaves he had disturbed, or a footprint? He did not breathe until he heard Turil speak again.
"You miss your people. I can understand that. Would you like me to arrange for your return to Mirkwood? The pass is becoming more and more dangerous since these new tidings of the Nine and the growing strength of Dol Guldur, but perhaps we can still manage a safe passage for you. I don't want you to be unhappy." Frodo closed his eyes; he wanted to hate this elflord, for being what he was, for the honor and the luck of having this lady, but he couldn't. Turil sounded like a good elf. Perhaps not one who understood the error he had made in marrying a lady so unlike him, but a good elf.
The footsteps grew closer and Frodo feared they would either circle round the fountain or sit down upon it; either way they would surely see him, but just as he thought that, Mornenêl gave a little gasp and he heard her rush away from the fountain, back towards the path. Turil's passage was softer as he followed.
"I thought I saw a squirrel--the little fellow I feed when I come here to sew--but I must have only imagined it," Mornenêl explained sheepishly. Was he the little squirrel, Frodo wondered.
"Well, what am I to do with you? What do you want of me," Turil asked. Frodo could almost see him; he probably had his arms crossed. The temptation was becoming too great--they must leave soon, or he would try and peek over the fountain . . . or put on the Ring and stand boldly up. No. That couldn't be an option. He didn't even know why he had thought of it.
"I will stay here until spring. Perhaps summer. You are right; there is great evil moving in the world; I doubt they can spare any to protect me on such a journey, but there is hope that things will improve; otherwise it will hardly matter where we are. Just let me take my solitude and do not worry about me. I am finally beginning to find peace in this place; I might even enjoy myself here now." Yes, the joy was in her voice; she was not deceiving Turil in that, but Frodo wondered if it was only she had grown used to the place, or if it was his presence here that suddenly made it look brighter. He hoped so. Maybe.
"Very well. I leave in a week for the Havens; I am accompanying Galdor to scout out the territory on the way there, and it will be a good month ere I return. Will you be all right? I wish you had more friends here; I would feel so much better about leaving you alone." They were still at the mouth of the pathway, and by the sound of his voice, Turil was turned away. Frodo inched his way up--he wanted to see this elflord. It was a shameful though, but he could not help it--did he share her bed?
"Legolas is here; I will be well. I know Elrond has many tasks for the lords here; I will not be the only lady left to herself. Go and do not fear for me." There, he could just see them now, one dark head, and one fair--so Turil was of the line of the Teleri, then, Frodo thought, intrigued. He was very tall--a good head taller than her, his sandy hair woven into delicate braids down his back--had she woven those braids? He could not see his face. He didn't want to; surely the elf was far more fair than he.
Frodo bowed his head and rested it against the cool stone of the rim of the fountain, awash with jealousy.
He did not see if they kissed or held hands as they both departed.
He did not come the next day.
---
(tbc)
Frodo was breathing hard from running. It wasn't easy convincing Sam he needed a few moments to himself, and of course Bilbo wanted to see more of him, and Gandalf had maps to show him--suddenly his days had grown very busy! Thank goodness for Elrond; he had decided Frodo still needed to rest some from his injury, and ordered everyone to leave him alone--and of course instantly Frodo had left his room where he was supposed to be sleeping and come up here to the fountain to wait for Mornenêl.
The afternoon passed. He waited, growing more and more worried--had he come too early? Had she changed her mind? Was she in trouble of some kind? He went over the words they had spoken over and over in his mind, trying to see if he had offended her somehow, or perhaps put too much meaning into her actions. Well who had he been fooling, anyway. She probably did consider him as something of a child--a friend, perhaps, even a friend she could love . . . would that be enough for him?
He nodded to himself. Anything would be enough for him. Just to watch her from afar, just to look into her eyes, it was enough. It had to be. There was no future for the two of them together.
Finally he heard someone coming, and stood ready to greet Mornenêl, but just in time he heard another voice, masculine, and ducked behind the fountain, stirring up a cloud of leaves. The steps grew nearer and they were talking in Quenya. He held his breath; something about the soft whisper of one of their feet sounded like Mornenêl, but he couldn't be certain.
"You did not need to accompany me on my walk today," Mornenêl said in a quiet voice, confirming Frodo's suspicion that it was her presence he had sensed.
"You spend too much time by yourself. This is a great place; you will not find the resources of knowledge anywhere else in Middle Earth. You should go back under Nenrómen's tutelage and learn the great songs of the First Age. They laugh at you when you ask questions about the songs. I don't like anyone laughing at my wife." His voice was smooth and gentle, but Frodo felt a sense of disdain behind it. Frodo was crouched over, digging his fingers into the soft earth until they began to cramp, fighting the urge to peek up over the rim of the fountain. The whisper of the fallen leaves gave away their movements; they were passing just on the other side. He readied his words in case they should spot him.
"Thank you for your concern, Turil, but I do not want to. It would not matter how much I learned; the ladies here simply do not like me. I am alone whether I am with them or by myself, and I find I much prefer my own company." She paused, and Frodo wondered if she could see some sign of him--perhaps the leaves he had disturbed, or a footprint? He did not breathe until he heard Turil speak again.
"You miss your people. I can understand that. Would you like me to arrange for your return to Mirkwood? The pass is becoming more and more dangerous since these new tidings of the Nine and the growing strength of Dol Guldur, but perhaps we can still manage a safe passage for you. I don't want you to be unhappy." Frodo closed his eyes; he wanted to hate this elflord, for being what he was, for the honor and the luck of having this lady, but he couldn't. Turil sounded like a good elf. Perhaps not one who understood the error he had made in marrying a lady so unlike him, but a good elf.
The footsteps grew closer and Frodo feared they would either circle round the fountain or sit down upon it; either way they would surely see him, but just as he thought that, Mornenêl gave a little gasp and he heard her rush away from the fountain, back towards the path. Turil's passage was softer as he followed.
"I thought I saw a squirrel--the little fellow I feed when I come here to sew--but I must have only imagined it," Mornenêl explained sheepishly. Was he the little squirrel, Frodo wondered.
"Well, what am I to do with you? What do you want of me," Turil asked. Frodo could almost see him; he probably had his arms crossed. The temptation was becoming too great--they must leave soon, or he would try and peek over the fountain . . . or put on the Ring and stand boldly up. No. That couldn't be an option. He didn't even know why he had thought of it.
"I will stay here until spring. Perhaps summer. You are right; there is great evil moving in the world; I doubt they can spare any to protect me on such a journey, but there is hope that things will improve; otherwise it will hardly matter where we are. Just let me take my solitude and do not worry about me. I am finally beginning to find peace in this place; I might even enjoy myself here now." Yes, the joy was in her voice; she was not deceiving Turil in that, but Frodo wondered if it was only she had grown used to the place, or if it was his presence here that suddenly made it look brighter. He hoped so. Maybe.
"Very well. I leave in a week for the Havens; I am accompanying Galdor to scout out the territory on the way there, and it will be a good month ere I return. Will you be all right? I wish you had more friends here; I would feel so much better about leaving you alone." They were still at the mouth of the pathway, and by the sound of his voice, Turil was turned away. Frodo inched his way up--he wanted to see this elflord. It was a shameful though, but he could not help it--did he share her bed?
"Legolas is here; I will be well. I know Elrond has many tasks for the lords here; I will not be the only lady left to herself. Go and do not fear for me." There, he could just see them now, one dark head, and one fair--so Turil was of the line of the Teleri, then, Frodo thought, intrigued. He was very tall--a good head taller than her, his sandy hair woven into delicate braids down his back--had she woven those braids? He could not see his face. He didn't want to; surely the elf was far more fair than he.
Frodo bowed his head and rested it against the cool stone of the rim of the fountain, awash with jealousy.
He did not see if they kissed or held hands as they both departed.
He did not come the next day.
---
(tbc)