---
The next two days Frodo stayed close to his friends, spending time in Bilbo's room, listening to Merry and Pip go on about the trolls--he hadn't really been aware of things by that point, and he insisted that Sam sing his song again--it really was quite funny. He tried not to think about Mornenêl and whether she had gone to the fountain to wait for him--if her husband was leaving soon, it was likely she was busy anyway, and he wasn't quite ready to face her and tell her what he had witnessed. If she didn't already know--he thought perhaps she had suspected his presence. It was all very confusing.
In the evenings they went to the Hall of Fire to listen to the singing--no dancing, not here; it wasn't really the style of these elves--but certainly there were merry songs as well as esoteric ones, and Bilbo tried now and again to sing one of his. Frodo relaxed and simply let the music carry him to distant lands and happier times.
Mornenêl's voice brought him abruptly out of one such dream. She was singing.
The nearest Frodo could translate the elvish was thus:
Sparrow, sparrow stretch forth your wings
Fly fast where sun meets sea
Do not tarry; do not falter
My love I send with thee
O'er forest, o'er mountain, hill and dale
Wing fast oh tender thing
The world is changing colors fast
Cry out my Sparrow; sing.
I'll wait for thee in Imladris
Til stars their twinkling end
And still I'll wait for I must know
My message you will send.
Fly hard, fly swift, dear Sparrow, Sparrow
Where dream and time do part
Mother's tears go dry
As she receives my heart.
The song ended and there was a smattering of polite applause around the chamber. Frodo sat up from where he had been lounging back in one of the comfortable chaises along the walls; in the center of the room, sparkling in the deep sapphire gown he had seen her working on, was Mornenêl.
Frodo felt the urge to cheer and run up to her, but he could not. Turil was with her, and for the first time, Frodo saw his face. He was indeed as fair as he had feared the elflord would be.
Still, though he could not show the depth of his delight in her singing, he could still support her. "Bilbo, look there! That is Mornenêl, or my ears deceive me. You didn't tell me she was here." Which, as he reflected over it, the old hobbit should have--he knew how Frodo had felt about Mornenêl--Frodo had moped for weeks after his first meeting with her, until Bilbo threatened to set him up with every unmarried lass he knew under 50. Of course age had caught up with dear Bilbo. Perhaps it had just slipped his mind.
"Goodness me, I forgot to tell you, yes you're right of course; that's Mornenêl, and Turil her husband beside her. I have only heard her sing a few times--come, we must say hello to them. She will laugh at seeing you here, I am sure!" Bilbo put his gnarled old hand in Frodo's and pulled him forward, and chuckling to himself, Frodo followed, and Sam who had woken up during their conversation also came with them, stifling a yawn. They left behind Pippin still snoring on the chaise, and Merry who was busy trying to outwit an elflord at a game of cards.
As they approached Mornenêl, Frodo's heart was in his throat. How much of his feelings would everyone be able to read? He wasn't an innocent in his tweens this time; he could not hide behind that excuse. He felt stark naked before the elves crowding the chamber, their ancient eyes watching. . .
He took note carefully how Bilbo greeted her, with both hands out. He shook Turil's hand first, saying, "Lord Turil, I'm sure you've heard me speak of my nephew--well here he is--you two must simply meet. And Mornenêl, did you write that one yourself? It reminds me of Thranduil's halls, what memories! You remember Frodo, don't you?" As he addressed Mornenêl, he came forward and gave her a friendly hug.
Frodo followed suit exactly, keeping his eyes down lest they betray his emotion, followed by a bewildered Sam who blushed and said nothing. Frodo swallowed; even that brief contact with her sent a delightful tingle along his skin, but he didn't allow himself to dwell on that, instead taking on his customary role as if he were still Master of Bag End and these were honored guests.
"My gardener and good friend, Samwise Gamgee," he introduced Sam. Bracing himself, he looked in her direction, avoiding her eyes, "You look as beautiful as ever, Mornenêl, and your song was inspired. I'm pleased to say I can understand all your words in the fair elven tongue now." Oh it galled him to act so falsely--it was both a betrayal to his dear uncle and Sam, as it was to her. He didn't' even dare tell her with his eyes how he was really feeling at this moment--the risk was too great. Would she understand? Or was this, along with his absence from the fountain, going to prove to her that he had lost interest?
"Well met, Frodo, Sam," Turil said--he seemed somewhat awkward, bending down to shake their hands, and said nothing else, looking to the other elves as if seeking to extricate himself.
"Thank you, Bilbo. I did write that. And of course I remember Frodo; such a remarkable hobbit--I am not surprised to hear the tales they are already singing of you."
Frodo smiled, and now he dared to look into her eyes; there was no blame in them, only love. He stood straight and bowed. "You honor me, my Lady."
They exchanged light pleasantries, Mornenêl asking Sam about his work and in particular the kinds of trees he worked with and how they fared in the Shire--she was, after all a Wood Elf, and while there were trees here, it was nothing compared to Greenwood the Great, especially not the Greenwood she had grown up in. Turil succeeded in extricating himself when another lord came up to make a compliment on her song, and Mornenêl brushed close by him to whisper one word in elven, "ektele"--fountain.
Frodo nodded. "Senmôr?" he whispered--one of the few Sindarin words he knew. She nodded. Tonight. He felt a leap of joy and something else--he tried to hide the blush.
"Eh?" Bilbo asked, looking askance at him.
"No more," Frodo said, "It's getting late, and we should get some sleep--I know Gandalf wants me to study maps with him again tomorrow and Sam has sword practice."
Bilbo laughed. "Of course. Well it was very good to chat with you, Mornenêl. Perhaps tomorrow you'll grace us with your presence again."
Mornenêl smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "With such company, how could I refuse? Tomorrow then."
She returned to her husband's side and whispered something in his ear--something about leaving, Frodo hoped. He forced himself to turn away, plotting how to sneak out of his room . . .
Bilbo woke Pippin and dragged Merry grumpily from his game where he'd been losing, and the five hobbits walked back to their guest chambers.
By moonrise Frodo had snuck out.
---
The next two days Frodo stayed close to his friends, spending time in Bilbo's room, listening to Merry and Pip go on about the trolls--he hadn't really been aware of things by that point, and he insisted that Sam sing his song again--it really was quite funny. He tried not to think about Mornenêl and whether she had gone to the fountain to wait for him--if her husband was leaving soon, it was likely she was busy anyway, and he wasn't quite ready to face her and tell her what he had witnessed. If she didn't already know--he thought perhaps she had suspected his presence. It was all very confusing.
In the evenings they went to the Hall of Fire to listen to the singing--no dancing, not here; it wasn't really the style of these elves--but certainly there were merry songs as well as esoteric ones, and Bilbo tried now and again to sing one of his. Frodo relaxed and simply let the music carry him to distant lands and happier times.
Mornenêl's voice brought him abruptly out of one such dream. She was singing.
The nearest Frodo could translate the elvish was thus:
Sparrow, sparrow stretch forth your wings
Fly fast where sun meets sea
Do not tarry; do not falter
My love I send with thee
O'er forest, o'er mountain, hill and dale
Wing fast oh tender thing
The world is changing colors fast
Cry out my Sparrow; sing.
I'll wait for thee in Imladris
Til stars their twinkling end
And still I'll wait for I must know
My message you will send.
Fly hard, fly swift, dear Sparrow, Sparrow
Where dream and time do part
Mother's tears go dry
As she receives my heart.
The song ended and there was a smattering of polite applause around the chamber. Frodo sat up from where he had been lounging back in one of the comfortable chaises along the walls; in the center of the room, sparkling in the deep sapphire gown he had seen her working on, was Mornenêl.
Frodo felt the urge to cheer and run up to her, but he could not. Turil was with her, and for the first time, Frodo saw his face. He was indeed as fair as he had feared the elflord would be.
Still, though he could not show the depth of his delight in her singing, he could still support her. "Bilbo, look there! That is Mornenêl, or my ears deceive me. You didn't tell me she was here." Which, as he reflected over it, the old hobbit should have--he knew how Frodo had felt about Mornenêl--Frodo had moped for weeks after his first meeting with her, until Bilbo threatened to set him up with every unmarried lass he knew under 50. Of course age had caught up with dear Bilbo. Perhaps it had just slipped his mind.
"Goodness me, I forgot to tell you, yes you're right of course; that's Mornenêl, and Turil her husband beside her. I have only heard her sing a few times--come, we must say hello to them. She will laugh at seeing you here, I am sure!" Bilbo put his gnarled old hand in Frodo's and pulled him forward, and chuckling to himself, Frodo followed, and Sam who had woken up during their conversation also came with them, stifling a yawn. They left behind Pippin still snoring on the chaise, and Merry who was busy trying to outwit an elflord at a game of cards.
As they approached Mornenêl, Frodo's heart was in his throat. How much of his feelings would everyone be able to read? He wasn't an innocent in his tweens this time; he could not hide behind that excuse. He felt stark naked before the elves crowding the chamber, their ancient eyes watching. . .
He took note carefully how Bilbo greeted her, with both hands out. He shook Turil's hand first, saying, "Lord Turil, I'm sure you've heard me speak of my nephew--well here he is--you two must simply meet. And Mornenêl, did you write that one yourself? It reminds me of Thranduil's halls, what memories! You remember Frodo, don't you?" As he addressed Mornenêl, he came forward and gave her a friendly hug.
Frodo followed suit exactly, keeping his eyes down lest they betray his emotion, followed by a bewildered Sam who blushed and said nothing. Frodo swallowed; even that brief contact with her sent a delightful tingle along his skin, but he didn't allow himself to dwell on that, instead taking on his customary role as if he were still Master of Bag End and these were honored guests.
"My gardener and good friend, Samwise Gamgee," he introduced Sam. Bracing himself, he looked in her direction, avoiding her eyes, "You look as beautiful as ever, Mornenêl, and your song was inspired. I'm pleased to say I can understand all your words in the fair elven tongue now." Oh it galled him to act so falsely--it was both a betrayal to his dear uncle and Sam, as it was to her. He didn't' even dare tell her with his eyes how he was really feeling at this moment--the risk was too great. Would she understand? Or was this, along with his absence from the fountain, going to prove to her that he had lost interest?
"Well met, Frodo, Sam," Turil said--he seemed somewhat awkward, bending down to shake their hands, and said nothing else, looking to the other elves as if seeking to extricate himself.
"Thank you, Bilbo. I did write that. And of course I remember Frodo; such a remarkable hobbit--I am not surprised to hear the tales they are already singing of you."
Frodo smiled, and now he dared to look into her eyes; there was no blame in them, only love. He stood straight and bowed. "You honor me, my Lady."
They exchanged light pleasantries, Mornenêl asking Sam about his work and in particular the kinds of trees he worked with and how they fared in the Shire--she was, after all a Wood Elf, and while there were trees here, it was nothing compared to Greenwood the Great, especially not the Greenwood she had grown up in. Turil succeeded in extricating himself when another lord came up to make a compliment on her song, and Mornenêl brushed close by him to whisper one word in elven, "ektele"--fountain.
Frodo nodded. "Senmôr?" he whispered--one of the few Sindarin words he knew. She nodded. Tonight. He felt a leap of joy and something else--he tried to hide the blush.
"Eh?" Bilbo asked, looking askance at him.
"No more," Frodo said, "It's getting late, and we should get some sleep--I know Gandalf wants me to study maps with him again tomorrow and Sam has sword practice."
Bilbo laughed. "Of course. Well it was very good to chat with you, Mornenêl. Perhaps tomorrow you'll grace us with your presence again."
Mornenêl smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "With such company, how could I refuse? Tomorrow then."
She returned to her husband's side and whispered something in his ear--something about leaving, Frodo hoped. He forced himself to turn away, plotting how to sneak out of his room . . .
Bilbo woke Pippin and dragged Merry grumpily from his game where he'd been losing, and the five hobbits walked back to their guest chambers.
By moonrise Frodo had snuck out.
---