---
He kept close to the shadows, using his hobbit skill of keeping quiet so that even the few elves up and about didn't notice his passage as he headed straight for the fountain.
She was there. How she had managed to elude her husband, he didn't know, but she was an elf, and elves didn't sleep every night; wandering under stars was a perfectly normal activity for them. He only hesitated a moment to ensure that she was alone before he ran up to her to take her hand. Then he paused, unsure what to do next.
She caressed his hand in hers. "I was afraid you wouldn't come."
He drew her hand up to his cheek and nuzzled it, looking at her. "I was here waiting for you the other day when Turil was with you . . . I wasn't sure . . . "
Mornenêl looked so serene, so content, her eyes half closed as she caressed his face, "I knew you were. You're feeling guilty now; well, don't. He has lovers of his own. I've met them."
Frodo's jaw had dropped; he tried to look nonchalant but failed miserably. "You didn't tell me that! How could he?!" A fierce rush of anger assailed him, he suddenly thought of Bilbo's elven blade Sting and wondered how well it would cut elven flesh . . . he stopped that thought before it could go further. But he could not stop the anger.
Mornenêl shrugged. "I gave him permission. He knows I only feel friendship for him and it isn't fair for me to punish him with lukewarm pairings."
Frodo still wavered over the idea; somehow it niggled him that things shouldn't be this way, but she had made the decision to marry, and Turil apparently had known what he was entering as well. It still made him angry. "You married for your mother and for security, but now that she's gone, what is the point of staying with him? It doesn't make sense to me."
She looked shocked, her violet eyes wide, and drew back her hand. "It simply isn't done! Elves marry for life; it is the way. Have you ever heard of a divorce among elves?" She put her hands in her lap and looked down. "Besides, I want a child," she said in the barest of whispers.
"I'm sorry," he immediately responded, sitting down next to her on the rim. He resisted the urge to take her hand again; it had felt wondrous, cool and soft on his skin. He didn't want to fight with her; they didn't enough time together for that. And what could he offer her? He was leaving on a quest he would most likely die completing. "We won't speak of it again, then, if that is your wish." To be sent away now, to have offended her--it would shatter him. He could not leave thinking he had hurt her.
Mornenêl leaned in closer to him; he almost forgot to breathe as her dark hair brushed his nose. "I didn't come tonight to discuss my husband." She tilted her head, studying him, an almost shy blush coloring her cheeks. "What do you see in me? You know what my name means in your tongue, don't you? I seem forever buried in sorrow; I am too dark of spirit. I bring nothing but pain to all I love."
Frodo's heart gave a painful lurch--how could she think so little of herself? He reached up a hand to touch that wondrous hair, daring so much as to trace it up to her slightly pointed ears and the side of her face. So soft--just like an infant's hair . . . "Your name means 'star under dark waters', and yes, I can see that it fits--but the dark waters are not your spirit; merely the fact that you were born in dark times--you said you were born just before the Last Alliance of Men and Elves, and that was when Sauron had enslaved much of the land. You don't bring pain; you bring healing. I was ready to give up my right to any happiness after accepting this quest, but I'm feeling again--you gave me that. Even if I can't have you, just your presence here gives me strength . . . " he broke off and had to look away from the intensity of her eyes. He'd said too much--hadn't he? And yet, something was lifted in telling her. Perhaps she would know now it wasn't a silly childhood crush.
He knew he'd said the right thing when she brought her hands to either side of his face and pulled him back towards her, and as he watched her lean down closer and closer, a marvelous shiver went through him--was she really going to . . .
Their lips met.
It was his first real kiss; the first kiss where his heart was involved as well as his mouth; he groaned and clutched at her shoulders as their lips brushed first softly, then with mounting pressure and need. He slid his hands down to the small of her back, pressing firmly into the soft velvet of her gown, tracing her spine. Her hands were still on his head as if she worried he'd move away without her hold to keep him there, her lips almost bruising in their intensity, but as he moved his hands down to her waist, she wrapped her arms around him as well, pressing into him until he feared he might topple over backwards right into the fountain. Sitting, their height difference was much smaller, but her elven strength was almost frightening. And exhilarating.
She seemed to realize his predicament, and with a throaty chuckle which vibrated through him, she leaned back and rolled them right off the rim, onto the leaf-strewn ground and each other's arms. Lying down, the difference in height became moot, Frodo found to his delight. Grinning, he tipped his head to take another taste of her, more slowly this time, exploring. They were both covered in leaves, but it only seemed to enhance the experience--his hands feeling first the dry winkled texture of the leaves, then the velvet of her gown, then the silk of her skin . . . they were both panting, when suddenly they heard footsteps coming up the path.
They both stopped breathing, staring at each other as the footsteps drew closer . . . then drew away . . . an elf, humming to himself as he wandered the paths, not even noting them as he gazed upwards at the stars . . . his path did not bring him close but veered off down the mountain, and Frodo and Mornenêl were able to breathe again.
Mornenêl giggled. "We need someplace more private, I think. Best I let you return to your bed; as you said, Gandalf will want to see you early tomorrow. Allow me to find us a place to be together. I'll see you in the Hall of Fire, since Bilbo so kindly invited me. I'll get word to you then of when we can meet. Turil leaves in two days, you know."
Frodo could not really argue with her; his heart was still pounding too fast. The last thing he needed to do was create a scandal for her; this whole thing still niggled at him--he couldn't help himself when she looked at him like that, but it wasn't right--this whole thing wasn't right. Perhaps by tomorrow evening he'd find a way to tell her in a way that didn't offend.
He just didn't know how far he could allow himself to love her.
With one last, brief kiss, they parted, and Frodo snuck back into his bedroom, skin still flushed and heated.
It was a very long time before he could sleep.
---
He kept close to the shadows, using his hobbit skill of keeping quiet so that even the few elves up and about didn't notice his passage as he headed straight for the fountain.
She was there. How she had managed to elude her husband, he didn't know, but she was an elf, and elves didn't sleep every night; wandering under stars was a perfectly normal activity for them. He only hesitated a moment to ensure that she was alone before he ran up to her to take her hand. Then he paused, unsure what to do next.
She caressed his hand in hers. "I was afraid you wouldn't come."
He drew her hand up to his cheek and nuzzled it, looking at her. "I was here waiting for you the other day when Turil was with you . . . I wasn't sure . . . "
Mornenêl looked so serene, so content, her eyes half closed as she caressed his face, "I knew you were. You're feeling guilty now; well, don't. He has lovers of his own. I've met them."
Frodo's jaw had dropped; he tried to look nonchalant but failed miserably. "You didn't tell me that! How could he?!" A fierce rush of anger assailed him, he suddenly thought of Bilbo's elven blade Sting and wondered how well it would cut elven flesh . . . he stopped that thought before it could go further. But he could not stop the anger.
Mornenêl shrugged. "I gave him permission. He knows I only feel friendship for him and it isn't fair for me to punish him with lukewarm pairings."
Frodo still wavered over the idea; somehow it niggled him that things shouldn't be this way, but she had made the decision to marry, and Turil apparently had known what he was entering as well. It still made him angry. "You married for your mother and for security, but now that she's gone, what is the point of staying with him? It doesn't make sense to me."
She looked shocked, her violet eyes wide, and drew back her hand. "It simply isn't done! Elves marry for life; it is the way. Have you ever heard of a divorce among elves?" She put her hands in her lap and looked down. "Besides, I want a child," she said in the barest of whispers.
"I'm sorry," he immediately responded, sitting down next to her on the rim. He resisted the urge to take her hand again; it had felt wondrous, cool and soft on his skin. He didn't want to fight with her; they didn't enough time together for that. And what could he offer her? He was leaving on a quest he would most likely die completing. "We won't speak of it again, then, if that is your wish." To be sent away now, to have offended her--it would shatter him. He could not leave thinking he had hurt her.
Mornenêl leaned in closer to him; he almost forgot to breathe as her dark hair brushed his nose. "I didn't come tonight to discuss my husband." She tilted her head, studying him, an almost shy blush coloring her cheeks. "What do you see in me? You know what my name means in your tongue, don't you? I seem forever buried in sorrow; I am too dark of spirit. I bring nothing but pain to all I love."
Frodo's heart gave a painful lurch--how could she think so little of herself? He reached up a hand to touch that wondrous hair, daring so much as to trace it up to her slightly pointed ears and the side of her face. So soft--just like an infant's hair . . . "Your name means 'star under dark waters', and yes, I can see that it fits--but the dark waters are not your spirit; merely the fact that you were born in dark times--you said you were born just before the Last Alliance of Men and Elves, and that was when Sauron had enslaved much of the land. You don't bring pain; you bring healing. I was ready to give up my right to any happiness after accepting this quest, but I'm feeling again--you gave me that. Even if I can't have you, just your presence here gives me strength . . . " he broke off and had to look away from the intensity of her eyes. He'd said too much--hadn't he? And yet, something was lifted in telling her. Perhaps she would know now it wasn't a silly childhood crush.
He knew he'd said the right thing when she brought her hands to either side of his face and pulled him back towards her, and as he watched her lean down closer and closer, a marvelous shiver went through him--was she really going to . . .
Their lips met.
It was his first real kiss; the first kiss where his heart was involved as well as his mouth; he groaned and clutched at her shoulders as their lips brushed first softly, then with mounting pressure and need. He slid his hands down to the small of her back, pressing firmly into the soft velvet of her gown, tracing her spine. Her hands were still on his head as if she worried he'd move away without her hold to keep him there, her lips almost bruising in their intensity, but as he moved his hands down to her waist, she wrapped her arms around him as well, pressing into him until he feared he might topple over backwards right into the fountain. Sitting, their height difference was much smaller, but her elven strength was almost frightening. And exhilarating.
She seemed to realize his predicament, and with a throaty chuckle which vibrated through him, she leaned back and rolled them right off the rim, onto the leaf-strewn ground and each other's arms. Lying down, the difference in height became moot, Frodo found to his delight. Grinning, he tipped his head to take another taste of her, more slowly this time, exploring. They were both covered in leaves, but it only seemed to enhance the experience--his hands feeling first the dry winkled texture of the leaves, then the velvet of her gown, then the silk of her skin . . . they were both panting, when suddenly they heard footsteps coming up the path.
They both stopped breathing, staring at each other as the footsteps drew closer . . . then drew away . . . an elf, humming to himself as he wandered the paths, not even noting them as he gazed upwards at the stars . . . his path did not bring him close but veered off down the mountain, and Frodo and Mornenêl were able to breathe again.
Mornenêl giggled. "We need someplace more private, I think. Best I let you return to your bed; as you said, Gandalf will want to see you early tomorrow. Allow me to find us a place to be together. I'll see you in the Hall of Fire, since Bilbo so kindly invited me. I'll get word to you then of when we can meet. Turil leaves in two days, you know."
Frodo could not really argue with her; his heart was still pounding too fast. The last thing he needed to do was create a scandal for her; this whole thing still niggled at him--he couldn't help himself when she looked at him like that, but it wasn't right--this whole thing wasn't right. Perhaps by tomorrow evening he'd find a way to tell her in a way that didn't offend.
He just didn't know how far he could allow himself to love her.
With one last, brief kiss, they parted, and Frodo snuck back into his bedroom, skin still flushed and heated.
It was a very long time before he could sleep.
---