******
November 8, 1418, Shire Reckoning:
Once was not enough.
Frodo managed to hold his resolve for about a week after, trying to satisfy himself with talking and singing with her—they did indeed write a song together—a little paltry thing compared to the other elven works or even Bilbo's but their voices sounded so nice together that they were asked to sing a few older well known tunes after their own, to the delight of all. Frodo's high tenor and Mornenêl's full-bodied alto—who would have thought? At least it firmly established their friendship for everyone; no one gave them a second glance when they were spotted together in the library or taking walks.
Merry (and thus Pippin) soon figured out there was more going on than a little singing duet. They were tickled pink that Frodo was in love with an elf and predictably some teasing began, which was very quickly put to a stop after Sam gave them a talking to. (Frodo didn't get to hear what he actually said, but afterwards he noticed Merry looking at him with concern and sympathy.) Once they understood the consequences of discovery by the other elves, they lent their services to help Frodo by tagging along with him in places where it might be awkward for Mornenêl and him to be seen together, then conveniently disappearing when the right moment came . . .
By the end of the first week after being intimate, Frodo was in a fever of need, and he had run out of excuses—they were already in the wrong—they had already been together once—what difference was twice? Or thrice? Or even better, every night until Turil returned and the quest began.
Sam insisted there would be trouble, and he should break it off now, cleanly.
He couldn't. Despite the fact he knew Sam had a point—there was definitely a danger, and that danger was growing.
Legolas had begun quietly monitoring their actions.
During days where Frodo was busy preparing for his mission, Mornenêl was often with her cousin, and by the sound of things, he was one of the few elves being considered for taking part in the fellowship to accompany Frodo with the Ring; Elrond had already decided the number would be nine, and of all races. Gimli was definitely going to represent the dwarves, and it was thought that the son of Thranduil—who had wronged Gimli's father—would be an appropriate choice for the elves, repaying a debt and sealing relationships.
It was all very awkward for Frodo. Too well he remembered Legolas's measuring stare at his first meeting of Mornenêl in the Shire. If Legolas were chosen and found out, what would that do to the mission? How could Frodo face the fair elf, knowing he had sullied his cousin?
All these thoughts he tried to keep present in mind, but the moment she entered the room, all thoughts fled but one—he must have her again, no matter what the cost. It came to the point where when she asked him when next they could spend a night together, he answered, "Whenever you want," despite a growing sense of foreboding.
"Tonight, then," she whispered, and he began counting the hours.
Merry wholly supported him and set to keeping Gandalf out of their rooms, while Sam said nothing but fretted over mending his shirts and adding a new warmer lining to his coat. Pippin seemed to think this was still a game and gave Frodo a pounding slap on the arm, as if cheering him on in a game of kickball.
Bilbo, who they had all resolved not to tell, still seemed ignorant of the whole thing.
Frodo entered the study—a different one this time with a harp in one corner and a small writing desk. Once again Mornenêl had arrived first, lit the fire and spread blankets, as well as set out a mouthwatering spread on the table of apple cobbler and hot spiced wine.
Frodo gulped his down at once, fighting the urge to lean into her and unlace the front of her gown . . . elven gowns were so loose and simple they took next to nothing to remove, unlike the complicated lacings of bodices and cumbersome petticoats on the average Hobbit maid . . . he grimaced as the hot wine nearly burned his throat.
"Nervous again? Do I need to give you another massage?" Mornenêl asked, and her voice was hovering between light teasing and concern.
He laughed. "I doubt I'd have the patience this time. But I'm worried about something. Did you know Legolas may be one of my companions on the quest? I've caught him watching us—"
"I can deal with him," Mornenêl broke in—perhaps the first time she had ever cut him off. The look on her face belied her calm tone.
"No." He stared hard at her to emphasize his conviction. "I appreciate your offer, but this is something I need to deal with. It wouldn't be fair to ask him to aid and defend me while I'm deceiving him."
"What will you tell him?" Yes, she was worried; there was no hiding it now. Frodo realized how fragile she really was, how much she must trust him to keep their secret safe. It shook him. He shouldn't have that kind of power over someone else.
"I don't know exactly--I suppose it will depend on circumstances. If he is part of the fellowship, I have to tell him of our love. He should know that, at least."
"Then you'll wait until he is officially chosen by Elrond?" Mornenêl's eyes were downcast, unreadable. Frodo took her hands and rubbed them slowly, seeking to reassure her.
"Perhaps, unless something happens first where I need to seek him out." He thought of those intense watchful eyes, that predatory grace. How much did he know already? What did he think of Frodo's attentions he'd already witnessed?
Mornenêl was as close to being frightened as he'd ever seen her. "Please inform me before you do. We might want to tell him together. He won't be able to accuse you of being ungentlemanly."
"I thought this was all right with Turil," Frodo said darkly, wondering if she had lied to him. His hands stopped their rubbing.
Mornenêl took to massaging his hands instead, drawing closer until their faces were mere inches apart. "Oh with Turil--certainly. But Legolas has been like an older brother to me. A *protective* older brother."
"Need I fear him" This was just what he needed; an elven rival. The room had grown stiflingly hot. The Ring fairly burned his skin where it lay beneath his shirt. He did not remove it even when making love; Mornenêl knew it was the artifact he was to destroy, but she knew almost nothing about its true power or history. Could its evil even reach him here, under Elrond's protection, twisting his love into something dark which could jeopardize the quest even before it began? He shuddered to think so.
"No," she breathed, drawing him into a fierce embrace, almost as if to shield him. "He is loyal and honorable--if I show him my heart in this, he will respect my wishes." She laughed grimly. "He would not hurt a young little one like you in any case--his ire would be solely upon me." She released him. "I can handle that," she asserted. "For you, I can handle anything."
There was no retort he could make to such a statement--he was so touched by her conviction, he leaned in and began to kiss her very gently, very tenderly.
Their time together this time was slow and sweet, slowly ripening like a berry on the vine into full flavor until they were both exhausted.
Afterwards, Frodo lay awake, thinking.
He would speak to Legolas tomorrow, just to find out what the elf was thinking. If he suspected the elf prince knew anything, he would tell Mornenêl immediately and they would arrange a meeting.
He hoped he had not jeopardized everything.
---
Author's Note: pant pant--ok, hopefully ff.net is back up to stay! And I hope readership is still out there . . . . **hears crickets chirping . . . **
November 8, 1418, Shire Reckoning:
Once was not enough.
Frodo managed to hold his resolve for about a week after, trying to satisfy himself with talking and singing with her—they did indeed write a song together—a little paltry thing compared to the other elven works or even Bilbo's but their voices sounded so nice together that they were asked to sing a few older well known tunes after their own, to the delight of all. Frodo's high tenor and Mornenêl's full-bodied alto—who would have thought? At least it firmly established their friendship for everyone; no one gave them a second glance when they were spotted together in the library or taking walks.
Merry (and thus Pippin) soon figured out there was more going on than a little singing duet. They were tickled pink that Frodo was in love with an elf and predictably some teasing began, which was very quickly put to a stop after Sam gave them a talking to. (Frodo didn't get to hear what he actually said, but afterwards he noticed Merry looking at him with concern and sympathy.) Once they understood the consequences of discovery by the other elves, they lent their services to help Frodo by tagging along with him in places where it might be awkward for Mornenêl and him to be seen together, then conveniently disappearing when the right moment came . . .
By the end of the first week after being intimate, Frodo was in a fever of need, and he had run out of excuses—they were already in the wrong—they had already been together once—what difference was twice? Or thrice? Or even better, every night until Turil returned and the quest began.
Sam insisted there would be trouble, and he should break it off now, cleanly.
He couldn't. Despite the fact he knew Sam had a point—there was definitely a danger, and that danger was growing.
Legolas had begun quietly monitoring their actions.
During days where Frodo was busy preparing for his mission, Mornenêl was often with her cousin, and by the sound of things, he was one of the few elves being considered for taking part in the fellowship to accompany Frodo with the Ring; Elrond had already decided the number would be nine, and of all races. Gimli was definitely going to represent the dwarves, and it was thought that the son of Thranduil—who had wronged Gimli's father—would be an appropriate choice for the elves, repaying a debt and sealing relationships.
It was all very awkward for Frodo. Too well he remembered Legolas's measuring stare at his first meeting of Mornenêl in the Shire. If Legolas were chosen and found out, what would that do to the mission? How could Frodo face the fair elf, knowing he had sullied his cousin?
All these thoughts he tried to keep present in mind, but the moment she entered the room, all thoughts fled but one—he must have her again, no matter what the cost. It came to the point where when she asked him when next they could spend a night together, he answered, "Whenever you want," despite a growing sense of foreboding.
"Tonight, then," she whispered, and he began counting the hours.
Merry wholly supported him and set to keeping Gandalf out of their rooms, while Sam said nothing but fretted over mending his shirts and adding a new warmer lining to his coat. Pippin seemed to think this was still a game and gave Frodo a pounding slap on the arm, as if cheering him on in a game of kickball.
Bilbo, who they had all resolved not to tell, still seemed ignorant of the whole thing.
Frodo entered the study—a different one this time with a harp in one corner and a small writing desk. Once again Mornenêl had arrived first, lit the fire and spread blankets, as well as set out a mouthwatering spread on the table of apple cobbler and hot spiced wine.
Frodo gulped his down at once, fighting the urge to lean into her and unlace the front of her gown . . . elven gowns were so loose and simple they took next to nothing to remove, unlike the complicated lacings of bodices and cumbersome petticoats on the average Hobbit maid . . . he grimaced as the hot wine nearly burned his throat.
"Nervous again? Do I need to give you another massage?" Mornenêl asked, and her voice was hovering between light teasing and concern.
He laughed. "I doubt I'd have the patience this time. But I'm worried about something. Did you know Legolas may be one of my companions on the quest? I've caught him watching us—"
"I can deal with him," Mornenêl broke in—perhaps the first time she had ever cut him off. The look on her face belied her calm tone.
"No." He stared hard at her to emphasize his conviction. "I appreciate your offer, but this is something I need to deal with. It wouldn't be fair to ask him to aid and defend me while I'm deceiving him."
"What will you tell him?" Yes, she was worried; there was no hiding it now. Frodo realized how fragile she really was, how much she must trust him to keep their secret safe. It shook him. He shouldn't have that kind of power over someone else.
"I don't know exactly--I suppose it will depend on circumstances. If he is part of the fellowship, I have to tell him of our love. He should know that, at least."
"Then you'll wait until he is officially chosen by Elrond?" Mornenêl's eyes were downcast, unreadable. Frodo took her hands and rubbed them slowly, seeking to reassure her.
"Perhaps, unless something happens first where I need to seek him out." He thought of those intense watchful eyes, that predatory grace. How much did he know already? What did he think of Frodo's attentions he'd already witnessed?
Mornenêl was as close to being frightened as he'd ever seen her. "Please inform me before you do. We might want to tell him together. He won't be able to accuse you of being ungentlemanly."
"I thought this was all right with Turil," Frodo said darkly, wondering if she had lied to him. His hands stopped their rubbing.
Mornenêl took to massaging his hands instead, drawing closer until their faces were mere inches apart. "Oh with Turil--certainly. But Legolas has been like an older brother to me. A *protective* older brother."
"Need I fear him" This was just what he needed; an elven rival. The room had grown stiflingly hot. The Ring fairly burned his skin where it lay beneath his shirt. He did not remove it even when making love; Mornenêl knew it was the artifact he was to destroy, but she knew almost nothing about its true power or history. Could its evil even reach him here, under Elrond's protection, twisting his love into something dark which could jeopardize the quest even before it began? He shuddered to think so.
"No," she breathed, drawing him into a fierce embrace, almost as if to shield him. "He is loyal and honorable--if I show him my heart in this, he will respect my wishes." She laughed grimly. "He would not hurt a young little one like you in any case--his ire would be solely upon me." She released him. "I can handle that," she asserted. "For you, I can handle anything."
There was no retort he could make to such a statement--he was so touched by her conviction, he leaned in and began to kiss her very gently, very tenderly.
Their time together this time was slow and sweet, slowly ripening like a berry on the vine into full flavor until they were both exhausted.
Afterwards, Frodo lay awake, thinking.
He would speak to Legolas tomorrow, just to find out what the elf was thinking. If he suspected the elf prince knew anything, he would tell Mornenêl immediately and they would arrange a meeting.
He hoped he had not jeopardized everything.
---
Author's Note: pant pant--ok, hopefully ff.net is back up to stay! And I hope readership is still out there . . . . **hears crickets chirping . . . **