****
Frodo smoothed his jacket and waistcoat. "How do I look?"
Sam gave him a sad smile. "You're looking well, sir, just as well as you did a few minutes ago. Just rest easy. She'll be here soon."
But Frodo couldn't rest easy--it was all he could do not to pace the pathway among the bare trees and the piles of gold and rust leaves, hoping to catch a sight of her before she spotted him.
They were back at the fountain. Aragorn had thought it best they meet in the open, and chaperoned--no one could fault Frodo for dishonorable motives then, and it should be clear that they were friends and would remain so after Turil returned. Aragorn seemed to feel Frodo should limit any physical side of the relationship--easier for both of them. Frodo had to agree, much though other parts of him railed against the idea.
He was trying to focus on what it was about her he had first fallen in love with, images he could take with him on his dark journey. There was something both young and old about her, but that could be said of almost any elf, and perhaps himself as well. Her loss of mother and father? Ah now, that struck closer to home. Her quiet self assurance? Most assuredly. And yet also her daring, her defiance.
And she was a terrible dancer. Perhaps the slow melodious songs of Elrond's house just didn't suit her; perhaps she was more used to wild cavorting and leaping in a forest glen, but she simply didn't move gracefully, especially compared to other elves. And that was probably what he loved most about her--she wasn't just an elf; she was something less, and more. He smiled.
"I see her, sir. Down the hillside, there."
An icicle of fear stabbed his heart. He took a deep breath, smoothed his clothes once more, and rose to greet her.
She came alone, clad in soft silver, her hair in a long braid and her person free of adornment save for a low belt of silver fashioned into tiny birds, swooping and diving around her hips. She looked somewhat pale, he noted--had she lost weight? But her eyes were shining and her lips formed a rich smile.
"My Lady Mornenêl," He tried to still the quiver in his voice, "I hope you are well?"
A shadow of emotion--pain? Anger? Crossed her face before it was mastered. "It would be customary for me to say I am well now, but I fear it is my curse to be truthful. I have not been well. I was sorely angry with you."
Frodo felt the ground tilt under him; he reached out a hand to Sam's shoulder to steady himself, fighting the urge to mutter an apology and flee, back to the safety of his room. He had hurt her. If he had doubted it for a moment, well, here was proof.
He forced himself to meet her gaze. "I'm sorry--sorry for everything. Should I leave you alone, then?" It was crisp and cold in the November morning, yet he was sweating. His heart had become a dead weight in his chest.
"No!" she retorted, the anger and pain flashing again in her eyes. "Let us not waste another moment--too much time has already been wasted. Come with me. Let us be together," she said, holding out a hand for him to take. He couldn't. He looked up at her pleadingly, but it was Sam who rescued him.
"My Lady, I'm a plain speaking hobbit, so you'll have to forgive me, but I don't think you're thinking of Mr. Frodo's feelings in this. Can't you see how hard this is on him? Maybe there'll be a time for togetherness, but right now I think you should both take it slow. I don't want to be fixin' up his heart no more." Frodo had to smile at that last comment, seeing the determination and anger in Sam's face. Ever his stalwart protector. But who would have thought he'd ever have to protect Frodo from an adversary like this?
Sam's words had certainly brought Mornenêl up short. She looked hard at Frodo, a crease forming between her dark brows, suddenly unsure of herself. Frodo tried to think of an appropriate thing to say, but words had fled him. He was so happy she was here, yet so sad that this couldn't last--there was simply no path for them together. He blinked away a tear and took both her hands in his, trying to impart his feelings with his eyes alone.
"You . . . are right, Mr. Gamgee," she said slowly, and Sam blushed at her formal tone, "I did not think. I only felt." She looked deep into Frodo's eyes, soft now, yielding. "We will follow *your* wishes now, my heart. We will only do what you feel comfortable doing." She knelt down and laid a hand on his cheek, and Frodo could sense her holding back from embracing him; her other hand was fisted at her side.
He stepped forward and threw his arms around her. "Why don't we simply start with this?"
He kissed her.
It was enough.
*****
A/N: errgh, I know, I'm kind of slowing down on this thing. It's getting harder to write this one--busy with other projects. Keep encouraging me--I really *am* trying to keep working on this . . .
Frodo smoothed his jacket and waistcoat. "How do I look?"
Sam gave him a sad smile. "You're looking well, sir, just as well as you did a few minutes ago. Just rest easy. She'll be here soon."
But Frodo couldn't rest easy--it was all he could do not to pace the pathway among the bare trees and the piles of gold and rust leaves, hoping to catch a sight of her before she spotted him.
They were back at the fountain. Aragorn had thought it best they meet in the open, and chaperoned--no one could fault Frodo for dishonorable motives then, and it should be clear that they were friends and would remain so after Turil returned. Aragorn seemed to feel Frodo should limit any physical side of the relationship--easier for both of them. Frodo had to agree, much though other parts of him railed against the idea.
He was trying to focus on what it was about her he had first fallen in love with, images he could take with him on his dark journey. There was something both young and old about her, but that could be said of almost any elf, and perhaps himself as well. Her loss of mother and father? Ah now, that struck closer to home. Her quiet self assurance? Most assuredly. And yet also her daring, her defiance.
And she was a terrible dancer. Perhaps the slow melodious songs of Elrond's house just didn't suit her; perhaps she was more used to wild cavorting and leaping in a forest glen, but she simply didn't move gracefully, especially compared to other elves. And that was probably what he loved most about her--she wasn't just an elf; she was something less, and more. He smiled.
"I see her, sir. Down the hillside, there."
An icicle of fear stabbed his heart. He took a deep breath, smoothed his clothes once more, and rose to greet her.
She came alone, clad in soft silver, her hair in a long braid and her person free of adornment save for a low belt of silver fashioned into tiny birds, swooping and diving around her hips. She looked somewhat pale, he noted--had she lost weight? But her eyes were shining and her lips formed a rich smile.
"My Lady Mornenêl," He tried to still the quiver in his voice, "I hope you are well?"
A shadow of emotion--pain? Anger? Crossed her face before it was mastered. "It would be customary for me to say I am well now, but I fear it is my curse to be truthful. I have not been well. I was sorely angry with you."
Frodo felt the ground tilt under him; he reached out a hand to Sam's shoulder to steady himself, fighting the urge to mutter an apology and flee, back to the safety of his room. He had hurt her. If he had doubted it for a moment, well, here was proof.
He forced himself to meet her gaze. "I'm sorry--sorry for everything. Should I leave you alone, then?" It was crisp and cold in the November morning, yet he was sweating. His heart had become a dead weight in his chest.
"No!" she retorted, the anger and pain flashing again in her eyes. "Let us not waste another moment--too much time has already been wasted. Come with me. Let us be together," she said, holding out a hand for him to take. He couldn't. He looked up at her pleadingly, but it was Sam who rescued him.
"My Lady, I'm a plain speaking hobbit, so you'll have to forgive me, but I don't think you're thinking of Mr. Frodo's feelings in this. Can't you see how hard this is on him? Maybe there'll be a time for togetherness, but right now I think you should both take it slow. I don't want to be fixin' up his heart no more." Frodo had to smile at that last comment, seeing the determination and anger in Sam's face. Ever his stalwart protector. But who would have thought he'd ever have to protect Frodo from an adversary like this?
Sam's words had certainly brought Mornenêl up short. She looked hard at Frodo, a crease forming between her dark brows, suddenly unsure of herself. Frodo tried to think of an appropriate thing to say, but words had fled him. He was so happy she was here, yet so sad that this couldn't last--there was simply no path for them together. He blinked away a tear and took both her hands in his, trying to impart his feelings with his eyes alone.
"You . . . are right, Mr. Gamgee," she said slowly, and Sam blushed at her formal tone, "I did not think. I only felt." She looked deep into Frodo's eyes, soft now, yielding. "We will follow *your* wishes now, my heart. We will only do what you feel comfortable doing." She knelt down and laid a hand on his cheek, and Frodo could sense her holding back from embracing him; her other hand was fisted at her side.
He stepped forward and threw his arms around her. "Why don't we simply start with this?"
He kissed her.
It was enough.
*****
A/N: errgh, I know, I'm kind of slowing down on this thing. It's getting harder to write this one--busy with other projects. Keep encouraging me--I really *am* trying to keep working on this . . .