Midsummer's Day, 1419, Shire Reckoning
*****
The wedding day was everything Bilbo's old tales of elven romance could possibly have imagined--the White Tree was in bloom, the skies clear and turquoise blue but touched with just the hint of a cool breeze from the north. Children were laughing in the streets of Minas Tirith throwing wildflowers (which were growing rampant in the fields outside the Gates) and everywhere hung streamers of blue and silver. From every door hung wreaths of grass and lavender, bringing good luck and health to the King and his Lady.
Frodo felt lost in a vision of elven beauty--it seemed the entire house of Elrond had transported itself to Gondor, and the city rang out with their songs of joy and love. Arwen and her handmaidens passed like silvery beams of moonlight with their gowns lined with gossamer-fine lace and pearls. Every dark-haired beauty was a painful reminder to Frodo of one whose face he did not see in the city.
Mornenêl had not come.
He had not had a chance to ask Aragorn yet of the reason, if she had given any. Perhaps she and her husband had returned to the Grey Havens; perhaps she was assigned to the care of the apartments in Rivendell in the absence of most of the household; she was not an elf of high status, compared to many of those in Rivendell.
Frodo was kept busy enough getting himself ready not to dwell on it--there was to be another little ceremony thanking him for his completion of the quest by Elrond, and he had finery to wear and a small part to play in the wedding ceremony as well--he was nervously rehearsing his elvish in preparation. It had been a long time since the lovely language last passed his lips. Hopefully it would wash out memory of the snippets of Black Speech he now comprehended. But it would also bring back memory of her and his days in Rivendell.
He longed to crawl into a hole and hide.
At least if Bilbo had come Frodo would have had someone to talk to about all the things that had happened--he couldn't really burden Sam any more with his concerns, and Merry and Pippin were quite busy with their new duties as knights. But instead, Frodo suffered alone with his thoughts, his worries and half-grasped hopes for the future. Were things over for him on all matters concerning? Had she told her husband? Had he reacted poorly? Before, the task set for him had filled his being, all his mind--he had not dared to think of her, lest it weaken his resolve, create a space for the Ring to work its evil influence on him.
So much of his joy of life had been eaten away, it was a surprise to feel anything at all, but by the dull throb somewhere near the region of his heart and the lump of misery in his throat, it was apparent he could still feel at least something. Perhaps he was still capable of love. He would not know for sure until he saw her. See if joy truly was a memory, or if it was something he could still clasp hold of.
He smiled his way through the ceremony, feeling odd and uncomfortable in elven finery that had been made for him, perfect to size. He entertained himself with the notion that perhaps Mornenêl had helped it its creation, but there was nothing to suggest that was more than a fantasy.
It was a moonlight ceremony under the stars and hundreds of softly glowing elven lanterns hung throughout the city and up the White Tower. Elrond gave away his daughter in a graceful dance in which Aragorn participated--a slow graceful flowing dance absolutely nothing like the gay romps common in the Shire, nothing like any dance Frodo had ever seen before. It was like grass swaying in the breeze, like a flower dropped into a slow moving brook, swirling through the currents, a snowflake falling.
When the dance was over, Aragorn and Arwen exchanged vows. It was done. The elves sang a song rejoicing in their union, the humans blew their horns announcing the marriage and Queen Arwen Undomiel was crowned. Afterwards there was much feasting, singing, dancing, and pleasant talk. Frodo congratulated the couple, but he felt detached, merely an observer who had no right to take part in the festivities. Of all the things he felt, most keenly was the lack of ability to feel.
He left only when Sam begged leave to take his bed, having consumed too much elven wine. All evening he debated asking Elrond or any other elf for news of Mornenêl, but he never found the courage, and no one ever brought the subject up, which he found almost odd--it had certainly been known he was friends with her. He would have asked Legolas, but after a brief appearance, the elf disappeared with some of his kinsmen.
So he left unfulfilled, curiosity unsatisfied.
The festivities lasted about two weeks, during which the question burned brighter and more urgently in Frodo's breast. His strength was as great as it would ever be after his toils, and he was eager to get to Rivendell, ostensibly to see Bilbo but in truth to see Mornenêl and speak with her.
He went to Aragorn, and Arwen greeted him, stating that she knew his reason for coming to them. He confessed his intent to visit Rivendell before returning home and she reminded him of Bilbo's age and condition--he often forgot how old Bilbo really was; for so long age had not touched him. But of course now with the Ring's destruction, Bilbo would be affected as well. He wondered if Bilbo could still find pleasure in anything.
As he thought that, Arwen surprised him with a gift. As she would not now be sailing to the West, she granted Frodo the option, and laid upon his breast a white gem, which suddenly sang to him of peace, and rest, and laughter. Suddenly he understood the pain Legolas had felt hearing the call of the seagull--that call was there, within that gem singing to him of a distant shore where all his sorrows would be washed away. He clutched it and bowed his head, feeling sorrow and gratitude together.
He had no words for a reply. She smiled at him in understanding and embraced him, and Aragorn kissed his brow. "This is a powerful choice my wife bestows upon you. May it bring you happiness."
It was then that the full import hit him--he had been given the gift of the elves, to see the faces of the Valar and dwell among the eldest of beings in the undying lands that had flowered under the two trees--where Mornenêl's mother resided. Where Mornenêl would someday depart to herself.
"Aragorn, what will this mean? Will I have any kind of a future that might include Mornenêl? Or has she already moved beyond me? She didn't come . . ." Tears threatened to choke him, and he didn't know if it was that he was finally recovering from the shock of destroying the Ring, or if the little white gem had some part in restoring the part of his heart that had been missing, but now he felt awash with emotion. Overwhelmed, indeed. Tears leaked from his eyes to slide down his cheeks.
Arwen looked away, her eyes glistening and Aragorn hugged him hard. "I should have told you the day of the wedding--the next morning at least, but I did not want to hurt you and we were so busy with everything. Mornenêl had to return to the Grey Havens, so was unable to join the wedding party. She could not have joined anyway. She--" he grimaced-- "she is in mourning."
Frodo's heart lurched painfully. "In mourning? For whom?" He remembered Aragorn's words of a battle at the Bruinen, and also reports of attacks on Mirkwood and Lothlorien. Had one of her kin been killed?
"When we were in Lothlorien, Galadriel saw that the elven strongholds must prepare to be attacked, and sent word requesting reinforcements. Three times the Golden Wood was besieged, by massive numbers. The elves were successful at driving back the enemy, but now without cost." Aragorn paused, studying Frodo intently.
"Turil was one who went to Lothlorien to aid in the defense. He was killed by a poisoned arrow."
It was as if Frodo had been struck; his legs gave out and he found himself sprawled on the floor. Almost he could hear the Ring laughing at his torment in which it had had surely somehow been responsible, that by its poison his darkest dream had been granted in the most horrible fashion conceivable. "What horror!" he gasped, fighting to breathe, struggling to his feet. Was it in any way possible? Had his desires somehow caused a noble elf's downfall? He saw himself again as he had been at the Crack of Doom, embracing the Ring and all its power, succumbing to its promises. His vision darkened and he swooned forward and would have fallen if not for Arwen's steady hand on him. The mist cleared a little. He could feel Arwen's gem's burning at his throat, anchoring to this place, this time. He clung to it tightly.
"It was not your fault, Frodo," Aragorn's voice was strong, even. Frodo nodded miserably.
"How is--M--" He couldn't even say her name, though he longed to. The future was spinning dizzily out of control, with too many possibilities. Would she blame him? Or perhaps herself?
"She took the news very hard, I'm afraid," Arwen said in her low melodious voice, still holding Frodo gently by the shoulders. "She insisted that his body be taken to his father at the Grey Havens; it was her husband's wish to be laid at rest near the sea." She fell quiet, gently stroking Frodo's back, but he shuddered and shook his head, unable to endure her touch. He stepped back, swiping at his eyes.
"I must talk to her. I feel somehow responsible," he said, ignoring Aragorn shaking his head.
Arwen nodded. "Of course you must talk to her. But do not feel at fault--the music of the Ainur is oft bittersweet, but love shall triumph. I do not know if she will stay in the Havens, return to Rivendell, Mirkwood, or sail across the sea. They will know in Rivendell, though, as her things are still there. You can talk to Drëanna who was a governess for me for many years. She can help you find what you need to know."
Frodo looked up into her violet eyes, so loving and peaceful. Through he envied it; he did not begrudge Aragorn his happiness. He hoped the two of them would live for centuries in bliss together. "Thank you. Thank you for everything."
He left then, and spent the rest of the day in his room at Gandalf's little house, dreaming of the moment he would see her face again.
But he could not stop wondering.
Would Mornenêl even *want* to see him again?
*****
TBC
*****
*****
The wedding day was everything Bilbo's old tales of elven romance could possibly have imagined--the White Tree was in bloom, the skies clear and turquoise blue but touched with just the hint of a cool breeze from the north. Children were laughing in the streets of Minas Tirith throwing wildflowers (which were growing rampant in the fields outside the Gates) and everywhere hung streamers of blue and silver. From every door hung wreaths of grass and lavender, bringing good luck and health to the King and his Lady.
Frodo felt lost in a vision of elven beauty--it seemed the entire house of Elrond had transported itself to Gondor, and the city rang out with their songs of joy and love. Arwen and her handmaidens passed like silvery beams of moonlight with their gowns lined with gossamer-fine lace and pearls. Every dark-haired beauty was a painful reminder to Frodo of one whose face he did not see in the city.
Mornenêl had not come.
He had not had a chance to ask Aragorn yet of the reason, if she had given any. Perhaps she and her husband had returned to the Grey Havens; perhaps she was assigned to the care of the apartments in Rivendell in the absence of most of the household; she was not an elf of high status, compared to many of those in Rivendell.
Frodo was kept busy enough getting himself ready not to dwell on it--there was to be another little ceremony thanking him for his completion of the quest by Elrond, and he had finery to wear and a small part to play in the wedding ceremony as well--he was nervously rehearsing his elvish in preparation. It had been a long time since the lovely language last passed his lips. Hopefully it would wash out memory of the snippets of Black Speech he now comprehended. But it would also bring back memory of her and his days in Rivendell.
He longed to crawl into a hole and hide.
At least if Bilbo had come Frodo would have had someone to talk to about all the things that had happened--he couldn't really burden Sam any more with his concerns, and Merry and Pippin were quite busy with their new duties as knights. But instead, Frodo suffered alone with his thoughts, his worries and half-grasped hopes for the future. Were things over for him on all matters concerning? Had she told her husband? Had he reacted poorly? Before, the task set for him had filled his being, all his mind--he had not dared to think of her, lest it weaken his resolve, create a space for the Ring to work its evil influence on him.
So much of his joy of life had been eaten away, it was a surprise to feel anything at all, but by the dull throb somewhere near the region of his heart and the lump of misery in his throat, it was apparent he could still feel at least something. Perhaps he was still capable of love. He would not know for sure until he saw her. See if joy truly was a memory, or if it was something he could still clasp hold of.
He smiled his way through the ceremony, feeling odd and uncomfortable in elven finery that had been made for him, perfect to size. He entertained himself with the notion that perhaps Mornenêl had helped it its creation, but there was nothing to suggest that was more than a fantasy.
It was a moonlight ceremony under the stars and hundreds of softly glowing elven lanterns hung throughout the city and up the White Tower. Elrond gave away his daughter in a graceful dance in which Aragorn participated--a slow graceful flowing dance absolutely nothing like the gay romps common in the Shire, nothing like any dance Frodo had ever seen before. It was like grass swaying in the breeze, like a flower dropped into a slow moving brook, swirling through the currents, a snowflake falling.
When the dance was over, Aragorn and Arwen exchanged vows. It was done. The elves sang a song rejoicing in their union, the humans blew their horns announcing the marriage and Queen Arwen Undomiel was crowned. Afterwards there was much feasting, singing, dancing, and pleasant talk. Frodo congratulated the couple, but he felt detached, merely an observer who had no right to take part in the festivities. Of all the things he felt, most keenly was the lack of ability to feel.
He left only when Sam begged leave to take his bed, having consumed too much elven wine. All evening he debated asking Elrond or any other elf for news of Mornenêl, but he never found the courage, and no one ever brought the subject up, which he found almost odd--it had certainly been known he was friends with her. He would have asked Legolas, but after a brief appearance, the elf disappeared with some of his kinsmen.
So he left unfulfilled, curiosity unsatisfied.
The festivities lasted about two weeks, during which the question burned brighter and more urgently in Frodo's breast. His strength was as great as it would ever be after his toils, and he was eager to get to Rivendell, ostensibly to see Bilbo but in truth to see Mornenêl and speak with her.
He went to Aragorn, and Arwen greeted him, stating that she knew his reason for coming to them. He confessed his intent to visit Rivendell before returning home and she reminded him of Bilbo's age and condition--he often forgot how old Bilbo really was; for so long age had not touched him. But of course now with the Ring's destruction, Bilbo would be affected as well. He wondered if Bilbo could still find pleasure in anything.
As he thought that, Arwen surprised him with a gift. As she would not now be sailing to the West, she granted Frodo the option, and laid upon his breast a white gem, which suddenly sang to him of peace, and rest, and laughter. Suddenly he understood the pain Legolas had felt hearing the call of the seagull--that call was there, within that gem singing to him of a distant shore where all his sorrows would be washed away. He clutched it and bowed his head, feeling sorrow and gratitude together.
He had no words for a reply. She smiled at him in understanding and embraced him, and Aragorn kissed his brow. "This is a powerful choice my wife bestows upon you. May it bring you happiness."
It was then that the full import hit him--he had been given the gift of the elves, to see the faces of the Valar and dwell among the eldest of beings in the undying lands that had flowered under the two trees--where Mornenêl's mother resided. Where Mornenêl would someday depart to herself.
"Aragorn, what will this mean? Will I have any kind of a future that might include Mornenêl? Or has she already moved beyond me? She didn't come . . ." Tears threatened to choke him, and he didn't know if it was that he was finally recovering from the shock of destroying the Ring, or if the little white gem had some part in restoring the part of his heart that had been missing, but now he felt awash with emotion. Overwhelmed, indeed. Tears leaked from his eyes to slide down his cheeks.
Arwen looked away, her eyes glistening and Aragorn hugged him hard. "I should have told you the day of the wedding--the next morning at least, but I did not want to hurt you and we were so busy with everything. Mornenêl had to return to the Grey Havens, so was unable to join the wedding party. She could not have joined anyway. She--" he grimaced-- "she is in mourning."
Frodo's heart lurched painfully. "In mourning? For whom?" He remembered Aragorn's words of a battle at the Bruinen, and also reports of attacks on Mirkwood and Lothlorien. Had one of her kin been killed?
"When we were in Lothlorien, Galadriel saw that the elven strongholds must prepare to be attacked, and sent word requesting reinforcements. Three times the Golden Wood was besieged, by massive numbers. The elves were successful at driving back the enemy, but now without cost." Aragorn paused, studying Frodo intently.
"Turil was one who went to Lothlorien to aid in the defense. He was killed by a poisoned arrow."
It was as if Frodo had been struck; his legs gave out and he found himself sprawled on the floor. Almost he could hear the Ring laughing at his torment in which it had had surely somehow been responsible, that by its poison his darkest dream had been granted in the most horrible fashion conceivable. "What horror!" he gasped, fighting to breathe, struggling to his feet. Was it in any way possible? Had his desires somehow caused a noble elf's downfall? He saw himself again as he had been at the Crack of Doom, embracing the Ring and all its power, succumbing to its promises. His vision darkened and he swooned forward and would have fallen if not for Arwen's steady hand on him. The mist cleared a little. He could feel Arwen's gem's burning at his throat, anchoring to this place, this time. He clung to it tightly.
"It was not your fault, Frodo," Aragorn's voice was strong, even. Frodo nodded miserably.
"How is--M--" He couldn't even say her name, though he longed to. The future was spinning dizzily out of control, with too many possibilities. Would she blame him? Or perhaps herself?
"She took the news very hard, I'm afraid," Arwen said in her low melodious voice, still holding Frodo gently by the shoulders. "She insisted that his body be taken to his father at the Grey Havens; it was her husband's wish to be laid at rest near the sea." She fell quiet, gently stroking Frodo's back, but he shuddered and shook his head, unable to endure her touch. He stepped back, swiping at his eyes.
"I must talk to her. I feel somehow responsible," he said, ignoring Aragorn shaking his head.
Arwen nodded. "Of course you must talk to her. But do not feel at fault--the music of the Ainur is oft bittersweet, but love shall triumph. I do not know if she will stay in the Havens, return to Rivendell, Mirkwood, or sail across the sea. They will know in Rivendell, though, as her things are still there. You can talk to Drëanna who was a governess for me for many years. She can help you find what you need to know."
Frodo looked up into her violet eyes, so loving and peaceful. Through he envied it; he did not begrudge Aragorn his happiness. He hoped the two of them would live for centuries in bliss together. "Thank you. Thank you for everything."
He left then, and spent the rest of the day in his room at Gandalf's little house, dreaming of the moment he would see her face again.
But he could not stop wondering.
Would Mornenêl even *want* to see him again?
*****
TBC
*****