It was always fall in Rivendell.
Well perhaps that was not entirely accurate, Frodo had to concede, but it had been late fall when last he had visited, and now it was coming into fall again, as Bilbo's and his birthday drew near. The leaves were just beginning to change from green to the rainbow hues of yellow, gold, red, brown, orange, but the ground was yet clear for the most part, and Frodo could see summer's end in the wildflowers and carpet of thick grasses.
Naturally the first place Frodo visited was dear old Bilbo's, and despite his fear of what the destruction of the Ring would do to the aged hobbit, he could see no outward sign of suffering. Bilbo was extremely happy to see him, of course, but his memory was failing him a little, and half the time he forgot why Frodo had left in the first place. He'd also apparently forgotten about Mornenêl; when Frodo inquired as to her well being, he got a blank look for several seconds.
"Why would you want to know that?"
Frodo reminded him of the meeting years ago and their friendship, and blushing, the old hobbit admitted he'd forgotten about Frodo's 'darling crush' on the elf maiden. "Oh but I shouldn't jest; no, not at all. The poor dear is most beleaguered these days with grief. Why, I haven't seen her at meals in close to a month!"
"What do you mean?" asked Frodo, going pale at the thought of the fair elf wasting herself away in some grotesque mirror of what had happened to him in Mordor. "Surely she's still eating? Where can I find her?"
Bilbo puffed slowly at his pipe, sitting back in his overstuffed chair by the fire where he spent most his time now. "Well goodness no; she must eat sometime--elves don't live on air, much though they look like they do. I expect she has food brought in and keeps to her room. She returned her, now when was it . . . " he struggled to remember. "Hmm, just about a fortnight ago."
"But you said . . ." Sam began to ask. Frodo shot him a look to remain quiet. Well if she'd only returned two weeks ago then a month of not seeing her at dinner didn't seem quite as bad.
"Do you know if she is receiving any visitors?" Frodo persevered, offering Bilbo some tea and biscuits which he gladly accepted. Time stood still here, Frodo saw with new clarity. Small wonder if Bilbo couldn't keep track of events . . . it was an atmosphere that lent itself to the simple pleasures of the moment, letting memory fade and the future remain obscure. A blissful existence, really, given Frodo's past in particular. He scarcely felt his scars here.
Bilbo looked at him with a sudden intensity in his watery blue eyes, sitting up in the chair and setting aside his pipe. "She will leave soon, you do understand, my boy? She'll depart soon for the Hidden Shore; I'm quite certain of it. There's nothing left for her here. Won't be anything left for me here either once Elrond and Gandalf leave."
Frodo felt Sam shift behind him, knew this kind of talk upset his companion who was less touched by the decay of the Ring, still full of life, hope, and plans for the future. Frodo gripped Bilbo's arm, trying to convey both his understanding and support, and also a slight warning that Sam was not ready to hear such things. Bilbo grabbed his hand tight, still surprisingly strong at his age, and smiled at him tearfully, his fingers falling into the empty space where Frodo's third finger had been.
It was only after they left Bilbo sleeping that Frodo realized he had not answered the question about Mornenêl; whether or not she would see him.
He couldn't wait until the next day to ask Bilbo again, and he didn't want to ask another elf who might know more, or bother Elrond who was undoubtedly busy. He had to admit, now that he was here, he was impatient to see her whether she was ready to see him or now. He had to see her face, see if she still loved him, if he could help her in her grief in any way. And yes, he had to admit it. See if she believed in any kind of a future for them.
Sam he tried to encourage to go to his chamber, but as Sam loved to say, his job of protecting his master wasn't over until they were safe in the Shire--and better--safe inside a hobbit hole. So Frodo let him follow behind as he made his way towards what had been Mornenêl and Turil's chambers on the lower wing of Elrond's House. When he tried to knock on the door, however, he was stopped by two elven maids suddenly materializing from the end of the hallway to gently lead him away from the door.
"Forgive us, but she is in deep mourning. She is not to be disturbed. When she is ready, she will emerge and arrange for visitation with close friends. You must wait, Frodo Baggins." The two elves were both dark of hair, but by their slow grace and regal bearing, Frodo knew they could not be kin--they had not the look or manner of elves of Mirkwood. He did not know who they were. He supposed they knew of him only by news of his deeds--unless Mornenêl had specifically asked them to keep him away . . . his throat clenched.
"She is not seeing anyone, or just doesn't want to see me?"
The first elf, old enough to have age lines around her eyes, spoke. "She sees who she will see. She knows of your coming; it was announced some days ago. She will call for you when . . . and if she desires to see you. Good evening."
Frodo found himself breathing hard, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing. If that wasn't an utter rejection, what else could it be? She didn't *want* to see him. Buy why? Was she afraid? Or had she only been able to love him knowing he would go off and die, and be only a memory she never had to face again, never have to deal with . . . he found himself growing angry. Furious, in fact. To have gone through so much only to return and be treated thus . . .
He drew himself up as tall as his stature would allow, feeling a ghost of the power that had sung in him holding the Ring, speaking commands as if to a creature like Gollum, "I *will* see her. Perhaps today is too soon, so I will return tomorrow, but I will see her before I depart. I must give my condolences-Turil was a noble elf and I grieve with her. But I also love her, and I will say that to her face and see if she still loves me, if ever she did." He ignored the choked gasp from Sam and the look of horror and affront from the elves, pushing past them to knock loudly on the door.
"I won't hide any longer! I've lost too much to hide now. I won't be miserable in the dark. Only let me know your feelings, and I will depart. Or stay. Your choice!" He said to the door in a loud voice. For several moments he waited to see if any reply would come.
None did. He heard the elves shift nervously, not quite sure how to deal with this once meek and polite hobbit now strange and fearsome, a little touch of Mordor inside their tranquil halls.
What a monster he was to behave so. The darkness would always be a part of him now. He could hardly blame Mornenêl rejection.
"I will come again tomorrow," he announced, softer this time, then turned his heel and left, Sam chasing after him to keep up.
He did not give in to tears until he was safe in his bed, alone. Stars, what had he done? He had just revealed everything; that's what-the elves could not pretend nothing had happened; he had challenged their ways.
He had undoubtedly just lost Mornenêl forever.
Once again, the future was ash, dust, as Gollum so eloquently had put it when tasting of the lembas. There would be no peace for him anywhere.
Softly by the light of the moon and the rustle of the first falling leaves, he wept.
***
TBC
***
A/N: I've started school again, and unfortunately won't be able to post very often until my 8 week accelerated class is done--please forgive! I promise, I will finish this! We're getting there, actually--maybe 5-10 chapters to go . . .
Thanks for all your reviews.
Well perhaps that was not entirely accurate, Frodo had to concede, but it had been late fall when last he had visited, and now it was coming into fall again, as Bilbo's and his birthday drew near. The leaves were just beginning to change from green to the rainbow hues of yellow, gold, red, brown, orange, but the ground was yet clear for the most part, and Frodo could see summer's end in the wildflowers and carpet of thick grasses.
Naturally the first place Frodo visited was dear old Bilbo's, and despite his fear of what the destruction of the Ring would do to the aged hobbit, he could see no outward sign of suffering. Bilbo was extremely happy to see him, of course, but his memory was failing him a little, and half the time he forgot why Frodo had left in the first place. He'd also apparently forgotten about Mornenêl; when Frodo inquired as to her well being, he got a blank look for several seconds.
"Why would you want to know that?"
Frodo reminded him of the meeting years ago and their friendship, and blushing, the old hobbit admitted he'd forgotten about Frodo's 'darling crush' on the elf maiden. "Oh but I shouldn't jest; no, not at all. The poor dear is most beleaguered these days with grief. Why, I haven't seen her at meals in close to a month!"
"What do you mean?" asked Frodo, going pale at the thought of the fair elf wasting herself away in some grotesque mirror of what had happened to him in Mordor. "Surely she's still eating? Where can I find her?"
Bilbo puffed slowly at his pipe, sitting back in his overstuffed chair by the fire where he spent most his time now. "Well goodness no; she must eat sometime--elves don't live on air, much though they look like they do. I expect she has food brought in and keeps to her room. She returned her, now when was it . . . " he struggled to remember. "Hmm, just about a fortnight ago."
"But you said . . ." Sam began to ask. Frodo shot him a look to remain quiet. Well if she'd only returned two weeks ago then a month of not seeing her at dinner didn't seem quite as bad.
"Do you know if she is receiving any visitors?" Frodo persevered, offering Bilbo some tea and biscuits which he gladly accepted. Time stood still here, Frodo saw with new clarity. Small wonder if Bilbo couldn't keep track of events . . . it was an atmosphere that lent itself to the simple pleasures of the moment, letting memory fade and the future remain obscure. A blissful existence, really, given Frodo's past in particular. He scarcely felt his scars here.
Bilbo looked at him with a sudden intensity in his watery blue eyes, sitting up in the chair and setting aside his pipe. "She will leave soon, you do understand, my boy? She'll depart soon for the Hidden Shore; I'm quite certain of it. There's nothing left for her here. Won't be anything left for me here either once Elrond and Gandalf leave."
Frodo felt Sam shift behind him, knew this kind of talk upset his companion who was less touched by the decay of the Ring, still full of life, hope, and plans for the future. Frodo gripped Bilbo's arm, trying to convey both his understanding and support, and also a slight warning that Sam was not ready to hear such things. Bilbo grabbed his hand tight, still surprisingly strong at his age, and smiled at him tearfully, his fingers falling into the empty space where Frodo's third finger had been.
It was only after they left Bilbo sleeping that Frodo realized he had not answered the question about Mornenêl; whether or not she would see him.
He couldn't wait until the next day to ask Bilbo again, and he didn't want to ask another elf who might know more, or bother Elrond who was undoubtedly busy. He had to admit, now that he was here, he was impatient to see her whether she was ready to see him or now. He had to see her face, see if she still loved him, if he could help her in her grief in any way. And yes, he had to admit it. See if she believed in any kind of a future for them.
Sam he tried to encourage to go to his chamber, but as Sam loved to say, his job of protecting his master wasn't over until they were safe in the Shire--and better--safe inside a hobbit hole. So Frodo let him follow behind as he made his way towards what had been Mornenêl and Turil's chambers on the lower wing of Elrond's House. When he tried to knock on the door, however, he was stopped by two elven maids suddenly materializing from the end of the hallway to gently lead him away from the door.
"Forgive us, but she is in deep mourning. She is not to be disturbed. When she is ready, she will emerge and arrange for visitation with close friends. You must wait, Frodo Baggins." The two elves were both dark of hair, but by their slow grace and regal bearing, Frodo knew they could not be kin--they had not the look or manner of elves of Mirkwood. He did not know who they were. He supposed they knew of him only by news of his deeds--unless Mornenêl had specifically asked them to keep him away . . . his throat clenched.
"She is not seeing anyone, or just doesn't want to see me?"
The first elf, old enough to have age lines around her eyes, spoke. "She sees who she will see. She knows of your coming; it was announced some days ago. She will call for you when . . . and if she desires to see you. Good evening."
Frodo found himself breathing hard, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing. If that wasn't an utter rejection, what else could it be? She didn't *want* to see him. Buy why? Was she afraid? Or had she only been able to love him knowing he would go off and die, and be only a memory she never had to face again, never have to deal with . . . he found himself growing angry. Furious, in fact. To have gone through so much only to return and be treated thus . . .
He drew himself up as tall as his stature would allow, feeling a ghost of the power that had sung in him holding the Ring, speaking commands as if to a creature like Gollum, "I *will* see her. Perhaps today is too soon, so I will return tomorrow, but I will see her before I depart. I must give my condolences-Turil was a noble elf and I grieve with her. But I also love her, and I will say that to her face and see if she still loves me, if ever she did." He ignored the choked gasp from Sam and the look of horror and affront from the elves, pushing past them to knock loudly on the door.
"I won't hide any longer! I've lost too much to hide now. I won't be miserable in the dark. Only let me know your feelings, and I will depart. Or stay. Your choice!" He said to the door in a loud voice. For several moments he waited to see if any reply would come.
None did. He heard the elves shift nervously, not quite sure how to deal with this once meek and polite hobbit now strange and fearsome, a little touch of Mordor inside their tranquil halls.
What a monster he was to behave so. The darkness would always be a part of him now. He could hardly blame Mornenêl rejection.
"I will come again tomorrow," he announced, softer this time, then turned his heel and left, Sam chasing after him to keep up.
He did not give in to tears until he was safe in his bed, alone. Stars, what had he done? He had just revealed everything; that's what-the elves could not pretend nothing had happened; he had challenged their ways.
He had undoubtedly just lost Mornenêl forever.
Once again, the future was ash, dust, as Gollum so eloquently had put it when tasting of the lembas. There would be no peace for him anywhere.
Softly by the light of the moon and the rustle of the first falling leaves, he wept.
***
TBC
***
A/N: I've started school again, and unfortunately won't be able to post very often until my 8 week accelerated class is done--please forgive! I promise, I will finish this! We're getting there, actually--maybe 5-10 chapters to go . . .
Thanks for all your reviews.