Chapter 2 – The First Page

“My Lord Frodo.”  A voice behind his back nearly makes Frodo jump.  “Breakfast is served.”

Frodo turns back and finds an elven maiden by the door.  A fair one – and Frodo gulps as he is staring without realizing it.  Everything about  the elf is lean.  The nose, the chin.  Her eyes are as blue as the ocean, and her pointy ears peep from behind layers of soft, cascading, snow-white hair.  Yet, though Frodo was stunned by the beauty before him, he still feels it.  Something is out of place here.

“P – please.  Call me Frodo.  I’m no lord.”

The elf looks confused but determined.

“But you are, my Lord.  That’s how I’m told to address you.  My name is Lalaith and I’m your handmaiden.”

Frodo blanches even more.  A handmaiden!  Well, he used to have Sam as his gardener but even so he regarded him as a friend, especially after the quest.

“I – I don’t think I deserve to be served by anyone as fair as you, Lalaith the elf.  I’m not a lord,” repeats Frodo.

Lalaith smiles widely.  “But you are the Ring-bearer and I’m honored to be of any assistance.”

Frodo’s pale face flushes at the mention of Ring-bearer.  “People are not supposed to call me by that name anymore,” he murmurs.  But something else has caught his attention and he grins.  “Lalaith.  That means laughter, if I may say?”

Lalaith seems amazed but she has heard about Frodo’s knack for the elvish tongue.  “Indeed, my Lord.”  She bows and retreats into the house.  Reading the cue, Frodo follows her inside.

“Breakfast – will Gandalf be here?”

Lalaith halts her pace and turns back before she answers.

“No, my Lord.”

“Why?”  There is a brief sorrow in the small voice. 

Lalaith frowns.  “I beg your pardon, my Lord, but it is not my place to ask that from him.”

Realization and regret fill Frodo.  “Oh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t realize.  I thought…”  Of course.  Why should Gandalf bother to tell her?  She is just a maid.  Though," Frodo considered carefully.  "She might keep him informed."

Lalaith falls silent but does not seem to notice Frodo’s uneasiness.  “Come, my Lord.” 

Feeling a bit lost to be alone in a new place, Frodo can only comply.

Lalaith takes him to a room behind the bedroom.  It turns out to be a great dining hall.  There is a large table full of food and drinks.  A large table that, to Frodo’s surprise, fits his height if he sits down on the befitting chair.  Both table and the chair have clearly been made to match his size.

Frodo goes to the table and seats himself on the chair, looking at the edibles in dismay.  “These are first breakfast, second breakfast, dinner, and supper put into one," he says with dismay.  "You can’t expect me to finish them all!”

Meeting the gazing eyes of Lalaith, Frodo suddenly realizes how ungrateful he must seem.  “Forgive me,” he mutters, bowing his head.  “I didn’t mean to sound impolite.  But you’ve spoilt me so much.  I’m not that hungry.”

A small smile appears at the corner of Lalaith’s lips.  “You’ve not eaten since five days ago.  Trust me, my Lord, you will enjoy your fill.  Please.  Start with anything you like.”

Lalaith does not tend to Frodo.  She goes to a corner of the room, instead, where there stands a polished harp.  Frodo follows her with a questioning look, and, sighing deeply, turns his attention to the tempting sight before him.

Frodo reaches for the nearest dish where he finds stewed rabbit.  His breath catches.

“Do you remember that bit of rabbit, Mr. Frodo?”  Sam had asked him at the slope of Orodruin.  And nothing, nothing could he remember at that time.  But to him, here and now, everything is as clear as the cloudless sky.  Frodo can remember those bittersweet memories at Mount Doom and in Lord Faramir’s country of Ithilien.  He sobs quietly and throws his glance to Lalaith, who has started playing the harp.

Frodo smiles sadly.  “She’s going to put me to sleep instead,” he thinks.

But he is mistaken.  In a short moment he is drawn into her music and chanting so deeply that he is no longer heedful of what he is doing.  Frodo devours each and every morsel served on the table without even realizing it.

Lalaith observes him out of the corner of her eye, elated at what she sees, but carrying on singing, as lively as before.

A!  Elbereth Gilthoniel!

silivren penna miriel

o menel aglar elenath,

Gilthoniel, A!  Elbereth!

We still remember, we who dwell

In this far land beneath the trees

The starlight on the Western Seas.

And as Frodo gulps down the last drop of his herbal brew, Lalaith comes to a close and asks Frodo if there is anything else he needs. 

Still unaware of having been under such great enchantment, the hobbit chuckles lightly.  “Yes.  I guess what I need now is more sleep.  For a week or so!”

*   *   *

But Frodo has already slept more than his body needs.  He is awakened faster than he expected this time and, looking out the window, he finds shades of light from the setting sun looming over the sky.  He realizes it is time for tea and smiles to himself.  Were he his cousin, Pippin, he would scream for food.

But he is not Pippin and he decides, instead, to begin his journey around the island.  It is time to start with the first page of Eressea.

*   *   *

Frodo wanders around, mostly along the beach, letting his furry feet shift and dive into the warmth of the sand.  So intent is he in the mesmerizing beauty of the calm sea and the sweet fragrance of the air that he barely notices the sky changing, how the sun has surrendered its dominion to the moon.  Its pale light weaves into the surface of the ocean, and dances as the windswept waves slowly stir.

The wind.  Frodo realizes then that he is only clad in a thin tunic.  He shivers silently.   Everything is beyond beautiful here, and draws his mind away from the troubles that have been residing too long in his wearied mind.  But now Frodo must retreat as the wind gets colder and colder.  He has tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.  He has days, weeks, months, or maybe even years, to sit here and think of nothing but peace and acceptance.

It is enough for now and Frodo returns to his quarters.

He is welcomed by Lalaith who shows more concern about his exploration than necessary   Where have you been?  What have you done?  Why are your breeches wet?  Why are you shivering?  Then Lalaith returns to her first question: Where have you been?  Why could I not find you anywhere when I glanced along the coast?  And more: Are you feeling all right?  Or are you sad again?

Frodo clenched his lips.  What can happen here, he thinks silently, quite annoyed by the elf’s mother hen behavior.  What can do him harm?

Then Lalaith comes to herself and apologizes for being difficult.  But according to her, some of the coastlines are too high from the water's surface.  Frodo could easily slip and fall over the steep cliffs.

Although the hobbit feels grateful for Lalaith’s concern, Frodo sometimes feels tired at all the attention focused on him.  He is sick, wounded.  He knows that.  But…

“Your fear doesn’t make any sense, Lalaith dear,” Frodo takes the elf’s hand, guiding her inside.  “I’m not a child.  I can take care of myself.”

Lalaith nods weakly.  Frodo can say that a thousand times but to her, the hobbit will always look like a vulnerable twelve-summer old lad--of those Big Folk.  And Frodo’s features do not help him look older.  The Ring has done its work on this hobbit quite well.

In the end, neither one says anything during their walk to the dining hall.  Again Frodo is faced with an abundance of food and a flowing provision of ale.  He is determined, though, not to give in to the spellbinding notes produced by the harp.  But what can he do?  Lalaith is not to be stopped from playing the instrument.

And the harp performance is not done unintentionally.

TBC