Return to Valinor

Some hour or so before dawn, Frodo rolled on to his back and yawned luxuriously. Quite sated for the moment in body, mind and spirit, he spared a moment to think of his friends back home. He wondered what Merry, Pippin and especially Sam would think to see him married and happy at last. Briefly he felt disappointed that there was no way to share his good news with those he loved most in Middle-earth. Yet, the Valar worked in ways he did not understand. Perhaps there was a chance his companions would know nevertheless.

“You look pensive, melethnín,” he heard next to him.

Turning his head, he smiled at Carantaliel, “I thought you were asleep.”

“Dreaming perhaps,” she answered, “but not asleep. What were you thinking of just now?”

Frodo sighed, “My friends back home. You’ve made me so happy, Cara, but I have to admit I was missing them tonight.”

“I understand,” she murmured as she nestled into the crook of his arm. “Lord Elrond treats me as a daughter, but I missed my own father tonight.”

“Perhaps he will come one day…”

“Perhaps…” she agreed wistfully. Carantaliel was quiet for a long moment, somewhat reluctant to break the quiet mood between them. Finally, however, she said, “Speaking of fathers, Frodo… there is something…”

Before she could finish her thought, Frodo started and asked, “Did you hear that?”

Together they listened in the stillness of the predawn morning. Just as Frodo thought he had imagined the sound outside their home, there was a rustling noise in the glade.

“Is that the trees?” he asked.

She nodded, “They’re talking to one another.” Again they listened for a moment. “The language is old… older than I can understand…”

Sitting up, Frodo drew on his trousers and said, “I’ll go check it out…”

“Frodo, I don’t think you should…” Carantaliel said uncertainly.

Slipping on his shirt as well, he assured her with a brief kiss, “Don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it. I’m sure it’s nothing…”

“Frodo…”

“Stay here.”

Trusting him, the she-elf lay back on the bed, but she was still anxious as she listened to him make his way down the stairs. Minutes passed and she did not hear anything from below and she began to relax a little.

Looking around the room, Carantaliel smiled. Hobbit holes did not have second floors as a rule, but as Belegcalion made the suggestion, Frodo considered it and decided that it was a good improvement to the original design. Perhaps he was thinking of her when he agreed to it, for if she looked out the window she could just see the Sea. Carantaliel supposed that if the wind was right she might even be able to smell its salty tang from there, but with the apple tree in full bloom the headier scent of the flowers permeated the glade.

As she looked out the window, she noticed Frodo had hung his Elven sword Sting on the wall over a bureau. Frodo had told her that he had given the sword to Sam and never expected to see it again, until he opened his luggage upon arrival at Enedvása to find his friend had hidden it among his things when he was not looking.

Carantaliel smiled at the thought of Frodo wistfully shaking his head over his friend’s generous deceit when the sword suddenly caught her eye again. Alarmed, she sat bolt upright in the bed. Was it her imagination or was the blade faintly glowing blue?

Just as she reached for the bed linens to throw them back, the Elven princess heard anxious and angry shouting in the glade below her.

“Oh no!” she whispered fearfully. “Frodo, I’m coming…”


Cautiously, Frodo opened the front door to look out into the glade. The moon was full and its light shone brightly in the clearing. He scanned the lawn and the trees beyond, but all seemed quiet. No longer concerned, the hobbit stepped outside the door to gaze up in the sky.

Suddenly he heard an urgent voice, “Frodo, look out!”

An arrow sailed past him seeking some unknown target in the dense forest and Frodo wheeled around to find Figwit running at him from the shelter of trees near the lane to Elvenwood. His bow was at full draw to release another arrow.

“Figwit!? What is going on…” he asked bewildered.

“Someone’s here!” Figwit hissed. “Take cover, my friend!”

Another arrow sang from his bow and was instantly answered. Frodo heard a grunt from the elflord as it sliced Figwit’s upper arm. The bow dropped to the ground as Figwit’s arm fell uselessly at his side. Before the hobbit could run to his friend, he felt searing pain in his thigh and stumbled painfully to the ground. An arrow was embedded deeply in his leg, which was quickly growing numb.

“Who is it?!” he asked desperately as he tried to pull himself towards cover.

Figwit managed to run to his side as arrows continued to whiz past them and the pair limped towards the shelter of the apple tree.

“He has not revealed himself,” panted Figwit.

“What does he want?”

“Cara…”

Frodo struggled painfully to sit up, “What?!” He looked out towards the darkness of the woods, peering to see their assailant. “It’s Tellonnion…” he whispered. “It’s got to be…”

“No, Frodo,” Figwit shook his head. “Tellonnion is dead.”

“They never found his body, Figwit. Cara has been worried about this all along. She’s been dreaming of him.”

“But how…?” he began.

“There’s no time!” Frodo interrupted fiercely. “You’ve got to go for help!”

“I’m not leaving you here, Frodo! You’re no match for Tellonnion, if it is him…”

Frodo grabbed the elflord’s tunic front, “And neither are you with a wounded sword arm. You’re our only chance of getting help! You must go!” Still, Figwit was reluctant until Frodo roared, “Go!”

At last Figwit ran towards the lane and towards aid. Frodo watched him a moment then pulled himself to his feet with the help of the great tree.

“What do you want, Tellonnion!” When there was no immediate answer, he shouted, “Show yourself!”

Slowly a towering form emerged from the forest. He was still Elven, but a perverted image of one. Frodo could see that at one time, many centuries ago he had once been fair to look upon. Yet golden hair was now a damp and dirty blonde and the eyes that were fixed upon him so ferociously were a deadly cold gray. Grime and sweat covered his still well muscled body, but there was no longer any beauty in its form – only a brutish grace as he approached. Frodo thought he reminded him vaguely of the Uruks, but there was keen intelligence still in those cold eyes.

“Where is Carantaliel?” he growled.

“You’re too late,” replied Frodo proudly. “You no longer have any right to claim her… Tellonnion.”

Briefly passion flared in his eyes, “She’s mine!”

“Not anymore. You saw. You know.” He remained calm, “Cara and I were wed today and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“It’s a disgrace!” he roared, grabbing Frodo by the shirtfront. The hobbit felt Tellonnion’s putrid breath on his face, but refused to turn away from his icy gaze. “The Entwives can give you all the Entdraught they want to make you taller, runt, but your blood contaminates! Maybe I should just spill it now and be done with you!”

“You will not touch him again!” a ringing voice echoed in the glade and the creature felt the tip of a blade pressing into his side.

Whipping his head around Tellonnion discovered the Elven princess, alluringly disheveled in her hastily donned shift and tumbledown hair. Yet, her lovely face was set in a determined mask, her stance revealing she was ready for action.

“Come now, melethnín,” he tried to say sweetly, but the words sounded disgusting, “forsake this piece of filth and be at my side as you should be.”

Carantaliel shuddered at his words, but said firmly, “I could not forsake Frodo now, even if I wanted to – and let us be clear, I do not want to… Tellonnion.” To speak that name to this depraved creature was loathsome to her, but she recognized him the moment she set eyes on him. “I will tell you again… take your hands off of him.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, but she refused to back down and Tellonnion felt the blade pressing more firmly in his side. With a roar of rage, he turned back to Frodo with a forceful head-butt then tossed the stunned hobbit to the ground like a rag doll.

Frodo fought to stay conscious as he lay among the herbs near the great apple tree. It pained him that he was helpless to come to Carantaliel’s aid, but his leg was now numb and his vision swam as he tried to focus on what was happening between her and Tellonnion. He could still hear, however, and the clanging in the glade could only be steel on steel.

As Tellonnion released Frodo he felt the subtle shift in the air of a sword stroke falling and he drew his own sword to parry the blow. The two swords met with a singing clang and for a few moments that was all that could be heard in the moonlit clearing.

“You have not lost any of your finesse, melethnín,” he finally complimented.

She did not feel any pride at his words. “And you have spent far too much time in the company of Uruks and Orcs who can only hack at their opponents,” she insulted him.

Carantaliel knew she had to keep him off guard. The short-bladed Sting was no match for the ugly broadsword of Tellonnion. In other days, the pair had sparred for hours for pure enjoyment. Her father Elladan had taught her well, and she and Tellonnion had been evenly matched. What she had lacked in strength, she more than made up for in grace and agility. Yet, Frodo’s sword left her reach short of Tellonnion’s and at a decided disadvantage.

She looked at Tellonnion, at the careless way he was fighting. This was child’s-play to the once-proud elf, just as it had been back in Rivendell. For Carantaliel, this was a fight for her life – and for Frodo’s life. That did give her an advantage.

The insult stung Tellonnion worse than an actual wound, which angered him greatly. “You cannot win this fight, Cara,” he growled. “You will come with me, willing or no, but you will come!”

A protest died on her lips as Tellonnion lifted Frodo by his shirt and placed the edge of his blade at the halfling’s exposed throat.

Carantaliel had no doubt that Tellonnion would follow through with his threat. Throwing Sting well away from her, she ran to them and pushed Tellonnion heavily away from Frodo.

“Very well…” she sobbed, “just don’t hurt him…” Dropping to her knees, Carantaliel cradled her beloved in her arms. “Frodo…” she whispered tearfully. “I must go with Tellonnion.”

“No, Cara…” he moaned, still hanging on to consciousness, but his vision was starting to grow gray. “Help is on the way…”

“It will come too late. He will kill you first. I must go.”

“Don’t leave me…” he pleaded.

Savagely, Tellonnion grabbed her by the arm. “No more of this! Come, Cara!”

Desperately she kissed Frodo one last time, and as Tellonnion started to drag her away Carantaliel breathed to her husband, “Come for us, melethnín… saes… maruvamet tenna túluvaye…”

Helplessly Frodo could only watch as Carantaliel was torn from him. “Túluvan…” he murmured as the forest enveloped them and the gray turned finally to black.


-end of Chapter Seventeen-

Come for us, melethnín… saes… maruvamet tenna túluvaye…” -- Come for us, my love… please… we will wait (abide) until you come…

“Túluvan…” -- I will come...