Five things that never happened to Lily Proudfoot

Four

Nothing has prepared her for this – the beautiful tents, made of silk and fine linen, the ladies in magnificent gowns, the soldiers and guards in the black and silver garb of Gondor.

She walks along the paths with the widened eyes of a child wandering through a fairytale, and when the moment comes that she is expected to greet the King, her knees tremble under the abundant skirts of the sun-yellow dress she has chosen, and her hand shakes in the solid, warm grip of Frodo’s fingers.

Two thrones have been erected at the shore of Lake Evendim. The water shines like truesilver in the light of midday, and Lily blinks against the blinding brightness and lowers her head when she hears Frodo’s words: “Aragorn, my Lady Arwen… this is my beloved wife, Lily.”

“Lily?”

A cool, smooth touch against her cheek. Someone lifts her chin… and then she gazes into the face of beauty itself. Dark, raven hair, streaming like a river of night over shoulders as white and luminescent as mother of pearl. Grey eyes, shining like the stormy depths of an ocean Lily has never seen and yet recognizes with a sharp, painful yearning in her heart. She is not able to speak. She takes in those bright, beautiful features, and for the moment even Frodo and the King are forgotten. But then three things happen at once: Her husband clears his throat, pressing her fingers a little more tightly, the low, amused chuckle of a male voice reaches her ear… and a high-pitched crowing comes from behind them. Instinctively she turns around.

There comes Elanor – Elanor the Fair – unusually tall for a hobbit lass, with hair like pale summer wheat and slender like a willow twig, and she carries a small boy on her arm… a hobbit child with a rosy face under a mop of auburn curls. Once the baby fat is gone, he will have the high, elegant cheekbones of his father, and he gazes into the world with the same eyes of shining indigo.

“Mama!”

“I am sorry, Mrs. Lily,” Elanor says, bowing with easy, lithe grace before the King and Queen. “He didn’t want to wait any longer.”

“Aragorn…” Lily hears the deep pride in Frodo’s voice and her face relaxes to a smile. “May I introduce you to my son Fredegar?”

The King rises from his throne and Lily has the first opportunity to study the Man she only knows from Frodo’s countless stories. He has a good, clear face and she notices surprise and joy, softening the lines of experience around his eyes and mouth at the sight of the tiny child. Without hesitation, he reaches out and instead of flinching, Freddy gives a high, delighted giggle and buries five plump fingers in the neatly trimmed beard in front of him. The King laughs, a noble figure, arisen from half-forgotten legends and yet miraculously real, cradling the small body of Frodo’s child in both hands. And Lily forgets all her shyness and uncertainty and laughs with him.

“You may, my dear Frodo,” says the King with dancing eyes. “What a marvelous little boy.” He gently untangles a chubby hand from his hair, and she feels his eyes rest on her face, with kindness and a respect that warms her heart. “And a wonderful wife, too. Elen sila lumenn’ omentielvo, Lily Baggins.”

And to her surprised awe, he bows his crowned head and kisses her hand.