Too Long to Wait: Of the Sea and Seahorses
Ellohir kicked through the sand, wriggling his toes in the soft grains. He clenched his little hands into fists and grinned at Frodo. His cheeks were rosy from the sun and heat. Frodo could not allow him out to stay in the sun for much longer, as he had most definitely inherited Frodo’s delicate skin.
Frodo rested on an amber-colored linen blanket, shielded by a wide silk umbrella. He had rolled up his sleeves as far as they would go and had shed himself of his vest, but he was still too warm.
“Hi, sweetheart!” he called to Ellohir.
Ellohir pointed over the Bay of Belfalas. “Water.” The sun glittered on the sea. Frodo caught sight of Aragorn, a tiny speck far down the empty shore. He was searching for shark teeth, which he claimed could found on this stretch of sand. Frodo knew next to nothing of the sharp-teethed fish, only that even if he could swim, he would not wish to encounter one. Ahead, far out to sea, Frodo caught the shadow of what Aragorn had pointed out as the island of Tolfalas. And if he peered slightly northward, he could discern the distant froth of the many fingers of the Anduin as they ended in the bay.
“Yes.” Frodo shielded his eyes against the glare. He was struck breathless by the ethereal waves, diamonds glittering over turquoise. The sight twisted and lifted his heart and let him breathe in a way that the stone walls of Minas Tirith could never do. “Lovely water.”
Ellohir bent down, his cloth diaper sagging under his breeches. His nimble fingers tugged at a half-buried shell. “Look!” His eyes shone with wonder as he toddled toward Frodo, and Frodo crawled out from under the umbrella to take a closer look.
It was oval, a shimmering blue-gray. “It is like a fairy dish,” Frodo said. A white gull glided above them, stark against the sapphire sky. Aragorn was much closer now, and Frodo felt relief. In such an exotic locale, Frodo felt better when Aragorn was close. The king was dressed in the plainest of clothing, those he had donned as a Ranger, with forest green leggings and a worn tunic. He was now barefoot, though he had brought his tattered boots. Frodo delighted in how easily Aragorn had found it to shed his role as king.
Frodo had been gravely ill last month with an anniversary illness, and Aragorn had vowed to take him and Ellohir to the sea, where Frodo could breathe in the fresh salt breeze, away from the crowds of Minas Tirith. Frodo now felt in perfect health, and he did not know whether it was because of the sea song or the change of scenery, but his limbs felt strong, as if, were Ellohir not with him, he could run all the way down the shore to greet Aragorn. His middle and back did not ache, and his shoulder wound seemed like a distant nightmare.
Ellohir chased the waves as they hissed out to sea, giggling as the water pulled at his ankles. He stamped his big feet, splashing sea and sand in all directions. Frodo kept his eyes on him, terrified to look away for even a moment.
“Aragorn!” Ellohir squealed, and Frodo looked in surprise to see that Aragorn had already made it back. “Look! Look!” Ellohir ran to the blanket where Aragorn had already settled beside Frodo and showed him off his shell.
“Oh, this is very nice,” Aragorn said, nodding approvingly. “Can you find me another?”
Ellohir nodded and ran back out into the wet sand.
“How was it?” Frodo asked, and Aragorn kissed him.
“I did not find what I sought, but I did find something else - hold out your hand and close your eyes.”
Frodo watched Ellohir squeal happily and flee a new wave. His little legs were so sturdy, and Frodo felt a surge of love.
“Go on, Frodo. Close your eyes.”
Frodo closed his eyes and held out his hand.
“Keep them closed,” Aragorn warned.
“They are. What is it?”
Frodo frowned at the cold object set in his hand.
“Open your eyes.”
Frodo obeyed, and he gasped when he saw what was in his hand.
A strange creature - dead now - with a long snout and a curled tail rested in his hand. Ellohir, seeing that Frodo and Aragorn were fascinated by something, ran to them. “See? See?” he cried out.
“What is it?” Frodo asked. He had never seen such a creature before - bright yellow with red spots, with such a delicate shape. Everything was perfect, from its curled tail to its eyes, now glazed with death, to the exact horse-like shape of its head. Ellohir reached for it, but Frodo pulled his hand away. “Do not touch, darling.”
Ellohir again grabbed for it, whimpering, and Frodo climbed to his feet, holding it out of Ellohir’s reach.
“It’s a seahorse,” Aragorn said.
“A horse?” Frodo laughed. “I’d hardly call it that. Though its head does resemble a horse. What a pity it is dead! I should like to see how such a creature moves through water.”
Aragorn stroked the sea creature with a gentle thumb. “It has only recently died, else it would have been eaten by something, I am certain. I found it amongst those rocks far yonder.”
“It is beautiful.”
Aragorn cleared his throat. “I should tell you something I know about these creatures.”
Frodo met his mischievous grin. “This will be intriguing, I am sure.”
Aragorn continued. “As you know, there is much lore of the sea among the elves, and I learned much that most men of Middle earth had no knowledge of. But this I know to be true: among seahorses, it is the male that bears the children.”
Frodo blushed and laughed. “You jest.”
“Nay.” Aragorn shook his head in mock gravity. “My Frodo is not singular in his accomplishment after all.”
“Then we shall give this one a proper burial.”
***
Ellohir had fallen into a heavy sleep under the umbrella, tucked in a light blanket. Frodo stroked his cheek, distressed by how pink the baby’s cheeks were. Later he would rub ointment on them, but for now Ellohir did not appear to be in any pain. Frodo felt sleepy, and lulled by the sizzle of waves over sand, he closed his eyes. Aragorn, mostly asleep, groaned and spooned against him.
Frodo’s eyes flew open in sudden desire. Ellohir was fast asleep, and there was nobody for miles. Frodo turned in Aragorn’s arms so that he faced him. Aragorn’s eyes opened, and he smiled, as if he had read Frodo’s mind. Frodo stroked Aragorn’s side, rubbing up against him. He grew hard almost instantly. Aragorn’s arms were instantly around him, one clutching his waist and the other wrapped around his neck, keeping him anchored. He kissed Frodo, long and hard, until they both gasped for breath and pulled back.
They spoke not one word as they fumbled with buttons, wriggled out of clothes, and clamped against each other again. Aragorn did not enter Frodo - he would not, never again - but they pushed their unclothed bodies against one another, stroking, petting, until just the stimulation of skin against skin brought them to satisfaction.
***
Moonlight over the bay had turned turquoise glitter into black mithril.
“Come, Frodo.” Aragorn said. He had a sleeping Ellohir cradled in his arms. “I would have us return to our lodge and eat.”
“Yes. That is a fine idea.” Frodo was reluctant to tear his eyes from the sea. Nothing else could give him this heady release. He could all too easily picture himself plunging into the black depths and paddling outward until he had no strength to continue.
“Frodo.”
“I am sorry.” Frodo forced himself to turn around. He met Aragorn’s concerned gaze and smiled. “It was a fine day. Ellohir loved it.”
“Yes, he will sleep well tonight.”
“As shall all of us.”
Frodo took Aragorn’s hand, and they climbed up the incline to the lodge that Aragorn had found tucked in this little known alcove. As Aragorn squeezed his hand, the gentle crash of waves lost their beckoning power.
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