Bilbo was dozing in an overstuffed easy chair pulled up next to the fire, a soft grey wool blanket tucked around his legs and feet. It was well past his normal bedtime; the crescent moon high overhead in the crystalline air. The combination of fine wine, excellent food, a joyous occasion where he was the celebrant, dancing and conversations with old friends; all led to the overwhelming need for sleep. A lone female Elf harper played soft lullabies to the elderly hobbit, sending him along unconscious paths to the dream gardens of forgotten innocent childhood play.

Gandalf had settled into a matching easy chair next to Bilbo. His eyes were closed, but he was not asleep. The elves were deep into Sindarian songs and thick, red wine. Glorfindel had begun singing “The Tale of The Moon and the Sun,” his fine strong baritone lifting and sighing the words and melody to the epic poem. Frodo knew the recitation would last for many hours. He took Iris by the hand, secretly stroking the inside of her palm. She smiled and nodded. They bowed to their hosts and retired for the evening.

Candles lighted every hallway and corridor of the immense Rivendell campus. Scents wafted along the light Spring air; each area hosting its own fragrance as if to tempt them inside. But Frodo was not leading her towards the interior of the buildings. After following a gently sloping pathway, they exited the architecture and entered the moonlit Rivendell statue gardens close by some waterfalls. The icy-cold spray splashed happily, making primordial music to compliment and underscore the faint sounds of Glorfindel’s singing coming from the brightness of the main building.

It seemed to Iris that the warmth of Spring was lingering longer this night than had happened since they had arrived. The mountain air which normally chilled quickly at the setting of the Springtime sun stayed warm and relaxed in the gloaming and moonlight. Frodo and Iris wandered along carefully-tended tiny smooth pebble walkways through the moonlit sculpture gardens by a series of smaller waterfalls winding their way beside their larger cousins.

It was too early in the season for night-blooming jasmine or moonflowers. Yet the Elves had forced into bloom crowds of pristine white narcissus and paperwhites planted in pots and rooted in crystal vases. These out-of-season blooms they tenderly transplanted from the nurseries into the gardens explicitly for this special night. The flower heads danced and bobbed in the gentle air.

Whilst there was yet snow and ice on the borders of the great house of Imlandis, Spring had triumphed over Winter this evening. Warm breezes kept the chill outside air at bay. As Frodo and Iris wandered the solitary pathways, soft luminous flames of many colors flickered and danced in the gloom.

“What are those?” Iris whispered, afraid that too loud a sound might frighten away the fay luminous bodies. “It’s far too early for fireflies. They are not lanterns either. They move and fly about.”

Frodo stopped and held out his hand, palm up. One of the flickering lights, a soft cornflower blue, danced through the air until it hovered over his fingers. It was in the shape of a butterfly, though the one setting upon Iris’s hand was more like unto a dragonfly. She could see another one close by in the appearance of a hummingbird. The hobbits did not touch the flames as they darted from one place to another. Their glow added a soft pastel radiance to the pale crescent moon’s light.

“They are Gandalf’s gift,” Frodo smiled. He pulled Iris into his embrace and kissed her in the magical dance of light. Iris couldn’t suppress a giggle as a rather loud firework went off into the clear night air between the mountains as their kiss ended.

“That was Gandalf too, I gather,” she said. “I do hope he doesn’t follow us into the bedroom, or the whole complex will be set ablaze.”

Frodo laughed aloud. “We might do that anyway all on our own.” The fireworks continued for several minutes as the hobbits passed through the garden. They wandered through carefully tended deep woods where the mists of the icy waterfalls almost enveloped the moss-covered statuary. Stones seemed to dance and sway to their own internal rhythm, mindless of the two small mortals who strolled in delight amongst the maidenhead ferns and newly-sprung daffodillies. Green, golden and pale purple fireworks continued to light up the midnight sky.

Frodo plucked a white snowdrop from a rocky crevice and tucked it behind his ear. Iris took its mate and placed it between her breasts, teasing him to see if he would dare retrieve it in public, even though she knew they were alone.

“Don’t they have a lovely smell?” she teased. “Come. Taste their honey.”

He caught her to himself in a tight embrace and nuzzled her ear. She could feel his hardness pressed against her. “I would take you right here; right now; if not for the guards,” his voice husky in the shadows.

“Guards?”

“Imlandis has always been the last defense of the Elves against the evil of the world,” Frodo whispered. “Even now there are guards protecting us. You might not notice them, but they are there.” Frodo released her after a tender kiss. “Let’s go to my room,” he whispered as they finally abandoned the garden to the fireworks and mists.

“Somebody’s been here,” Iris said as Frodo opened the door to his apartment. Candles were lighted and a cheerful fire of fragrant maple danced on the grate. More pots of blooming paperwhites and golden daffodillies had been set up throughout the room, lending their subtle fresh fragrance to the honey of the beeswax candles. A silver tray holding a carafe of golden wine, two crystal and silver goblets, and delectable finger foods sat on the table.

“Now don’t you be expecting this sort of service every day back in the Shire, Mister Baggins,” Iris joked as she went over to the dressing table. “Goodness! They’ve even moved all my things in here.”

True enough, all her belongings had been transferred from her guest room into Frodo’s larger suite. She sat down at the dresser and began to remove the myriad of decorations from her curly brown hair. Frodo came up behind her and removed his own wedding crown, setting it on the dressing table next to her brush.

“Ummm…” Iris sighed in relief, “that feels better.” A braid tumbled down her back, freed at last from its forced place in her coiffeur. Frodo helped her remove the flowers, crystals and ribbons. His firm, delicate fingers deftly removed each item. He kissed her ear or neck or cheek as he lay each decoration upon the dresser. “Ah,” Iris sighed as the last of the braids was freed. “I have a hair-ache.”

“A hair-ache?” Frodo asked. He ran his fingers into her loose curls and began to massage her scalp.

Iris closed her eyes and surrendered into the bliss of his touch. “Yes. I get a hair-ache if my hair is braided too tightly or if it’s forced to go in a different direction than nature intended. But it goes away in a few minutes after letting the curls free.” She sighed in contentment at the sensuousness of the massage. She actually lost track of time relaxing into his strong hands after the excitement of the day. Iris came to when he stopped the massage and bent down to kiss her lips.

She stood and snuggled into his ready arms. They kissed, and her desire for him rose sharp and sure as a surge of fire through her body. Mouths parted and tongues teased as hands explored each other’s curves, suddenly eager to throw off the clothes which separated them. She wanted desperately to taste every part of him. To feel with her sensitive fingers and delicate mouth every inch of him. And she equally desired his exploration of her own body and soul. To be joined with him in that defining moment gifted to mortals when two become one and time looses its hold upon the flesh.

“Ah, wait a moment,” Frodo pleaded. “I have something for you before we get too carried away.” He dashed over to a wardrobe and retrieved a small package encased in white tissue paper and tied together with a ribbon made from the same midnight blue paisley fabric used in their wedding outfits.

Iris shook her head in amazement. “If I live to be older than the Bullroarer I’ll never understand your fascination with that fabric,” she clucked.

“Open it,” he smiled, going over to the side table and pouring them some of the golden wine.

Iris carefully untied the ribbon. Out from the tissue paper emerged the most sensual piece of clothing she had ever seen. She held it up to the light and was startled to find that it was an almost see-though gown. It had long sleeves and a low, low scooped back and front. The skirt was attached and flared out at the hips, softly swaying into large pleats. A little card fell to the floor. Iris retrieved it and was not surprised to find that the negligee had come from Mistress Chiswell’s establishment.

“It’s beautiful!” she gasped, “but I don’t think I’ll be able to wear this anywhere in public.”

He brought her the full goblet and winked. “You are not supposed to. Try it on for me, love,” he asked, sipping his wine.

“Not until you’ve opened my gift,” Iris replied, carefully placing the gown on the bed and going to the dressing table. She returned with a tightly-capped green bottle.

“What is it?” Frodo asked, setting down his goblet and twisting the stopper open. The exotic fragrance of honey and strong spices wafted into the air.

“I had Tandy make you a new perfume,” Iris blushed.

“I think I have smelled those spices before, but I cannot remember where or when,” Frodo said.

Iris unbuttoned his white shirt and placed a drop of the oil in the hollow of his throat. It mingled with his own natural scent to become even more exotic and erotic. Iris caressed his throat, moving in closer to feel and smell his sweetness and desire. She was going to kiss his pendulant lips, but he stopped her.

“Come on… tell me what the secret ingredient is,” he whispered. Before she had a chance to reply he took the initiative and covered her mouth with his. His hands moved behind her to loosen the bodice ribbons. The kiss was heavy and long and tasted of wine and spices all rolled together. When they finally separated, both were lost in the rapture, arms exploring each other through the fabric of their wedding outfits.

“It was Sam,” Iris almost moaned at loosing his lips. “I bartered with Sam for a few ounces of those exotic spices from Ithilien you received in the chest from King Aragorn.” She was almost lost in his look. Those eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes. She would confess anything to remain in his arms. To remain by his side. “Tandy worked for a long time to make this perfume,” she finally stammered out.

Iris removed Frodo’s waistcoat and let it fall to the floor about his ankles. Her inquisitive fingers found the nightingale embroidered on his vest before she unbuttoned and removed it, letting it also fall to the floor. Frodo undressed her in return, lingering over the nightingales embroidered on the ribbons of her bodice. They laughed over the secret embroidery, Iris finally confessing to her delight at his sentimentality.

Iris grabbed the filmy negligee. “Turn around, Mr. Baggins,” she demanded. “I’ll tell you when you can look again.”

“As you wish, Mrs. Baggins,” he chuckled, and did as he was bid. He was still wearing his white shirt and breeches. The maroon pants did nothing to hide his growing erection. He took another sip of the wine and reached inside his breeches, lightly stroking himself in anticipation. But he did not have long to wait before he was summoned.

“Frodo? Do you think this is too tight?” Iris called out. Frodo almost choked on the wine when he saw her modeling the gown for him in the candlelight.

It clung to her arms, torso and hips like a second skin, completely covering her, yet totally revealing everything hidden within its filmy embrace. The long sleeves came to a point across the back of her hand, held in place with a little loop around the middle finger. The low scooped neckline in front emphasized her cleavage, and the very low back profile almost showed cleavage there as well. The full length skirt almost touched the floor, stopping just short of covering the curly light brown hair on her toes. It cinched in at the waist, drawn tight with a thin white ribbon. The outfit showed off every curve, every dip and mound. The rose hues of her arousal and the ivory of her smooth skin were clearly visible under the almost-transparent fabric.

She twirled around before the fire, dancing and spinning so that the pleats of the outfit flared out to reveal her legs and ankles. Frodo laughed in delight, caught her hand and joined her in the dance. The twirling gradually slowed into tightly-held circles around each other. Iris coyly unbuttoned the ivory closures of his white shirt, exposing his alabaster chest to the golden firelight and her strong caresses as he held onto her waist.

His hands explored the fabric of the clingy dress, seeking out and finding the myriad curves awaiting his eager touch. He would never be able to tell when it was they stopped dancing and simply pressed themselves against each other, breathing in the perfume and musk rising from their bodies like incense before a shrine.

The negligee was off and so were the rest of his clothes before Frodo realized how insatiable his desire had become. He was open and full and ready to take this creature of silken curves and warm, firm flesh. He was astounded at her utter delight in the way he explored her curves: now with his hot mouth; now with his slender fingers; now with his probing hardness. They both writhed and moaned in the heat of their pleasures. Giving and receiving each other as their desire led them to couple until there was no more “I” or “You”, but only “Mine!”

The candles were sputtering haphazardly when they finally relaxed into each other’s embrace. How they had ended up on top of the bed, Iris was not sure. But she was utterly content, holding her beloved in her arms and insisting that his weight was a comfort and not a burden.

“Please, please stay inside me,” she whispered into his ear. “Don’t leave.”

“I won’t until I have to,” he chuckled. “But you and I both know that a fifty year old hobbit does not have the … um… staying power of a tweenager. Let me rest a couple of hours before we try this again, my love.”

“Oh, you!” Iris laughed and ran her fingernails down his side.

Frodo twitched and giggled at the tickling, yet managed to remain inside his wife. But only barely. “If you laugh again, you will push me out and it will be your fault, not mine,” he whispered into her ear, then deliberately licked it.

“Ah!” That was all it took. They both rolled onto their backs, unable to suppress their delight and laughter. Another candle winked out. Frodo rolled out of bed and retrieved the robe Bilbo had loaned him. Iris crawled under the covers while Frodo stoked the fire and extinguished the remaining lighted candles. He refreshed their goblets with the remaining wine and brought it back to bed.

“To my lovely and quite talented wife,” he said, raising his glass before his face and winking. Iris blushed and raised her own glass.

“To my beloved,” she whispered. The sparkling wine only made her tongue all the more eager to taste his pleasures again and again. His eyes twinkled a deep midnight blue in the firelight. They finished the wine and snuggled in each other’s arms, safe and secure in the bed. The only sound Iris could hear as she drifted off to sleep was the soothing sound of the numerous waterfalls busy with the Spring thaw. The fireworks and music had ended sometime during the night, but neither Frodo nor Iris had noticed.

Something awakened him, but he elected to not move. He realized he was in a comfortable, soft bed; lying on his left side spooned up against a wonderfully warm body. A nude female hobbit body. His arm was casually draped over her side; his nose buried in her fragrant curly hair. ‘Iris,’ he thought half in wakefulness and half in dream. ‘My wife.’ The slow rise and fall of her breath indicated she was asleep. Frodo opened his eyes and blinked into a brilliant white light.

He realized he had left the heavy velvet curtains pulled aside so that intense light and shadows flooded the room. The moon was about to set between the mountain tops, competing for a few minutes more with the ancient starlight in filling the crystal clear air with Arda’s first light. But Frodo knew the stars would prevail. For they were before the Moon. Before the Sun. Even before the light of the Two Trees, there was the beauty of the twilight of the stars. Elbereth’s gift in the creation of Arda itself.

As Frodo watched, the Moon hid his face behind the snow-clad mountains. The shadows became less distinct as distant unchanging starlight replaced the gaudy power of the closer wayward Moon. Blessed starlight gracing their bedroom. Blessed starlight pooling on the polished stone floor; slipping with silent song across the covers; caressing his face and the sleeping form of his bride.

Frodo closed his eyes and snuggled up against Iris’ warm backside, moving his hand down to lightly cup her breast. He was actually still extremely sleepy, yet the starlight and her proximity aroused his ambitions again. He kissed her shoulder and inhaled the apple cider and nutmeg fragrance which seemed to linger in Iris’ hair. She didn’t quite wake up, but definitely was not totally asleep either. Iris moaned lightly and moved closer into him with her hips, rolling forward slightly allowing him access to her innermost bliss.

Frodo smiled and moved his hand down between her legs, finding her wet and warm and yielding. She arched her back in anticipation; whether in dreams or awake, it mattered not. Iris reached back and found his own arousal; hard and ready. He easily slid inside her; both more reacting as if in a dream with slow, soft caresses and sighs of pleasure. They gently rocked under the covers, back and forth within each other, breathing each other’s breath; content in the pleasure of the feelings without any expectation of completion. A caress from within. A lullaby of night-time lovers lost in the moment and the warmth of the embrace. They fell back into sleep without even noticing.

Iris awoke a little while later in her lover’s arms and with a great deal of his weight on her legs and hips. There was something different this time. ‘My stars!’ she thought. ‘He is still inside me!’

She slid her right hand across his encircling arm and then down the outside curve of his hips. She could feel Frodo respond to her movements; mumbling something into the pillow and lightly thrusting himself into her again as he stiffened in earnest. She had never felt anything like this before in her life! Desire for him overwhelmed her, almost taking her breath away in the intensity of the raw emotion.

Iris felt a sudden rush of heat and desire. She impaled herself upon him more deeply, sure she was waking him with her insistent hard need for more. Frodo responded, throwing off his near-sleep by moaning lightly and sliding his hands across her bosoms to tightly hold her to himself. He shifted his position to throw the covers off the two of them, freeing them from the entangling sheets and leaving them open to the star-kissed night air.

But Iris did not see the starlight. Her eyes were closed, head thrown back, baring her throat to the frigid air and leaning heavily into him. Frodo rolled onto his back, taking Iris with him so that she was also lying face up. To his amazement, he was still firmly inside her after the maneuver. He crossed his arms over her belly, thrusting up and in; one hand moving down to caress her engorged sweetness, the other up across her breasts and holding onto her shoulder. She threw her head back into the hollow of his shoulder, cheek to cheek with him now as he thrust again and again and again into her from behind.

Iris cried out into the night air; the sound and the thrill of his lovemaking totally consuming her. She came in a torrent of rapture, shuttering uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through her body and into his. Frodo responded instantly, groaning in pleasure as he also climaxed, thrusting once more and holding her impaled upon himself as he shot a trail of hot pearls deep inside her quivering velvet.

The moment was forever.

Then the moment was gone. But the starlight remained.