The Grotto

Chapter Three

Voyeur

 

It is not an elf. It is Frodo. He is alone and wears a light, travel-stained cloak and a small backpack. A sturdy walking stick is in his left hand. He has paused at the edge of the pool, surveying it with a growing, self-satisfied smile. Around the frame of his face curling tendrils of his dark hair stick to his skin. His cheeks have the glistening sheen of sweat and the fine cotton of his shirt sags damply against his chest. As you watch, he nods as if deciding and drops his stick to the ground. He then works the pack off one shoulder and unclasps the cloak, which he has worn thrown back, to drop it also into a heap at his feet. You can see the shocking blue of his eyes, flashing like gems through squinting slits as he surveys the pool below you. He touches the water with his toe and your fears are confirmed; he intends to bathe in the pool himself. Your heart hammers in your chest and you are grateful for the sound of the waterfall, for surely he would be able to hear it otherwise. You grip the calcite rim of the basin, your eyes fixed on the vision of loveliness that drifts in the mists before you.

He stretches, as if to ease his back and you drink in the sight of his lean body straining against damp cloth. He moves with the carelessness of someone who does not know he is being watched and you feel suddenly guilty. You should not be here. You imagine he has come, as have you, for solitude and respite from the loving crush of your sisters. As dear as they all are to you, there are times when you, and obviously he, feel the need to be alone, to reflect and rest. How can you disturb what he has traveled so far to find? You know you must find a way to leave, to creep away soundlessly before he catches you, but to get your clothes and your pack, you have to go by the very pool he looks to be getting ready to enter! He rolls his neck and slips his braces off, first the left and then the right, so that they hang in baggy loops from his hips. He then begins to work the button of his left cuff and you find you cannot move from your spot. He moves so effortlessly, with such youthful grace that you are transfixed, you cannot tear your eyes away from this enchanting form.

He unbuttons the other cuff and his slender fingers drift absently over the front of his shirt. He seems lost in a daydream and the act of undressing is something he attends to unconsciously. You watch mesmerized as his delicate hands undo his second button, then his third… In a brief lifting of the mists, you catch a clear glimpse of his chest lit golden by the light of the sun through the shirt’s fabric. Your heart leaps to your throat and you feel it will burst witnessing such incredible beauty. More buttons fall to his careless touch and he tugs the long shirttails from the waist of his trousers. Your breath quickens as he slides the shirt off his arms and examines it in the sunlight. He shakes the garment a bit to air it and the ripples of the fabric are answered in the glistening muscles of his back. So pale he is that his skin takes on the golden hue of sunlight. The sight seems so strange to you. You have seen him naked in the moonlight where his skin glows with the radiance of new fallen snow, but here it is as warm as a fire’s glow, exuberant, full of health and the joy of life.

He turns and drapes the shirt over a leafy branch that reaches into the clearing. To air in the sunshine, you assume. Your eyes follow him with guilty hunger as he comes back to the edge of the pool and begins undoing the buttons of his trousers. Blood rushes to your cheeks. You really should not be watching, but it is impossible to turn away. It is the effortless way he moves that draws you, the inherent grace in the play of his fingers as they work through long accustomed tasks, the way errant curls fall to both sides of his neck, framing the smooth patch of alabaster skin at the base. Your eyes are lured to him as if you have no choice. In a crowd of thousands, you would find him. To your loving gaze, his form embodies everything that is beauty and desire, strength and perfection, wisdom and innocence. Though part of you feels like a voyeur watching from hiding, the greater part treasures this unguarded glimpse, knowing you gaze with the deepest love and admiration in your heart.

The trousers fall and he pulls them off the ends of his feet one leg at a time. The thin cotton of his undergarment clings to him the same way the shirt did, cradling every curve of his body. His sure fingers tug at the drawstring. He is gazing dreamily at the pool and you can see the touch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. He is anticipating a long, luxurious soak, just as you did. You bite your lip as he pushes the garment down. Through the mists he glows as golden light reflects upon his naked body. Your hands are shaking and the moisture on your cheeks is not from the steaming bath. Oh, how you love the sweet curve of his hips, the perfect sweep of his back, the slender but powerful legs. You love seeing him like this; so utterly beautiful but completely unaware of his loveliness. You could watch him forever and be happy to do nothing more. He steps to the edge and eases himself down to sit on the basin’s lip. His legs drift slowly back and forth in the water as he accustoms himself to the temperature, then, closing his bright eyes, he slides in, up to his neck in the faintly steaming water. You can see him sigh and smile with contentment and you almost laugh aloud, delighted that he can experience such pleasure.

TBC 

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