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Frodo found himself rather abruptly drawn into the circle of conversation between the Lady Galadriel and Adamanta. And she was being very much Adamanta at this point in time. Right at the moment she reminded him more than anyone else of his Aunt Dora at her best.
Lady Galadriel smiled and said, "I do indeed know Frodo and Bilbo; they are good friends. I was more than a little surprised to learn of your relationship to them, however."
"I was surprised myself," said Adamanta. "I had no idea that I should ever have the opportunity to meet the descendants of Tūk and myself after all this time. I must say, however, that I am unsurprised to learn of the great deeds which they accomplished."
Frodo found himself blushing, but his embarrassment was only the normal embarrassment of one praised in public, and not the shameful feeling that he was an imposter who never did what he'd been extolled for. It was a pleasant and warm feeling to realise that, yes, he had accomplished something worthwhile even though he had not done it in the way he had imagined it ought to be done.
He glanced over and met the gazes of both ladies, and found in them warm approval, mild amusement, fondness and pride. He blushed a second time, and for an instant he remembered his mother.
"Mama! See what I made!" He'd thrust the drawing at her eagerly, and she'd plucked it from his nine-year-old hands.
The drawing, done in charcoal and coloured chalks had been more than a little smudged, but there was no mistaking the pride in his mother's voice.
"Oh Frodo! It's primulas! How lovely! Thank you, my chicklet!" She had gathered him into her arms.
Frodo blinked. He'd not thought of that memory in years.
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