Maglor stared up mournfully from where he sat on the golden plate and, on seeing that the grey-clad wizard was now lighting up his pipe and apparently paying him no further attention, gave a doleful croak.
The wizard ignored him, instead hrumming deep in his throat for a few moments before jerking the mouthpiece of his pipe out of his mouth and sending a thick acrid grey cloud into the air above the frog's head. Maglor croaked again, even more unhappily this time, when he felt the astringent threads of grey stroke the back of his head. He raised a forefoot to rub his head and blinked slowly. Then he lowered the foot and croaked again.
Again, there was no response from the wizard. After a few moments, Maglor, a little more anxious now - after all, were not wizards supposed to understand the languages of all birds and beasts? - proceeded to let out a long stream of insistent, hopeful, pleading, loud croaks. Inwardly he prayed the wizard would not take offence and attempt to squish him like the lady of the Golden Wood had tried to do when he had arrived at the front door of the royal dining talan to seal his part of the deal that they had made by her mirror earlier.
Misfortune, however, had still not divorced him. Old, grey, yet oddly bright eyes swivelled in the wrinkled face to regard him and then the thin lips opened and a ring of smoke descended to curl around Maglor's neck. Maglor cough-croaked violently and, feeling very bitter and hopeless now, fell silent. Then, when the ancient eyes continued to regard him and he began to feel a little uncomfortable under their close scrutiny, he slowly turned around so that his back faced the eyes and his own eyes faced the elf-lord and elf-lady's stony faces. He blinked slowly and swallowed and again cursed himself for being so desperate as to believe a fable might be the solution to his problems.
After a few moments, Maglor slowly padded back around on the cold clammy golden plate to look mournfully back at the wizard and give another doleful croak. Would someone please change him back? Please? Please? Please?
The wizard met his gaze for a few moments, then slowly lifted his eyes to regard the rigid couple at the other end of the table. "Well, he looks a mere common frog to me."
Maglor croaked again, painfully and pleadingly, helplessly and mournfully. The attention, however, seemed only to rear misfortune's domestically violent head once more when Gandalf, on glancing back at him, looked back at the couple and added, "If he troubles you so much, why not eat him?"