Ash and Water by Astris

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Ash and Water

The elf leaned over the edge of the stream, kneeling in the soft mud of the bank, her fingers tangled in a nearby tuft of grass. A wavering reflection peered back at her from the water's surface, tangled black hair falling wild over a sun-browned face and grey eyes gleaming from under her curls. A single golden leaf detached itself from a branch overhead and settled on the water, shattering her reflection into widening ripples, broken by the river's current. She pulled back, a smile crossing her face.

"Milady?"

The elf's head jerked up, eyes darting across the line of trees across the river. Her smile widened, and her fingers moved as though of their own accord, plucking up the leaf swirling in the water before her.

"Milady, where are you?" The voice was getting closer, approaching from the opposite side of the stream. The elf stood, brushing crumbs of dirt off of her fingers. There was a faint rustling noise and the branches ahead of her trembled slightly. Without even glancing back, the elf sprang into the air, grasping an overhead branch with both hands and swinging her legs up, hooking them up and around. Her tunic – already torn at the edge where she had caught it on a thorn bush the day before – flipped up to reveal a sliver of skin that was the same sun-touched golden brown as the rest of her.

"Milady?" The leaves on the opposite bank parted and another elf emerged. She paused, eyes sweeping right past the elf perched in the lower branches of a low-hanging tree, then began to make her way across the stream, bare feet sure on the slick rocks. Droplets of water spun up into the air as she hopped onto the near shore. The elf in the tree pressed her fingers to her mouth as though to stifle a laugh, twirling the leaf between her fingers, a drop of water catching on her thumb and sliding over her wrist, crystal-clear and glittering in the sunlight.

The second elf was now among the trees, glancing to and fro, silent now. She paused beneath an overhanging branch, then sucked in a breath as though to call out again.

In the tree above her, the elf let the leaf slip from between her fingers. Down it spun, veined, golden surface heavy with water – and landed squarely on the second elf's nose. Immediately, her head jerked upwards, sending the leaf spinning to the ground.

"I found you," she noted.

"Really?" The elf dropped down, landing lightly on the ground a few feet away. "I had no idea you were looking for me."

"I was calling–"

"Mithrellas." The smile slid from her face, a look of reproach replacing it – reproach that was transparently false, that failed to hide the amusement that still shone beneath it. "My name is not 'milady'. There is no need to address me as though we were not equals."

"Whatever you say, milady."

Nimrodel frowned, narrowing her dark eyes. Mithrellas' only response was a faint smile that amounted to little more than a twitch at the corner of her mouth. It was as much as she ever gave her lady – Mithrellas was not someone that tended to show undue emotion.

"You're a bit late today, aren't you?" Nimrodel asked, changing the subject abruptly. She folded her legs gracefully and sat, glancing up with an expectant look on her face – a clear invitation for her companion to do the same. Mithrellas sat with a bit more care, kicking a twig out of her way before taking her place across from Nimrodel. Dappled shadows flitted across her slim, serious face as she arranged the folds of her grass-stained dress.

"I was delayed by news from across the river. Those living on the outskirts of the forest are withdrawing into within the interior borders of Lorien – there is news of something stirring in the mines." Her eyes remained on Nimrodel's face, searching for a reaction. If she was expecting fear, she received none – Nimrodel's only response was an unconcerned tilt of her head.

"Something stirring? But there has been no word of anything since the Dwarves deserted their little mountain fortress." 

"Nevertheless," she replied, "there is no denying that since the Dwarves fled, something has to have taken their place. I heard that a scout spotted an Orc only a fortnight ago, a few leagues north." Personally, she dreaded arriving by the falls to find Nimrodel's body, broken and bleeding and stuck with Orc arrows – or worse, simply gone.

Implicit in her observations was the plea – come back with me, leave this place, do not be alone. It was alone that danger found you, and alone that death stalked you. As the sole inhabitant of the lands surrounding the falls of the southern river, Nimrodel was the closest to the Misty Mountains – and yet she seemed unwilling to leave, or even to allow any to stay and guard her. Even Mithrellas lived closer to the more densely inhabited center of Lothlórien, at Nimrodel's insistence.

Nimrodel smiled. "Mithrellas, look around you."

Perplexed, she did so.

"What do you see?"

"Trees. Leaves. Grass. The river." What am I supposed to see? If this was another one of Nimrodel's overly dramatic attempts at making a point–

"Is this land not beautiful? Do you not feel it resonating in every part of you?" Nimrodel looked up, the wind-blown leaves above casting dapples of light across her face. Her eyes drifted shut as though she was listening to some faraway song, audible only to her. "Would you not die for it?"

"I..." She trailed off, unsure, and Nimrodel returned her gaze to her, raising an eyebrow.

"Go on."

"I don't think that any one spot of land is worth giving up my life for," she replied, all in a rush. "My life – or your life, for that matter – is infinitely more valuable than that."

For an instant, she thought she saw a spark of anger in Nimrodel's eyes, but then her lady surprised her by throwing back her head and laughing.

"Somehow I knew you would something like that, Mithrellas. I don't blame you – you were not born here. Your blood does not remember the music of this place as mine does."

Then what does it remember? If it remembers the song of my birthplace – if it had a song – then it remembers war – and survival. It remembers more than yours on that last point, certainly. "That is entirely beside the point. Milady, you are in danger here, and it doesn't matter where you were born, life is always more valuable than death–"

"You speak with the words of your birthplace, and thus prove yourself wrong." Nimrodel tilted her head to one side. "Tell me. Why do you call me 'milady'?"

"I – you are a lady of higher birth than I. You rule this stretch of land in all but name. Both are sufficient reasons, as you very well know." My only desire is to serve you – protect you. And perhaps more, but that hardly matters at this moment.

"The words of one from the West."

"I was a babe when my parents crossed the mountains and took up residence here. I grew up here." A note of protest was creeping into her voice, and she wondered how this had suddenly become about her, when her intention had been to make Nimrodel to see the coming danger.

"And yet your blood remembers the savage warfare of that place. In some ways, you are no different from the others, those exiles that bring death and destruction wherever they go. If there is darkness spreading, it is their fault – it stalks their very footsteps."

"The darkness is a creation of the Enemy, not anything our kin can be blamed for." Because those who had sailed West and returned were still akin to those who stayed, were they not? There was nothing in their deepest natures that separated them, made them alien – but Nimrodel would never be willing to see that.

Nimrodel leaned forward, eyes burning with sudden fury. "They say that Beleriand – that was what it was called, no? They say that Beleriand sank because the land was so torn, every inch so soaked with blood, that it could no longer bear it. They say that the island of Westernesse foundered because a mad king dared bring war from it to the untouchable West. Tell me, Mithrellas – when the disease of war spreads here, how long before this land, too, is reclaimed by the vengeful waves?"

"I'm not–" I was one of your people, my parents fled the Noldor's war and took refuge here an Age ago – I am not one of those you hate. She realized that Nimrodel had quite skillfully diverted the conversation. "That's irrelevant. Danger is coming whether you wish it or not. Staying here is suicidal."

"Staying here is my only choice."

There were a few seconds of tense silence. Mithrellas' eyes caught Nimrodel's and held them challengingly, blue depths flashing. After a moment, Nimrodel shook her head, a wry look on her face, as though Mithrellas had just proved something to her.

"If you truly thought of me as your superior, you would not challenge me thus. Won't you just admit it? We can be equals – it doesn't matter to me."

Mithrellas blinked, unsettled by the sudden return to their previous topic. "You're avoiding the issue."

"Because it isn't an issue. I will stay here and fight and die for this land, if necessary." Nimrodel reached forward and brushed Mithrellas' hair back from her face, an unexpectedly tender gesture. It might have been her imagination, but Mithrellas could have sworn that she felt her fingers linger just a bit longer than necessary, the touch warm and somehow thrilling. "You know, if you were my equal, you would have certain privileges that a servant most certainly would not."

"What?" Is she doing this just to distract me? If so, it was certainly working – Mithrellas had considered herself used to Nimrodel's unpredictable swings, but she was being odder than usual today. Perhaps it was an evasion tactic. Maybe she should press further–

Nimrodel sat back suddenly, eyes wandering up to the ceiling of golden leaves. "Are we done?"

No. She considered the alternative: another circular conversation, Nimrodel evading the topic and using every possible distraction to deter Mithrellas – including, apparently, blatant flirtation. "I suppose so."

"Good." Nimrodel threw herself back onto the grass, arms outstretched, hair catching in the long grass beneath her. The serious expression faded almost immediately, and she smiled up at Mithrellas as though the entire conversation had never happened. "You can hear the waterfall from here, you know. Want to stay and listen for awhile?"

Mithrellas had always thought that the waterfall's noise and Nimrodel's voice sounded awfully alike, as though one could not exist without the other. She might have stayed to listen – and perhaps more in the hopes of hearing Nimrodel sing than anything else – but for some reason her heart was beating a bit faster than normal, and her cheeks were faintly warm. 

"I think I'll be on my way," she replied, though there was nothing for her to do back at her dwelling. "See you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Nimrodel agreed, and Mithrellas could almost pretend it was a promise – that she would be here tomorrow, still safe and alive. It wasn't a promise she was sure Nimrodel was able to keep.

The day Mithrellas dreaded did not come on the morrow, or the day after that. As summer faded into autumn, and as the air grew noticeably crisper, she made her daily trips to Nimrodel's river without major incident. What little news she received from the interior suggested that everyone else was doing much the same as she was – waiting and worrying.

Not that she was spending her time idly, of course. She convinced one of the elves on border patrol to bring her back a bow the next time she made that circuit – a good longbow, with a quiver of arrows to go with it. Since receiving it, she had spent a good part of every day practicing on the trees around her dwelling, struggling to improve her rusty shooting skills (which hadn't exactly been amazing to begin with, but she had no intention of letting her lady go completely unprotected).

She arranged to have a bow made for Nimrodel as well, a few weeks later, since she couldn't be by her lady's side every second of the day. When she arrived bearing it, Nimrodel gave her a disapproving glare and a few, clipped sentences about the warlike ways brought by the elves from the West – but she took the bow, which was all Mithrellas cared about.

Orc sightings grew more numerous. On one morning, she found the tracks of a warg imprinted in the mud at the back of the river on her way to the falls. She ran the rest of the way upstream, on the edge of panic, only to find Nimrodel perched serenely on a tree branch, singing.

"Were you worried?" she asked, frowning down at Mithrellas, who was still breathing heavily. "I can protect myself, you know."

"Against a warg? Against a hundred wargs? Milady, please–"

"That's enough, Mithrellas." And Nimrodel turned away, the conversation clearly at an end.

She continued to come daily, as she always had, but spent longer and longer periods of time with Nimrodel. It seemed almost ridiculous that she had to continue living elsewhere when she seemed to spend more time here than at her own dwelling, but it was necessary – not only did Nimrodel insist on living alone, but Mithrellas knew that they would both be safer with a way into the safer interior of Lorien, and that with Mithrellas as a halfway point they had a safer method of retreat, if it ever came to that.

She could have fled on her own, abandoned Nimrodel and taken refuge with the little kingdom that had formed further east, in the heart of the forest. As the nights lengthened and the darkness grew, it might have even seemed the logical thing to do – and yet she could not.

Why? Why not just leave – let her stay here and die, if that's what she wants. If life is always more valuable than death, at least save yourself.

And yet something always held her back, kept her rising with the sun and making the trek upstream to where Nimrodel was waiting for her, stubborn and unpredictable and completely irresistible.

Perhaps it was only that, in the end, they weren't so different: Nimrodel was willing to fight and die for a place, while Mithrellas was willing to do the same for a person.

A distant howl jolted Mithrellas from sleep and she leapt to her feet, groping in the darkness for her bow. Her fingers grasped the smooth wood and she slung her quiver over her shoulder, keeping her fingers curled around the feathered tip of an arrow, eyes straining to pierce the darkness about her. Nothing stirred.

Just when she was beginning to wonder if the howl had not been a part of her dreams of blood and terror (and Nimrodel, always Nimrodel), she heard it again, this time closer. It came from the west – where the mountains loomed dark against the starry sky, where the river flowed down to a little waterfall.

No!

She was running before she had consciously willed her feet to move, boots pounding in the soft dirt beside the stream. Glints of moonlight shattered by the current gleamed in the corners of her eyes as she ran, tight anxiety dancing in the back of her throat, a desperate plea racing through her mind – please let it not be too late, please let her still be alive.

The path to Nimrodel had never felt so long, and it seemed as though every root in the forest was rising in her way to entangle her feet, every branch was grabbing at her clothing, holding her back. She smelled the smoke before she saw the dull red glow over the treetops and almost cried out when she tasted the acrid tang of ash on her tongue – they had set fire to the forest.

Mithrellas slowed as she neared the clearing where she and Nimrodel had been sitting only hours before, wary. She slid an arrow from her quiver and notched it to the string, but didn't draw – yet.

"Milady?" she ventured, pitching her voice low, hoping against hope she would be heard. "Nimrodel?"

There was no reply. Heart pounding, she stepped out from among the trees.

Her foot caught on something. She glanced down, then leapt back, stifling a yell. An Orc lay facedown in the dirt, crude sword discarded a few paces away, a green-fletched arrow in its throat. Mithrellas recognized the shaft as one she had given Nimrodel and allowed herself to hope.

"Nimrodel, where are you?" she whispered. The red glow was getting closer – she could hear the crackle of flames now, harsher than the rustling of leaves but a similar sound nonetheless. She felt a sudden flare of anger – these Orcs with their fire, eating away at the forest, devouring it, threatening Nimrodel – she would have liked nothing better in this moment than to be able to kill every last one of them with her bare hands.

But she had to find Nimrodel first.

If I was her, where would I go?

She glanced west again, trying not to choke on the thickening smoke, and the answer came to her – the river. Spinning on one heel, she started pushing through the dense underbrush, ignoring the way the thorns pricked her fingers, catching and tearing her skin. The fire was close enough that she could see her surroundings clearly in its ruddy glow and hear it all around her, the roar of a hot wind, sucking her backwards. She struggled onwards, shoving branches out of the way with her bow, eyes stinging from the haze that now enveloped her.

Where are you?

She burst through onto the bank, panting, frantically glancing back and forth. "Nimrodel!" she called, no longer caring if there were Orcs around to hear, as long as Nimrodel answered her.

The water before her rushed madly over the rocks, tinted blood red by the flames behind her. Every indrawn breath hurt, as though the blazing hot air was baking her lungs, searing the back of her throat. Mithrellas turned, searching, and some distant part of her noticed that she couldn't even hear the falls over the roar of the flames and the deafening crack of splintering wood.

Over the noise, she heard a wail, too deep to be Nimrodel's voice. Her hands tripped over themselves forcing an arrow onto her bowstring – she had lost the first in the woods somewhere – and she cursed her own clumsiness as she sprinted towards the voice.

She spotted a figure kneeling beside a great, dark mass, head bowed. "Nimrodel!"

The figure raised her head and Mithrellas almost collapsed with relief. Nimrodel stared vacantly up at Mithrellas as she hurried over, dropping her bow and throwing herself to her knees before her.

"Thank Eru you're all right," she gasped, clutching Nimrodel's hands. "I was so terrified–"

Nimrodel stared back at her, dark eyes reflecting the dancing flames. Her face was flecked with spatters of black blood, and Mithrellas realized that the body beside them was that of a huge Orc with its own knife driven into its chest. She could see the splintered remains of Nimrodel's bow beneath its hulking body.

"Did you kill that thing?" she asked, surprised and more than a little concerned at the blankness in Nimrodel's eyes.

At the sound of her voice, Nimrodel stirred slightly, eyes flicking down to the body, then back up to some point over Mithrellas' head. "I killed them all," she whispered, voice rough from the smoke. "They're all dead. They're all burning."

Mithrellas felt a chill run through her and turned, following Nimrodel's eyes. The forest behind them was all ablaze, the remaining trees swaying in the waves of hot air emanating from the inferno, branches cracking and falling as they succumbed to the flames. Sparks flew into the sky, burning bright as the stars for a few brief seconds before whirling away as soft grey ash still hot enough to burn. And then flames themselves threw streamers of red and orange into the night sky, drowning out the faint pinpricks of white above, devouring the forest and roaring its hunger without end.

They're all dead. They're all burning. Nimrodel's forest was going up in flames before them, blowing away on the wind as so much ash. Is this land not beautiful? Would you not die for it?

A flaming branch landed with a tremendous crash perilously close to the two of them and Mithrellas flinched. Nimrodel gave no visible reaction, continuing to stare at her home as it drowned in flame, and Mithrellas saw the twin tear tracks that wound their way down her smoke-stained cheeks.

"We have to get out of here," she said, standing and dragging Nimrodel up with her. "Across the river – we should be safe there. Fire can't jump water, right?" She was aware that she was talking to herself, that Nimrodel was paying no attention to anything beside the fire, but she had to do something to keep from screaming. "Maybe we'll go downstream, where the river's wider." She had some distant idea of heading for the interior, of bringing Nimrodel to safety within Lórien's borders, but she had the sinking feeling that it was far too late for that.

They crossed the stream, Mithrellas leading Nimrodel by the hand, Nimrodel trudging along wherever she was pulled. The water swirled about their ankles, surface already tainted with thick grey ash. The noise of the fire faded slightly as they clambered up the far bank, a stretch of water now between them and death.

Mithrellas turned east, starting to tug Nimrodel downstream, but encountered unexpected resistance. She looked back to find Nimrodel standing stock-still, ignoring Mithrellas' hand on hers, still gazing across the water at the dying blaze.

"You want to stay here?"

Nimrodel didn't say anything. Mithrellas took her non-response as acquiescence and sighed, returning to her side.

"All right. That's – that's fine. Whatever you want." It felt so wrong, this silence, the emptiness in those dark eyes. "Do you want to sit down?" She hesitated, then folded her legs, dropping to the ground, still holding Nimrodel's hand. She looked up over their interlocked fingers, waiting.

Nimrodel sank down, eyes still fixed on the opposite bank. Mithrellas swallowed and tentatively reached forward, using the corner of her dress to swipe away the ash on Nimrodel's cheeks.

"Are you–" Stupid question. She's clearly not all right – who would be? She cast about for the right words, settled on, "Do you think you can move on soon? I don't think it's safe, being this close to the fire."

Nimrodel's gaze still hadn't wavered from the destruction behind Mithrellas. The fire was fading now, burning itself out – or moving on – and Mithrellas could taste cleaner air blowing down from the mountains, cool and soothing on her aching throat.

"Aren't you... aren't you going to say anything?" Don't leave me alone, Nimrodel.

Silence. There was an eerie blankness in Nimrodel's eyes, as though she weren't there at all, and Mithrellas felt a sudden flash of fear that after all this, she had still lost her – that Nimrodel had gone somewhere deep inside where Mithrellas wasn't capable of following.

"Nimrodel!" She felt her voice crack on the last syllable and gave in, burying her face in Nimrodel's tunic, wrapping her arms around her. Her clothing smelled like smoke, but under that was a different scent, warm and familiar. "Nimrodel, please come back, I don't know what to do..."

Nimrodel, I love you. Don't leave me.

She must have spoken those words aloud, because she suddenly felt cool hands entwined in her hair, pulling her head up. Nimrodel took a deep, shuddering breath, eyes snapping down from the blaze behind them and meeting Mithrellas', something shining in their dark depths. She dragged Mithrellas forward, their lips meeting, the kiss hard and somehow desperate. Mithrellas could feel the tightness in Nimrodel, the humming tension, and felt a tingling heat spread through her entire body.

When they pulled apart, Nimrodel's cheeks were wet with tears.

"Mithrellas..." she whispered, lips barely moving, and Mithrellas reached forward, took her in her arms again, and simply held her.

"It's going to be all right," she told Nimrodel, trying to make it sound like she herself believed those words – but how could it be all right, after all that had happened? "We can leave here, go north or south or wherever you want–" She kissed Nimrodel, first on one cheek, then the other, tasting the salt of her tears mingled with ash.

"Stay here, Mithrellas." Nimrodel's hands slid up her arms and clutched her shoulders, clinging to her as though she was drowning. "Stay–" She turned her face upwards, seeking, and their lips met again. Mithrellas tasted smoke and something bitter, like despair.

"Yes, Nimrodel. I'll stay with you. Anything." She tightened her arms around Nimrodel, wishing she could blur the lines between them until they were one, safe – together.

She felt Nimrodel's shudders subside, felt her relax slightly against her, and shifted so they were leaning back against a tree. "Just... just close your eyes, Nimrodel. Sleep. It'll look better in the morning." It won't. But I'll have you with me, and that'll be better – won't it?

Nimrodel tilted her head up to brush her lips against Mithrellas' one last time, and she might have whispered something against them, but Mithrellas wasn't certain. It might have been I love you. It could have been goodbye.

She lay there for a long time in the silence, feeling Nimrodel's weight against her, the steady beat of her heart. Eventually the darkness reached up to claim her, and her eyes drifted shut.

Mithrellas woke alone.

At first, she didn't recognize her surroundings – the events of the night before, the fire and the flight across the river, seemed more than half a dream in the thin morning light. Her first bleary thought was wondering why the air still tasted like smoke.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and caught sight of the river flowing a few meters away. It was choked with thick grey ash, chunks of blackened wood swirling in it, caught in the current's grip. She sprang to her feet, everything flooding back.

"Nimrodel!"

She left. Why–

Mithrellas turned, scrutinizing the ground around her. There was the imprint in the grass where they had lain the night before, there were the twin sets of ashen footprints leading up out of the stream – and there was a single set of footprints, leading south.

She stared at these for a long while, trying to process the painful, simple fact of her own solitude. Nimrodel must have woken before her, must have paused on the bank like this, gathering her courage – and then left, soundlessly, leaving Mithrellas asleep on the ground.

Did she even look back? Or do you think she was glad to be gone – glad to be away from you?

No. It hadn't been her – it couldn't have been. It was this land, and how it was now, blackened and ruined, no longer beautiful. Had Nimrodel wandered in search of a more fair land, then? Or had she fled the sight of her ravished home, seeking to forget it, thinking of nothing else and certainly not Mithrellas?

"Why didn't you wake me?" she asked the empty air, clenching her fists and taking a step back from the river. She could still taste ash on the air, bitter and foreign.

It doesn't matter. Go after her. Find her.

Yet her feet wouldn't move southwards – not yet. She found herself crossing the river, climbing the bank, slipping in the thin layer of soot that coated everything. There was the blackened skeleton where the Orc's body had been the night before, there was a single tree trunk at the edge of the river, listing dangerously to one side but still standing, somehow, despite the fact that its wood was charred the color of night.

Mithrellas sank to her knees, watching the ash rise in plumes about her and settle back down. She tried to imagine bringing Nimrodel back here (if she could even find her) and trying to rebuild – and couldn't see past the swirling smoke to something new, something alive.

She let her eyes drift shut, tried to listen. The waterfall seemed somehow muted, as though mourning the loss of the forest, or perhaps mourning the loss of Nimrodel. Yet she could hear a familiar voice, woven into the falling water, still singing eternally, like a song on the edge of hearing – half-imagined, perhaps not even there. This place remembered Nimrodel. The forest would regrow, and her song would still echo from the water, the voice always in the distance, but there.

Close your eyes. It's like nothing's changed.

For a second, she almost believed – almost felt the grass against her hand, almost heard Nimrodel's footsteps, her careless laugh. For just a moment, it was all right again.

Her eyes opened to a world of swirling grey, the stream before her choked with ash, the stump behind her blackened and charred. A single golden leaf clung to the fluffy remains of a branch, reduced to soot and crumbling at the touch of a finger. She stared at it until she had to blink back the tears that threatened to blur her vision.

She stood, dusted ash from her fingers, and began walking south.

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