Running by Elleth

Chapter 1

“Will you never --- grow tired of --- of running?” Mithrellas gasped, letting herself fall into the flower-studded grass of the clearing beside the river, where Nimrodel already sprawled, barely out of breath. Her hair had come undone in the run and lay tangled behind her, ensnaring Elanor-blooms and the abundance of mallorn-leaves, and gave her the appearance of being bedded in gold. Even the spring sunlight filtering through the mist between the flowering trees was golden toward evening. It was unthinkable that Nimrodel should belong anywhere else as she did here.

Nimrodel made no answer, merely smiled and flung out an arm over Mithrellas’ chest, leaving it there until her breath quieted.

“Do I now get my prize for winning the race?” she asked after a while, “even at the risk of leaving you breathless again?”

Mithrellas’ resistance, if it ever existed, was weak at best. She propped herself up on her elbows, and her hair fell down around them, casting them into warm darkness, as she leaned in to kiss Nimrodel.

* * *

The light was greying around them, and the last vestiges of Lindórinand had vanished behind the hills to the north. Nimrodel was on all fours and panting like a tired horse; the bare, wet earth was leaving dark stains on her gown, and once again - it did so often - Nimrodel’s hair had slipped free of her braids. Mithrellas crouched on her heels by her, and stayed her hand in trying to brush the curtain of hair away.

“He,” Nimrodel said, and paused. The time that elapsed was longer than between two breaths. “He promised to take me into the Ancient West. And I promised myself to him.”

Mithrellas did not have to ask who he was - Amroth, interloper, incomer. The words hammered behind her eyes and against her throat like a fist. He had been seeking Nimrodel more and more often of late, incidentally bathing in Nimrodel’s stream or sunning himself on the warm rocks lining the riverbank; often Nimrodel had returned into the talan with flushed cheeks and shining eyes that Mithrellas knew all too well. Uirithil, when she saw Mithrellas’ mien, had stopped in her spinning, and her eyes were brimming over with pity.

Mithrellas found it harder to muster anything but anger, even with Nimrodel’s pitiful figure before her. “I wish you joy of it! I wish you joy of him.”

The words curled from her tongue like an adder Mithrellas had once stirred from its rest when she had been gathering berries on the edge of the forest. She had barely avoided a bite, which, though painful, would not have put her into grave danger, and part of her hoped that her words would have that same effect on Nimrodel.

She left Nimrodel where she was kneeling, wondering only briefly where Amroth had gone, and turned to walk back in direction of the forest. She did not slow when Nimrodel’s swift footsteps came up behind her, passed her, and she vanished into the grey light ahead.

* * *

“Yes. Of course I will come with you. Nimrodel, how could I not?”

The words hurt to wrench from her throat, but Mithrellas intended to keep with her purpose. It was worse to live without Nimrodel than to live with her and know that their kisses had become a thing of the past. Perhaps leaving Lórinand behind would allow her to leave those memories with it. She sullenly kicked at the leaves that lined the path - true autumn leaves, the orange of beech and the pale yellow of linden, not the golden spring-fall of the mallorn trees - and refused to fully look at her companion, but from the corner of her eye it seemed that Nimrodel’s step had become less dragging than it had been when they set out to walk toward the Naith where they would discuss the way they might take toward a haven in the south with the more road-wise among their people. Almost it seemed she might break into a run then and there, whether out of eagerness or desire to evade, Mithrellas was not sure - there was a little of both in her movements. She tensed to spring after Nimrodel, but on her other side, Uirithil, walking quietly and talking little, laid a hand on her shoulder.

Nimrodel sprang ahead down the path, kicking up the linden-leaves as she ran.

Mithrellas attempted a smile at Uirithil. She had not been Nimrodel’s maid for long, and she was much younger than them both, barely beyond reaching adulthood, but she had proved a good friend whose very presence was a comfort. Mithrellas stayed the impulse to go after Nimrodel - there would be no kisses for her at the end of this race, not any longer, for downriver Amroth would be waiting.

“I must be patient,” she said in response to Uirithil’s concerned look. “If the Blessed Realm is truly blessed, it will afford healing… or understanding and acceptance - for me, or for Amroth.”

Uirithil laughed, unexpectedly clear and ringing. “I wonder. But I wish you all the luck. It must be hard giving up everything for her.”

“I love her,” Mithrellas answered swiftly. “Staying with her will be worth the loss.”

* * *

It had been worth the loss - at long last.

It had not been without pain, either - Nimrodel lay asleep on the banks of the Gilrain now, enclosed in a patch of golden light through the trees, her head pillowed on her arm, to rest after a morning spent gathering nuts and lupine seeds. But idyllic as the scene was, neither of them had made it to this point without pain - Amroth’s loss, and Nimrodel living like a wild thing in a mountain dale for years and years, while Mithrellas pretended she did not grieve leaving her family, always aware that they were mortal. But there was a ship being built in Edhellond by the Lost Company who had returned at last, and this moment, Mithrellas could not help being content. Amroth’s voice in the sea had quieted its wailing.

She had found Nimrodel again. And Nimrodel began to remember her.

That, too, came with regret, about all that had brought them to this point.

Mithrellas did her best to try and assuage it, kindly words and reassurances that Nimrodel desperately clung to. It was easier to forgive her that Mithrellas had ever expected, and now she lay down and ran a hand through Nimrodel’s hair. Nimrodel was no longer running from her, only her feet twitched while she dreamt. Her hand curled around Mithrellas’ wrist with gentle strength, sometimes tightening as though she meant to pull her along.

“I have always followed you. I always will,” Mithrellas murmured, brushing her lips over the tip of Nimrodel’s ear. “And if it takes me twenty years again, I will always find you. But once we have made it to the Blessed Realm, that is a fear we may leave behind.”

Nimrodel’s eyes opened at the touch, and she smiled. “Good,” she murmured, nestling against Mithrellas and drowsing into sleep again.