[mark12_30]

Mellondu pondered Ædegard's questions, and felt Erebemlin listening eagerly.

Well should the elf seek the answer; Mellondu sought it himself.

He thought back to his early dreams, the wonder, the longing, the passion, the beauty. The romance.

In the city, Mellondu had seen Queen Arwen many times, and each time had been amazed, and deemed her matchless. Yet now in his dreams, a golden nightingale had nearly challenged the beauty of the queen. A voice like falling silver, white limbs, hair like the sun-- he had worshipped her, this nightingale, this golden reflection on the tossing sea of his dreams. He longed for nightfall that he might dream of her agan. And then he heard the voice.

I must find her. Aid me in my search; I must have your aid. Will you help me find her?

Find her? Find this angel, this nightingale, this dream of dreams? See her, listen to her voice-- perhaps even hear her sing? Amroth barely finished his question before Mellondu's eagerness answered him.

All else had been forgotten. Mellondu let himself be swept along by the king's passion, his memories, his hopes, his dreams. More and more, Mellondu made the king's quest his own. Finding her filled his thoughts, his dreams, became his every breath. Awestruck by the king he yielded to his every whim, beside himself with wonder and half sick with the sad, longing, desperate emptiness of it all. He had come to accept the sickness as part of the quest. Was it lovesickness? He did not ask. The king was sick too, between longing, and obsession, and dissatisfaction with all else that was not Nimrodel. Together Mellondu and Amroth poured themselves out in the search for Nimrodel.

Then Tharonwe had threatened his sister. He had felt Tharonwe tearing at Amroth, felt Amroth's rage at Tharonwe, and Mellonin had been a playing-peice in the balance; nothing more. All the beauty, hope and longing, the dreams, the trust, the hero-worship-- it all shattered when Amroth failed to fight for Mellonin, and the shattering reached to his very soul. Despair hammered at him, bitter with betrayal.

Mellondu shuddered.

Ædegard still waited for his answer.

Mellondu said, "I loved what he loved. And I loved him, as a friend, as a lord, almost as a brother. I trusted him. I wanted to find her more than anything. "

Ædegard glanced at Erebemlin, who waited, watching.

Mellondu dropped his gaze, and studied his sister. "It all seems so empty now, " he murmured. "She's hurt. She doesn't belong out here, in a swamp, with vermin and predators and swords and arrows and darts. She does laundry, for pity's sake."

"Peace, Fingon, " said Erebemlin. "Do not grieve what you cannot change. And do not regret your love of the king."

"I do regret it, " Mellondu replied bitterly. "I was a fool."