[mark12_30]

"Faithless wretch, why did you not leave me to my death? I would have joined him." Nimrodel, salt water rasping in her lungs, turned her face from Mithrellas.

Mithrellas, her arguments rising from her soul and withering on her lips, struggled for a few moments in silence, and then bowed her head.

Amroth spoke on her behalf. Because she loves you, as do I.

"What kind of love would keep me from my love? You love me not, else you would have let me go, " said Nimrodel.

Mithrellas turned and gazed in surprise at Amroth. "She heard you, my lord."

Nimrodel frowned. "Heard what?"

Amroth spoke again. She is loyal to you, as am I. Sweetwater, Clearsong, do not despise her love. Cherish it.

"Cherish one that keeps me from my lord? Take your foolishness and go."

Mithrellas stood as if spellbound. In truth, she heard you, my lord. She heard you.

Erebemlin wished he could burst out in song. Instead, he held his breath, and the moment lingered. Amroth waited. Nimrodel was vexed at Mithrellas, yet Mithrellas stood transfixed with hope.

The tiniest seed had begun to sprout.