[mark12_30]

Snow swirled around him; all was under a thick. soft blanket of white, white like her arms. For a moment he was puzzled; would she fade into the snow, and be invisible? But no, he would see her dark hair, and her eyes, her grey eyes. And she would answer when he called.

He walked, calling.

Trees passed; rolling hills, soft valleys, more trees. Then a ravine. To his ears came the brittle silver tinkling of an imprisoned stream. He turned aside, and followed the ravine. All wore white. The ravine tumbled deeper, among rocks and broken earth. Sand and loose stones slid under the snow, and he stumbled often; but the marks of every fall were soon covered by the fast-falling snow. He struggled on. He was growing cold. He reached to his side; his bottle was empty. The cold seeped into his bones. He pressed on.

He reached the bottom of the ravine, and the ground became level; to his right, he saw the little waterfall that he had heard singing. Beneath a layer of ice, the water trickled; the ice crackled and creaked and snapped, but did not break. He walked toward the little waterfall.

The ground creaked beneath his feet; he halted. Surely he stood on ice; all around him was flat. He knelt, and brushed at the snow. The ice was clear. Below him the pool was deep; but he saw her. Her dark hair flowed in the gentle stream from the waterfall; her skin was white, so white, cold and white. She moved in the water, and her grey eyes looked up at him, and then looked past him. She smiled, and called. "Maegeleb. You are here. You have come."

Amroth paused, and wondered at the name. Sharpsilver. He frowned; she had never called him that before. Regardless, she was still separated from him; he had not come this far only to be robbed of her by a sheet of ice. He raised his fist, and smashed through the ice. He heard laughter behind him.

His golden hair streamed behind him as he sank impossibly fast; he became aware of a weight, and turning, saw that an elf stood on his shoulders. Cold water filled his lungs, and he turned; Nimrodel reached, glad and smiling, above him, and he saw arms embrace her; arms that were not his own. The harder he fought, the deeper he sank; a new, different weight clung to him, and he looked down, and saw the dead body of Mellondu. He looked up, and saw Nimrodel, in the arms of his foe, smiling and glad. They left the water and walked onto the snowy bank. Dazzling white, and crowned by the falling snow, they turned and looked down at him; a flicker of sadness crossed Nimrodel's face, but Maegeleb shushed it away. "Fear not, my love, 'tis but a dream. All will be well."

Amroth held Mellondu's body in one arm, struggling toward the surface, but instead he sank deeper. But no matter how far he sank, he could still see Nimrodel, smiling at Sharpsilver. As if from miles away, he heard the falling silvery crystals of her voice, and each word pierced his heart.

"Mellondu, she sings for him."

The dead boy's eyes met his own, and together they sank into darkness.