[mark12_30]

"The chill goes too deep, my lord. We should not tarry in the mountain stream." Even elves have their limits, and the body of a man, more so. He took Nimrodel from Amroth's arms, and turned to carry her up onto the bank. Amroth swayed, floundering with one hand. With the other he steadied himself against Erebemlin's shoulder.

Erebemlin's heart sank even as he leaned hard against the king's hand. The king steadied, and they walked up out of the stream, and settled onto the bank.

Amroth met his gaze. "It is not only the chill of the stream that you spoke of, Erebemlin."

They sat side by side on the bank, Erebemlin holding Nimrodel so that her head leaned against Amroth's shoulder. The king shivered with the cold.

"My Lord, the cold settled into her soul many, many winters ago. We will not bring her back to the summer without a struggle."

Amroth gave a wan, wintry laugh. "No, I suppose not, my gentle friend. Yet neither will we leave her trapped in the ice."

"Rest a moment, my lord, " Erebemlin replied. "We have found her, and we will not leave her. Take a moment, and rest."

For several silent minutes, Amroth did just that, even as he gazed at the friends who had come with him. The Rohirrim looked on, and Nethwador waited earnestly. And nearby stood Raefindan with the child, Indil. He smiled at the little girl, knowing that she was bound to Mithrellas, and thence to Nimrodel. He did not fathom it all. He did not want to. Nimrodel was here, and that was enough; that was all he wanted.

And all too soon, for Erebemlin's taste, he was ready to search again.

"Let us begin, " said Amroth.

Erebemlin gathered himself, and nodded.