[mark12_30]

She looked around at the cliffs, the dust, the ash. The bones. Tall and proud, she breathed deeply, feeling the acrid air searing her throat. Amroth stood beside her.

Nimrodel, I am here.

Here? It is but the wish. Folly. It is folly. Wish all you like, foolish one. He is not here. O, I am a fool. I am love's fool. Wish, wish, wish. I am sick to death of wishes. He is not here. How long did I watch beside his corpse? Shimmering in the stream, golden hair flowing, dead, dead, dead. Waiting, waiting, waiting, for the dead to speak, to move, to call to me. Fool. I am love's fool. He is not here. He was not there.

She pursed her dry, cracked lips, and ringing laughter rolled through the cliffs, echoing. Her eyes burned, clear and grey, but fiery.

Where are you, my love? Where have you been? I am waiting for you. Dreaming of you. When shall I sleep again, and dream of you, my love? Your prating fool, love's fool, sees you only in dreams. Yet I am still your fool, my love, though you leave mehere, alone, still. Love's fool, wandering among the ash and dust and bones. Soon I will become like them; ash and dust and bones.

Amroth walked beside her, and the ash swirled around his footsteps, but she saw it not. Nimrodel, wait. Wait, listen to me. Hear me. Do you not feel my touch? Take my hand.

She laughed bitterly.I have sat in the stream, and taken your hand, cold and lifeless, day after day after day. Winter after winter, I have held your hand. You never spoke. You speak now? To make me a fool? Nay, it is but my wishes. Wishing, wishing, for many winters I have been wishing, wishing. Wishing. I held your dead hands and wished, wished. Now I hold the hands of death, and they hold mine. And you speak to me now. Perhaps I should have come here many years ago, instead of waiting beside your corpse.

Her ringing silvery laugh echoed coldly among the cliffs.

Silversong, hear me. Let me hold you.

She laughed again.