Nimrodel/Mithrellas + the eternal Lovecraftian darkness. Or something.
"Stay with me tonight, Mithrellas, I do not want you to be alone––" Nimrodel clutches Mithrellas' hand, something that is not quite worry lurking in her eyes, and Mithrellas nods and folds up beside her, wondering what those sounds are, out in the forest, rustles and movement not quite natural.
In the dark of the moon, strange things stir, and Lothlórien's magic does not keep away the death that already lives in it––with light there is darkness, as it has been forever, and for all the light of the West in the Lady's eyes there will always be a counterpoint of darkness. This is a truth that Nimrodel has always known, that Mithrellas will always believe, and fear.
They slip into uneasy sleep, and before her eyes shut Mithrellas knows there is something watching, a shadow slipping from the entwined branches above, the trees leaning in closer than they should.
The stars are veiled, the moon long gone. Darkness reigns, and this is the Lady's realm no longer. The woods are no longer gold––here and now, it is what it always is: a fading relic, no match for what was there before, and what will be there after. It was here before the shadow in the east, before even the light of the stars in the eyes of the first elves––nameless terror from before the Valar's descent to Arda.
(She dreams of darkness so complete that she does not remember what light is, and old, forgotten things creeping closer, taking her into them, consuming her. She does not scream.)
Nimrodel wakes shuddering, and Mithrellas jerks awake with a half-choked cry on her lips to hold her close, feeling the fluttering warmth of her heartbeat, something else pressing in from the night.
"What's out there?" Mithrellas whispers, hands tight on Nimrodel's shoulders, and the smile that curves Nimrodel's lips is not entirely comforting.
She can see the shadows, now, darkness given something akin to physical form, and can see the way they wrap around Nimrodel, twining through her hair and whispering across her skin. Nimrodel is not afraid, but Mithrellas is.
"My realm," Nimrodel replies, and extends a single pale hand to gesture to the shadows, as though calling them to serve her. "My land, Mithrellas, and my kingdom."She presses a kiss to Mithrellas' lips, and Mithrellas feels the shadows that crawl down her throat, sinking cold and heavy into her heart.
"You and I, Mithrellas, and this, forever. Would you have what I offer you?"
Choked with darkness and love and terror, Mithrellas can only nod.