She felt safe in his arms, at peace. She was not restless with her head on his chest. There was no more need to run or dance , she was content to lay amongst the white blossoms of niphredil, their hair, silver and white-gold, and tossed out and mingled together as they watched the mallorn leaves make dappled shade and sunlight across each other's faces. She was laying now with her head in his lap, as Amroth idly braided her hair.
"Nimrodel?"
"Yes?" she whispered, not daring to turn her head. But Amroth's voice continued. "Nimrodel….Nimrodel.."
The Elven maid was growing frightened. "Amroth, I am here!"
Still the echoes whispered round, fading to spirit voices on the wind, melding into the crashing of the surf.
Nimrodel's eyes flew open and she grasped vainly at the fading reflection in the starlit lake. Her hands clutched water.
She was too late.