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Nimloth had recently discovered a new game. Well, it was a game to her; she wasn’t certain how much Finduilas viewed it as a game. Truthfully, given the way the furrows in Finduilas’s forehead kept digging deeper and deeper, she didn’t think Finduilas viewed it as a game at all. And truthfully, it was only a game in a somewhat perverse sense of the word. But she was certain that something productive could come of it if she kept up for long enough.
“Gardening?” she tried, regarding Finduilas out of narrowed eyes.
“No, I don’t like gardening,” came the entirely too predictable response. “I’ve never been able to make anything stay alive for more than a month and I don’t like staining my clothes.”
“You have plenty of clothes.”
“I know that, Nimloth,” Finduilas shot back, without any heat. “And all of my clothes took a great deal of time and effort to make. I may not be able to sew, but I know that much. Why make more work for my laundress when I’m incapable of keeping anything alive for more than a month?”
“Fair enough.” Nimloth leaned back on her bed, back sinking into her pillows. “What about tree-climbing?”
Finduilas shook her head. “I can’t climb a tree. I always lose my balance around the second branch and fall out. I haven’t tried to climb a tree since I was a girl.”
Well, that was interesting. “You could have gotten better.”
“I really doubt it. Besides, I broke my leg the last time, and sometimes it starts to ache if I so much as look at a tree.”
Nimloth laughed. “Doriath must be torture for you, dear.”
Finduilas smiled, a little startled, but she never let that show on her face for long (All the more reason to try and draw surprise out of her at every opportunity). “Not so much as you might think.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Torture is Daeron singing ‘The Seventh Star’ for the thousandth time and never heeding anyone’s requests save Lúthien’s.”
The singing of that old favorite of Daeron’s at supper had not gone unnoticed, it seemed. Nimloth grimaced and ran a hand through her hair. “He does need to get some new material, doesn’t he? What about horseback riding?”
“Not especially. I like horses, but I don’t care for riding them. I prefer to travel by foot or by carriage.”
“Walks through the woods?”
“I spend all of my time thinking of things I could be doing at home.”
Nimloth sighed in mock frustration, slapping a hand over her face. “Finduilas, is there even any part of being outside that you do like?”
Finduilas stared down the length of her nose at Nimloth, her mouth twitching in amusement. She came to sit down beside Nimloth on the bed, leaning over her so that the long tresses of her golden hair mingled with Nimloth’s silver on the sheets. “Yes, actually.” Her pale eyes glimmered. “I’m surprised it hasn’t occurred to you."
Frankly, Nimloth wasn’t certain as to how it was supposed to be a surprise, given that Finduilas had vetoed everything Nimloth had suggested so far. A game it might have been, but it had honestly been getting a little annoying. Finduilas had duties aplenty in Nargothrond these days, and didn’t make the trip to Menegroth nearly as often as she used to. It wasn’t the easiest thing for the two of them to spend time together when they couldn’t decide what to do.
Of course, it might have been a bit easier to spend time together if Nimloth was willing to make the trip to Nargothrond. She could scarcely deny that. However, she had been born in the shelter of Doriath’s forests. She had been born within the protection of the Girdle of Melian. Leaving its protection always left her ill at ease, and even in the shelter of another fastness, she felt exposed.
“Is it farming?” Nimloth tried idly, raising an eyebrow.
“No. I’m afraid you’ll have to try again.”
“Let’s see; is it scouting?”
“No.”
“Mountain climbing?”
“Very much no.”
“Torturer!” Nimloth exclaimed, avoiding Finduilas’s gaze—it was the only way to keep from breaking down in laughter. “Put me out of my misery!”
Finduilas smirked. “Swimming, Nimloth. I enjoy swimming. Honestly, I’m surprised it never occurred to you to ask.”
Nimloth refrained from pointing out that it would make more sense to ask why she would ask her that, given that swimming wasn’t the adored activity in Menegroth that it was elsewhere in Beleriand. Finduilas had managed to come up with something that hadn’t occurred to her. “Alright, fair. Do you care to swim at this time of year? I imagine the water is still quite cold from the winter freeze.”
“Nimloth, the only time I shun the water is when it is choked with ice, or the sky is shot through with lightning; elsewise, I don’t care about the condition of the water.” Finduilas raised an eyebrow suggestively. “I’ve noticed that this stretch of the Esgalduin is much the same in temperament as the stretch of the Narog outside of Nargothrond.”
Nimloth did something she didn’t expect to do when she started this ‘game.’ She winced.
-0-0-0-
The song of the river was different, though, Finduilas reflected, as she sank her hand into the chilly water and let it lazily drift. Narog sang fast and harsh, though there were pools where Edhil could wade safely. Narog was the inhabitants of Nargothrond’s best natural defense against attackers, allowing ferries to cross, but tolerating no other craft. Finduilas’s uncle did not meddle with it much; occasionally, Finrod sang sweetly to it to keep the river from flooding at Nargothrond’s gates, but little more than that.
Esgalduin sang a song worlds different, slower and deeper. Its voice was ancient and full of power, Melian’s magic infusing the currents a power that mingled with the Lords of Waters’ to form something Finduilas had never heard anywhere else in Beleriand. Finduilas wondered at times if this was what rivers in the Undying Lands were like, if the power of all the Ainur of the waters commingled to make the waters practically shimmer with power. She had never asked any of her family.
As intriguing a thought as it was, it wasn’t relevant to the now. Esgalduin flowed more slowly than Narog, saving Finduilas the need to find a pool dead to the river’s current. She reflected, smiling slightly, that she might be able to swim today without winding up with scrapes on her arms or legs.
Finduilas stripped off her clothes carefully. All the while, she felt Nimloth’s eyes on her, roving over her bare skin, and found herself deliberately refraining from turning and addressing her. It was more amusing to imagine the look on Nimloth’s face.
By whose standards was this water supposed to be too chilly to swim in, anyways? As Finduilas waded in, it felt cool, but not cold. Ah, but it was such a relief to find herself immersed in the water, to be able to dive below the surface and let all the sounds of the world drift away. Small, delicate fish darted away from her when she swam towards them; shafts of silver light pierced the surface of the river, rippling in the dark, deep water. Finduilas smiled hugely, her heart beating so hard she thought it might burst. The last time she had been able to experience this feeling… It must have been the last time she visited the seaside. Finduilas couldn’t remember the last time she had been able to swim in the Narog.
When she broke the surface of the water, her hair was clinging to her face, her neck and shoulders, plastered over her eyes. Finduilas fought back a giggle as she raked wet locks of hair back with her fingernails. She always imagined that she must look at least a little silly to onlookers with her hair all over her face, but to her great surprise, she found she had missed that as well. Taking a bath wouldn’t produce the same result, not for her. She needed to be fully immersed, caught in the water’s embrace.
Nimloth was standing some fifteen feet above her, perched on a large rock that jutted out of the steep hillside—the perfect dive point, Finduilas thought wistfully, if only the river was deeper close to the shore. The day was dark and the wind blew Nimloth’s loose hair to and fro, obscuring her face to some extent at all times, but Finduilas could see her back straight and stiff, shoulders high and arms wrapped close about her chest.
“You’re not going to join me?” Finduilas called, waving to her.
“Love for the water is more a trait of your side of the family,” Nimloth told her, shaking her head. Finduilas thought she caught sight of a smile playing on her lips, but the wind blew her silver hair over her face, and Finduilas could not say for certain. “It has never been a trait of mine.”
Finduilas carefully smoothed away the disappointment that had threatened to show itself on her face. “Suit yourself,” she said airily. “A pity you aren’t more open to new experiences.”
Nimloth’s bark of a laugh carried easily over the voice of Esgalduin, but Finduilas didn’t wait for any further reply. She dove back beneath the surface of the water, swimming out further and deeper.
Finduilas had had more than one teacher when it came to swimming. Finrod had ever endeavored to keep her from delving too deep past the surface, and had never stopped, not even when she was an adult. Galadriel was another story. They had swum deep down into the bowels of Narog together, listening for what voices could be heard there. The voice of the river was clearer the further you went down from the surface, and perhaps it was Finduilas’s imagination, but there were times when she had almost thought she could make out what it was saying.
Drift so far down that the world above water seems like a dream, and you’ll hear something new. Finduilas had little capacity for magic, little capacity for the power that certain of her kin crackled with, but she had ears to hear with. And Esgalduin, mingled with the power of Melian as it was, promised to be something very different than Narog. Like being enfolded in a lover’s embrace for the first time, like going back to the moment of creation.
But before Finduilas could reach that pure depth, she heard voices telling her to go back to shore.
To Finduilas’s surprise, when she broke the surface of the water, she spied Nimloth sitting on the shore, her shoes laid out beside her and her feet under water, her skirt hitched up to her knees to keep dry. “Oh?” she called out, voice bubbling with laughter. “Are you going to join me after all?”
“Not likely,” Nimloth retorted. “I was just interested in seeing if you would drown.”
“Oh, I am so sure.”
Finduilas swam to shore, sighing internally at how much heavier she felt without the water’s embrace. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh as she sat down on the stony shore besides Nimloth, the cold breeze of early spring none too gentle on her skin. Ah, well. She wasn’t her Ñoldorin family, who flinched at the cold and who, for the most part, shunned the outside world during winter.
Nimloth ran her hand over Finduilas’s shoulder blades, slowly, fingernails skating over skin. “It’s interesting that you enjoy this,” she murmured lowly, tilting her head close to Finduilas’s, “given you barely go outdoors otherwise.”
Finduilas leaned in and kissed her lightly. Her lips still brushing against Nimloth’s, she said, “Join me next time, and you might find out why. I imagine the experience is more pleasurable when shared.”