He waited by the stream. They would not have many more meetings such as these, he knew. She loved another. He could feel it, even when she spoke of it not at all… and who was he to ask her about it? After all, he was wed with another himself. The moments they shared, no matter how tender, were only stolen.

The stream was beautiful, as fair as the maiden herself. It sparkled like crystal as it splashed over rock and sand, winding its way around the great mountains which hid the Mines of Moria. Moria had fallen, he knew. The Dwarf lords who had ruled here were no more, and this place was not safe. Her stream was not safe. Soon she would go into the south, perhaps heading for the safety of Fangorn Forest. She would tell him so tonight, he suspected.

Perhaps after tonight he would never see her again. The thought of this pained him to the core. He would ask her one last time to come into Imladris with him. And yet he knew that she would refuse. Could he blame her? She deserved better than to be a concubine to a King already wed.

He lifted his head, sensing the approach of his beloved. The wind lifted his long, dark hair, which flowed in waves over his slender shoulders. His keen eyes were sharp as an eagle's, and they sparkled with the deep green color that lies at the heart of the ocean. The robe he wore was white, for she loved this color. The gown she wore tonight was white, as she emerged from the wood at the side of the stream like a hazy, ethereal vision. Her hair hung in a mantle of golden ripples to her waist. Her eyes were as blue as the egg of the robin, her features sleek and beguiling. He was breathless, lost to her.

"Elrond." His name fell from her lips like gems, heavy in the warmth of the breeze.

"Nimrodel…my love."

She went to him and lifted her hands to his face, her cool palms against his cheeks as she lifted her mouth to drink from his. He slid his arms around her waist as she parted her lips for his tongue. It slid into the honeyed recess of her mouth and danced with hers, a slow caress of liquid fire. Already his body throbbed and ached for hers. She broke the kiss and looked at him with eyes that held the sadness of time.

"You know what I will say," she whispered.

"Say it not yet," he implored her.

"This cannot last. The time of our love has passed, Elrond."

"For me it will never pass," he vowed. "Come with me into Imladris."

She smiled, and Elrond felt piqued, for she was laughing silently at his childish command. "Celebrian will not be pleased if I do."

"I need you," he insisted.

"No, Elrond. You need the air, and the sun, and the green leaves of the trees, but me you do not need. I am a luxury, a comfort, and you will find others when I am gone."

"Do not belittle what I feel."

"Oh, I do not mean to. I feel it too. And still its time has passed."

"It is because of Amroth."

"Only in part. He woos me gently. He begs me come with him to Lorien as prettily as you beg me to come to Imladris."

"And he has not yet a Queen," Elrond said bitterly.

"I cannot be Queen of Lorien," she replied quietly. "Amroth will come to me in Fangorn, and I will tell him the same thing I tell you. It cannot be."

"Tell me this tomorrow. Love me tonight."

She kissed him again, and he let his hands slide down to her hips, pulling them up against his own. His flesh was already desirous of hers. It pressed against his robe and her gown, seeking freedom. Nimrodel smiled, but there was sadness in the smile.

"No, Elrond. We should not. Why let something as fine as what we have shared end with a bittersweet flavor?"

She pushed at his chest and he let go of her, groaning softly. "You are cruel."

"And you are selfish." She turned and walked back towards the wood from whence she had come.

"Will those be the last words you speak to me?" he called.

She stopped and turned, but she did not smile. Elrond began to walk towards her, but she turned and slipped into the wood. He felt his desire and sadness blossom into anger. The anger was maddening. She was maddening. He had given her his heart and she would not even do him the justice of a noble parting? No, he refused to accept it. He would have her. He would have his desire.

He used all his skill to track her. She was fleet, but he was cunning. He had been a warrior once, in the dark times when there had been no choice but to fight, though he was a healer by nature. Now he called within himself to those deeply buried skills of war in order to find his fleeing lover. As in war, he would show her no mercy tonight.

Quickly he caught her. Fear flashed through her eyes, but was quickly replaced by sadness. Elrond pinned her wrists together in one hand, held them against a tree, over her head. He took her mouth brutally. She did not kiss him back. She struggled beneath him, writhing against his body.

"This is not your way, Elrond," she whispered. Her lips were swollen, bruised from his rough tasting of them.

"Tonight it is. You may deny me the rest of eternity but you will not deny me this last night."

"I will hate you," she whispered.

"I do not believe that," Elrond said. "Give in."

"Let me go."

"I cannot."

"You know I have not the strength to fight you, Elrond. Would you force yourself on me anyway?"

He stroked her cheek gently with his free hand, knowing even in his anger, his frustration, that she was absolutely correct. His desire warred with her wishes. He brought his mouth up against hers again and still she refused to melt. He let go of her hands and pulled her into his embrace, but she stayed limp as a doll even beneath the ravishment of his lips and tongue.

His hand slid up to caress her breasts through the sheer silk of her gown. He felt her nipples tighten and pebble. He stroked them with the ball of his thumb and she moaned against his lips, her mouth moving slightly as if she fought herself not to give in to his kiss. Triumph soared within him. She would give in. He squeezed her breast gently.

"You will always belong to me," Elrond said softly as he lifted his head from her mouth.

Nimrodel laughed softly. "I have never belonged to you, Elrond."

How cold her words seemed. They spurred his actions, set him on a course which might shame him later. He stroked her throat with his long, cool fingers, then took a fistful of silk at the neck of her dress. With one strong motion he tore it down the front. He pushed her more forcefully against the tree as he bent his head to her bared breasts.

She sighed, a small sound of bitter defeat, as her body reacted to his skilled touch. Her took her nipple between his front teeth and bit down softly, knowing just how far he could go before her pleasure would become pain. Although this night might be for him, he would not show her body anything but pleasure, but tenderness, whether she willed it or no.

Nimrodel lifted her pale hands to push at his shoulders, but Elrond held her tightly. Easily he stripped away the rest of her torn gown to reveal her pale body to the moonlight that filtered weakly in through the branches of the trees. She was too beautiful, too lovely. No Elf had ever compared to her. No Elf had ever stirred him the way she did.

"You are an enchantress," he whispered.

"If I were, I would banish you now," she said coldly.

"You madden me."

"I will not be blamed for your desires."

"You have loved me," he said softly. His hands gripped her hips and he stared into the vast, uncharted seas of her eyes. How easy to dive into those waters, to drown in them.

"I love you still, but that love will die if you take me against my will," she cautioned.

Bitterness infused him. "Then, let it die, if after tonight you mean never to see me again."

Sorrow crossed her face. "You do not mean that."

"Are you sure?"

"I thought I knew you, but now you seem a stranger," she whispered.

"I could say the same," Elrond replied fiercely. "You do not have to leave me. We do not have to give up what we share!"

"I cannot make you understand, can I?"

Elrond fought to do as she wished, but all he could feel was the pain of losing her. Nothing would ease that. Nothing. Not even making love to her one last time, as he fully intended to do. His body demanded no less right now. He took her hand and led her a few steps from the tree. She did not try to run. He slipped off his robe so he was as naked as she was. Many times she had admired his body, and even though her eyes caressed it now, she said nothing.

He pulled her down onto the ground which was blanketed with a soft moss. She went with him, but there was no enthusiasm, no joy in it. He lay on his side next to her, his hands caressing her shoulders, her arms, her breasts, sliding down her side to her hips and plush bottom. She was so soft. Her fair hair hung in a mantle about her shoulders and spread over the ground behind her. She lay back and closed her eyes. Her lips parted.

"Please…" she whispered.

Elrond knew not whether she wanted him to take her or leave her to her peace, but only one road lay before him. He kissed her again, and this time she kissed him back. He moved atop her, parting her legs that he might lie between them. His hand slipped between their bodies and he found no small satisfaction in her readiness. He stroked the core of her, hot, wet and pulsing. Nimrodel sighed his name. No more did she fight.

He slid inside her to the hilt, and never had any sword he had ever carried worn so fine a sheathe. The heat of her throbbed around him, and he nearly lost himself right there. How could this be the last time? How? Elrond began to move slowly, excruciatingly slowly, wanting it to last forever…

It would have to last forever.

It would have to last him the span of an immortal life.

And yet when she wrapped her legs around him, there was no holding back. He thrust forward with his hips, moving in and out of her lithe body delicately and gently at first, then rough and tumble as desire whipped him along. She cried out, and he knew the sound of her passion. The sweet contractions of her body around his sent him over the brink, and he met his peak like a bird, soaring into the night.

"Nimrodel! Nimrodel…"

But she was lost.

Elrond opened his eyes and stared at the statue that stood before him in his garden in Imladris. The memory of her was all that caused his heart to pound so wildly in his chest. He was at home, not in the wood by the stream which now bore her name. He had named it after her. Nimrodel stood before him, an effigy carved in marble of a face he had not seen in thousands of years, but had never, ever forgotten. She would never leave him now. Never again.

Elrond turned and walked back into his palace, alone.

Ever alone.