AUTHOR’S NOTE: The song of the maiden of Nimrodel is an orginel song of Tolkien and can be found in The Fellowship of the Ring ,Chapter Lothlorien.
Long days had passed since she had crossed the ford of Rivendell. Riding days through, sleeping little in the nights finding shelter in one of the many caves. Finally she left the narrow and rough mountain paths of Hitaiglin and traded them for the plains of the lands around the river Anduin.
She rode to the clear waters of the great river, allowing her horse and herself to rest in the bright afternoon sun. The river was quiet here, and the sound of running water pleasantly ran in her ears again, calling up memories, making her feel alone and sad . She looked at the dark forest across the river. Mirkwood, home of the spiders and many other dark things. She had lingered in the woods twice, for it’s beauty was great. She did not stay long, mostly traveling through, cause the woods where traitorous. The light of elvish feast clearly visible in the night, luring enemies away from there secret lands into the arms of spiders. She continued to gaze at the woods, while eating some of the berries she had found, their juice tasted sweet on her lips.
She continued to gaze in the distance, when she suddenly saw something between the trees. A shadow, hardly visible for even the elvish eye, carefully hidden between the trees. She set her eyes in another direction to look upon the same spot moments later, but the shadow had perished, like clouds on this sunny day. Had it been true what she had seen? Or where it simply her eyes deceiving her after a long journey. She remained a while watching the trees on the other shores but the shadow appeared no more.
She continued her journey again, humming elvish songs of old, the sunlight stroking her face. The small breeze of wind, waving her black curly hair that had escaped the comfort of the cloak backwards. On days like this she felt free. Just her and Isil, one with the grounds they call Middle Earth. But cold soon crept back into her heart, for she longed for companions and a place to call home.
They crossed the shallow waters of Sîr Ninglor, the gladden river. And reached the fields of Loeg Ningloron, the gladden fields, when the sun appeared for the last time that day on the horizon. It was awestricken. The sun giving it’s last glow on the fields, turning them into many shades of orange and red before leaving them to the moonlight.
She started a small fire on a place where the flowers did not grow, carefully not to spoil the beauty of the fields. The warmth of the fire felt comfortable against her skin and she pulled her cloak further around her while watching the sparks fly into the midnight air. It was a dark night. And the only shapes that remained where those were the fire caste her light on.
She had slept her troubled sleep for some hours when a darkening feeling awakened her out of her nightmares. She opened her eyes a little, carefully not to show any signs of awaking and stared to the small fire that only gave a light blue glow now. Her eyes turned a little and there carefully hidden in the night’s darkness was the shadow, standing only a few meters from her, watching, waiting. Her hand vaulted on the maron, her self made weapon, as she laid there still, waiting for the shadow to make it’s move. But the move did not come. It just stood there hour after hour, like it was part of the scenery, until the morning drew near and it vanished into the night’s sky.
She remained her journey only a half hour later; the night’s events clear in her head, troubling her mind. She would go to Lothlorien, the golden wood, where the darkness did not crept so as in these lands.
She reached the woods close to sunset. She remained her journey by foot, leading Isil onwards, with the quiet and light walk of the elvish kin. When she reached the stream of Nimrodel darkness had fallen again, but the golden leaves of Lothlorien brought light upon the darkening forest. Nimrodel, the stream that told the story of the maiden that carried the same name, many ages ago. She had heard her mother whisper the song, lost in memories of her youth, mourning for the loss of her kin. She sad down by the stream, running her hands through the water that was cold and refreshing, listening to the sound of the stream, joining them in their song;
“A Elven maid there was of old,
A shining star by day:
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,
Her shoes of silver-grey.
A star was bound upon her brows,
A light was on her hair
As sun above the golden boughs
in Lórien the fair.
Her hair was long, her limbs were white,
And fair she was and free;
And in the wind she went as light
As leaf of linden-tree.
Beside the falls of Nimrodel,
By water clear and cool,
Her voice as falling silver fell
Into the shining pool.
Where now she wanders none can tell,
In sunlight or in shade;
For lost of yore was Nimrodel
And in the mountains strayed.
The elven-ship in haven grey
Beneath the mountain-lee
Awaited her for many a day
Beside the roaring sea.
A wind by night in Northern lands
Arose, and loud it cried,
And drove the ship from elven-strands
Across the streaming tide.
When dawn came dim the land was lost,
The mountains sinking grey
Beyond the heaving waves that tossed
Their plumes of blinding spray.
Amroth beheld the fading shore
Now low beyond the swell,
And cursed the faithless ship that bore
Him far from Nimrodel.
Of old he was an Elven-king,
A lord of tree and glen,
When golden were the boughs in spring
In fair Lothlórien.
From helm to sea they saw him leap,
As arrow from the string,
And dive into the water deep,
As mew upon the wing.
The wind was in his flowing hair,
The foam about him shone;
Afar they sam him strong and fair
Go riding like a swan.
But from the West has come no word,
And on the Hither Shore
No tidings Elven-folk have heard
Of Amroth evermore.”
There was a movement behind her. Light footsteps. She reached for her bow and quickly turned around. She gasped for air, there was an arrow point only inches away from her head, she looked at his bearer, a young elf with dark hair and eyes that were looking at her arrow that was pointing on his head in return.