Rating: G
Summary: One of the princes of Dol Amroth relates a bit of family history to an old friend…

N: LIKE A NIMBLE NIMRODEL

Amrothos leaned heavily on his cane, as he crossed the courtyard of the White Tree. His attention was first caught by the small, perfectly formed rings of smoke drifting out from beneath its shade. He smiled as he caught sight of the tiny white-haired figure, sitting on the bench there, and swinging its hairy feet. He turned and made his way there.

As he approached, he could hear singing, the hobbit’s voice surprisingly sweet and strong for all his years. There was something about the tune…

“Master Pippin?” For the former Thain and his cousin had been living at the Court of the King for long enough that a certain amount of familiarity had set in.

The hobbit’s face lit up. “Lord Amrothos!” He grinned. “Do come and rest your old bones alongside mine.”

Amrothos chuckled. “My old bones,” he pointed out, “are four years younger than *your* old bones.” He sat down. “Where is Master Merry?” For truly, one almost never saw one of the hobbits without the other.

“If you can believe it, the Master of Herb-lore at the Houses of Healing asked him to talk about herbs to the apprentices there this morning. He was rather chuffed about the honor, though I feel sorry for the poor apprentices--he’s quite likely to talk them to death.”

“What was that you were so pleasantly singing?”

Pippin smiled. “It’s a song I learned from Legolas, all about an Elven maiden named Nimrodel.” The hobbit’s face briefly softened into solemnity. “He sang it to us, long ago, on the Quest, as we watched the waters of the river named for her leaping nimbly among the rocks and rills. It was just before we came to Lothlórien.” He gave a little touch to the brooch at his throat, which clasped his cloak about him, and a look of wistfulness came over his face, limned as it was in laugh lines. Then the green eyes crinkled, and he gave a rueful chuckle. “I *must* be old,” he said, “when I think with longing on the dark days of our journey.”

“It is not the danger you miss, Master Hobbit, but the companions, and the innocence of youth.”

“I daresay you are right.” Pippin blew out another smoke-ring. He hummed under his breath a little of the tune he had been singing. “But if I recall correctly, Lord Amrothos, your family should know the tale of poor Nimrodel quite well.”

Amrothos nodded. “The tradition of our family is that we are descended from Nimrodel’s dear friend Mithrellas, and Imrazôr the Númenórean.”

“I’d been told that before. Faramir and I discussed it once; Nimrodel’s story is such a sad one, but Mithrellas’ story seems rather mysterious.” Pippin arched his brows and his green eyes widened in entreaty, an expression that had served him well since he had been a very small child, and worked even now that he was no longer young.

Amrothos chuckled. “Am I being begged for stories?”

Pippin looked as innocent as he could. “Would I do that?”

Amrothos laughed heartily at that ingenuous question, and then said “There are any number of tales as to what may have happened to Mithrellas. The tradition is that she vanished after bearing Imrazôr two beautiful children, a boy and a girl--there is no doubt that the boy was my ancestor, for the family records go that far.

Some say that her husband had grown fearful of her, as he began to grow old, and she did not, and so he slew her. I do not believe that myself, although it makes for a very dramatic and suspenseful story--just a few years ago, a troupe of players in Dol Amroth had great success in acting out that version of the tale.”

Pippin shuddered. “I have never quite understood why Men are so fond of tales about murder.”

The Man glanced over at his companion. It always amazed him at how sensitive and tender-hearted the halflings were. He smiled and continued. “However, this is the version of the tale that my brothers and sister and I were told in our nursery:

One night, shortly after her daughter was born, Mithrellas and her husband went into the nursery to bid the children good night, before their nursemaid tucked them in for the night. She bent, and placed a kiss on each of their cheeks, and then as Imrazôr took his turn to do so, she stood by the open window. Suddenly, she gave a start. ‘Husband’, she said, ‘do you hear singing?’ Imrazôr went to stand by her, and then shook his head. ‘I am afraid not, my dear.’

She listened for a few more moments, and then, shrugging, they left.

The next night this happened again, and once more Imrazôr denied hearing anything. But on the third night, he hesitated. ‘Perhaps,’ he said ‘I did hear something, but perhaps it was only the wind off the water.’

For several days, neither of them said any more, nor did they hear anything. But a few weeks later, on a clear, moonless night, when the stars were blazing brilliantly overhead, Mithrellas stood by the window again. ‘Husband, I know that I can hear my friends singing!’

Imrazôr went pale, and standing by her, he listened. ‘No! I hear nothing.’

But he was lying, for he feared the song and what it might mean for his love.

A day came when it was necessary for Imrazôr to make a voyage on business. He would be gone for several weeks.

Each night, after kissing her children good night, Mithrellas would stand by the window. And then one night, she turned to their nursemaid.

‘I know that I can hear my friends! They sing an Elven hymn of praise to the Lady of the Stars. I will go out to them, and bid them come here and be made welcome.”

The nursemaid was frightened at this. She could hear nothing. And the master would not be home for at least three more days. But she could not gainsay her mistress. Mithrellas threw on her cloak, and walked out into the night in the direction of the mountains from whence she had come. Before she left, she turned to her children and said ‘My darlings, I shall return with the morning.’

But she did not. And no one knows what happened after that. But my own nursemaid always held that she found her friends but lost her way home. And Imrazôr searched for her till the end of his days.”

Pippin nodded sagely. “It is still a sad story, her babes being left behind like that. But it’s a happier version than the other.” He blew out another smoke ring, and then knocked his pipe out. “I do think that it is nearly time for luncheon. Would you care to join me?”

It had been a long time since Amrothos had much of an appetite, but suddenly, he realized he was hungrier than he had been in a score of days. “I would be honored to join you, Master Pippin.”