I Have Found The One My Soul Loves by The Wavesinger

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I Have Found The One My Soul Loves

“Oddly enough, we come to rely upon our own stories so much that it seems that all we can tell ourselves are stories as well…”
—Roger C. Shank, Tell Me A Story

What's that you're saying, stranger? You want a story? Alright, I'll give you one.

Here's a story: Nimrodel was a fair Elven-lady, who left the woods her heart was given to for love of the Elven-prince Amroth, to sail away to Valinor. But Amroth drowned, in the Bay of Belfalas, and Nimrodel was lost.

More? Very well.

Here's a story: Mithrellas was the wife of Imrazôr, and an Elf. She bore him two children, Galador and Gilmith, before fleeing back into the woods from whence she had come to her husband's arms, and history does not record anything more.

What, you say, those aren't good enough? And you'll stay until you've forced a story out of me? Very well. I'll give you a tale that very few storytellers can tell you, if you'll go away after I've finished. I'll tell you about Nimrodel and Mithrellas.

Mithrellas, you see, had been Nimrodel's handmaiden before Amroth came and swept her off her feet—and a mighty fine sweeping it must've been, the lady was so attached to her home-forest. Almost the forest's lover...

Oh, where was I? Mithrellas. Oh yes. It had been her duty to protect Nimrodel—but she had failed. She'd failed where it mattered, failed to protect Nimrodel's heart, and Nimrodel had fallen in love with Amroth, you might say, but I prefer to think that she failed to not lose her. Losing a person is terribly easy, you see.

And so Mithrellas found herself at Dol Amroth, and suddenly she was Lord—or some such title—Imrazôr's wife.

No romance. Not yet. Sorry.

What? No, she wasn't unwilling. At least, not in this story. He loved her enough to do just about anything for her, and she loved him too—in her own way, at least. Of course, she loved Nimrodel more, but that's neither here nor there. Not yet.

And Mithrellas and Imrazôr had a couple of children. Gilmith and Galador—ah, but you've heard of him. He's the first Lord of Dol Amroth. Blood of Elves, Elven-children, the whole lot of them. Not Elven-children like the Dúnedain, of course, and so much the better for it; the blood of gods is hardly worth the price you pay if, by some accident of birth, it flows strong in your veins. Neither's the blood of the Gnomes, the Doomed lot of them.

...Sorry, I'm rambling. Anyway, Mithrellas and Imrazôr had two children, but Mithrellas was never really happy. And so, one day, she left.

Some say Nimrodel was calling for her (yes, now it's yet). I think she was.

But I also don't think they sailed away to Valinor, to forever-bliss.

Why not, you ask? They've found each other, and all's well, you say? Well, you've forgotten a few things, haven't you?

Nimrodel had gone off with stars in her eyes about Amroth, hadn't she? And she'd spent a long, long time alone in the forests, even before him, and most definitely after. She would've been very strange, to say the least.

And Mithrellas left her children, remember, and her husband? Maybe she didn't mind, maybe didn't like them all that much. But she left them, and that would've laid heavy on her mind. Don't forget that she spent years with mortals; years she spent grieving her lover, being torn apart. And Nimrodel wouldn't've understood any of this; she'd led a pretty sheltered life, don't you know?

And there's that debacle with Gilmith, who was unhappy and looked for her mother and couldn't find her and wanted to be an Elf (I may have gotten one or two details mixed up about her, but that's the gist of what I was told by—someone, never you mind who), but she couldn't, and she was unhappy, and she drowned before her time.

But Mithrellas and Nimrodel were off in the woods, and that's it.

...What, disappointed? I never said this was a happy story, did I? Count your blessings; I could've told you of Malbeth the Seer and her last days, or of the werewolves of Sauron from long ago. This story ended in a sort-of for both of them. Shouldn't that be enough?

They lived, ever after. The end. Now go away.

But, of course, the end of one tale is the beginning of another.

At first, Mithrellas and Nimrodel had tried to keep track of the days and years, and the passing of the seasons, as they wandered through the mountains and river-vales of the land humans called Gondor. They'd soon given up this practice; time was of no importance when they had as much of it as they wanted, and an unwelcome reminder of the past.

It was the past, however, which Nimrodel brought up as they lay entwined together in the fresh-smelling grass of a forest clearing one sunny evening.

It was Mithrellas who first spoke.

“I love you.”

A pause.

“Will we stay here tonight, or—”

“Stay, I think. Unless you want to move on?”

“No, staying is fine.”

“Mm-hmmm.”

Again, silence. Then, “Mithrellas.”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to visit Dol Amroth?”

“What?” Mithrellas' eyes snapped open, and she propped herself up onto her elbows. “Why—why would I do that?”

“Because your children are there?” Nimrodel knew that mothers were fascinated with their children. Mithrellas, Nimrodel knew, through her stories, was a mother. Therefore, it stood to reason that Mithrellas would wish to see her children.

Mithrellas did not reply to this.

“Do you not wish to go, then?”

Her eyes crinkled at their corners, and, Nimrodel could have sworn one of those perfect brown arms trembled. After a long moment, Mithrellas answered, “No.”

Mithrellas' answer should be enough, but Nimrodel found herself utterly fascinated by the topic.