Little princess Mee

[shadowbrides.livejournal.com]

B2MeM Challenge: Femslash: B9, B14: Botany: Lotus
Format: Oneshot
Genre: Mystery/Romance/complete insanity?
Rating: Teens. I think.
Warnings: Might not be that safe for work. Nothing graphic, but...
Characters: Nimrodel, Amroth, some orcs, the River Gilrain
Pairings: River Gilrain/Nimrodel. Yes. Serious here.

"Softly goes, my song's entreaty, Thro' the night to thee. In the silent woods I wait thee, come, my love, to me"

There is that story about Nimrodel following her mirror image, dancing by the edge of the water, enthralled. 

What would they say if they knew how near the truth those Halflings are? They would be surprised, certainly. Our kind is ever amused by the ignorance of mortals, the quickly changing tune of their stories. But sometimes innocent imagination comes closer to the truth than careful speculation, close to what you know. All history becomes myth, eventually, and it is largely the personalities of the storytellers and scribes that shape it, even as they strive to be closer and closer to truth, whatever that may be.

She lost him in the Ered Nimrais. They were fleeing, at the time, and she had mistaken the relative security of her lover's embrace for love. He would take her away from here, away from the terrible creatures tearing at her beloved trees, defiling her beloved river. They rode, ran, rushed through the trees and over the plains. Belfalas, he would take her to Belfalas, and yet further from there. The name had a strange taste in her mouth, its corners too sharp and clear somehow, strangely foreign, even after all these years. She still refused to speak anything but her native silvan tongue and the guards had little to say to her. Amroth alone spoke, cooed, convinced. Sometimes, she listened.

She had not been listening that day. He had, in his panic, reverted to his native tongue - Sindarin, and she had been otherwise occupied anyway. There were many caves in the mountain range, and caves attract cave dwellers. At best, those cave dwellers were particularly grumpy, hungry bears. In this slightly less fortunate turn of events, it was an entire orc tribe - also quite hungry and grumpy, by the way. It had not been easy to lose them. It should, however, also not have been hard to find them again. For some reason or another, Nimrodel just did not think of that at that point. She had heard the tinkling of running water and was struck with a sudden homesickness. Her river, oh how she missed her river. Surely a look couldn't hurt? The water was yet clean here, the trees friendly, almost welcoming in the whisper of their leaves. There was thick black orc blood on her hands, thick black blood all over her white, white dress. Why had she worn a white dress? Because Amroth liked it? She suddenly felt very foolish, very foolish and very dirty. Surely cleaning herself would not be that great a waste of time, and would Amroth not wait for her? She knew he would. And after all there was no danger of completely losing track of them. She had been tracking flightier animals since the stars first rose above the Great Lake. 

Slowly, she stepped forwards, abandoning her boots for the feel of the soft moss underneath her feet, sighing in content, tiny flowers peeking out from between her toes. The dress followed soon after, and then the shift, until she could finally feel the whispering caress of the wind on her body, the fleeting touches of branches and leaves as she went, until finally, there was the river, shining softly in the starlight, sounding almost like gurgling, tinkling laughter. 

Sighing, she dipped her feet into the water, untied her long, long hair to touch her mirror image tip to tip. It was almost as if....but no, that couldn't be. She set to cleaning her dress, the water gliding off her arms, leaving glistering trails, its tinkling becoming even more like laughter, leaving a tingling on her skin of cold and something else entirely. 

Little Princess Mee, lovely was she, as in elven-song is told...

She halted her movements, slowly, carefully retracting her feet from the water. The droplets clung to her skin, refusing to give up so easily. The leaves whispered. the wind sang along, and the river...the river...suddenly sad, almost, how could its sound change like that? She had spent many moons beside her own river; it did not seem to sigh. But suddenly the water seemed to sigh; was she going mad? Had there been poison in that arrow after all? But Amroth had cleaned it well; thoroughly; it did not seem likely. Then, what..?

To her dancing-pool, and on mirror cool, of windless water played...

As she stared at the river, a large pink flower, much like a waterlily but entirely the wrong colour came floating by, and caught on the half-submerged roots near her feet. Just as Nimrodel bent down to inspect the strange specimen, another came floating by, and another, and another. Soon, the heady smell of the flowers clung heavy to the air, seeming even to dim the sound of the trees, the wind...

As a mist of light, in whirling flight, a glint like glass she made...

A mist started to rise from the water, and maybe it was just moonlight catching the spray of water, but then why did its shape so remind her of arms, outstretched glistering arms, and again she stepped closer, forgetting...

Then round she went, and her eyes she bent, saw beneath her go...A Princess Shee, as fair as Mee: they were dancing toe to toe!
 
...and stepped back into the water, deeper, deeper this time. And there was a voice; she had not been imagining it...yes, come closer, come closer...come wash away your sorrow...the water was up to her waist now, and it was everywhere, her body tingling pleasantly unlike anything she had felt before, the flowers floating all around her, stems tangling around her limbs. 

Shee was as light as Mee, and as bright; but Shee was, strange to tell, hanging down, with starry crown, into a bottomless well!

There was the voice again; the voice of the river, she knew now. The water was warm, much warmer than she expected or should even be possible at this time of the year, high up in the mountains. But it was, and there were flowers, and that soft, tinkling voice.

"They call me Gilrain" it said, clearer now, still tinkling, but more like a voice somehow. The stems crept further up, left Nimrodel gasping. "Will you love me?" and then, almost unsure "I could take your kind's shape, if you want?" and briefly, the glistering arms became clearer, more solid somehow; a face appeared, soft, girlish, much like her own...

Her gleaming eyes in great surprise, looked upon to the eyes of Mee: a marvellous thing, head-down to swing. Above a starry sea!

For a moment Nimrodel was startled, but then began to laugh, reaching out to the river's slippery arms, marveling at how they felt both like running water and solid flesh.

"Take any shape you like"

To find a land, where they do not stand, but hang down in the sky...

Where now she wanders none can tell,
In sunlight or in shade;
For lost of yore was Nimrodel
And in the mountains strayed.

Comments

[huinare.livejournal.com]

I guess "incompetence" is probably a bit harsh of me. Well, in any case, I found your solution more feasible than "she just got lost."


Obviously can't do romance right, or at even with any semblance to normality. xD

Oh but normal can be boring sometimes. I thought this was effective, whether normal or not.
The only love scene I recall writing was for an original work many years back...and I came back to look at the story a year later, nearly gagged and said "No, this won't do, they need to not get together, oh and also everyone needs to die at the end." Evidently romance isn't for all of us. =D