Disclaimer: I don't own the Unfinished Tales or any of Tolkien's works. However, he never specifies the delicacies of elven cultures, thus Sindarin culture and Silvan culture are creations of my head-canon.
Pairings: Amroth x Nimrodel (currently one-sided)
Characters: Amroth, Nimrodel, random other elves (mentions Amdír)
Warning: canon-compliant, possible cliché, love at first sight?, soul-mates, unrequited love, politics and court intrigue
Song: Sky Blue Eyes
Words: 1,270
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dismiss (verb): to permit or cause to leave; to reject serious consideration of
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/dismiss
She was standing in the corner--as far away from the twirling, dancing figures and mingling elven diplomats as physically possible--as though interaction with strange folk might pass to her some horrid, foreign disease involving violent rashes and inevitable fatality. But even half-hidden by the thick curtain of shadow, her beauty shimmered beneath the distant white lantern's tentative reach. Eye-catching moonlight refracting into his gaze and blinding him to all else in the room.
The other ladies simply could not compare, for beside her they were dulled, scratched stones to a flawless diamond. Even with two such dull stones twittering on each of his arms, the entirety of his attention was drawn towards her. After all, what interest to him were these fawning female leeches, interested only in his position as prince and his nonexistent search for a wife to rule as the next queen?
"Who is the woman hiding back there in the corner?" he asked one of them, not even deigning to look towards the nameless, faceless chit as he spoke.
Dark eyes flashed and narrowed with almost tangible displeasure. The girl wasn't even subtle about her dislike for the more beautiful woman, jealousy burning toxic green around her pupils. "Lady Nimrodel," she replied, her voice pitched low in disdain. "She lives by herself near the river. Because she does not approve of--well--your father's regime. Or you. Or your people. Or anyone who does approve of your position and power in our beloved home."
"Does not approve?" Most of the people of Lothlórien were friendly and all too eager to take up his father, Amdír, as their king, if only so that his marchwardens served as their guardians from the dispersed forces of darkness scattered across the scarred eastern lands. Though they were of different cultures and different lifestyles, the protection offered by the western-dwelling Sindar was a temptation too great to reject in favor of their own fragmented, chaotic tribal organization.
But Amroth supposed that not all of the Silvan elves could have been open and accepting of stranger usurping their territory and their rule. If he were in their place, even he would have had reservations.
Though... perhaps not to that extent...
Mind racing, he followed her with his eyes. Perhaps if he spoke to her...
"If you would excuse me, ladies..."
"She will not speak with you." It was rude and set Amroth on edge, his teeth clamping harshly in a half-bared scowl. He did not know if it was the woman's dislike of Nimrodel that caused her to behave in such an unladylike manner, or if she was just wrapping up the truth in a very unflattering package, but still it did not endear her to him. Certainly, it said little for her "civilization". The prince sent her a cool smile and disconnected their arms.
"I think I shall take my chances," he told her, voice soft but layered in iron. Bowing stiffly, he held the incline of his torso just short of "respectful" and on the blatant side of "you are beneath my acknowledgement and respect" before setting off in the direction of the angel that had captured him with such ease.
The angel who looked up with disdainful eyes of the most vibrant, gloriously clear blue that Amroth had ever beheld. No expanse of the sky could compare.
"My lady," he purred, bowing low with an innately graceful flourish that usually had the women of Thingol's court swooning in the direction of his welcoming embrace, almost begging to slip their arms into the crook of his elbow and spend a night drinking and flirting in the hopes of luring home a nobleman husband. "Would you do me the honor of a dance?"
The woman before him was about as far from swooning as a woman could get. Not even a batted eyelash for his troubles. And it had his heart pumping wildly in the cage of his ribs. A nonplused glance in his direction was about all he received. "If I must, Prince Amroth."
She laid her hand upon his arm the way an elf lays hand upon a poisonous serpent poised to strike.
"Of course, you would already know my name, my lady."
"Your reputation precedes you, my prince."
And the venom was just dripping from her fangs. He was most certainly not playing the poisonous serpent in this charade. Had it not been for her remarkably civilized, aloof behavior, he might have worried that she would leap forth and bite for the sheer amount of hatred oozing from her gorgeous eyes and the cant of her full, tender lips. The dimples barely hidden by the downturned corners of her lips did nothing to slow his racing heart.
"Might I enquire as to your name, my lady?" He swung her around and placed his hand upon the curve of her perfect waist. Against his fingers, her silvered hair slid liquid and soft, tickling and caressing until shivers broke across his skin. Her hand rested upon his tense shoulder, and then they began to move.
For an uncivilized wood-elf, she was a remarkably capable dancer, her posture impeccable and her feet flowing without thought into position, as though she had been waltzing through the high courts of royalty for eons. They twirled for a few moments in silence.
"I am Nimrodel, but I am quite certain you already knew that, my prince." Her ice-cold gaze settled upon the women he had been escorting before, the women who were now watching him spin the frigid wallflower herself across the floor with a mixture of pure envy and contempt. Clearly the insidious hatred between the females was mutual.
"Nonetheless, it is a pleasure to make you acquaintance, Lady Nimrodel." He offered her his most charming smile and squeezed the hand still grasped gently between his fingers.
"A pleasure, indeed," she replied. With a voice like the Helcaraxë.
They paused, bodies poised in perfect harmony, staring straight into one another's faces. And all he could think was that she was an angel with eyes that put the skies to shame, something delicate to be revered and cherished. But despite her deceptive fragility, she was no helpless, wilting flower.
Bowing, he kissed her hand. And never once did he glance away. For she outshone every woman in the room. And he, the Prince of Lothlórien, knew that she was the One.
Especially when her hand jerked free of his grasp as though he had stung rather than kissed her smooth skin. Discreetly, she wiped her tiny, delicate knuckles on the fluttering white skirts of her simple silk gown. "If that is all you came for, my prince, I do believe I shall return to my corner in peace. You may show yourself back to your... ladies."
She turned her back. And against his will, Amroth smiled as she walked away, head held high with pride and scorn.
She had completely dismissed him. Him. A nobleman's son. A king's son.
And even when he returned to the frittering, flippant ladies awaiting their prized positions as his trophy escorts, the entire evening was absorbed by her brilliance. If asked to recall the next day what he had done at the gathering the night before, he would have said that he gazed at an ainu in the flesh and fell under her spell. And if asked to recall with how many women he danced in the twilight, he would have said one.
For his eyes never left her haughty form. Not even once.
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I will honestly say that I love this pairing, and I entirely blame Fiondil's Elf Academy and all its substituents, particularly the one in which Amroth returns and he and Nimrodel totally get together and it's absolutely adorable and-- Okay, okay, enough of that, eh? *cough* Moving on... So, they established their love-hate relationship. Poor boy has no idea what he's getting into, but I have a feeling that their love story will be interesting to write. I'm actually rather excited to see where this odd arc is going to go.
The song I wrote this to is perhaps a touch too moody for this piece, but I chose it anyway simply because of its name: Sky Blue Eyes from the Crisis Core OST (can you tell what I've been listening to lately LOL?), which is mostly credited to Takeharu Ishimoto. This song is also gorgeous (I said that about yesterday's, too. Forgive the violinist for having a particular fetish for violin music.) and you should listen to it. Even my mother likes it, and you have no idea how picky and critical she is of music. I swear, sometimes she lives to drive me crazy. Half the stuff I use for my prompts would make her tear her hair out.
But that is beside the point.
As my internet connection is currently extremely crappy, I may come back and attach a link to the artwork that inspired Nimrodel, but if you want to hunt it down yourself, look for Nimrodel in ~liga-marta's gallery on dA.
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