Nimlindir sat upon the bed in her room in the inn of the Prancing Pony, Bree-town, Eriador. She leaned over the small writing table, quill in hand, penning a goodbye missive to her companions. The musty smell of tobacco curlicued like little tornados through the cracks of the wood stained walls. The floor rattled from the stomps of revelry in the main room and unrequited love in the hallways.
Once again she had been left behind. Beloved little Nim. The Nim with the sweet grin and eccentric behavior. Sad little Nim whose voice is only for the trees. Nimlindir, teased for the boyish name her father gifted her with. She was as pale as an early spring morning when she was born. Nimlindir Carneambor, named for music and the robin redbreast that flitted through the woods of southern Mirkwood ere the great migration of her kinfolk north to the halls of Eryn Lasgalen. Nimlindir the addled. Piano Player, Xandilif calls her. Nimlindir the brokenhearted, named by small Finchley. Another, the red haired curmudgeon, calls her Treesinger. All view her as a silly heart. Yet none know of her other names. The ones the Malledhrim called her long ago. Nimlindir the Knife, Nimlindir the War Drum. If they only knew perhaps they would have taken her along on their vacation trip to Angmar.
They would not know. For Nimlindir, those days were long past. Death and destruction to the enemies of her people were not for her. Not anymore. She nibbled on the end of the stylus, her normally bright face cloaked in pensive thought.
To whom it may concern:
While all of you have been gallivanting in Angmar, I, Nimlindir, have been concerning myself with much more important matters, such as bringing good cheer to the old forests of Arnor. From the old oaks to the beech-trees I have learned much of the mood of the old cobwebbed covered trees bordering on Buckland and Adso’s camp. I have made the most extraordinary discovery! Once, long ago, there were shepherds who herded trees! Just like old farmer people herd sheep. These shepherds herded trees! I can hardly contain my joy! I know the grouchy one wanted me to sit still. The loving one wanted me to be safe. The boyish one wanted me to eat well. Miss Eduwiges wanted me to practice with my sword. Lady Calidis wanted me to actually sing to people instead of trees. Nethrida said I should improve my puns.That Addie woman wanted me to guard her chickens. I still do not know what Ranamellon wanted nonetheless, I still keep the doors latched on my boudoir and Annabette left me books to read. Eduwiges’ mother gave me the addresses for several silver and gold shops to seek out for her. I do not understand what that was all about. I give you my most felicitous apologies. You cannot keep me here dealing with all these important matters while all of you are vacationing in Angmar. These tree shepherds are more monumental than reading books or gold and silver shopping. I depart today for Imladris. It is my hope to meet with one Radagast whom I have learned is a tree expert! Is this not exciting?
Farewell!
Nimlindir Carneambor
She twirled the stylus inadvertently splattering ink on the wall then set it down on the desk. Nimlindir scattered a bit of sand on the parchment over the ink then rolled it with a stamp. The elleth sat back in her chair and took a deep breath. She looked around the cozy room and grinned. Someone was having a really interesting time in the hallway to judge by sounds. Nim stood up and hoisted her pack over her shoulders and strapped on her sword belt. She patted Aryante under the sword sheath, retrieved the letter to give to Barliman and walked out the door.
