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ROHAN: Mellon-Amroth
The young man's questions faded from Amroth's mind as soon as he turned northward; he could still hear his words, but he had dismissed the issue already, and his will was set northward. Opening his mind, he searched, passing over the nearby villages, the towns, the open fields, reaching out to the falls, the singing stream of his beloved beauty. He could imagine the voice of the stream; where was the voice of his betrothed?
Other minds touched his, querying; Lorien was strangely quiet. More elves must have migrated already than he realised; why had he been unaware of this? Had they headed due west instead of south?
No matter. He had given the reign of his Kingdom into other hands; his heart held one purpose. His bride had headed south, not west. And she had not met him when she ought. She would have returned home to the stream she loved best.
Nimrodel. Nimrodel. Where are you? Nimrodel, hear me. Nimrodel...
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