Over three weeks, Raefindan adjusted to life at the inn. Morien pressed him to step in for Melonnin in the commons, which he enjoyed much more than scrubbing floors.
The only thing he did not enjoy were his dreams. They all followed the same theme. He was glad they did not come every night. He had found his dreams persuasive and bothersome enough to ask Morien if he knew anything about people named Amroth, Nimrodel, Imrazor, and especiallly Mithrellas. For the people in his dreams spoke these names.
Morien told him of the legend of Amroth and Nimrodel, in which Imrazor and Mithrellas played a role. It all made sense, except for one thing: why was he dreaming this legend? It boggled his mind.
The two most bothersome things about his dreams were that he was Imrazor, and that he was falling in love with Mithrellas, who, for him, was somehow more than the Mithrellas of legend, but how he could not put into clear thought. It was not exactly as if she herself one thing in his dreams and another in legend. Rather, in his dreams, his response as Imrazor was out of keeping with the legend, as if he foresaw her death, or remembered it somehow.
He checked in on Melonnin every day, hoping she would be better. He hoped that she would be able to tell him more than Morien could. He didn't know why that might be so, but so it was.
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