Friends of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams

[mark12_30]

Amroth stood off to one side and gazed southeast, stroking Echo as the rest prepared camp. His mind was closed to his friends, still seeking, combing through dust and ash.

After the other men were asleep, Nethwador settled some forty yards apart from the others toward the north. He sat gazing towards Bella, and kept an eye on Ædegard and Liornung. His lanky chestnut stood near him. Amroth paid him little heed.

Erebemlin approached Amroth. "Rest, my lord."

Amroth's gaze did not change. "Where is she!"

"You have searched all day."

"I have sifted through every pit and heap. She is not there."

"What would you have us do, my lord?"

Amroth still gazed southeast. "After Dagorlad--- Gorgoroth."

"My lord, no song or tale tells of her journeying there."

Amroth's startled gaze pierced Erebemlin. Songs and tales... Tell me of these songs and tales.

[Nurumaiel]

Argeleafa sat close to Bellyn, aware that Nethwador's eyes were fixed on the latter. It made her uneasy, the way he was always staring at Bellyn. She felt an unexplained guilt come over her, and as swiftly it had come it was explained. She had been sorrowful that she had been ignored, yet she had ignored Nethwador very much. It was so hard to speak with him, though. He seemed suspicious of everyone. But she was afraid of the attentions of everyone, despite that she longed for them.

Ædegard.... he had been very kind to her. He had spoken to her almost the whole previous day, though he had not said much to her this day. To speak to her so much... not many people had ever treated her so warmly. She had not said much to him in return. Why? Yesterday night she had come up with many clever, friendly, enjoyable remarks to make in return to his. Why could they not have come sooner? Ah, but so many things to say had come and she had been too shy to speak.

And then he had sung that lovely song. She had never heard it before. But of course she wouldn't have, for he had composed it that very day. She had asked Liornung about it and he had told her about the game they had played. Liornung had not sung his song yet. Perhaps he was waiting for Bellyn, or for her. That was nonsense. No one would want her to sing. Perhaps her voice was well enough, but she did not know of songs to match those that had been sung.

"Nethwador." He turned his eyes to her and she smiled. "Hello," she said. Bellyn started; she had been deep in thought and Argeleafa's voice had surprised her. She also looked at Nethwador and, following Argeleafa's example, smiled at him, yet she looked rather ill at ease. She had seemed uneasy the whole day.

Argeleafa saw that Nethwador's attentions were fixed solely on Bellyn; he would not even look at her. No matter. She had grown used to it. At least she had the consolation she had been friendly. She began to sing in a barely audible voice.

"Deep in my heart are you, Rohan my home,
Far from your quiet fields now I roam.
In a distant land bends my way,
But I shall return to you some day."

[mark12_30]

Erebemlin's dignity prevented it, but he was surprised enough by the question that his jaw nearly dropped. Had they not said on the flet that tales and songs told of her fate? And yet, Amroth gazed at Erebemlin as if this was the first time he or Taitheneb had ever spoken of them.

Erebemlin and Taitheneb exchanged glances. They seemed torn between pity and ire.

[Orual]

Ravion was a little taken aback by Mellonin's curt response. Had he said something? Perhaps he had offended her. What had it been? He didn't know...so he figured the best course of action was to pretend that nothing had happened at all.

Ravion looked up at the sky, and saw that the orange sun was drifting towards the horizon. "Night is coming," he announced. Aeron rolled his eyes.

"Thank you for the startling proclamation," the boy said sarcastically. Ravion cuffed him on the head, and he rolled with it well. He was learning. Aeron rubbed his head a little, but did not make any noises of pain.

"Good job," the Ranger whispered. Aeron rolled his eyes again, but grinned. Ravion smiled at Mellonin, who ignored him. His smile faded, and he went on purposefully to Raefindan.

It was then that his smile faded for true. His red-haired friend was still unconscious, his murmuring and shallow breathing the only signs that he was living. Ravion inhaled sharply to bring down a stab of grief and anxiety, and brushed a lock of red hair from Raefindan's forehead. A forehead that was still warm and dry with fever. The fever was not breaking. Ravion cursed quietly, and brought out some herbs. He tipped Raefindan's head up and put the herbs in the unconscious man's mouth. Maybe it would help break the fever.

"We need to keep moving," he called firmly, trying to distract himself. "Keep going. We can rest after the sun goes down."

[littlemanpoet]

"Deep in my heart are you, Rohan my home,
Far from your quiet fields now I roam.
In a distant land bends my way,
But I shall return to you some day."

Ædegard's hearing was good enough that he could make out the words, though sung as quietly as the winter breeze. He was glad of the darkness, for his chest filled with longing and tears came to his eyes. He wiped his eyes, and the tightness in his chest opened up as he thought about the sweet voice that had brought those words back to him. The maiden of Rohan had heard, and memorized his words! He felt as if he could fly among the stars!

So she was very shy. That was a relief to know. There was hope. He lay down, but sleep was far away. You are not in your right mind! he told himself. Just two days ago, this maiden of Rohan had been on the edge of his awareness, and now she rivaled the quest in his thoughts. Moonstruck is what you are! He rolled over and tried to slow his heart with steady breaths. Admit it, fool of a wheelwright! Love struck is more like it! He pulled a face, then a smile spread across his lips. He closed his eyes and in a short while dozed.

[mark12_30]

Mellonin paced alongside Gond, stroking Raefindan's hair and listening to him murmur. Ravion had picked up the pace yet again, and Gwyllion and Mellonin marched with set jaw ignoring various aches and pains. Mellonin hoped that they would reach the delta soon.

She reviewed Ravion's plan. Seven streams fed the Anduin. The path swung westward to avoid the marshes and swamps. The first stream was not far. She wondered what "not far" meant.

Gwyllion stroked Raefindan's hair. "Listen. He's singing again."

The tide and the moon. Mellonin wanted to learn the song.

No, she didn't.

She bit back tears, and her eyes strayed to the Ranger's back. He was so calm. He handled Aeron well. He was determined to find her brother. And he could be gentle as well as fierce.

"Will he be all right." She regretted saying it. She regretted it even more when the look Ravion turned on her was full of concern. She looked down, but he had seen the tears in her eyes. Inwardly she cursed her clumsiness even as the tears began to roll. She turned her head away.

The strange redhaired man who named dogs Jorje and asked who the king was and did not know how to do simple work-- in just a short time he had become important to her, and now he was, so it would seem, on the brink of death.

You must not die. You must live. Wake up, and let the fever break. Wake up, redhaired man. Wake up, Raefindan, my friend.

She turned her face to the ground, and hoped that no one noticed her tears.

[Imladris]

Gwyllion saw Mellonin turn her face away, and Gwyllion sighed. Raefindan was such a jolly fellow. It would be horrid if he died. Who would tell them all about the strange words he knew?

Creeping towards the woman, Gwyllion saw a tear trickle down her cheek, glinting softly in the lingering light. Touching her shoulder, she turned grasped the end of her shirt and wiped the tears away. Smiling, she said, "Do not cry yet. Raefindan is not dead, thus your tears are early. When he dies, then you must cry. To cry now is to despair of hope, even though there is scarce any hope."

Aeron called over his shoulder, "Crying is silly anyway, whether he lives or not."

Why must he always be so...tactless? Was that any way to treat a grieving woman? No. Merely because crying had not helped him whenever he had cried -- had he ever cried? --, did not mean that crying was silly. "Do not listen to him, my lady," she whispered.

She bit her lips and glanced from the woman to the redhaired man. She remembered Mellonin saying she had been sick. What had happened that shackled her tongue? "What dreams plagued you when you were sick, Mellonin?"