Friends of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard rode in silence, at the back of the party. Alone. Ahead of him rode Liornung with Bellyn to his right and Leafa to his left. Leafa had not looked back at him once. Ahead of them rode the two elves side by side, and leading the party, Mellon and the Easterling, already fast friends. It left a very sour taste in Ædegard's mouth. Did Ædegard and Mellon's friendship mean nothing? No, it was the elves who kept him away from his friend but let the Easterling boy joke with him.

Do not bait me, you young Rohirric fool. The memory of the leader Elf's words were fresh in his mind, and irked him no less than at first. All of them, even Leafa, had sided against him. He was disgusted. "I might as well break the engagement and go straight home. They will not miss me. They would most likely be pleased." Even Leafa.

You were the first to choose ill. That was what Leafa believed. She had said so herself, and she always spoke the truth as well as she saw it. He remembered the expression on her face as she said it. Sorrow, as if it was a great wrong he had done, and she was sorrowful that he had done it. Anger smouldered in him. Did she not see? All he had done was right, according to the ways of the Rohirrim! She was a Rohirrim! She should know these things! But she had been forced to live among the Easterling wanderers, and had learned to suffer them their ways. He still held out hope that he could teach her the ways of the Rohirrim. They were hard ways, and he hoped that once she learned those ways better, they would not lessen her pity for those who suffered. You were the first to choose ill.

Oh.

She had pity on the Easterling boy. As did the rest of them. The boy did become friendly to those who were kind to him. Could it be that he was wrong about the Easterling boy? Could it be that the ways of the Rohirrim were not right? Nonsense! The fathers of his fathers had lived by these ways, and they were good ways. That the others did not see this was sad, but he could live with it.

Youngling. Insufferable Elf. As for as Ædegard cared, the sea could take them all. More living space for his folk once the Elves left. He knew he was being unkind, but they were not his kind. He had heard it said that the ages of the Elves were past, that the new age was that of Men. Let them pass, let them pass; pass away into the west where their Elven home awaited them.

I am more disappointed in you... Leafa's face came back with sudden clarity; her words were hammer strokes. So much power in one so small and timid. You were the first to choose ill. Ædegard's eyes became wet, for a lump had formed in his throat. He wished the day had gone other than it had. Round and round the words of the others, and his own, spun in his mind all day long, burning themselves into his memory. He wished to sleep and tried to will the sun down to its setting.

On they rode, ever south.

[littlemanpoet]

"Erundil," Raefindan said to the other ranger, who was just sitting up, "how do you fare?"

"Well enough." He pulled himself to his feet. "So the elf has returned one of them to us."

"Aye," Raefindan said. "I do not think he is far off."

"If that is so," Ravion said, "then Mellonin must not be far off either."

"You think he keeps her with him, then?" Raefindan asked, shading his eyes, looking off into the distance of the swamp. He did not expect to see the elf, but was sure he was there.

"He would need to, or he could not stay with us and have returned Gwyllion."

"I do not know the way of elves," said Erundil, "but could he not track us? I would not be surprised if he could move more quickly than we."

"His arrows have been too ready at hand," answered Raefindan, "is that not so Aeron?"

The boy was distracted, watching Gwyllion's sleeping face, which did not change for all his attentions. He looked up. "Aye! I could draw one this way now, I wager." He stood and faced the general direction of the swamp, then put his hands to his mouth and called, "Let us hunt the elf and find the other one!"

"Aeron!" Raefindan warned. "It is not wise to-"

"Ow!" Aeron yelled, hopping on one foot. He landed with a watery squash just off the path, an arrow buried in his right foot. He held his foot in both hands and said through gritted teeth, "I will kill that elf!"

Suddenly Ravion ran toward Aeron with one of the bags from Gond's side in hand. Aeron ducked and squinted as if expecting to be tackled, but Ravion hit the ground just before him, facing the swamp. There was a thud, for an arrow had pierced the bag.

"Get him to the other side of Gond!" Ravion yelled. Raefindan and Erundil picked Aeron up between them and carried him out of the line of fire.

"If I were you, Aeron," said Raefindan, "I would not be too quick to speak of killing the elf."

"I didn't say it loud!"

"Elves have ears like conies."

"They are that long and stick up?" Aeron grinned through his discomfort.

Raefindan grinned. "Some think so. But it is their hearing I spoke of."

"I know that! Keep an eye for Gwyllion!"

"I have her," Ravion said.

"Let us have a look at that foot," Erundil said.

[alaklondewen]

Erebemlin rode in complete silence, keeping his eyes forward and his teeth clinched. He could feel Taitheneb’s eyes burrowing into him, but the elder elf kept his mind closed, not wanting to hear the always sensitive words of the younger. He was not proud of his behavior at the camp, but he sometimes felt as though he was the only one that truly cared for Lord Amroth. Now his king was beyond his aid. If only Erebemlin could communicate with the king and just know Amroth was safe…

Taitheneb was searching him again, looking over from atop his horse with his large, sympathetic silver eyes. Erebemlin purposefully turned his face away from the other elf and searched the river, letting his eyes roam from bank to bank.

Taitheneb noticed Erebemlin’s standoffishness and was hurt by it. He understood the elder’s concern about the king, but Taitheneb was worried about how the other elf was handling the pressure. He had never seen Erebemlin crumble under the demands of duty, yet he knew this was deeper. Erebemlin’s heart was breaking. The king, who he had seen as his hero and his father after his true father passed on, had suddenly reappeared into the warrior’s life, and now…he was gone almost as quickly as he came.

The younger elf understood this and just wished Erebemlin would let him comfort him in some way, but the elder was proud…too proud to show such sensitivities. Taitheneb tried to break the silence. “Will we keep to our current path, Silmaethor?”

Without facing him, Erebemlin replied, “Yes, Lord Amroth wished to search the river banks for the Lady, and we will keep to his orders.”

“And what if we find her?”

The simple question caught Erebemlin off guard. What would they do if they found Nimrodel beside the river? Something told him they would not, but would Amroth return if she was found? Erebemlin shook his head slowing. “I know not,” he said softly. “I know not.”

[mark12_30]

*Place holder, just in case*

[mark12_30]

Cerin Amroth, often so still and calm, lay in the eye of a storm. The white trees lashed each other. The mighty mallorn heaved and creaked in the wind. The rain lashed its golden leaves and turned the silver trunk dark grey. Round Cerin Amroth, the forest was empty, save one.

Upon the high floor he lay facedown, body pressed flat against the talan, wet with rain and tears. The wind moaned, the tree groaned; he tried not to groan, and failed. The tree heard his cry, and shuddered. Torn, shredding mist passed through the great trees and drifted to the hill below, where Niphredil and Elanor trembled and tossed in the tearing winds. Swaying, the mists beckoned to him as they walked among the white and golden blossoms. He raised his sodden, golden head, and then lay back down again, pressing his forehead to the floor.

She has sent me away. Shall I face the ages alone? Would it not be better to cease to be?

The fury of the storm doubled, and the mallorn's cries grew wilder. He felt the floor heaving beneath him; the rain lashed his back, stinging like hail. It roused him; he looked up again. He went to the edge of the flet, and looked west. Her stream; she still sang beside her stream. He thought he could hear her amid the wild winds and lashing rain; how could that be? He gazed into the night, and knew it was true; her falling-silver voice came to him, wringing his heart, breaking him. He wept anew.

Salt... salt on his face, on his lips, in his hair.

The timbers of the ship groaned and cried, sometimes rising to a scream; the deck pitched and tossed beneath him. The sails were too full; the ropes were horribly tight. He stood at the rail.

She was there. He reached out with his mind, his soul, his very heart; she was standing by a stream, singing, lamenting his departure. Faithless! Ah, how faithless he himself had been, to ever leave her side!

"It is too late. We must run with this wind, " cried a nearby elf. Amroth looked at him; a line had snapped and stood out stiff and straight in the wind. The elf fought with it, and with the sail it had abandoned.

Amroth's eyes kindled. "Fool! I will not part with her; do not say that again!"

The elf laughed. "You parted with her long ago. And you will not be king where we are bound, nor are you any longer king in the forest. Your wish is no longer law."

Amroth wasted no more time on this fool, this rebel; he stood on the rail, looked to the shore and prepared to leap.

Mist passed before him, and when it cleared, he shook his head, dazed. He stood on a low threshold of a small cottage, looking into a broad, shallow pool perhaps three feet deep. Green lilypads covered a few parts of the surface near the shore. Green slime dripped off of the few reeds that swayed nearby. In and out of the reeds swam long slender dark fish, and on the far side of the pond was a flock of geese. An eel swam past him and disappeared into the reeds. Repulsed, he looked over at the geese; they swam as if they had not seen him. The air was heavy, woven with scents foul and sickly sweet.

He turned to look into the cottage behind him, and saw an elderly, sorrowful man and woman. The woman sewed; the man gazed into the fire. He asked them where the ship had gone. They did not hear him. He asked again.

"Ship? Nay, my dear. They left on foot," said the old woman to her husband.

"Eh? What's that?" he replied, startled out of his reverie. She shrugged, and his gaze returned to the fire.

Amroth turned and looked out into the dank and stagnant pool, and saw fields beyond, and rolling hills in the far distance. He reached out with his heart looking for Nimrodel. There-- a woman, weeping, wrestling with sorrow, with loss. A woman longing for the return of...

She was gone; or was it, that she was hidden? He reached out again.

A man, hunting, searching for the elf-woman he had loved so dearly; combing the woods and the mountainsides, calling, crying. Hearing his own cries echoed in the man's sorrow, Amroth hastened to the man's side. Putting a hand on the man's shoulder, Amroth willed to strengthen him, to encourage him. The man turned to him, and their eyes met.

Amroth wondered at the red shine of the man's hair, but even as he looked at it again, the man melted away.

Amroth looked around, blinking. Where was the pool? He stood on a riverbank.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an old, wizened tree; he turned to look at it. Its back was toward him, and it walked to the riverside, and carefully placed its' broad woody toes into the water. Then, reaching down, the ent grasped the water in its branching hands, and lifted it. The water ran through his fingers into the river. The sun shimmered on the water, and the ent was gone.

Nearby stood a slender darkhaired woman, and she held goose-feathers in her hands, reaching to him, beckoning him. "Fly to me, my Dark-love; return to me. Come back to me." She held out the feathers. Amroth reached for her, for the feathers.

They became snakes. The woman was gone, and Amroth was being pulled under the water. His hair drifted in the current, and he felt that this had happened before, and yet-- this was different; the water was not sea-green, but dark, muddy, and he could not see the sun glistening through the water. All he knew was black mud and stinking slime, swampy sucking stifling ... he sank further, his breath bubbling from him, and as if from far away he heard the mocking laughter of the elf on the deck of the ship.

Amroth cried out in anger, and then gave a defiant shout. His spirit kindled and burned. He burst upward, leaving tentacles and slime behind; he was ablaze like Feanor of old, and he stood on the riverbank roaring his rage.

The reedy pools and stinking mud, the dark water, the grassy riversides; the fields and rolling hills beyond-- he stopped, and in a whisper spoke his recognition of the place. "The fingers of Fangorn grasp the Anduin... at the Entwash. The Entwash!"

[mark12_30]

Mellonin stared, eyes wild, breath caught. Her brother! He stood on the river with the reflected sun glowing around him; her heart went into her mouth.

Mellondu.

She reached for him, called to him. He began to sink.

"Mellondu!"

She leaped in after him, but tentacles caught him and pulled him down. She reached for her knife; it was gone. She swam downward, clawing at the tentacles, but they pushed her away. She clawed at them again. One massive tentacle wrapped itself around her, and threw her out of the water and slammed her onto the riverbank. She lay with the breath knocked out of her. Nearby, the rising bubbles dwindled and faded into silence; Mellondu was gone.

[littlemanpoet]

Raefindan had asked Ravion to lead them, being a ranger and healthy and unwounded. Gwyllion was strapped to Gond, led Raefindan. Aeron, his foot injured, sat atop Gond, holding Gwyllion in place. Erundil walked behind Ravion, and in front of Raefindan.

They walked for hours and did not stop for lunch. They could sense that they were almost out of the swamp, and were eager to be out of the clutches of the swamp elf. Maybe, maybe, Mellonin would be returned to them once they were beyond the swamp. Raefindan hoped so, but doubt ate at him.

As the sun set, the last of the swamps fell into the distance behind them. Solid, grassy land surrounded them. Raefindan called a halt and they ate, then the dressings were changed on Erundil's hand and Aeron's foot.

"Now that we are beyond the swamp, we should set up a watch again," Raefindan said. I will take the first watch of two hours. Aeron, take the second, Ravion the third, and Erundil the fourth. Then we should rise for the new day."

"Will the swamp elf return Mellonin if one of us is awake?" Ravion asked.

Raefindan frowned. "You raise a good point, Ravion. I do not know. What do you think?"

"I think that we are still under the elf's watchful eye, and our lives are both safe and forfeit at once, depending on his will."

"I do not like it, but I think you are right. No watch tonight, then."

They settled down for the night, for they were weary from a long walk. They took special care with Gwyllion, who had begun to moan in her sleep. Aeron declared that she must be waking up; but it was not so: after watching her with care for a half hour, she showed no sign of waking.

They retired for the night, Aeron staying close to Gwyllion; Jorje sleeping next to Raefindan.

[Imladris]

Gwyllion ceased her struggling as she saw the tentatacle release the limp body of Aeron. She wanted to scream as she saw him drift away, his lips parted, his cheeks dead, his eyes scraps of metal.

She wanted to die --- but she forgot. She was already dead. Why could she not be with her brother? Was she too just a limp body chained to the rock? Why was he allowed to drift and she was not?

She began to struggle again, straining the chains, ignoring the dull scraping sound they made. Suddenly, she was let loose. She was drifting in the water, her hair a burnished sun behind her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aeron peered intently at his foot. There was a nasty hole in it, courtesy of that fiendish elf. "Do you suppose it'll scar, Raefindan?" he asked, touching it gingerly.

"Maybe," the red haired man, peering intently into the dark.

"I hope it will," Aeron said eagerly. "My first battle scar ever."

"That was quite some battle, Aeron," Raefindan said, his mouth twitching.

Aeron frowned at him. "You're laughing at me," he said.

Raefindan shook his head solemnly.

Aeron let go of his foot and dropped his arm around Gwyllion's shoulder. She moaned again, but her face was still white, and sad, even though she seemed to smile a little. He wondered why...what dreams tormented her...