Friends Of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams, Part 2 RPG

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

The sound of snow falling: the heavy impact and compression not of flakes but of ice and build up, slipping from outcroppings and landing hard. The sound of wind swirling through the mountains, caressing the sides as it slides down, whistling and creaking. Giants with boulders, playing throwing games to start avelanches.

Indil's nose ran from the cold and the smoke from the small fire. She was lonely, and played a quiet game of rearranging the faggots into shapes until Tharonwe took them from her and restacked them neatly. She did not cry. She said nothing. The cave floor was uneven, with deep crevasses not wide enough to fall into, but wide enough to catch an unaware foot in. She sat wrapped in blankets between one and a cave wall, watching the light from the fire dart deeper into the cracks.

"Are there goblins in this cave?" she asked Tharonwe.

He watched her silently, eying her body for every silent utterance. He learned more from her from what she did not say. His stares unnerved her. He considered her question and the uses it could be put to. He could tell her yes and assure her obedience, yet she was a good child already. Instilling fear had uses, but it would not do to waste potential weapons without need. "I do not know." he responded, his voice dulled by the darkness. Some caves echo. Others oppress.

Tharonwe looked up, toward the entrance, a crack just large enough for a grown man to fit through sideways, if he had a light and knew to lower himself carefully. It let in no light in the dark storm, though the snow that built around the edges melted and dripped from the constant temperature of the cave, and the heat of the fire. Tharonwe stood quickly and crossed to the opening, reaching out and pulling a body none too gently through it and inside. Indil watched with wide eyes.

Suddenly the fire lit his face and red hair and Indil cried out, "Raefindan!" and stood. The man only moaned and she ran to take his hand.

[littlemanpoet]

He stood at the edge of a grassy vale, surrounded by blue-green fir trees. He knew this place. The air was thin - he had not recognized that before - they were high up. Away at the other end he saw two bent figures, wearing their old gowns, many years old, one with hair silvery blonde, the other's raven black. His heart leaped and his breath caught. She turned, saw him, and smiled. She rose and came toward him.

"Imrazor, my love! You have returned! You have been away a long time."

He shook his head. She was calling him that name again. He knew it from his readings back in the time from which he'd come. She came up to him and raised her slender hand to his face. Her eyes shone with her love for him; but tears stood in them as she did not see the same love in his own eyes.

"Your time away has blunted your memory again," she said. "Do you not recall our years together? Our children?"

"I - I recall," he said, hearing his voice gruff and uncertain. How was it that he had been united with her in this place, in that time long ago, and also had been in the time yet to come?"

Her eyes left his and looked over his shoulder. "Your thought has brought another." Her tone was fraught with many colors of feeling, so many he could not name them all. He turned and looked back.

"Angela!" For it was she. "How did you get here? Are you real?"

Mithrellas' fingers slipped from his face. He turned. She had backed away from him two steps, her face a mix of grief and hurt.

"Where are we?" Angela said. "I do not know how I came here. Who are these others?" She was looking to her right, at the edge of the glade. He looked. He could see through them to the fir trees. Aeron and Gwyllion.

"I didn't mean to kill you," he blurted. His breath left him and he fell to his knees with the horror of his confession. He looked to the two women who had been central to two different lives he had lived. Both faces looked at him in horrified shock.

"Imrazor!" Mithrellas cried. "Roy!" Angela cried. "Raefindan! Wake up!"

He opened his eyes. It was Indil. She was bent over him where he lay on the floor. He met her eyes. "I'm so sorry," he mumbled, and wept.

[littlemanpoet]

Tharonwë cared not whether Roy Edwards' tears were from remorse or self pity or grief. Why was Nimrodel off on the edge of the vale and not at the center? Preposterous! Everything centered on Nimrodel, and yet in Roy Edwards' dream she had barely figured at all.

He sent his thought to the vale where Nimrodel and her servant waited. He had until now paid scant attention to the servant because she was not the one for whom he craved. Now he looked. Whereas Nimrodel was unchanged, the one called Mithrellas did seem changed; or so he supposed since he had not taken account of her until now.

Was this Roy Edwards your mate in a time gone by?

Who are you that I should answer, miscreant?

Tharonwë scowled. She was strong. It would take much effort of controlled thought to break her down, and he did not have the time. He would have to outflank her instead.

These fëar, however, what did they in the vale? Why did they not pass beyond the walls of Arda like human fëar should? He would question them, but they were beyond his reach somehow. So he turned his attention to the one remaining figure, a young human woman who did not seem to belong. Roy Edwards had called her Angela, his young love from the future. A strange name. He had given much thought to it, and had been sifting Roy Edwards' mind as he had struggled through the growing snowstorm outside: the name 'Angela' was akin to Ainur or Maia. Was the girl then a Maia? He shook his head. That could not be, she was human.

What do you in this vale?

I defy you.

Simple words. She was aware of him, then, and her answer was given in a tone of will that bespoke no fear. His face worked with apprehension. When he came out of his thought he was startled to find that he was looking deep into the eyes of Indil. He shook his head and looked away. But suddenly a possible connection struck him. He turned and held the little girl with his eyes.

"Are you also Angela?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Indil blinked, and smiled a little, very confused, and she held onto Raefindan's frozen hand, petting it like she might a small cat brought in from the rain. She shivered in the draft from the wall of the cave and cocked her head a little, looking without any fear, for the first time, into Tharonwe's eyes.

"What is an 'angela'? Is it bad?"

[littlemanpoet]

Tharonwë scowled again. Perhaps it had been a mistake to address the human woman in the vale. It seemed that she lent her courage to this girl, and it seemed that there was little he could do about it. Torture for its own sake was not his way; he always had a purpose for the pain he caused.

"It does not matter," he answered curtly.

He would watch their minds and then determine his next move.

Raefindan

Indil's calming hand helped Roy relax. He calmed and finally fell into a fitful slumber as his lungs and head slowly filled with fluid.

Both women looked at him in horrified shock.

"The Elf forced me."

The horror on the two women's faces changed to understanding and revulsion.

"Please rise, Imrazor." "Please get up, Roy." The women looked at each other again, perplexed. They asked simultaneously, "Who are you? Why do you call him that?"

Roy rose and walked around the vale with the two women and listened as they traded stories. He shook his head in wonder many times.

[mark12_30]

The bed was warm and inviting, the house chill, the out of doors worse. Yet the woman stood, squared her shoulders, and began to add layers of clothing.

Ravion stood off to one side, not knowing whether to help or hinder her, fretting. "You still need rest."

"I will rest on the way, " she replied.

All that came from Ravion after that was an exasperated snort, but he held her cloak for her, and then packed his own things in a few moments. THe Rohirrim likewise deftly made themselves ready, and in a short hour all were lined up and prepared to go.

Ravion stepped to Mellonin's side to help her mount Roheryn (the king's horse, he thought bemused, remembering it as a foal) but she swung deftly onto his back. Perhaps not perfectly, for Roheryn gave a little grunt, and sidestepped once. But the woman refused to let weariness show on her face, and in moments they were headed up the mountain, leaving Saethryd at the door of her cottage.

[mark12_30]

THe snow fell thick and fast, and the horses put their heads down against the driving whiteness. Gond and Roheryn minded it little, but the rohirrim's horses were less pleased.

Ravion let Ædegard and Jorje take the lead. Jorje whined and sometimes zgged back and forth, but always swung back up the mountain. Ædegard urged him on, and the rohirrim followed, with the Easterling on his tall lanky chestnut close behind. Ravion and the elf-woman-- Mellonin-- brought up the rear. Ravion watched her anxiously.

The elf-woman did not mind. It was good to be watched; it was good not to be alone. It was good, she thought, to have a friend. She had not had a friend in a long time.

"Your hands are cold. And your face must be also. Wrap your face against the cold. And lay your hands on Roheryn's neck."

"My hands grow stiff indeed, friend. I will heed your counsel."

Ravion was relieved to see Mellonin wrap her scarf tighter, and then bend forward, and lay her hands along Roheryn's thickly-furred neck.

Ædegard's voice cut through the driving wind as he urged Jorje forward. Ravoin wondered how long their food stores would last, and whether they would find dry wood to burn come nightfall.