Friends of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams

[littlemanpoet]

Leafa had given her demur assent to Ædegard's query. From then until sunset, all of them traveled in silence except for mumured conversation between each pair on horse.

As the sun set they came into a new settlement a day's ride out from Minas Tirith. It was a little crowded place on the road between Minas Tirith and Edoras, just at the northeastern toe of the White Mountains. The gate they passed through named the settlement, Forodway, which was an odd admixture of Eldaran and Common, meaning North Way; which was true enough. There was an inn there, the sign over which bore the outline of four diminutive two-legged smiling figures, arm in arm and mugs in hand; about the outline was painted in white, "The Four Merry Halflings". They rode in, staked their horses before the stables, and went inside to a bustling, crowded common room.

[littlemanpoet]

"The Four Merry Halflings" was the name on the sign outside. Not a hobbit to be seen anywhere. Yes, it was a fete of praise toward the Four Famous Perinnath through whom it was said the War had been won, but it seemed somehow empty to Raefindan. Not that the room was empty. For such a small town, its status as a new crossroads village meant that there were passers-through constantly, on some king's business or for trade ... or thievery.

Roy sat at table with the other humans; the Elves did not deign to sit with them, choosing instead to remain under the stars. Erebemlin had said that he did not want Tharonwe at loose amongst the easily swayed crowd within. Maybe so.

Thinking of thievery set Roy to thinking of Aeron. What had become of him? And why had Erebemlin written the boy off? Because he is more trouble than the looking after him is worth. Those were not the exact words of Erebemlin, but it was his meaning. Raefindan thought it harsh, unmerciful, pitiless. Maybe Aeron deserved such treatment, but what of that? Had not the recent War revealed the merit of mercy.... even to one such as that Gollum creature?

And what difference have you made, Roy Edwards, since you joined this quest or whatever it is? He heaved a sigh. Too much difference, truth be told, and that was the problem. He was not of this place and time, and he needed to keep from influencing the others. He sighed again. Mellonin noticed.

"What is the matter, Raefindan?" she asked. "You have barely touched your food and drink."

"I am not hungry," he replied. He tried, and failed, to smile. He frowned and rose. "I'm going outside. I need some fresh air."

"Do you want someone to go with you? To talk?" Mellonin asked.

"No, thanks."

He left the common room and went outside. His breath made vapor on the air. He wondered where the three Elves were; but not so much as to go seek them out. The stars were cold and distant. It was disturbing how he could recognize them. Millions of years it takes to change the map of the sky, he considered. The restlessness within did not wane. He began walking, and found himself at the northern edge of the village, just inside the gate.

Jorje was a few days' ride that way, as was this Marigold they spoke of. He wished he could have met her, spoken with her. Maybe she could have provided answers, or at least clues, to his recent experiences.

A man came out of a booth sitting at the side of the road, and walked up to him, nodding amiably.

"Greetings, friend! Do you wait for someone?"

"Nay, friend. I was just walking, and found myself here."

"Staying at the Hobbit Hole?"

Roy grinned. So the inn already had a nickname. He liked the nickname better than the original. "Yes."

"Best be moving along back there. The night will be getting cold, I wager, and though safe enough in these days of the King, one never knows what rascals may be just beyond these walls after dark."

"Is it that late already?"

"'Tis close to the middle of the night. Most honest folk are abed already, though the same cannot be said for the many travelers who pass through; seems they take this place as a chance for their follies."

Roy smiled. "Well, I'm in no mood for follies this night. I think I'll make my way back to the Hobbit Hole and warm up a bed."

"Good night to you then."

Roy waved goodnight and made his way back to the inn. They had been shown their rooms early, and he knew which bed awaited him. He was soon in bed, and though he had not thought it likely, was soon asleep.

"You have come again at last!" The dark haired woman rose from the lawn carpet in the midst of the garden, and looked up to him, standing at the edge of the lawn. It was Mithrellas. "Imrazôr, what has kept you away?"

"I am not-"

She was suddenly wroth. "Do not say you are not he! I can see with my own eyes that you are! What has kept you away?"

"I do not know."

"Come to me!"

The love in her eyes should have drawn him to her, but he did not know her except in dreams. How could she mistake him for her love? Nevertheless, it could not do great harm to walk toward a dream ... could it? He approached her.

She looked into his face, her red lips curved into a smile. She extended her hands toward him, and not able to think of a good reason not to, he reached his hands up toward hers as he approached, and their hands clasped. The soft warmth of her skin beneath his shook him, for with her touch, memories flooded into his mind, and with them, his heart opened to her, for she was in the most precious of those memories.

She smiled. "You remember at last."

"I do. You are ... my love!" His words came out in a breath; but he was troubled, for he was aware of himself at once as Imrazôr, and as Raefindan, and as Roy Edwards. Had he been Imrazôr in truth? Or was this only a dream? If he had come back to life as Roy, then come to Gondor again as Raefindan, did he not have to be an Elf? Or was the Law all changed after the passing of the Ring? He shook his head, unable to do a thing with all the confused questions running through his mind. Of one thing he was suddenly sure. He did love Mithrellas, and was happy to be near her.

"Come this way, my love," she said, and led him to a clear pool, the moon shining bright and full above them; it had been a new moon as he had walked in the new town. He peered over the edge, and saw himself; not the face of Roy Edwards, or of Raefindan, which two were basically the same. He was Imrazôr.

"Then I must be dreaming."

"What of that?" she replied. "It does not change the truth of what is."

His eyes opened suddenly. It was quiet. And dark. The other men were sleeping in other beds in the room, some snoring gently. Dreaming does not change the truth of what is?" If that is so, then what?

[littlemanpoet]

The group had gotten up with the dawn, broken their fast, readied their mounts, and were trotting across the plain toward Minas Tirith before the sun had gotten much higher than the Ephel Duath.

Dreaming does not change the truth of what is. If that is so, then what? The question had been on Roy's mind all morning. Mithrellas meant that though I was dreaming that I was with her, it did not change what happened between us in the dream. And it had happened. Somehow he was Imrazôr; at least to Mithrellas. Well, no. Roy didn't accept relativistic nuances. Either a thing was, or it wasn't; one could not have it both ways just by choosing to believe or not. Mithrellas was real. And the memories that were still with Roy, of himself as Imrazôr, husband of his beloved Mithrellas, were real. So apparently he actually had been Imrazór. The thought crowded his head with cottony confoundment. It could not be! It had to be! How could it be? As easily plum the depths of unified field theory! Roy shook his head fretfully.

"What is the matter, Raefindan?" asked Mellonin, her arms wrapped around her brother; they rode just a little behind and to his right.

"Oh, I had a dream. I'm trying to make sense of it."

"Tell me. Maybe I can help."

Roy screwed up his face. "I need to think on it some more before I speak of it."

"As you wish." She looked disappointed.

Roy smiled. "I promise to tell you before anyone else."

She grinned and clapped Mellondu's belly since her arms were not long enough to reach around her brother and clap.

"Use me for a drum, will you," Mellondu grated amiably. "I have been within earshot of your promise, and so must claim first right with my sister."

"As you will, Mellondu," Roy smiled, and fell silent again.

If last night's dream was real, maybe I have made too much of Tharonwe's word that I am dreaming this quest with Mellonin and the others. What if he is as right as Mithrellas, despite his motives? Maybe this is just as true and real as last night's dream! In which case, maybe I am here and now for a reason; and if so, it must be the same reason as my dream of Mithrellas! The cottony confoundment gave way to sudden clarity, as if a thunderclap had provided an exclamation point to a downpour, leaving everything fresh, cleansed of all confusion.

Amroth and Nimrodel!

That is the whole reason why I am here! It must be!

"What?" Mellondu was looking at him, curious; Roy had been staring at him for the last few seconds. He urged his horse closer to Mellondu and Mellonin.

"Let me tell you about my dream." He related it to them.

[littlemanpoet]

After Roy had finished his tale, Mellondu scowled. "Tell me no more dreams," he said curtly.

"But it fits with the others!" cried Mellonin.

"I care not. All I want is home and hearth and father and mother and you, and friends. That is enough. Oh, and my forge."

"A forge and Jorje," Roy murmured. Mellonin snickered.

"What?" asked Mellondu.

"Oh, I miss Jorje. Why - no. I know why he stayed. He wanted to. I shall have to go see him, and this Marigold sometime."

-------------------------------

The day passed without much conversation or event, except that the group passed Ramath Echor at midday, and soon the first stream. Minas Tirith grew large before them. They came to the second stream, which formed the northern bounds of the former battlefield of Pelennor. The city rose tall before them, and they could make out the flag of Elessar flapping in a brisk wind from the north, high above on the level of the White Tree.

They turned right at the crossroads, passed through the Great Gate, and wound their way up the narrow streets, each one of them showing signs of the rebirth that Elessar had brought with his reign. Finally they came to the Inn of the Seventh Star, and halted. Raefindan looked to Mellondu and Mellonin.

"Will you go on to see your folk this night?"

[mark12_30]

Mellonin nodded. "Come with us, " she said brightly.

Mellondu shushed her. "They barely have room for us! And we shall not stay there long. Raefindan, I mean no offense, of course. But Mellonin and I shall sleep on the flloors as it is. You will do better to stay here, and have a bed!"

Mellonin's face fell. She could not deny it. "But you'll come tomorrow, " she continued stubbornly.

Mellondu glanced from Mellonin to the elf-lord, and back. Mellonin wondered that the elves had entered the city, after saying that they would not. Taitheneb gazed up at the Tower of Ecthelion. "Silmaethor, we could leave this wretch with the King."

Erebemlin said nothing; his thoughts were withdrawn, and he looked weary. The turn of a shoulder was Taitheneb's only answer, and Maegeleb looked satisfied.

"Do come in the morning, " said Mellonin. Mellondu led Echo to Ædegard, and said, "Thank you, friend. You have been most kind. He is an excellent horse."

Ædegard blinked. "Is that all?"

Mellondu shrugged. "Come and see me at the smithy whenever you like, " he said. He extended a hand to Mellonin, who took it. Looking over her shoulder, she said, "Do come by in the morning. Promise you will!" Mellondu quickened his pace, and the two hastened along the curving road out of sight.

Taitheneb listened as their footsteps receeded, and shook his head. Back to the smithy? It hardly seemed possible on the one hand, and on the other, it seemed the only thing to do. And the difference was... what?

Mind closed and lips in a straight line, Erebemlin was grooming his horse as if he would ride him to see the king.

Nethwador looked around the city; he was not sure he liked it. But Bella was nearby. All was well.

The others were all finished caring for their horses. Erebemlin's horse began to shine, and still he brushed and brushed.

Ravion and Erundil broke the silence. "Well, I could drink some ale." "As could I." The menfolk wandered into the Inn. Erebemlin slapped the dust out of the brushes, and started grooming his horse all over again.

[littlemanpoet]

Roy was quiet again that evening. The others seemed to subdued as well. Maybe it was that Mellondu and Mellonin were missing. In a sense, they were the two reasons the rest of them were together.

The Elves were taciturn to the last of them.

Ravion seemed to have gone into a deep, dark place within himself, having barely bid farewell to Mellonin. It was not lost on Roy that Mellondu was suspicious of the ranger and protective of Mellonin. But that was between the three of them.

Ædegard and Leafa kept close to Liornung and Bellyn, the latter of whom was constantly followed by Nethwador, almost doglike in his devotion to her.

Jorje. Roy missed Jorje. He was a good dog. Some of that dog sense might have come in handy in the last few days.

Liornung was the only one who was not so subdued that he could not raise his voice, and sang them songs well into the night.

Roy excused himself and went to bed.

He was in the sward again. Mithrellas looked up and saw him, and rose from Nimrodel's side as he strode toward her. He had seen Nimrodel sitting there, in the middle of the vale, the last time he had dreamed, but Mithrellas and he had been so intent upon each other that they had let her sit in her absorption. It would be different this time.

"How is she?" he asked.

She put her hand in his, and he was stunned by the contact, remembering afresh their married life together, the days and days of joy beneath the eaves of the forests that grew along the shoulders of the mountains. She shook her head sadly, but the smile did not leave her face.

"She is the same as ever." She looked into his eyes. "What of this Maegeleb you spoke of earlier? Why does he not come here with you?"

"I know not." He had forgotten about that one. Reminded, he was sickened by the thought of Nimrodel with that one. He opened his mouth to speak warning, but the warning died on his lips, for he had forgotten what he was going to say.

She placed her fingers on his lips. "Time enough for that. Come, walk with me, Imrazor."

He wondered that she called him that, and wondered more that he accepted the name so readily now. Why not? She had shown him his face, and it was that of her mate; and that was he. They walked slowly amongst the hemlocks and birches that stood sentry around that vale. Their fresh scent filled him, and became part of her presence with him.

He woke in the morning, having forgotten what had passed in the following moments of his dream, sure that it was good, sorrowful that the memory was lost to him. But for the remainder of that day, the image of her face and hair, the smile of her face and the love in her eyes, did not leave him.