Friends Of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams, Part 2 RPG

[Imladris]

He was in the meadow again. Green fields stretched in front of him, behind him, to his left, to his right. Stars pricked the northern sky, bright like the jewels that studded the fingers of nobles; a yellow sun rose crowned in orange and scarlet to the west. Twilight before him, twilight behind him.

And there, right before his eyes, was Gwyllion, a wreath of wilted daisies in her hair, a smile on her lips. "Gwyll!" he said, taking her small hand in his.

"Aeron, brother."

The smile faded, her eyes dimmed as she looked at him. "Something is wrong," she said. "There is a black snake in your eyes, curled and waiting. Whispering. Aeron, what has happened?"

"You know, Gwyllion. You told me, the elf, he took the girl. He might kill her as he killed you. I mustn't, no I can't, let that happen again."

Gwyllion frowned. "Don't listen to the whispers that come from the dark. You should focus on finding the little girl, saving her from the shadows, rescuing her from him."

"And I will, Gwyllion, I promise. When have I ever lied to you, little Gwyll?"

She laughed but it wasn't the same as it had been before. It was briefer, heavier, paler. "Gwyllion, is everything alright?"

"I found something as I wandered," she said. "I was walking under a fading rainbow, murmuring a song half forgotten, and I heard a whisper --~~ fragile, half formed, like old crystal. I looked and I had wandered from my meadow and there were jagged rocks around me and a mountain stream washed over my feet. The water was so clear, like a mirror. And then I saw her in the reflection. She looked as if she might be tall, but she was kneeling amongst the sharp rocks, cradling Mellonin's head in her lap. I remember her robe was torn, and blood on her knees. She was whispering to Mellonin and I heard her say that she couldn't find it, that she had searched in vain, that all had changed. I was very sorry for her, but I couldn't help her, she was just a reflection in the water. And when I looked again I only saw myself staring at me."

"You don't know her name? Or who she is? Is she Nimrodel or Mithrellas?"

Gwyllion shook her head as she turned away from Aeron to face the dark northern sky. "I see things, Aeron. I see things all the time. I see you in pain, and I can do nothing. I see Mellonin --~~ or perhaps it is the other woman, I cannot see for there is a mist before me --~~ in torment, and I cannot ease her suffering. I see an old woman with strange fires in her eyes, and I can only watch and think half-formed thoughts."

Aeron said nothing, but wrapped his sister in his arms and kissed her on the forehead.

And when he woke, he found out Raefindan and said, "I saw Gwyllion again."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

After many hours of walking, Indil was extremely tired. Her legs hurt, and her feet hurt, and though Tharonwë moved effortlessly over the rough terrain, many sharp edges of stone hurt her, scratching or bumping her as they moved by.

She watched Thoronwë look toward further mountains, and then down the pass, and then toward the sky. Her throat was dry and the air was cold.

His face took on a cruelty that surpassed the sternly carved expression of before. Just then, Indil seemed to hear voices echoing up the mountain path.

"Are you listening to them too?" she asked him shyly.

He turned, eyes bright, fixed hard on her, probing her. His motions were crisp, certain. His eyes and face moved, his body following. She shivered at his intense concentration on her.

"I am sorry." she said quickly. "I did not mean to interrupt your thinking."

"Who do you hear?" To Tharonwë's sharp ears, there was nothing on the wind. "What do they say?"

She looked up at him nervously. "I do not know her name. But she says things that sound like songs. Things grown up men and women say about each other. And Raefindan. Him too. I can hear him saying things, only he uses funny words. He says them to her. He says he loves her."

[mark12_30]

Roheryn waited, listening. Whether the wild man knew that he was there, Roheryn did not know. Presently a soft voice called him.

Friend, come. I must hence.

But Roheryn paused; something was not right with the lady. HIs ears flicked.

If you have leechcraft, heal me now. I must leave this house, and go hence.

~*~

Ravion shook his head, and then turned from the others, and strode to Mellonin's bedside. Kneeling there, he took her hand. "Mellonin? What is it?"

To thy task, friend. I am in haste.

"Mellonin..." he whispered, and bent closer. "Mellonin, you cannot travel now. You are hurt. Badly." And I have not tended you, he berated himself. But you must sleep, and I feared waking you, but I will tend you now. I should have done so before this--

Mellonin stirred, but it was not Mellonin's voice that answered, but a voice in his mind, melodious, distant, but closer than his own breathing. Search the wounds, Friend Ravion. Wield thy skill. For with or without thine aid, I shall not remain here.

He reeled inwardly. He had seen this before, however briefly, had he not? "Are you-- Mellonin, is there another? I mean, " he stammered, reddening, "Mellonin, who is with you? Is there-- is it Amroth?" But no, this was clearly a lady. "Are you Nimrodel?" he guessed, hoping for some reason it was she, and then a moment later, "Tell me it is not so." For then Mellonin would belong to--

I am not Nimrodel. I am-- There was a silence, in which Ravion became dimly aware that the company was also gathering around the bed, and the wild woman was watching too. I am her servant. And now, aid me, or let me go.

"I cannot let you go; you are not well."

I am weary, and more hungry than any elf ought to be, came the quiet reply. But the wounds are not grievous. To thy work, or let me rise.

The familiar stab of guilt wrenched through Ravion's soul. You always fear the worst, he ranted inwardly; Did you probe her wounds? No, fool; in her paleness you guessed great loss of blood. Feed the girl.

Drink first, if I may.

He jumped; she was inside his mind still. He did not like it, and then again-- "Mellonin?" He stroked her brow, and then stood, and waved at the others. "Water. Not too cold."

And then bread. Have you no lembas, Friend Ravion?

"Why do you call me that? Just plain bread, I am afraid, Mellonin."

She was barely conscious, and Ravion feared she would choke, but when he held the waterskin to her lips, she drank steadily. "Not too much--"

More.

She drained the waterskin, and while the others refilled it, Ravion fed her bits of bread. It was too dry at first, but when the waterskin returned, he moistened them. She ate steadily despite his protests.

"Mellonin?"

Why do you call me this name?

"Have you stolen her like Amroth stole her brother? But Mellondu came back--"

I stole no one. Mellonin. Light-love. It is a good name. You may call me Mellonin.

I will know her gaze, thought Ravion. She will know me when she awakens. I will know her. I will know her.

Ye know me not, Friend Ravion, replied the voice.

"Then how do you know me?" he growled.

The voice did not answer. Mellonin had eaten several peices of bread, and as she finished the last, her eyelids fluttered. He snatched her hand again. Her lips moved.

"Ravion," she whispered. She struggled to open her glassy eyes, to see, to find him; she was so weak. He bent over her face. She smiled, a thin wan smile, and as she sank into a deep sleep the smile lingered.

The wounds. Probe her wounds. "Liornung, fetch my pack-- I need the herbs. And hot water, and clean cloths." He set to work, seeking out each scrape and gouge and puncture and cut.

None merited a faint and a fall from horseback. The girl was hardly injured; she was simply hungry.

He sat beside her til sleep took him, and then lay down on the floor by her bed.

[littlemanpoet]

Tharonwë

She looked up at him nervously. "I do not know her name. But she says things that sound like songs. Things grown up men and women say about each other. And Raefindan. Him too. I can hear him saying things, only he uses funny words. He says them to her. He says he loves her."

Raefindan? Roy Edwards? Says he loves this woman this girl hears singing? Tharonwë could make no sense of it. It was tempting to dismiss it as the girl's confused prattling, but he could read these things in her mind, and it unsettled him. About whom was she talking? Whom was she hearing? Nimrodel? But Roy Edwards did not love Nimrodel. No, he had probed that one's mind as well, and knew that the one Roy Edwards loved had died and was no more. Such a love was vain. If only he could persuade Amroth of such a thing: you are dead; let her go; she should not love you anymore because she lives and I live, and I want her; begone!

He ordered the girl to sleep and laid her on the ground even as she yawned. He gave thought to Roy Edwards and with a great effort of will, held himself from wishing murder upon him. He was needed. It was necessary that Roy Edwards be friendly to the blacksmith and be regularly near him, so that when they came to the next precipice, Roy Edwards would be near enough for Tharonwë to command his arms and body to push the blacksmith over the edge to his death. Maybe that would bring an end to Amroth's arrogant efforts to ruin the plans he had to make Nimrodel love him and only him.

Only a minute change here, and there, in the mind of the young Man from the future, and it would be achieved.

Hold. What was this? He was thinking on his dead beloved again, and named her 'Angela'. Tharonwë looked so quickly and fiercely at the girl Indil that she whimpered from the shock of it, even in her sleep. The opacity in her mind... the name Angela had been there ... had he spoken of her to the girl? Maybe that was it. He sighed and relaxed. But he wondered yet again upon that opacity in the girl's mind; what did it hide?

[mark12_30]

Mellonin slept through the night, but Ravion woke several times. Low conversations, slight movements, and every sneeze or cough jarred him wide awake. Each time he hoped Mellonin had awakened, and then each time he told himself that it was better that she had not, but had slept.

He missed Aeron. And he missed Aeron's wild little sister. Wryly he wondered how Gwyllion and this wild woman would have gotten along. Saethryd, as Aedegard called her, prowled around the fire, her clawlike hands pushing back her tangles of hair, speaking reluctantly and only with the Rohirrim.

By the moon, the night was not far along. He was tired enough, but if he let himself sleep deeply, he might miss something, some sign or word from Mellonin. He wondered what he had missed since he saw her last.

She stirred, and he rose to his knees and studied her face in the moonlight. The gash that crossed her hairline had begun to heal, and so had the lump behind it. The three welts had proven superficial, though ugly. The strange elf-woman's voice had not returned, at least, not to his own mind. He glanced around, and suddenly wondered if the voice had been talking to others.

Sleep, he told himself. You need it, and you've done all you can.

He half wished, even as angry as he felt, that someone would come and talk to him. Aeron would have. But Aeron was not here. The others seemed to be keeping their distance, and speaking in low voices.

He drew the blankets around Mellonin, tucking them in slightly. Then he lay back down, shifting uncomfortably on the hard floor, and rearranged his pack to make a better pillow.

Little Gwyllion, he thought, how I wish I could avenge your death. But with all the grief that the black elf has caused, perhaps a quick death would be too cheap a price for him to pay.

He shook his head, and thought of Mellonin. One thing at a time, he thought. Let tomorrow dawn, and then we will see.

The night crawled past, one breath at a time.

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung was silent. He sat against the wall, his fiddle propped up behind him, and his bow hanging loosely from his hands. His head was lowered, and his eyes were closed, as if he were sleeping. But he was awake, and his mind was restless. More than that, he was filled with fear.

He was recalling the first merry days of their quest, when they laughed and sang, and how, soon after, the shadows had fallen. He thought of the young girl, Gwyllion, and her death, and the dark seemed to wrap itself closer about him, breaking into his mind and his heart.

A hand fell lightly on his shoulder, and as he started and opened his eyes, Bellyn sat beside him.

"Something is troubling you, Liornung," she said, her eyes wide and thoughtful. "What were you thinking of?"

He flicked his bow up and down rather absentmindedly, and his eyes followed its motion. "I must admit, I was thinking of you, Bella," he replied. "I was thinking of how glad I am that I met you, how glad I am that we had those merry days of singing and tell tales. I was thinking of Leafa as well, but she doesn't press as heavily on my mind."

She said nothing, and merely continued to gaze steadily at him. He lifted his eyes to meet hers, and smiled slightly.

"You see, Leafa will be leaving us soon. Ædegard senses that his part in this quest is over, and I do not doubt that he and Leafa will be returning to their own lands to be wed."

He hesitated, and dropped his eyes once again. He stretched out a hand and took up his fiddle, and plucked softly at the strings. "This old instrument," he said gently. "I feel it is the one thing that remains to me of the world I used to live in. It was a quiet world, Bella, and a very beautiful one. I travelled here and there, sat by fires in taverns, and made music. I heard music, as well, from many different people. From each one I learned a new tune, and we'd spend many a happy evening playing together.

"This quest, at its beginning, was just a continuing of that world. With you and with Ædegard I shared tunes and songs and stories. And when Leafa came, she was a new face in that old world, and the music went on.

"And then I passed out of that bright world into a very different one. Gwyllion died. Ædegard lost his hand. Fear and suffering came rushing upon us. Night after night I kept imagining that it had been my hand that was lost." As he said it, his hand fell rather shakily upon his fiddle, but he quickly steadied himself.

"That was selfish," he said, with a sad smile. "This fiddle has always been my way of making music, and making music is the very heart of my life. Without a hand... but, it was selfish, regardless. And it has passed, because I realised that if, in some wild and rather absurd instance, I must lose my music to save Ædegard, or any one of you, I'd rather lose my music, even if it meant losing my life."

He paused, and Bella took advantage of his silence to ask: "What are you trying to say, Liornung?"

He turned towards, took both her hands in his, and looked earnestly into her eyes. "This quest is no longer one of merry-making and singing, Bella," he said. "Who is to say that more of shan't die, that more limbs shan't be lost? Life is full of joy, and I would be reluctant to leave it, but my part is not yet over. If I die, so be it. But seeing any one of my dear friends die while I continue to live would be unbearable."

"What do you want?"

"Ædegard and Leafa are leaving this journey, and beginning their own, a journey that will be filled with life and hope. I don't know what lies ahead for me, but I do know that the dark is closing in. Bellyn, you have no part in this quest. You're young, and you, like Ædegard and Leafa, have beauty and joy before you. If I die, so be it, but I must see that you're safe! When they return to their home, I want you to go with them."

"You think I should go?"

He released her hands, fell back against the wall again, and smiled. "I insist that you go," he said. "And when this journey is over, if I'm still on my feet, I'll seek out you, and Ædegard and Leafa, and we'll write that grand song of our adventures."

Bella opened her mouth as if to speak, but he held up a hand. "I don't know whether you intend to agree or object," he said. "I suspect it's the latter, but regardless, I'll hear nothing. I merely expect you to go home as I say." He smiled at her, but the smile quickly faded and he shook his head sadly. "It's too dark, Bellyn."

He put his fiddle to his shoulder, and raised his bow, but after a pause he let them fall again. "No," he said. "There is no music now. I cannot play."