Friends Of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams, Part 2 RPG

[mark12_30]

The nightingale's voice shimmered like the sunlight on a stream, or was it, that the shimmering stream sang like a nightingale? Heart-piercing beauty, and he nearly wept at the pain of it. His ears strained to hear the shimmering brightness; his arms ached to hold the song.

Come. Tarry no more, my love, but come to me. Come.

The song drew nearer. The echoes brightened, the melody grew sweeter still. The longing in his heart smouldered deeper, higher, wider, til he wondered he did not burst into flame. Nearer, brighter, sweeter came the song.

From above, he felt a shadow pass. Mingled with the song of the nightingale was the scream of a hawk; a sudden cold panic choked him as the hawk screamed again, and the song stopped.

The golden flame surged past him, and he fought it; it was weak with captivity, and he strove to bury it.

Without me you will lose her.

Down, fool.

You will lose her.

No.

Let me go.

"No!" he cried, and sat bolt upright. Erebemlin stood nearby; their eyes met. Mellondu looked away, and heartily wished that the elf was less vigilant.

Raefindan stirred. "Mellondu, are you all right?"

The blacksmith rolled back down. "Be not troubled for my sake."

Erebemlin raised one eyebrow in the starlight. Mellondu ignored him for a time, but then rolled over again and sat up. "Was that her? Or was it just a dream?"

A tightening of the elf's lips was his only answer, but it was enough. He lay back down, suddenly wide awake, and the smouldering in his heart burned steadily til dawn.

[mark12_30]

It had been a long, quiet night. The wind had stayed always in the same direction, never eddying; Rugh had stayed still in his spot; and Roheryn had stayed quietly in his, waiting for Avarien to wake up.

Finally she stirred, and he listened to see if she would call him. But she did not. The cottage stirred to life; Saethryd's voice could be heard. The door opened, and Bella came out with a bucket, and walked to the mountain stream, filled it, and returned, and went inside the cottage.

Still as a statue, Roheryn waited.

[littlemanpoet]

The sun rose above the many crests and vales below them and to the east, and little by little the darkness of night gave way to the dimness of the tall evergreens that overshadowed the house of Saethryd.

Ædegard stirred. Bella had just come back into the cottage with a fresh bucket of water. Saethryd was speaking to him in Eorling, in her high, raspy unused voice, trying to get him to show Bella where to put the bucket. Bella figured it out from Saethryd's pointing, and so it was done. Saethryd settled back down, looking nervously from one to the next of her unwelcome guests. Leafa still slept curled up against the far wall; surely the earthen floor must be just as uncomfortable sleeping for her as it was for him.

Today was the day. It was time for Leafa and him to go back to the land of the Eorlings. He had overheard snatches of the words that had passed between Liornung and Bella. He would do his part to help Liornung convince Bella to come with them. The first reason was that that evil elf seemed to have a taste for using the quest party's women against the men. They needed to remove that threat from the great number that still hung over all their heads.

But it occurred, for the first time to Ædegard, sitting in the darkness of the hut, that he was poor protection for Leafa and Bella once they left. There were other threats in the wilds, up here in the unknown slopes, beyond the protection of the king. He sighed. If only Nethwador was still with them. When had he left? Had he gone into Minas Tirith with the others? Ædegard remembered Nethwador in the inn with the rest of them, but he did not remember him coming with the men out of Minas Tirith. He was supposed to have, but he must have slunk away somehow, and for what reason?

Bella!

Of course. Ædegard looked over at Bella, who was pouring water and wondered where Nethwador was right then. Was he out searching some vale in these mountains, looking for her?

If so, he hoped that the easterling would stumble upon them at some point. At least he had the use of all his limbs.

Ædegard smiled ruefully, thinking back to how he had first treated Nethwador. And here he was, wishing for him. How things change. How life changes. How people change. Ædegard shook his head in wonder, then got up and stretched and greeted Bella. Jorje's head came up suddenly and his tongue came out in a big expectant grin.

"Come, Jorje," he whispered. The two went outside into the cold, crisp and misty air of early morning, passing by Mellonin's horse, Jorje sniffing his way along the dewy grass.

[mark12_30]

Night surrounded him and the water was deep. Yet not so. Beneath him was solid ground. Yet still not so; the solid ground was beneath not him, but his mount. Powerful muscles surged beneath him; long strides bore him forward. He looked for Echo's flaxen mane; reached out to stroke the faithful horse; yet something was not right.

Seaweed brushed past his face. Reaching up to brush it away, he realised it was a tentacle. Shuddering, he swiped, but the water slowed his hand.

Do I ride the currents or the solid land?

The tentacle groped for him, and he moved in slow motion as he reached for his sword. He wore none. The knife, then. He drew, and slashed; all was black about him as before, but he knew by the taste of the water he had wounded it.

His horse tossed his head, and gave a thunderous neigh. In the distance, he heard a stream falling like silver in the sun. He called out to her, but his words were swept away in the current. HIs horse's voice was not; Echo thundered again and again, and the sound of the stream grew louder, nearer.

Baffled, he touched his horse's mind.

Be still, Echo.

The horse whinnied again, almost a scream.

Echo!

The answer came not from a horse, but from a man.

I will echo your voice no more.

Seaweed drifted against Amroth's face and mingled with his hair, tangling; it began to pull him backward. He reached up to brush it away; the tangles held. He slashed at the seaweed with his knife, and found tentacles again. The horse surged forward, he fell off backwards, and as Amroth sank, he heard the splash of his horse's hooves as he entered the stream.

Trespass.

Wrath burned within him. He fought the seaweed, the tentacles, but to no avail. And only now did he know that he could not breathe. He heard his horse's hooves splashing in the shallows of the stream, heard him snorting and pawing, and then the horse's neck bent down to take a drink.

Darkness took him, and he knew no more.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

A dream. The little girl had fallen deep into dreams of dark water and the filth of swamps, of the oozing creatures of the darkest moist spots under roots after rain, and the sounds of gossiping creatures throttled by fog which settles into the rising gaseous masses of the ominously still liquid shadows. She dreamed of the kinds of water which wish to be land, and which through the depths of time, patiently, will become so, taking living things into treacherous wet sands, drowning them beneath sentient roots, letting their bones give the solidity the muds and meres lack. She dreamed of still waters that build structures upon the skeletons of others, which, full of nitrous, seem to glow in the night, and which seem to whisper threats and lullabies as things slither and hiss inside.

She heard a nightingale, and a hawk, and trembled in her sleep as the song of the former was cut in two by the shriek of the latter.

She dreamed she was walking barefoot, and she was shivering, but she wasn't cold. She felt the mud squish between her toes and felt the eyes of black squirrels and rats fasten themselves upon her, and she wondered if they could see through the fog and the gases of their home.

She called out through the fog. "Mama?"

She heard an answering voice, as though from far above her, but above her she could see only more fog and the blue black silhouettes of broken trees. "Not your mother, my child, and not even hers, but so much farther through time. Why do you seek us, and why do you look here, surrounded by putrid fumes and ill wishes for the living, where the only love is twisted and rank, where those two who would become one can only do so to the detriment of the weaker? You walk in a parasitic land in search of what, my daughter?"

The mud Indil stood in felt cold and grainy on her bare feet, and when she looked down, she saw that it had risen to her ankles.

"Where are you?" she asked the voice of Mithrellas.

"I am always with you, little Eledhwen. Inside you. Are you afraid?"

"No." she answered, trying to lift her feet from the mud and feeling herself sinking lower in response to every motion.

A crow soared through the thick air and landed near her, hopping toward her, eyes sharp. Something limbless moved behind her, and she heard a crack in the wood of the trees. The mud had reached above her knees, and she was frozen, and she closed her eyes in terror. "Yes," she responded, crying, her voice shaking. "Yes. I am afraid. Please. Please don't let them get me!"

The voice was silent for a moment and Indil felt as though many of the shadows of the swamp were lifting. The dark ravenous eyes seemed to blink and lose focus. Indil slipped further, lower, and her breath came faster, and she trembled harder. Mithrellas spoke now quickly, firmly. "Wake up, Eledhwen. Cast this filthy darkness from you. Let it burden you no more! Again, I say, Indil, open your eyes and see the sky."

Indil woke suddenly, gasping, coughing as the cold mountain air filled her chest. She opened her eyes and gasped; her view of the sky was distorted by the face of Tharonwë.

"What did you dream?" he demanded, and she shook, laying upon cold stone. "What did you see, little girl, and why could I not see it as well? What have you seen and heard and hidden from me?"

[mark12_30]

He knew that dog.

"Jorje?"THe hound parked, a sharp happy bark, and then ran to him, tongue lolling. HIs rangy chestnut snorted, but then calmed, as the dog wagged his tail. Nethwador began to dismount, and then stopped. "Bella. Jorje-- Bella?"

"Jorje, " a voice called, and the echoes gave the dog a puzzle as his head swung this way and that.. But Nethwador waited, and dropped a hand to the chestnut's shoulder.

THe foootsteps were not loud. The man from Rohan had learned how to walk quietly, and Nethwador smiled.

"Jorje. Hi, Jorje; here boy." The wheelwright strode into view.

Nethwador waited, wondering whether the greeting would be warm or wary; he had left them without warning.

But the horseman's eyes were welcoming. "I thought you would come."

"Bella?" said Nethwador.

Pointing back the way he had come, Ædegard smiled. Nethwador was beside him in an instant, and then as an afterthought, slid off of his horse and motioned that Ædegard should ride.

Ædegard shook his head. "Let us both walk. Tis not far, " he said.

Jorje raced ahead, and was at the hut before them.

~*~*~

Ravion watched as the Easterling greeted Bella; the Easterling's uncontained joy brought a half-smile to the ranger's eyes.

WHen the hut finally quieted again and Liornung, Leafa, and Bella were listening to the Easterling boy's tale of his travels, Ravion asked Ædegard, "Did you see anything else?"

Ædegard shrugged. "Like what? I am no ranger."

Ravion grunted, and shook his head. "We will rest another day, " he said as Nethwador took his seat at Bella's feet. "Perhaps the mapmaker will sing. I doubt this Easterling will cross the mountains with Mellonin?"

Ædegard laughed. "Nethwador will not leave Bella's side again, I am guessing, " he said. "No, I suspect his road leads Northwest like mine. For that I am glad."

"I see, " said Ravion, looking glum. A minstrel, a ranger, and a feverish girl, taking the king's horse across the mountains. He shook his head. "Not today, " he murmured.

"Eh?" said Ædegard.

"We rest today, " Ravion repeated. He returned to Mellonin's side. He had already argued with the elf-woman twice today, so he repeated it for her. "We rest today." Then he took his place by her bed, and watched over her. Only it was watching over Mellonin, and arguing with Avarien. Mellonin had her stubborn moments, he reflected; it was easy to think that the elf-woman was far more stubborn than Mellonin was. But he made himself remember some of their endless bickering, and it calmed him somehow. THe morning passed, with Saethryd glowering in the background, and Ædegard pensively listening as Nethwador and Liornung traded stories and played on the violin.

[littlemanpoet]

A bank of clouds drew near from the north. They looked to be brimfull of snow and howling wind. But it was south that they looked.

"There! Do you see?"

Bergil was standing at a cliff edge, facing south. He was looking across a deep valley to an outcropping of rock on the sheer face of the slope on the other side of the valley, the flight of an arrow distant.

Erebemlin looked. "Aye, 'tis them."

"Who?" asked Aeron.

"Tharonwë and the girl. 'Tis a shame we cannot fly."

"Where?" Raefindan asked, heated.

Bergil pointed. Two figures seemed to crawl like ants against the face of the far slope, climbing a steep path that was hard to make out from the their vantage point. Raefindan looked to their path, and saw that they were going the way they needed to, but they were woefully far behind: the valley widened ahead of them, and they would skirt the side of the mountains a long, long way around, in a large circle, before they came to the spot where the Elf and the girl now were.

Mellondu came up and nocked an arrow to his bow.

"What are you doing?" Raefindan cried.

"He is within range now and will not be for long. Maybe he can be shot down."

"But you could hit the girl!"

"I do not think so," was all Mellondu's reply.

Suddenly fury built up in Raefindan to an indescribable pitch, and before he knew it, he closed the gap between himself and Mellondu, and was forcing him bodily to the cliff edge. Mellondu was taken by surprise and could not react before he was teetering on the brink.

"Stop!" Erebemlin yelled, too far away to do anything.

Suddenly Raefindan felt hands grabbing him and pulling him back. Aeron. It was enough for Mellondu to get his balance back and force himself away from the edge, but now Raefindan fought them both like a wild beast, trying to force one then another leg, torso, head, or arm over the edge. Suddenly it was done. The face was turned up to him, the eyes full of surprise as it fell like a stone, inches away from the sheer cliff face. But it was not Mellondu; it was Aeron.

Roy looked in horror until the body was a small insect-sized dot that seemed to have merged with the landscape far below. His mind rang suddenly with the laughter of Tharonwë.

"You tried to kill me!" Mellondu raged.

Roy looked at him in anguish. He could not find words to say all the thoughts that rushed through his mind, all the feelings crashing in on him.

"Aeron!" he choked, tears coming to his eyes.

The storm drew nearer.