Friends of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams

[mark12_30]

There was darkness issuing from the dark of Moria; darkness begat darkness, darkness birthed darkness. No wonder his beloved had fled from Moria. The light was so far away... so far. The hope... was there any? He clawed for it, reached for it, begged for it. Hope must be there... out there. He reached, stretching, straining, his hands trembling. A moan escaped him.

The darkness rumbled closer. Was it not dark all around him, all through him? How could the darkness come closer than it already was? Panic rose in him, and he fought with it; he was no coward. He belonged to the Light and the Light belonged to him, and he would find it again. He clawed, looking for hope, for light.

Slavering, hairy jowls gurgled nearby. Moria. She had been wise to flee it so long ago. He shuddered; was he trapped in Moria? Dark speech crawled like snakes into his ears and he clawed at his ears trying to get the snakes out of his head. He was sinking, and he was surrounded by orcs. Or were they orcs? Dead men... cursed, forsaken, all dead, all foul, all rotten, swallowing him in their own despair. The curse of Moria... Were there men in Moria? No, not that the tales ever told... Where was he? Orcs and corpses and darkness seeped into his very being and he could hear them laughing down inside his body. He clawed at his stomach.

Liornung and wild Mellon sat near Amroth. Liornung had brought water to wash the fevered young man's brow, and Mellon had siezed it and insisted on caring for Amroth himself. But he did allow Liornung to sit next to him.

Arrows piercing, piercing, burning. The dark grows darker. The struggles cease, and there is only pain and dark... til the fire comes.

Liornung shook Ædegard awake. "Ædegard. Look to the north. See you the stars are darkened?"

Ædegard rubbed his face and they stared into the north together. "Is it smoke? Why would there be a fire..."

"We will know soon. Dawn is near."

"Amroth dreams still."

At that moment, Mellon's body twitched, his head snapped up, looking southward. There was a shadow stepping just inside the light of the fire. With a snarl, Mellon rose, and stood astride his sleeping friend.

[Imladris]

Aeron stared at the dusty ground and kicked a pebble away. What Ravion said was true. If Gwyllion threw herself into a rage in the presence of touchy people, she could get hurt.

A sudden dawning broke over him: she could hurt other people. He touched his belly, and lifted up his shirt to see what damage she had done. Black and blue, purple speckled bruises were begining to spread on his skin. It reminded him of the way a red stain grew...

He let the shirt drop and sighed. "She is not moonstruck," he murmured. "She is not crazy -- she knows who she is. She is just....afraid of blood and who knows what else. Her mother died when she was born," he continued in a furious whisper. "A midwife had to cut her out...and father never really forgave her for killing his beloved wife. He left some time ago. No one really knows where he went. Not that I care," he added.

Ravion was frowning, and asked, "Is she your half sister then?"

Aeron, puzzled, answered, "No, why do you think that?" And then he realized his mistake. Blast...drat...it! he fumed. If their mother had died in Gwyllion's birth then how could she be his older sister? Words...they trapped you. They delighted in trapping you in the midst of lies.

He raised his eyes and muttered, "She is fifteen. Two years younger than I."

[Orual]

Aeron's proclamation that Gwyllion was the younger of the two did not shock Ravion. It wasn't that he knew beforehand--Gwyllion's odd, childish behavior, plus the fact that it hadn't occurred to Ravion that Aeron might lie about that hadn't led to much in the way of investigation. However, it didn't surprised the Ranger that the boy thief would lie about inconsequential things. It didn't surprise him, but it did worry him.

He thumbed his cut cheek. "I do not understand why you lied to me, Aeron," he said quietly. He found that speaking quietly and calmly was more disconcerting than shouting and raging. It was a finding that he rarely put into effect--but he did when he really needed it. "It was not that important. I understand your needing to care for your sister. If she needs your protection, she deserves it. Yours, and, if need be, mine."

"She--" began Aeron, but Ravion cut him off.

"Lying about trivial things will not aid us as we go on. I may ask you things that sound, to you, inconsequential. 'Is the grass by that tree brown?' 'Are there upturned rocks near that bush?' 'Are the weeds near that river bed flattened?' There may come a time when everything we do depends on the answers to questions like those. I can see things in brown grass and flat weeds that you cannot. I need to know my territory down to the smallest details. If you are going to get into the habit of lying to me, then I might as well tie you across Gond's saddle and haul you around like luggage, because not only will you and your sister be useless, you will be dead weight. You will actively hinder our mission. And that is not fair to Mellonin."

He stood up and looked around, avoiding Aeron's eyes. "Do not think that I am pitiless. I am sorry for your sister's plight. I am sorry that she hurt you. I am sorry that you felt that you had to lie to me, to--protect yourself? Protect your sister? I am not sure. But you should not feel compelled to lie. Ever. I know the art of the half-truth myself, I will admit, but this is not the time for lies, half-truths, omissions...anything but honesty. It will hurt you in the long run."

He glanced at Aeron. "And take the powder, Aeron. It will not make you any less of a man."

[Nurumaiel]

"Mellon, hold," Liornung said softly, though he did not look at the Easterling boy. "Move warily. Wait... Stand by Amroth but stand still by him. Ædegard, have you your weapon?"

"Yes," Ædegard replied, his voice grimly quiet, and he said no more than that.

"Then stay here. The shadow has paused, but I think it would be best to wake the lassies." He walked with a strange lightness to the place where the two girls lay and shook Bellyn gently. "Bella," he murmured in her ear, "wake, but do not speak." Her eyes flew open and she stared at him in confusion as she sat up. "Wake Miss Argeleafa," he said. "There is a stranger in our camp." As Bellyn turned and began to wake Argeleafa, Liornung went back to Ædegard's side. "Do you think we should speak to him?" he questioned.

There was a frown on Ædegard's face as he strained his eyes to see the shadow. "I do not know," he said at last. "I do not know what might be in lands such as we are approaching."

Argeleafa had stood, pulling her blanket about her shoulders and brushing strands of tangled gold hair from her face. Taking Bellyn's hand, she smiled gently and said, "Let's not fear. I would take a stand closer to Mellon, the Easterling wayfarer, so we might be nearer his charge. I would have no harm come to him... there is something lordly about him." Still holding Bellyn's hand, she moved towards Mellon but stopped some distance away, a little frown wavering on her face. "I would stop here," she said. "I do not know if the boy trusts us yet. Now let us see what Liornung and Ædegard will do." She tightened her grip on Bellyn's hand and smiled encouragingly, hoping to also find some comfort herself. It was true that Bellyn was younger than her, but it seemed the young Gondorian girl knew more of the road, while Argeleafa felt lost and confused and lonely for her home. She found the comfort she seeked when Bellyn returned her smile.

The shadow moved again and seemed to disappear for a few moments before it came closer to the fire. Liornung stood tensely and spoke to Ædegard. "I do not know what to do," he said. "I have no skill in battles against strangers who come into camp in the early hours. Good Ædegard, I would have you advise me."

[littlemanpoet]

"Hail him, with both greeting and warning. That is what is expected in the wilds. We must be seen as willing to befriend, or at least let him live, and equally willing to defend ourselves, even if it means killing a new foe. Harsh it may sound, but so it has been spoken from old times."

Liornung said, "You seem to know what to do, then, I'd be most gratified if you would do the honors."

Ædegard frowned. "I was afraid you might say that." He took a step forward, his hand on his sword. He drew himself up and spoke so that his voice carried across the clearing.

"Hail, stranger! We are travelers who mean you no ill. Reveal yourself to us and show that you do not mean harm. We do not wish for things to go badly for you, outnumbered as you are!"

Ædegard turned to Liornung and spoke out of the corner of his mouth. "Let's hope that does the trick."

[Orual]

Erundil made a quick correction to his earliest estimate: there were two girls. This made...six opponents? The odds did not look desirable, but maybe it would not come down to a fight.

He knew that they had noticed him. It did not startle him when one of the men called out, "Hail, stranger! We are travelers who mean you no ill. Reveal yourself to us and show that you do not mean harm. We do not wish for things to go badly for you, outnumbered as you are!"

Erundil took a step forward. "The air in Rohan is thick with rumours of your passing," he called back. "If stealth is what you wish, I would recommend more caution."

"What we wish, at the moment, is for you to tell us of your intentions," the man retorted.

A small smile crept onto Erundil's face. He raised his hands halfway into the air. "You are correct in saying that the odds are not in my favour. A fight is not what I came to find." He approached the man who spoke, and extended his right hand. "Erundil is my name, of the Rangers. Strange tales from Rohan and Gondor sometimes mean that I should be concerned. And the tales that have been told of you are nothing if not strange. But I have learned to take what I hear as rumour or nothing, and what I see as illusion until proven otherwise. I merely wanted to see if the tales held any merit, and if there was cause for concern."

He looked over the rest of the company. The two girls were young, and one seemed to be of the wandering people, if he could tell at all. The two men were solid-looking fellows, but the boys...the boys both caught his eye.

One of them was beautiful of face, but with an odd about him that made Erundil uncomfortable. Even sleeping, he was possessed of a proud and regal manner. The other, however...

Wild-eyed and unkempt, the boy looked ready to bolt--or attack--at the slightest provocation. All thoughts of the first boy faded when Erundil's gaze lit upon this one. This was surely the blacksmith. So the tales were true...

[mark12_30]

Darkness whirled around him, and he was sinking, sinking. He still struggled desperately for breath, but he was cold no longer.

Flames, flames, and blackness. Yet all is not black; near me four shine brightly... Yes, gleaming, radiant. They have seen me. They approach. I am not without hope. I am not alone. Perhaps this is the dawn.

Northward beyond the horizon, Erebemlin tensed. There it was. The light touch on his mind-- but no, this touch was not a question, this was a cry of despair, a plea engulfed in shadow. He bent his thoughts toward the plea. I am here. Take courage.

I had almost despaired of regaining the light.

Erebemlin was grieved that an elf would speak thus. Despair not. The darkness we utterly reject.

Friend, hear me. I must find Nimrodel. Where shall I find her?

Erebemlin frowned, and turned a puzzled glance to the stream not twenty yards to his left. I stand by her. She sings as we speak.

As quickly as they had come to Erebemlin, the thoughts were gone. He gazed into the flames, and considered what he had heard. What had befallen this elf, that his dreams were be so very dark?

Wild with hope and desire Amroth trembled and woke, and knew as he did that something was amiss. A stranger had come into their campsite. Quickly he touched the stranger's mind and found only curiosity and concern; there was no hostility there.

Amroth's wild friend, however, did not share the lack of hostility. The boy needed taming or there would be bloodshed; Amroth did not have time for it. Everything in his heart was bent inexorably northward where Nimrodel sang. He touched Mellon's thoughts.

She is near! I go to her side. Ride with me now. Our friends will follow after.

He sat up. Mellon whistled, his horse came, and with a handful of mane Mellon swung up. Amroth stood. Echo, come. Give me your best speed.

Ædegard spun. "Mellon, what are you doing-- Amroth, you're awake. What are you doing?"

"Tidings," Amroth snapped, leaped onto Echo's back, and saluted in farewell. The two horses turned as one and thundered northward.

Ædegard, Liornung, Bella, and Argeleafa watched them go, protests dying on their lips as the riders dwindled into the distance.