Friends of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams

[mark12_30]

Water, water, get me out of the water. I cannot breathe. I cannot see. Oh, how I long for air. All is dark. I cannot move; tentacles surround me; their poison sucks the lifeblood from me. All is fading, and yet I cling to life.

She clawed at her knife-sheath, but could not reach it; the tentacles held her arm pinned to her side. She twisted, left, right, to no avail.

Ravion could have saved you, and you let him leave. You are a fool. And now you will drown, and will he ever even know? And with you gone, what will become of your brother? Your parents will pine, and die.

The cold slowly seeped into her heart. My parents. I cannot bear their sorrow. How they will weep.

She strained against the tentacles, but they held her fast.

I must breathe. Why do I die not? There is no breath to be found.

[Imladris]

In the dark waters, Gwyllion tried to push the tentacles away, but she could not. Just as she could not push away the nightmares that whispered in her ear of death and sorrow. She opened her mouth to scream, remembering too late that she was under water and if she screamed she would surely drown. To her surprise, no voice echoed blurrily in the depths. She was not drowning. She could...breathe. Why could she breath? Was she dead?

She could feel bubbles pelt her skin, and she turned. Aeron was in the water, thrashing as he fought the tentacle that was clinging around his throat. His eyes were shot with blood, his face pallid. His fingers scrabbled at the tentacle, trying to pry it from his throat. His legs churned the water and she could hear his muffled screaming.

"Aeron!" she tried to shout, but she could not move. She could not swim. She was tied, her legs could not work, neither could her arms. She tried to swim towards him frantically. She tore at the ropes that bound her but they would not come undone.

He was dying, and she could not help him.

Her stomach turned to ice as she watched his strugglings grow feebler. Finally, as his eyes glared unseeingly at her, the flame of life snuffed from them, she felt a shriek strangle within her, and all was darkness.

[littlemanpoet]

Raefindan hung on as tightly as he could. Holding onto Aeron was like trying to hang onto a triple jointed weasle, but Raefindan had the greater weight and the longer limbs, and was able to keep purchase, and most important, Aeron beneath him. He waited it out while Aeron wriggled and punched and spit. It hurt. Raefindan felt his gore rising, but he hung on. It was too important for them to stay together. Aeron's pounding ceased and his wriggling got more violent. After a few minutes, the wriggling stopped.

"Raefindan, you big oaf, if my sister dies because you're holding me here, I'll make you pay."

"There is nothing you can do to save her until it is light. You can do her no good by going alone in the dark while our enemy knows our every move. I need to have surety that you will stay with me this night. I need you by my side, Aeron, for the sake of us all."

[Orual]

The world was a little hazy, his sight a little filmy, when Erundil woke, but inside his head everything was very clear. He knew exactly where he was. He knew what had happened. He was not at all surprised to see the arrow wound on his hand, or a fight going on above him.

Erundil studied the wound on his hand in a manner that resembled mild interest. His head was swimming and his injured hand was throbbing. He felt his breathing become somewhat laboured. He wondered if the poison was, as the red-haired man--Raefindan?--had put it, 'septic'.

(It also bothered him somewhat, in the state of clarity and calm that the poison had put him in, that he did not know the meaning of the word septic. He considered himself a learned man, and it was rare that a word was brought up in any language of Men or Elves that he did not know.)

He sat up slowly, propping himself up against Gond, whose breathing was slow, but more even than Erundil's. Another brief thought: Ravion would be devestated if his horse was to die. Perhaps he ought to be here.

He listened closely to Raefindan and the boy Aeron, although their voices sounded like they were coming to him from a great distance. Finally he realized that their situation was not good at all, and he tried to speak, but it only came out as a somewhat pitiful noise. Both of the fighters turned to him.

"Speaking may be too much effort for you now, Erundil," Raefindan said gently. Aeron simply glared at him.

"I know," Erundil said. "Gond."

A long pause.

"Gond?" Raefindan urged, still in a kind voice but with an underlying anxiety.

"If Gond can...if Gond can walk, send him after Ravion," Erundil said brokenly, interrupted by ragged breaths. "He will find his...master. He...he always does. If Ravion comes back, perhaps he could...could be of some...of some help."


Ravion

It had been hours, but Ravion had not moved from where he had set up camp.

There were two forces pulling on him, and he knew which path he needed to take, but he could not bring himself to take it. His anger and his pride told him that he was not needed in what he now thought of as Raefindan's company. That way led the same life that he used to live, consisting of nothing but vain chases and overnight stays at taverns where he was looked on with intermingled suspicion, respect, and pity.

His common sense and that sixth sense that had developed around Mellonin told him that not only was he needed in Raefindan's company, but that he needed the members of that company; and what was more, that something was not right. He had left in anger; he was being called back in worry. But how could he go back?

It would take more humility than Ravion thought he had in him. He would have to ask permission to re-enter the company. He would return as the lowest, not the leader. And for some insane reason he worried what Aeron would say. Had he grown so weak that he could not take the criticism and sarcasm of a boy? Was that how far Ravion the Ranger had fallen?

He stood up. Perhaps this was still about his pride after all, perhaps it was still about Aeron, but he had to prove it to himself that he was not such a child that he would run from responsibility at the slightest discomfort, the slightest trouble. He would return. He would ask forgiveness. And maybe he could regain their trust. He took a step forward.

Or maybe not. He stopped.

He shook his head and rubbed his face harshly. This was no time for doubts.

He took another step, and started to retrace his path.

[Nurumaiel]

The soft strains of a fiddle just barely touched upon the ears of those who were awake to listen, and the tune was happy yet sad at the same time. Argeleafa crept to Liornung's side and sat down beside him, listening to the music with a slowly crumbling face, until at last with bowed head she let the tears slide silently down her face. The tune ended at once, but not in an ungainly way, for while it was abrupt the skill of the player made the unexpected end lovely though not complete. 'Little Leafa,' said Liornung, gazing at her in distress, 'why are you weeping? What will Ædegard say if he sees you so unhappy? Lassie, you should be the happiest girl in the land now!'

'I am happy!' she said. 'But, Liornung, I am afraid. I do not know if I chose right to accept Ædegard's offer of marriage. I have known him but a few days. What if it is just a passing care for him, and I do not truly love him?' Liornung said nothing but looked down on her solemnly. 'I am so very unhappy,' she said, and bent her head to weep more.

Still Liornung said nothing, but let her dispose of her overwhelming grief, and when she was calmer her tear-stained face looked up into his, and she said, 'What am I to do?'

'I cannot tell you,' said Liornung.

She gazed at him desperately. 'Shall I wed him when I am uncertain?'

'Of course not,' said he. 'And you will not wed him until our return home. You will have enough time to resolve what your true feelings for him are.' He paused for a moment, studying her, and then he said, 'You know you love him...'

'I do not know! That is where the problem lies.'

He gave her an indulgent, amused smile, yet he said nothing but, 'Dry the tears from your face and go off to bed. You should not be up at this hour.' When she did not move, he added further, 'You may speak to me further in the morning if you choose, yet the best way to resolve your doubts would be to speak with Ædegard. Not about this matter, mind you, but of anything, and to be about him often, and watch him, and listen to what he says. You will decide if you really do love him or not only by looking to him. Not to me, lassie, not to me.' He smiled at her once again, and then he began his tune again. She saw nothing to do but go.

[mark12_30]

Amroth paced in a wide circle round the camp, looking outward with eyes and heart. His eyes saw little of use. He knew it gave him a headache, but he could not forbear straining into the distance from time to time, especially when his heart was weary and his mind confused. He did so now, his brow furowed, his eyes squinting, glittering in the December starlight.

In the camp behind him slept or watched his friends, for whom his love grew daily. THey each acted in turn as an anchor to the heaving ship of his heart, so often aching, now numb with pain just as his mind was numb with confusion. HIs eyes remained outward, but every so often his heart cast back to his friends, and he marveled at them. His heart yanked and wrenched at these chains that held him fast, and yet they did not break or yield, these friends of his. They held fast, through storm and gale.

He paused, shed a few silent tears, then walked on. How he loved them. Erebemlin, Taitheneb, Nethwador; Bella, Argeleafa. Liornung and Ædegard and Finduilas.

Finduilas?

There is no one in the company by that name. Who is she?

He paused, and shook his head as if to clear it, but that only made it ache more. He walked on.

Finduilas? Who was she? Amroth wondered again.

The sister of Fingon.

Amroth tensed, paused again, and closed his eyes. You.

My lord.

Why do you say so? thought Amroth.

Since you rule me, how else am l to address you?

Your sister. Where is she? asked Amroth.

Would that I knew.

I knew not of your sister, replied Amroth.

You did not ask. You spoke of Nimrodel alone.

I meant you no harm, and promised you none. Do you doubt my word? thought Amroth.

I do not. Yet I too am grieved.

Sorrow crossed Amroth's face; perhaps it was fated, yet it saddened him nonetheless. You are not alone, thought Amroth.

That much is certain!

I speak not of myself, friend. Many others were broken by her-- as you will be, thought Amroth.

Let us not speak of that.

"My lord?"

Amroth opened Fingon's eyes, and stared at the tall elf in front of him. "... Ere-- Erebemlin?"

The tall elf trembled. "My lord! Rest. Come, lie down and we will watch over you. You must not weaken now-- not now. "

Taitheneb sprang to his feet, and came running. "Lord Amroth-- "

His words were cut short as his king swayed. Catching him, they bore him back to the campfire. Nethwador was sound asleep near the fire, and they set Amroth down near him. Hastily fetching Amroth's blanket, they wrapped it around the king. Then laying his hand on the king's head, Erebemlin looked up at Taitheneb, and there was fear in his eyes.

"The king is retreating. The man returns."

[littlemanpoet]

The party were breaking their fast. Ædegard looked for Leafa; she was still abed. He wondered if something was wrong, but shrugged and supposed that she needed more sleep.

Nethador sat across from Ædegard, and as he munched, his eyes flicked from Bella to himself, which began to irritate him, like a fly unable to decide which perch it liked better. When they had finished, Nethador came up to him, his face nervous, his hands fidgeting.

"Good morn," Ædegard greeted warily.

Nethador nodded. Then he fell to his knees and assumed a pleading position, not facing Ædegard with it, much to his relief. Nethador pointed to him then to Leafa, who had just sat up, rubbing her pretty eyes. Ædegard frowned, confused. Was the Easterling boy trying to tell him something? The boy put his hand to his mouth and said nonsense, making as if to throw the nonsense into the air with his hand as he spoke. Ædegard shook his head and frowned more deeply. Had the boy gone daft in the night? He only started motioning more wildly, pointing intently at himself, then Leafa, then himself and Bella. He could make no sense of it.

"What are you trying to say, boy? Have you lost your wit in the night?"

Nethador moved his hands more wildly than ever, using the same motions over and over again. Ædegard backed up a few steps, fearing that the boy had come down with some fever in the night, one he was sure he did not want to catch. Finally, the boy threw up his hands in seeming irkedness, and walked away, giving Ædegard an unfriendly look.

Liornung came up to him, strumming on his fiddle, a concerned look on his face. "Why refuse the boy?"

"Refuse him of what?"

Surprise replaced sadness. "You did not know what he asked?"

"I could make no sense of his mumming."

"Ah me," said Liornung. "He was asking you to teach him to speak our speech so that he could propose marriage to Bella. You did not understand that?"

The Easterling boy wanted to learn Common Tongue so that he could propose marriage to the Gondorian lady? It was an offensive thought. Surely the blood of Gondorians and Rohirrim were on the boy's hands, for bloodguilt passed from generation to generation, and no doubt his ancestors had been among those who warred against the West in service to the Dark Lord.

"I will do no such thing!"

"Whyever not, my friend?"

"He is an Easterling! And you should not either."

Liornung looked astounded. "But he is a friend of Amroth, and has proven harmless."

Ædegard shook his head. Some people were forgetting the old true ways. Harmless the boy might seem, but bloodguilt was no easy stain to overcome.

"I have put up with the boy's presence for the sake of Amroth, but I will not befriend him nor aid him in wooing Bella. It is an affront!"

"Amroth accepts him."

"I cannot account for the ways of Elves. They are a mystery. But how is it that you do not know this, Liornung? You are Rohirrim, a man of the west. This boy's ancestors have the blood of Rohan and Gondor on their hands! Such a union of Easterling to Gondorian should not be."

Ædegard walked away from Liornung, who stood as still as a stone, his face a picture of shock and horror. If the minstrel had truly forgotten his roots so much that he could not see what was plain, it was a shame, but not something that Ædegard could do much to change. He went to Leafa, who was standing, watching him approach.

"Good morn, Leafa! How do you fare?"

She did not speak right away. Her brow was low and her mouth worked before she spoke. When she did, his bearings fell away. "How could you be so cruel to the boy?"

For a moment Ædegard could think of nothing to say that he would not regret. Had Leafa too forgotten her roots? Maybe she should not be his wife! Maybe, though, he could fill her need to understand the true, deep ways of the Rohirrim. But how was he to answer her words regarding his supposed cruelty.

"My cruelty to him was nothing compared to the slaughtering ways of his ancestors. He bears bloodguilt for the deaths of many Rohirrim and Gondorians. It would be unjust to help him in his cause."