Friends of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams

[Imladris]

Aeron let his dagger drop and dashed to Mellonin, who stood beside Gwyllion, who was sprawled prone on the floor. He dropped to his knees and cradled her in his arms. His sister...Gwyllion. He rocked back and forth, trying to stop the hot tears that clung to his lashes. "Gwyllion...why...why..." he choked.

She was stabbed...he hoped that the merlock who had slain her had been killed, preferably by his hands. Her fear of blood...what must she had thought when she saw her life blood pouring from her leg...the terror the fear. He hugged her, and rested his chin against her head.

"Gwyllion," he whispered, "do you remember when father left us? And how you loved him so much that you thought he'd come back? When I stole my first ring, and we celebrated with creamy milk and cheese in the finest inn? Gwyllion, why did you have to die? You could have had such a life...full of joy...and song. I was going to give you a harp...so that you could sing songs and tales..."

He heard Ravion behind, asking Gwyllion to do something...didn't he know?

"Aeron. Gwyllion...is she..." his voice trailed off, as if he too feared the dreaded truth.

Aeron bit his lips, and picked his sister up. "What do you think?" he asked...his voice cracked and hollow.

"We'll have to bury her," said Ravion quietly.

Aeron tried to breathe. He tried to nod. The hot tear fell down his cheek.

[mark12_30]

"Are you hurt, lady?"

Erundil stood before the darkhaired lass. She was still brandishing her knife, a little wildeyed. She gazed at him uncertainly.

"Bella," said a voice beside him, and a lanky boy wearing elvish clothes stepped past him. She lowered her knife, and her eyes closed; the boy swept the knife aside, and grasped her shoulders. She opened her eyes again.

"Mellon."

"Bella, " he answered, and then looked up. "Erebemlin! Bella..." There followed a jumble of elvish and eastern speech, and Erundil frowned.

Erebemlin stepped forward, glanced at Bella's ugly but minor wounds, and comforted Nethwador. Her wounds will heal. Others did not fare so well. Take her further and let her rest.

Erebemlin and Liornung were walking towards Argeleafa; Nethwador saw the blood on her pretty face, and began to worry about her too. But he had his orders, and he turned to Bella with a mixture of worry and joy.

[Nurumaiel]

Liornung went to Argeleafa, and he knelt before her, and softly he pushed the hair away from where her ear used to be. He said nothing to her, but his eyes, gentle and compassionate, looked into hers, and his hand lingered on her cheek. The tears fell down her face, and she was trembling and pale.

"Oh, Liornung," she said, her voice just a murmur. "I am so tired. I wish I could lie down and go to sleep." Her head dropped wearily in his hand, for a few moments, and then she looked up again. "Liornung!" she said, and her voice, though hoarse from loss of breath, was a cry. "Where is my Ædegard? Why is he not with you?"

"Don't fear," he said, his voice thick and trembling with emotion. "I will take you to him." Then he swallowed, and drew a breath, and straightened himself. "But, my little Leafa, you are hurt. Let Erebemlin tend to your wound. I will return shortly."

"Will you leave?" she said, and the tears began spilling over faster.

"For a short time," he said. "I must see if I am needed anywhere." He stood, but she fell forward and caught his hand.

"They do not need you," she said. "What can you do? They need healers! But I, Liornung, need you."

"You need Ædegard," said Liornung, "but maybe you need me, as well. Yet at the present moment you need Erebemlin most of all. I must go and see if my presence is needed elsewhere."

"I need you here, Liornung," she pleaded. "I am so afraid."

He bent down and kissed the hands that were clinging to his own. "Little Leafa, you need not fear. Have courage, and make the sacrifice. I must see if I am needed more. I will return to you within a minute."

Argeleafa sank back down and wept, but she was resigned.

Liornung went to Ravion, who stood by the silently weeping boy and his sister. Softly the fiddler touched the man's shoulder, and said in his ear, "Sir Ravion, I have not great talents in healing, such as you and the Elves, for I am a simple fiddler, yet a lone traveller in lands both tame and wild must learn some skills of healing, to care for himself and others in need. My skills I offer are not much, but if you are in need of any humble and small assistance, I sit by the golden-haired maid."

He turned then, to go back to Leafa, but he paused behind the boy who wept over his sister's body. He lay his calloused hand upon the lad's head, and ran his fingers through the dirty hair, and the tears filled his own eyes. He stood a moment more, and then he returned to Leafa.

Alas, then, for the sorrows of the world.

[littlemanpoet]

Ædegard heard shouts and cries and howls through the fog of his fever. What was happening? He saw swords rising and falling, gore flying. A battle! He struggled to his knees and reached for his sword; it was not there. What had happened to it? He felt something at his left hand. It was Jorje's nose, sniffing and licking daintily at the bandage covering his wrist.

Where is my hand?

Oh, aye, he had lost it. My hand! No! How can I be a wainwright? With the fresh realization, his eyes and ears cleared and the sights and sounds made more sense. Bellyn and Leafa were with them again! Who had saved her? them? He would have to thank him. He struggled to his feet, Jorje at his side. The young boy Aeron was kneeling, holding his sister in his arms; he was crying.

Do not cry, call for a healer.

Or was it too late for a healer? He stumbled to Leafa, who was being cradled in the arms of Liornung. Good man. He held her gently, and she wept. He stopped a pace from her and fell to his knees.

"Leafa! You are safe!"

She raised her tear stained face to him. "Ædegard!" Liornung helped her up and she fell upon Ædegard with fresh weeping. He stroked her hair, felt an ear beneath his hand; but not two ears. He looked at the palm of his hand, and it was covered in blood.

"What has happened to you, Leafa?"

She sobbed. Ædegard looked to Liornung, who tapped his left ear with his left hand. Ædegard raised her hair, saw, and closed his eyes tightly. No. The swamp elf would pay. He felt his eyes well.

"Ædegard! Your hand! Oh, my poor, poor-"

It was a great relief to have her in his arms, have her caressing his forearm so carefully, gently. He was kissing her hair, her head, cradling her. But he knew that his plans were all for nought. He could not keep her, for he could not do the work he had inherited from his father; not with only one hand. He was finished. He would be reduced to begging for his bread. He could not keep her. He would have to tell her, soon. But not yet.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Bellyn had never been so happy to see Nethwador's familiar face. He helped Bellyn to her feet, and led her away from the battleground. She felt groggy and dizzy. As she walked Bellyn stumbled like a man returning home from the tavern after one too many drinks. Nethwador sat her down on a dry patch of ground nearby to the mourning companions, and proceeded to plop down next to her.

"Bella!" He piped, wiping blood from the only scratch on her face, just along her cheekbone. Her other wounds had been sustained mostly along her arms, especially the one that had held the offending knife against the attackers. Her heart still beat rapidly; she could feel it thumping against her ribs. Bellyn still despaired. She desperately wished to return to the safety of her dreams. The dream...Bellyn thought quickly, her eyes widening as she looked down at her bloodied hands. Not my blood...she realized. The blood of the girl.

Bellyn shuddered.

She wondered at the fate of their journey. The Gondorian wondered why it had not been her ear, or her face; she wondered why the girl-child had to be the one to die. How can I feel as if I have braved the most frightening thing in the world? How can I feel as if I understand their pain? Bellyn wondered, feeling ever-guilty that she had escaped with minor cuts and bruises.

Bellyn sniffed and watched the wreckage of the fight before turning to face Nethwador.

"Nín celair tirn...hebim band..." Bellyn murmured in reply. The language her parents knew - the language they might have spoken together. It sent shivers down her spine. 'My brilliant watcher...keep me safe'. Did I say that right? Bellyn wondered. Would it matter if I did? Would he understand? Worrying over her broken Elvish words, Bellyn's brows furrowed and she frowned for a moment, looking down at her lap. Then she sighed, and smiled, looking up at Nethwador. "Thank you, Mellon."

She leaned over and wrapped her arms around Nethwador's shoulders tightly. Bellyn wondered if Nethwador was surprised; she could not see his face, for her head was nestled over his shoulder. It is really over. It is all over. Everything. The evil has gone for now.