Friends of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams

[littlemanpoet]

The morning mist lay thick about the swamp. Thus, the party heard feet approaching from deeper in the swamp but could not descry to what or whom the feet belonged. Jorje stood on all fours and sniffed the air, then padded quickly toward the sound of approaching feet, stopping just at the edge of their camp. Erundil rose, facing the sound, his hand moving swiftly to his belt knife. Erebemlin and Taitheneb stood also.

"Who goes there?" Erundil called.

Through the mists came a bent figure, wrapped in a cloak that seemed either dark green or brown depending how they looked at it. In the claw-like left hand was a staff that rose a foot taller than the hooded figure; it was being used like a cane. The figure stopped just beyond the rough border of the camp. Leafa huddled in closely to Liornung, fear in her eyes. Her thought was shared by most if not all: is this a merlock, or their leader?

Jorje came up to the figure, which reached its wrinkled right hand down to his nose. Cautiously, his tail down, he sniffed; then his mouth came open in a grin, his tongue loosened, and his tail wagged happily.

"What be you a-doing out here in the cold, unfriendly moors," came an old, quavery voice, "far from tidy home and warm hearth?"

"Name yourself and show yourself," Erundil said, still cautious despite Jorje's obvious welcome.

The figure chuckled and through back its hood. An old woman grinned at them, her hair long and white, her cheeks red as apples, her eyes glinting with mirth, sometimes seeming blue, sometimes hazel, sometimes green.

"I am called Marigold. You are in my realm."

Erundil looked to the Elves and the others, confused, then turned to the old woman again. "We thought it was the realm of Tharonwe."

"That lonesome stripling of an Elf?" She chuckled again. "He has done little to harm my realm, so I have let him be."

"Are the merlocks yours?" Erundil asked.

She looked at Erundil and the others as one who pities those who do not know what they are speaking of. "Nay, they are not mine, nor I theirs."

Ravion spoke next. "There is a monster in the deeps out there. It almost killed some of us. If this is your realm, how can you let it live there?"

The old woman gave them the look of pity again. "Many creatures of Middle Earth are tainted; yet Middle Earth is still their home. Who are you or I to remove one from the other? But come! My cottage is not far from here. There are coals in the hearth, and four warm walls to keep out the cold and the mists, and there is good bread baked just this morning. I have been waiting for you, yet you have not come. Come now!"

With that the old woman passed through their small camp, and moved slowly down the path that led out of the swamp; Jorje pranced at her heels.

[mark12_30]

Warm bread. Their spirits rose even in the mist.

"Well, " said Bella, "I hope she is as nice a grandmother as she seems."

"Naneth, " said Nethwador, readying Celegaer.

"Mother? She seemed older than that, don't you think?" Bella mused.

"Naneth, " said Nethwador again, a gentle light in his eye.

"The dreary wild oft hides the fair hind. Or gazelle, " said Taitheneb.

"Gazelle!" snorted Ravion. Erundil laughed.

Erebemlin said nothing, but helped Mellondu mount Echo. Liornung helped Aeron with Gwyllion's body; Taitheneb helped Ravion lift Mellonin onto his horse. They broke camp swiftly, and hurried after the cloaked woman.

[alaklondewen]

Erebemlin rode silently at the rear of the procession that followed this...woman? The elf knew not what words would describe her, and he wondered at his inability to sense her presence so near them in the swamp. How had he missed her? He tried to touch her thoughts, but her mind was closed to him.

The path they tread steadily became more solid, and suddenly the morning’s fog parted. Before them stood a small wooden cottage with a thatched roof. A warm glow illuminated a small window on the wall that faced them. Erebemlin could see the mantle of what surely was the fireplace and the source of the flickering light. As they got closer to the home, he noticed rich mosses and plants that covered the ground on either side of the path. At first they appeared chaotic in their pattern, but quickly, the elf realized they grew in an intricate design...waves that crossed and re-crossed, almost like braids, and forced the eyes forward in motion toward the cottage where they did not stop, but came up from the earth and enveloped the earthy home. Taitheneb had noticed the intriguing beauty and turned to catch the expression on Erebemlin’s face. The elder elf shook his head with uncertainty and shrugged his shoulders. He certainly looked forward to sitting with this strange woman, and learning more of her ‘realm’.

Following the path, she led them around the left side of the house. Here they found a small porch where dark green vines grew up and wrapped around every board, creating what felt like a canapy instead of a roof. The old woman opened the door and the light and warmth that filled the inside seeped onto the porch and touched the visitors. They could smell the warm bread.

"Do come in," she called from inside.

[Imladris]

Aeron glanced dully at the welcoming cottage, wishing with all his might that he was far far away. Life just was not worth living. It was pointless. What would he do if he want back to Gondor? Steal? Why? Learn a trade? He laughed outwardly at that. Who would take him -- a known thief.

He slumped into a chair and ignored the piece of bread that the woman held out. What was her name? He shrugged. It didn't matter, not in the long run at least. Nothing mattered in the long run. Everybody died, some sooner than they should.

Why had Gwyllion died? Had she been doomed to die? It wasn't fair that he couldn't have saved her no matter how hard he had tried. He wished that it had been him back there...

It should have been him...it should have. He had brought her there. He had brought her from Gondor. He had been the one who had killed her.