Friends Of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams, Part 2 RPG

[littlemanpoet]

Roy stared at the others standing at the edge of the cliff. He sat on an outcropping of rock, oblivious to the approaching storm. They were not saying the dreadful words - You killed him! It did not matter. He had lost his mind somehow, and Aeron was dead; by his own hands. He had liked Aeron. And now he had killed him.

It had not been as if he had lost control of his members and had been watching himself do things over which he had no control. If it had been so, then he would have still been in control of his own mind. No, he had lost control of that, too. While they were wrestling everything had been a blur of rage and war and the will to win and throw him over the edge. Then suddenly it was done and he had regained control. Not as if he had fought for control, but as if a lever had been taken from him and simply given back.

He could feel Mellondu staring at him with those accusing eyes. Murderer! they declared. Who's side are you on? they asked. Roy looked away but could feel the weight of those eyes watching his every move, so heavy they bound him to the spot where he sat.

"Raefindan!" Bergil demanded. "Why?"

Roy shook his head. "I do not know." No, that was not entirely true. "Indil! I feared that she might be shot by accident and went to stop him from shooting the arrows, but then-" he could not finish, for he could not possibly explain, nor describe what had happened. They had seen it. That was enough.

"You tried to save Indil by trying to kill Mellondu?" Bergil questioned.

Roy sat there, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. He raised his hands, killing hands, palms up, to look at them. There was no blood but they felt stained and he wiped them against his trousers; he could not make them feel clean and kept wiping them.

"Indil was my last thought. Then I was not thinking. I do not know why."

Erebemlin's sad eyes studied him. Roy looked away. "I must search your mind, Raefindan."

Roy looked up, suddenly eager. Maybe the Elf could figure out what had happened to him. "Yes! Please!"

Erebemlin tilted his head in doubt. "Maybe I need not. An innocent would be this willing."

"Innocent!" cried Mellondu. "Aeron is dead! He tried to kill me! How can you say innocent!"

Roy hung his head, his eyes stinging. How indeed? Breathing seemed suddenly very hard. The wind began to blow in from the north. The temperature was dropping.

"Search his mind, Erebemlin," said Bergil.

"Very well."

Roy sensed the Elf's concentration, he knew not how. He felt nothing else.

Moments later, the Elf spoke. "I do not know why he let me. He has been turncoat since he was with the Swamp Elf, weeks ago." Roy's head went up in shock.

"He hoped," Erebemlin continued, "that his seeming eagerness for the osanwë would trick me into thinking it was unnecessary. He will kill again."

"Look at him," Mellondu sneered derisively. "He is surprised to be so easily found out."

Roy shook his head, speechless. How could Erebemlin have it so wrong? He did not seem to be trying to mislead. The sorrow was written too plainly on his countenance: the Elf believed what he was saying. Am I really a killer then? Do I really want Tharonwë to win out? Do I, deep down in my heart of hearts, want evil instead of good? Everything in him shouted NO! but Aeron lay dead at the bottom of the valley and it had been his own hands that had killed him, and Erebemlin had seen his mind. Maybe he did not know his own mind.

The first flakes of snow flew in on a heightening wind. It was getting colder.

"He must leave us," Bergil said.

[Formendacil]

"Raefindan!" Bergil demanded. "Why?"

Bergil's mind was a wild briar of thoughts as Tharonwë peered in, hoping to sway the young ranger. With the boy perished, he was the next youngest in their company, and might be the most vulnerable.

"I do not know.... Indil! I feared that she might be shot by accident and went to stop him from shooting the arrows, but then-" Tharonwë did not like where the redhead was going. Raefindan and Bergil had that in common: a passionate concern for the girl, and it would not do for the Gondorian to become sympathetic to the strange redhead's plight, not if Tharonwë was to divide their company, and slow their pursuit. Fortunately, Raefindan's actions did not look particularly sane to Bergil.

"You tried to save Indil by trying to kill Mellondu?" With a nudge from Tharonwë, Bergil found the absurdity of Raefindan's actions obscuring any thought of sympathy with his plight.

"Indil was my last thought. Then I was not thinking. I do not know why." As the redhead spoke, Tharonwë thought it advisable not to obscure that he had manipulated the Man's mind, but to make this conclusion all too clear to Bergil. While Erebemlin dithered, Tharonwë pushed Bergil to certainty.

"Search his mind, Erebemlin," said Bergil, finding his suspicions growing.

"I do not know why he let me. He has been turncoat since he was with the Swamp Elf, weeks ago."

Of course, Tharonwë's motive seemed perfectly plain to himself. If he was to divide the company, a shadow must be cast on Raefindan's trustworthiness. And what better shadow at hand than himself? Already, with his help, Bergil's mind was turned solely to doubts about Raefindan, and not a single thought of sympathy, out of concern for Indil passed out of his subconscious.

"He hoped," Erebemlin continued, "that his seeming eagerness for the osanwë would trick me into thinking it was unnecessary. He will kill again."

"Look at him," Mellondu sneered derisively. "He is surprised to be so easily found out."

"He must leave us," Bergil said, and Tharonwë grinned inwardly in delight. The young ranger had said exactly what he wanted. No longer did he need to force the Gondorian to conclusions, Bergil was making them for himself.

"If he will kill again, then we must not give him the opportunity," Bergil continued on his own; Tharonwë mentally nodding happily. Then the ranger came to a conclusion that utterly baffled the Elf. "We should send him on ahead, alone."

What was the Ranger thinking? But even as Tharonwë began to probe the fool's mind, his reasoning became clear.

"If he's so eager to save Indil, and we cannot trust him around us, then let us send him on to save her himself," Bergil continued, as Mellondu and Erebemlin looked at him in askance. "At worst, he will come under Tharonwë's spell again, and do nothing, but if he is so paranoically concerned about Indil and so willing to kill, the best may happen and he will save us a great deal of trouble--and Raefindan is far less a formidable enemy than the Elf."

"Look at this weather," said Erebemlin, as the snow continued to swirl. "It would be akin to murder, sending him alone with no shelter, never mind sending him against Tharonwë alone. He has no hope at all of success."

"He killed a close friend, of his as well as ours," said Mellondu coldly. "Does he deserve hope?"

"Wait! What about Indil!" Raefindan tried to cut in with his own say. "What if I am a danger to her as well." Tharonwë, still concerned about Bergil's paternal instincts regarding Indil, quickly moved in the ranger's mind to quash that line of reasoning.

"Do you really think you stand that much of a chance against Tharonwë?" said Bergil, echoing the Elf, who did not think the strange redhead did, given how susceptible he had been the first time. "Besides, wasn't concern for her the reason you attacked Aeron in the first place?"

"But circumstances might be different..." Raefindan began, but Mellondu cut him off.

"The very fact that you are speaking against being sent seems almost as good a reason as any for sending you on," the blacksmith said. "You are of no help to us here, and you are a great cause for concern, rather. I say we send him on."

Tharonwë watched through Bergil's eyes with tense anticipation as the three others turned to Erebemlin. The Elf was silent, but soon spoke.

"We cannot trust you, Raefindan, and you have certainly incurred punishment for what you have done. If you have enough goodwill left to wish us success, then you must see that you cannot remain with us, and if you wish to help us, then you will continue following Tharonwë. If we are fortunate, you will be able to stick to his trail, and perhaps even hinder him, that we might be able to shelter now, and catch you and he later. If you die in the attempt... then it is little more than you deserve."

[littlemanpoet]

The wind and snow swirled around him. He was trudging along the path. The snow landed all around as white dots against the gray rock. At first they melted into dark spots of water. Soon after, they stayed and collected until the ground was a pall of white. It became difficult to see land from sky, or land from precipitous drop. His body shook with the cold.

"It is little more than you deserve."

Roy had left the three others without a word. What could he have said? They were right to send him on ahead. If he had attacked and killed one of them, he might do it again, for he did not understand what had happened.

Roy, what have you become?

His hands and feet were going numb, and the cold stung his face. He supposed that he was going to his death.

"It is little more than you deserve."

He winced in spite of himself. A tear froze on his cheek. He stopped and looked back into the blur of white that hid the others from him. He didn't know how far back they were. He supposed that they had found shelter of some kind. Just as well, they would not survive without it.

With a jolt he came to himself, realizing that he had been standing in one place for a long time. The snow had covered the flat of his shoes. It would be so easy just to stand and do nothing more. He felt the cold numbing the grieving pain in his throat and chest. So easy to simply not move again. So easy.

He forced himself to take a step, and another, and another. Soon he was walking laboriously, careful of his steps, for the path was hard to see.

His lips went numb, and his cheeks. His ears ached with the cold. He could not feel his hands anymore, and could only feel his feet by the pressure of each step he took.

No, he had not taken another step in a long time. The snow had collected up to his ankles as he stood. He tried to move his feet but could not. He had forgotten how to walk. So he stood there and waited.

~*~

Come. Take a step. Another. Another. I want you here to keep the girl alive while I use her mind.

He was walking. His steps were unerring, for they were being steered by another will.

Was I not impressive, using your very mind as my blunt hammer, to cast the little thief off the cliff?

The gray of snow and wind was beginning to darken.

It was supposed to be the blacksmith, curse that ranger. But still, it was so easy to hide your real thought from the mind of that arrogant Elf of Lorien.

A darkness loomed amid the night. He went toward it. The blur stopped and the howling wind was muted.

"That is right, come and sit, Roy Edwards from the future. It is good to have you back again. You are a most useful pawn."

He felt the world tip over and go black, and then nothing.