Friends Of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams, Part 2 RPG

[littlemanpoet]

"Let us begin, " said Amroth.

Raefindan watched Erebemlin nod his reluctant agreement. The Elf was slow to express emotion, but the weariness and worry were plain to see in his face and the way he held himself. Raefindan shook his head. This would not end well, he thought to himself. He understood that Amroth's fëa was in Mellondu, and that Avarien's fëa was in Mellonin, and the Elvish fëar were wearing out the human bodies. Mellondu was likely to die before Amroth could achieve his goal of saving Nimrodel from her own madness. It was not going to end well; at least, not with himself and the others standing by.

What had that thought been that had passed through his mind almost as softly and faintly as a wisp of a breeze? The little girl is bound to Mithrellas, and thence to Nimrodel in some unfathomable way. That had been Amroth's thought, but he was so concentrated on Nimrodel that he gave it not a second thought. Surely she was here for just such a purpose; and if Indil, was it not also that way for himself? ...and the rest of them?

"Lord," Raefindan said with some force, "we would give you aid in some way, whatever way we can. What can we do?"

The others added their agreement to Raefindan's words. Nethwador took a step toward Amroth, as if Raefindan's words somehow freed him from a paralysis of some kind.

[littlemanpoet]

"Let us begin, " said Amroth.

Erebemlin gathered himself, and nodded.

"Lord," Roy Edwards from the future said, "we would give you aid in some way, whatever way we can. What can we do?"

What aid would these humans give, Tharonwë wondered. They were fools to cast about in the affairs of Elves. Only this Roy Edwards was a danger to him ... except, maybe, for this little girl, this little trouble maker who seemed beyond her years in word and thought - for he read her mind still.

He would stop them. Not, he now knew, in the way he had expected, for the one called Nimrodel was gone forever. The husk that remained disgusted him. They thought to blame him for the decrepitude that she now was, for they thought that he had brought her to it. But they were wrong. He had hidden her, that was all. It was her own despair and her constant feeding on it that had turned her into an aged crone, too weak of will and fëa to keep herself in youth. He hated her! She was not what she had pretended to be! And so he made a new decision. He would not kill her. That would only free her to the Halls of Mandos, where the fëa of Amroth awaited her. No, he would give them no such simple cure to their self-inflicted ills. They deserved their despair, and if Amroth thought to join her in her depths, he would ease his way.

He had still Roy Edwards of the future to thank for the fascinating art of hypnosis, such a supple tool in combination with osanwë. All he need to was enter Amroth's and Erebemlin's thought - not Roy Edwards'! - then locate their desires, then uncover the one most suited to his end, and twist it ever so slightly so that their purpose ran just the slightest degree wide of their aim, and sealed their own fate, deep in the despair, the ice cold despair and slow death that would leave them wasting away until the Ages ceased. It was perfect.

He reached out with his thought subtly, ever so carefully, arching wide of Roy Edwards and the girl Indil, and arching wide of the Elven woman Mithrellas as well, for she was a honed will, sharpened to the cutting point by virtue of having given herself so competely to another's benefit for millenia. It was folly! Yet somehow she had made herself strong through it. Tharonwë did not understand her, and so steered his thought clear of her. And he found Amroth. Ah yes, nothing was important to him, at all, except Nimrodel. And that was his fatal mistake, for every other being there was a mere tool for Amroth's use in finding Nimrodel.

And then he saw it. All he needed to do was let Amroth find Nimrodel at the deepest of the deeps, in the midst of her despair, and help them unite, and help Erebemlin aid them in this, and their fëar would be joined as one, and all he need to then was kill the boy Mellondu, and r kill outright the bodily form of Erebemlin, and the result would be that Amroth's fëa would be imprisoned in the aging and despairing being of Nimrodel, and Erebemlin along with him. If all he could do was weaken Erebemlin's will, then a part of his fëa would be trapped with Amroth and Nimrodel, and he would forever be a shadow of himself. Tharonwë grinned in delight at his plan. It would work! He bided his time.

[mark12_30]

Amroth looked slowly around, and studied the face of each friend, and took a moment to silently thank them. And then he nodded at Erebemlin.

The wind was in his flowing hair; the foam about him shone,
Afar they saw him strong and fair go riding like a swan.

The winds raged, and tore at Nimrodel's clothing and her hair as the surf pounded the shore. She cried, and cried, and cried. She called out to him, she ran along the shore westward, leaping the rocks, racing over the sand. On and on she ran. In her heart, she could feel the water pulling at him, the fury of the waves, the foam that thundered over him again and again. She ran on and on, westward, screaming his name into the wind.

The land came to a point, and she stood at the end of it, facing southwest, calling him again and again. His heart called to her still, but she felt him losing strength.

The waves were madness. Foam flew in the wind, and stung her face. The tide sucked at her feet as she stood gazing into the storm, looking for some sign of his golden hair in the sea. Her voice was swept away, torn out of her mouth and gone.

Amroth!

Her cry rang out once more. And then gathering her strength, she ran forward, and flung herself into the storm.

[mark12_30]

Amroth bent over Nimrodel as she moaned, and stirred. Her eyes closed, and her fingers twitched. His lips brushed her whitened hair, and he sighed deeply.

Erebemlin's gaze flickered toward Amroth, and then back to Nimrodel. Nethwador edged a little closer, and then a little closer. Finally he sat down, and gazed into the water.

She fought the waves as they broke in the shallows, struggling. She had never swum in a storm before, not in the ocean, not like this. The wind had shifted, and the waves were breaking across the beach, not against it, but still they rolled her back toward the shore. She tumbled over and over, ground into the sand, and she gasped for breath, and fought her way toward the deep again and again, only to be rolled back into the breakers and into the sand. Finally she learned to dive under the breaking waves. She worked her way outward, then, feeling her way with her heart. Coming up for air was the hardest; she learned to ride to the top of the wave with her mouth shut, breathing in only after the wave had crested and rolled by. Outward she fought, pulling hard. THe horizon was grey, the sky was grey, the water was grey. On she swam.

[mark12_30]

Amroth shuddered, feeling the water close over his head; his lungs ached, his throat hurt, his eyes glazed.

Nethwador touched his arm.

Amroth's eyes snapped open. Erebemlin started, and their eyes met.

"Courage, my Lord."

Amroth shook himself. Nimrodel shuddered.

I have left her alone. Again.

Erebemlin held Nimrodel tighter, and Amroth closed his eyes, and strove inward. But he opened his eyes again, and looked round once more at the sunshine, the trees, the cold hillside. Nethwador tightened his grip on the king's arm. Amroth nodded, and closed his eyes again.

Hours she had spent at war with the waves and their blinding spray. She listened, reaching, reaching. But now her lover's cry was silent. She heard his voice no more.

She surrendered herself to the heaving waves, and knew no more.

[mark12_30]

Tears trickled down Amroth's face; his breath came in shuddering gasps.

Erebemlin held his thoughts steady, even as he held Nimrodel in his great arms. "Courage, my lord. Courage."

"Where, " asked Amroth in a hoarse whisper, "did she go next? I cannot see it."

And no wonder; you were drowned, sweet king, drowned and dead. Erebemlin's lips tightened. Where had the thought come from? He had felt it, deep in his heart, but nay, he knew, he had chosen to hide it from the king.

Nethwador's hand closed around Amroth's arm, and the boy spoke in his harsh tongue. The boy, then; perhaps he had shown his heart to the boy. Erebemlin steeled himself, and turned towards Nimrodel's thoughts.

He found her, rolling, rolling in the breaking surf, scraped again and again across the sand. There Mithrellas had found her, and dragged her ashore, and with difficulty wakened her. But Mithrellas' loving work was met with thanklessness and anger.

Deep beneath the waves, Amroth's body was being slowly swept towards the shore.

Amroth saw it, saw her, stood by Erebemlin as Mithrellas tended Nimrodel. Amroth knelt beside Nimrodel, trying to brush the sand out of her golden hair, but his hand passed through the hair and the sand both. Nimrodel sobbed with anger; Mithrellas tried to soothe her.

Amroth leaned over her and spoke earnestly. I am here, my love, my singing water, my starlit nightingale. I am with you, I am here.

Nimrodel's strength wore thin; her weeping slowed. Amroth spoke to her again, and again. But his voice was carried away by the sea wind, and she heard him not.

Erebemlin held on tight, held Nimrodel's frail form, held on to Amroth's thoughts, Amroth's will. And Erebemlin waited.

[mark12_30]

"Faithless wretch, why did you not leave me to my death? I would have joined him." Nimrodel, salt water rasping in her lungs, turned her face from Mithrellas.

Mithrellas, her arguments rising from her soul and withering on her lips, struggled for a few moments in silence, and then bowed her head.

Amroth spoke on her behalf. Because she loves you, as do I.

"What kind of love would keep me from my love? You love me not, else you would have let me go, " said Nimrodel.

Mithrellas turned and gazed in surprise at Amroth. "She heard you, my lord."

Nimrodel frowned. "Heard what?"

Amroth spoke again. She is loyal to you, as am I. Sweetwater, Clearsong, do not despise her love. Cherish it.

"Cherish one that keeps me from my lord? Take your foolishness and go."

Mithrellas stood as if spellbound. In truth, she heard you, my lord. She heard you.

Erebemlin wished he could burst out in song. Instead, he held his breath, and the moment lingered. Amroth waited. Nimrodel was vexed at Mithrellas, yet Mithrellas stood transfixed with hope.

The tiniest seed had begun to sprout.