Friends Of Nimrodel: Tapestry of Dreams, Part 2 RPG

[littlemanpoet]

He had forgotten her perspecuity. Now was the time to meld the future's hypnotism with Elvish osanwë. But somehow it eluded him! He could not seem to make his mind work in that way. Maybe it was how all was changed. And why did his mind stray to thoughts of Raefindan?

What had he just been thinking of? He could not recall.

But she wanted to know of the stream. If he told her, it would lead her straightway to Amroth. That must not happen! But if he refused to tell her, she would scorn him. If he told her she would be grateful to him, but still cleave to Amroth. What use gratitude as meager payment in exchange for the prize? He did not know it but his face twisted into disgust and rage.

"I'll give you no answer. Better your hate to me and loss of him than empty gratitude!"

He turned his back to her, blinked once, and was of a sudden standing again in the vale, staring somehow at Raefindan who regarded him sadly. In a sudden rage he ran at Raefindan, wielding naught but an arrow. He fell upon him in fury.

The Gondorian Ranger, the Eorling, and the minstrel pulled him off the redheaded man; who had somehow escaped injury altogether. Then he saw the arrow, its point buried in the sward.

He wanted to speak his wrath but no words would come. They sat him down on the turf, his hands tied behind his back, guarded. The dog growled at him from by the little girl.

"Mandos take me," he growled. "There is nothing left for me in the lands of the living."

[mark12_30]

She looked down at the strange elf, now bound and sitting on the grass. His answers had been strange. But they lingered.

Better your hate to me and loss of him than empty gratitude.

...loss of him...

...loss of him...

She turned, and looked towards the dance. The rhythm slowed, slowed, slowed, but the harmony and power built yet more. She looked at each of the dancers, slowly, in turn, and searched their eyes.

Strangers, yet they loved her. They loved her each in turn with hope and peace but could give no path. They did not know.

The little girl, Indil. She searched her deeply. She had begin the song-- nay, she had begun a song so like it that it had woken her, given her longing and the hope of peace, but it was not the song.

What of those who had not danced? She gazed round. Three mannish folk sat near the stream, dark and weary. Two more elves and a weary elf-woman were near them, gazing at her. And a red-haired man stood with a dark haired regal elf lady, waiting. And far off was yet another elf, golden, but quiet.

She would speak to each in turn. First, the red-haired man, who was different than other men; and the elf-lady.

She approached them. She bowed her head to the man first, and then to the lady.

"You have loved me well, I deem. Somehow, I also know that I have not loved you well. "

She turned to the lady, and caught her breath. Long moments passed.

"I know you. You are my Mithrellas."

And Nimrodel wept, golden tears shimmering in the sun falling onto the green sward. Around them the trees darkened into a deeper green; faded into gold; the leaves fell; snow began. And still Nimrodel wept. When the snow grew thick around their ankles, she stepped forward and embraced Mithrellas. Mithrellas' strong and gentle arms encircled her once again, and Nimrodel knew that those arms had held her many, many times. Nimrodel's heart sank into the embrace. Finally Nimrodel spoke.

"Truly and well you have loved me these long ages. Yet I have given you only cruelty and despair. Great is my wrong. Oh, how great is my wrong toward you. And how great is your good toward me."

Indil came and stood, knee-deep in the snow, and looked up at Raefindan and took his hand.

Slowly Nimrodel's golden tears slowed, and she drew back, holding Mithrellas at arm's length, to look into Mithrellas' grey eyes.

[mark12_30]

Mithrellas was weeping also, but for joy and not sorrow. With her smile, the snow began to melt, and with her gentle words, the cold winds grew gentler and warm. Nimrodel's grief stricken tears slowed, and taking Mithrellas' hands, she laid her golden head upon them. Mithrellas spoke soft and long. Betimes Nimrodel trembled; betimes she was at peace. But the sun's warmth grew until the grasses went from new green to deep green, and the leaves came again.

The mortals blinked, and some passed their hands over their eyes, and stooped to touch the myriad flowers that bloomed anew. Ravion shook his head, and looked at Indil. "She is taller."

Indil smiled. "I am."

Ravion looked at Maegeleb. "He is older." Tharonwe all but hissed in reply. "Mortal fool."

Nimrodel raised her head and stood tall. She turned to each of the elves in turn: Mithrellas, Erebemlin, Taitheneb, Avarien. To Avarien she bowed. "May you find what you seek."

"And you, " replied Avarien.

Erebemlin and Taitheneb were waiting with baited breath. Taitheneb wondered whether he had breathed at all while the seasons had flown past. He must have, but he did not remember it.

Amroth. He had faded still more. How could he fade? Taitheneb turned towards the blacksmith, but he seemed a mere shadow. Where was the king?

Erebemlin reached one mighty arm to touch the blacksmith, and Taitheneb saw Amroth, faintly, faintly, standing afar off at the edge of the glade.

My lord!

I am here.

And now Nimrodel saw him. She glanced at Indil, who waved her towards the king. She turned to Mithrellas, who nodded, and reached for her shoulder, and spoke. "He has waited for you for an age. It is he who has what you seek."

Nimrodel started, and searched Mithrellas' eyes. "This one-- this king? He knows the song of the stream?"

Mithrellas nodded.

Indil nodded.

Nimrodel looked round, and all eyes seemed to her to be filled with hope; except the surly stranger, whose anger had become a black rage. She turned her back on him and walked toward the king at the edge of the clearing.

Amroth saw her approach, and began walking toward her. Erebemlin followed Nimrodel, and Taitheneb waited close at hand.

Nimrodel whispered to Erebemlin. "Why has your king faded? Is he so old?"

Erebemlin's face was tight with fear. "Perhaps you will heal his weariness, " he replied.

[mark12_30]

She halted three paces from the king, wondering at the hunger in his eyes. She bowed her golden head.

"Nimrodel, " he whispered.

She met his gaze. "That is my name, " she said. Then she tilted her head. "These are silvan elves like me," she said, gesturing to the others. "But though your hair is golden as ours, you are not silvan."

He knew they stood beneath the eaves of Fangorn. "I am Sindarin, yet my love for you is none the less. You have captured my heart, Nimrodel, and naught will free me."

"I know not why you speak of love. Those who come out of the west ever bring strife, " she said.

"I would free you from all strife, beloved. I would see you at peace and in bliss."

"How?"

"I have begged you to sail with me to the undying lands, and there we will wed, far from darkness and war."

"Wed? But I came only to ask you for the song of the stream."

"This I may give you, Silversong."

"Then give it me, for this is why I sought you."

He stepped forward and offered her both of his hands.